saturnalia

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/34660819.

Rating: Not Rated

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Categories: M/M, Other
Fandom: 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Relationships: Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V/Park Jimin, Jeon Jungkook/Kim
Taehyung | V, Kim Taehyung | V/Park Jimin, Jeon Jungkook/Park Jimin
Characters: Park Jimin (BTS), Kim Taehyung | V, Jeon Jungkook, Kim Namjoon,
Jung Hoseok, Min Yoongi, Kim Seokjin, Hella OCs - Character
Additional Tags: Threesome - M/M/M, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Vampire!Park Jimin,
witch!kim taehyung, boxer!jeon jungkook, Top Park Jimin (BTS),
Bottom Kim Taehyung | V, Switch Jeon Jungkook, Mentions of War,
Dom Park Jimin (BTS), Sub Kim Taehyung | V, Degradation, Rough
Sex, sexual awakening, accidentally long af, human!jeon jungkook,
gangster!park jimin, dancer!taehyung, lots of blood, Violence, Sexual
Content, Possessive Behavior, Crossdressing, Blood Drinking, lots of
betrayal, but a happy ending
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2022-10-08 Words: 212,080 Chapters: 26/26
 saturnalia
by venushoney

Summary

Jimin is smirking when he turns back to Jungkook. "Did you enjoy that?" He asks him,
leering, and his eyebrow raises suggestively, chuckling at him, almost cruel, as he says,
"that's my baby, Taehyung."

Jungkook snaps back into reality upon hearing that, and he's unsure what emotion it is that
settles in his stomach then, but he forces it to be contempt. "Your baby?" He repeats.

"Mm," Jimin is still smirking, clearly not buying into the man's faux disgust. His cheeks look
a little more pale, like he's growing sick from hunger, and his eyes are so dark, like the core
of the earth, like the great expanse of space — he's got the entire space-time continuum living
within his mind, and those galaxies are leaking through every orifice. It's truly horrific. "You
want to meet him?"

when underground boxer jungkook is in trouble with money, his only option is to seek help
from the vampiric gangster jimin and his burlesque-dancing witch of a boyfriend, taehyung.
unaware they seem to be interested in him for more than just his blood.

Notes

hello!! welcome to this angst-fest! a few things i need to say before reading: firstly, please
please pay attention to the tags. this story can get a little gory and deals with a few sensitive
topics, so please do check, and i’ll let you know if they get updated!
also, this is a 1920s au, set in a fictional city, in an undisclosed country. it’s sort of an
amalgamation of a bunch of places, so the specifics don’t matter too much.
yes this is a 1920s gangster-vampire fic, because why not? that being said, all vampire/witch
lore will be explained as the story goes on, so you’ll just have to find out more as you read!
furthermore, this chapter is near-enough an introduction to the characters/some settings. it is
very description heavy, but it’s not all too much like this, i swear. although my writing style
can be a little hard to swallow at first, it’s not all this full-on.
okay, that being said, i hope you enjoy and wish you stick with me!! <33

See the end of the work for more notes

 Chapter 1

THE PRELUDE ;;

QUELLNEX, 1922

The Sugar Lounge is class — it's newfound roses and piano jitters; it's lingering lips and
smooth clefts of skin, and it's all your desires unwinding. There's a beautiful, cascading
image of cabaret dancers on stage, pearls incubating their skin, phosphorescent wigs hanging
from their heads; shortened petticoats and fishnet limbs, that are oh, so malleable, stretching
across the libidinous platform — the seductive pasquinade highlighted by tuscany-spotlights
and jazzy show-tunes.

It's difficult to pry one's eyes from the scene before you, as the dancers on stage all seem to
possess a little extra magnetism. There's something so sensual in their satirical harmony, that
just transcends the realms of craving. Their flesh is hot, dense, smooth, like a feast for the
heavens, celestial bodies frisking around amongst the smog of desire.

And Park Jimin simultaneously blends in and becomes the antithesis of the room, with his
pink locks, trickling across his forehead, like thulian petals, his unnerving visage tied
together with a smile, that's all crooked teeth and bleeding chemicals. His leather feet tap at
the floor, so desperate to catch sight of the one person he's certain most every audience
member was here to see. However, his thrilled viewing is perturbed, as a voice mumbles in
the background, lost somewhat beneath the crying of the harpsichord.

"Fancy seeing you here."

Jimin turns his attention toward the newcomer, unsurprised as he's graced with the presence
of Jung Hoseok, an informant (a busybody), a man who's full of secrets and brimming with
gossip, with his candy smile and clementine breath — too pretty for his past times.
"Hoseok." Jimin nods towards him, taking a sip of his drink, curiously crimson, like his
smile. "Come to enjoy the show?"

The brunette smiles back, wide, and he reeks of tangerines, old gin in his clenched hand, with
his long, ivory fingernails creating cuts in the glass. He leans towards the other, not one to
care for personal space. "Not exactly." Jimin sighs, mood instantly deflating, but he keeps his
eyes on the stage, albeit sensing the sudden change in atmosphere that the other man brings.
Hoseok continues on, "it's Blood again."

Chugging down the entirety of his drink, he momentarily glances towards the informant, a
little put out, and he frowns into his words, "oh yeah? What about it?"

"Well," Hoseok bites at his lips, with flickering eyes, sparking orange, and, to a trained eye,
he'd appear a little on edge, despite the fact his composure is completely abundant, and he
stands tall, clean. "Apparently money's going missing."

"Missing?" The pink-haired man raises a brow, pondering, but accepting of the information.
Park Jimin was a man of business above all else, but he was also comprised of years of self-
assurance and fully-fledged narcissism, enough to make him somewhat carefree, so he
doesn't let himself fret about the new revelation: money brings forth crime and violence,
always has, always will. Jimin's grown numb to it.

He's about to speak when the sound of the slow, sensual saxophone reverberates around the
room, echoing from the steamy walls, kickstarting a thrum of excitement amongst onlookers.
He finds his mild interest in the topic of money dwindle evermore, as another of life's
ultimate pleasures springs forth. Sex.

"Well," He says to Hoseok, the word thick with enunciation, drenched with finality, desperate
to get back to the show, to see what he was waiting for, and he tells the man, "find out who
they are, and we'll deal with it."

A leg kicks out from behind the curtain, completely bare and tan, and both men can't help but
stare at it, the whole room entranced instantly, just by that small peak at paradise. The matter
of money is dropped in an instant, replaced by sexual fantasy, and Hoseok lets out a low
whistle, his one-track mind abandoning their previous woe. The leg is so California, redolent
of sandy beaches and tropical sunsets, and yet it's bathing in the moonlight of noir, hidden in
this bar, away from humanity.

There's a deep rumble and all the femininity of that thigh is transmogrified into mean,
tasteless androgyny. Kim Taehyung steps out, glitter and diamonds, with searing eyes and
blood-red lips, opening around deep, opulent words — he's coruscating. Ghastly yellow eyes
flood to him, everyone instantly entranced by the man, in all his impeding glory.

It's so dirty a desire; the Sugar Lounge was built upon such things, acting as a safe haven for
those who so desperately seek salvation from society's heteronormativity. Men and women
alike flock here, drooling and gasping, shocked and appalled, yet attracted all the same.

Kim Taehyung was the definition of attraction.

He's an unwinding plethora of unspoken thrills and undetermined needs, begging you to want
him, imploring you to need him; and there's something so barbaric in his nympholepsy, that
has old men on the edge of their seats. They hunger for him, they sit, salivating, fantasising
about tearing at his skin; and they're all ghouls, thinking that his very essence inhales life and
exhales sex.

"Holy shit, Jimin." Hoseok utters, seemingly shocked, despite the fact he was well acquainted
with the dancer, had met him before, many times, knew the man well — Taehyung was
always a shock to the system.

Jimin can hear people panting, can feel himself stir, and his undead heart stutters
involuntarily, watching as the man teases, lets his golden skin slip through angelic, white
feathers, plays with the audience. Jimin stares at him and he can't help but smirk as the man
on stage looks back, grinning, salacious, and the complete antonym of an angel.

He sings deep, like the pits of hell, all jazz music, slow and sultry, and his fingertips are red,
creating sexuality in everything he touches. He's looking solely at Jimin though, and his eyes
are so laced with prohibition, his honey skin visible, in small amounts, through the feathers: a
forbidden fruit.
Jimin so desperately wants to be Eve.

As the song comes to an end, Taehyung's eyes are still on him, and he cocks his head, dark,
lurid, a suggestion.

Hunger floods his every orifice, as the verboten man frisks off the stage, all eyes following
him into the depths of the backstages, trying to capture his attention. But, Park Jimin already
has it. Hoseok watches the pink-haired man rise to his feet, leather shoes and a starved
tongue, with itchy fingers, desperate to touch.

No words are exchanged as Jimin's leaving, he merely walks, strides with such intensity,
knowing this place the back of his hand. His hand. His hand that's pale and thin, shaking with
hunger, desperate. The informant smirks, watches the other man's retreating figure, observes
how his shoulders move, arch, lurch, as he follows the blonde dancer.

Taehyung is not quite in his dressing room by the time Jimin reaches him, seeming to linger,
like he's waiting. So, the elder sees it as the perfect opportunity to grasp at the scarlet apple,
to have all that magnetism swimming in his palm, as he grabs him and shoves him directly
into the room, away from the realms of the night. He's tender in his roughness and rough in
his tenderness, and it's all things sublime, pooling with vigour, as he sinks his claws into
him.

The door slams shut, as if by magic, and Jimin has Taehyung against it.

"Fuck, Jimin." His words are ample, trickling like laughter, all deep exhales and delicate
intimacy. His eyes are glistening with temporary obedience, stimulating arousal and
decadence, their gaze entrusting of the other man. They'd done this so many times.

His back is so harshly pinned against the door, indenturing his skin, so delicious; Jimin's hand
is on his throat, smirking at him, teeth white, and he's passionate as he kisses at him, lapping
up the faux celibacy from his strawberry sherbet lips. "Mm, you looked so good out there,
pretty." He tells him, teeth and gums, harsh against the blonde's cheek, pulling away for only
a moment.
Jimin can't help but feel himself fall into the pretty creature's quicksand skin; his fingertips
moulding into the other's body; and he's kissing him like a fool in love, backstage, in
Taehyung's dressing room.

Taehyung whines at the words, lets them twist within him like acid, like sugar. The pink-
haired man is hungry, and he tugs at the other's strings, literally, using his free hand to try and
untangle the mess of his corset. Taehyung is leaning back, letting the grip on his throat scorch
against his skin, tasting the elder's desire, and it fuels him. Jimin is all over his body, hanging
over him, cold skin against burning, hot embers. And Taehyung can feel the older man grow
frustrated, fingers bruising and shameless, as he struggles to undo the garment.

"Struggling there?" Taehyung giggles, basking in the pleasure of being wanted, ethereality
bursting with it, coiling in the pits of his stomach.

Almost growling, the elder results to brute force, of which he had a lot, untangling the lace in
a ham-fisted swipe of his long nails. Taehyung's thrilled by it, finds himself excited by the
mere implication that Jimin was so desperate for him. He's almost panting now, and he wants
to tease, lives for dangling powerful men from the threads of his fingertips.

"Everyone would be so desperate to have you like this." Jimin tells the man, hot and heavy,
letting the words fester, as he tugs passionately at his skin. He'd barely been wearing anything
anyway, but this newfound nakedness, wherein he's just in a feathered skirt, with his chest on
display, is a great deal more provocative to Jimin. "Lucky me."

Jimin's hand moves to his shoulder, the other clutching at his waist, kissing along his neck,
lustful, trying to consume him; Taehyung smiles, cruel and coy. He lives to tease, especially
with Jimin, loves the way those words fall from his mouth. Humming and cheerful, he's
casual in the raising of his leg, bending his knee, and it harshly presses into the older man's
abdominals — he pushes him up as best he can, away.

Jimin can't help but grunt at the sudden pressure and the sudden change in pace, barely
maintaining balance, using one hand to grip onto his waist, the other to grasp at the man's
outstretched thigh. "Taehyung." He warns, dark, but it's a little playful, almost fond, and
bloodlust is oozing from the gaps of his crystalline denticles, sharp and hazardous.
Taehyung locks onto his gaze and smiles wider, an eyebrow quirking up in challenge,
pushing the man further away with his knee. Jimin's grasp around his flesh tightens, eyes
flash red with warning. The blonde's not scared, in fact, he pushes more, gains a grumble
from the other, which he feels in his kneecap.

He's not scared, even when the man angles his own body in a manner that appears painful,
contorting his limbs awkwardly, in a subhuman display, his hunger cascading out of his
fingertips. He's not scared, even as Jimin surges forward, so as to bite his fucking leg, tearing
into the golden meat, like a starved animal, gnaws into his skin, indecent and crude.

The blonde laughs, and it's saccharine and siren-like, a laugh used to lure people in, so quaint
and rich, willing you to want him. His expression turns wicked in a second, and his words are
lavish as they seep out in a giggling lull, "get off me, Jimin."

The words are physically made to irritate, intended to draw a reaction, and Jimin takes the
bait, bites down hard, harder. He's punishing. Taehyung barely flinches as he feels himself
draw blood, and Jimin's eyes flash dark, darker, red and black, and his tongue is serpentine,
clearing the younger's smooth, caramel skin of the oozing, crimson liquid in an instant,
gorging on it.

He lifts off slightly, lips painted with blood. "Fuck you."

Rubbing his knee against the man's hard muscles, Taehyung chuckles again, and he uses his
hot hands to cup the other's pale face, drawing him away from his leg. They glare at each
other, in a manner that is so blatantly sexual and indecorous, that they almost look like they
actually fit into this world, this time period, that is so full of disdain; they pretend that their
actions aren't frowned upon so vehemently.

The older man snarls, but it's not a cruel sound, more that of giving in, and he's so monstrous
in the way he turns his face into the dancer's palm, kissing it bitterly, gently, and he mumbles
into his skin, "god, you're such a fucking vixen."

It's true, that's exactly what Taehyung was, and he's ever so playful, letting Jimin place
tenderness into his hands. "No, I'm just not in the mood, not to mention, I'm not here solely to
pleasure you."
Cocking a brow, a lazy smirk crawls across Jimin's face. "Oh, aren't you?" He smirks, and, as
Taehyung shakes his head, he tuts, "look at you, suddenly so sanctimonious." He gnaws
softly at his wrist now, tasting the pallid skin, inhaling all the glitz and glamour of a
burlesque dancer. Taehyung lets him feast, barely flinches, as he sucks out his life force.

"Mm, look at me," He agrees, and the elder does, he basks in him, as he burns with
sensuality, and Taehyung tells him, "you're so enamoured."

Jimin pulls back and his lips are redder now, contrasting greatly to his ashen skin, that is
livening up a little, as if rejuvenated, some colour spreading across the pallor of his cheeks.
The blonde's gaze lingers on the warm blood running down his chin, thinking Jimin to appear
so maniacal as his lips twist into a smile, as they always do. "Is that not what you want?"

Taehyung blinks up at him, and his eyes are darker in the candlelight, not at all vibrant, like
he was just a corpse, no humanity, just desire, all wanton and appetising. "Of course, it's so
good to be wanted, especially by someone like you." His hands are tugging at Jimin's tie,
slender fingers so clingy.

"Someone like me?"

"Yes," The blonde affirms, eyes widening, mocking, "someone dangerous."

And Jimin can't help but smile then, and his teeth are smothered as well, ugly and red, and
yet his eyes are white like the heaven's, as if some form of deity. "Mm, you have such an
affinity for danger."
&&&

Sneering mouths and yellowing teeth, wrenched open, with tongues that wail and spit into the
blood-curdling ring; dun lighting only enhances the thrill of the roaring crowd, that have oil
spooling from their eyes and grime spilling from their hearts. Oh, such grubby, greedy hands,
that clutch at anything they can — wanting so desperately to grab ahold of anything green.

"Ya got this, champ." Dirty palms massage at a man's shoulders, remaining calloused against
tensed muscles. "Everyone knows ya gonna win... but we got us a lot ridin' on ya givin' a
little show until the fifth round, 'kay?" The words are but condemning screeches upon the
boxer's ears, the dialect reflecting a lack of education, and the speech displaying a mannerism
of greed, "kid?"

The kid in question stands tall, convolutions of midnight ink wrapping around blanch skin;
coal black curls twist into his eyes, which are a much darker variant of midnight, sparkling in
the wayward iridescence. He points them toward his manager, Lee Doh, a gluttonous,
avaricious little man, with a cigarette cemented between those begrimed lips of his, and a
nefarious scheme always tucked behind it.

Jungkook's facial expression conveys nothing but aggravation and a vague portrayal of
distaste, as he responds, "we?"

"'Course, kiddo, it's you and me for the long run." Doh assures, a cheery smile slipping across
fleshy cheeks, as the portly man scratches at his hastily-thinning hair — a lifetime of money-
pinching taking it's toll on his physical appearance.

Jeon Jungkook himself was nothing but a caricature; at the ripe old age of twenty two, his
scowl was like something of intense antipathy, permanently pasted to his lips, his eyes dark
and swirling, like gaping, black holes of narcissism, with great muscles, pumped up with
obscene amounts of emptiness. His disposition wasn't quite real, it was as if his entire entity
was doused with falsity — a facade for the eyes, which was barely skin deep.

Perhaps what was most recognisable a trait in Jeon Jungkook was his complete lack of
empathy. Some would call it sociopathic, the way he trampled on anyone who even remotely
bothered him, but he merely thought of it as a means of survival in this dog-eat-dog world.

"Mm, you know, I've been thinking," Jungkook turns fully toward the older male, sleaze
practically dripping from the man's every orifice; pretty, pretty sleaze. The boy's expression
turns sour, mocking, as he unleashes his spiel, "what we have, it's pretty good, isn't it?"

Doh, with constantly jittering hands, nods, his body seemingly always on edge, constantly
nervous and awaiting some form of attack (consistently scamming people and getting caught
for it will do that to you). He'd always been extremely good at weaselling his way out of
things though, Jungkook would credit him for that. "Yeah, 'course, we're our own men, ya
know? A crooked duo."

The ravenette smiles, but there's not an ounce of joy in his stance, he just seems arrogant and
a tad too self-assured. "Yes, yes, but isn't the saying 'all good things must come to an end'?"
He sing-songs, looking down at the man, with such a devilish flash in his eye.

"Sure, kid, 'till death do us part and all that, but I really think ya should be more focused."

Jungkook chuckles, "no, no," he allows the profanities of the larrikins on the other side of the
door to wash over him, as he rolls his neck, and plainly says, "I think we should go our
separate ways."

"You—" Doh pauses for a moment, allowing the bask of confusion and despair to embrace
him, until he finally garners some sense of knowledge again, a million meddling thoughts
running through his head, and he breaks into the most curious of expressions: a smile. "Oh,
ya precious putz! You can't fire me." He patronisingly pets the younger man's cheek, which is
reddening with irritation, "I'm the boss 'round here, without me, how'd ya ever expect to get
booked for a fight?"
"My reputation is big enough now—"

"Ya know, I reckon that ridiculous ego of yours will be your downfall — your hubris."
Adjusting his burgundy tie in a slovenly manner, Doh tilts his head toward the door, gesturing
for the underground boxer to get out there. "You need me, you're not firing me."

Jungkook snarls, but can't say anything else, he knows it's true after-all, he did need the man,
well for now at least. Still, if there was one thing the boxer despised more than anything, it
was being proven wrong, thus why he slams the door in his manager's face as he exits,
allowing the enlivened roars of the crowd to fuel his own vexation.

He's bouncing on the balls of his feet, eardrums pounding with bloodlust as the bell sounds,
and the onlookers applaud vigorously. The competitor is large, but a little pudgy, definitely a
weight-class above Jeon Jungkook.

Not that it matters, three minutes after the bell sounds, Jungkook knocks him out. He wins in
the first 'round and doesn't care about the disappointed betters who'd been hoping for a fight,
no, he's just exhilarated by the irritation on his manager's face, because, god, had he lost a lot
of money.

&&&

The door slams and he shakes off the cold, a little uselessly, ears barely encompassing the
silence, as it's such a stark difference to the roaring crowds at the ring. It makes it all the more
painful when he hears a shriek, a gasp, and scuttling footsteps. A door opens, the bedroom
door. Eyes fall over him, solemn.
"Jesus Christ, Jungkook, you scared the shit out of me." She speaks in whispers, dark hisses
of irritation and a mild sense of relief — glad that it was just Jungkook.

Jeon Ara was never one to be mild-mannered, quite incongruous to how women were often
expected to behave; she was tall, almost as tall as her brother, and her body was slender, all
raw-boned and hollow cheeks, and she was ever so looming in her spindly countenance.
Jungkook looks over her: a drop-waist, blue skirt barely clings to her body, clearly slipped
into with haste, and she's in nothing but an undone shirt from her waist up. Short, black hairs
are unkempt and uncurling, with lipstick smeared across her chin, and thick red gashes
clawing up her thin neck.

He stares at her and she stares at him.

All is silent again for a moment, and a mutual understanding falls between them as they stand
there, both bruised and beaten down, in their shitty apartment, the nightlife of the city still
very much roaring outside, mocking them. Jungkook drops his head and he dares to ask, in a
voice that's a little soft, but mainly gruff, "are they still here?"

He uses they because he doesn't know for sure who the person she had been prostituting
herself to was. He hates that term though, prostitute, as it feels so dirty, even in the confines
of his head, yet it's the only thing to describe what his sister does: she sells herself for money.
Although he hates the idea of it, hates the fact it's what she does, he knows there's no other
option, knows they need the money, knows neither have any dignity.

"Yeah, well," Ara pauses, peers at her brother, attempts to straighten her shirt out somewhat,
in an attempt to hide her bra and the bones that slip through the middle of her breasts, jagged
and hungered. "He's asleep."

"And where the fuck is Hanai?" He snaps, and he doesn't mean to be so malicious with his
sister, but he knows she's not fragile, knows she doesn't care, and he's always had a problem
with his anger — especially when it came to the protection of his sisters, especially the
younger one.

"Relax," She hisses out, voice unkind, imitating his, clearly offended by the insinuation that
she would elicit the ravaging of her body while their seven year old sister was in the
apartment. "She's next-door."
Jungkook nods sharply, relieved, and he slips his hands into his tweed trouser pockets,
pulling out wayward threads, as his sister watches him, bug-eyed, observing as he attempts to
calm the brewing storm of anger, barely visible behind his eyes, thinking it to be
simultaneously cruel and hilarious.

"Okay," he says after a minute, shaking his hand back out his pocket, in favour of waving it
around tyrannically. "I'm going to get her, you get that fucker out of here, okay?"

"Jungkook—"

"Okay?"

And Ara has no choice but to obey, as Jungkook is spinning in place, making his leave — if
there's one thing she knew about her brother, it was that he couldn't be persuaded when his
mind was set; he was so immensely stubborn, arrogantly so, in a way he couldn't afford to be.
She fingers her neck, feels the bruises and the imprints of scraping nails, and she shudders at
the prospect of shooing the stranger out.

Jungkook slams the door on his way back out, and he puffs on his cigarette vehemently,
trudging up the stairs, feet heavy, and he thinks he sounds like his father; he recalls how
much he'd feared hearing his dad's footsteps clanging against the steps, like chains rattling, a
ghost pressing through the windows between this world and the underworld.

His inhale is conceded, as he knocks on the door of his neighbour, tired, ready to go to bed
and escape into a dream wherein his life wasn't quite so barren.

Kim Pulip is an elderly woman of rotund physicality, with straggly grey hair, and bleary eyes,
stamped with dark patches, marks of her past and all the sufferings she'd undergone; she's
small and looks as if she was perhaps once quite pretty, but age has stripped her of such a
condition. She smiles at Jeongguk and it's a little dazed, and she's dotty, with her polka dot
dress and her personality, risible like a fruitcake.
"Hello, Jungkook," She half extends her hand, as if she wanted to shake his, but seems to
decide against it, opting to just grin instead, "I imagine you're here for the little'n?"

The man nods, keeping his lips together, knowing he should perhaps be more polite, but
finding himself not in the mood to be so.

Pulip nods to herself, holds up a wrinkly finger, the blotchy skin sagging from her brittle
bone, wearing away, like how time melts from a day. She doesn't have a chance to move,
before said 'little'n' is bounding towards them, seemingly having sensed her presence being
needed.

"Kookie!" She cries, slipping toward him, wrapping herself around his legs, smiling up at
him, all the clouds of heaven parting, as the bright light of her grin beams down onto the
earth. Her hair is pulled back into a plait, something he imagines Pulip did, as none of the
Jeon's were capable of such a thing, and her face is red with joy, eyes wide, yet undoubtedly
tired.

"Hey," He greets her back, trying as best he can to be soft for her, despite the salvo of tired
irritants clinging to his patience, making the desire to crawl into bed ever more prominent,
"you ready to come home, little miss?"

Hanai shakes her head, but doesn't put up a fight as Jungkook leans down and pulls the girl
into his arms, her own dainty arms slipping around his neck, and she starts rambling, as she
usually does, "we listened to the phonograph, Jungkook, they had music on there — do you
think we could get one?"

The man shrugs his shoulders, knowing they couldn't afford one. "We'll see," he says, gently
adjusting her in his arms.

"You can borrow it sometime." Pulip offers, her dreary tone of voice trickling into joy so
serenely. "If you let me borrow that instant camera of your's sometime." She chuckles,
meaning no harm. "I'd love to take some photographs sometime."
His mouth parts, moving to speak, but eventually he forgets it, just nods. In truth, they don't
have an instant camera, in fact, they couldn't even dream of owning one. He's not sure why
Pulip believes they have one, but he's too exhausted to question it, so he just turns toward the
elderly woman, who's smiling so softly at them, as if they weren't grubby and broken, and he
tells her, "thank you, Ms Kim."

"Thank you, Ms Kim." Hanai parrots.

The woman smiles even wider, and Jungkook knows seeing Hanai is probably the highlight
of her day; at least, that's what he likes to think, uses it as justification for sending her there
so often.

He gives her a final, approving nod, and turns, makes his way back down the stairs, with
Hanai babbling into his ear, reliving all her day's adventures through her words, clutching at
the tales formed within her mind and professing them to her brother.

But he fails to listen, too intently focused on the long, black figure at the bottom of the
staircase.

The figure, as if sensing his gaze, shuffles itself and seems to take the shape of a man. Yes, a
man stands, lingering by the door of their apartment, an expensive looking suit adhered to his
slender body. He's dark and looming, with streamlined silk lining his movements, and
glamour powdering his cheeks, a coy smile adhered to his face, only half shadowed, and
there's extortionate gleams in his eyes. Yet, there's something so cheap about his hair, as if
thin, barren fingers had tussled it, torn his riches away, put everything out of place.

Belatedly, Jungkook realises, it's the man Ara had just kicked out.

It's a little disconcerting, the way he stands, like a fish out of water, so beautiful and
unsullied, stood beneath the flickering lights of this dilapidated, old apartment building.
There's something almost otherworldly about him, as if he wasn't just out of place in the
edifice, but on the very ground his feet were flummoxed to.
"Hello, Mr Jeon." He says as Jungkook reaches the bottom step, they stand right beside each
other, and Jungkook is relieved by the fact he's taller than the other, even if just a little bit.

"Who the fuck are you?" He barks out, momentarily forgetting about his sister's presence,
despite the fact she's clinging to him like a lizard, clearly, and somewhat disproportionately,
startled by the stranger.

The man smiles, and it's reptilian in nature, with some of Ara's lipstick evident in the colour
of his lips, eyes a little clouded, teeth a little jagged, like a crocodile, or an even worse beast,
lurking just beneath the surface of calm, elegant waters. "Jung Hoseok." He tells him, in a
manner which suggests that should mean something to Jungkook.

"Okay," He raises an eyebrow, glaring at the other man, his mind throbbing, continuously
reminding him of the fact he was desperate to just sleep, "you gonna just stand there?"

"Hm?" Jung Hoseok cocks his head, eyes a little suggestive, "you want me in another
position?"

Jungkook's face scrunches involuntarily, not keen on the implication he finds embedded in
the man's tone, "look, Mr Jung, I'm just trying to get into my apartment."

Hoseok seems to ponder over this, his gaze falling over Hanai, who stares back at him,
curious and scared, frightened into stillness by his very presence. Jungkook pulls his sister
closer to himself, glaring at the stranger. The man is still looking at Hanai, smiling, and he
looks somewhat like an animal she had dreamed of seeing at the zoo, exotic and ferocious,
ready to pounce.

Jungkook, aggravated by the man's staring, along with his quiet self-assurance, attempts to
push past him, but Hoseok is quick, and stronger than he looks. His grip is iron, as it clings to
Jungkook's wrist and the latter almost thinks his hand is going to snap off.

Anger floods his system.

"Get your hands off—"

"You fight." Hoseok says, interrupts, and his tone is a little like listening to a dream,
something distant and yet comforting; he doesn't say it as a question either, and it somewhat
vexes the other man, just how much this stranger seems to know, "at Blood?"

Now that's a question, and Jungkook finds himself unsure of what to say, because, yes, that
certainly was the place he frequented most — and it was most definitely an illegal fighting
ring, and this man was most definitely not just a fan, or someone looking to make a bet.
Jungkook's pulse quickens, he thinks the other can feel it in his wrist, and he desires to get his
sister inside at least, doesn't want her to witness whatever was to happen.

"Under Lee Doh." Hoseok continues, upon realising Jungkook wasn't going to confirm or
deny, not that he needed to, Hoseok knew everything after all.

Jungkook snatches his wrist free and clings to his little sister, who's so abnormally quiet in
his arms. Not knowing what to do, or what to say, he settles for the comfort he finds in
confrontation, "what's it to you?"

Jung Hoseok smiles wider, and it's almost inhuman, the way his mouth is able to stretch so
wide, his eyes so lacking in life and, yet, simultaneously, so slight with emotion; beneath the
dull, flickering light, he looks so uncanny, like someone trying to imitate a human.

Jungkook doesn't get scared often, but he finds himself unable to feel anything else right now.

Then, Hoseok is extending his hand towards him, a piece of card wedged between two of his
slender fingers, with his long, claw-like nails. His voice is a bed of silken rose petals, and his
words fall to Jungkook's ears, like blood dripping from a dagger. "It seems like you're in
some trouble."

The boxer glances down at the outstretched hand, nostrils flared, and he's rough in his
snatching of the paper, hasty in his reading the words upon it: the sugar lounge, 00:00.
"Go there, tomorrow," Hoseok instructs, as if there were any other way to interpret the words,
"it'll help you out of your trouble."

One of his eyelids closes in a wink, but his expression remains solidified on a smile and it's
destructively unnerving; he walks away, his footsteps barely audible, despite the expensive
leather shoes, and he doesn't spare them another look as he departs.

Jungkook stands, unsure of what to do, unsure of what to make of the note, of the man.

He can't help but smile as Hanai whispers, "he was weird."

 Chapter 2
Chapter Notes

ahhh ok so, forewarning: there’s gore and mentions of torture in this chapter. not too
bad, but just wanted to give a warning! also jimin and jungkook meeting & jimin and
taehyung having a rather unhealthy relationship...

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Thick gargles of iron speed from split skin of a body seemingly seldom of all viability. Decay
blunders it's edges, as blood-curdled slithers crisper against moribund and boreal whimpers
of skin, ripped apart by creatures that hunger for the taste of the insensate. There's blood
across every crevice of their anatomy — lingering within curves, tangled amongst hair, dried
up against taste buds, which adore rosé wine and absinthe dwams.

Jimin watches in thick spasms of distaste; he observes, morbidly, how the desensitised
muscles have gone slack, ribbons of blueberry skin stretched and lacerated. It's peeling, Jimin
descries, the layers of muscle becoming visible as it decorticates, the thrashing of nauseating
pinks and reds turning out to be a rather repulsive contrast to the blue of the corium.

A mouth opens, and Jimin almost expects insects to crawl out, thinks perhaps a rat or a spider
will disperse from the hole. Alas, all he gets it's a rotting stench, thick and repugnant,
wrapped around an utterance of sounds. The person is trying to speak, their lips white,
grating, almost melded into the rest of their skin, as their cheeks hollow out, life draining
from them, and, yet, they still try to speak.

"Surprised he's lasted this long," The stench of earth and smoke wafts into Jimin's nasal
passage then, and he's suddenly immensely aware of the presence of Kim Namjoon, who's
vehemently puffing at his cigar, almost like a petulant child. "Got one of his eyes on the floor,
fucking splattered everywhere." He seems to almost shudder, as he rambles on, "fuck, I hate
those long bits at the back, you know? Makes me wanna be sick, but, well, you love all your
damn symbols, huh? An eye for an eye." He winks then, practically spitting the smoke at
Jimin, scoffing, "as if you've ever thought anything of religion, you're the goddamn antipode
of it — Beelzebub, didn't someone call you? Pretty darn accurate, if you don't mind my
saying, I mean, I'm sure you relish in it, huh? Sadist, that's what you are."
He stops talking as soon as Jimin properly looks at him, his optics set and glowing
vermillion, and Namjoon's tan face becomes a little sheepish, his own eyes reflecting some
form of regret, although he still looks faintly amused in all his bashfulness.

Kim Namjoon had been Jimin's advisor since the dawn of time, or so it felt to the younger
man, who still found himself fatigued by the other very often (what with his penchant for
talking). The man was unavoidable in this sense, loud and coherent, wise and tall; he seems
to loom over entire rooms, all broad bones and long limbs, capturing everyone's attention.
His hair falls about his face, silver and somewhat incandescent, but not in a manner that
suggested age, but more so in a way that conveyed the benison of beauty.

His eyes are warm, yet dark nonetheless — great whirlpools contrived by a profound, brown
mass, like glimmering, gaping cesspools of knowledge. His full, red lips open slightly and
Jimin is watching his white teeth, thinking that they're so sharp, they almost tear apart the
cigar in his mouth. After a moment, the pink-haired man sighs, "you know, I've been
thinking."

Namjoon cocks an eyebrow, though his expression is slightly hidden with the dingy light of
the room. It's a basement of sorts, large and yet compact, as if being within it's very vicinity
would compress you down flat.

"An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind."

Now, the silver-haired man practically gapes at Jimin, and his facial features contort
themselves into something of incredulity, his dull, sparkling eyes quivering in confusion.
"The fuck are you saying?" His cigar is burning hot, and Namjoon smells so deeply of cedar
wood. "You want me to screw the eye back in?"

Jimin cackles at this, high-pitched and somewhat maniacal. He shakes his head at the man's
stupefaction, looking momentarily back towards the half-dead man, strapped to the chair,
groaning, eyes flickering with an attempt towards life.

"What, you going soft after all these years?" Namjoon continues on, in his usual, babbling
fashion, "may I remind you, we've been looking for this rat for nearly two months, since the
bitch decided he'd misplace the biggest liquor shipment in almost a year." His voice is calm,
yet his words are accusatory, as his mind spirals out of comprehension, and the man in
question whimpers again. "We got into this business for money, and you must punish those
who deprive you of such, that's your motto. That's how you survive, you adapt to your
surroundings, always have." He looks toward Jimin then, surveying him, seemingly coming
to another deduction, "or, could it be, you don't want in on this type of business anymore?"

"Oh, you really do have such a way of taking things too far." The pink-haired man laughs,
despite the mild sense of annoyance scraping at his patience; Jimin always prided himself on
his ability to smile, "it was just a meaningless statement, that was all."

Namjoon ponders this, brows furrowing, cigar dwindling down, and he falls into a sedated
state once more, as if pacified, "since when have you ever said something meaningless?"

"Oh, well, I'm honoured you believe me to be so wise."

"Wise? No, you just choose your words carefully."

And Jimin once again smiles, and it's so beauteous an expression, in the most gruelling,
hideous of ways. His facial structure is perhaps a little too perfect, every detail of his face
hammered in so expertly, to the extent he didn't appear human in the slightest. His ringed
fingers reach toward his white face, and his sharp nails scratch pretty scars into the skin there,
only for them to disappear as soon as an imprint is left.

Namjoon observes as those tapered, narrow eyes cloud over with something grey and
swarming, like a buzzing typhoon. Jimin's long tongue slips across his bright red lips, and his
skin appears even more sallow now; he's positively anaemic, with cold muscles and strident
bones. "Alright, enough of the chat, I've got a meeting at midnight."

"Aren't you going to..." He trails off, his hand moving aimlessly around in the gracious
grumble of the still air.

"No," Jimin smiles and his long fingernails come to scratch at his own neck. "I think you
deserve this one. Besides, I have my own... sources."
Namjoon nods, curious, and his feet are rooted in place, watchful gaze transfixed upon the
younger, waiting for him to move. He doesn't, and, instead, he turns his head to fully look
back at Namjoon, his neck twisting, slow and languid, and his eyes are almost black, almost
bursting from his skull.

"Oh." Realisation hits and he looks back toward the man in the chair, the half-dead rat, that's
writhing and groaning, and that's the last thing the elder says before Jimin leaves the room,
leaving Namjoon and the human alone.

&&&

He can't take his eyes away from the sign and it makes his heart physically lurch. Jungkook
had been wondering aimlessly, at 23:49, haphazard in his footsteps, and yet, here he is, in
front of the very place causing him such turmoil.

THE SUGAR LOUNGE.

His mind was entirely preoccupied, in a way that it had never been before, all his thoughts
meandering towards the inevitability of what could happen should he follow through with
what that creepy man had said. He can't help but worry. He was in an illegal business, of
course he'd been threatened before, but this particular threat was everlasting, burning against
his ears, like a thirst that could only be quenched if he actually turned up tonight.
He had continued down the street, wondering aimlessly, unsure what to do, compelling his
mind into a susurration of indifference; the cruor of the world beginning to settle as normality
within his own, abused skin. Numbly, he had entered party city and suddenly felt himself
under the stimulation of coherence and soothing sanctity. He had basked in the neon glow of
artificial starlight, which came in the form of sleazy holograms and electrified nuances. These
streets are within the heart of the city, bursting through the city's atriums, tearing straight
through the middle, and leaving patches of the organs walls as electric signs and bars.

This sign was black and white, so different to the blaring technicolour of the rest of the
world; a grand juxtaposition that makes him want to enter. He figures he hasn't got much
choice. It's like the universe physically dragged him here. He looks up at it, it's dingy from
the outside, looks dilapidated, hidden away, and he thinks he might be at the wrong place. Yet
he's attracted to it somewhat, and it feels distinctly right. With a groan, he pushes the door
open.

Sickness swirls around his bloodstream; it's orange and green, a clash of colour that burns
against his throat, bile threatening to spool out of his mouth, and it's like string, tickling
against his muscle. The building reeks of sweat, and salt, and blood, and sex. It's everything
Jungkook despises, and he can feel his own blood boiling, as the overwhelming desire to
throw up increases. He wants to leave as soon as he's entered, but he knows he won't be able
to — he finds he's almost in a clearer state of mind now, his anger being the most abundant
emotion.

There's six girls on stage — at least, that's what it looks like, but they're all melded together,
colourful silk and entangled limbs, and it's disgusting. The boxer feels queasy just looking at
it. So, he doesn't, he, instead, opts to look for whatever he was called here for, searching for
that sketchy Jung Hoseok, or anyone really, anyone to inform him of what exactly this place
was.

A few people look at him as he walks around, and he's not really surprised, he was new, and
this place seemed the type to have regulars. There's something so disconcerting about some
gazes though, as certain mouths lilt with hunger, throats drying up as he walks by — it's not
sexual though, not really, it appears more like acts of malnutrition than anything else.

"Oh, Mr Jeon, you're early." The sketch himself says, as Jungkook manages to reach the bar,
amidst all the hollering eyes and gaping tongues. The ravenette is unsurprised by the fact the
place was selling alcohol despite the prohibition, it seemed as if rules were nonexistent here.
Jungkook regards the brown-haired man solemnly, and he somewhat thinks that he looks a lot
less obscure in this setting, he almost appears a little more human. He hates the tone he takes
though, because, as far as he could tell, he had been forced here against his will, by some
bizarre force that shifted streets, and though it startled him greatly, he couldn't help the fact
his fear surmounts to anger, it's how he always processes emotion. "Why the fuck am I here?"

Hoseok smiles, and, by some flicker of the lights, his canines appear elongated, sharp, but as
Jungkook blinks, they become more normal, straight and white. "You want a drink?"

"I don't drink." He snaps back, hoping he's at least a little intimidating, but, the man wasn't
like any he'd met before.

"That's a shame." The stranger sips his own drink daintily, and it's a rather marvellous glass,
Jungkook can appreciate that, if nothing else, "well," he glances toward his watch, expensive
silver, and bites the inside of his cheek, his pretty, eerie features twisted in contemplation, "I
suppose you could see the big man now."

"Big man?" Jungkook attempts to come off undeterred, but he's unsure if he's successful, as
the other smirks vehemently.

Jung Hoseok looks around him, looks up at the stage, and the dancers are rampant now, their
performance less seductive, and more of a manic swing, redolent to the mania in the fiend's
eyes. "The booth at the back, he's waiting for you." He tells Jungkook, but his attentions are
on the stage, his foot swaying to the beat. It's revolting.

Jungkook scoffs at him and, deciding he has no other option, he marches toward said booth;
it's sheltered in the darkness of the back, and it's positioned in such a way that no one else
should be able to see those within it. So, the man has no choice but to walk right up to it
directly to see this supposed 'big man'. He wouldn't exactly describe himself as scared, he
was confident enough in his fighting abilities if it came to that. But he'd attest to being a little
worried, because he truly hadn't a clue what it would be concerning other than his illegal
activities.

There's a snake on the table.

That's the first thing he notes, and it looks venomous, with it's stripes, red and black, colours
that scream hazardous; it's lying still and it looks dead at first, but then it hisses, and it
slithers, and it's slinking around the glasses left upon the table beside it.

"Ah, you startled her." A voice declares, and Jungkook suddenly notices the man sat at the
booth, his pale face manifesting in the shadows, smoke billowing around the darkness, with
his burning eyes and bright pink hair, and his sharp, wretched smile.

The man is settled back, resting in a position of dominance, with his legs crossed over one
another, a sharp, black suit compressed against his body. His hair is the same colour as the
roots of his being (sombrely pink, which melts into streams of sunset, creating a scintilla of
smitten warmth and lethargic destiny). It somewhat seems like he has diamonds embedded
within the skin of his cheeks (the stars seemingly bleeding against his skin, smashing
fragments of youth and antidotes of sovereignty against the porcelain of his countenance);
there's a look about him, which suggests he walks about this earth with the skies in his palms,
the world at his feet. Jungkook despises it.

There's a cigarette wedged between his plump lips, and the smoke bleeds out, polluting the
view of his perfect face. "You're Jeon Jungkook?"

Said man narrows his own eyes, glaring despicably at the so called big man, who actually
looks quite dainty, with his darling face and small-looking stature. Still, quite similarly to
Jung Hoseok, there's something a little preternatural about him, as if he somewhat excels the
beliefs of humanity, and it makes Jungkook wary, makes him feel a little crazy, "yeah, who're
you?"

"I'm Park Jimin," He tells him right away, quite surprising, and, by some flicker of the lights,
his eyes appear like a flash of red. They turn brown again as he smiles, and it's such a
gruesome smile, positively dripping with catastrophe and eroticism. "Please, have a seat."

Jungkook wants to refuse, but the man has a grip over his actions, seems to somehow compel
him to do as he says — it pisses Jungkook off. "Is that snake staying?" He spits out, as he
finds himself sat in the overcast booth, at the back of some creepy, sensual clubhouse, trying
to regain some sense of normalcy.
"Does it bother you?" Jimin questions, tilting his head, and it's such a sudden movement, his
whole body seems to jut awkwardly, as if he were a puppet, having suddenly been forced to
change his position.

"Not really, it's just fucking weird."

The pink-haired man shrugs, and his hand slams onto the table, again, the motion being so
sudden, as if he didn't quite have control of his limbs. To Jungkook's immense surprise, the
serpent slithers toward the arm, and Jimin doesn't flinch as it wraps itself around his blazer,
connecting itself to him. It remains there as Jimin says, "she's an Anilius, harmless."

"I don't really care." The boxer retorts, the words falling out of his mouth before he can really
think about it, and he knows he's being rude, but he really doesn't want to be here, "why am I
even here?"

"Straight to the point, I can respect that," Jimin says, smiles into the words, grins
sardonically, and he pets the snake's head like it were a dog, and Jungkook finds it creepy.
"Well, let's just cut to the chase then, you're under Lee Doh's management, right?"

Jungkook frowns, despite knowing the conversation was likely to be about his boxing, he still
somehow felt surprised by it — the entire setup was too otherworldly to be merely about
something as mundane as his hobby. But he answers truthfully, "yes."

"And you fight at Blood?"

Jungkook's annoyance increases, because he knows the man already knows this stuff, and he
hardly sees any point in wasting his time with clarity, "yeah."

Jimin nods, final, and his expression is that of amusement, as if he could see how irrationally
irritated the other was becoming, like he relished in it. "And, do you, by chance, happen to
know who owns Blood?"
"Is that what you brought me here to ask?"

"Heaven's no," the man with the snake around his arm laughs, shaking his head, "I was just
wondering if you knew it was me."

The black-haired male is only marginally surprised by this news, as, honestly, he hadn't really
given much thought into the people that owned clubs and bars — he didn't need to know.
"Am I supposed to impressed?"

Jimin is still laughing as he says, "it would be nice, but, I can see you're a hard-nut."

"I'm not a fucking nut." Jungkook snaps, and he's not sure why the comment bothers him so
much, but everything the man says seems to get under his skin.

"Okay, ever so sorry, soldier," The other man holds up his hands, mocking in his defensive
stance, but the snake slinking around his arm doesn't make him look particularly like a man
who surrenders. "My point is, I own the bar, and, well, I feel I owe a lot to you."

The younger man's face screws up, scrunches in confusion and distaste. "In what way?"

A long, pink tongue peaks through and he licks tenderly at his smooth lips, that are bursting
and ripe with the colour vermillion. "Well, since you started fighting, we've gotten so much
traction. I've seen you a few times too, you're very good."

Jeon Jungkook isn't one to say thank you, despite the fact he sort of feels like he wants to,
however, all he manages to do is spit out a, "I know."

"Ah, I do love that confidence of yours, Mr Jeon," Jimin takes a large sip of his drink, the
curious red liquid slipping into his gullet so easily, "but, unfortunately, I didn't call you here
just to awe at you," he sighs drearily, and he sort of looks like he should be on stage, in a
theatre somewhere, where he can be as melodramatic as he likes, "you see, even though we're
getting so much traction, and so many people are coming in, we're losing money, could you
imagine? Now, I'm no mathematical genius, but, to me, that doesn't quite add up, don't you
agree?"

Jungkook's eyes narrow, and he watches the man, as he smokes deftly on his cigarette and
Jungkook thinks to himself that he's everything society hates: he's drinking, he's smoking,
he's in a club, he's got a snake, he owns an illegal fucking boxing ring, and, to top it off, he's
got ridiculous pink hair. There's absolutely no way this meeting could result in the man
getting Jungkook in trouble with any authority, and it's a thought that's both comforting and
condemning. He shrugs his response, "sure."

The man nods, and his body seems looser now, as if he'd just managed to settle into his own
skin, "so, you see, I did some digging, got some people on the case to see what on earth could
be occurring that would lead to such a thing as me losing money, and, oh, what horror!" —
yes, Jungkook definitely thinks he's melodramatic — "I come to find that someone is
embezzling funds, oh, could you ever imagine it?" He clasps at his chest with one hand, while
the other, the one with the snake, twirls around, as he puffs at his cigarette, and he looks both
hilarious and intimidating, like a madman, "and, by God, does it get better, 'cause, I bet you
can't hazard a guess as to who it is who's been taking these funds — stealing my money."

Jungkook doesn't look particularly impressed by his dramatic display, but he finds he's not as
irritated by it as he usually would be, he finds it's actually a little amusing. And, of course, he
can see where this conversation is headed, so he grumbles out, "Lee Doh?" and he really
wishes he had officially cut ties with the man the other day.

"Bingo." Jimin clicks his fingers together, as he leans back again, and his tongue reappears,
gourmand and dark, as it licks across his bottom lip, "So, I'm in a bit of a dilemma, as, you
see, you're my best fighter, my cash cow — if you'll excuse the demeaning term — and, yet,
your slippery manager is my greatest challenger, seeking to bring me down, milk me dry."

The cash cow in question raises his eyebrow and he's leering across at the other man, unsure
what exactly he is meant to say, because, well, what was he to do? He didn't know anything
about business, and, truly, he couldn't just get rid of Lee Doh, even if sometimes he was more
of a hindrance than a help. "So you ask me here to help you out of your dilemma?"

The pink-haired man nods, and he sighs, quite intensely, "yeah, I thought perhaps we could
strike a deal."
"A deal?"

"Mm," Jimin smiles then, and his eyes are twinkling, the lights making them almost appear
red, and, with that serpent upon his arm, and the smoke pooling out of his mouth, Jungkook
thinks there's no better word for him than a devil. "I'll pay you to drop that creep, and, well,
I'll arrange your fights, make sure you make all the money that the tyrant is stealing from you
and more."

Perplexed, the younger man's brows knit together, a crochet of uncertainty zipping across his
face. "Surely there's not all that much in it for you? You can't be losing that much money."

"Jungkook," He's using the first name now, and he sounds more serious than he did before,
yet there's still such a teasing lilt to his voice, and he smiles so bitterly, "I'm asking you to
work for me, exclusively. As in, get rid of your old owner, have me instead." Jungkook is
about the protest over the word owner but Jimin beats him to it, "I don't mean literally let me
own you, I just want your loyalty."

"You want me to be loyal to you?" He repeats, confirming what he already knows, despite the
fact he hates wasting his time with such things. It was just hard for him to comprehend, as
he'd never been one of the lucky ones who're offered opportunities such as this. It feels
ridiculously like it's going to blow up in his face, like this truly was some sort of twisted joke.
Yet, Jimin's face settles on sincerity, and Jungkook can't help but somewhat long for this
opportunity. "So, to be clear, you're gonna set me up with fights and pay me for them, if I fire
Doh?"

"That'd be correct." Jimin affirms, his expression a little tight, but serious nonetheless.

"But, I can't just fire him."

The devil deflates, suspiring, "Oh, you people and your morals, he'll be fine."
"It's not that," Jungkook shakes his head, though he's not quite sure what group of people he's
being lumped into with that statement, "I mean, I've tried to get rid of him before, but he just
won't leave."

"Mhmm," Jimin drawls out, almost interrupting him with the haste at which he releases the
sound, and his head is nodding erratically, "well, we can have someone else do it." He
suggests, eyes imploring.

Jungkook somewhat likes this idea, as, he was, at his core, a heartless bastard, but that doesn't
mean he would be entirely happy with having to deal with the man's undoubtedly explosive
response when he informed him of the news. "So, that's it?"

The other man is wicked in his smile now, his teeth looking a little jagged, as his grin
broadens so much they peak through, "you wanna shake on it?" He holds out his empty hand,
and the snake is still resting peacefully on his other. The black-haired man looks at it
curiously for a moment, and he's unable to shake off the dark feeling of scepticism that's
combatting against his heart. He knows these types of things are too good to be true, and, yet,
he finds he so desperately wants to go through with it.

He feels as if there are eyes on him, despite the fact they're isolated from everyone else, and
there's something so disgustingly sensual in the way the other is looking at him; his gaze
entirely suggestive, and, almost evil.

It's tantalising and repulsive.

And Jungkook shakes his hand.

&&&
"Wake the fuck up." An ice cold feeling scuttles across him, seething through his bones, and
it clutches at his organs like death, interminable and brittle. Taehyung's eyes open instantly,
and he looks a little like death himself, like a ghoul just emerging from a coffin. He feels like
it.

"Fuck." He groans to himself, and he sits up properly, drowsy, glaring harshly at the man
who'd just been shaking him. "What's your problem?" His eyes are coated black, mascara
tracks and eyeliner smudges, and yet he somehow looks like a god. Blonde hair tussled, he
sets his gaze more firmly upon the man, and he's intimidating, even in his most natural,
vulnerable state.

Park Jimin looks back at him, undeterred, and his head twists awkwardly, the tips of his hair
brushing against his forehead, smoke oozing out of his mouth, as if attempting to
exsanguinate his heart. He's dipping down, his body crowded over Taehyung's, as he stands
there, in nothing but a silk robe, pink, to match his hair. He's not at all pink in expression
though, no, in fact he's positively smarting, his eyes grey and leaking with demise, telling
him, "your bartender rang on the telephone."

"Mm, you mean Yoongi?" The blonde grumbles, still in a somewhat sleep-like state. He's
lying in their bed, tired from the night before. He's in a nestle of ardour, swarmed by their
room's drapers of crimson lace and violet silk (which are suspended from every crevice of the
room; bedecked against the headboard and festooned across the ceiling, like a den of livid
nympholepsy), and dappled by the flickering modicum of candlelight, to ensure he's so
sensual, even in sleep.

Jimin just frowns, keeps his cigarette between his teeth, and they're sharp, his eyes like black
fire, pentagrams dancing in the flicker of his iris'. Taehyung watches as he rises, straightens
his back, stands tall, allows Taehyung enough space to prop himself up on his elbows. The
man's face is dark, creepy almost, and his voice is so taut as he says, "he tells me you got to
get in early, you got a new routine to work on."
Taehyung's catastrophic groan would perhaps be unattractive coming out of any other mouth,
but, as the sound leaks from the back of his throat, sweet and heady, like chocolate, Jimin
can't help but find it rather beautiful. "Shit."

The older man cocks his eyebrow, looking curiously down at the other, but his tone is bitter,
"you working on something new, sweetheart?" He stamps out his cigarette on his own arm,
and there's something so beautifully black that congregates along the slope of his features —
something that causes the festering feeling of lust to seep onto the surface of Taehyung's
mind.

"I'm always working on something new." He tells him, sighing, and he makes to move off of
the bed, but Jimin clutches at his arm, his movements so fluid and reflexive — it would
shock the blonde if he weren't used to it. He finds himself slammed back onto the bed,
startled, and he looks up at the man, dangerously close to his visage, stares directly into his
eyes, swimming within their mysterious brown, "why're you being so annoying?"

Jimin's eyes widen, and it would perhaps be a little comical, if it weren't for the tidal waves
of aggression pooling out of them. Taehyung watches the sizzling burn mark appear on his
pale arm, as Jimin keeps him pinned to the mattress. His expression is that of sardonic
eroticism, bristling with disaster, and he's heavy in his tone, emotionless, "there's a man in
our bathtub." Is all he says, and his head slips to the side, as if he has no control of the
movement of his neck, like he's struggling to keep his skull upright.

"Oh." Taehyung's mouth settles around that syllable, as realisation floods through him, and he
regards the other man more tenderly now, looks properly at the angry pull of his jaw, the
sense of upset in his eye, the slide of his tongue against his lip. The blonde can't help but
smile, always adoring tugging at the man's possessive streak, and his nervousness fizzles out
into a laugh.

The sound barely lasts a second, before Jimin pushes at him harder, pulls the younger's
wrists, keeps them in place above his head. In a swift movement, Jimin is straddling his
narrow waist, leaning down so close to him, in his face, in his aura, eyes so immense.
Lightning speed. It's a particularly ferocious action, presses their bodies together, silk on
silk.

"What's so fucking funny?"

The blonde can't help but gulp a little, and Jimin watches it in his throat. Losing a small sense
of his confidence, Taehyung doesn't think it would be in his best interest to tease the man in
this instance, so he tells him, voice light, honest, "Jimin, he's dead."

Seemingly unsurprised by the news, the man's face remains neutral, set at insouciance, and
his startling orbs seem to mutate into a spectrum of colour that Taehyung is unfamiliar with.
That colour searches his face, looks for sincerity and seems to find it, but he's still tutting,
"but why is he here?"

"Why?" The dancer echoes, unsure why he was being questioned about the things Jimin
absolutely already knew, so he allows his countenance to be that of confusion as he responds,
"I need it to survive, Jim, you know that—"

"Not here." Jimin interrupts, shakes his head, the movement like a jut, unconscious. Though
the man may come across as agreeable and relatively relaxed on first glance, he's deeply
aggressive underneath; he likes to have, likes to control, likes to be in charge. He knows why
Taehyung does what he does, why he dances as he does, why he tempts people as he does,
why he sometimes has to bring strange people home. But, he doesn't like it when he doesn't
know about it. He doesn't like finding dead bodies in his fucking bathtub. "Not without me
knowing, isn't that what you said?" The sourness is pungent, slips from his tongue like acid.

Taehyung can't help but feel a little guilty, blames it on his stupid fixation with the man
leaning over him. He can't help it when all of his fighting spirit drains from him, and he's a
puddle of goo, adhering to the man's every call, "I'm sorry— you just, you weren't here..." He
fades out, unsure of himself, ashamed beneath those startling eyes.

"I wasn't here." Jimin repeats the words, agrees with them, though bitterly, and his voice slips
out of it's venomous tirade a little, but it's still harsh, harder than he usually let himself be.
"So, what, you're bringing people back here whenever I'm gone for the night, is that it?"

"No." Taehyung's head shakes so ravenously, and he's looking up at the elder, eyes so wide
and pleading, "we didn't do anything, Jimin, I— I swear, I just... you've been gone for two
days, I couldn't— I needed something more than eyes—"
"So he did touch you?" The man interrupts, so indisputably vexed, yet he tries to keep a
stronghold on his patience — he was usually so good at that. Of course, he knows Taehyung
needs people to survive, just as Jimin did, they both need to take from others in order to fuel
their life force. In that way, they were there for each other.

"Not like that, Jimin." His voice is mellow, trembling almost, like it's taking everything in
him to be completely honest. "I just.. I missed you, and you're never here anymore— and I
know," He begins, thinking the man was probably going to interrupt with an excuse, "you've
got a lot going on recently, with.. with expanding and with the Kil's, but, I just needed
something last night." Taehyung tells him, keeps his tone as agreeable as possible, exhaling
as he sees the fire in Jimin's own eyes begin to settle. "I would never... never," He can't help
but tremble with his earnestness, "do anything else with someone like that, Jimin— I swear.. I
— not without you."

Softening his grip, along with his features, Jimin can't help but smile a little, his stationary
heart surging, wilting beneath the submission of his lover. "Shh, shh, it's okay." Taehyung's
own heart stutters, the pink-haired man feels it, and he smirks, knowing the blonde adores
being manhandled, especially by someone much smaller in stature. His neck is completely on
show, and it's what the other man focuses on, his own head dipping down. Taehyung thinks
he gets goosebumps as the man brushes his lips along his jugular, "I forgive you, baby."

Taehyung smiles back, happy with the easily solved drama, truly not in the mood to kick up a
fuss, and Jimin releases his wrists, so the blonde can thread his fingers through his hair. "It's
so early, Jimin."

"Mm, sorry," Jimin places a dainty kiss to his trachea, his sudden change in mood not all that
surprising, "Yoongi really did call though."

Nodding, the blonde lets the man kiss across the expanse of his golden neck, playing with his
hair, and he says, "you were smoking so early in the morning." And the other pauses, the
words both surprise the gangster and coil within him, like this ugly burst of intangible heat,
that bats about his core like something similar to butterflies (or maybe wasps). "You smoke
like an addict." And he's a starlight daze beneath the glower of the red, sultry silks — mouth
twisting and contorting cherry stem knots (sweet little fragments of thought), seemingly in a
forgiving mood.
Jimin's lips are still so prevalent on his neck, and they feel like blood, skim across his
epidermis like iron, and Taehyung feels like he's getting a little high on the danger of it, "who
says I'm not?"

"That's not really something to brag about."

"Why ever not?"

"You'll damage your lungs." Taehyung smirks, knowing that wasn't true for Jimin, he could
smoke as much as he wants without anything happening to him. Lucky him.

Jimin shakes his head, chuckles lightly, "be quiet."

"Don't tell me— ah!" Taehyung releases a soft gasp as the man presses a harsh bite into the
skin of his neck; he was used to the man inflicting pain upon him, but, today, it was a lot less
charismatic of an action. The blonde can't help but feel a little prideful, knowing how wound
up the man was, venting that final burst of animosity out through the bite.

Jimin is so painstakingly greedy, in the way his teeth sink into the man's flesh, possessive in
the way he drains the blood from his cheeks, devouring the parts of him no other person
would ever get to.

The blonde writhes beneath him, head against silk pillows, craning, leaning back, gifting the
man more room on his neck, to suck as he pleases.

Jimin groans, lapping up the liquids of his body, taking as much as he can before Taehyung
grows uncomfortable. He does, after a moment, and he's quick, as he slips his hand against
the man's naked chest, slipping through the opening of his robe, and he pushes him away,
harsh, as it's the only way he can. The fangs pull out of his neck so painfully, and the blonde
sighs in pleasure, "you're so greedy."
He actually pouts — a man as powerful as Jimin, a mobster, who's whole livelihood was built
upon chaos and destruction, who drank life from bodies for breakfast, actually fucking pouts,
and Taehyung laughs. Jimin sighs, and he plays with Taehyung's hair, domestic and soft, "you
just taste so fucking good."

The dancer smiles, his cheeks stretching, tan skin glowing red with the weight of blood; arms
stretching, he pulls himself out of Jimin's grip, knowing the man lets him — he could easily
keep him in place if he wanted to. Their eyes meet and Taehyung simpers, cruel and airy, and
he flicks the other man on the nose, before he can see it coming.

Taehyung can't help but giggle as the man startles, and his eyes glow a little paler, and yet
somehow more intense, as his pupils dilute, seeming to delve into an expression of delusory
heat. "Ouch." The sound rumbles from his throat, and Taehyung can feel the vibrations, as
he's still pressed into his chest.

"You're such a sap."

Jimin smiles, yet his features narrow, his mouth twitching and Taehyung can see the red fluid
drying up in the corner of his lips, his teeth sharp and a little terrifying, "only for you, my
darling." His words don't come across perhaps as soft as they were ought to — there's no
romance or roses on his tongue, no, it's just dark and a little conniving.

The blonde stills, and he almost appears a little fearful for a moment, before any hint of such
an emotion dribbles away, and his face seems to glimmer with joy; great tracks of
gratification seem to stampede across him — he's glamour and gold. A dull chuckle escapes
him, as he's pulling himself forward again, and he slides himself out of the bed. Jimin lets
him this time.

"Be there on Friday, won't you?" He says it like a question, but his tone is somewhat
seductive and indicative of finality, knowing the man wouldn't disagree.

Jimin leans back, and his gaze is scalding as it overlooks the cabaret dancer's broad shoulders
and thin waist. "Sure." He replies, smirking, his faux casualness evident, and he's rubbing his
fingers across his mouth, wiping away the remnants of blood.
Taehyung smiles to himself, peeking his eyes over his shoulder, and Jimin catches his gaze
easily, drowsily, "I think you'll like the new routine."

&&&

It's two days later when Jungkook goes to Blood again, and he's unsure what exactly to
expect. His mind feels as if it's been pried from his skull, like one of Jimin's cold hands had
plucked at it, like his oddly sharp nails had squeezed into the pulp of it and was somewhat
controlling it. It was as if the man was within his thoughts, canoodling around his lobes,
dancing in his countenance. He felt like he'd been left as a mindless lump of sludge.

It's quiet as he slips in through the back entrance, and it's not really all that abnormal, but, in
this particular instance, the silence is so condemning, and he feels like Jimin had made him
deaf too. Supposing he probably can't blame all his issues on the man he'd met once, he
ambles into the backstages, where Lee Doh would usually hype him up before a fight, only to
find no one there at all. He flickers his eyes around, a little frustrated by the silence, and yet
he can't seem to determine any semblance of human life anywhere.

Lee Doh was many things: a liar, a cheat, a crook, a dirty old man, but he was never late. Of
course Jungkook hadn't forgotten the deal he'd made with Park Jimin, yet, he didn't expect it
to have been put in place quite so quickly. In the back of his mind, he allows himself to
wonder how exactly he'd got the man to quit; Jimin seemed civil enough, but there was
evidently something so off about him, and he hopes he hadn't been too harsh with the man.

He wants to hit himself for caring about Lee Doh, even if it's only a fleeting thought.

Sharp heels clack, the sound echoes in his ears, forcing him to crane his head upwards, the
sudden clashing of noise becoming most incongruous to the silence of the room. He almost
wants to scream when the door opens and Jung Hoseok appears in all his glittering glory: his
teeth are sparkling, wide in his solemn mouth, that's grinning, despite the disconsolate
fulguration upon his tan face — Jungkook doesn't remember his skin being that golden. He's
clad in a suit that's a little purple, and Jungkook doesn't think he's ever seen a colour like it,
and it bleeds into his eyelids, drawn to it. He barely notices the wads of papers in his pale
hands.

He grins even wider, and, despite the fact it was the middle of the night, he's wearing these
round sunglasses, that the younger man hasn't seen anyone besides movie stars wear, and he
flaps his arms around. "Ah, there you are." The words drip from his mouth like water, and his
lips seem more pink than he remembers.

Jungkook cocks his brow, not quite convinced by the enthusiasm he seems to always be
bedecked in, and he forces himself to look properly at the man, unsure why he was wearing
those ridiculous glasses indoors. He grouchily responds, "here I am?"

"Ready for your fight, huh? The boss sent me to, um, run things." There's something a little
ominous in the way the words flow, and it's like they're coated in something much heavier
than they would first appear, but he's grinning kindly despite it, "so, yeah, get yourself
together, you've got a fight very shortly."

"Yeah, I fucking know." Jungkook snaps in response.

Hoseok's eyebrows raise a little, peaking above his spectacles, and something like humour
slithers across his features, and he shakes the papers in his hand, his head moving with them.
"The boss drew up a contract."

Jungkook feels his own disgust, as it clambers all across his body — he never liked binding
himself to contracts. "I'm not signing shit."

"Uh, yeah you are," The other man replies, voice clouded with a firm sort of joy, and he holds
the paper out. "You've got till the end of the week."

"And what if I don't sign them?"

Hoseok smiles formerly then, tilting his chin toward his chest, properly looking at the man
without the hindrance of his shades; it's a scrutiny that evokes the idea of incredulity, as if he
knew that Jungkook would end up signing them. The younger man grabs the papers, snatches
them, but he doesn't read over them, too intent on making himself appear more dominant.

The man in the purple suit scoffs in good humour, and he seems like he's about to turn and
leave, so the black-haired boxer instinctively reaches out, and he clutches at his arm. A
shudder bursts through him as soon as he does, because the man feels like he's made of
nothing but bone, cold like metal, even through his blazer; and Jungkook's fingers meet, even
as he's wrapped around the entirety of the man's forearm, smaller than any arm could be.

Hoseok's head snaps around, and he's curiously redolent to Jimin, in the way it appears like
he doesn't quite have control over his movements, his neck practically cracking with the
sudden motion. However, it doesn't quite seem as if he's being moved by any other entity, no
deities or monsters, no, it's more like something deep within him is peaking through his
alluring facade. It's as if the true ghoul within him is overtaking his glittering masquerade,
pulling at his every single muscle. Jungkook pulls his hand away, startled by the way
Hoseok's cheeks seem to deform, glowing white, almost being swallowed up into his bones,
and there's something a little black in the pull of his lips.

Moving himself further away from the man, Hoseok coughs, and his skin falls back to it's
rightful position, and his hand moves up to gently settle his sunglasses that mask the shade of
his eyes. "Sorry, you startled me." He says, and his tone is dry, almost mocking, as if he didn't
at all think Jungkook would believe him, but was desperate to get him to try and question it.

The boxer stands still for a moment, and deep, heavy dread seems to unfurl within his lungs,
his heart, his stomach — he's unsure which, but his whole body suddenly feels like it's
sinking into the ground. He's never really been one to believe in creatures of the night; he was
never particularly tantalised by the fantastical tales of goblins and ghosts, because that's all
they were: tales. Yet, he finds he can think of no other way to view the man other than
fantastical; he feels like he'd been beaten in the ring too hard and he was suffering some form
of delusion-creating head injury.

But, he never loses a fight.

Still, he tries to shake off the idea, trying not to already regret the one good opportunity that'd
been presented to him. "Where's Doh?" He asks the man, who's moving his arm around, as if
Jungkook's touch had somehow hurt him.

He peers at him through his glasses, and the boxer can't quite place his expression, but it's
glazed with gore, and something inherently conceited, "didn't Mr Park tell you we'd take care
of it?"

The man's heart physically leaps into his throat at the words — having seen first hand the
multiple meanings behind the words take care of. Now, he didn't particularly like Lee Doh,
the man wasn't a good person, nor was he a friend, in fact, Jungkook wanted him to be gone.
Alas, he still finds himself suffering due to the uncharacteristically tender aspects of his heart,
and he succumbs to the knowledge the man didn't deserve whatever it was they'd done to
him.

Jungkook can't quite believe his own stupidity; how had he ever thought anything else could
come from this? He feels as if perhaps he should've thought more carefully over the offer; he
should've properly weighed out the likelihood of it biting him in the ass, because, these things
always did. He wonders if he'd be able to get out of this bind now — clearly, the odd gang
weren't opposed to doing whatever they needed to get what they want. He doubts he'd be an
exception to that. He wonders what they'd do if he didn't sign the contract and went to work
somewhere else.

He can't help but feel selfishly paranoid over his own safety as he asks, "but, where is he?"
and his tone isn't as hard as he would like it to be, and it portrays every inch of his feelings,
laying himself bare before the smirking man.

Hoseok merely shrugs, "what does it matter? You've got a fight in a minute, and you don't
need him, because I've set everything up for you."

"Have you now?" His voice is hard then, and he can't help but be annoyed by how easily his
question is brushed away, because, in his heart, pulsating and pink, he couldn't fully pretend
human life meant nothing.

"Yes, and you're welcome, by the way."

"I'm not fucking thanking you." Jungkook sneers at him, and, the man may very well be a
demon, but Jungkook was Jungkook, and he doesn't shy away from anything, "if you're
taking over from Doh, then this is just your job, and I'm sure you're getting payed, why the
fuck would you need my thanks?"

Hoseok's smile is deeper, and his teeth look whiter, yet his face as a whole darkens, and his
faint dolefulness spreads across him, full force, and he's simpering as he responds, "because
it's polite?"

The younger can't help but to roll his eyes, "oh, yeah, I guess for fancy pricks like you it must
be so common to get thanked for fucking existing, huh? Well, that's all fine and dandy for
you, but, here, thanking people makes you weak, and politeness doesn't get you shit."

"Hm." Hoseok's lip curls downward, and he seems a little contemplative, but he doesn't seem
all that surprised by the outburst, merely lets it wash over him, "well, I'm awful sorry to hear
that, but, perhaps you should save your aggression for your fight that's starting in" — he
glances at his watch — "two minutes?"

"I haven't had time to warm up." Jungkook tells him, unfazed by his expensive watch and
expensive smile, and he makes a move to walk out the door, hoping to go and get changed.

The older man doesn't touch him, but his hands move, and Jungkook finds himself halting, "I
said it's in two minutes."

Jungkook's eyes widen, irritated, and he turns fully around to face the other, observing the
softness his face is growing to fit, like it's becoming a tad less nightmarish, and the younger
feels his lips twist into a snarl, "and I said I need to warm up."

Hoseok just looks at him then, and his eyes look white beneath the black tinted glasses, and
there appears to be no emotion across his face — it's not quite as expressive as blankness, it's
just empty. Lips parting, his tongue licks at his teeth, and it's weirdly animalistic in nature,
"okay," he says, even, hollow, "shit," and he laughs then, disbelieving, "you really are a hard
one."
 Jungkook smiles a shark's smile, teeth jutting, bloody gums in full view, and he towers over
the other man, and his muscles seem to bulge. He's cocky in his acceptance of his victory,
shoves the other by the shoulder as he moves past him, decidedly not scared.

The man watches him through his sunglasses.

He wins his fight as he always does, and when he comes down from the ring after the third
round, a stranger hands him a wad of cash. He can see Hoseok in the corner, collecting more
money from betters. He locks eyes with Jungkook and waves the cash at him, smirking,
winking. Jungkook thinks he can feel more eyes on him, somewhere in the crowd, so distinct,
so different from everyone else, pearly white.

Jungkook doesn't like it.

Chapter End Notes

ahhh so i hope that was enjoyable? i promise things will get started properly when all
the characters have met (the next chapter) <3
 Chapter 3
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Her hat is titled, and her eyes are dark, her smile darker, almost an echo, like it didn't quite fit
upon her face, her features framed all wrong, deepened by despondency. "Park Jimin, you
say?" Ara is not looking at her brother, her sole focus being on the sheer amount of money
spread across the kitchen table. Her abused hands slip over them, poor fingers brushing over
the glorious notes, curious by the amount of glamour that pieces of paper can hold.

Jungkook, biting down on his sandwich, with it's thick bread, rich with carbohydrates and
fats, nods toward her, trying to read her face, "you know him?"

She shakes her head instantly, but the motion is so soft, as she's so intently focused on pulling
the wads of cash through her hands.

The man narrows his eyes a moment, but focuses on eating, and it's silent for a while, as they
bathe in the knowledge they had money. Jungkook knew Lee Doh was a sleaze, and he knew
himself to not have the best education, but he didn't think his ex-manager could've taken that
much money from him without him noticing. Fury unfurls with him at the very idea, and it's
like lavender, so small and eloquent, yet it reeks, so pungent. He can't quite believe he would
have lost out on so much money, especially because he didn't doubt Lee Doh would've
ditched him years ago if he had managed to get his hands on so much — he ponders over the
idea of Hoseok and Jimin just having better management techniques.

They both jump as they hear a crash coming from one of their neighbours, and it's followed
by an entanglement of yells; tumbles and cries, a harsh depiction of an altercation which they
were smart enough to ignore.

Ara sighs, and her eyes are a little sad, as if reality had just come crashing down on her —
she couldn't bask in her fantasy of rose petal baths and glittering disco champagne, when she
was stood in this dilapidated apartment, with drunks yelling around them. Turning to properly
look at her brother, the money drops to the table and she asks, "so that Lee guy is completely
gone?"
Jungkook nods, trying to keep his facial expression as nonchalant as possible, despite the fact
he was vastly unsettled by the oversimplification of the situation. Or, then again, perhaps it
truly was that simple, perhaps they'd just paid him off — god knows the man would leave
Jungkook in a heartbeat if he got enough money.

"And you met this Park Jimin at some... bar?" Her expression is that of distaste, as if she had
any right to such an emotion.

"Yeah," Jungkook confirms, although he'd already told her all this — he thinks perhaps his
sister's tendency to run over details numerous times is what causes his irritation toward others
doing it, "well, actually, I was told to go there by that guy who was here."

"What guy?"

"Jung Hoseok." He can't hide his disdain as he rumbles out the name, and his emotion only
changes upon seeing his sister's expression — her tired eyes are wide, ghostly, and her pale
lip trembles with something akin to disquietude, "what?" He asks her, voice a little harsh.

"No, nothing." She shakes her head, and her hat becomes more tilted, feels heavier on her
head, and she tears it off; Jungkook observes the way her hair is untamed, dry curls of black
resting against her shoulders, unevenly cut, a few locks at the front just reaching her chin.
She bites her lip before she continues, "he's just.. a bit.. strange, don't you think?"

That certainly piques Jungkook's interest, because he definitely did think such a thing, and
he's somewhat comforted by the fact his sister felt the same, and he wasn't just unfairly
judgemental. He feels this uncertain craving to know more about him, about Jimin, "what
makes you say that?"

"He was just..." Her hand, the one holding her hat, waves around, as she tries to find the
words, "I know you don't like to hear about this kind of stuff, but, he had this peculiar way
with me."

She was right, the younger man certainly didn't like to discuss this sort of thing; he was
somewhat averse to any forms of sexuality, especially when it came to his sister. But,
succumbing to his curiosity, he picks more vehemently at her brain, "in what way?"

"He was just very," Her hands are wild, as they try to gesticulate just what she was trying to
get at, and she looks almost tormented, "very," she can't look at her brother, despite the fact
she was very much shameless, this particular situation made her grossly uncomfortable to
recall, "aggressive..." she settles for, before shaking her head, amending it, "sort of, but, at the
same time, he was very gentle." Jungkook scrunches his nose in disgust but the woman
continues, "he didn't seem like my usual type. I rarely come across a rich, handsome man like
that, but, I suppose he was just looking for you," she feels sick suddenly, but she swallows it,
keeping her cool, "still, I didn't know that at the time and so I just thought it was my lucky
day. But, as soon as he came in, there was evidently something off. I mean, he seemed to
have some sort of perversion with necks, and skin, or, I suppose, he liked leaving scars."

Jungkook's eyes narrow, and he recalls having glowered at all those marks upon the girl when
he'd first seen her that night. They'd cleared up so quickly.

Ara pauses and her nails scratch at the skin where those very scars had been, continuing, "it
was strange, but, I suppose everyone has a sort of fetish."

"A fetish..." He replies, barren, repeating her words, mulling over the notion in his head, and
he despises the idea of it. Though he wasn't as conservative as a lot of this contemporary
society, he didn't particularly like the idea of fetishism; he was much alike the masses when it
came to this subject, as such aberrations were abhorrent to him. He finds he's especially
disgusted when the idea of sexual vices are patently linked with his older sister.

"Mm," She hums, and she's so casual in her mention of this topic, it makes the younger a
little more vexed, but he chokes it down, watches her sip at some water, "but, this Jimin guy,
he owns the bar you fight at?"

"Yes." Jungkook nods, happy for the change in subject, even though they'd already been over
this, "but he asked me to meet him at this burlesque club."

"Burlesque?" Ara laughs sharply at the idea of her brother ever entering such a place, "you
went to a burlesque club?"
Jungkook, not appreciating her candour, takes another bite of his food and talks around it,
impolite, "it was a weird place," he informs her, trying to think of it properly, "I didn't really
pay attention, but there were a bunch of girls dancing on stage and a bunch of people
watching — that's burlesque, right?"

Ara smiles softly at the boy, finding his lack of knowledge of the subject to be strangely
adorable; she loves when he occasionally lets himself show uncertainty, lets himself ask her
things. She could never tell him that, for, as much as she loved her brother, he definitely
wasn't the type to talk about feelings, "could be." She tells him, "I'd imagine so."

He nods, and he swallows, "anyway, Park Jimin was rather strange as well, honestly. But, it
doesn't matter, I've got all this money now, and it's only been a few days. Don't you think it's
for the best?"

The woman allows herself to think it over, and she can't help the way this horrendous shadow
stretches itself across her soul, reminding her of the strangeness of Hoseok; it takes ahold of
her, drags rags of worry down her naked skin. Capturing her bottom lip between her teeth,
she doesn't say anything.

"Right?" Jungkook continues, eyebrow raised, wanting her to confirm it, wanting her to ease
some of the tension, some of his suspicions.

"Yeah," She says, but it's not at all convincing, and they both feel the shadow then, as it coats
the room in darkness, "perhaps—" she starts, stops, and she gathers all the of the man's
attention, as he stares up at her, and she asks him, straightforward, "do you really think you
should sign this contract?"

The man furrows his eyebrows unintentionally, almost forgetting about the fact this was how
the conversation had started. It was Friday, and Hoseok had said that's when he needed to
sign it by, but he was so utterly confused as to whether he actually should bind himself to
people who feel so wrong. He rarely looked toward his sister for help, as he knew he was
capable of making his own decisions, yet they'd sworn they'd always discuss big things like
this. It helped.

"You don't think I should?"

Ara's face withers with cold, like she'd been struck by a rather harsh breeze and she looks at
the cracking ceiling, looks toward Hanai's toys peppered around the flat, and she sighs,
shakes her head, leans into clarity, "don't you think they must be some sort of gangsters?"

Jungkook cocks his head, but he knows that's most definitely what they were, if nothing else;
it wasn't uncommon for such people to have a tight reign over many different aspects of the
city. He thinks Jimin had definitely sounded like a gangster when he'd implored him to take
his deal, and when he'd got Hoseok to 'take care of' Lee Doh. He shudders at the truth in it,
"would it be so bad?" he asks her, and he's genuine in his question, because, truthfully it
didn't feel all that bad.

Shock is lamenting, and it scatters across the woman's face, "yes, Jungkook, it absolutely
would."

There's something unspoken in her words, but the man understands her so clearly, and he
looks at the money, can't stand to look at her face. "We need the money."

Ara tuts, sharp, shrill, and she's not looking at him either — shes looking back at the cracks
on the ceiling, and she knows it's true. “Fuck," she hisses out, and she thinks of Hanai, thinks
of Jungkook, thinks of herself. She's got blood illuminating from her cheeks as she says, "just
find out what you're getting us all into before you do anything."

And that's exactly what Jungkook does.

&&&
It's almost midnight when he returns to The Sugar Lounge, just after putting his little sister to
bed, and adrenaline is coursing through him, he feels like he's walking into a fight. His
footsteps are so loud as he's walking down the street and today it's bustling with people,
everyone clambering around, making their way into the myriad of bars that surrounded them.

Not a single person turns down the alley that leads to his destination, he notices, and he half-
expects it to not be there when he turns the corner. Alas, he sees the sign, sticking out from
the wall, barely noticeable in the darkness. He doesn't know if he's more excited or terrified.

As he pushes through the door, he's met with the same sight as the last time he was here, just
a week ago: the entire room is brimming with sweaty persons, despite the fact Jungkook
hadn't seen anyone enter. He supposes his sister had been right about fetishes; he supposes
this place was catered towards a very particular audience, but he doesn't allow his
imagination to delve into the details of who exactly that audience was.

It's more vibrant than he remembers it being; his mind had been filled with a dark, sultry
image, yet it was outlandishly technicolour — zany and neon. Amongst it, people are
drinking, laughing, sat around tables, watching those on stage, with their vivid corsets and
dynamic limbs. Jeongguk potently ignores it all, in favour of searching for Jimin.

In truth, he wasn't even sure the man would be here, but he had no other way of contacting
him, and he assumed this would be the most logical place for him to return the signed
contract — that is, if he had signed it.

He doesn't spot Hoseok lingering anywhere, surprisingly, so he decides he should focus on

finding Jimin. Desperately scanning the room for that pallid face of his, his heart is tight,
beating slow, disappointed at the prospect of him not being here. Then he's a little
embarrassed by how much it speeds up as soon as he spots that illustrious head of bright pink
hair — standing out, even amongst the ocean of effervescence — sat at a table nearer the
stage. He wonders how he'd missed him.

He steps toward him, quick in his movements, brash, harshly noticing the other man at the
table, a frighteningly familiar man, with hair black as midnight, skin twinkling like stars; his
every essence so imbued with darkness and macabre. Yet, there's a startlingly beautiful aspect
to it, ticking away in his delicate eyes. Jungkook doesn't know how he knows him, but he's
sure he's seen him before. He's got a strange symbol beneath his lips, and they melt around a
curious pink drink, about to speak, but flailing upon Jungkook's approach.
Jimin seems to have already seen him, because he waves at him, though he's slow in the way
he decides to look toward him, and his cheeks are rosy, warmer than they had been last time.
Yet, his gaze is somewhat darker, like he was annoyed, and it's such an unsettling image
when paired with his harlequin mouth. "Hello, Mr Jeon."

"Hello." Jungkook replies, his vehemence straining, and he feels extremely unsettled as the
strange man looks in his direction. His eyes are so expressive, and yet so lacking in emotion,
like a flickering light, barely managing to keep itself bright.

"My associate was just leaving," The pink-haired man informs him, taps at his cigar, and eyes
the other — his associate — who's got this foul depiction of terror crossing his features,
"please, do have a seat."

Jungkook does, he takes the seat, and, as he does, the stranger rises, stands to his full,
looming height, his arms out wide, the fabric of his coat stretching out like wings. "Think
about my proposal." Is what he says in lieu of a goodbye, and his tone is unimpressively
tender, though it slips across the table like spilt arsenic.

Jimin doesn't say anything, but his eyes narrow a little, watching his retreating figure. He is
smoking a cigar, and it's definitely expensive, a brand the younger man doesn't recognise;
he's bedecked in another black suit, but this time his shirt is red — burgundy, browning, like
fabric that's been soaked in blood, sepia. Jungkook can smell him and it's distinctly musky,
chilli and chai, hot.

"Are you here to enjoy the show?" Jimin asks him then, casual and effortless, and he appears
a tad less intimidating when his eyes are wide with curiosity, and his skin is less pallid in
complexion, "or for business?"

"Business." Jungkook tells him, and he's not really irritated by the question, but he finds it to
be a little fruitless, because, he doesn't doubt the other can tell how uncomfortable he is in
such a setting, and it's clear he would never choose to come here.

Jimin looks him up and down, takes a large drag of his cigar, and Jungkook doesn't recall his
eyes being so clear; they're caramel brown, and surprisingly tepid, almost sorrel. His smile
becomes a tad more convincing, as he cocks a brow, "and yet you have no papers with you."

The black-haired man nods, agreeing that he was certainly empty handed, "I don't want to
sign something that I'm not sure about."

"Is that right?" The older chuckles, almost tuts, but he didn't look all that staggered by the
fact the other had chosen not to just blindly agree to his terms, "so," his voice is deep, dark,
rich, and he drags out the syllable, and it pools out of his mouth like the smoke of his cigar,
"you came here to negotiate?"

"Not exactly." The boxer tells him, and he actively thinks through the next words he spews,
and he spits them out with keenly constructed nonchalance, "it's not the contract I'm not sure
about," Jimin's eyebrow rises, interested, but his eyes are on the stage, "it's you."

And he laughs, so melodic and cruel, as if imbued with secrets, like he knew everything; he
laughs like all the knowledge of the world is in his hands, like his fingertips dip into
omniscience. His lips are red from all the erudition he'd drunk from wayward souls, and he
looks fully at the other, lighthearted, almost a little overjoyed, "and what reason do you have
to question me?"

Unimpressed, Jungkook screws up his features, which, annoyingly, seems to make Jimin
more gleeful. He doesn't like being laughed at, and he can feel himself become a little more
enraged, tone sharp as he retorts, "It's more that I have no reason not to question you."

"Ah, and here I was, thinking you'd be here to thank me." He tells him, and his words
collapse from his mouth like they're intended to infuriate; so doused in mocking and
assurance, it makes Jungkook want to punch that very arrogance out of him.

"Why would I do that?"

Jimin's expression remains the same, but another laugh slips out and he shakes his head, "my,
you really are something." He's grinning, cheeks stretched, skin almost red. There's a pause,
and he's waving the cigar around, expression becoming a little clouded by the fog of lustful
smoke. When he fully turns to Jungkook, he almost sounds genuine in his inquisition, "didn't
you get all that money?"

"Yes." The man is so hostile in his answers, and he dislikes how unaffected the other is by his
aggression, as it serves to piss him off more. The lights are flickering, and the candle on the
table is dancing in time with the music, "but I'm not exactly sure how my pay increased by
that much in a week."

Diabolical, delicate mirth is what his face takes the form of then, as his voice is light, like air,
"why, hard work, of course." And he's definitely mocking now, as he simpers, eyebrows
raised, ridicule slathered all over his bright face, his body falling forward in hilarity.
Jungkook doesn't much appreciate the joke, especially because he feels left out of it, and he
finds it borderline insane to laugh along to your own in-joke, just as the man before him is
doing. The man may be all forms of intimidating and arrogant, but he was so unlike any
gangster Jungkook had ever met. It seemed like the entire world was a joke to him.

He grunts, tugs his bottom lip into his mouth with his top lip and his jaw is clenched, as he
watches the man settle himself back into a less delirious state, watches him puff at his cigar.
"So, I'm guessing you guys are some sort of a gang then?"

"Oh," Jimin stops laughing all together, but his face is still indisputably joyful, "what'd give
you that idea?" He's a little taunting, Jungkook thinks, and he doesn't doubt the man is
borderline sadistic, like he got off on irritating or distressing people.

The ravenette scowls, but he doesn't allow himself to appear to affected, his voice level as he
replies, "come on, I know a lot of gangs get extra money from having a fighter that represents
them — I've fought a lot of them myself." Jimin looks at him and the man decides he's quite
proud of himself for not having punched that stupid grin off his face, "also, you own Blood,
and I doubt any upstanding gentleman would own such a place. Not to mention, this place,
and the man who was just here... and Hoseok, for that matter."

Jimin releases a sharp laugh, as he replies, "So." Something like hellfire is spindling all over
the pink-haired man's features, and he's graceful in his sobriety; he's pink and docile, with
great streams of hedonistic superiority in his gene pool; he's glaring sweet symphonies at
Jungkook's deduction, "you don't wish to work with gangsters?" Jungkook doesn't get a
chance to reply before the man continues, "or, you don't want to affiliate yourself with a
specific gang?"
The boxer looks at him, and he himself must appear so blank, because Jimin is definitely
trying to search his features. Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek, expression
transmogrifying into something a little vain, "so, you are in a gang."

Jimin, not quite smiling anymore, is about to respond, when the whole ambience in the room
suddenly shifts. Jungkook notices the lights first, as everything seems to glow a little more
orange, more dim and abundantly sensual — the flames in the candles themselves almost
appear to become a tad less belligerent. It takes a moment for the newcomer to fully hear the
music, and when he does, he can't help but succumb to the exhilarated thrum that settles
across the room.

Everyone's hushed, and Jungkook follows Jimin's eyes to the stage, his heart nearly falling
out of his mouth as soon as he does. There's a tall figure upon it, ever so much more looming
than the girls had been; and their skin is like prosperity, drenched with golden glitter, that
drips down their legs, like raging wax, so profound in it's induction of pain, and yet, so
marvellous to behold. They're quite literally scintillating. Dipped in honey, with sugarplum
eyes, and gossamer fingers, the person, the lone silhouette, is painted with eyes. Everyone is
watching them.

Jungkook can't take his own eyes away.

They're singing, with deep, rich vocals oozing out across the room like caramel; so thick and
resplendent, sickly in your throat. Accoutred in an aureate bra, despite their lack of breasts,
tassels shake as they move, and their waist is so thin, toned, tan. Jungkook trails his eyes
across the stomach and down to their legs, and they're so long; they're visible through a
curtain of pearls, that hang from a golden garment around their sculptured hips, like they're
using a halo for a hula-hoop.

It takes a moment for him to even notice the creature wrapped around their body — but,
when he does, it makes him shudder, and he's unsure if it's desire or disgust. A snake, with it's
yellow scales and thick body, is draped across the person's shoulder, with it's hissing, red
eyes, and deadly, pink tongue. It's dipping down around their stomach, and it's head moves
between their legs. Jungkook watches, awestruck, as the serpent appears to contort itself
around the person's honeydew thighs, like a provocative, breathing garter.
Their movements are so carnal, and their mouth is so red, vibrantly so, almost juxtaposing
against the otherworldly gold of their skin. They're moving as one with the snake.

"Careful, I think you may be drooling there, my friend." Jimin tells him, voice hushed and a
little husky, directly into his ear.

Jungkook immediately closes his mouth, and he hadn't even realised it'd been open, but he
can't quite manage to tear his eyes away from the stage. He can feel Jimin looking at him, and
he feels the need to say something, "that's a man." He sputters out, stupid, but also checking,
because, in truth, he was a little unsure. They're tall and broad like a man, with a deep voice,
and handsome features, chiselled, and, yet, Jungkook doesn't think it was remotely possible
for a man to stir up such an emotion as desire within him.

The other man laughs, but it's quieter than before, like he was used to the reaction, almost
proud of it. "That's a man." He confirms, and he looks at said man, and their gazes interlock,
and Taehyung smirks at him on stage, his eyes so seductive and fetching, cocky but strangely
innocent.

Jungkook almost has a heart attack when the man on stage moves his eyes around and looks
at him, and, though his mouth is still singing along to something a lot less satirical than the
usual burlesque routine, his eyes are soft. They look at him so curiously, and the boxer is
frozen in place, as he tries to keep ahold of those eyes for as long as possible — he doesn't
know why, it's like he's in a trance.

The snake hisses, and the blonde-haired man grins, so bloodthirsty and hideous, and
Jungkook has never felt so attracted to anything in his life.

When the routine ends, the lights become a bit brighter, and the conversations seem to start
up again. Jungkook had to blink himself back into reality, and it takes him a good while to get
over what he'd just seen. He tries, desperately, to feel something like repulsion, wants so
distinctly to wash away any feeling of attraction conjured up by what he just experienced —
but he can't, and he's left hollow with covet.

Jimin is smirking when he turns back to him, and he doesn't have it in him to be angry, "did
you enjoy that?" He asks him, leering, and his eyebrow raises suggestively, chuckling at the
other, so cruel, "that's my baby, Taehyung."
Jungkook snaps back into reality, marginally, upon hearing that, and he's unsure what
emotion it is that settles in his stomach then, but he forces it to be contempt, "your baby?" He
repeats.

"Mm," Jimin is still smirking, clearly not buying into the man's faux disgust. His cheeks look
a little more pale, like he's growing sick from hunger, and his eyes are so dark, like the core
of the earth, like the great expanse of space — he's got the entire space-time continuum living
within his mind, and those galaxies are leaking through every orifice. It's truly horrific, "you
want to meet him?"

Yes. He's a little scared by how excited he gets by the prospect, his temptation brimming,
showing on his face, but, that slither of fear metamorphoses into aggression so easily, and he
forces it down, snaps back, "why would I want that?"

Clearly not buying it, the older giggles, but it's the very antonym of sweet, and his mouth is
like blood, his teeth a little sharper, "hm? Well, you just seemed so enthralled with the show."
He's so mean, and his face is dripping in treacle, sweet and rich, something that would stick
to your hands and hurt.

Truthfully Jungkook wants to tell him yes, because there's something entirely libidinous
coiling in his veins, that makes him fully aware of the fact he did want to see the man, be
closer to him, touch him. But Jungkook didn't like men, didn't desire them — he didn't desire
anyone. In his warped mind, he succumbs to the belief that the man on that stage must be a
devil, like Jimin, like the rest of them. There was no way he'd be able to capture everyone's
attention like that if he were just plain human.

"Why would you even want that?" He queries then, genuinely confused as to why Jimin
would offer off his baby in such a salacious way, even though he very much doubts the man
thought of Taehyung as anything more than his. A belonging.

But Jimin doesn't have a chance to properly answer, and tenderness is fluttering over his dark
grin, and it looms over the boxer, disconcerting. Jungkook follows his gaze and he feels the
way his heart scrapes against his bones, as it sinks into the pit of his stomach; fear and
despondency wash over him, because Taehyung is walking towards them. Sans snake.
Chapter End Notes

okay so a slightly shorter chapter, and a tiny bit of a cliffhanger i suppose? honestly once
they’ve all met, the plot is really gonna start to unfurl ;)
 Chapter 4
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

"So, you're a boxer?" Kim Taehyung is decidedly less intimidating when he's talking, up
close and personal, compared to when he's on stage — when it appears as if he were an idol
to worship; like a golden numen, untouchable, only to be adored and fawned over. He's a
great deal more real when he's in Jungkook's face, with his eyes like fireworks and his cheeks
like incandescence, stretched into a rose hue by his hearty grin. He's a great deal more
beautiful from up close as well, almost to the extent he appeared inhuman, much like all the
other dancers and workers here. He smells like cinnamon and sweat. His eyes are so wide.

"Yes." Jungkook replies, curtly, glancing towards Jimin momentarily, as the man had just
introduced him to the thrilled blonde as his business associate, and an 'incredible fighter'.
Jimin is smiling at him as well, but it's a lot more smug, his cigar poking out between his
teeth, and Jungkook doesn't think he's imagining how sharp they appear.

"I hear you're good." Taehyung continues on, and he leans across the table, his chin resting on
the back of his hand, and the boxer in question can't help but stare at those long, pretty
fingers — they're trickling down in the open air, and they flicker with studded gold, and his
voice drips with it too, "d'you think I could come watch?"

Jungkook raises an eyebrow, entirely unsure what to make of the man or of the situation —
he's sincerely regretting coming tonight, as he'd walked in here thinking he'd have some sense
of power, and now he felt as if that very idea was being laughed at. The notion of him being
on top is a joke, and dirty, pretty creatures are grinning at him, lapping up his dignity, and he
wants nothing more than to leave this creepy love den. He feels he can only grasp at power
when out in the open.

And, yet, amongst all that animosity, crawling between paroxysms of disdain, he somewhat
relishes in the atmosphere — the beguiling bewitchment within the apple of Taehyung's eye
is both cumbersome and spirited. It brings forth some sense of desire and passion that
Jungkook doesn't think he'd ever experienced.
"If you buy a ticket." He tells him, slow, and he's not as hard as he perhaps usually would be.

The blonde smiles, and he looks at Jimin, like he's asking for fucking permission. The
aforementioned looks back at him, and he's still lighthearted in expression. "You want one?"
He asks, pert, his voice curiously sweet, and his free hand slips down, beneath the table, and
the boxer can see him squeeze tightly at Taehyung's bare thigh. He rests his hand there,
possessive or gentle, Jungkook is unsure.

"Hm, maybe." The dancer barely reacts to the skin-ship, gazing toward Jungkook, cocking
his head, and his eyes reflect exhilaration — regarding the black-haired man like he was
something so peculiar to him. "How old are you, Jungkook?"

Jungkook forces his mind to straighten out, along with his posture, and he settles himself
properly in his chair, somewhat feeling like he's bound to it. Like, no matter how much he
wanted to leave, he physically couldn't. He's unsure why he was being asked such a question,
but he doesn't see a reason not to answer, "twenty-two, why?"

Taehyung shrugs, his eyes widen. "Curious, is all."

It's silent for a moment, and Jungkook thinks perhaps it's only uncomfortable for him, as the
pair seem to be basking in it. They appear to be waiting for him to say something and he'd
never been one to appeal to people's desires, yet, he somewhat feels like he needs to rid
himself of the discomfort, and so he twists the conversation back to the blonde, "and what
about you? You dress up as a woman and dance?" It comes out more snide than he'd
intended, but he doesn't care, it makes him feel more like himself.

"Mm, well," Taehyung doesn't seem offended, in fact, he's clearly delighted that the other
was taking an interest in him. "I perform," He says, and the word sounds strangely magical
with his pronunciation of it, he's twinkling. "And it just so happens that I like to do so in
clothing that is less common for men to wear."

Something stirs in the young man's stomach, and he's unsure what, because, truthfully, he
doesn't much care what people choose to wear, he's just surprised so many other people seem
to be okay with it. The boxer nods. "Okay." He says to him.
Jimin's presence is more prevalent then, and Jungkook can still see his hand pressed into
Taehyung's thigh, his smoke twirling around the table, in intricate silver purlins. "Drag balls
are starting to get very popular these days," upon seeing the lack of comprehension upon the
younger man's face, Jimin continues, "there are many bars like this, all full of those who
aren't afraid to accept their true selves. Though, I'm sure this particular club to be a tad more
advanced than many others."

Jungkook can't help but to look around, trying to immerse himself with the idea of
acceptance; observing through smogs of pink smoke and flurries of purple lights, he tries to
descry every face he sees, and his eyes flicker darkly as he replies, "what? So everyone here
is homosexual then?"

Taehyung and Jimin both laugh, and the latter shakes his head, grins so immensely. "Why,
everyone here is just looking for a good time."

Jungkook's teeth gnaw at the sides of his cheeks, and he keeps looking around, sees how
garish all the images appear. Blue eyes, satin smiles, clean shoes; the place seems so
uncharacteristic to society, and it's so strange for Jungkook, just how happy they seem. He'd
never particularly cared what people chose to do in the shadows, how they chose to live, but
there was something a little too thrilling about the club, that made him want to hate it.

"So you," he glances toward the blonde, who's staring so prettily back at him, and he asks
him, "you're just looking for a good time when you go up there?"

"Sort of," Taehyung shrugs, nonchalant and prepossessing. "I'm just a man who likes to make
people question their sexuality, no need to label it more than that."

"I see."

"I think you succeeded with our dear friend here, doll." Jimin tells him, and he's smirking
somewhat, sardonic and acrid. "I've never seen Mr Jeon so interested in something that isn't
himself." He's clearly aiming to irritate, but Jungkook doesn't want to give him the
satisfaction of rising to it. That, or he doesn't want to flat out deny it.
Somehow, the dancer's face manages to brighten even more, and he's licking his lips,
prideful, his eyes sparkling, as if he feasted on praise. "Is that so?" He doesn't allow the other
to answer, because he's continuing on, his voice heavy with the clouds of heaven, "well, I'd
like to know more about you."

"Why?" He almost snaps, but he doesn't, because he's desperate to not make Park Jimin feel
even more superior, and he knows the man is trying to push his buttons.

"You interest me greatly." The blonde informs him, not put off by Jungkook's tone — in fact,
he seemed to almost revel in the anguish; the boxer can practically envision the stark slither
of excitement that clambers up the man's throat.

Jungkook thinks the situation to be all sorts of odd, because Taehyung's words were definitely
soaked in something lascivious, like he himself was unfurling steam, coaxing pretty little
flowers of lust within Jungkook with just his tone of voice. He'd never heard a man capable
of sounding so much like florescence and sex simultaneously; and he'd certainly never heard
a man so abundant in his flirtations with someone of the same gender. He'd never heard a
taken man flirt so shamelessly either. Yet, there Park Jimin is, with his hand upon ‘his baby's’
thigh, letting him.

In the back of his mind, something like danger flares, and he's so desperately unnerved and
aroused all at once at the prospects of their intentions.

The wailing sirens of peril somewhat bring Jungkook back into the realms of the living, and
he suddenly recalls his intentions in coming down here — he can't quite believe he was so
easily distracted. So, shaking away any remnants of lechery, he turns and he's telling
Taehyung, hard, "you already know enough about me," and then he's focused on the other
man, intent, "yet, I know nothing about you."

"Oh?" Jimin raises his eyebrow, and Taehyung slumps back in his seat, disappointed by the
sudden change in topic, and it's evident he's not very used to things not going his way. One of
Jimin's hands is rubbing soothing circles upon the blonde's thigh, while the other is gripping
his cigar, the smoke swarming around, making his entire face seem darker. "Well, what'd you
like to know about me?"
"Oh, so now you're open to answering my questions?" The boxer fires back, finding the
manner in which the other suggests himself to be an open book particularly egregious.

Jimin's smirk is devilish and sensual, and it's so very omnipresent, dangling over every single
face in the vicinity. The pink-haired man is leaning forward, as he says, "I've never declined
to answer any inquiry you placed before me."

It's sizzling, the words like fire, scalding Jungkook's skin with something painful. "Mhm,
you're just good at answering my questions with your own." He spits back, and it's a little
weak, but his voice is unwavering.

Taehyung is regarding him with keen interest, seemingly observing every minuscule
movement of the muscles of his face, yet he remains silent, as Jimin continues, "oh, well, I
apologise that you feel that way. But, I see there being only one solution to your troubles, so I
shall repeat myself in asking what it is you would like to know?"

"I want you to tell me who you are."

Both of them look a little intrigued by the question, and their eyes are pulling out fascination
from within Jungkook's own, like a magician pulling out an everlasting collection of vibrant
silks from his throat.

Jimin is distinctly more pale than he was when Jungkook had first entered, and yet his eyes
are still that same warm, caramel brown, as his face appears to narrow a little — like he were
hungry. "Very well, I am Park Jimin." He says, and Jungkook is one comment away from
sucker-punching the man, but, before he can fully consider it, the elder is continuing, "and, I
suppose you are correct, in a sense, but, please refrain from patting yourself on the back,
dear, as, I am not so much in a gang, as I am... affiliated with people, who strive for the same
goal. It's more of a syndicate in that respect, I suppose, but, if it would help you out, I'm
happy calling it a gang."

The word rolls from his lips and it strikes Jungkook more intensely than he'd thought it
would; he wasn't at all oblivious to rising gang violence in the area, and he had never been
particularly bothered by it when it didn't involve him. And yet the way the man lets it fall into
the room stirs such discontent within him. The way he spews the word suggests to Jungkook
that this may not be any regular gang.
Taehyung scoffs, and Jungkook turns his attention to him, only to find his face somewhat
gleeful, with his eyes sharp and temperate. "He's not just affiliated," the words are drawled
out, and Jimin sends the man a warning look, but the blonde continues, uncaring, "he's the
leader of all those people. Of the gang."

Jimin doesn't say anything, but his own eyes narrow as they meet Taehyung's — Jungkook
watches the tension of competition coil between them, though he's unsure as to what exactly
it is they're competing for. When Jimin turns back toward the younger, he's smiling, tight and
graphic, with the lights of the stage flickering across his visage — the dancers succumbing
back to their sanguine gyrations. "Is that all you wished to know?"

"No." Jungkook leers back at him, voice deep and surprisingly savage, like a wild boar. He
scrambles his brain to thinks of something to say to keep his superiority afloat, and as his
eyes darken with his humanity, the words slip so brutishly from his lips, "aren't you a little
young?"

And Jimin's smirk is back to it's lethargic, charmless humour; his eyes twinkle with
something that suggests hilarity, like he knows something. He always appears as if he knows
some great secret that no one else has access to. His shrug is deft, as he replies, "why, not at
all."

It comes out so calculated, and so brimming with jovial vigour; it strikes Jungkook that it
seems as if he's being left out of something, as if they were constantly laughing at him. It
strikes him in the place that plucks up the most anger, and his response is stifled through
gritted teeth, "fine then, do all gang leaders like to fuck men like you?"

"Hm?" Jimin's smirk widens, tuts out a laugh, and his tongue peaks between his teeth, in a
particularly serpentine motion, "my sexuality" he pronounces the word so beautifully, leaning
his body forward, and his speech becomes a lot more serious, "means nothing. Perhaps to
people like you it is something of importance, something to suggest the very essence of a
person. But, to me, to us, it is nothing to define one's character." Jungkook finds his face
falling a little, and he can't help but feel traitorous hope swimming in his stomach; he doesn't
know why he enjoys the fall of the words in the way that he does, "if you fuck a man, it
makes you no less of a man yourself, you know. It means nothing in the grand scheme of
things. I'd suggest you remember that."
In truth, the boxer thinks it's quite a weird thing for him to remember, out of all the things
Jimin had told him. But, he also thinks he's not likely to forget. "Noted." He hates the sway of
the conversation and so he switches the subject again, "so, your gang got a name then?"

"Why? You wanna get a tattoo?" Jimin jeers, his mood snapping so easily in and out of
mocking, and he hisses the words so savagely.

Jungkook scowls at him, his distaste so evident, "no, but I wanna know if I've heard of you."

"Heard of us?" He laughs a little then, smile falling into an expression of tentative delight,
and he shakes his head. "Well, we don't have an official name."

"Don't all gangs have names?"

"Most." Jimin agrees, nods evenly, "but, you'll find it's sometimes easier to let yourself rise
from the shadows when no one suspects it." He almost winks, but his expression is
undoubtedly serious. "Names put you on the map, and that can be a good thing, 'cause names
mean people know not to mess with you, but, equally, they make you discernible, notable. In
this business, it can be better to go by unknown." Jungkook finds it so strange how easily the
man gives up the information; it didn't seem like the best thing to do tactically, but, it always
seemed like he had some reason behind every syllable he spews. "However, we've collected
various nicknames over the years, and to most, I suppose we'd be known as the Blood
Snatchers."

"Blood Snatchers?" Jungkook frowns, the name sounding more than a little odd; he wasn't
too well-versed in the culture, but he'd never heard a name like that.

Jimin merely nods, unaffected, lets the words fester for a moment, before his grin delves into
something a little more formal, "does that help to get you to trust me?"

"Not really." Jungkook responds immediately, always so confrontational, as he asks, bitter,

"were you planning on keeping that information from me?"
"No." The pink-haired man — the gang leader — cops the boxer's tone, though his word is
laced with more of a mocking timbre, severe and amused, and he's squashing his cigar into
the table. "I don't keep things from people, sometimes people just choose not to see what's
right in front of them."

There's an underlying message in there, slapping Jungkook in the face, as the man is staring
at him with his voluminous eyes, bedecked with hot, leaking treacle. Dread is condemning,
and it sinks into the pit of the ravenette's stomach, as he lets his worst nightmares fall into
place. He forces composure, "what's that meant to mean?"

Flickering his eyes toward Taehyung, he finds the other is no longer smiling quite so
convincingly, and he's a little melted, as if worn out by the questioning. He's leaning closer to
Jimin, who lets him lift his hand from his thigh and play with his fingers. It's delightfully
wholesome an action, that makes Jungkook feel utterly nauseous.

Irritatingly, Jimin just shrugs, and he's so nonchalant, truly acting like the whole world was at
his fingertips. "Whatever you want it to mean," he smiles, languid, bleeding green, and his
lips look utterly wretched, as they stretch across his face. He's like a ghoul — a terrifically
pretty one — with his now sullen eyes, that spark with mischief, and his cheekbones, so high
and sculptured to perfection, making him appear so almighty. "Might I ask you a question
now?"

Jungkook nods, blank.

"You were a soldier, weren't you?"

It's not quite a question, as it seems like the man already knows the answer, and yet, it
bounces around Jungkook's brain like one, because he needs to recall something from the
back of his mind to bring forth a response, "wasn't everyone?" Even as the words leave his
mind, he thinks it to be incorrect. It startles him to wonder whether Jimin or Taehyung
partook in the fighting, as, despite the fact they were gangsters (violent, gory, despicable),
they were so beautiful.

"Mm." Jimin agrees, but Jungkook thinks he must be lying, "you carry yourself like one
though."
"The fuck's that meant to mean?"

Taking on board the harshness, Taehyung flicks his head up, eyes immense, as he responds
instead of Jimin, though he avoids the question, changes the subject, mouth twisted, "did you
pray to God on the battlefield, Mr Jeon?"

"Taehyung." Jimin snaps, voice titling with warning, mouth opening, as he twists his head to
fully face the blonde. Jungkook can't help but be confused by the sudden competition
swelling within them.

It's sweltering, even for Jungkook, so, he opts to prevent it, answering the question put to
him, "I don't pray to anyone."

Prayer books and rosary beads had never been Jungkook's style; he wasn't exactly one to rely
on anyone for anything, even an entity greater than reliance itself. He doesn't remember the
last time he'd set foot in a church, and he'd long since given up on religion. Yet, he couldn't
help but to call out to some incredible being in his times of desperation, when he was facing
the barrel of guns, or the suffocation of corpses. Corpses. So many corpses. He gave up on
praying after those corpses.

"Is that right?" Taehyung's head cocks, and Jimin is glaring at the side of it, but the man takes
no notice, continues on, "not even when there's no other option?"

"Options don't change beliefs." He tells him, perhaps a little uncharacteristically poetic for
him, but so raw and truthful nonetheless.

The blonde smiles, bewitching, still playing with the rings on the gang leader's fingers. "What
makes you say that?"

"Well," Jungkook sighs, leans back a little in his chair, trying not to get too warped into this
strange era of truth. "Isn't a belief only truly that, when the believer finds it to be fact? You
can't really believe something, if it's the only option you have."
"My," Taehyung's eyes widen, brows raise, Jimin's interest is evidently piqued, and they both
look so quizzically at the boxer, reading the writing across his face, understanding him, "you
certainly are interesting, aren't you?" And it thrums a little too hard at Jungkook's heart, but,
before he can answer, the tantalising dancer is speaking again, ignoring the pink-haired man's
obvious irritations, "but, surely, facts and beliefs are not synonymous. What if the only option
you have is to face the facts?"

Jimin doesn't take his eyes away, and Jungkook watches the tick of his jaw, the way his free
hand is shaking, angered, and so he's tentative as he asks, "what are you trying to say?"

"What I'm trying to say is," Decadence outlines his eyes then, coruscating, thick with
injustice, peril dripping from every syllable, "that despite all the horrible things you saw and
endured, you'd still be unwilling to accept—"

His hand is yanked forward.

"Enough, Taehyung." The other interjects, snaps, and he pulls his hand from the man's grasp,
his voice is dark, demanding, but not cruel. No, never cruel. He snaps his attention back
towards Jungkook and they stare at one another for a while; the jazz music is so tremendous
beyond their peripherals, and yet it sounds so silent at their table. Taehyung is dejected,
sagging in his seat, with a frown of rotten peaches and soured clementines. Jimin's mouth
turns upward, and his teeth are crooked, and it's such a sudden motion, it, once again, appears
like he was somewhat unconscious in the action, "I fear we're straying from the reason as to
your visit."

"Was that not your intention?"

"Why would that be my intention?" Jimin inquires, rhetorical, and he's back to his facetious
integument, all elegant laughs and calculated realities, "I'm a man of business, Mr Jeon, and
that is always my sole priority." There's something ironic about his tone, but Jungkook isn't
knowledgeable enough to hazard a guess as to what it was he was ridiculing.

The boxer narrows his eyes, hard, desperate to keep his attentions upon Jimin, not letting
himself look at Taehyung — barely taking note of his sunken smile, "well, let's do business
then."

A brilliant grin crawls across Jimin's face, and he's almost glowing with radiance, though his
skin is ghastly, his lips blood red, his hand back to settling upon Taehyung's thigh. "I suppose,
as you now know we're not quite the upstanding gentlemen we first may appear" —
Jungkook definitely feels the irony in that — "you may have strong feelings regarding
whether or not you wish to proceed with our arrangements, hm?"

His eyes burn. Jungkook's seen bullets, he's felt fire, he's smelt blood, he's heard death, and
yet he's never been torn into quite like this; Jimin's eyes are pulling apart his skin, and they're
spitting holes into his dermis, seeing straight through him.

"I have a family." Jungkook tells him, and he feels like Jimin is somehow forcing the truth
out of him, with the inferno raging on in his dark eyes, compelling honesty from the boxer. "I
can't let them get hurt."

"Ah, a family man." The mobster looks toward Taehyung, and the blonde appears a little
more joyful, all sourness dispersing and he's smiling back at Jimin. "Isn't that just lovely, my
dear?" Gentile are his words, directed toward the blonde, and, yet, theres something so
callous in them, yet again like he's laughing at Jungkook's expense.

"Mm," Taehyung hums, almost whimsically, "who'd have thought," his white teeth are
shining as he smirks, slow in his leaking of the words, "the big, bad, brooding boxer would
have such a soft spot?" And he's almost whispering with how delicate and decadent his words
are, flimsy and provocative.

"Shut the fuck up." Jungkook snarls, the response having ripped out of him, his natural
reaction; and Taehyung's eyes widen, shocked, and then he laughs, intense and almost serene
— it was like he'd never heard someone speak to him in such a way.

"I never meant it as a negative thing." He assures. "I'm a family man myself."

Jungkook's teeth grit as he tries to calm himself.

 Jimin doesn't look quite so pleased, jaw tightening, hilarity dwindling. Dry and hollow, his
eyes capture Jungkook's own and they're red: anger, love, sex, passion, blood, death — he's
all the shades of hell, and he's projecting that intoxicating bout of perdition onto Jungkook.
Mouth still warm and smiling, it makes him look all the more demonic as he presses on, "so,
you'd sign the contract," and he's definitely a demon, with all the rivers and pits of fire
flooding across his features, macabre, black and bruised. He speaks of a contract, and his
mouth is like devotion, as it implores Jungkook to sell himself to the devil, "if I offer to
ensure your family remain safe?"

Jungkook hates how good that particular hell sounds. Gulping, he scans the man's face for
any trace of a lie; Jimin seemed to be many things, cocky, eccentric, cruel, mocking,
intelligent, sophisticated, tender. He didn't seem like a liar. In this light, Jungkook's heart
drips across the stars, and he feels himself grow cold with isolation, wanting so desperately to
be warm. In this light, he recalls all the hardships he'd had to endure, imagines all the pain
he'd inflicted on others. In this light, Satan's pit seems almost like a cosy fire to curl up next
to.

In that light, he agrees to sign the contract.

As he leaves, his heart is bound by something unknown to him, and it feels like a chain, like
every part of his anatomy was owned by someone else now. He peers back at the table before
he leaves for the night, and Jimin is kissing the blonde's face, soft, uncharacteristic,
apologetic. Uncaring of the people around them, he's trailing down his neck, and, from this
distance, he almost appears predatory.

Before he closes the door behind him, Jungkook meets Taehyung's eyes — they flicker with
light, and he's smiling so distinctly.

Chapter End Notes

ok!! so sorry that this chapter was essentially just one long conversation lmao. now that
all the characters have met, the plot can fully get in motion ;)
 Chapter 5
Chapter Notes

pre-warning for sexual content near the end of this chapter ;)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Black, Starr and Frost; his eyes are diamonds, and they take in the chequered night sky, as it
bleeds down upon the earth; replica dynamite, the stars are alive, bursting, and yet deft,
delicate like pearls. He imagines such awful creatures to be lurking within the darkness,
hiding behind the lights. He sees them beneath the lights as well — observes monsters as
they crawl around the globe.

"Hey." A cold voice whispers into the cold night, and Taehyung turns, feeling cold fingers
against his arm, cold eyes upon his neck, cold teeth in his line of vision, and a cold glass
being pushed into his hand.

"Hi," He replies, not quite managing to smile at Min Yoongi, too worn out from the day, as he
stands upon the balcony at the the back of the club, after a show. The view of the ground is
nothing much, a few fences and back alleys of the city, alas, it grants such a raw view of the
sky; it's so bleak and dark, and yet the stars are so natural, therapeutic and free, as if asking
to be yearned for. He accepts the glass the elder hands him, and he inspects it warily, swirling
it around, observing the contents — it's distinctly black, dandelion's drifting through it, and
Taehyung is strangely attracted to it. "You not working?" He asks him, trying to make
conversation.

Min Yoongi, the bartender, wasn't the most chatty of men (perhaps not best suited for the
bartender role), and yet customers adored his mysterious frost and his lack of will to engage
in civil conversation. It seemed like he was playing hard to get, making them want
him more. He's a glacial effigy; all angles and sharp edges, with skin as fair as powdered
snow, icicle-thrilled jewels clinging to his lashes, avalanche hair drenching his forehead — an
ice king.

Still, he could talk when he wanted to; he was not at all averse to lugging out great speeches,
reciting philosophies and anthologies and idioms and odes and lexicons from his mind, his
tongue dripping, dripping, spilling. He doesn't seem much in the mood now though, as he
regards the blonde emptily. "There's a lull." He says, shrugs.

Despite his nonchalance, it was evident there was some purpose in his following Taehyung,
as, despite how he tried to portray himself as stony and cold, he cared. Cared so deeply it was
inhumane. The blonde takes a sip of the drink, feels how thick it is as it falls down his gullet,
and he murmurs, "hm, d'you make this?"
The bartender raises a brow and Taehyung can't help but feel as if his eyebrow is so dark
compared to the rest of him. His skin is pale, his hair paler, lips a faint pink and curling, with
eyes clear, like glass, stained, colourless despite the intricacies of them. Staring, he says, "I
make all the drinks," and he seems to think he's perhaps a little harsh for the atmosphere, so
he adds, "why, pretending you don't like it?"

Taehyung smiles properly then. "You know I'm not one to pretend."

The words fall from his pretty lips, hard, and they're so doused in irony, it's a little despicable.
Yoongi rolls his eyes, thinks the blonde is perhaps more sweet than he sometimes pretends to
be, and yet that's not even the most notable extension of his falsity. No, the very essence of
the man was built upon luring; like a siren, he reeled people in, made them desire
him, pretended to want them back. Uses their desire to fuel himself.

He's all pretend, fake, fickle, phoney, and yet there's something so beautiful in it. He pretends
in order to survive. Just like everyone else.

"Your neck is covered in blood." Yoongi tells him, changes the subject, because he can't help
but stare at the abundance of red that's decorating his skin.

"Oh?" Taehyung's hand runs over it, and, in truth, it's not covered, there's just a few residual
splatters of blood — his own, he thinks. "I'll clean it later."

The bartender nods, though his eyes are tightly set upon distaste, and he's so judgmental.
Taehyung has known Yoongi for so long, for the longest, and yet they still are never quite
honest with one another about themselves and what they do. So it's a little surprising when
the man suddenly asks him, spits at him almost, "you sure you're okay with him using you
like that?"

Taehyung's heart stutters at the mention of the him in question, knowing he's, of course,
meaning Park Jimin, and, as he lets the words fully sink in, he feels his eyes roll. They've
know each other for so long, and yet Yoongi still doesn't trust him to pick his own partner, if
that is indeed what he could call Jimin. He's all bite as he responds, "it's not using." The
words are all teeth, "we help each other." No tongue, "I like it."

"Okay." Yoongi says simply, never one for confrontation, but definitely one to like making
blood boil. "Okay," he nods again, shrugs, looks toward the sky, and his head shakes then, as
he asks, continues the conversation (surprisingly), "and you intend for it to last?"

"Last?" Of course it has to last, because everything is either momentary or long-term. In

Taehyung's view, there is no temporary; he uses and he discards, or he keeps, clutches, holds,
there's absolutely no in between, nothing to have for longer than a moment that he doesn't
intend to keep. His relationship with Jimin was thrilling, in a manner that was cheap and
almost impractical, and yet he never tires of it — he'd never tire of the man. Communication
may not be habitual for either of them, but they could feel each other's devotion in their
fingertips every time they touch; it's mutual. "You of all people should know that whatever it
is I intend for, that's always what I make a reality, isn't that right?"
"Sure." Yoongi's neck crooks, and he's no longer of a mentality wherein he wishes to look at
the younger.

Intentions are bristling, and the blonde feels strangely hopeful suddenly; he recalls his
newfound intentions, remembers his sudden development of unwinding curiosity. A curiosity
with boxing gloves and a dark, human smile. With an instantaneous movement away from the
balcony, he chugs down the potion, replenishes himself, checks the time, looks at the sky, at
the door, looks at Yoongi, smiles, speaks, "I'm gonna head out."

"Head out?" The man repeats, frowns, turns to face Taehyung, and his eyebrow is raised
again, because it was very rare when the blonde would go anywhere other than the lounge.

"Mhm." Taehyung nods, mischief flickering in his eyes, and his smile is inviting as he
shimmies his shoulders, his show-glitter all over his bare collar bones, sexual. "I have urgent
business to attend to."

"Business that doesn't concern the club?"

Taehyung pulls open the glass door, sending a wanton and teasing look over his shoulder, his
eyes are lidded, intentional in their sensuality. "Business that concerns life."

It's an odd choice of words, but Taehyung was an odd placement of a human. If one could
class him as such. Yoongi certainly wouldn't. Nevertheless, he's certainly curious. He's
soaked in it, relies upon it. He's maniacal, magic.

Letting the words be his parting, he leaves, the door closing softly behind him.

It takes him approximately fifteen minutes to arrive at his destination as soon as he leaves the
club, having changed his clothes and wiped the blood away. He uses the back exit, captures
the arm of Jung Hoseok on his way. The man is smooth and yet jittery, not exactly
Taehyung's favourite person, but he was heading to Blood anyway and he's loyal to Jimin till
the end, safe. Plus, Taehyung knows he'd report back to his boss if he saw the blonde leave
by himself. So, he opts to take the informant with him.

Hoseok is smiling, dandy, darling, and he'd made quaint conversation with the blonde as
they'd walked the streets — and he'd tried so desperately not to give into the blonde's
salacious, mocking advances, knowing he'd get in trouble, more than trouble. He was fun and
confident all the same.

They miss the beginnings of the fight.

But, when they arrive at Blood, they can sit in the best seats (perks of being intimate with the
owner) and they can watch Jeon Jungkook as he fights so vigorously; they can observe every
single muscle movement, every single contusion forming, every single onslaught of anger,
every single drop of sweat. Drop of blood. It drops so expeditiously, constant. Hoseok has to
excuse himself as more blood falls. They batter each other, the foreign man large, bald,
heavy, and yet Jungkook batters more, pulls out greasy, gaping blood from his opponent, rips
it out of him, so earnest and bellicose. Hoseok hungers for the blood. Taehyung fascinates
with it.
He hadn't been lying when he'd said he wanted to watch the man box the previous week, just
before he'd signed the contract, but he hadn't expected this. In truth, he didn't have many
other thoughts aside from the desire to watch how hard those fists could hit. He's enthralled
by the man's muscle, he couldn't deny it. Yet, he's even more tantalised by the way he
manoeuvres himself around the ring.

It's like dancing: so precise, so emotional, so beautiful. Even so, it's emphatically hard; every
movement so solid, contusion-inducing, desperate and violent. Yes, it's violent, and each
punch, each strain of his biceps, makes him all the more scary. Taehyung knows monsters,
knows demons and ghouls, and yet he doesn't think he's ever seen such a pure depiction of
those states of being, as he sees in Jeon Jungkook.

He's inhuman. But, there's no way he's not human.

His anger is so human, his aggression even more so. When he wins the fight, he doesn't smile
like a mortal, no, he frowns like an imperfect god; and Taehyung can see his heart beating
against his skin.

And yet, his surprise is so mortal, when his eyes widen as soon as Taehyung opens the door
to his changing room after the fight. The blonde didn't bother to knock, never deemed it
necessary, alas, he somewhat feels like he should've as soon as the boxer looks up at him.

He's covered in sweat, Taehyung smells the salt, finds it's overpowered by the iron of blood.
His skin is alabaster, and bare, still in his shorts, all his rippling abdominals and pectorals on
display. His cheeks are darkened by the deep crimson fluids, and yet his eyes twist into
something a little confused. His eyebrows scrunch, and he doesn't seem all that aggressive,
perhaps he'd unleashed it all in the fight.

"Stellar job out there, sugar." Taehyung says, after a moment, maintaining eye contact,
quirking his lips up in a smirk.

Recognition flashes across Jungkook's face then, and he sounds positively perplexed as he
says, checks, "Taehyung?"

Nostrils flare, and the blonde tuts, playfully rolls his eyes. "Obviously." He leers, though his
amusement is evident, "gosh, do I really look so different from last week?"

"Yes." The reply is instant, and Jungkook is raking his eyes along the figure of the man
before him. So indisputably a man. Taehyung's blonde hair is still somewhat incongruous to
the world around them, but he looks so professional, and he's in a suit, a grey one, his
shoulders are so broad, and he's so tall, with eyes so deep. It's such a distinct difference to the
image he has of the man in his head, wherein he was all effeminate and dreamy. His face is
the same though, still glittery and pretty; he's still so magnetic, more so perhaps, now that it
wasn't so abundant.

"Just 'cause I haven't got my legs out for you ogle at?"

Jungkook scrunches his nose, not able to do anything more, and yet his lips become
surprisingly dry with the knowledge that he had ogled at those legs. He thinks perhaps he
himself doesn't truly know what it is to be a man, doesn't know what constitutes owning that
title. He thinks Taehyung, even when he had his legs out, decorated in petals and pearls, he
was more manly than anything. Perhaps being a man is outdated. He shakes away the
dreadful psychological debate and asks him, tone dreary yet enthralled, "why are you here?"

"Watching you, of course," He tells him, and he's taking a step closer, and Jungkook is
strangely aware of the closed door, as the blonde is advancing toward him, informing him,
"you said I could."

Jungkook had said that, in fact, he'd told him he should buy a ticket, but, he didn't think the
blonde actually would. Licking his dry lips with his pink tongue, he tries to busy himself, and
Taehyung follows his movements, traces them, draws them into the air, solidifies them in
time. Dryly, the younger says, "I meant back here."

"Congratulating you." He says then, and the words are so instant, like he has an answer for
everything, but there's something a little delicate lingering in the pull of the vowels.

"Oh?" Jungkook raises an eyebrow, looks at the man again, and he finds himself to be both
grossly intimidated and desperately comfortable. He looks at the man's lips and he doesn't
think he's ever seen a colour so cosmopolitan.

Taehyung smiles, lets Jungkook observe the stretch of it, before he shifts his body,
moves closer, and he himself is unsure of his intentions. He doubts Jimin would be too happy
if he tried anything with his star fighter, but, then again, he was his own man. The mobster
would have to get over it. He's still tentative though, as he's continuing, "mm, I mean, I'm a
little in awe of you to be honest." And it's not a lie, not at all. Jungkook was awe-inspiring;
his talent in the ring was untouchable, perhaps a little unbelievable, and the power is so
immense, practically begs you to give him attention. Taehyung doesn't mind doing so, not at
all.

"Is that so?" Jungkook smirks, basking in the praise, and he turns to fully face the blonde
again, and, although he is tall, Jungkook feels like he's taller. He feels twenty feet high,
adrenaline still coursing through him, and money carefully tucked into his bag, a beautiful
new reality. Overt sexuality is not his style, but dominating situations and minds certainly is
— he supposes that, in the back of his mind, it's a no-brainer that he should use some form of
sexual tension to achieve that with Taehyung. Needs to use other people's specialties, twist
them in order to make them submit to him. It's survival.

The blonde is still smirking, and he actually looks excited by the suggestive tone Jungkook
adopts, and the ravenette himself takes a step closer. Taehyung bites his lip, long fingers
toying with a button on his own shirt. "Mm, I've never seen anyone fight like you. It's like an
art form."

Jungkook thinks he sounds genuine, perhaps even a little juvenile, his eyes
are wide, wondrous, and Jungkook speaks into them, "some could describe it as such."

The boxer is watching his fingers then, as they mindlessly play with his buttons, and
Taehyung tells him, "it's not just that though," And they're right next to each other now,
breathing into each other's faces; Jungkook has never felt so captivated by someone else's
body, nor their scent, has never felt excited over a breath. But Taehyung's breath is life and
death, so deeply rooted in the earth and yet so otherworldly. "You're so interesting to me."
The words are breathed out, and Jungkook can smell them, taste them, hear them, see them.

He thinks he can feel them, but, he realises what he feels are Taehyung's palms, as they gently
press into his chest, sprawl over the sweat-lacquered muscles. Taehyung feels everything
within Jungkook then, breathes in all his thoughts and memories and actions that are yet to
come and he thinks he understands him, right then and there, he sees exactly who he is.

Jungkook's skin scalds, feels like those hands are branding irons. Taehyung's used to quick
movements, Jimin was the master of them, but he's bizarrely shocked by the sudden way the
boxer grasps his wrists.

It doesn't hurt per se, and Taehyung suspects it wasn't meant to, but it decays his ego a little.
It's so rare when someone doesn't immediately give in. So interesting.

"Don't you think your boyfriend would be a little disheartened to find you feeling me up right
now?" He practically snarls, pulling the hands away from his skin, because he was okay with
the concept of overtaking Taehyung's psyche with eroticism, but the reality was a little harder
to swallow. He can't bring himself to admit what he's suppressing.

Taehyung remains close to him, and he can't help but be a little excited by the way in which
the man handles him — careless and yet so passionate in his anger. "He doesn't have to
know." He tells the man, although he doesn't mean those words, he knows some get off on the
idea of hiding, of danger.

Jungkook's nostrils flare and Taehyung doesn't think he's ever so gravely misjudged a person,
because the hands are so much tighter now. It takes a lot for the blonde to feel actual pain, so
he can't help but gasp when that feeling overflows him. Jungkook releases him as soon as he
hears the sound, stepping back, eyes so gaping and wide. "Get out." It's like he can't believe
what he'd just done.

Taehyung is guilty of feeling a little concerned, "Jungkook—"

"I said get the fuck out." It's a roar, a quiet one, but one that is so layered with emotion and
despair, it strikes the blonde's heart. His heart.

Taehyung does leave, and he thinks he should perhaps leave it at that, perhaps he should just
accept the fact Jungkook wasn't interested. But, honestly, that didn't seem like it was true; no,
the man seemed like he's avoiding something, like he's skirting around something. There's
desire in him, but it's clearly unexplored, like he's not quite tipped over the edge, like he can't
quite reach Taehyung.

Taehyung smiles as he walks away, feels the burn on his wrist a little. He can't stop smiling.
&&&

His skin is on fire, pressure lining every inch of his muscles, and his teeth are bare, jutting
from his mouth, scowling, growling, like an animal. The lights shine on the bruise that
decorates his nose, spreads across his reddened cheek. He hasn't been hit so hard in years.
The pain rains down on him, ancient prickles of agitation arising, needles constant in their
piercing of his skin, like they're trying to sew into his body, trap him, keep him in the past,
keep him weak. It pisses him the fuck off.

Anger serves him well in this profession, gets him rewards, and he uses that, uses this
intrinsic urge to win, to succeed, to be good, to prove others wrong, he uses that to beat the
other man to a pulp.

This opponent is French, tears the language out of his throat, twisting it into curses with
every hit; his lips are thin, cracked, dripping, so unsteady around each word. He's thinner
than Jungkook, but he's so damn quick, constantly jabbing, especially at the sensitive area of
the ravenette's throat or ribs.

Each jab serves as a reminder of failure.

The concept of failing thrums in his brain, in his heart, and each of his internal organs are
throbbing, pulsating, alive, haywire. He can't help but snarl, the pain of that failure
transcending into desire, yes, a red-hot desire to kill, kill, kill. Flooding his blood, the feeling
bursts out of him, his arm reeling back and then the feeling burns into the frenchman, as his
head falls backward with the hit, an uppercut, that makes him wheeze, slams into the soft
skin under his chin.

He can barely even attempt to jab back, when Jungkook is slamming his fist into the man
again, right in the side of the head, right on the fucking temple. It's a deadly hit, harsh and
barbaric. His whole body, lithe and pasty, trips to the side, his waist falling into the sides of
the ring, almost falling out of it.

Jungkook grasps the opportunity, his anger overtaking any semblance of reason, and he
punches again, so inhuman, in the back of the head, presses into him like the swing of a bat.
He hits the floor. The crowd roars.

It's an illegal move, so dangerous; blows to the back of the head make it too easy to cause
damage to motor skills, but this is underground boxing. The whole act is illegal, and, though
Jungkook had never been the type, he knew murdering or permanently maiming someone
makes for a better show — gets you more money.

Money, that's what this is all for, the only thing that Jungkook is capable of worrying about,
as the frenchman's manager rushes over, tries to help him. Jungkook pants, lets his arm get
pulled up, the wave of victory washing over him, soaking him in brine, as the roars of the
crowd lambast him, batter into him.
He watches the man, through clouded vision, the adrenaline of the fight coasting through him
still; he struggles to scramble back to humanity, finds the image of the perfectly still
opponent to be a pretty harsh awakening. Tension intwines itself within every fibre of his
being, and he snatches his arm away from the referee, almost takes a step forward.

But, then, the frenchman's arm twitches, his eyes open, he starts to move. Not paralysed then.
Not dead. Jungkook lets that be the last thing to ease his conscience.

Money. That's what he can focus on now, and that's exactly what he sees in a smile. A smile
so clearly directed at him, so bright amongst the crowd of black and white. Park Jimin's
smile is money, and it's flummoxed to him, watching him snag the victory, grinning at his
blood-thirst, applauding him for it. He's stood amongst the other men, all grimy and slimy,
but he's so pristine against it, elegant, and his hands fall together in a slow clap, mocking.

Unsurprisingly, the man doesn't just stop at watching, because men like Jimin are insatiable
and not bound by rules — but he's a bit less intrusive than Taehyung, Jungkook will give him
that. He waits outside, and Jungkook startles slightly as he finds him in the alley way, dipped
in a moonlight reverie, smile soft and puzzling, leaning against the wall. Bedecked in his
usual black suit, his eyes are mesmerisingly colourful, strangely old-fashioned, twirling with
a kaleidoscope of colour. "Hello, Jungkook." He greets him, his smile strangely lacking in
teeth, lips pulled up so wide.

"Jimin." Jungkook responds, nods his head in acknowledgment, trying to swallow down his
uneasiness. He hates the fact that he is uneasy, even if just a little; he'd just battered a man
half to death, what reason does he have to be even remotely fearful?

Still, even though he's facing Jimin straight on, there's this great pressure on his back, like
there's eyes watching him, all around him, stark white eyes.

"Great job out there," He says, tells him like he's his manager, and he's still leaning against
that brick wall, dainty, dazed. "Gotta admit, I was a little worried about you for a moment,"
he watches his own fingernails, and they're so long, look weirdly unkempt, discordant to the
rest of his unmarred persona. "You took quite a few punches." He tells him, points one of
those nails at the bruise blooming across the boxer's cheek.

"Yeah." Jungkook agrees, stares at his hands, can't help but wonder what Jimin really is,
because every aspect of him — his smile, his hair, his eyes, his pastimes, his mannerisms,
even the company he keeps — is so wrong. It's like he doesn't fit in with the world, like an
out of tune piano key, and Jungkook isn't superstitious, but he's not fool enough to not
question blatant idiosyncrasies. "Won though, didn't I?"

"Mm," The nail taps the bruise momentarily, and then his whole hand draws back, as he
smiles, "that you did." And he stands fully, pulls off of the wall. It strikes Jungkook that this
is the first time he's seen him stand to his full height, and he's short. He didn't look
particularly large when sat down, but, when he's fully upright, he's distinctly small, and, yet,
he looms over every fibre of Jungkook's being, so dark and promiscuous. His height doesn't
seem like a factor in his intimidation. "You were pretty terrifying out there, I must admit."
Jungkook can't help but cock a brow, leaning slightly toward the elder, brimming with
interest, "can't be anything you haven't seen before."

Jimin chuckles, so falsely amiable and divine, and he shrugs in agreement. His eyes narrow
slightly with the mirthful expression, before they fall back onto the bruise forming across
Jungkook's cheek, and his expression becomes a little coy, as he asks, faintly, yet
purposefully, "you got a sweetheart at home who cleans up your wounds?"

The boxer can't help but screw up his features, though he's not sure why the question hits him
so deeply, it was innocent enough. It's the insinuation in the other's tone though, the depths at
which his true intentions lurk, intermingling around a fog of interest. Jungkook raises his
eyebrow, cocks his head. "Not exactly."

"Oh?" In keeping with his all-knowing facade, Jimin doesn't look particularly deterred by the
news, merely lets the words tug at the corners of his lips, smirks, "a fine young man like you,
all alone?"

"I don't have time for stuff like that." He snaps back, strangely defensive, he's not sure why,
he'd never cared about being in a relationship, never cared about society's idea of what
constitutes normal. It's always survival that hangs in the confines of his desires, and
relationships didn't aid him in that.

Jimin's own brow quirks up then, a hand rubs at his hair. "Not even time for casual hookups?"

His face becomes a depiction of perfected acrobatic routines, as it contorts itself into
something so perplexed, borderline disgusted, and fragments of aggression spark through
him, "what is it with you and your boyfriend and my love life?"

The mobster's eyes go a little rounder, face delving toward surprise, dropping from its usual
cockiness. "My boyfriend?" He repeats, and his face takes the form of an emotion Jungkook
has never seen before on him: genuine confusion.

"Yeah, Taehyung." He replies, sharp, eager to unearth more of that confusion.

"What about him?" They narrow then, dangerously, and it's so rare for the man to
not know something, it makes Jungkook feel strangely powerful.

He takes a step closer, and though he towers over Jimin in height, he can't seem to overpower
his aura, still feels somewhat small beside him and it's such an odd feat, makes him angry, as
he inquires, "you're trying to tell me you don't know?" He adopts some of that mocking
timbre so heavily associated with Jimin himself, and he watches as the man's eyes narrow
more, lips parting, and he takes it as his cue to continue, "maybe you should
reevaluate your relationship then, instead of trying to get involved in mine."

Such a bitter befuddlement of an expression graces his features then, jaw ticking, mouth
tight, and the words form so harshly, "and what exactly is it you think I should reevaluate?"

"Perhaps the fact you had no idea he came here the other night, touching me, trying to flirt
with me," He says, recites exactly what had happened to the man, and he's so cruel in it, lets
the words drip from his lips, so avidly viscous, "I don't know what kind of relationship you
guys have, but that sounds pretty sketchy to me." Jungkook's good at looking for weak spots,
always helps in his line of work, and, judging by the lack of grace currently flummoxed to
the elder, he thinks perhaps he may have found Jimin's.

"Oh." Jungkook hates how blank Jimin's face is, his eyes sculptured into their usual position,
staring at the alleyway around them, neither flickering up nor down, and he's just standing
there, thinking.

"You don't seem all that hurt." Jungkook quips, and he's unsure why, but he can't help but he
a little intrigued by their relationship dynamic.

"Hurt?" Jimin echoes, falls from his throat like a laugh, and his eyes flick back onto
Jungkook's, "do I strike you as the kind who's easily hurt?" He doesn't wait for an answer, but
it's clear Jungkook knows it to be no. "Besides, that wouldn't particularly hurt me," the boxer
can't help but be mildly surprised by the sudden outburst of raw truth, eyes preening with
interest. "No, it intrigues me a little, in honesty." He takes a step forward now, closes the gap
between them, and Jungkook's breaths are strong, heavy, but Jimin's aren't, in fact, his mouth
is open, face so close, but he doesn't seem to be breathing at all. "And, it makes me a little
angry."

He doesn't say anymore, merely smiles as he pushes past Jungkook, bony shoulders and
elbows, cold. The words are left batting around Jungkook's head, and he's abstractly
confused, foolishly watching the man's retreating figure, can't help but think he blends so
well into the shadows. His heart twists in his chest, wondering, wondering, wondering.

&&&
Jimin's grip is like a vice, metallic, mechanic, the cogs of his mind whirring so immensely, to
the extent desire is pooling out, rolling down his head, sweaty and cloyed. They're comprised
of bones, decaying skulls and sugar teeth, with wires going manic within, like steampunk
incarnate. His thumb is digging so deeply into the skin of Taehyung's hip, gripping at the
bone there, holding him in place, forcing him to stay still.

A full throttle enveloping of lust shadows over him, and he lets the feeling of his cock resting
in the other man's ass placate it somewhat. It's so rare to make the blonde writhe as he is now,
forced to remain still, not allowed to pleasure himself beyond the feeling of fullness.

Jimin's reclined back on a chaise lounge, so lackadaisical and dominant in his prowess, this
very notion leaking from his smirk, so pretty and benumbed. Taehyung straddles his lap, the
man remaining hard inside him, and his weak knees are bruising with the ache of remaining
in this position of punishment. He adores it.

"Please, Jimin." He begs, begs for attention, for movement, for anything. Jimin is
exceedingly good at remaining still, and Taehyung supposes it is the very fact his heart is
stationary in his chest that allows for such an ability. It's incredibly stimulating sexually, just
how capable he is of composure and dominance, yet it's also frustrating — can sometimes
make him cruel. It's in times like this that Taehyung wonders whether he is truly capable of
feeling.

Those eyes tell him that he does, he does feel. Jimin looks at him so deeply, peering at him
through a guise of disinterest that makes Taehyung's insides curl with pleasure. But that's not
all, and the blonde feels something more than humanity coil within him then, because he can
see past that sheen, yes, he can see the stark nakedness of libido that influxes across that dull
grey.

"Please?" He echoes, that petty demureness flailing, as it leaks into something a little snide,
mocking, "you have what you want right in front of you, doll." Taehyung whines, his head
shakes, wants to buck his hips in irritation, but Jimin's hands are so tight, holding him in the
place that he wants him, using all his inhuman strength and abandon. "Aw," He mirrors the
man's pout, so mean, "you can't reach?"

The blonde's eyes are fluttering with pleasurable frustration, as they watch Jimin's pale skin,
observe how still his torso is, not breathing, all tenderly toned, with smooth fissures of
muscle, sculptured so intently, like an ancient statue, museum ready, such a beautiful thing to
view. Taehyung stares at those muscles and at the substance embedded within one of the
gashes of his abdominals: a line of white powder, glistening against his skin. Taehyung wasn't
exactly enthralled by drugs of this kind, much less cocaine (was very much the herbal type),
but it looked so beautiful where it lay, made the notion of a high so desirous; and he loved the
idea that Jimin himself had suggested he snort it from his fucking body.

However, he doesn't much like the fact that he physically can't reach it, because every time
he tries to bring his body forward, Jimin's pushing him back. He's purposely depriving
Taehyung of pleasure, dangling the idea of it in the forms of sex and getting high before him,
like fish-bait. Taehyung is a moth to a flame, desperate to have it, even though it'll hurt, even
though he knows the bitterness he's feeling so very well. He always returns to the light.
"Jimin..." He grumbles, staring the man in the eye, trying to compete, but he crumples so
quickly in his headspace, beneath that commanding gaze. So, he opts for the only other
option he manages to think of in his unbridled state of torment. "I—" surrender would be so
bittersweet, but his fragility is all he can cling on to in the hopes of appealing to Jimin's soft
side, "'m sorry."

"Huh." The sound rings out sharp, and the pink-haired man uses one hand to run through his
own hair, and he's still strong enough to keep Taehyung in place, with just one hand.
Taehyung regards his pointy elbow, watches it bend, rests against the pillow, places his head
on top of his arm, so damn nonchalant, "you know better than that, baby," he tuts, and
Taehyung thinks his own thighs are vibrating, "if you're going to apologise, you need to tell
me why. Why should I accept it?"

The dancer forces down a whine, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, and he hates how
much the other's composure turns him on. Here he is, falling apart, in nothing but a lace bra
and stockings, his skin on fire, desire unwinding in his stomach, causing his heart into a
frenzy of lust. And there is Jimin, leaning back, reticent, relaxed, like he's about to start
reading the morning newspaper.

Taehyung tries to make his breaths as mild as possible, dragging them so intensely from his
lungs, attempting to gain any semblance of grace. He tries, he really does. But his pretty
hands are too tainted to grasp at anything real, and they slip through the sands of imagination.
He seems to give in when he eventually can't find any grace, and his sexuality takes over,
forces him to wrap one of his own hands around the one that's on his hip. It's like he's trying
to pry the gangster's hand off, as if that could ever work.

Jimin's grip is horrendous then, and his eyes are dark with disgust, "I didn't say you could
fucking touch me." Taehyung can't help but find this a little ironic, because Jimin
is inside him, there's no chance they can't touch, but he still follows orders, as his hand flies
alway, goes back to it's place behind his back.

"I'm sorry."

His eyes are intense, as they regard the younger man, watching the dip of his head, as he
looks down at himself, ashamed. Without warning, Jimin pulls his hand away, cold skin, and
then it slams back down, slaps at the blonde's bare ass cheek. Jimin can't help but laugh as
soon as Taehyung's head snaps back up, his whole body jolting at the sudden movement, "I
thought you would be a good boy for me, Tae." The words are like puddles of sex, dripping
wet, open orifices, gorging desires, so sensual and cruel. Disappointment.

Taehyung's ass is aching, it's dull and yet thrumming, so painful a pleasure, and his heart
beats rapidly, disappointed in himself, "I—" He starts, and he looks down at Jimin's stomach
again, feels how hard his own cock is getting from the way the man is handling him, it's so
excruciating a pain. However, he finds that the disappointment is much more painful, as he
hated when it was aimed at him; he was bred to take what he wants, to have and use, and so,
with Jimin, he allows himself to want to please, to be good and do as he's told. "I'm sorry."
It's almost a sob, comes out like one at least, wavering and supple, like he was literally
tearing at the seams.
"What are you sorry for?" He asks him again, his voice so demeaning and harsh, but his eyes
are a little softer, as if endeared. His hand is on Taehyung's waist now.

"F—for touching you."

They're staring into one another, gazes interlocked, immense and indulging, like looking
away was an impossibility. Jimin's head cocks, his smirk reforming, because it always does,
and his fingers tap against the blonde's skin, like he's bored. "Hm, and what else?"

Taehyung gulps, keeps looking at him, ignoring the fact Jimin's grip was loose enough that he
could lean forward now, could snort that cocaine, or, he could start slamming his hips up and
down if he wants. He doesn't, because that's not what he wants. "For touching Jungkook." He
admits feverishly, because that's what he did that got Jimin so annoyed. It was hot to annoy
Jimin, Taehyung has always thought so, but he'd never seen him express his annoyance so
vehemently when it came to who Taehyung made advances toward. It was a delicious
emotion to play with. Until it got too much.

"Hmm, good." Jimin praises, and Taehyung thinks he might literally start glowing with how
happy he is to hear such a thing. It's spoken so low, but Jimin's smiling now, in a sweet way
that Taehyung rarely sees him do outside of the bedroom. "See, that's all you had to do, baby
doll." His hand tentatively streams around, touching whatever part of Taehyung's body he
wants. It massages over the skin of his ass, kneading the soft flesh that he'd struck so harshly.

Taehyung groans, and feels Jimin's dick twitch from its placement between his asscheeks.
"Jim— Jimin, sir, Jimin, can you— can I?" He babbles out, hoping it will be enough for the
man. The title sir flutters around the room, and Jimin can't help but smirk; it's so rare when
the blonde is broken enough to beg so desperately, to actually call him sir.

With a cock of his brow, the man seems to ponder for a moment, thinking through the pros
and cons, concocting every possible outcome, taking his damn sweet time, loving how
restless the other gets, so very intentional in his cruelty. Eventually, he smirks, lets those cold,
cold hands trail up his body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Jimin's own body has to
lurch up a little in order for his arm to reach Taehyung's head, and when it does, he's so kind
and sweet, threading his fingers through the soft tresses of hair, "okay, baby." He's
whispering, dandy, darling, dear, and he's gently bringing the man's head forward, giving him
a straw, allowing him to indulge, helping him, "go on."

Not wanting him to change his mind, the blonde surges forward, feels Jimin's fingers tangle
more easily in his hair with how close they are now. He's a lot taller than Jimin, so he has to
position himself a little awkwardly in order to inhale the powder from his abs, but the ache is
revolutionary. It slips up his nose so harshly, he feels it prick against his flesh, uncomfortable
and dire, and yet it's imploding against his endorphins so marvellously.

Taehyung's just about snorted up all of it, moving that straw away, when that treacherous
hand in his hair returns to its cruel ministrations, and slams his head forward. For a moment
he feels like Jimin really is a statue, because the way his nose falls upon that cold, hard
muscle is like face-planting into a boulder. He hardly has time to bask in it before Jimin pulls
his head back again, moves him around like a toy — Taehyung lets him, as he pushes him up,
so they're both upright, the remnants of the powder falling from Jimin's chest.
Confused, he thinks his nose actually might start bleeding with the severity of the hit, along
with the sudden change in position and he starts to groan under his breath, "ow—" but it turns
into an, "ah!" as Jimin suddenly thrusts into him, moving his hips so expertly, pushing into
him so harshly and suddenly, that the blonde's entire body juts forward.

His hands find the arms of Jimin, slow in his movements, letting the man push him away if
he didn't want to be touched. Taking the silence as his approval, he pushes his own body
away a little, so he can look the man in the eye, so pleading and perplexed. Jimin's expression
is hard, his hand still in Taehyung's hair, helping him keep his head up, and he's biting as he
speaks, "you could have cost me a lot of money, Tae." He tells him, harsh, and Taehyung
feels like a fool for ever thinking Jimin would let him off so easy.

He whimpers, his veins popping, royal blue, and he's clutching onto the man's biceps for his
life, because Jimin's thrusts are so magnificently calculated, and yet horrendously rough.
Unorganised yet seemingly preordained, and Taehyung struggles to form a proper response,
his lips parting, fumbling around the concept of words, "I— m sorry." Is all he manages, and
even he thinks it's pathetic, but he can't get over the immense contrast between the emptiness
he felt before, and the overstimulation of pleasure that bleeds over him now. Fucked into
incoherence.

Jimin keeps going, his own face twisting a little, contorting into the darkness of hell, and
Taehyung watches his foreboding anguish, and he then sees them as he parts his mouth, so
hard to avoid, sharp and scary — his fangs are so white. "Hm, such a slut, aren't you? Almost
ruined my plans just 'cause you wanted to get fucked."

He thrusts directly against the man's prostate, and the blonde groans, guttural, deep,
glittering, "y-yeah, I— a slut... Sir's slut."

Jimin smirks, runs his cold hands down Taehyung's waist, keeps him in place, so he can fuck
into him better, just how he wants, "that's right, baby, my slut." Taehyung's grunts are so
delicious, like sweet music; jazz trumpets, blue pianos, deep saxophones, hard drumbeats,
horrific symbols. Jimin wants more from him, "you want Jungkook to fuck you though, hm?"

It's so curious, so strangely fascinating for the mobster to watch that desire unfurl across
Taehyung's features; he's so easy to read in this state, and it's so evident that he does want
that, he confirms it with his nods, frantic, heavy breaths. It's strangely hot to know.

"Such a pretty, little whore," Jimin tells him, almost soft, as his lips quirk upwards
momentarily, his thrusts slowing a little, every movement of his hips so calculated, "too bad
you're mine, hm? You don't fucking touch anyone unless I say so, you got that?" It's
possessive and it's borderline manic, but, realistically, it's not such an ambitious want from a
partner, to know who they touch. It rings so heavily like greed though.

Taehyung can't help but nod, so desperate to feel anything, and the cocaine is bouncing
around his brain, his whole body throbbing. He thinks taking the drug was a bad idea, but it
almost seems to heighten his senses, makes the whole experience ever so much more
transcendental; as he's neon and lurid, blinking into the dark, with a monster in his body, with
sharp teeth and strong hands. It's an existential nightmare, so imbued with glitter and gore.
He almost screams as the hand in his hair tugs at him more harshly, yanks his whole body
closer to Jimin's face, until they're pressed together, chest to chest, "I asked you a question."
The angle of his cock in this position makes the whole process so much more intense, so
much more invigorating. With some sense of hysterical numbness overtaking him, his mind
is blanking, all he can feel is desire. He can't do anything except take it, take it, try so
desperately to feel it, lets his imagination meld with reality. It takes him a moment to realise
when it stops all together, "I said, I asked you a fucking question."

He hadn't even realised his eyes were closed, but everything feels so deep when he opens
them, and they fall against Jimin's. They're almost dead, his eyes, looking at him so harshly,
expectant, his skin so unintelligibly ghostly, transparent and radiant, and yet there's so much
tenderness beneath it. Taehyung tugs more of it out as he breathes out his reply, "I don't
touch... won't touch anyone."

Jimin smiles at him then, the expression a little grim, incandescent nonetheless. He nods in
approval, and his free hand comes to rest at his waist, helping his whole body move as he
begins to plunge into him again, and Taehyung's own cock is rubbing between their bodies,
pulsing, hard.

"There's my good boy." Jimin grins, thrusts further into him, lets him feel every inch, and he
can't help it but to revel in the soft mewls the man lets out as he rams into his tight heat.
Jimin's always had a taste for the luxuries in life, loves wealth and glamour, loves
to have; he'll only take the best things, whether it be jewellery, or clothes, or lovers, or even
workers, he'll only accept the best. That's what Taehyung is. He's everything Jimin wants, all
he craves, and he'll take every inch of him that he can, will keep him for as long as possible.
Forever.

"Jim— Jimin, please."

His breaths are so exasperated and Jimin finds himself a little jealous, wishes he could
express his desire so easily. Yet, he's forced to show it through the intensity of his thrusts, the
unsteadiness of the man's respirations serving to turn him on even more. He's stroking the
man's hair, can't help but to be a little soft, rewarding him for existing practically, stroking
devotion into him, and he's intentionally speaking into his ear as he rasps out, "you want to
cum, my love?"

Taehyung merely whimpers in response, his nails indenting the older man's arms, clinging
onto him as best as he can. His head is nodding, and he just about manages a, "please, sir."

Feeling a little kind, and, simultaneously, a little desperate himself, Jimin picks up his pace,
slams repeatedly into his prostate, and it's beyond the realms of human possibility. Taehyung
feels so good.

"A-ah, Jimin, oh—"

Jimin's stroking his cock then, pumping it, aiding him in his release, "cum for me."

Taehyung groans out, guttural and sweet, and he hisses so harshly as he cums, and Jimin's
teeth are in his neck, consuming his bodily fluids. It all floods out of Taehyung, from his dick,
 and from the holes in his neck, and he's only empty for a moment before Jimin's own cum
fills him, squirting into him with an incomprehensible vigour.

He's suckling on the dancer's neck, letting both their bodies slip out of their rigidity, feeding
off of him, downing his blood like a cocktail. Taehyung feels so good.

So good. "You're so good." Jimin says, as he pulls out of his hole, a trail of his cum
following, and the blonde can't help but to groan with it. So good.

He absolutely needs to see Jungkook again.

Chapter End Notes

sorry for the long pause! i hope this extra long chapter will make up for it! also, i didn't
want to do too much vmin on their own, but i felt the scene was just necessary cause sex
is a big part of their relationship. don't worry! vminkook is always gonna be the
endgame!! <33333
 Chapter 6
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Tender aromas flood the air; chestnuts and spices, flower baskets, rows of fruit, seeds,
ointments, potions, pottery, wood carvings, herbs, thyme and rosemary lingering in bundles,
dainty lavender, remedies and waxwork, hand-stitched quilts and floral printed tapestries,
cheap jewellery, silver twisted to rings and spoons; with bags of flour and scents of
cinnamon, the centre on the poor side of town is brimming with life.

And there is Kim Taehyung, soaking it all up.

Yes, Taehyung is in the market — it's not a figment of Jungkook's imagination, even though
he feels like he's rubbed his eyes over a thousand times upon catching sight of the man. No
matter how hard he tries to shake away doubt, he's still a little rattled by the fact Kim
Taehyung is there, standing tall, talking to a market stall owner, leaning into the supple
ambience.

The market ran every Saturday, and Jungkook rarely came unless in desperate need of
something, but he can't quite fathom the fact that on the one day he did decide to come, Kim
Taehyung also decided to make an appearance. A narcissistic part of the boxer wonders if
he'd known Jungkook would be here, like he'd planned to meet him.

But, he also thinks he looks particularly enthralled with whatever it is he was trying to buy
from the stall, like he was genuine in his appearance. Despite his immersion, Jungkook finds
he looks terribly incongruous; this is the poor area, a far cry out from The Sugar Lounge, and
he doesn't quite fit. He's all about eating hearts and gorging on guts, covering himself in
glitter; he's buttermilk and strawberry's, an infusion of amethyst sunsets and 30 kilograms of
sugar — distorted falsities and feathered skin, with eidolons crawling about his complexion.
A god amongst mortals.

He's so wrong in this setting.

Jungkook attempts to go about his business, weaselling through the public, buying the few
things Ara had sent him out for. Although the city was overrun with an abundance of shops
for every occasion — butchers, bakers, green-grocers, pharmacies, fromageries, produce
vendors, you name it — the market was cheaper, made buying the little things so much
easier. He tries to remain unaffected by the presence of the man, but he can't help but to
flicker his gaze back to him constantly.

But Taehyung hasn't looked back.

Unsure whether or not to approach him (unsure what he would even say if he were to),
Jungkook attempts to avoid him, grabs the few items he needs with haste. Tensely, he simply
opts to move out of the market and head to his next destination: the electronics store. Though
he hadn't told his sisters yet, that was the main reason for his visit to this part of town; he was
desperate to spend some of his hard earned cash that was starting to amount to quite a bit.
He's almost a little giddy as he strives to leave the market.

But, then, a hand grasps his wrist.

Jungkook's head snaps up in shock, and he's only marginally surprised to see Taehyung stood
there, his long fingers wrapped around his wrist, decorated with gold-rimmed rings —
emeralds, sapphires and rubies. Garish colours, reminiscent of the medieval era, royalty and
rivers, swimming in blue blood; it's strangely beautiful.

Bedecked in a suit of tawny brown, he seems to be isolating any slither of gold that the
sunshine had tried to smash against him, coruscating by himself. Jungkook notices he isn't
wearing a shirt or tie, just a very dark blazer, and his collar bones jut out, his neck so
prominent, with little discolourations of red splattered across the expanse of skin. Frankly, he
looked a little like he'd been attacked, and Jungkook wonders how he hasn't been, walking
around in such ridiculous attire. He doesn't seem to care, nor do the people around them, and
his eyes are wild, as they interlock with Jungkook's.

Taehyung is a harlequin daydream, glittering ruby lips, and pearly white eyes, bursting so
vividly from their sockets, so angelic against the pull of his tan skin. He attempts a smile,
says, "hello." He says it like a song, twinkling letters, mingling with evocative melodies.

Jungkook's eyebrow naturally raises, and Taehyung watches it crinkle the skin of his
forehead. Confused, the boxer attempts an answer, "hello?"

"Strange to see you here." Taehyung tells him, and he sounds genuine, his breath catching,
like he'd ran to catch up with him, like he'd genuinely only just noticed him.

"I could say the same." The ravenette responds, eyes flickering down, and the older man
follows them, sees them land on his hand on the other's wrist, and he's quick in the way he
lets the grip fall, his hand coming to his side, almost sheepish.

They both look different in daylight, all electric and charismatic, more like people of the
world, than creatures who crawl amongst it. Taehyung can't help but find Jungkook so
curious. In many ways, he seemed to be merely a caricature; dark, brooding and aggressive, a
meathead with survival instincts. But, he was so much more; vivacious, delicious, notorious
and scary, his mind is enthralling, and Taehyung wants to unravel his cerebral cortex and
gorge on his thoughts; he gets so hot just thinking about the man, with his handsome face and
chiselled words. The fact he isn't fooled by Taehyung only serves to make him all the more
covetous. Not to mention, he adored how easily Jimin could get wound up by Taehyung
merely taking an interest in the boxer.

He smiles serenely, leaking ataraxy, responds in as mellow a voice as he can, "I'm just buying
some ointments." He shakes the paper bag he's holding in his left hand, and Jungkook hears
glasses clinking together inside, "what are you doing?"

The boxer ponders over whether he should even entertain the conversation, or whether he
should just leave, get on with his own business. His voice is harsh, plain, blunt, as he says,
"shopping."
Quizzical are his eyes then, swirling with disparity, searching Jungkook's own for a mere
moment, before he sighs into his statement, "Ah, I see you're upset with me."

"Upset with you?" Jungkook can't help but to give Taehyung what he wants, to act interested.
He's unsure of the tone that the other adopts; it's sweet sounding, glimmers across the
darkened world. His voice is like a dip into the nighttime pool, like skinny-dipping in black
waters, toes cold against the liquid, trying to push you away, to warn you of danger, yet you
dive in anyway — you love the thrill.

"I'm sorry about the other night... I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Unsteady surprise shuffles up Jungkook's jagged bones, attempting to wrap around the zigzag
patterns, filling him with it. Unsure how to respond, his words fall out on instinct, "It's fine, I
don't care."

Taehyung doesn't let him dismiss the topic so easily, merely shakes his head, continues on,
"no, I don't want you to think poorly of me because of it."

Jungkook is about to respond, when the blonde's arm suddenly moves, his hand reaching up,
scratching at his own neck; it draws accidental attention to the vulgar collection of scars
peppered across his pelt, unpleasant and repulsively pink, like raw meat. Jungkook can't help
but think the marks left there look exceedingly painful.

And very familiar.

A photographic image flashes in his head and he frowns, recalling those exact same markings
lining his own sister's neck a few nights ago, and his brows naturally form a narrowed
structure. He hates how curious he is, hates how tantalised he's become by the blonde, as he
watches over his every movement, captivated by the very idea of him. He hates how much he
wants to know more. Alas, he supposes, he's entangled amongst this gang now, it'd be in his
best interest to know as much as he can about them. That's what he uses to justify himself, as
he shrugs into his words, "I don't think poorly of you."

The blonde's face brightens instantly, and he almost looks like he's bouncing on his feet, any
semblance of that distraught integument dispersing instantly. He's back to his regular beauty,
and Jungkook wonders if he'd just been imagining that change in vibrations; that, or the man
was a good actor. "I'm glad."

Jungkook shudders at the fact he finds that smile to be so cute, because the burlesque dancer
was anything but that. Or, perhaps he was all that. Jungkook couldn't deny he was mutually
intrigued by the blonde, though, he's sure it's more to do with his supernatural glow than of
genuine interest, as it was like he was trying to appeal to Jungkook's desires. Softly, he
inquires, "can I ask you something?"

"You can." He responds, delicate, excited.

He finds Taehyung's not intimidating enough by himself for him to worry about the questions
he asks, so he allows himself to give into his mystification, casually questioning, "what
happened to your neck?"
"Hm?" Taehyung looks a little amused by the question, and they're stood in their own bubble,
right beside each other, yet the blonde seems worlds away. His pretty, ringed fingers clutch at
the bones of his neck, scamper across the abused skin, and he seems strangely sedated by the
fact his body is so misused. "Jimin." Is all he says for a moment, and the boxer had already
guessed that was the case — though he couldn't deny how distinct the marks were, almost
identical to Hoseok's. Then the blonde continues, smiles, his words coming out so callous and
cool, "it's 'cause of you actually, since you told him I came to see you."

Jungkook frowns, mystification stilted, speech rough, "are you expecting me to apologise for
telling him that his boyfriend came to flirt with me?"

"No." His voice is so deep, transcends earth, seems to drown within oceans, or burst into
space, and he smiles into his words still, "I was just answering your question."

"Right." The boxer nods, though he can't help but to narrow his eyes, watching the marks on
his neck, as if they may start moving, as if they may give him answers. "So, what'd he do?
Strangle you?"

Taehyung erupts into a bout of giggles, and Jungkook can't help but be stirred by it, finds it to
be rather harmonious, "oh, he would never." Taehyung tells him between his laughs.

Jungkook doesn't think it was such a preposterous notion though, Jimin was a mob boss, and
he didn't exactly seem the type to value the human condition. Though he was definitely
abnormal for any gangster Jungkook had seen (as he seemed willing to be fair, to harbour
some sense of humanity, to let his subordinates get away with things most wouldn't), that
didn't mean he didn't come across as so distinctly hard.

Narrowing his eyes, he questions, "is that right?"

"It is."

His eyes narrow more, "and you're perfectly fine walking around like you've been mauled by
a wild dog?"

Taehyung is still smiling, though it's almost somber in expression, melts down his face, like
fingers cascading down the keys of a piano. "I don't mind." He says, sounds a little childish,
Jungkook can't help but think, and in some weird sense, he feels sorry for him. Delicate and
dainty, he appears so stark amongst the world's hatred, and, in this light he looks a little weak,
like he'd been manipulated into the thinking he was okay with what Jimin did to him. But
then his grin broadens, and he looks stiff, picturesque and tough, and his tone twists into
something more flirtatious, "I like rough people, actually, I've always been attracted to people
who can handle it — to those who know how to fight."

"Have you now?" Jungkook rolls his eyes at the insinuation, though something strange seems
to burn with it.

Taehyung nods, pretty and decrepit, and he's so pointlessly upfront in how he speaks, as if
Jungkook wouldn't have gotten what he was implying, "you sort of fit that bill, don't you?"
The boxer bites his lip, controls his anger — or, was it anger? He's unsure what the feeling is
that's burning up his internal organs, but he forces himself to be upfront in his refusal, no
longer wishing to adhere to the man's desires, "look, I'm sorry, but I'm really not interested in
getting involved with you and your outlandish relationship."

"Oh?" The man cocks a brow, pouts his fucking lips, "why not?"

Flaring his nostrils, the younger replies, "whatever you guys have, it's... abnormal. I don't
want to be a catalyst for that man's violence towards you."

"Hmm, it's strange that that's your primary concern." Taehyung tells him, eyes squinting, and
his smile blazing, "you know, not wanting to get involved because he's violent, as opposed to
the fact, we're both men." Jungkook's eyes widen, and he hates the fact that he genuinely
hadn't even thought of that as a reason for not wanting to be involved; he supposes, that
should've perhaps been a bigger factor in his rejection. He's unsure why it wasn't. Before he
can retaliate, Taehyung continues, "but, as sweet as that is, you really shouldn't have it in
your head that Jimin is violent with me. He's very tender deep down."

"Tender?" Jungkook snaps back, his insufficient anger fizzling out in a sudden jut of letters.
He truly doesn't think it would be too farfetched, the man was passionate, certainly, yet, with
his lifestyle, with his career, it's pretty much unheard of for tenderness to survive.

"Mm." The blonde nods, pulls his little bag closer to himself, smiles into the distance, like
he's grinning at memories or forgotten souls; like he's watching spirits wandering across the
earth aimlessly, painfully. Turning his grin into something hotter, he stares at Jungkook,
wholehearted in speech, "Of course, I understand you not wishing to have anything to do
with us, it's quite a hard lifestyle in this society. But, may I offer you some advice?"

Jungkook's brow raises, tilts his head a little, and he nods.

People are surging past them, they're out in the open, in broad daylight, but Taehyung is so
damn shameless, as he brings his hand to the lapels of his blazer. Jungkook watches the
agility of his movements. He's so nonchalant in it, as he gently tugs the material to the side,
and the boxer can't help but to widen his eyes, his mouth, his fingers, as a lace bra of crimson
lineage peaks through, in the place of his shirt.

Jungkook had almost forgotten who exactly the man was, and he feels this strange sense of
sickness and desire intermingle within him. He's never felt such a thing unfurl in his gut
before. Strangely, he feels like he's being watched again, can feel the cruelty of a stranger's
eyes on him — white, white eyes.

Taehyung's lips are ruby red, the same colour as his lingerie. His hand is so purposeful and
soft as it releases the fabric of his blazer, letting it fall back over his dirty little secret. Then
his fingers are gently gripping under the boxer's chin, pulling his head up, so their eyes meet.
His eyes are so sweet, glimmering and amorous, as his words fall from his mouth, soft,
sensual, "You should learn to not suppress your urges."

Jungkook wants to spit back a response, to retort, to hurt, to prevent that suggestion from
ever crossing the blonde's mind again.
But he can't, his words are lost, and his body is stiff, his heart hammering, and Taehyung
steps away, looks him up and down. His gaze lands on Jungkook's crotch for a moment too
long, eyes sparkling with knowing. Before he walks away, he says, so deep, warm like a gun,
pounding into him like bullet wounds, "I'll always be around when you want to try anything."

Jungkook wants to be sick.

&&&

Shuffling feet and rigid hands, a little girl is hanging off of her older sister, shrugging her
shoulders, scrambling with small fingers, white socks pattering against the floor. She smiles
so widely, as the elder grips onto her, her own heels click and squeak as she moves, irritating
those below them. Swing music erupts through the apartment, and Ara somewhat attempts to
dance in rhythm with it.

Jungkook is sat on the sofa, watching his sisters, as they dance so gleefully, in time with the
live broadcast of music coming from their new phonograph. The man had bought it on his
way home from the market, and had been trying to figure out how to work it for a majority of
the afternoon — not wanting to ask for help, and almost getting to the point he wanted to
throw it away. Looking at the little girl's face now, though, he so glad he didn't.

Upon receiving his most recent pay-check (from a strange, muscular man this time), he'd
opted to splash out, to get something good. He'd originally sought to get something better,
something larger — radios were starting to be more common now, but, although he had more
money than before, he didn't have that much. Not yet. It's a small start. Though he'd never
been one for material possession, he can't deny how big of an affect it's had on the girl, and
he can't help but be thankful.

Still, that sense of joy is somewhat overrun by his feelings of despair, his conversation with
Taehyung hanging so heavily over his head. Guilt, shame, burden; his shoulders feel so
heavy, all his bones aching.

"You should dance with us, Kookie." Hanai declares, her breaths so uneven, as she's dancing
so hard — though, it's mainly her body getting shaken around by the elder sister. Red
cheeked and white teethed, her smile is so innocent, endearing. Jungkook wants to throw up
as he finds it somewhat reminds him of Kim Taehyung's smile.

Jungkook just grins back, shaking his head, tries his best to be gentile, despite the whirlwind
of emotions flourishing in his mind right now. "I don't dance, Han." He tells her, soft.
He feels sick to his stomach as he remembers what he'd done as soon as he'd gotten back
home. He feels so ashamed of himself, and he can barely stand to look at the little girl, let
alone dance with her, or bask in her joy.

"Oh, come on, Kookie." Ara drawls out, so irritating and mocking, though her smile is more
kindred than the man was accustomed to. She rarely smiles like that anymore, and her thin
face becomes so lifelike with it, like she's bathing in heaven-soaked oceans, swimming with
golden sharks. "Live a little."

Life.

Jungkook thinks he's had enough of life and it's pleasurable numbness. He thinks he'd inhaled
too much life for today, thinks he'd released enough into the world too. He can't shake off the
feeling of chagrin, his post-masturbation glow proving to be much more of a heart clenching
walk of shame.

"You live enough for both of us." He chuckles, attempts to, but he knows it comes out so
scarce, lacking in volume.

His eyes fall to his lap, to the newspaper placed there, and he tries to busy himself with the
headlines. But he can't. He'd fucking touched himself, in a way he'd never done before; he'd
run into the bathroom, and he'd touched himself over the mere thought of a pretty man with a
pretty bra.

Ara and Hanai giggle at each other as they keep dancing, the elder pulling the girl up,
carrying her, bouncing her up and down like a newborn.

He wonders if it was the fact he's a man that got to Jungkook, or whether he was so depraved,
it was simply the fact someone was coming onto him — it couldn't be that, he's had that
before, many times. Perhaps it was the blatant exhibitionism, the dirty taste of shamelessness,
the fact anyone could see, but the display was just for Jungkook. Perhaps Jungkook just gets
turned on from having power over others, because he certainly felt like the display gave him
some power over Jimin, even if it was bound to be a facade, an illusion of power, used to
clutch at him, to draw him in, keep him begging for more.

"It's truly remarkable that you aren't physically compelled to dance, Jungkook." Ara tells him,
amidst her attempts at some form of Charleston.

"You know me, Ara," He says, winks at her, trying his best to be lighthearted in this
atmosphere, not wanting to ruin his surprise, "never one to give in to my deepest
compulsions."

Ara just laughs.

And that's right, that was him, he never ever gave into his deepest desires, never could bring
himself to, and he needed his sister to remind him of that, to tell him who he is. But, she
doesn't, she just continues dancing, with her avid smile and her tired eyes, beaming down at
the younger girl.
Jungkook inwardly groans, fully tries to distract himself, glares down at the newspaper, flicks
through pages. He's absentminded, wants desperately to set his mind on anything else,
anything other than the sexuality coursing through every fibre of his being. His hands shake
with the thoughts of touching something other than himself — of touching Taehyung, holding
him, taking him, fucking him.

The papers sound like they're tearing with every vigorous turn, and it's noticeable when they
suddenly stop, when his mind manages to suddenly focus on one headline. His eyes widen a
little, gaze lingers on the image of a man, beneath the words: meet your new mayor!

He feels something different in his throat then, and it's not quite like shame, no, it's more
like dread. The man in the picture is startling in his beauty, his familiarity sinking in the
longer Jungkook stares at him; his eyes are dark, yet so blistering, even in the black and
white image; his mouth and lips so full, cheeks thin and chiselled, as his hair rests so black
against the pale face, lacking in any sense of viability, so meticulously placed.

He's got a strange symbol under his lip.

Jungkook remembers him, recalls having seen him in The Sugar Lounge all those weeks ago,
when Jimin had told him he was an associate, remembers how he'd noted him as familiar
even then. He's unsure why he's so unsettled by it, but the man's beauty is the same as that of
Jimin's and Hoseok's and it's so dark and immense. Yet it's a little subtle, something one
wouldn't notice, unless they were already questioning his legitimacy.

With a dry throat, he excuses himself, goes to get some water. Leaves the paper open with the
picture of the new mayor splayed out.

Kim Seokjin.

&&&
They eat breakfast at midnight.

Min Yoongi, being the an expert in all things to do with ingestion, prepares food for guests
esteemed enough to deserve it. Adoring the creation of potions and elixirs, the bartender had
managed to develop a great skill in cooking and preparing food — especially for gory
individuals who simply like the taste of blood.

That's what he does for the gang who supply their alcohol, Jimin's gang. Upon the man's
request to gift the men who he deemed worthy, Min Yoongi found himself serving them food,
presenting it to them in the back booths of The Sugar Lounge, glaring as he did so. Jimin
payed him no mind, of course, choosing to simply gnaw at various items, listening to the
small group of men chatter away.

"You should've seen him, screamed like a bitch, thought my ears would fall off — like a little
fucking girl, he was. Thought I'd turn around and see curly little pigtails on his head,"
Namjoon tells them, his voice filling the atmosphere, enthralling the gorging audience, with
their gaudy smiles, and triumphant tongues. "And this other guy, one of their guys, he comes
over, tries to see what the fuss was all about, right?" The men are all chortling around their
food, so easily amused. "He must've thought it was his lucky day when he sees the pair of us,
wobblin' around, trynna infiltrate their stupid warehouse, with one of us hollering 'cause he
got his pinky toe stepped on."

Park Jimin is sat, leisurely reclining in his chair, both feet up on the table, dirty leather,
sullied by the day's excursions, and, yet no one dares say a word about cleanliness. With
stilted interest, he lends his ear to Namjoon's recollection of how he'd managed to fulfil his
task of acquiring a shipment of holy water. Something he suspects he'll need in the not too
distant future.

He's entertaining to the other men, meaning his subordinates instantly like him — everyone
enjoys his jovial manner of speech, and the way he churns out nonsensicalities. They're all
incomprehensibly rapt as he rambles on, "they got lights on us then, their whole fucking
squadron flooding around, everyone coming to see the fucking freak attraction of Chiwon
stubbin' his toe and hollerin' for hell." Chiwon, a man of thin stature, and feathery black hair,
looks both sheepish and proud at being the focal point of the story, his mouth upturned,
cheeks a little rosy. Namjoon claps him on the back as he continues, "seriously, this pansy
nearly blew the whole operation — lucky we have the grace of darkness on our side."

"How many men were there?" Someone asks.

"Around twenty, I'd say." Namjoon nods, takes a huge bite out of the food he was eating.
"And how many were left?"

Namjoon's smile is so vengeful then, positively immersive, like a means of tugging you into a
snake pit, or beneath the earthly soils of a grave. His mouth is parted, and there's residual
droplets of blood lingering in the corners, eyes flashing blue, and his words are startlingly
soft by comparison, "Well we got the shit, didn't we?"

And they all laugh, though it's so gruesome an ideal, so strange a reality, and, should they be
within the realms of humanity, they may succumb to such a notion. It's distinctly animalistic
though, the atmosphere, filled with a carbonic temperament that burns amongst all of them,
and they all sink their teeth into meat — raw, pink, hot, thick meat.

A few whistles sound, symbolising the arrival of Kim Taehyung, who's heels click avidly, as
he swans through the throngs of people, making his way to the table. Hoseok trails behind,
his eyes dark and serious. Very few of the men currently there are daring enough to look up at
the blonde, not close enough to their boss to mind being caught staring at him. Although it
was quite hard to not look, as everything about him was constructed in such a way that
warranted attention being cast upon him at any point.

Hoseok has a stack of papers in his hands, and he takes them with him as he moves through
to the kitchen area, going behind the bar, ignoring the select group of men in the room — or,
at least attempting to, getting a little sidetracked as Namjoon hollers some harmless, teasing
comment at him.

Taehyung, however — clad in a midnight black fur coat, with thick eyeliner smeared across
his eyelids, and black glitter making his eyes pop from their sockets — beelines directly
toward Jimin. There's an empty seat for him, because people knew better than to try and take
it, even if there was no chance of Taehyung making an appearance. He's so dainty in his
motion as he sits, and it's so ritualistic, the way Jimin's arm stretches around the back of the
chair, and Taehyung leans into it, into the frost of his body.

No one pays them any mind, and Namjoon continues to converse with his eager listeners,
offering the blonde a grin as Taehyung meets his eye.

Taehyung winks at him, before leaning toward Jimin, and his breath is a little uneven, as he
whispers to him, "Hello."

Cocking an amused eyebrow, Jimin cranes his head around, gives the younger man all of his
attention, lips raising into something curious. "Hello?"

They rarely do hellos, Taehyung and Jimin, because there's no need really, they find it
immensely easy to come in and out of conversations; every time they come together after
being away from one another, they simply come together. They have no need for formalities.
Taehyung's smile is rather sweet, like apricot jam or lemon curd, and his eyes are like lights,
staring into Jimin's soul.

"Not dancing tonight, my love?" The older inquires, and he takes a sip of his drink, red,
swirled with a depiction of sickly green. Jimin's head points momentarily toward the stage,
wherein a few girls are flailing about, with their skin of blue, and their mouths of pink,
fluttering fingers and sturdy thighs. Taehyung merely shakes his head, and his smile is a little
stifled. Upon noticing the man's quiet front, the pink-haired man asks, "everything alright?"
Though he doesn't appear concerned — no, just strenuously fond, the emotion leaking from
his pores and his blood soaked teeth.

"Mhm." Taehyung nods, but his smile becomes a little wider, a little faker, and it's clear it's a
smile used for pleading — don't be mad at me.

Jimin sighs, clicks his tongue, though he sounds vaguely enamoured as he asks, "what
happened?"

"Oh, nothing happened, per se." The dancer mumbles, his words are exhaustive, drenching in
toxic fumes and pulchritudinous ruin — and they're as whimsical as daylight, as steamy as
perdition.

Jimin watches him, observes how his fingers run up and down the soft, expensive fur coat,
watches the lush flutter of his lashes and pale pink twinkle of his smile. Jimin is sizzling,
content with the man's mysterious convictions, and yet stirred by the dreadful feeling that
sparks through him.

Upon receiving no vocalisation he should stop, the blonde continues, meeting Jimin's eyes,
happily swallowed up by their lethal saturation — he feels a little ill as those eyes begin to
twitch with death, as he speaks. "I ran into Jungkook."

Everyone knows Park Jimin is good at keeping his cool — ever since Namjoon first met the
man, he'd thought his level of patience to be unmatched. Thus why it was such a surprise
when this ability was put to the test once he met Kim Taehyung. Namjoon had never seen
him more stirred by anything, ever, in life or death, Taehyung was always capable of getting
to him. Through the corner of his eyes, the man watches that very uncharacteristic tick of
irritation scuttle over Jimin, and he knows not to be surprised, so he settles for being amused.

"Ran into him?" The words have to bash their way out of his mouth, having been wedged in
his throat, imprisoned behind gritted teeth. When the sounds do fall about the table, they're
cold and rattling, and, though the previous conversation is flowing, a few twittering gazes
briefly fall upon their boss. It was always so interesting to see him display any other emotion
than conceited gaiety.

Taehyung feels his toes curl in his shoes, and he has to stop himself from revealing any sense
of glee, simply opts to continue in his truth spilling. "Yeah, and I just thought I should inform
you, you know, since I didn't last time."

"Is that so." His nostrils flare a little, and he's taking a large gulp of his drink — Taehyung
watches how his jaw clenches, teeth clutching hard at the glass. Briefly, Jimin glances around
at the other men, all somewhat immersed in their conversation, before flickering his eyes
back to the blonde. "Well, that's certainly very good of you." Though it's framed like praise,
there's some sense of irony in it, like he's very much aware of what the man was trying to do.
"And, I suppose, you didn't do much more than run into each other, hm?"
"Uh, well," Olive-pigmented fingers scratch at his neck, at the faded marks there, and he
leans back into the arm that's still around the back of the chair. "We made up," He says then, a
twang of ecstasy embedded in his polysyllabic drawl, joyful in his continuation, "so, you
needn't worry about what happened making him uncomfortable enough to stop fighting at
Blood."

The mobster's eyes are dark, encompassing every single impassioned remnant of iniquity, his
entire body encased with a nictate of tenebrosity; they search over Taehyung's face, like an x-
ray, seeing him down to his very core. Truth. His smile returns with the decision of him
telling the truth, so he's genuinely agog in his inquiry, "what made you want him so bad,
anyway? You could have anyone you want."

Taehyung looks at him, plainly, and they bathe in a mutual knowledge; yes, Taehyung could
have anyone he wants, could use anyone to help him out, but, they both know he likes those
who aren't so easy to grasp, they're always so much better. And, well, Jungkook is like water,
slips through his fingers, so difficult to clutch hold of. "I think he could be the one."

"The one?" Jimin almost looks confused for a moment, but as soon as he realises Taehyung's
intent, a fiery sheen seems to glaze over his eyes. The one. The words practically glimmer in
their eeriness, evidently the concept being something completely terrible and dangerous.
"No." He pronounces in a snap, "not him."

Taehyung would be startled by the unprecedented outburst of panicked refusal, if it wasn't

what he was expecting. He knew it was coming, of course, knows Jimin often needs to take a
moment to warm up to his ideas, so, he relaxes his tone as he asks, "Oh, but don't you think
he'd be perfect?"

Jimin's head lurches to the side, eyes narrowed, throat drying. "In what respect?"

The blonde bites his lip, Jimin follows the movement, allows the man to ponder. Taehyung's
eyes are wide in an instant, his smile fluttering and drifting, airy as he replies, "You've seen
him fight, no? It's astonishing, truly, almost monstrous." Jimin has to force himself not scoff
at the carefully chosen adjective. "There's something so interesting about him, don't you
agree? Like, he's so— so vicious, it's a little funny, and, Hoseok said he was poor, lives in
some shitty apartment, and, yet, he's wise, speaks so meticulously."

Namjoon can't help but to overhear the pensive way in which the blonde chatters on, curiosity
peaked, as he observes the manner of Jimin, who, to his astonishment, seems a little
enthralled by the words.

"In some ways," Taehyung pronounces the words, lets them sit amongst the peace, as if
preparing himself for something awful that may occur. He looks perfectly calm though, as he
says, with a tender beckoning of finality, "he reminds me of you."

Namjoon doesn't quite manage to see how Jimin reacts to the words, as Hoseok renters the
room, sans papers, but one hand is clutching a dagger, shiny and silver. "We gotta go, Sir." He
says in the general direction of Jimin, though he's not looking at him, as he's busy plucking
some food from the table, ready to eat on the road.
Deftly, the leader nods, his face screwed up in thought, as all the men start to get up and get
ready for business — get ready to start the day at 00:45. They've much to prepare for, and the
night is when they best operate.

Taehyung remains seated, as he doesn't intend on joining them, Jimin rarely let him, and said
man just turns to him, he tells him, so hasty and thick with promise, "we'll continue this
conversation later."

"Mhmm." The blonde nods, and he glances around the table, searches for something
susceptible to eat. Jimin smiles, and leans down to peck his cheek, before he rises fully, and
one of the lower-ranking members slips a coat onto his shoulders, and places a cigarette into
his mouth.

Jimin puffs the smoke out, loves to do it, despite the fact he doesn't truly need to inhale or
exhale. "Be a good boy, sugar."

As he leaves, Taehyung can't help but smile, gnawing on a random food item, reclining back
further in his seat, all alone, warm.

&&&

Jungkook supposes he ought to be used to being cornered after a fight by now; since signing
that contract, it had been somewhat of a routine for either Jimin, Taehyung or Hoseok to greet
him, tell him how good he is, flirt with him, question him. He somewhat walks around with
his eyes a little wider, as if anticipating some form of onslaught or bombardment.

But, that's not what he gets today, at least, not from the usual people. No, as soon he pushes
open his changing room door, teeth red and eyes redder, breaths shuddering out of him in a
hearty succession, he's met with a vastly unfamiliar face.

It's not a pretty one, not in the sense that it's ugly, but more so that it pales in comparison to
his usual guests. There's no twinkle to the man who stands before him, in his mismatched
apparel — caramel trousers, with a cream blazer and chestnut hat — in fact, he's
distinctly dull, like the edge of a used knife. His feet are spread apart, like he's trying to make
himself larger than he already is, with his excessively broad shoulders and long, stocky legs.
And his gloved fingers dance in the empty space.

As he looks up and his face is no longer so shrouded by his hat, Jungkook discerns the fact
his eyes are cloudy, like the sky is trapped within them, a spritz of white slipping over the
orbs of brown. White eyes. His skin is tan, drenched in vitality, and his square jaw is covered
with dark patches of stubble, with a deep, red scar pressed down from his nose, to his chin.

The scar goes over his lips, and it looks like it's tearing them apart as they flicker into a smile.
He speaks with his head cocked to the side, looking at Jungkook with those white-striped
eyes. "You're getting pretty good at fighting, huh?" The man's voice is so startlingly deep and
stoic, Jungkook struggles to not flinch.

"Getting?" He repeats, spits the word out, any curiosity dispersing, replaced by his perfected
efforts at being aggressive.

The man doesn't appear stirred, and his smile doesn't increase with the boxer's anger either,
not like Jimin or Taehyung's would. He merely nods, says, "mm, I've been a supporter for a
while, you've improved a lot."

Jungkook smirks a little upon hearing such a thing, and his eyebrow raises in the cocky way
he's accustomed to. "A supporter, huh?"

"That's right." The man tells him, "You've got a great technique, better than this place
deserves, I can tell you that." He turns more toward him, his large body like a blanket over
the stark whiteness of the room. Subtly he licks his lip, and a deep, warm breath falls from
his nose, like a sigh, but more contemplative. "I used to be a boxer myself, you know, and
I've gotta admit I know my stuff. By which, I mean to say, you should be pleased that I'm
paying you such a compliment."

The younger's eyes widen, and his lips curl with a slight hint of hilarity, twisted amongst his
genuine apprehensiveness. He tuts into his words, sarcasm evident, "you certainly are
modest."

"Modesty is for the weak, wouldn't you agree?" He inquires, and the fogginess of his eyes
disperses for a moment, allowing them to coruscate a little, in a manner that assimilates that
of Park Jimin. "It's a cut throat business, I'm sure you're aware."

"Well, it's at the heart of the sport." Jungkook responds, cocking his head.

"No, not boxing — although it's true for that, also — I was more meaning to say
that life itself is cutthroat." The stranger says, his voice leaking and dark, "That is to say,
every aspect of it, including boxing, I suppose, requires a certain amount of blood-thirst. If
life is about prevailing toward success, you need to understand what it is you must do to
achieve that. In any case, it is to do whatever you must, even if that requires stepping on a
few toes." He informs, his words so strangely ominous and yet filled with an unbridled
depiction of comfort. "And, you, Mr Jeon, are evidently aware of such a feat."
Jungkook's eyes narrow, his whole head aching a little, and he doesn't think it has much to do
with the way it had been pummelled on in the ring. His voice is thick and grating, as he
replies, questions, "look, no offence, but what the fuck are you talking about?"

It's silent for a moment, a short but wondrous moment, wherein the world stands still and the
earth breaks around them, falls down into a pit of hell. When the man speaks again, it's with a
means of keeping afloat, "As I said, I know a great deal about boxing, and I know you can
make it big, bigger than this place." His gloved hand seems to twitch, like he wanted to
outstretch it, but it merely plays at his lapels. "What I mean to say, is that I'd like to help you,
manage you perhaps? I notice you don't seem to have one — a manager, that is — and it
would be a privilege to get you to reach that success you're capable of."

Jungkook can feel his heart pound a little harder against his chest, physically feels the shake
of his ribcage, as the idea drifts across his body. It slips out of him before it can settle though,
because, he's already succeeding, he's making so much from Jimin, from his current
arrangement — who cares the bar is shitty? Not to mention, he's unsure how he'd be able to
detangle himself from the thin, sturdy webs he'd adhered himself to.

"I have a manager, thanks."

"Hm?" The man raises a black, bushy brow, and he frowns into his speech, "I don't see him
around."

The boxer feels himself become strangely defensive of his current position, though he's
unsure exactly why. "I'm not in need of someone to babysit me, that is to say," He copies the
man's words, the phrase he seems to have an affinity for, as his own words spit out of him, "I
don't need someone to hold my hand. I have a good income, and that's all I need."

The stranger smiles again, and it's bitter, quintessentially so, his next words so harsh, hitting
the dartboard of Jungkook's humanity expertly. "Lee Doh recommended you."

"What." His teeth grit, and he can't help the anger, as it bubbles within him so horrendously.
His mouth twists, his eyes blur, and he suddenly finds himself back on Earth; his post-fight
glow dispersing, and his fantasy of money and glamour melting away, replaced with the
stony reality. Harsh, harsh reality. He barks at it, at the man, "Get the fuck out."

"Oh?" The man is strangely soft in expression. "Did things end badly between the two of
you?"

Jungkook's facial features twist, they pull tightly at irritation, at despair, like the very essence
of his innards is pooling out of him. His eyes glitter and his throat aches, as he demands,
"who the fuck even are you?"

"Hm? I suppose, I didn't get to introduce myself. My name's Chung Uram." He doesn't hold
out his hand, but it twitches again, and his smile is so broad, bordering on smug, but perhaps
more blissful. "And, my guess was right, there is hope for you yet, Mr Jeon." The words
trickle out in an almost ominous way, but it doesn't quite fit that concept, and so they hang
there, heavy and unknown, aggravating Jungkook.
"What the fuck do you mean hope?"

Uram shrugs his large shoulders, and his bright, ivory eyes stare blankly at the younger man,
his face taking on a more calm expression, as he responds with, "What I mean to say is I truly
am a supporter of yours, Jungkook, and, as such, I've made great efforts to observe your way
of fighting. Although it may seem a little obscure at first, please be willing to hear me out."
Jungkook does, he allows the man to talk, as he allows the words to sink in. "I truly do know
Doh, as well, which is precisely why I was so worried when I first found him to be missing."

"Oh, please, no one would be worried for—"

Uram merely shakes his head, continues on with his stoic immediacy, "I was worried that the
man I'd entrusted to keep an eye on Blood was missing, without a trace." Jungkook feels his
heart beat faster. "Now, when I say worried, don't get me wrong, it is not that I was thrown
into disarray by the concept of not knowing where he could be, no, I immediately understood
what had happened, which, wouldn't you agree, should be cause to worry?"

"Well, I don't—"

"And, well, as I said, I'm a supporter of yours, and I've been observing your technique. I'm a
curious man by nature, you see, so I couldn't quite stop at viewing. You see, the other day, I
came to find you, and, that I certainly did. Yes, I found you, outside, having civil
conversation with the owner of this very establishment."

"Oh." Jungkook frowns, and he's unsure whether to be anxious or relieved, as he surmises,
"so, this is about Jimin."

"Ah, I see you're on a first name basis." Uram mutters, and he seems a little contemplative, as
if debating amongst himself over what to say next. He sighs and hums into his words, "as you
seem to know him quite well, tell me, please, Mr Jeon, what exactly do you think of him?"

"Think of him?" The boxer scratches his own abdominals, right across the ink laying there,
amongst scars and bruises. Unsure where best to start, he tries to concoct a susceptible
response, "Well, he's... a little odd, but he's a good manager, so I don't have any vendetta
against him."

"A calculated response." Uram rolls his eyes, flitters his fingers about, and Jungkook finds
himself weirdly curious of the gloves. "But, please, I know that you understand what I'm
getting at, you've got such expressive eyes."

Jungkook wants to snap his eyes closed forever. "I don't understand." He snaps, lies.

"You mean to say, you've spoken to him directly, even a little intimately; you've been
amongst him and his people, seen their darkness; been to his clubs and bars, an onlooker and
a partaker; watched his eyes as they flicker between colours in the dark; felt the coldness of
his skin, and the stillness of his lungs, and you've not thought it a little more than odd?"

The words said aloud — Jungkook's own observations being spoken back to him — make
some disastrous scuttle of fear sprint up his spine; it's as if his worst fears and fantasies are
coming alive, becoming reality. His heart is so alive within him, his throat so dry and he can't
speak. All he can do is stare at the other man, his expressive eyes so damn wide.

"Hmm, I can see you understand what I mean."

Snapping into his usual headspace of aggression, the black-haired man shakes his head,
vehement and yet a little brittle. "What are you trying to say?"

"What I mean to say," The elder says, the phrase becoming a little grounding. "Is that Park
Jimin is no ordinary man. He's a leech, dangerous beyond compare, beyond what you'd
already believed him to be. Even the guesses you'd allowed yourself to make in the corner of
your mind, he's worse than all of them. He's a monster, an example of mankind, that's
stripped of both being a man and affiliating himself with any kind."

"You're not trying to suggest he's..."

"Not human?" Uram fills in the blank, and he lifts his chin up a little, exposing the underside
of it, which he uses his gloved fingers to scratch at. "Don't even pretend you've not thought of
the possibility. Not even just with him, but in your life, in your time at war, during your
childhood, with your family, do not try to tell me you didn't ever question whether some
people are too cruel to simply be human."

Jungkook feels his throat restrict, and his sweat turns cold; he can't help but be glacial, his
entire body freezing over at the mention of his family, stated as if the man knows something
about them. About his father, perhaps. Gulping, he forces himself to remain a little composed
as he speaks, "so, you're truly trying to tell me... he's not."

"Precisely." Uram nods, and he doesn't take long to continue, "and, judging by your state of
shock, it's clear to see, you've not yet been affected. You see, he's designed to draw you in —
it's a magical ability he and all his buddies have: they make you want to be with him, to gain
his approval, to be attracted to him, all to hurt you with more ease. You see, I've known Park
Jimin for quite some time, or at least known of him, and during all that time, I've only known
humans to be killed by him, or enslaved by him."

"Enslaved?" Jungkook's eyes widen at the word, because, he'd expected the killing; even if
Uram was just a crazy, rambling man, and Jimin was actually human, it'd still be a given that
he'd killed, he'd most likely fought in the war, and he'd most definitely killed in his current
line of work. But, enslaving? Somehow, that seems worse.

"Yes, well, 'tis a colloquial term, I suppose," He taps a finger to his chin. "But, you needn't
worry, as you're perfectly safe now, because I'm here. I know the man like the back of my
hand, I've studied him, all of him, and I know exactly how to save you."

"Save me?"

"Yes." It's spoken so definitively, leaving no room to argue over whether Jungkook
actually needed saving.

"How?"
 Uram's white eyes turn a little darker, like their true colour was leaking through. The scar
through his lip stretches, gapes, his smile so gruesome as he replies, voice dripping with
some strange sort of implication. "You can help me bring him down."

Chapter End Notes

ahhh ok so good lord there was a lot revealed in this chapter! a lot of little hints that
shall blossom into important plot points soon ;) thank you for reading! feel free to leave
a comment and let me know your thoughts so far, as it really does help with motivation
hehe <33333
 Chapter 7
Chapter Notes

okay so forwarning for violence/death in this chapter!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Park Jimin's mansion is gothic. Not in the sense that it's dark in colour scheme, but more so
due to the fact it's swarmed with something distinctly caliginous. The house itself is white,
and it looks old, reeks of inherited wealth; the columns that hold the palatial building upright
look as if built upon generations of ill-earned money. It's a fine depiction of architecture, with
it's abundance of windows, and grand balconies; the walls are carved meticulously, with
contorting configurations of wood splayed all across the front. So many decorations.

Yet, in spite of it's glowing ambience and elaborate delineations of affluence, it's got this
numbing field surrounding it, making it appear a little fictitious. Embedded within the
outskirts of the city, the rich side, the building is hidden behind rows of trees, within
grandiose gates of gold, tucked away from the few neighbouring mansions, and, as Jungkook
had gotten closer, he'd found himself surrounded by fog.

When Jungkook gets the invite to Jimin's house the day after meeting Chung Uram, he feels
as if the world is, yet again, laughing at his expense. "A private fight." Is what Hoseok had
declared, in his usual manner, rumbling with turpitude. At first, Jungkook had frowned at the
notion, not at all liking the idea of being closer to the man than necessary, hating the thought
of going to his house, especially due to Uram's speech the night before, which had unearthed
a world of gory possibility.

Alas, that also serves to be the driving force for his curiosity; he supposes, if Jimin wanted to
do something to him, he would have done it by now. And, isn't it better to keep your enemies
close? He thinks, of course, amongst all this, he never really had a choice in the matter; Jimin
was technically his boss, and Jungkook, although not exactly scared of him, wasn't
particularly keen to go against him.

Now, he stands, knocking on the door. The door that's almost double his size, black, with
glimmering door knobs. Jungkook has never seen a house like it, not even in his wildest
stretches of fantasy.

To his surprise, it is Jimin himself who answers the door, not a butler nor a subordinate, but
the man himself, in all his opulent glory. He's dressed more casually than Jungkook has ever
seen him — that is, he's sans blazer, still in dress-pants and a shirt. His hair appears a little
dishevelled, his cheeks a little red. He looks curiously alive.

It strikes the younger that this is the first time he's seen the man since he'd cornered him in
the alley outside of Blood. It shocks him to recall that night and how unsettled he had felt as
they stood so close to each other, looking into each other's eyes, Jimin's were so dark, and
Jungkook recalls expressly noting the distinct absence of breath from him.

Not human.

With the weight of Uram's words hanging over Jungkook's head, he allows himself to fall
victim to the man's silky vocals. "You're early, Mr Jeon," His voice is steady, juxtaposing his
breathless appearance. "A little eager, are we?"

Immediately, the threat of the man seems to simmer away, and Jungkook feels a tick of
irritation under his skin — like red ants, crawling everywhere across his bones, hollowing
them out, living within him, tickling him with anger. "I walked." Is what he says, because he
doesn't trust himself to say anything less hostile. "I thought it would take longer."

"Ah, you've not got a car?" Jimin raises a brow, and he's leaning on the doorframe, the glow
of the stars making his entire face all the more ethereal. He's truly so inhuman in attraction.

Jungkook gives him a pointed look, because of course he doesn't.

Getting the gist, the man — if Jungkook could class him as such — flashes a smile, his
pearlescent teeth glimmering, and the quiet of the area makes him appear all the more
menacing. There are a few crickets croaking in the background, but, other than that, it's silent
for a moment. Jimin almost looks unsure of what to say, his eyes raking up and down
Jungkook's form, taking in his usual, rough-looking attire, with his haggard waistcoat and
trousers, his hands clasping at a bag surely containing his boxing uniform.

Jimin understands the appeal of Jungkook, of course, the man is handsome, despite his
unprivileged upbringing, he carries himself so confidently, and it flows across his face like
puddles of iridescence. His skin is strangely pure, smooth, cold, blended with bruises and
cuts. He's a rugged being, barely flesh, just sharp bones and agile muscle; his eyes are
bewilderingly dark though, unlike anything Jimin had ever seen.

With a forced sigh of tenderness, he says, "well, do come in." As he steps to the side, leaving
space for Jungkook to do just that. As soon as he does, he can feel this strange thrum of noise
— it's so different to the quiet of the night, and he can't quite pinpoint where it's coming
from, because the house appears empty.

The innards of it are just as enthralling as the outer-casing: blood soaked and eloquent. The
hallway is wooden panelings, dark greys and seafoam, and picture frames that spark
goosebumps up the boxer's arms. It's so cold, uncomfortable. He takes it all in: the walls, the
floors, the ceiling, the furniture, even the air. He breathes in his greatest dream. Despite the
gruesome nature of it, it's so beautiful.

It's lit by candles. Cold, orange flames.

"Jungkook." Comes a familiar voice, ringing with a ghastly thrill, that manages to scuttle up
Jungkook's spine faster than the goosebumps.

Following the sound of pattering footsteps, Jungkook turns to see Kim Taehyung, walking
toward him, his hair a lot more methodical than his counterparts. He's the very essence of
peace, as he too is dressed down, in just a black jumper, knitted, and strangely oversized
trousers, pinstriped. He's bare foot, with a snake in his hand — it's colour greatly contrasts
with the sophisticated drab of the room, with it's bright green scales, slinking around the
man's tanned fingers.

He's a little startled by the man's presence — he hadn't exactly accounted for the fact he
probably lived with Jimin. It was so foreign a concept; something which made perfect sense,
yet hadn't fully crossed Jungkook's mind, as it was unheard of in this society, for two men to
live together, in a romantic sense, as if life partners. He'd somewhat assumed Taehyung
would just be a discrepancy of Jimin's, something to tug at in the dark corners of nightlife,
like any other homosexual man does. And, yet, here they are. Together.

Jungkook feels a little sick to look at the blonde again, to see him in the flesh, to let all those
guilty desires influx him again. He's reminded of all the things he'd imagined doing to him.
He's reminded of the fact Taehyung most definitely was aware of those desires.

"Don't bring that near him." Jimin says, his tone not quite sharp, but a little like a warning,
and Jungkook supposes he's talking about the snake. The boxer can feel the
creature looking at him, and he can feel Jimin lingering behind him, both equally venomous
and haunting.

"I hear you don't like snakes." Taehyung responds, and Jungkook finds the interaction a little
odd, finds it weird he's being allowed to talk with Taehyung again. He wonders how Jimin is
suddenly okay with Taehyung talking to him.

Registering he was being addressed, the youngest man merely narrows his eyes a little,
perplexed. He attempts a response, wills his voice to not let on how disturbed he is, "I
don't dislike them."

"Well, this one's very timid," The blonde continues, and Jimin rolls his eyes, as he takes a
step around Jungkook, walking through a large door, leaving them alone. "She's truly very
sweet, but, don't be fooled, as she is a boomslang, highly venomous." He winks then, and
Jungkook feels his nostrils flare.

The snake hisses, and the boxer allows the words to fully sink in, watches the pretty man play
with the pretty creature. "What would happen if she bit you?" He asks, his voice a little
hoarse, but his words are calculated, wondering if Taehyung was a monster like Jimin —
according to Uram's theory. He wonders if he'd survive a bite from a venomous snake.

Taehyung smiles, and Jungkook finds himself so aware of the man in the other room. "Jimin
says it can cause haemorrhaging in the brain, or other such muscles. Apparently her venom is
so slow in affect, someone who's been bitten may not even realise how much danger they're
in." Despite the harsh words Taehyung is looking sweetly at the creature, and it's
incredulously unnerving. "Isn't that so cruel?"
Jungkook feels his heart swell bitterly as soon as the blonde looks up at him; the eye contact
is hard to manage, hard to navigate. The boxer can't help but feel bad for having fantasised
about what he'd wanted to do to the blonde, while, simultaneously, he's a little scared of him,
unsure what to think about Uram's revelations. It would explain the bites.

Opening his mouth to reply, he's interrupted by Jimin's sudden call to him, "Jungkook, would
you come in here?" Taehyung's eyes flash mischievously, an eyebrow raising, and the snake
hisses darkly. Jungkook finds himself following Jimin's request, which feels more like a
command. "Oh, you can put your bag down there." Is what the man says as the younger
enters the new room, not even glancing up.

The room is large, open, a tad too sublime for Jungkook's taste; a chandelier is suspended
from the ceiling, black sofas in the centre of the floor, and red curtains open wide, despite the
fact the only view was the pitch black night sky. Jimin stands at a black, stone table, fiddling
with something on it, back muscles flexing and visible through his white shirt. Like a swan,
rapier and aesthetic.

Placing his bag down, Jungkook watches as Jimin finally turns to him, presenting him with a
small piece of paper. "That's your opponent." He announces, tapping his long nails across the
picture of a man with long, black hair and messy skin, patchy with burn marks and scars. His
eyes are murderous.

"Him?" Jungkook's brow raises, unimpressed, despite the snarl the picture wears. He feels
Taehyung trying to catch a peek at the image over his shoulder.

"Mm, Kil Duri," Jimin nods, his voice glamorous but nonetheless serious, as he tells the
other, "he's a representative of the Kil Crime Family." Jungkook almost wants to snicker at
the name, but the older man shoots him a look that suggests it's nothing to laugh at. "Trust me
when I say it's not just an apt name. You don't need to know much about them," He
continues, "but, you should know they're a rival of ours, perhaps the biggest in the city. So, as
a representative of us, as a Blood Snatcher, you need to win."

"I always win." The ravenette chirps, as if on instinct, the words leaking with promise and
Jimin seems happy enough with it. Then, Jungkook dares to say, eyes narrowed, "I'm not a
Blood Snatcher, though."

"Oh, aren't you?" The other chuckles, brows raising a little, as he shakes his head — looks
momentarily at Taehyung, before he responds formally, "you signed the contract I'm afraid,
my dear, so technically you are ours." As if sensing the man's intent on protesting, Jimin adds
on, "you don't partake in any of our usual business ventures, sure, but, you fight in my club,
under the management of my men, and, when it's asked of you, you fight on behalf of us.
Meaning, right now. This fight is more meaningful than any you've done before."

Jungkook's brow raises to mirror that of the elder's and a scoff rolls out of him. "What, your
business plans are relying on me beating this guy?"

"Not as such." The man's head shakes, as his sturdy eyes, once again, drift to the blonde man,
stood quietly in the doorway. He grins then, brilliant and impassioned, with all the roots of
evil clinging to those soiled eyes, his teeth twinkling, skin ablaze. "But, this is not just a fight
for money, Jungkook," And his eyes are manic, wild, deadened, like ghostly remnants of
humanity, and Jungkook, in that moment, finds there's no doubt in his mind that the man is
not human. Uram must be right, because the thrill in his words is unsettling, as he tells him,
"this is a fight to the death."

The words take a moment to sink in, and, before they can, before Jungkook has even fully
comprehended the urge to run, Jimin has a hold of his wrist. For a man of such short stature,
for such a lithe, droll physique, his grip is cast iron, almost like Hoseok's but worse.

"Oh, don't be scared," He shakes his head, eyes wide, black, like pools of poison, gargling
and sickened. "I wouldn't have asked you to fight if I didn't know you'd win." Theres
something in those midnight orbs that seems to spark neon and manages to prevent any
resistance from Jungkook.

No, that's not strictly true, the man wants to resist, the urge is so pungent, thick and avid in
his veins, trying to break through the surface. But his surface is calm, adhering to Jimin's
wishes, like his mind is stripped of it's influence over his own body.

But Jimin's got it wrong. He's not scared of losing, Jungkook's confident in himself — doesn't
need the other to help him with that — he's not scared of losing. No, he's very much scared
of winning.

"I don't want to kill anyone." He says, the truth trips him up, slips from his lips, sopping wet
and ridiculous, and he knows he hadn't done that consciously. It's like Jimin's got him under
some form of hypnosis.

Jimin's eyebrows furrow, his face contorting into something meaner, his grip tightening. "You
don't want to kill anyone?" His laugh is cruel, and if any doubt remained that he wasn't
human, it's gone in an instant, as all the phantoms of night crawl amongst that laugh, conjoin
their vocals in chorus with it. "Please, Mr Jeon, no need to act so self-righteous, you've killed
before, haven't you? You fought in a war, didn't you? Killed with guns and tanks and rifles
and hands and teeth and claws."

"This is different." Jungkook persists, though he feels it's hard to pull the words out, like
they're elastic, almost intending to ping themselves back into his mind.

"No, it's not." His jaw is clenched, pale and sharp, and his anger is palpable, immense; it's so
strange to see him so suddenly overcome with emotion, and Jungkook finds its strangely like
looking in a mirror. "It's kill or be killed. It's the same, it's life," Life; isn't that what Uram
told him life was about, stepping on toes? "Survival of the fittest, and, in this case,
that's you. This is how you make your money, isn't it?"

"I'm not—"

"You will do as I say." His eyes are so wide then, and Jungkook's definitely not hallucinating
as he sees them transmogrify from solemn brown to a splenetic crimson. He's tantalised by it,
finds he can't move his own eyes away from it, finds himself feeling like he wants to do as he
says. It's a feeling that's both unnerving and comfortable.
Jimin's grip is so tight, almost crushing, but Jungkook is indifferent to it, allows it, welcomes
it. Until it stops. Suddenly, he realises how much it'd hurt.

Looking down, he sees Taehyung's fingers meet the skin of Jimin's own wrist; he'd almost
forgotten the man was there, but, it's so obvious now, his presence is all Jungkook can focus
on. The blonde's entity is calming, seems to act as a means of cajoling the older into releasing
Jungkook, with just one look of those twinkling eyes. "Stop it." He whispers.

Jimin's whole face has softened, relaxed into a state that no longer conveys any semblance of
hostility, and, for a moment, it's like the boxer had just imagined that whole ordeal.

"I'm sorry." He says to the blonde, and then his eyes flicker back to Jungkook, and they grant
him such a kind look, so human in nature. "I'm sorry, Jungkook, I didn't mean to startle you."

"Uh, it's—" He finds himself unsure what to say, as, what exactly was it? He's never been so
confused in his life, and so he lets himself sink into that confusion. "It's fine?"

Jimin's sigh is deep, and his hand comes to rub at his face, while Taehyung just stands there,
smiling at his snake. "Just—" The man starts, stops, pauses, sighs again, looks around the
room, looks at Jungkook, commands him, "just get changed. I know you're going to win."

&&&

As soon as the bell sounds, Jungkook can't help but have it register in his mind like the
tolling of church bells, symbolic of his own funeral.

Jimin had told Jungkook to get changed, quickly, and the man had, and he'd felt his fingers
shake, his heart so heavy in his hands, as he'd slipped into his cotton shorts. It's a bare-
knuckle fight, Jimin had informed him, as he had hooked his solid arm around his shoulder,
walking him down to the basement.

That's where the fights held, that's where, Jungkook learns, the noise had been coming from
as he'd entered the house. The space is ginormous, fixed up with even more candles, though
the chandeliers are also lit; there's a bar, and there's a ring, and there's
people everywhere, predominantly men, protruding guts and belching smoke, rambling and
gossiping and running all over each other, like spilled blood across white linen.
They're like insects, ants, existing in small colonies beneath the pulp of the world, scattering
themselves beneath the layers of the earth, itching to infest your own homes should you grant
them ample opportunity. Jungkook wants to squish them down flat.

He wonders if his anger is perhaps heightened by the bombshell Jimin had dropped on him.
The man in question is stood in the front row beside Jung Hoseok, unsurprisingly, and his
eyes are set on Jungkook, steady and unwavering — they're surprisingly soothing. Taehyung
hadn't followed them down, in fact, he'd gone all the way upstairs while the boxer got
changed, not even sparing Jungkook a glance.

His heart is ridiculously fast in his chest, beating arduously against the bones of his ribcage,
but he masks it well, he thinks. He's good at that.

Although, perhaps not as good as Kil Duri, who's face is stone — more like a congregation of
atoms in an alignment similar to human physiology, rather than an actual living, breathing
human. In person, he's scarier, with his coal-spangled eyes, and full lips, curled almost into
themselves in something akin to distaste; his long hair rests on his shoulders, covers parts of
his face, which is darker toned in person, cleaner.

He looks younger in person.

He's similar to Jungkook physically, around the same height, probably the same weight class
and it makes a change, as the man is so used to fighting those who're much larger than him.

He hits first as well, and it's almost at the same time as the first bell, too quick for Jungkook
to duck away from. It's a jab clean in the nose and manages to send a shock of reality through
him — it wasn't even slightly cautious, it was intended to hurt, to confuse, to kill. The next
punch delivered is all knuckle, right in the gut, and Jungkook grunts with it, not able to
recover before another hit lands on his face. The crowd roars, ugly and hysterical.

Anger.

Jungkook manages to get away from the next punch aimed his way, but, as he attempts to
swing back, Duri has already accounted for it, moves back, agile, and sends his own hit to the
chest, clunky. It's not that hard, but it's weird to fight without gloves, makes the sport feel a
lot more intimate, makes it feel more real, more like life or death.

He's got reach, Jungkook thinks immediately, and power, he adds in his head, and
a strategy, it seems. It's evident from the way his arms move so calculatedly, how each punch
is accounted for, each movement of his legs predetermined; Jungkook's never been one for
strategy, doesn't like it when things don't go to plan, finds it fumbles him more than going
with the flow, so he merely uses instinct.

His instincts are fuelled by anger, and that's his greatest strength.

Right now, the anger begins to bubble up within him, as he hates the fact he's already a little
discombobulated by the onslaught right out of the gate; he's never had a fighter so well-
matched with him.
It's only fuelled further by the smirk of the Kil Crime Family's leader, who's watching them
from beside Jimin. Jimin, who looks anguished, irritated, but nonetheless confident.

"Kil Plexus." Is what Jimin had said to the man when they'd shook hands before the fight —
it was his name, he'd told Jungkook after, despite the fact it sounded like a form of disease.
He's a tall man, with a red face, and ugly, golden teeth, and they coruscate in the light,
making his smirk all the more prominent.

"Snake Eyes." He'd called Jimin in return — a nickname he'd apparently gathered in the
business, and Jungkook told Hoseok he didn't actually need an explanation as to why. It was
obvious. "You got a good fighter lined up?" He'd asked, looking around the room, as if he
hadn't even seen Jungkook. As soon as Jimin had introduced Jungkook as his fighter, the man
had laughed — fucking laughed — and nodded in victory toward Duri.

There's another man beside him, Kil Atomy, all dark-coffee-skin and a foreboding-toffee-grin,
and he's Plexus' second in command, apparently, and he hadn't quite laughed at Jungkook,
but, he'd merely sized him up, ringing his eyes all along the boxer's body and determining a
price for him. His eyes are so calculating and money-ridden. So unlike Plexus' with his
gargling grin and snotty laugh.

That laughter rings in Jungkook's ears as he slams his fist into Duri's face, sending his whole
head clicking sideways. The click surges Jungkook on, and he reels his fist into the man's gut;
it feels so much more vicious when their skin is actually making contact, when there's no
gloves to shield it.

"Fucker." Duri snarls, as his head snaps back up, the pain draining from him, and he aims for
Jungkook's head again, but he misses, because Jungkook dodges him easily and slams his
knuckles into his abs, again. The crowd goes wild, clearly not on either side, just desperate
for someone to die.

It's not unusual for people to get angry when fighting Jungkook, he was infuriatingly good,
and it makes him relentlessly gleeful to have that effect on the Kil representative.

The round ends with them both still standing, rearing to go. Jimin and Hoseok meet
Jungkook at his side of the ring, giving him water, patting his sweat, like actual managers
would. "He's angry now." Jimin hisses into the man's ear, and his vehemence comes across
like he could be slightly worried for Jungkook.

"Good."

"No, not good." Jimin disagrees, and Jungkook frowns at him, letting him continue, "That
means Plexus is angry too, which means, he's gonna be drilling in more thoughts of murder
into Duri right this second."

"I don't give a shit about his thoughts." Jungkook's eyes are wide then, and he can't help the
fact he's immersed in his fighting spirit, can't help the irritation he feels at Jimin's
apprehensiveness. Wasn't he so confident in him before?
Hoseok, contrastingly, releases a conniving chuckle, amused with the younger man's
cockiness, and he pats him on the back coolly. "Go get 'em, tiger."

Jungkook stands as the bell goes again. Jimin was right, Duri does look angrier, more
murderous, his teeth barred, eyes swimming with crimson glory; momentarily, Jungkook
wonders if the man was human either.

The second round goes in a similar fashion, both of them jabbing and lunging at one another,
neither standing out as a clear winner, but both so bloodthirsty. The third round is much of
the same, and the crowd are getting a little restless, all so desperate to see a spurt of blood.

Come the fourth round, neither lets up, and Kil Plexus looks increasingly aggravated. Kil
Atomy looks rather amused. Duri looks a little wary at certain points, but he still hits with
that same amount of conviction, and, Jungkook supposes he should perhaps be worried, as it
was so rare when he wasn't clearly going to be the victor, but, he can't bring himself to be,
because he finds he's having so much fun.

He'd almost forgotten the thrill of not knowing whether he'd win or not, and, as that feeling
floods through him, he seems to forget the fact this wasn't just winning or losing.

Duri speaking is what reminds him, scarily, as they're both in each other's space, close to each
other, hitting and ducking in rhythm. "Surprised you lasted so long."

Jungkook ignores his attempts at distraction in favour of striking the man in the neck. It hits
him, but Duri barely flinches, ducks a little further away.

He's sweating, and his breathing is so laboured, Jungkook can barely hear him over the
licentious crowd. "I knew I recognised you." He all but hisses, dark and brooding, and he
uses his reach advantage to smash his fist into Jungkook's chin. Jungkook moves back before
it can really do much damage. "Then I realised who you are," He breathes out, slams his hand
in Jungkook's ribs, continues, "you're probably more excited about the money than living."

The ominous idea of Duri knowing something about him personally strikes Jungkook, almost
as harshly as the fist that barely misses his cheek. His breaths are heavier now.

The other snickers, and he's cruel in it, but it's so desperately human of an expression. "I
understand, of course," He circles Jungkook then, his feet pattering, like he's dancing, or
flying, soaring, and his voice drips with salt, as he says, "if I were you, I'd want to get enough
to stop my sister being such a whore too."

And any hint of joy he'd got from the fight is sucked out, the anger he'd previously felt
bursting back into him full-force. It was a stupid thing to say, he thinks, because what other
reaction could the man have expected?

Jungkook doesn't even think to consider the rationale behind it though, as he's completely
drained of the ability to think. Instead, his instincts take over, his inhibitions drizzling out of
him in percolates of sweat. He thinks he actually sees red, as his arm reels back, and he
clobbers his fist into the man's gut, harder than he had last time, the hardest punch he's given
today. He uses the momentary disgruntlement to land an uppercut at his face, then a right
hook to the cheek. It's so hard, Duri's whole body moves sideways, and his neck clicks again.
His jaw sags, a grunt choking out of him.

That's not the only thing that chokes out of him, no, the onlookers squeal with joy at the sight
of blood, a hot succession of it pooling to the ground, followed by a tinkering clatter of a
tooth. Two teeth.

"Motherfucker," He almost laughs, voice higher in pitch, and Jungkook supposes he probably
was using Jungkook's own anger to fuel himself. But, he doesn't care, and he clears his mind
of any thoughts, as he uses his left hand to send a left hook to the other side of his face,
making his entire body shift again.

He doesn't get the chance to block, before Jungkook delivers a graceless uppercut and more
blood seems to spurt from his mouth.

Stumbling into some coherence, Duri manages to set aside his obvious pain, goes to hit the
other in the eye. "I guess all it takes is a little comment on your whore sister for you to
actually wake up, huh?" It lands so harshly, Jungkook stumbles backward, and he can
physically feel the black eye that's bound to form.

He doesn't let it linger though, because then he's hitting back, the comment stinging and
making his vision blur. "Do you want to die?" Angry, he lets himself fight dirty, uses the
rumble of the crowd to spur him on, as he lands hit after hit, using the man almost like a
punching bag.

Duri doesn't say anything, unable to do anything but take the hits, more and more blood
forming. Jungkook's almost ready to deliver a knockout blow, when he feels something sharp
suddenly slash over his arm. It's too sharp to be a nail, or a tooth, and, belatedly, he comes to
the realisation it's a fucking pocket knife.

"Bastard." He grunts out, seeing his own blood start to ooze from the wound at his arm.
Pressing his hand to his blood, he turns to the crowd. Kil Plexus is smirking again. Jimin
looks stirred, and Jungkook wants to beat his head in.

He vows to live long enough to do just that.

He thinks the round was probably supposed to be over by now, but it seems the sudden thrill
of weaponry has created enough of a mutual blood-thirst to forget about the rules. Jungkook
is pissed, and he doesn't want to get fucking stabbed again. On top of that, he's not sure how
much blood he's going to loose from his wound, and he needs this to end, quickly.

"Aw, what's wrong?" Duri pouts his lips mockingly, and his head tilts as the knife shines,
Jungkook's blood spread across it. "Want to live to get your sister that money? She deserves
it," He says, purrs so horrendously, and he confirms Jungkook's suspicions as he continues,
"she was so good when I had her a few months ago."

Jungkook doesn't care to ponder over if he was using that to get him to literally walk into the
knife, or if he just can't help himself. Alas, it's the last straw for Jungkook, and, using his gut
 alone, he lunges for the man, grabs the wrist holding the knife with one hand, while the other
comes to pummel at his stomach. Then his head.

Duri writhes a little, and, taking a chance, Jungkook releases his wrist momentarily, counting
on the fact he would try to strike him as soon as he does. Duri does just that, and he aims for
the neck, but, Jungkook is quicker, grabs both his elbow and his wrist and uses the man's own
momentum to send him to the ground. He'd learned that in the army.

Stunned by it, the knife falls. The crowd are incoherent.

Jungkook is straddling him instantly, and he finds immense ecstasy in pounding his fists
down into the man's face. Duri is choking on his own blood. His arm twists and grapples
around, and, had Jungkook been focused on anything other than his anger, he would've seen
it coming.

Alas, he's not quick enough to stop it, and the knife comes straight into the flesh of his thigh
with an unholy squelch of muscle — not what the man was aiming for, presumably, but it's
enough to make Jungkook seethe in pain.

Pain makes him more angry.

He can't control it, doesn't know what takes over him, but, then he's gripping the man by his
long, black hair, and he's using it to slam his head into the ground, over and over.

He stops yelling after a while.

When the fight ends, Jungkook is covered in blood, a mix of his own and the man who's dead
eyes are looking up at him. He's breathing so heavily, as he stands, letting the knife stay in his
thigh, so as not to allow any blood to escape. It aches to stand.

The crowd is screaming with joy, and Jungkook is enlightened by it, enthralled, so overrun
with adrenaline he can't feel bad at all.

That is, until his eyes fall over the crowd properly, and amongst them all, he comes to meet
those that don't look pleased. White eyes are wide, appalled, and there is Chung Uram,
shaking his head.

Chapter End Notes

ahhhh i hope this chapter was decent! i never know how interesting fight scenes are to
read, but i hope this one wasn't too bad. this scene is obviously important for plot, as are
the two new characters, Plexus and Atomy ;) don't you worry! plenty of vminkook
coming in the next chapters! <3
 Chapter 8
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Jungkook is on a bed.

Truth be told, he's not entirely sure how he got there, but, alas, when he wakes up, that's
exactly where he is, squished into a mattress more comfortable than anything he's ever
experienced. The room is garish in colour; sanguine salvos slamming against his eyes, as his
blurred vision tries to account for the sudden burst of lilac clouds and rosé silks. It's a little
like if the underworld were bedecked in linen instead of fire, with screaming souls writhing
into salmon pillows.

He grunts a little, brows furrowing, and it takes a moment for him to feel the pain that shoots
through his leg, and, after he does, the room is even harder to enjoy. His grunt twists into a
hiss.

"Shh, shh." A soothing whisper enthrals his mind, and subdued tones of pink obfuscate into
the background, as he focuses on the figure now leaning over him.

"Taehyung?" He frowns, almost feels delirious, like the image of the man is just a
hallucination.

Alas, his form then seems to manifest itself more solidly in reality, in his black jumper, so
deep a contrast to the pretty, sensual decor. He smiles, in that innocent way of his, his deep
voice triumphant as he says, "welcome back."

"Huh?" Pushing his palms into the bed, he pulls his body up, and, looking at the man from an
upright position, he instantly feels more coherent; memories of the events that occurred flood
back to him, in gaudy waves that settle as fragments. It's a little like the ocean, spitting up old
artefacts and relics of bygone days, depositing them on the beach, carelessly, in whichever
order suits it best. He thinks he somewhat remembers Jimin taking him here — into their
room. "Why am I here?"

"You don't remember?" Taehyung's wide eyes look half amused, half concerned, and
Jungkook hates how beautiful the expression is. Taking his silence as means to continue, the
blonde explains, "Jimin said you looked sick, so he brought you up here. You passed out as
soon as you sat down. Blood loss." He almost chuckles, but doesn't quite, and he just shrugs,
points at Jungkook's thigh. "He, uh, cleaned your wound." He says, with this strange sense of
humour in his tone, "It was a pretty nasty one, so, it was probably for the best that you were
passed out when I stitched it up."

"You— you stitched it up?" He looks down at his thigh, still in his shorts, so it's easy to see
that Taehyung had done just that. It's very neatly done, to give the man credit, but Jungkook
hates the sight of it — it's a constant reminder of what he did. Guilt is what fills the void of
numbed emotions, and he has to choke it down, has to remain calm; he can't bring himself to
fully think about it, he thinks he'd tear himself apart if he did. He forces quiet composure.
"Thank you." He says, genuinely, trying to coax away the urge to be sick.

"S'okay." Taehyung smiles, shrugs his shoulders in a cute manner. "Congratulations on

winning, by the way, although, of course, I didn't have any doubts."

"Thank y—" He begins to say, but he doesn't manage to get it out before the blonde is placing
something directly to his mouth. His lips are cold against the china cup, though, he supposes,
not as cold as his opponents.

"Drink." Taehyung whispers, kindly, a little like an enchantment, "it will help with the pain."

As if following an order from a higher up officer, Jungkook follows the man's desires, and
lets him pour the liquid into his throat. It was a stupid thing to do, to drink a foreign
substance from a man of dubious humanity, and, yet, he finds he doesn't care; after what he
did, he doesn't think he has any room to debate the logistics of morality.

It's pungent in physicality, so sweet to taste. It's a saccharine delight, and, despite not having
much of a sweet-tooth, he finds he rather likes the feeling of his mouth and throat rotting with
the cloying feat of it. It's so agreeable with him, he starts coughing with it, and Taehyung
takes it away from his lips.

"What is that?" His brows can't help but furrow, having never tasted such a medicine.

Taehyung, placing the cup down on the side table, looks at Jungkook, watches his face for a
moment, probably observing the horrendous sight of his no doubt black eye. His face drifts
into joy and he just grins into his words, "Home remedy." He winks cheekily, rising to his
feet from his seat beside the bed.

Jungkook watches him, as he walks over to a chest of drawers in the corner of the room. It
gives the boxer a chance to breathe, as he looks around the space fully; in truth, it's rather
winsome, perhaps a little over the top in it's eroticism, but he thinks it fits the pair very well.
It's homely, in a sickening sort of way.

Jungkook's head tips back, stares at the ceiling, wanting to distract his mind from the
impeding horrors of regret, so, absently, he inquires, "You didn't watch the fight?"

If Taehyung looks over at him, Jungkook doesn't see it, because he's finding immense
pleasure in watching the plainness of the ceiling. There's a moment of silence, as the blonde
shuffles with something in the draws. "I don't like it in there." Is all he says, and, although it's
tender in its mystique, Jungkook senses it's not something to push. Another time, perhaps.

The room is silent again, for the barest of moments, then, the ravenette hears Taehyung come
closer again, so he allows himself to ask, all his fears evident in the calloused croak of his
tone, "is he dead?"

The blonde stills, and his skin blanches — if it weren't so tender an atmosphere, Jungkook
would allow himself to marvel at the beautiful blossoming of white petals across his face.
Like porcelain. His mouth twists a little, smiles sadly — he looks so soft, his breaths so
ductile, as they leave his mouth in a supple plume of ivory. The boxer believes, at his core,
Kim Taehyung is a good person. "Yeah, he's dead."

"Oh."

"It's okay," Taehyung tells him, like he means it, "he was going to kill you."

Jungkook's eyes narrow a little, not liking the argument, because, yes, Kil Duri was going to
kill him, but only because he was forced to go in that ring in the first place. And, he doesn't
use the verb forced lightly either, because, in the supernatural awakenings of his mind, he
comes to believe Jimin had actually compelled him to do it somehow. Jungkook was
naturally stubborn, so he doesn't think he'd ever give in so easily.

His mouth opens to retort, to enforce his own views on the topic, but, upon looking at the
blonde properly, he sees the items in his hand, and so, instead, asks, "what's that?"

His smile is sheepish, but his tone is intent. "Clothes." He says, and it's pretty obvious, but
Jungkook feels strangely warm at the gesture. He drops his kind caretaker role for a moment
as he tells the boxer, "The urge to dress you myself was tempting, but I didn't want to cross
any boundaries." His voice dips down a few octaves, drenching itself in seduction, as he says,
with a wink, "However, if you continue to lay on my bed with your muscles on show like
that, I may not be able to resist."

Jungkook inhales sharply, and takes the clothes without any hesitance, standing up to put
them on. He gets up easily, and he almost feels better than he has in years, absolutely no ache
to his bones whatsoever. He supposes Taehyung's remedy must've worked.

As he does, Taehyung slips onto the bed, sits with his legs curled behind him and watches the
man pull himself into the clothes. His voice is familiar in it's natural lure, almost pouty,
falsely demure, as he asks, "Are you annoyed at me?"

Keeping his back to the blonde tempter, Jungkook frowns, and he's sure the expression is
evident in his voice. "Should I be?"

"No." Taehyung chuckles — no, giggles, giggles would be a better word for the innocence of
it. He whispers his next question, "Did you think of me?"

"Think of you?" He muses, a little perplexed.

"Mm," The dancer hums, more than happy to spell it out. "You know, after we met at the
market, when you took care of yourself?"

The boxer is unsure what exactly to say to that, and he knows the blonde can definitely see
him tense, as he attempts to do up the buttons of a black shirt; it's of a nicer material than
Jungkook's used to, feels too expensive on his shoulders. He doesn't have time to bask in it as
he hears the blonde giggle again. There's no innocence in it this time, it's all wanton horror.

"You did, huh?" Jungkook finds the joy in Taehyung's voice almost helps him justify his own
actions; he feels stupid for not properly accepting that Taehyung wanted to be thought of.
Still, the act itself makes him a little sickened — he'd never given into an urge like that.

He pulls the trousers on over his shorts, not even considering stripping to his underwear, and
they're a little tight on him. He uses that as an excuse to change the subject. "Are these
Jimin's?"

Taehyung snorts prettily. "Yeah, right, as if I'd give you that tiny man's trousers."

The words are a little hilarious to Jungkook, who, despite agreeing with the fact Jimin truly
was rather short, still believed the man gave off the impression he was larger than life. It
amuses him, and somewhat placates him, to think Jimin shows a smaller side of himself to
the blonde.

"Where is he, by the way?" He inquires, finally turning around to face the elder, who's
leaning back on the bed, so temptingly outstretched. It almost seems unintentional, the way
his eyes are hazy, glossed over with lavender sexuality, while his caramelised skin is jutting
out of his clothes, his neck so beautifully clean.

"Hm?" His head tilts, and even that action seems to be deliberately performed, as if trying to
make himself as appealing as possible. Whether it's on purpose or not, it
certainly works. "Oh, fraternising, I'd guess." His eyes narrow with consideration, his lips
glistening as he speaks, "probably finishing business with that bastard Plexus, trying to stop
him throwing a tantrum for losing."

Jungkook wants to laugh at the petulance in the blonde's tone, but he forces himself not to,
instead, he asks, "Was Duri related to him?"

Brows furrowing for a moment, Taehyung tries to see why Jungkook would've got that
impression, and he soon realises, his smile returning as he replies, "oh, you mean 'cause of
the family name, Kil?" Jungkook confirms it with a nod, so Taehyung continues, "no, I think
Jimin said that some of the higher up members just get to adopt the name, to show their
closeness and authority."

"Ah." The boxer nods in recognition, and he thinks he's a little relieved by the notion — he
didn't need a mob boss coming after him for murdering one of his relatives. Then, curiously,
he turns to Taehyung again to ask, "you don't get involved in Jimin's business much?" He
blames his sudden burst of interest on the blood loss, that, and the fact he's decided he must
know everything about them.

Chung Uram's eyes still haunt him.

"No," It almost looks like he's going to roll his eyes, but he just smiles, says, "he doesn't like
me to. Plus, most of what he does is boring. He'll tell me everything I want to know though."
His body shakes as he bounces on the bed, looking a little excited at the notion he was able to
get any information he wanted from the man. He's so gorgeous like that.

The boxer can't tell how he feels about that — he doesn't know how he should feel about it.
For a moment, he sort of wants to ask about Jimin more, the urge so prominent and dangling;
with Taehyung being so open, he almost catches himself asking what he truly wants to know,
what's festering in his mind: he almost asks whether or not Jimin's human. He wants to slap
himself in the face for the mere concept of it, for being so stupid; he's still not sure whether to
trust Uram, or whether or not he wants to help him. He can't give anything away yet.

"Is it just the two of you who live here?" He queries instead, placing his hands in the pockets
of Taehyung's trousers, which, like the shirt, is positively soaked in wealth. He wonders if
Jimin's gang was a family deal, or whether he'd earned all this money himself.

"Yeah."

"And," Jungkook thinks about the next question for a moment, lets his teeth reach out to bite
his lip. "Are there usually so many people in the basement?"

His smile is quaint, ever present, and his warm face shakes in a strangely sweet way. "No,
but, everyone has parties once in a while, hm?"

"Is that what it is, a party?"

Taehyung just shrugs, and he raises his eyebrow, smirks. "Pretty gruesome party, huh?"
Jungkook just nods, although he can't deny it's very strange for Taehyung to say that — he'd
assumed the man would be into that sort of thing. "You're not all that hostile today." He
comments then, seemingly mindlessly.

Jungkook knows that it's true, he's certainly more docile in this current state, but, he can't
help it, there's something so tranquil in the other man's presence. "Yeah, I think I released all
of that in the ring."

Taehyung's head cocks again, and his voice is so slow, almost a drawl, as he poses the
question, "have you killed someone before?" All Jungkook can do is exhale, his mouth going
a little dry, eyes a little deadened. He's not sure how to answer, whether to be truthful or not,
not sure he could really bring himself to be. Catching onto the tension, the blonde hums,
changes his question, "have you ever had your future read?"

"What?" Jungkook frowns, brows knitting together in a puzzled composition of his features.

"It's one of my many talents, a party-trick, if you will." Taehyung grins, raising one shoulder
up to his cheek, his teeth peeking out of his lips. "Can I read yours?"

Unimpressed, the boxer simply nods. He's never believed in whimsical parlour tricks like
that; he'd never been to a circus nor a funfair, but he knows they have such tents that contain
so-called clairvoyants, with their crystal balls, and starry curtains, using mirrors to look into
your pockets, making generalisations based on your own idiot blabbering. Such trickery has
never appealed to him. Still, he finds he's willing to see exactly what Taehyung attempts to
do.

To his mild surprise, the man doesn't grab a crystal ball, nor any form of tarot deck; no, he
simply pats the space on the bed beside him, gesturing for the younger to sit. Awkwardly, he
perches on the edge of the silken sheets, but, before he can attempt to settle, Taehyung yanks
at his wrist, not happy with the position. His pull isn't all that strong, and Jungkook knows he
could easily pull away from it, but he follows the man's lead.

Now they're both sat on the bed, cross-legged, facing one another. The close proximity isn't
something unfamiliar, but, it's the first time they've been so close and Taehyung hasn't tried to
come on to him. Instead, he leans slightly forward and says, "Close your eyes." Honey, that's
what his warm breath smells of, so aromatic as it wafts over Jungkook's face. So sweet and
bursting with vitality.

Jungkook does just that, though he's a little apprehensive, somewhat expecting that Taehyung
is going to do something other than 'read his future'.

He almost opens his eyes again as soon as he feels Taehyung's palms cupping his cheeks, his
fingers coming to his temples — they're so hot they scorch, and they press a little
mechanically into his skull. "Keep them closed." Taehyung tuts, though his voice is low,
calm.

They sit in a silent rapture for a moment or two, as the blonde's fingers gently massage at his
head, as if trying to pluck out information.

"Bliss." He says after a minute, and, confused, Jungkook listens to him continue, "lots of
bliss, of both the pure and impure variety. Then... then, hardships, heartache, fear. So much
fear." He thinks perhaps Taehyung feels the scrunching up of his eyebrows, because he
pauses for a moment. He hums, his voice so quiet, like he were getting further away. "It's
something like betrayal, but it's more peaceful. Peace and... pain. It ends in peace."

"What does?" Jungkook whispers back, not wanting to break the other's concentration, but he
can't help but find it a little disconcerting.

"I don't know." Taehyung sighs, and he lets go dramatically, slinking away from Jungkook.
The man takes that as an okay for opening his eyes, so he does, fixates them on the man in
front of him, watches the pout that forms on his face. "I can't see events of the future," He
explains sagely, almost looking annoyed by the explanation itself, "just the emotions you'll
feel." He pauses for a second then adds, "Well, occasionally, I'll have a vision of events, if it's
such an event that shall mean mass amounts of emotions shall be shed. But it's rare."

For some reason, the way it's said to him, like a fact, makes Jungkook believe him; it doesn't
seem that farfetched with the way he says it, almost like it's just another talent of his, as he'd
put it. Jungkook becomes both horrified and electrified by the notion.

"It's how I knew you'd win."

Jungkook physically jumps at the sudden voice that perturbs the peace of the room, his eyes
flashing upwards to find Jimin stood, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over one
another, the dark hallway behind him making him look rather creepy, like he thrived in the
dark. His smile is delicate, a little like a smirk, clearly pleased by the shocked reaction.
Jungkook wonders how long he'd been standing there, as he asks, "what?"
Jimin nods toward the blonde, who smiles back at him toothily. "He said I'd feel the pride of
victory. That's why I knew you'd win the fight."

The boxer's eyes can't help but narrow, and he looks between the pair of them, wondering if
they were the crazy ones, or if he was. He knows there are people who believe in soothsayers
and oracles of all knowledge, and perhaps he's crazy to dismiss the idea entirely; or perhaps
they're the deranged ones for risking Jungkook's life over it.

"He's never wrong." Jimin praises, his tone almost sappy, but more prideful, looking upon the
so-called fortune teller with soft eyes. "Can read someone's present as well. And their past."

"Really?" Jungkook pronounces the word slow, wary, and he looks at the beaming blonde,
who's so seraphic and beguiling in the glow of reverence.

"Yeah, I can show you—" He starts, moving his arm forward to reach the man's temples
again, but Jungkook ducks instantly, and Taehyung places the hand down, frowns. There's
something so similar to understanding that passes over his features, as he lets the reaction
sink in, watches the boxer for a moment. It passes as quickly as it comes and he allows his
eyes to turn mischievous in a second. "Ooo, how mysterious." He chuckles, and he looks up
at Jimin then, being more respectful of boundaries when it comes to the past it would seem.
"Can I show him yours, 'Min?"

Min, that's certainly new; Jungkook almost laughs at the idea such a deadly gangster could
have a nickname like that. It hits him then that perhaps he should be a tad more
uncomfortable in his current position; in the bedroom of people who are deadly murderers
and who may or may not be actual monsters.

Jimin just rolls his eyes and holds out his hand in a languid motion, his fingers dangling and
relaxed. His eyes flutter closed, and the boxer can't help but think he looks completely at
peace; his face set on reticent carelessness. He feels weirdly attracted to the calm expression.

Taehyung closes his eyes as well, and says, "cold." As soon as he takes the man's fingers, and
Jungkook's unsure if he's talking about the man himself or his memories.

"Don't you have to touch his forehead?" Jungkook questions, because he'd assumed that to be
the reason for the blonde's touching of his face.

One of Jimin's eyelids peels open and he smirks, shaking his head. "He just wanted to touch
you."

Jungkook's face scrunches, and he wants to protest the idea he'd been so easily duped, but
Jimin's eyes close and Taehyung is speaking again.

"Hunger," He continues, "so hungry and cold, and then... excitement, wonder," His mouth
twists upward, and it's clear he's read these memories before — that is, if that is in fact what
he was doing. "Then, obsession.... there's a lot of fear, temptation and loathing all at once. It
breaks into peace, thrill, joy." They open their eyes simultaneously, in a way that would
perhaps be eerie if they weren't smiling so tenderly. "It stays at joy, until it conjoins with the
present."
Jungkook almost feels like scoffing at the insinuation Park Jimin's primary affiliation
was joy. However, neither of them seem to think it's all that abnormal, and, Jungkook thinks
perhaps the man could be described as such — sure, he was intense and gory, and seemed to
have a blatant disregard for others, was clearly invested in selfishness. Yet, there's always a
slightly amused facet to him; he seems to go about the world without care, like the entire
human race were merely performers, a means of providing him endless entertainment.

It's a horrible sort of joy, he supposes.

"Oh!" Taehyung bursts out as soon as he opens his eyes and looks at Jungkook; he almost
doubles over in laughter, "the face on you!" He snickers, most likely referencing the fact the
boxer didn't look particularly impressed. "What, you don't think Jiminie is joyful?" He
questions, euphoric.

Jimin turns to face the boxer as well, and he appears rather smitten, amused, and Jungkook
supposes he definitely did have an element of joy about him. "Ouch, Mr Jeon." He presses a
hand to his heart — if he did truly have one buried beneath that sheen of superciliousness —
and carries on with a shake of his head, "you don't think of me as miserable, do you?"

"That's not the word I'd use, no." Jungkook admits, plainly.

"Oh?" Jimin grins, and it leaks across his face, almost like he was a pretty feline, with
twinkling eyes and sharp claws. "Well, what word would you use?"

In truth, Jungkook's not sure what kind of game the man is playing, and he's not sure how to
respond to it. It's curious and weird that the man seems to care what Jungkook would think of
him, as if he were more than just a pawn in the man's business plans. He finds he
doesn't want to be rude, but he can't bring himself to be nice, so, he simply opts to be truthful,
as he replies, "condescending."

Taehyung practically cackles then, and Jimin keeps that same regaled expression, as he says,
almost a little churlishly, "that's not an emotion." It would perhaps come off a little snide, if it
weren't for the exudes of childishness intermingled with his tone.

Cocking a brow, Jungkook almost wants to laugh at the unimpressed expression — he doesn't
know what the fuck is wrong with him to think Park Jimin's face is something worthy of
chuckling at. He opts to reply in a surly manner, keeping his emotions in check, "but, it's
what you are."

Taehyung laughs again, and, as Jimin shoots him a look, he slaps a hand over his mouth,
laughing into it. The mobster merely rolls his eyes, lighthearted, and he says, "hm, I'm sorry
to hear that I've been condescending toward you" — which is ironic, because the sentence
itself is all aspects patronising — "You know what I'd describe you as, Jungkook?"

"Do I want to know?" He frowns instinctively, sensing he probably doesn't.

The pink-haired man's head juts back and forth in imitation of a head shake, smiling as he
tells him, "I'd say you're hubristic."
This time, Jungkook's the one who laughs, though it's more of a disbelieving expelling of
sound; he thinks the man might be joking for a moment, but, upon taking a gander at his
serious expression, he comes to realise he was genuine. His voice turns a little colder, slightly
more entwined with his usual burst of anger as he says, "don't you think that's a bit rich,
coming from you?"

"Oh, not at all." Jimin shakes his head again, and his face twists into something doleful and
plain, straightforward in his words, "my self-confidence isn't excessive, nor is it misplaced.
That's not to say you shouldn't be confident in yourself and your abilities, but your pride itself
seems a little too assured, as if you have the world in your hands." He pauses for a second,
but, before Jungkook has the chance to get angry at the comment, he continues, "I think it's a
good thing though, no use in being quiet about your brilliance."

"Brilliance?" Jungkook's face can't help but clear of it's tight irritation, and he knows Jimin
has most likely sussed out that he's as angry as he is easily won over by compliments.
Perhaps that's part of his hubris, or, maybe, it's more to do with his crippling insecurity, his
desire to do good, be good.

"Ah, such a cocky fellow." The older man chuckles, dark and warm.

"I think you're gentle." Taehyung says suddenly, and he's looking down at his lap, when the
other two both turn to look at him. His eyelids flutter, brown swirls curving upward as he
looks back, a smile on his face. "Underneath it all, that's what I think."

Jimin all but smirks, though he doesn't look surprised by the idea. Jungkook doesn't like it,
not one bit. His teeth pull together over his lip, and he takes a moment to realise the situation
he's in: sat here, in the den of the devil, bathing in sin, chattering away about personality
types, of all things. He feels sick to recall he's supposed to be finding out about them, not the
other way around. They feel too friendly with him, despite the short span of time he'd known
them — a month, perhaps — and they don't strike him as anything short of human.

Not in this moment, at least.

Still, he can't believe how quickly he's come to forget Uram's words, spoken to him like he'd
read Jungkook's mind, outlining all his suspicions, displaying them as reality. He wonders,
gravely, if the man would think of him differently after what he'd seen him do in the ring. He
feels sick in the idea of being affiliated with them.

"I should get going." He manages to say, amidst the crumbling of his thought process, his
entire thinking capacity falling apart.

"It's late." Taehyung argues, naturally, and his voice is a little glum, lips a little pouty, melting
down Jungkook's cool exterior. Dangerous, that's what those sweet eyes are.

Jungkook nods, frank in his reply, "exactly, I don't want to have to walk home much later."

He moves off of the bed smoothly, and he's about to make for the door, when Taehyung
suddenly calls out, "you can stay the night."
 "What?" Incredulous. Improper. Distasteful.

"Just— in the guest room." He implores, as Jungkook turns to look down at him, the way he's
kneeling on the bed, his skin so soft to look at, his eyes so wide, so innocent. Jungkook can't
help but gulp. "Don't walk home alone, you— it's not safe." Jimin eyes are a little narrower
than they had been since he'd come into the room, but he watches them passively. "Stay
here."

Jungkook feels sick, as he observes the blonde, with sexual fantasy trailing across his collar
bones, and he genuinely doesn't think it's intentional, but the older man looks like
he's begging to be ravished. It's almost begging for Jungkook to try and justify his own desire
to stay. He somewhat doesn't like the idea of traipsing back to his side of town, nor does he
particularly fancy going home to his sisters, facing them after the egregious acts he'd
committed. He shudders to think of it.

Helplessly, he looks over at Jimin, who's face twists into something grave. Perhaps it's a little
disrespectful toward Taehyung, but Jungkook doubts he's the one with the ultimate say. Jimin
looks surprised by the way Jungkook's eyes ask for permission, likes he's submitting his
pretence of combatting the elder. He smirks with it, says, with a voice so so light, "We'd be
happy to have you."

Chapter End Notes

ahhh i hope this update was relatively satisfactory? we got some proper vminkook
interaction, yay!! anyways, thank you for reading <3
 Chapter 9
Chapter Notes

pre-warning for blood-drinking and sexual suggestions ;)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

It's a scream that wakes him.

To Jungkook's surprise, they do actually fix him up in a guest room. "I hope it's to your
liking." Jimin had said, the words rolling through his voice like marbles along a wooden
floor. It was so peculiar a thing to do, to say, as if the man were some sort of housekeeper, as
if he didn't know that their guest bedroom was more expensive than Jungkook's entire
apartment.

As soon as the door was closed and he was left alone, he'd regretted the decision to stay.
Alone, tangled amongst purple sheets — streaming, silk serenity — he'd found his body
somewhat separate from his mind. While his muscles soak up the benefit of a comfortable
bed, tranquillised in the dim glow of stars, plush pillows letting his beaten body rest in their
clouds of lavender, his brain drowns in worry. The mush his brain becomes would perhaps be
ridiculous, if it weren't for how much it hurt. Aching piles of matter is what his mind
succumbs to, unable to see or do anything but lay there, reticent.

He regrets staying here. He blames it on the hold they seem to have on his brain, their pretty
fingers plunging into his cerebral cortex. It's like they can control him, like they have him
under a spell.

With what Uram had said, and, with the so-called fortunetelling abilities Taehyung had
shown him, he thought it was becoming more of a possibility that they could somehow
compel him to do their bidding. This knowledge allows him to sustain the belief
they'd made him stay, because he knows how awful they are, why would he willingly choose
to sleep in their house?

Still, that is what he does: sleep. It's restless, of course, creaking windows and floorboards
forcing his eyes to snap open on more than one occasion. He thinks that by the time they'd
actually departed to sleep, it was nearing three in the morning anyway, so his rest doesn't last
long. Despite all the bedsheets, he feels indescribably cold throughout the few hours of night
left, and so, by the time he actually falls asleep, it's with skin painted with bumps.

Waking up is easy, as his entire body shakes to life upon the cacophonous slam of a door. It
rattles so loudly and Jungkook thinks it must be the front door, possible someone is leaving
for the day. But, as he rises slightly, brings his mind back to his body, he can hear the sharp
snapping of footsteps and he comes to realise the person was coming into the house.
Bleakly rubbing at his eyes, he glances down at himself, in the outfit Taehyung had given
him, not wanting to be walked in on sleeping in anything less. The clock along the mantle
smirks at him, ticks darkly — 8 AM. It's a lot earlier than the man tended to wake up, so he
struggles to defrost himself.

The sleepiness is shed as soon as he hears the scream.

His body seems to move by itself, his twisted curiosity getting the better of him, as he pushes
himself out the bed, out the bedroom door. His heart pounds in his ears, adrenaline giggling
at him, coaxing up this sick notion of being a hero, as if he could ever consider himself as
such.

It's only as he gets to the landing that he comes to realise it was more of a shriek, as the high-
pitched wail of it transmogrifies into a delighted echo of laughter. It's Taehyung's laugh, for
sure, and it's strangely hypnotising to listen to.

"Stop, Jimin." He's giggling, though he's clearly trying to keep his tone hushed, all flirtatious
and saccharine, like a pixie daydream, with nymphs and fairies fluttering into pastel waters
— pink drizzles of sunshine, and amethyst breezes of summer.

Unsure what exactly to do with himself, Jungkook finds his sudden awkwardness only serves
to add on to the regret he feels in having stayed the night. He'd love to just run out the door,
maybe jump out the window, or climb down the ivy-drenched walls. Alas, he feels as if it's
only polite to thank his hosts, who, he realises, hadn't bothered him at all in the night.

He's certainly glad he decides to walk in on them when he does.

Perhaps glad is too generous a term for the moment, as he can't exactly say he enjoys the
scene he's presented with, but as he looks back at the image in weeks to come, he certainly
thinks it helps him make up his mind on the pair of them.

Taehyung's pressed into a solitary kitchen table (black, of course), and Jimin is there, between
his legs, making the tall dancer look so small. Head tipped back, the blonde's visage
congregates at something blissful, lips parted, candy breaths slipping out. The other man's
face is shoved into his exposed neck, hands at his waist and back, holding him in place. It's a
disgusting scene, the blatant eroticism bleeding into Jungkook's psyche, suggesting the idea
of bile in his stomach. Oh, how he hates it.

He coughs, brows furrowed, not surprised by the vision, but not exactly in the mood for it.
However, his expression crumples out into that of horror as soon as Jimin's head pulls away.
They look each other in the eye, and Jungkook's are widening exponentially.

Then, his face settles again.

For a moment, a trick of his mind had told him the collar of the white, cotton shirt Taehyung's
wearing was a little blood-splattered. He'd thought, for the purest of seconds, Jimin's teeth
were sharp and bleached crimson, his eyes like inferno, glaring into every shade of colour
imaginable, mirrors of souls and doom.
But, as soon as Jimin had looked at him in the eye, those strange delusions dissipate.

"Good morning." The man smiles, his lips contorting themselves upward, and they're
perfectly void of any substance remotely similar to blood. His lips are clean.

Shaking away the nightmarish image, Jungkook responds in his usual lacklustre tone,
"morning."

Jimin's skin isn't as pale as usual, in fact, he appears as though he'd just been rejuvenated, like
his face was just painted with a fresh shade of heat; his hands slip away from Taehyung, who
looks a little breathless, and Jungkook refuses to glance at him, not wanting to be held
hostage by that wanton image.

"Sleep well?" Jimin asks, as he steps out, away from the blonde, his tone surprisingly modest,
causal, like he was trying to make simple conversation.

Jungkook despises it. "Yeah." His mind is pulsating in it's skull, shaking his bones, crying out
for clarity, and so he dares himself to ask, quizzical, "did you just get in?"

Momentarily, the pink-haired man looks a little confused, but his features are hard as ever,
and amusement is crawling across his face, as he says, "mm," His hands come to his pockets,
patting at them, before he finds the object he's looking for. "You see," Placing a cigarette to
his mouth, he talks around it as he sets it alight, seemingly not having to think about his
movements, "in my line of work, we thrive at night. It's when business is booming." His eyes
widen for a second, almost mocking, lips curled into a smirk.

"So, what, you sleep in the day?"

"He never sleeps." Taehyung laughs, and his long fingers come to ruffle his own hair up into
a neater looking pile of gold. It's said as a joke, metaphorical, but Jungkook can't help but
think there's perhaps some cornel of truth embedded in it. The look Jimin shoots him is slow,
but even Jungkook can sense the purpose behind it, as his cigarette spritzes gagging purlins
of silver smoke across the room. Taehyung just beams back at him, his usual expression of
cocky teasing falling across him. "Real business-minded, you know?" He looks at Jungkook
then, smirks, "all work and no play."

"I do plenty of playing." Jimin bites back, but it's in jest, and, once again, it's as if there's
some sort of joke between them that Jungkook is left out of.

"Mm." Taehyung giggles, with a roll of his eyes, before he turns to the younger, tells him,
"it's why he's so serious all the time. He's all about work, work, work, money, money,
money." His head clicks side to side with each repeated word, and his mouth spreads into a
grin — he's like something the pharaohs of ancient Egypt would worship, like a cat, watching
a vivid, dumb fish swim around it's bowl. Jungkook is a fish, of course. "He's rather like you
in that sense, no?"

In truth, Jungkook doesn't think he has any similarities to Park Jimin. From what he knows of
him, he's near enough the opposite, it's like Jimin's devotions are set on unfurling reactions
from people, while Jungkook's are being the reactor. It's like a cat and mouse game, chasing
one another around, never settling, never winning. It is like that, of course, because Jimin is
able to derive emotion from people, because he's rich and powerful, while, Jungkook, the
little mouse, the little fish, the prey, only has the ability to react to what's done to him.

"No, I wouldn't say that."

No, he thinks, definitely not. Although they may both be driven by a common factor
(money), they differed in their desire for it. Jimin lusted for luxury, wanted more of what he
already has a multitude of, wants to sink his teeth into all he can get. But, for Jungkook, he
wants to grasp anything he can for a shot at survival.

"You wouldn't?" Taehyung tilts his head, his face curious but almost like a means of
mocking. He's so different to the man he was the night before, the one who appeared so
tentative to boundaries and care. He wonders which is the illusion.

"Taehyung, give the man a break," Jimin interrupts, and it's surprising, given he was usually
so up for teasing and pushing, "he's still recovering from yesterday, I'd imagine."

"Right!" The blonde suddenly replies, standing to his feet, eyes wide and glorious, "how's
your leg doing?" He asks, as he meanders through the kitchen, passing by both other men,
intent on reaching the cupboards.

"Uh..." Jungkook, upon being notified of the fact he had, in fact, been stabbed in the fucking
thigh, comes to the realisation, he can't feel the wound. It's frightening and sickening to
realise he had literally forgotten about it. His words slip out slowly, uncertainly, "actually, it's
good," he pauses, then, furrowing his brows, he adds quietly, "I guess your remedy worked."

"Hmm." His shoulders shuffle, and his smile is both smug and sweet, as he says, "Well,
I was a medic in the war, you know."

Jungkook thinks that somewhat makes sense, but, he still finds the image to be unsettling.
The Great War seems worlds away now, so different to the reality he was currently living in.
It was gore and guts and tears and flesh, and it was indisputably real, human nature flooding
through every orifice of civilised beings, horrors leaking from every eye that'd become a
victim of the honest truth.

Jimin and Taehyung are so discordant from the truth, like they're entire entities are built upon
fantasy; even their blood seems prettier than reality, and it's strange to envision their falsity
embedded with the stench of true humanity.

"You were?" He questions somewhat absently, as if it was perhaps a lie.

"Sure was." Jimin answers for him, as the blonde roots around the cupboards. "Best they had,
I'd say."

"You knew each other then?"

Clouded eyes, brewing with thick colour, like a Monet painting, polychrome, a volatile
ebullition of psychedelic trips, Jimin is watching the boxer, as he says, "why, I was a doctor
back then." He says it with a flash of a smile, and Jungkook thinks he'd rather die than have
Jimin act as his doctor.

Jungkook is about to ask more, when Taehyung suddenly stands back to his full height, a
small, glass bottle in hand — a yellow-tinted ointment, with a delicate, peach-coloured petal
drifting through it. It almost produces a twinkling sound as he shakes it in the younger's
direction, and he tells him, "if you take a sip of this every day for about a week, the pain
should be completely relieved."

"Oh? Uh, thank you." Jungkook nods, stoic, and he accepts the item, genuinely thankful of it,
though admittedly wary.

"Of course, if there are any issues, you can come back here and I'll help you." Taehyung says
then, and he sounds more inviting and genuine than the boxer thought he was capable of. It
twists into something heartier then, tripping down a few steps to meet the depths of his
vocals, "hm, do you have a telephone?"

Jungkook's eyes squint a little, his head tipping to the side for a moment, lips twisting into
contemplation. He nods, absently.

"Excellent, I'll—" Taehyung doesn't finish his words, busied with a new task, his bare feet
pattering against the floor as he exits the room. Jimin and Jungkook stand in silence, and,
despite himself, the younger feels awkward. Jimin's smirk is lopsided, almost a little boyish,
completely submerged in this strangely macabre charm, and his brown eyes twinkle. His eyes
looks more brown than Jungkook remembers them being.

His smirk tips into a smile, as he seems to like making the boxer feel awkward. "There were
no interruptions to your sleep, I trust?" He asks then, though it sounds more like he's trying to
confirm something. His smile is still there, as if pasted into his face; Jungkook thinks he can
see it peeling off, his mask of insouciance, as there's a trembling sense of anger lingering
there.

"No?" He replies shortly, not exactly sure what the man was getting at. He knows it comes
out more aggressive than intended.

Jimin hums, eyes tapered into murk. Then, unlike his usual games and glimmering smug
tones, he plainly asks, "Taehyung didn't bother you?"

Ah. Jungkook thinks. He can't help but remember what Taehyung had looked like at the
market place, how he'd explained what Jimin had done to him because he'd visited Jungkook.
The boxer supposes Jimin was used to the blonde making various advances toward people,
and he supposes, for some reason, he didn't like it when Taehyung flirts with him. He chooses
to spare the blonde, tells the truth as he grunts out a, "no."

Jungkook can't help but be thankful when Taehyung reenters, with that complacently sexual
grin upon his face. He slots a piece of paper into the gaps of Jungkook's fingers, says, "call
me if you need to." He's so close to the boxer, hot breaths right against his ear, practically
purring as he says, "or, you can come to the club. I perform most nights, you know,
I'd love for you to come see me again."
"Would you now?" He asks in return, trying not to look at Jimin, who he assumes isn't too
pleased.

Before the blonde can continue his blatant flirtations, Jimin butts in, his eyes sharp on him, as
if he was aware of something that Jungkook wasn't. He asks a little curtly, "you feel bad
about last night?"

It takes a moment for the words to register, and when they're on the brink of doing so,
Jungkook doesn't let them, he chokes down the haunting image of corpses, forces away the
phantom feeling of his hands clutching moribund strands of hair. He shrugs, unable to talk.

A smirk is to be expected, and yet it's still so horrendous as it pulls at the older man's lips,
and he drily inquires, "I suppose you'll want your money then?"

In truth, Jungkook had almost forgotten about that factor, it's so odd, to have his mind so
lacerated he'd literally forgotten about his own moral compass. It was always his primary
focus — money, just like Jimin — and yet he'd forgotten about it for a moment. "You're
probably more excited about the money than living." That's what Kil Duri had said to him,
had sneered at him, mere minutes before his face was smashed into the afterlife, his features
permanently fixed on that sneer.

Jungkook still can't wrap his head around the reason why the man had decided to rile him up
like that, doesn't know what reason he'd wanted to die so bad. That's what he'd wanted, wasn't
it? For Jungkook to wake up and kill him. That's what it seemed like. That's what he'd got.

And Jungkook gets what he wants: the money.

Park Jimin, with his sublime face of deteriorating hell, slips the paper notes into Jungkook's
hand, and the ravenette can't help but feel his heart flutter forward into that smile as soon as
he sees the amount. If Jimin's flames be symbolic of the sun, then Jungkook takes the form of
Icarus, with black wings of devotion and might, tugging himself into the horrors of hope.

"Was worth all that violence, wasn't it?" Taehyung's voice sounds then, like a tinkering bell,
wind-chimes and star-cries, with his potent expression that heaves with corruption and
something strenuously thought-provoking.

Finding he dislikes the way in which those words are presented, like a means of questioning
the very essence of Jungkook's character, he can't help but think them over. His mind burns
with the thoughts of what he'd done, and he feels sickness swirl in him, a pain in his thigh
becoming prominent for the first time.

Before anyone can say anything, the sound of gentle, padding steps interrupts and Jungkook,
deep in his disastrous thoughts, almost jumps as he feels something furry brush against his
ankles.

Upon noticing the shocked expression, Taehyung begins to laugh, tremendous and celestial,
moving toward Jungkook, grabbing the small animal by his feet. "This is Dabria." He coos.
Dabria is a black cat, with midnight fur that's long and straggly, and emerald eyes, that look
as if they'd seen a lot. They have three legs, Jungkook notes. The dancer holds onto him like
a doll, and the creature appears happy to be moved around in such a way.

"You really like animals, huh?" The boxer half-mutters, the words coming out before he can
truly preen them. It momentarily distracts him from the impeding reality of his actions, at
least.

"Yeah, of course," Taehyung nods, brows furrowing a little, as if it were the most obvious
thing to infer, which, of course, it was. "We are all part of nature, are we not? It's so beautiful,
all the little creatures that trundle around amongst the earth. I believe our Earth, and nature
itself, is sacred, you see, all of us with our purposes and wonders, all of us with our
meanings."

Before Jungkook can respond, Jimin says, "that's our Tae's wonderful soul." It's almost a little
biting, as if he was being sarcastic, and Jungkook can't help but glance toward the younger of
the pair, who's pouting a little, as if hurt. It looks very much pretend though. "Do you want
me to get you a driver home, Jungkook?"

"Huh?" Gaze stuck on the pouting blonde for a moment too long, he almost startles with the
look he finds Jimin is placing on him when their eyes finally interlock. It's dark, racing with
violent thorns and knives that split skin and gorge blood. The change in tone and topic is
enough to give him whip lash, and, he has to quickly bring his mind back down to something
more mild. "Oh, uh, no, I can walk."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Jungkook nods, sensing it was best to leave, right now, before he becomes sucked up
in their world of fiery heaven. "Thank you." He says, before he can even think about leaving,
and their eyes are on him, like vultures, glittering beacons of atrocity. "For letting me stay,
and for the... medicine."

"Come see us any time."

&&&

With a bright red glove, Jimin taps his fingers against the table, stone-grey, with trembling
glasses shaking their gorgeous liquids upon it. A body is pushed against it, thrashing about in
reclusive fabrics of silver. He hears them whine, the person with a body made of thunder,
greying skin, and coughs like clouds, clogging their throat, choking up a storm. His cheek
rests delicately in his hand, as he observes any trace of scarlet ooze from their body, leaving it
as mere bones — a blasphemous parcel of skin.
Before the body completely collapses into itself, the teeth in it's neck move away, letting the
hints of their feast run down the skin there in a bloody succession, symbolic of craving.
Barely guts and brains, the vessel of a person crumples into a state lingering in the gateway's
of death. Torturous.

Kim Seokjin lets one of his men take them away, as he steps around and takes a seat opposite
Jimin at the (no longer shaking) table. A black, silken handkerchief dabs at his chin,
bleaching away any excess dirt. It's another one of his lackeys who's clutching the cloth,
happy to wipe up the man, with his strong hands quivering slightly.

"I know death seems to disgust you nowadays," His voice is slow, and it's completely obvious
in it's cruelty, somewhat a mirror to Jimin himself. A flutter of anaemic butterfly wings take
the form of his fingers then, as they flicker around, shooing away the man with the
handkerchief. His face is set at a slow grin. "So, consider that mercy a present."

Rolling his eyes, Park Jimin leans back, so far that his chair scrapes against the marble
flooring. He doesn't exactly think Jin's decision to not kill the woman had anything to do with
him, so he can't help but to scoff, eyes darting around. Jimin has known the man long enough
to understand his penchant for theatrics, and his lust for liars; he knows how to talk to the
man in the way he likes. So, he plays along, as he asks, "why would you think death disgusts
me?"

"Don't play coy, Jimin, you know exactly what I mean." Seokjin's perfectly placed brow
shoots up, his porcelain features twisting into stoicism beneath the dim light. He'd look a
little amused, if it weren't for the coldness in his gaze, and the crookedness of his tone as he
says, "I have no problem with your lifestyle, you know, it's not abnormal to have one single
person to... keep around, to fulfil you." The mention of Taehyung, even indirectly, stirs
something in the younger, which doesn't go unnoticed, if Seokjin's smirk is anything to go off
of. "Besides, Namjoon talks, you know?" Of course Jimin knows. "And, well, he actually
comes to see me every once in a while, he has manners, I guess. Whereas you— well, I never
hear a peep from you, so I'm forced to learn about your life through rumours and Namjoon.
Since you never come."

"I'm here now." Jimin says, because it's the easiest thing to say, the best thing to coax Seokjin
into his usual self. As beautiful and brilliant as the man may be, his narcissism was easily
played into.

Cronus was Seokjin's own place of exploitation; hidden within the veins of the city, tucked
into the valves there, the jazz bar was perhaps not what you'd expect. True to it's name, the
place pays homage to the greek's stylistic accomplishments; marble statues and busts, with
long, black columns holding the gaudy, painted ceiling up — it's a fine replica of the Sistine
Chapel, with it's angels curling into love and fingers pointing toward death, though, this one
primarily focuses on death — and there's many sand-timers placed upon a myriad of
surfaces, pretty and tasteless. Incongruous to the 1920s art deco sensibility, the space was
decked to the nines with an abundance of flowers; a florist's wet dream. It melts across your
mind like one, dripping and soaking, making the lump of matter in your skull all the more
heavy.
The one thing that sticks out to Jimin most, is the perfect statue of Julius Caesar that's right in
the entrance of the room; it greets you as you enter, and watches you as you leave. Jimin
sometimes wishes he could have his likeness carved into stone like that, beautiful and forever
powerful.

"Mm, here you are." His head tilts to the side, "Late." He's clear in his purpose, a little snide,
but more so bedecked in curiosity, "I wouldn't have even had to drink in front of you, had you
have shown up on time."

Jimin just shrugs, teeth tugging at his lip, bored in the presence of the man. "I had prior
engagements."

"Ha!" The elder tuts out, eyes wide in predisposed horror, his whole head shaking as he
replies, curtly, "oh, yes, I've heard about your new fixation, Jimin. That... boxer, is it? A
handsome one, looks delicious. But, well, he's a moody young thing, I hear."

The pink-haired man can't exactly say he's surprised by the idea Seokjin would know about
Jungkook. After they'd crossed paths in the Sugar Lounge, it was only natural that he would
find out all he could about the man Jimin was meeting with. Certainly another one of his
fault's was his desire to know everything — an attribute he definitely shared with Jimin.

"Yes, yes, I hear there was a big fight yesterday, is that right?" He asks, even though
he knows, voice like a downpour, drizzling hellfire against Jimin's patience. "I didn't know
you were looking for new meat, Jimin. Isn't your pretty, little Taehyung enough?" Seokjin
definitely notices the way Jimin's fingers curl into fists, kept tightly against his legs. He
smirks at the sight of Jimin's jaw ticking.

And, Jimin notices his smirk. He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head into his words, "I know
what you're doing, Seokjin, and it's not going to work. You're not going to rile me up."

He laughs, sweetly. "How dull." His fingers click together and a man is there to pour
something into his glass — it's brandy, if the smell is anything to go off of. The sip he takes is
lengthy, a river of liquid pooling into his throat, gluttonous and glamorous, as he leans back
in his seat, mirroring Jimin's position. "Well, I also wasn't aware you were making plans to
annoy the Kil Family."

Jimin's eyes roll again. "I'm not." Already sensing he was going to have to explain himself
further, he rubs his gloved fingers across his chin, and he says, "I didn't plan to annoy them,
no, I made plans to destroy them," His tone takes the form of something malignant, like pale
shapes of moonlight wanderers, like grave-robbers, who tear into wells of dirt in the night.
He's so horrid in his boastful declaration, "And I did. They arranged the fight, and I won it.
It's that simple."

Smiling, Seokjin tips his drink around in it's glass, as his shoulders rise up, then down again.
"Ah," He hums, takes another gulp of the alcoholic beverage, before he says, meandering,
slow, "So you're not soft after all."

"Is that something in question?"

"Well," The man seems to ponder over it for a moment, before, eventually, he just shakes his
head, says, "It's been said in whispers. I never doubted you, of course, I knew you'd come
around."

Jimin does well to conceal his smirk, to conceal the glee batting away inside his stomach. His
hands open up in a gesture of quizzical surrender, shoulders shrug, face blank. "Well, I love
when things can be mutually beneficial for us. Besides, your latest move was... bold. I
couldn't help but be attracted to it."

"Mm." Seokjin's eyes are narrow. Jimin's are dark. Seokjin forgets how dark they've adapted
to become. "I've always admired that in you."

"I'm sure." Jimin resists the urge to roll his eyes, but he does make a show of glancing at his
watch, sighing exaggeratedly into his next words, "now, as much as I adore catching up with
you, old chap, I really do have a tight schedule, so, not to be rude, but if you'd be so kind as
to get to the point of my being here."

Seokjin just looks at him, his head shaking, slow and disbelievingly. "Gosh, playing dumb
must be fun for you." He chuckles, throws his head to the side. "Unfortunately it doesn't work
on me, sunshine, you know why you're here."

He doesn't bother to smother his expression of substantial superiority this time, just lets it
dangle through the dark of the empty bar. Red-clad fingers scratch at his skin. "Well then,"
His eyes are like fire, and Seokjin remembers how much they burn. "Let's get down to
business, shall we, Mr Mayor?"

&&&

Jungkook's head almost bursts with the sudden slamming sensation it comes in contact with
as soon as he steps in the door. "You little shit." Ara is growling at him, her fingers coming
together in a wringing motion, as if suggesting she'd like to strangle him. The younger sibling
groans, and he rubs at cheek where the girl had just slapped. She shoves him then. "You had
me so fucking worried." And again.

He hits the wall and he can't help but to snap at her, his features twisting into irritation, "stop
fucking pushing me."

When she finally takes a step back to properly look up at her brother, her eyes widen. If the
man weren't so disgruntled he'd perhaps find the expression a little comical. Her face seems
to green in sickness with every inch she takes in of her brother; her eyes skim across his face
first, horrified by the sweltering black that spreads across his eye. They fall in exposition to
his knuckles — shredded, abused and tired from having pummelled so ardently at the
punching bag he made of a man's face. He didn't bandage them, didn't seek any care for them,
so now they remain, stinging and lacerated, dripping down beside his legs. His legs, that are
in another man's trousers, wealthy, Valentino, stained with blood.

"What the fuck happened?" All remnants of hostility vanish with the croaking whisper of her
tone, her lips coming together into a soft shape, similar to humility. Perhaps worry.

Jungkook sighs, knowing this conversation was to come; he'd spent the walk home thinking
of ways to tell the truth, or how best not to. He'd spent his time counting up manners of
contorting his body around the lumbering shadow of the truth. "Boxing." He says, settles on
that. He hopes it will be enough, to leave it at that. They tended to steer away from
mentioning difficult subjects. He assumes she'll understand.

He thinks she must, if her gory eyes are anything to go off of, the way the colours of them
seem to writhe in the light; it's like fresh linen, blowing in the wind, rippling in the
abundance of sunshine, a multitude of fanciful fabrics. They tremble beneath their own
beauty, and they burst into blood-soaked sheets, that house rotting carcasses and freshly
separated limbs.

"You—" She begins, her shoulders hunching together, looping around her body like wings,
the bones seeming to come so far around her that they meet her breasts. The bones look
unnatural in this position, like she's curling into herself. She used to do that a lot, Jungkook
recalls, it's a habit of hers from when they were younger, when she got scared or uncertain.
Jungkook always had to place her skeleton back together. "Did you win?"

It's not what she'd wanted to ask, Jungkook knows, but he doesn't want to answer what she
truly wants to hear, so he opts to say, plainly, "of course." He hopes his cocky assurance is at
least somewhat comforting to her; perhaps his normalcy shall click her body back into place
and she'll smile at him with her bleeding gums.

She doesn't, and her tongue sounds thick with the way she spits out her next words, "why
were you gone all night?" Ara's eyes are at her feet, watching her mud-encrusted shoes, her
flattening heels, her thin, stocking-covered legs. She looks sad.

"I was fighting for Park Jimin," He tells her, keeps himself as steady as possible, not wanting
to give away too much, but wanting so desperately to wipe away that sadness, coaxing it
away with small percolates of truth. "You remember the man I told you about? The guy
paying me for all these fights. It was a big one, so, it went on a bit and it was— far away. He
said he'd put me up in a hotel, to save me travelling back so far, so late."

Ara doesn't look up, but Jungkook can see the way her slim eyebrows furrow together,
concocting a visage of aggression across her pink-toned features. He finds he likes that
expression more than sadness. "You're a bad liar." There's almost a laugh in her voice, but it's
bitter, wet with the undercurrent of melancholia.

A harsh exhale of breath sounds almost like a laugh coming from Jungkook, and he shakes
his head, smiles as best he can, even though she's not looking at him.
"And, what's the story with the clothes?"

Jungkook dislikes the way she exclaims the word, story, as if that's all he were capable of, as
if she knew better than to try and get some uprightness from her brother. As irate as the
thought makes him, he can't help but realise it's so true, because, as he comes to open his
mouth, his throat is dry and he's unable to actually say what he wants to. He can't tell the
truth.

Sensing that, she just shakes her head, and her hand comes out with it, shakes in alignment
with her head. She's still crowded into herself, as if there's too many people within her, as if
she's cramped up with the souls of her clients, as if she's lost within her own body. Her soul
must be so small, barely able to keep afloat within her tall vessel, as if her true self is
drowning within the image she projects to the world.

Jungkook wishes he was better at comforting. He wants to hug her, to communicate his
apologies. But, he can't. Yet again, he's powerless, and he thinks he's the one with the weak
soul. It's silent for a moment, a bitter second.

"Hanai was worried." She says then, and her voice is hard. Finally, her eyes snap up; just like
fire, her eyes scorch at her brother's skin, blackening it, charring it, burning him down into
embers. She torches his cutis, tears it from his raw, flushed muscles, strips him down
to his soul, so she can get to the bottom of his guilt, can stuff it full with responsibility. "She
thought you weren't going to come back." She whispers out, and he hates how she can be so
cruel, hates how she knows exactly how to stack up his guilty conscious, "She was crying, I
— it took her so long to sleep. She didn't say a word to me this morning. She... she looked
around for you all night— she didn't even kick up a fuss about going to school." Her voice
catches as she repeats, "she thought you weren't coming back." Then, tentatively she starts, "I
thought—" She's not crying, because Ara doesn't cry, but her voice is high and tender, like it's
being pulled straight from her heart.

"I'm sorry." He tells her, and he means it. He wishes he was better at being honest, at
promising his sincerity, but it's not the strong suit of a Jeon. It's something their family finds
difficult, apologising.

They lock eyes then, and she imprisons his gaze within her grip, clutches at his vision with
those trembling fingers of angry admonishment. "Don't apologise to me." She sighs, her
voice such a contrast to her face, twisted into something angry and ugly. "You need to make it
up to her. I... I knew you'd be back, I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to get yourself
killed." Jungkook doesn't know if it's intended as a joke, but it feels like a slap in the face,
like a true burst of reality. He can't help but drown in the sorrows of death and killing. "I
didn't doubt you'd be back, but... well, you can't— it's— I thought— for a second— after
what happened with—"

"It's okay." He interrupts, his heart tearing with the woman's inability to construct a sentence.
It hurts him more than he'd ever think it would. He despises how much it hurts that they can't
bear to bring up any aspect of the past, can't even let the memories slip past their lips. He
knows he's the same — he can't help but recall how quickly he'd dodged Taehyung's hand as
soon as the man had suggested reading his past. Coward. "I'm not gonna leave, I'm not going
anywhere, I swear, I would never."
Her shoulders fall back into place, stretching out, her greying white blouse falling across her
frame nicely, making her look almost agreeable.

"And... I'll make it up to Hanai." He adds as his hands rummage around his bag that contains
his actual clothes, along with his boxing clothes, and, now, a sheer abundance of money. He
can't help but adore the way his sister's eyes light up as soon as they catch sight of it.
Materialistic goods are always cause for excitement, whether you've existed without them for
your whole life, or whether you're already swamped with them: they're like an addiction. The
girl's mouth salivates with the notion of consumerism. "I can get her something nice." He
says, promises.

"You... you got all that from last night?"

He nods, and he can't help but smile at the way her face becomes redolent to that of an eagle,
circling it's prey from high in the sky. It's sad, though, he must admit, how the only time she
appears so happy is when she forgets about her human nature, and compels herself in the
vivid illusion of wealth and desirability.

He supposes that itself is human nature, to tear yourself away from the nature, and to
inundate yourself in thick, runny money.

"He truly is a mobster then." Is what she says, and it's a completely different notion to what
her eyes project; almost reminiscent of disgust, or, perhaps, fear. Her eyes are so clearly
sparking with greed though.

"Yeah." Jungkook doesn't lie, because, though they may constantly lie to themselves, or
between themselves, they never do it to each other. "It's fine, honestly, once we get enough
money, we can leave, away from them... and, from this city—"

He can't help but let his speech falter as soon as she looks at him again, her mouth rotating
into an aberrant twist of cupidity. Her head shakes, slow and almost unnoticeably, face mad
with terror and hope. Her voice sings with it too, like angel wings bathing in fire, like halos
and pitchforks, with nails that claw at soil, climbing away from the pit, and feet that patter
against vapours of white, slipping down a golden staircase. Her tone reflects the delights of
heaven and the realities of hell as she laughs and tells him, "for someone so big and strong,
you certainly are so naive."

&&&
"I feel sick." Hanai whines, her head nestled in her brothers neck, as he carries her up the
stairs of the apartment building. Her face is hot against his skin, ripe with bristling elation,
and the brewing glitch of illness that was emerging due to the sheer amount of sweet goods
she'd consumed.

Jungkook had meant it when he said he'd make it up to her. So, as soon as he could, he'd
taken her to the zoo, filled with exotic creatures, watching the way her eyes lit up with every
animal she encountered, every entity she'd marvelled at. In truth, Jungkook thought the zoo
was a rather cruel place, and he couldn't help but think Taehyung would hate to see the
animals locked up like prisoners.

Alas, the pure, unbridled splendour that paints her features, even now, is enough for him to
excuse any amount of cruelty. The girl had always been tantalised by animals, had always
dreamed of becoming a vet, or a rescuer, as she said. She'd always wanted to see those
foreign creatures in the flesh.

On the way back home, they'd stopped off at a sweet store, and she'd swindled him into
buying her a multitude of them — by swindled, he, of course, means she'd simply asked. He
couldn't say no to her, and he adored the way he was actually able to say yes now, what with
his new source of income.

"Let's get to bed, hm?" He coos at the girl, letting her grumble. He thinks she's probably
being a little hyperbolic, but he doesn't mind. That is, until his leg suddenly starts to seethe in
unimaginable pain as soon as he reaches the top step.

Hanai seems to notice, as her face peeks out of his shoulder, so she can mumble, "Are you
'kay?"

He just smiles, and says, "of course, you're just so heavy nowadays." It's a joke, and she
beams at him, ignoring the fact it was clearly a lie.

Jungkook's medicine doesn't appear to be working.

It's been nearly two weeks since the incident, and, when he'd arrived at Blood the first Friday
night after the private fight, Hoseok had greeted him. The man had just smiled, leaned his
body against the tiled wall, and said, "Go home. Boss says you need to rest."

It had been strangely stirring to receive an indirect message from Park Jimin; especially one
that pertained toward his own well-being. Considering the man had been so keen to test the
waters with Jungkook's life a few days before, it was so utterly offbeat to be told to get some
rest.

Alas, he hadn't argued — much to the incredulity of Jung Hoseok, who, until that point,
hadn't ever heard the man be amenable — but, the boxer hadn't put up a fight. In truth, he
wasn't exactly up for it, the pain in his leg still very much there, his abrasions and contusions
creating quite a constellation across his body. His skin becomes the milky white sky, inverted
colour schemes, as the stars ooze with blood and gore, black against the blanket of alabaster.
Furthermore, he'd earned enough money from the previous fight to miss this one, and, in the
back of his mind, he was so certain he'd be approached by Chung Uram, and, honestly, he's
not quite prepared to face him. Not to mention, despite the fact he'd been following
Taehyung's instruction of taking his medicine everyday, the pain in his thigh seemed to be
worsening day by day. He wouldn't be surprised if the man had made it that his pain would
increase tenfold in order for Jungkook to contact him.

Whether or not that be the case, that's precisely what Jungkook finds himself doing as soon as
he gets in the apartment and puts Hanai to bed. He assumes Ara is out on the prowl tonight
— she sometimes liked to go and dance at clubs, swinging her bones around like chandelier
tassels, and tempting men to shove coins down her throat.

That leaves him alone. Alone and shameless enough to pick up his telephone, his body leant
up against the table that holds the object. It takes him an embarrassingly short amount of time
to choose to call, and, as he finally opts to do it, he almost instantly regrets it.

The operator who answers sound nasally across the line, and as soon as he asks her to put
him through to the number Taehyung had given him, her gasp crackles against the line. "Are
you sure?" She asks, as though putting him through to their telephone was a matter of life or
death.

"Yeah." He says simply, not in the mood to second guess himself, agitated by the wait, even
though short. After a long day of smiling through the smarting pain in his thigh, his
aggressive side was getting the better of him; he couldn't help but to revert back to it when
alone.

She says nothing more, but just before he's put through, he hears the way her breaths pick up.

"Hello?" The familiar sound of Taehyung's cooing vocals echoes across the metaphysical
stream of the telephone, and he sounds so curious, but serious nonetheless.

Jungkook's a little relieved that he's put through to the man straight away, as he doesn't think
his patience would manage to remain in place should he be speaking to someone else. "My
leg hurts." He blurts out, not even introducing himself, thinking the dancer must already
know who he is. He doesn't intend to come off so rude, especially to someone he was asking
for help, but he was not in control of the way it rolls off his tongue.

"Ah." Taehyung giggles through the phone, and it sounds so immense in it's sweetness,
Jungkook thinks he can practically feel his ears become clogged with the honey of it.
"Jungkook, hm? I've been anxious for you to call."

"You suspected I would?" He asks in return, thinking his suspicion had been right —
Taehyung definitely wanted him to call, so had certainly given him a shoddy concoction.

The dancer, understanding the suspicion, releases a tut of a laugh, "well, some of my
remedies don't work on people with certain attributes, you see."

"Attributes?" The younger repeats, doubtful.

"Mhm, like, the health of your immune system, for instance, or... the depths of the wound."
His voice is demandingly crackly through the phone, and yet it manages to settle as a luring
whisper in Jungkook's ears. It's like gossiping tree leaves, that flirt with the wind as it passes
in it's cool sea of footsteps, lacing it's seduction amongst the earth's blushing, green
vegetation. It's so whimsical a sound, black like coal and yet like a pebble that scuttles across
the surface of crystalline waters. The bonny musicality of it almost suggests truth, however,
Jungkook isn't fooled. He knows he's twisting it.

"So, can you help me?"

"Ah, however could you doubt me, Mr Jeon?" The shuffle of his limbs is evident, and he
sounds like he's folding his body into an arrangement that better fits him. "I can fix you up
something by tomorrow. Would you be free then?"

Jungkook is free everyday he's not fighting. He tends to spend his days in and out of sleep,
that, or training, pounding his fists into dry walls or punching bags. Sometimes, he tries to
find odd jobs around town; helping neighbours with handiwork, especially old Kim Pulip,
who he suspected purposefully finds things to fix in order to indulge in a little company; or,
he's around town, picking up food items, or making arrangements with strange men, using his
muscles to help with laborious tasks. Since his main source of income has becomes so much
more prevalent and steady, it's rare for him to decide to do such a thing.

He breathes out, and he's not sure whether he wants an excuse for an out or not. In truth, he
doesn't want to go back to that house — he'd been avoiding thinking about it for the past two
weeks, and every time a memory threatens to reach the surface, he casts his mind to seaweed,
that grapples at the legs of his memory, and tugs it back down to the abyss, letting it drown in
a salty hell. He thinks, if he were to go back, he'd be forced to think about it, about what he
did.

He'd be forced to remember the eyes of Chung Uram, who'd been staring so disappointedly at
him, almost like a despairing father figure. He doesn't know why the stranger's opinion of
him bothers him so, but he can't help but let those haunting white eyes leak through his
unconscious mind, looking down over him and his thoughts, like the eyes of God.

"Jungkook?" The blonde sing-songs, deep and resplendent.

On the other hand, he wanted his pain gone, wanted to be rid of the constant reminder of
what had happened to him, of what had happened to Kil Duri.

"Ye—" He begins, but is interupted by the sound of Taehyung gasping — at least, that's what
he assumes the sound is, but it's muffled and hard to discern, so, equally, it could be a laugh.

There's a small pause, and then a scuffle, something like a grumble. "I'm talking to
Jungkook."

"Why?"

That must be Jimin's voice, the way it booms across the line, even though he's not speaking
directly into the phone. Only that man could be so sensually cruel in tone, and only he could
have the power to contort sound waves to his own mechanism, to have them reach whichever
ears he desires for them to. The snap of the word isn't so much angry, as it is intrigued, not
exactly soft, but smoothly curious.

"The ointment I made isn't working."

Jungkook feels this peculiar ache beneath his skin, his wrists seem to shiver, his pulse
quickening exponentially. It's as if his internal organs are dancing upon the arrival of Park
Jimin, as he reunites with Kim Taehyung.

Kim Taehyung, who releases another sound, and this time, it's definitely a gasp. It sounds like
it's trickling into something else — something so deep and euphoric, like a moan, that bursts
through Jungkook's eardrums.

It drifts away into plain air, and then he hears Jimin's voice more clearly, evidently having
taken the mouthpiece from Taehyung. "Jungkook?"

"Yeah?" The boxer frowns, and he's sure the expression must melt into his timbre, if the small
chuckle in the gangster's voice is anything to go off of.

"Do you suppose you could be at the Sugar Lounge tomorrow night?" He asks, plain, no
games or lies, just straight to the point. It's so odd how quickly the man can change his entire
atmospheric being. "Tae can give you the medicine there, but I... need your help with
something."

"What do you need his help for?" Jungkook thinks he hears Taehyung say in the background.

"Never you mind."

"That's not—" This time it's definitely a moan that spills from the blonde's lips, and Jungkook
thinks Jimin had probably placed the mouthpiece to them, in order for Jungkook to hear
better, because he hears it loud and clear. The jolt of pleasure that spurs from that glimmering
groan, followed by a small whine, "Jimin."

"Shh, just keep still." Jimin's tone is a whisper, muffled at first, but gets louder as he brings
the phone back to himself. "So, is that a yes?"

Jungkook can practically see the shine of the man's grin through the device and he wants so
desperately to wipe it off. He hates the fact the man thinks he can feel smug about that. No,
actually, he hates the fact that the man can feel smug; because, Jungkook can't help the way
in which his body reacts to something as simple a sultry noise. Heat surges into his stomach,
lining his abdominals, and he almost wants to be sick by the realisation of what that small
moan, of the fantasies behind what was done to the man to make him react like that, of the
shamelessness of being so lewd on a phone call to another man, had done to him. Something
so carnal swells in the back of his mind.

"I'll be there."

He slams the phone down.

Chapter End Notes

ahh the temptation of including 1920s phone sex was a LOT lmao. but i feel like it's not
the time or place. but ahh i hope this chapter wasn't too hard to understand, as i feel like
my writing gets a bit clunky in places here. but here is a nice, long one due to the spirit
of christmas! thank you for reading and supporting <333
 Chapter 10
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Jungkook does turn up to the Sugar Lounge the next day. He decides to get there around
midnight, and he tells himself he was alone in coming to that decision — despite the fact he'd
evidently decided upon it based on his previous meet-ups with Jimin.

The place is quieter than usual, most people focused on the person playing the piano on stage.
Their dark skin glows so fervently in the light, like the image of illuminating stars against a
coal, black night; like a moon-dipped crisper of beauty. With eyes painted electric blue, and
mouth acutely red, like blood and sensuality, their dress clings to their form strangely
modestly. Their voice is harsh, a little hoarse, and yet it serves to bundle itself up beneath
Jungkook's skin, warming his entire being in fiery lust.

Jimin is leaned over the bar today, seemingly surveying the work of the glasses — they seem
like stained glass, all purple and green, decorated in congruence with the menagerie of the
macabre that surround them. "You like a sidecar?" He asks, his tone coated in something a
little mechanistic. He doesn't look up, but clearly is aware of Jungkook's presence.

It takes the boxer a moment, filled with furrowed brows and scrunched mouths, for him to
realise he was referring to a cocktail. "I don't drink." He reminds the man, as soon as he
reaches him, and he stands next to him beside the bar.

As the elder stands up straight, Jungkook realises he no longer has a height advantage over
him; upon looking down, he finds that the man's shoes are platformed — leather, with chunky
heels. They're around the same height in this moment, so, naturally, Jimin feels around
double his size.

"Is that your secret?"

Another voice enters the conversation. It's a voice that Jungkook only faintly recognises,
something rough and equal parts ugly, like each syllable was welded to a mound of dust,
exploding out of the man's voice. It's only as Jimin steps backward slightly, that Jungkook
manages to realise there had been another person there the whole time.

He recognises those gold teeth immediately.

Kil Plexus is a man of an immense figure, with his golden accessories and grey suit, all thin
lines, his legs straight, arms straighter. His entire face seems as if a creation of singular line
of ink, all his features perfectly connected, the angles of his jaw and cheeks as if drawn by a
pencil that doesn't lift from the page. His straight fingers have a collection of straight black
hairs upon the knuckles, tangled with his gold bands of his rings, and they're clutching a glass
containing a shimmering red liquid.
"Is it?" He asks again, his eyes, that protrude as harsh lines of white against the cinnamon-
tone of his face, briefly connect with Jungkook's own. "Is abstaining from drinking what
makes you such a good fighter, Mr Jeon?"

Jungkook is unsure what to say for a moment, and doesn't manage to resist the urge to look at
Jimin for help. The man merely smiles. The smile forces the boxer to tame the flare of anger
begging to be unleashed from his throat. "No," He announces, his voice slow and gruff, in a
way that seems to either annoy or intrigue Plexus, "I'm sure it helps, though." He adds,
hoping to not irritate the man too much. If there's one thing Jungkook knows, it's how
survive, and pissing off a mob boss who didn't need anything from him, certainly was not the
way to go.

"Mr Kil was hoping to meet you." Jimin explains, his eyes alive with their usual mechanical
splendour; it's bizarrely comforting to see, Jungkook finds.

"Yes, well," The man in question agrees, though he doesn't sound quite so gleeful, "it's not
everyday when your best fighter gets killed so easily. I've got to admit, you're good." He
pauses, but something in it suggests he's about to speak again. He does, after smashing his
teeth into his glass, gulping down his drink, "I can't help but wonder where you've been
hiding all that talent. Surely not in... Snake Eyes' bar?"

Jimin scoffs. His eyes roll. His tongue pokes out between his teeth.

"Uh," Jungkook finds his own eyes narrowing, not entirely sure where the man intended to go
with this, "I do actually."

"Of course," Plexus shakes his head, his smooth forehead seeming to redden against the harsh
lighting and the warmth of sexual desire that swarms the vicinity. "Jimin's always keeping
things to himself." Jungkook doesn't like being called a thing, so he forces his hands into
knuckles. Plexus' eyes travel around the room at the sound of the piano picking up speed. A
curtain is lifting up. "See," He scoffs, a finger coming forward to point toward the stage,
"always keeps the best things for himself."

Kim Taehyung is there on the stage, beside the person on the piano, leaning down to them.
He smiles as he sings at them. Their eyelids are the same electric blue, and Taehyung's hands
are covered in blue, lace gloves, his legs too, stockings of blue that disappear beneath his
skirt. He's not alone on stage today, in fact, there's four other people behind him, along with
the pianist, yet, he still stands out amongst them.

Jungkook recognises their attire somewhat — flappers, or at least, a twisted imitation of the
already risqué art form. Aside from Taehyung, their hairstyles are sleek bobs, beneath
colourful bonnets, upon heads that twist and twirl. Ara had indulged the man on the artistic
brilliance of being a flapper, of the lifestyle of it, of the look, of the dance, and so he
recognises what they're trying to do instantly.

They're too colourful for the regular notion of a flapper — Jungkook has never seen such
colourful clothes, didn't even know such beautiful fabrics existed — and all of them are
jewels, dangling from shiny pendants, flashing their languorous sexuality across the room.
Accompanying the piano, blazing trumpets roar, and their feet clack against the stage, and the
room instantly becomes alive. As they move, their skirts hitch up, and people are offered the
chance to peek at their toned, glorious thighs. It's something that contemporary society isn't
used to as a whole, but, for some reason, doesn't appear all that scandalous here.

"Even amongst his display of pretty creatures, he always takes the best ones." He repeats, like
a broken record, like a distorted phonograph.

"I can't help the fact I often take the form of blistering light to those with no compunction for
dignity," Jimin proclaims, his tone so joyous over the booming music, "I gather my pretty,
little moths and dim myself in order to keep them alive." Jungkook gets a very uneasy feeling
in his stomach. Jimin's eyes flicker down to Plexus' array of garish, golden, jewels. "Perhaps
you ought to learn to dim yourself, Mr Kil. You'll only attract the greedy, little magpies if you
flash them with such shiny objects."

The flappers seem to speed up a little, and Jungkook watches the sway of their hips, the
jutting of their legs, the swinging of their arms. Diamonds burst from their smiles, and their
teeth look like fruit rinds.

"Your arrogance is stifling, Mr Park." The taller man tuts, and he finishes his drink. Jungkook
watches the way the liquid spills down his chin, before he looks away, back to the stage.
"Haven't you come to realise your methods aren't always correct?"

Jimin laughs out loud. It's a laugh that Jungkook's never heard come out of him before —
high pitched and cackling, like a hyena.

"Mr Jeon," Plexus says then, but his voice seems somewhat muffled beneath the hot
trumpets, "you don't know what you'd be getting into with this man. I requested to meet you
here to ask you something."

Jimin's head twists.

"What would you like to ask me?" Jungkook, weirdly, feels like a piece of meat, and he
struggles to stop his blood from boiling at the idea he's evidently being used as a ploy within
their game. It's like he's amongst a smog of toxic masculinity, wherein their skin is splattered
with gasoline, and their muscles are hot from having exerted themselves, trampling down
anyone who showed emotion. He wasn't a fan of being amongst their festering engines of
horror. He didn't like being a thing to pass around.

"You should fight for me."

It's not a question. No, in fact, it's a demand. It's not all that surprising, but it is confusing.
Did Jimin bring Jungkook here knowing that Plexus was going to ask such a thing?

The blaring musicality of sex jumpstarts across his neurones, and his anger at not
comprehending his current situation spikes as electrical impulses across his field of vision.
He feels strangely like he's been in this situation before.
Chung Uram, he remembers, the image of the man he'd been avoiding, suddenly coming back
to him.

He suppresses the memory, forces his emotions in check.

"Why would I do that?" He asks over the instruments and cheers — he doesn't look at Jimin
once, alas, he feels those eyes on him.

"Why?" Plexus laughs, "I can make you more money than he can; I can get you higher up in
status, in life," His voice drops a few octaves, and he almost sounds like a parrot, as if he'd
stolen the words from his previous fighter, who Jungkook had killed. He sounds exactly like
Kil Duri, as he says, "it could help your poor, pretty sister have a better life."

Jungkook's nostrils flare and his breathing picks up. Out of pure habit, out of instinct, his
anger takes over him, having been tugged at too harshly, and his clenched fist comes up to
swing, when a sudden flash of movement has Jimin capturing his wrist, holding him down.
Jimin is too strong for his physique, his grip like stone.

It may stop Jungkook from bashing the man's face in, but it doesn't do anything to soothe his
anger. No, if anything, he feels the full force of it surging through him; not just at the way in
which his sister had been spoken of, but, also, in the way that he'd allowed for her to have
such a life; Plexus' words spark alive all his feelings of self-hatred for what he couldn't
control.

"Wow," Plexus laughs, and it's so cruel — not in the way Jimin's laugh was cruel, but in a
manner that unfurled such putrid ideas of hell and humanity. His teeth shine bright in the
dark, gold and sharp and fake. "He's got you well trained, just like his bitch."

Jungkook feels Jimin's own anger, in the way his grip tightens around his wrist. He thinks
Jimin's right, Plexus' gold did need to be dimmed; it makes him look tacky, makes his entire
aura of hostility lose it's credibility; his words are cheap, exploitative, and he looks like a boy
in a suit, wanting to play with big guns and big boys. It's so sudden, the way any hint of
suave eloquence drips from him, and he suddenly appears like a cackling maniac; he's like a
pale replication of Jimin, like he's never going to reach the level of a certified mob boss. He's
like a fighter from a petty street gang.

The music stops.

"I think our business is done, Mr Kil." Jimin says, and his tone is scarily calm. It's almost
impressive how much control he has over his emotions, Jungkook can't help but envy him. "I
told you I always win. If only you'd listen."

That certainly strikes Jungkook as odd. His mind throbs with irritation. Plexus' nostrils just
flare, straight nasal hairs in view. His glass slams down onto the counter. As he leaves, with a
trail of dust in his wake, like he's nothing more than a decaying has-been, with every essence
of life crumbling from him, Jimin releases Jungkook's wrist.

"What the fuck was that about?" Jungkook spits.

Jimin potently ignores him, as he fixes himself another drink, leaning over the bar, pouring it
himself. "You sure you don't want anything?" He asks, his voice back to it's ritualistic, dark
stupor.

"Yes." Jungkook frowns.

A ghostly pale hand is pulling the bottle of liquor from Jimin's hand. The man doesn't really
react, just lets the bottle be taken from him. "Not even something from our fine barkeep?" He
smirks, and gestures toward said barkeep. Min Yoongi merely rolls his eyes, blatantly works
to ignore the man, who was evidently in an irritating mood. The bartender in question doesn't
spare Jungkook a glance, and, yet, the man feels as though he's been surveyed and analysed
by those glassy eyes.

He's a little more cautious as he replies, "no."

"Pity." Jimin cocks his head to the side, eyes wild like fire, as he takes a sip of drink from his
colourful glass. Jungkook can't help but watch the curve of his lips as a menacing idea seems
to scuttle through him. "Ah, it looks as though you've offended him." He pouts almost,
mocking, referencing the bartender.

"No he hasn't." The bartender in question retorts, his voice so taut with aggression, as his
own head snaps forward, lurches his pretty features outward, almost like they're about to
burst from his pale face. His jaw clenches, as he says, "actually, I prefer it when
people don't waste my time ordering stuff they don't want."

Jungkook's eyes widen a little and he has to choke down the urge to laugh at the scene before
him. He wonders why people were so comfortable being rude to a gang leader like Jimin,
who could undoubtedly scare someone by flashing them a smile. Clearly, he was one to be
able to kill without mercy, didn't seem to view life as a necessity, and yet, his blood-thirst was
so easily mocked by his subordinates. He wonders why he himself felt no quarrel with it,
especially when he had actually been worried about talking to Plexus, despite the fact Jimin
carried himself so much more professionally.

The pink-haired man just tuts, purses his lips, and his eyes darken with this maniacal sort of
humour. "Is that right?" His tone is rougher than Jungkook had ever heard it, clearly not in
the mood for his patience to be tested. His hand comes forward, clutching the glass, and, in a
slow, empty movement he tips it over, letting all the remaining liquid spill out of it, sprawling
itself all over the bar.

Yoongi almost sounds like he's hissing. His nostrils flare and his eyes are deadly in their
glacial notoriety. It was a cruel thing to do, unnecessary and a little cheap — it didn't seem
like something the man would do, and, yet, it reeked of privileged self-assurance so perfectly
befitted with him. It seemed like he'd somehow copped one of Kil Plexus' mannerisms.

Jimin's eyes lock with the bartender's, and Jungkook almost has to jump back by the strong
infusion of hatred that rumbles between them. It leaks from each of their faces, as they seem
to try and keep it inside, growling at one another. It's a ridiculously primitive image, like
they're the last relics of the stone-age, barely clinging to modernity.
He almost thinks he's going to have to be the one to pry them away from one another, like,
perhaps he's going to have to, for once, diffuse a fight, rather than ignite it.

Alas, he doesn't get so far, when the mirror behind the bar suddenly pushes forward, almost
appearing to revolve around itself, and out steps Kim Taehyung, in all his shimmery glory.
His eyes flutter, his stage-makeup still on, and he's in a robe of silken sea-foam, his mouth
twisted in an arrogant way that suggested him to be the salt to the sea.

"Ah," His pink lips spread into a grin as soon as he sees Jungkook, and his teeth are on
display, completely straight and white. Not at all sharp. "You're here, Mr Jeon."

Yoongi's eyebrows furrow, and his own pink lips scrunch, a hearty scoff coming from his
throat. "Tae, take your mutts somewhere else." Jungkook can't help but be offended at being
grouped together with Jimin as a mutt. "They're making a mess of my bar." His tone is back
to its usual disinterest by the time he spews his last syllable, and he's moving past the blonde,
to enter through the mirror the younger had just come out of. He disappears through it, not
bothering to wipe up the mess on his bar.

Jimin looks equally as aggravated by the insinuation.

Taehyung laughs, watching the bartender go, before he begins shaking his head in the older
man's direction. "Oh, Jimin," He chides, "what'd you do?"

"Nothing."

Jungkook observes them in this twisted sort of curiosity; he feels the same way as he had in
the zoo, like he shouldn't be taking such joy from viewing what he was viewing. They truly
are exotic creatures, so unlike anything humanity can truly comprehend.

"Hmm." The blonde hums, shuffling his shoulders, and forcing his gaze toward the other
man. His fingers are pattering against his own clavicle, as if tempting the boxer to look — he
just about manages not to — and each pad of his fingertip seems as if pressing more sexual
desire into his skin. He's practically soaking in it, even when he's not trying. He captures the
attention of a few other bar-dwellers. They all watch as the fingers slip across the split
between the halves of the robe, pulling parts of it open somewhat, displaying more of
that gold skin.

They salivate at the slow way in which he drags his fingers down to his waist, trailing across
it, slipping along the silk like taking a dip in the pool. His fingers drown in his pockets. All
the bar-dwellers gulp at the way they disappear.

When they do reappear, he's clutching a little bottle. He holds it out to Jungkook. Everyone
watches.

"For my favourite patient." He says, his voice practically oozing from his mouth, so chasmic
and orgasmic. It'a like chilli-infused chocolate, like rich spices and deluxe sugars, all creamy
and gorgeous, running down your chin.
Jungkook is almost a little irritated by the obviously intentional performance, that, and the
fact he was still wound up about the events that occurred, so, despite not meaning to be so
harsh, he manages to snatch the item from the palm of the man's hand. "Thank you." Their
hands brush slightly.

Taehyung's face only changes for a moment, seems to flash with something akin to insecurity,
but more beautiful — it merges back into it's seductive configuration a split second later, and
he says, "you're upset about something."

Jimin huffs out a small laugh, and he sounds immensely exasperated. "Plexus." He says, as if
a form of explanation.

Before Taehyung can nod in understanding, Jungkook is shaking his head, snaps, "no, I'm not
annoyed by him."

"Oh?" The gangster raises a brow. "So, I suppose, that means you're irritated by me? In which
case, please don't bother me with it for the moment, I'm not in the mood."

"No," Jungkook demands, "what was that? Why the fuck did you bring me here to see him?"

Jimin's face is blank, scrunches a little, almost as if he's got a headache. "I already told you,"
His voice is a mumble, "Plexus wanted to see you."

"And did you know he was gonna ask me that?"

There's silence. Taehyung flickers his gaze between them, lips pursed.

"You did, huh?" Jungkook almost growls, "so, what? You were trying to test my loyalty or
something?" He's not really sure why exactly he's getting so angry about it, but he can't help
but grow frustrated by constantly being shut down, constantly being put in a position he's not
clear about. He loathes the secrets. He loathes not knowing what's going on. He loathes how
they're always laughing at his expense.

Jimin doesn't reply.

It makes Jungkook angrier.

So much so, he opts to do the only thing he can do, and that's leave. He can't hit Jimin, nor
can he take his anger out on the furniture, but he can make a mature decision, and he can
avoid any such uncomfortable situation arising. Surprisingly, he's met with no resistance, in
fact, Jimin doesn't even look up. His neck is craned awkwardly in on himself, his whole face
tipped toward his chest.

"Thanks for the medicine."

Taehyung watches Jungkook leave, with his eyes blown up wide and trembling. Jungkook
thinks, through the corner of his gaze, he sees the blonde shake Jimin's shoulder. But he
doesn't stick around the find out more, simply opts to keep to his pathway, slithering through
the beautiful, horrific faces of club-goers.
His anger increases at all those terrifying visages of charm.

His heart feels strangely empty as he manages to get out the door, out into the night, wherein
the world is just as plain as it is cruel. It's all black and white, nothing like the luminous
technicolour of the Sugar Lounge, and there's this horrendous thrum of disillusionment he
feels within him.

It's choked out of him almost as soon as it makes an appearance though.

Just as he takes a few steps forward, attempting to exit the alleyway where the club was
tucked away in, his body is slammed against the brick wall. All he sees is a flash of pink, and
suddenly he's pressed to the wall, the crook of an arm pressed into his jugular, holding him
against the bricks with this great helping of inhuman strength.

Park Jimin, with his high heels and overwhelming presence, has pressed him there. Jungkook
hadn't heard him come through the door. There was no way he could've gotten there so fast.
There was no way he was this strong.

"You're a smart man, Jungkook." He says, and he doesn't sound at all out of breath, though
his eyes are hot with the glow of wrath. They're so startlingly red in this light.

No, not in this light, in actuality.

His eyes are red. They've always been red. How could Jungkook have forgotten? Or, did he
even know in the first place? How didn't he notice? Jimin's eyes have been red from the
beginning, and yet, he'd somehow managed to mask them, like he'd somehow changed their
colour.

He's not breathing. Jungkook remembers that fact. Even as they're so close to each other,
once again compressed against each other in the alleyway, and, Jungkook's the only one with
breath. "You're anger is not something to be diffused, it is an advantage of yours." Jimin tells
him, and he sounds so compelling.

Yes, compelling.

Jungkook remembers now, remembers those red eyes, as they'd burned into his own on more
than one occasion; he remembers how he'd been forced to move in ways he wouldn't usually,
how he'd been forced to reveal things he wouldn't usually, how mind had been squeezed at,
pried at, pulled at. Wiped.

"It was enough to make me tell you this."

And he leans closer, but, his mouth doesn't come to his ear like Jungkook had expected, no,
it's at his neck. His neck. His pulse.

He remembers now, in the morning, when he'd stayed in their house, when he'd gone into
their kitchen, when he'd seen them. He'd seen the marks in Taehyung's neck, so many times
— not violent, he'd said. He'd seen them that morning too, fresh, dripping with his own
blood, spilling down his neck, down onto the collar of his shirt.
 Jimin cleaned your wound. Taehyung had told him that after the fight with Duri, Jimin
had cleaned his blood.

Not human.

He feels the stretch of Jimin's mouth against his neck, and his eyes can't help but widen with
horror, with fear. He can't push the man away, in fact he doesn't even try, no, he just stands,
leant against the wall, completely frozen. Jimin's teeth feel so cold as they brush against his
neck — his teeth!

Jungkook had seen those teeth, had seen their sharpness before as well. He'd seen all of this
before, Uram had told him all of this, yet it all seems to come alive right now, before him. It's
ironic that his fantasies come alive as he's stood against the grip of a man who surely is not.

Jimin's going to bite him. That's all he can think about, thats the idea that has the loudest cry
against the sea of others. Jimin's going to drain the life force from him.

His eyes are wider still. A cold, harsh poke of a tooth against the pulp of his skin makes him
shiver, makes his heart speed up, makes his breathing increase.

He's only just realising the magnitude of what he's gotten himself into. He was right to
believe he should be more scared of Jimin than of Plexus; had Jimin somehow compelled
him to forget that? Or, was Plexus like him? Was Taehyung? Was the entire Lounge filled
with such monsters?

The tooth drags across his skin. He holds his breath.

He anticipates it. He almost imagines it happening, imagines his own scream.

He waits.

And, nothing.

Jimin doesn't bite him.

No, in fact, he just laughs — fucking laughs. His head reels backward, and his smile is
scarily beautiful in the moonlight, paired with his red eyes, and his long, white fangs. His
mouth is wide, and those clean fangs are on display, unmistakably subhuman.

Jungkook can't help but despise how attractive he finds the devil's smile.

With a low voice, he stops laughing and says, "run along now, smart boy."

Chapter End Notes

okay, so not a super long chapter, but an important one ;) honestly this was one of the
most fun ones to write so far! so prepare for a bit of vampire lore in the next chapter,
which shall hopefully be a bit longer! also, i hope you had a wonderful Christmas if you
celebrate! and i hope you've been having an amazing week anyway, even if you don't
<3333333
 Chapter 11
Chapter Notes

ok so quick pre-warning! there is a torture/murder scene in the middle of this chapter, as

well as some sexual content near the end! other than that, it's a bit of vampire lore ;)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Considering Jungkook had been avoiding the man for weeks, he can't help but feel overjoyed
as soon as he comes into contact with Chung Uram. He had no way of reaching out to him
and he wouldn't find him at Blood, because he had decided to take a break from fighting for a
while — indefinitely — at least, he didn't plan on fighting at Blood any time soon, especially
if he didn't get to speak with Uram first.

When he hears a knock on his door, Jungkook has this eerie idea he already knows who it is,
so he's not all that surprised to see the man. Relieved, but not surprised. It's a little worrying
that so many people can easily find out where he lives, but Jungkook doesn't have time to
ponder over it, because all he can focus on is how glad he is to see the practical stranger.

Seeming to have an affinity for dusty suits, the man stands with his hands tucked into one, his
face calm, shielded somewhat by a wide hat. If Jungkook cared enough, he'd probably
wonder exactly why he hid his eyes, why he seemed so ashamed of them and their bristling
white. Those same white eyes that shake across Jungkook's body as soon as the door opens,
surveying him.

Ara had just taken Hanai to school, it would probably be twenty minutes before she came
back, at least. It's so perfectly timed it's as if Uram knows their schedule. Perhaps he'd stood
outside and waited for the woman to leave. Jungkook doesn't care, as soon as he sees the
man, he grabs him by the hand and tugs him inside.

A little startled, Uram guffaws, trying not tumble with the sudden gust of strength the
younger exhibits. The door comes to a calamitous shut, and Jungkook speaks first, because
he hasn't been able to speak properly in days and, with the appearance of the exact man he
wants to see, he can't help but let all his sunken words float to the surface again. "What is
he?" He asks, he practically begs, not thinking to clarify — he needs to know everything, he
needs to understand what he's gotten himself into, how he can get himself out of it.

Like the complete obverse of Jungkook's frantic melodrama, Uram stands tall, still. His
sturdy hands come to straighten up his blazer, his shoulders hunch in disparity, and his head
cocks and swivels as he looks around the apartment. Jungkook would be embarrassed by the
mess of it if he actually cared.
When Uram turns to face him again, a terrific smile flies across his mouth, and a row of
white teeth are on display. "So, you haven't fallen to them as I'd feared."

Them. So, it's not just Jimin. Hoseok must be like him as well. Perhaps Taehyung? Jungkook
feels a little sick at the idea — it was bad enough he felt attracted to him at all, he was
a man and Jungkook didn't do attraction, but, if he comes to find that the blonde is... not
human, he thinks he'll be even more horrified in himself.

"Who is them?" He continues, trying not to overwhelm the man with a barrage of questions,
but he wasn't in the mood for games or avoidance. He needs to know. "What are they?"

Uram's sigh is one of leisure, like this predicament wasn't of the utmost importance to him;
he sighs like he's not aware he's surrounded by such monstrous ghouls every waking moment.
"Can I—" His hand gestures toward the sofa, old and dusty, and Jungkook nods frantically,
watches the man slip down upon it in a motion of suitable languor. "Hm." He hums, content.

Irritation gets ahold of Jungkook, and it's like an infection, like a viral commodity, that
spreads across his body, tangling itself in his veins, in his flesh, tearing him to lacerated
horror. "Would you just answer my fucking question?" He barks out.

Uram doesn't seem at all surprised by the outburst; he merely pulls his hat from his head,
gives Jungkook the full view of his face, of his hard jaw, his thick stubble, the putrid red scar
running down the septum of his lips. It burns orange as his mouth opens. "Park Jimin," He
begins, calculated, sure, "is what you would best describe as a vampire."

"A vampire..."

"Of course, that is not to say he doesn't fit into many other categories of otherworldly
monsters. His abilities and charms are not unlike many other creatures of the night... but, that
is what he is: vampire." He rambles on, as if he doesn't realise how hard to take in it must be
for Jungkook. "The word itself identifies him as not human, and some may even say he's not
actually alive."

"He's— he's dead?"

"Not dead, no," Uram shakes his head, slow, arduous, and his eyes travel across the plain
floor, as he continues with this solemn sense of propriety, "but beyond life, if you'll allow me
to use such a momentous phrase. That's what vampires are — past the realms and needs of
life and death, stuck in some polarity between the two." Jungkook gapes, and he tries to utter
out a response, but the other is rambling on, "You see, he and his motley crew of undead
malefactors all seem to have the same attributes as him. By which, I mean to say, many of his
gang — the Blood Snatchers — are of the same origins. In fact, a majority of the mobsters
you've become acquainted with must share the same label. Although, I'm sure not all of them
are granted the shrewd propensity of he, as he's a rather aristocratic man at heart, should you
imagine him to have one, only elects those—"

"Hold the fuck on."

Uram stops immediately, and rotates his head till he can properly see the other man, who's
unleashing fast, panicky breaths, eyes wide, mouth open. The room is silent for a moment, as
the elder is giving Jungkook the space to talk, to process.

In truth, Jungkook wasn't all that aware of the concept of the Vampire. He'd heard about
them, of course, through people's drunken slurring of legends, or through amenable
discussions concerning literature. Gothic novels were still relatively popular, in the forms of
Lovecraft and Poe, Shelley and Stoker; alas, Jungkook didn't have the time nor money to
indulge himself so frivolously in the world of make-believe. Thus, it's a little hard for him to
become accustomed to the idea he needn't have bothered trying to pretend, as it's all real in
the end.

"When you say vampire," He starts, slowly, calmly, soothing himself with his own stifled
breaths, trying to force himself into coherence, "what exactly does that mean?"

Uram seems as if anticipating the question, and he reclines further back on the sofa, his head
swaying as he thinks of the best way to answer. "Well, although there are many myths and
misconceptions that come up whenever the enigma of them is mentioned, very few people
actually get it right, or even close to right." He exhales deeply, his fingers pinch at the fabric
of his camel trousers. "From what I know, the most accurate, universally-accepted idea about
them is that they feed from blood. Any form of blood, from any living creature, but human is
better, helps to sustain their life-force. Their hearts don't pump themselves, and, thus they
need to soak up the essence of life from a body that has such a working muscle."

Jungkook thinks he can still feel the press of Jimin's teeth to his neck, can feel the way he'd
hungered for the thrum of his pulse. He gulps, remembering the blood running down
Taehyung's neck. "And... the fangs?" He utters out, incoherently.

The man nods, stoic and understanding. "Yes, from what I know, the canines are able to
enlarge at will. Or, sometimes, out of pure, uncontrollable hunger. You've seen them?"

Jungkook nods. He sinks down onto the sofa, sat far enough away from Uram for them both
to have breathing room, but he doesn't think he can handle being stood up for this
conversation.

"And he didn't bite you?"

Raven hair flaps across his forehead, hangs in his eyes, shrouding his field of vision in
darkness, as he shakes his head, unsteady.

To his horror, Uram's face seems to brighten, a glorious sort of smile tugging at the corners of
his lips. "He trusts you." He declares, as if it were the most incredible of feats. "He trusts you
enough to believe you can handle knowing his secret, but, that's not to say he's planning on
letting you just drift away. I've noticed you haven't been to Blood recently, he'll have noticed
as well. He'll be after you."

Jungkook doesn't care. He already knows that, knows that he can't escape that man—
that vampire. At least, he can't escape him until he understands everything about him; he
needs Uram to stop talking futures and involve him in every single seedy memory of Park
Jimin's past. "What else? What can vampires do?"

"Well," Sensing his desire to know everything, Uram continues, "their powers and
capabilities are not all the same — some have certain aspects more perfected, and age does
play a factor. However, it's not how old they are that determines how capable they are, but,
what I mean to say is that it's more to do with how they spend their time in training, in
perfecting their craft. Jimin, for instance, is not nearly as old as some of the other vampires
surrounding him, yet, he's undoubtedly the strongest of the bunch."

"How old is he?" He asks, weak.

"I'm not entirely sure. I don't have all of his records secure, but, I believe he was turned in the
mid-1700s."

Jungkook's eyes nearly pop out of his skull. He's unsure why he finds that so hard to believe
amongst the lamenting swathe of unbelievable events he's been inundated with, yet, he thinks
such a thing as age makes it seem so real. He's an actual moving, thinking person, who's over
a hundred years of age, who's lived through hundreds of years of history, who's probably
played a huge part in it.

"I'm sure he'd tell you if you ask," He mutters out, demurely, and Jungkook's face snaps up to
him, looking at him preposterously. "I'm sure he'll be awaiting questions from you when you
next meet."

Next meet. The words ring in his mind uncomfortably and his head shakes at the idea he's
going to have to face the man again; he's going to have to talk with a monster, knowing full
well that's what he is. It's so unsettling an idea.

"But, I'll tell you the most important details." Uram affirms and he settles himself more
comfortably as he continues, "Jimin's powers are the most perfected of his deathly drove,
which, I suppose, is why he leads his operation. I don't mean to say I commend him, but he is
rather good at what he does — it was a wise move, to submerge himself within the
underworld of a bustling city, blending in amongst the regular crooks and gangsters. He
doesn't stand out too much then, he can blend in the shadows, can breathe in them, can
unleash his powers without anyone batting an eye."

Jungkook's heart pounds and he's so aware of every organ in his body, almost feels the weight
of them against his skeleton, as if they weren't truly meant to be there. He remembers Jimin
saying something about that, about keeping quiet, rising from the shadows, and he shudders
to think of it.

"Park Jimin is so well adapted to his role, as he's so very good at manipulating people and
situations. Like most vampires, he's somewhat in touch with people's minds — that's not to
say he can read thoughts, but, I believe he can alter them somewhat, memories and hopes. It
may be a form of hypnosis perhaps, or, perhaps, that's just an easy way of looking at it; I'm
unsure myself of the fundamentals, but he can compel people to do things, say things, think
things that they never usually would. Like enslavement."
Jungkook remembers him saying that last time, when they'd met in his changing rooms, and
he'd almost forgotten how that word managed to strike him so hazardously. Park Jimin could
control people, could control thoughts and prayers, and he'd done it to Jungkook, he'd done it
so easily.

"I suppose he can alter how you see things as well, for instance, he can make a scene seem
more normal than it was, can make himself seem more human." Uram coughs, and it sounds
black, bloody, torrid. Jungkook thinks of the man's red eyes. "You remember what I said
about him being designed to lure you in? Well, that helps him as well, makes you easier to
manipulate because you're so distracted by his beauty."

Jungkook feels sick to think of his own attractions.

"Strength, speed and agility are another of his proficiencies. Vampires can be spotted by their
inability to cast a shadow, by their lack of reflection, by their slightly eerie beauty." Jungkook
thinks of that as well, of how terrifically idyllic the man's face is to look at, even in his
thoughts. "Some can shape-shift as well, can conduct a metamorphosis, turning themselves
into an animal or another form of a human. I don't think Jimin tends to do so much, but he
certainly can."

That thought is rather terrifying. The fact Jimin could have turned himself into a regular
creature, or another person entirely, and could be speaking to him without the man even
knowing. He can already feel some sense of paranoia sparking in his rusted, metal mind.

There's another drop of silence, and they float amongst one another, in a bubble of tension,
waiting for it to pop. Jungkook huffs out a response, still itching to know more. He asks,
crookedly, "what about Taehyung?" Because it's all he can think to respond. He believes
Uram's every word, believes Jimin is capable of all of those things — he thinks Jung Hoseok
must be like that too. His blood boils to think of his sister, of Ara, being placed in the man's
grip — he feels sick to reimagine the marks on her neck.

"Taehyung..." Uram murmurs, tries the name out on his tongue as if unfamiliar with it.
Jungkook watches his eyes widen with recollection. "The dancer... mm, well, another thing to
know about vampires is their sense of reality is perhaps more well-adapted than ours. That's
not to say I wish to eulogise them, but I must admit, in some respects, discrimination and
prejudice of that kind — the kind that condemns same sex relations — do not exist amongst
them. They're too busy washing in their simple pleasures to care about just how many sins
they commit. Be it murdering or money-laundering, drinking blood or being so full of lust, of
sexual desire, their entire empire is built of sacrilege."

Jungkook, for the first time, notices the glint of a silver cross dangling around the man's neck.

It's true though, and it makes sense, just how advanced their establishments seem, just how
casual they are about same-sex relations, and sex of any kind, just how different their
outlooks on life are to the regular, law-abiding citizen. It makes so much sense.

However, it's not what Jungkook meant. "No, I mean, is he a vampire as well?" He doesn't
think it would make sense, really, but he needs to know everything about them and their
relationship.
"Oh, no." Uram's head shakes, ferociously.

It's not unexpected, but it leaves more questions open for answering. Could the man really be
plain human? It hurts to imagine, because, if that be the case, there's no doubt in Jungkook's
mind that Jimin must be using him; using him for blood, for sex, for violence, perhaps even
for business. Yet, somehow, it seems like Taehyung has more power than that.

"Kim Taehyung," The elder continues with an air of expertise, as if just reinstated with the
knowledge of who and what the dancer is, "is no vampire, but he's not entirely human either.
It is easiest to label him as a witch, of sorts, but, we don't fully know — yet, whatever he is,
it's not important. No, he's important to Jimin, that much is clear, that's enough. It's
impossible for vampires to love, but whatever it is that Taehyung does, it evidently plucks at
Jimin's desire, at his possessiveness. I suppose, perhaps, he's like a prize?"

The boxer dislikes that description. It doesn't feel right either. None of this does.

"That's, I'm sure, his weakness." Uram nods then, "it's the only weakness of Jimin's he doesn't
share with his vampire kin: he has his own personal blood-bank." God, it's such a horrendous
way of putting it, it makes Jungkook feel sick. Uram's words seem as if intentionally trying to
arouse such a feeling from him. He seems content with the reaction, at least. "For whatever
reason, he has an attachment to the dancer and, as such, he's unwilling to let anyone else have
him. It's unusual for vampires to so firmly attach to one person, but, Jimin always likes to
break the mould."

Jungkook can't help but think that what the man is describing sounds a great deal
like love; like breaking chains of normality, bursting with ripe feelings, with colour and
majesty, like the sheen of tropical fruits.

"Still, he's also weak to holy symbols like the others." He continues on, "you know, crosses,
holy water and such. That's not to say they can be killed by them — notice I say weak, and
not a stronger word to describe their effect. Unfortunately, only burning them seems to do the
trick. They say a stake to the heart, but, I genuinely don't believe that could work, I'm not
even entirely sure they have them." His head shakes, and his voice rumbles with something
so personal and angry. "Oh, I shouldn't spread misinformation. They do have hearts, but they
work very differently to ours—" He pauses, takes a breath, adds, "The best way to be rid of a
vampire is to burn them at the stake."

"Seriously? What about a bullet?"

Uram laughs. "A bullet? Oh, heaven's no, I'm sure they're too fast for that. Besides, it's not
like they can bleed out." Jungkook wants to ask more, more about their anatomy, about their
weaknesses, their strengths, but the other is continuing, his voice so serious. "Fire. That is the
best course of action."

"You mean—"

"You want to help me bring him down, right?" Uram snaps suddenly, and his head twists
awkwardly, almost wrong, something crooked and wretched on his face. He's so calm, so
sedate, and he's very much the antithesis of what Jimin is — he's like the earth, like he's
entirely made of soil, as if his bones are tree roots, as if his skin is rose petals. "That's what
you've come to realise?"

Jungkook feels more sick than he had all day. He hates the reality of this; hates how he can't
pretend not to notice all the oddities of Jimin anymore; hates how he can't ignore the fact the
man was so wrong. His morality was always dubious when it came to how he makes money,
all he ever focused on was that: making money. He'd known Jimin was a gangster, known he
killed and hurt just like everyone else in the world — you can't get through life without
hurting people — and so he doesn't quite understand why he feels so scared of the man now.
He's what he's always been to Jungkook: a monster.

As if sensing his reluctance, the elder continues, with a foreseeable fracture of rapport, "It's
not just that he drinks blood, or manipulates, or takes, or breaks, but he lusts for so
much more. That is to say he doesn't just take what he needs, but he tries to grab so much
more; he wants to take over the city, I believe. I don't know what he plans on gaining, but,
he's not just going to exist peacefully. He's not human, not made in the image of God, but,
rather he's affiliated with the devil." He licks along the supple ridges of his bottom lip and
slowly tells him, "The Kil Crime Family are out to commit the very same sorts of atrocities."

"You're saying..." Jungkook's eyes widen a little more.

Uram gives a stiff sort of nod, all pulled together with repose. "It is not in human nature to be
so cruel, to take as those organisations do. They are all corrupted by something else.
Something evil."

Hissing, Jungkook endeavours to continue, "so, you're meaning to tell me, any and
all gangster is a vampire?" It's said with a sort of cackle to it, one which makes the ever
patient Uram grow weary.

"No." He shakes his head. "Not all. Most are humans being seduced by them — corrupted by
the fumes of the devil himself. If we wipe out Jimin, and we wipe out Plexus, the stronghold
evil has over them and those they captured will be relinquished. If we win, we can save so
many people, Mr Jeon."

Jungkook gulps, his eye twitches. Then, dismally, pathetically, he tells him, "I can't afford to
lose him though. My whole... all my money comes from him."

Uram gives him a look, something almost dark, almost disappointed, though, as the boxer
looks a little more deeply, he almost looks more understanding. "So it is the case that money
means more to you than morality? You feel comfortable helping to fill the pockets of a
creature who will do nothing but hurt others. He wishes to crush families like yours,
Jungkook, seriously."

"I don't feel comfortable with it," The younger tries to explain, glaring down at his hands.
"But, I have no choice, I need to support myself, my sisters. If you kill him, my family will
be crushed anyway."

Uram takes a moment, a serious one, wherein he gazes so intensely at Jungkook, scans all
over his forlorn features, tries to make out every little detail. "Well," He smiles, chuckles
almost, presses his palms to his knees. "I'm sure you taking down the biggest crime lord in
the city will be enough to warrant a monetary prize, hm?"

"What are you saying?"

"I mean," The older man becomes a little more serious as he tells him, "you can be
compensated. I can make it happen. I promise you, Jeon Jungkook, and I never break my
promises."

The boxer just stares at him for a long, long minute. He'd think it too good to be true if it
weren't for the fact there was absolutely nothing good about it; trying to take down a
criminal, a vampiric one, that was never going to end well. But, money is money. In fact, it's
better than money, it would be money earned legally, it would hopefully bring Jungkook
away from his current life. That's the part he can't believe.

With a startling sigh of exasperation, Jungkook adds, "what am I meant to do?"

"He trusts you," Uram repeats, and one of his legs is slung over the other, swinging a little.
Jungkook watches the swirl of his eyes, discoloured and fading, as if a lost artefact. "He
trusts you and he hasn't bitten you. That puts you in the perfect position to help me, to be able
to get rid of him and his kind, to bring him down."

The younger scoffs. "Oh? So, you want me to go undercover? Is that it?" He doesn't wait for
Uram to reply, the stress and fear bubbling in his gut, amalgamating into a sheen of anger, as
he spits out, "you think I'm that stupid? Just because I didn't get an expensive education or go
to a fancy university, it doesn't mean I'm dumb enough to beg for death."

"He won't ever know."

"He won't know?" Jungkook is angrier than he has been this whole time; he's angry at the
ease at which the man glances over the situation; he's angry at how much fear he feels every
waking moment; but, most of all, he's angry at himself, he hates how he'd actually allowed
himself to believe he'd ever be able to get a better life for himself, for his sisters. Oh, his
sisters. "How won't he know?" He snaps, barks, growls, "he knows everything — he can
control minds, can probably see them. Taehyung can, as well, goddamn it." He hisses to think
of how he'd let Taehyung read his fucking future, how he'd ever let the man get so close. "Oh,
I truly pity you, Mr Chung, for you really are so entitled that you believe you actually know
what Park Jimin is capable of, but, you don't. You're a fool to think he wouldn't know."

Uram runs his calloused fingers through his hair, his locks look curly and well-kept, rather
freshly cut and conditioned, too perfect upon his head, almost a little too nice for a man of his
age. He sighs, and Jungkook is reminded of how genuinely restful he is, like he himself is the
desert. "You've gotten so excited by your new revelation, you're hardly thinking coherently."
There's a pause, he presses the pad of his finger to his own knee. "You seem to forget that he
doesn't have any idea about the fact you're meeting me right now. He doesn't know you saw
me at all."

"How do you know?"

"He may be beyond humanity, Mr Jeon, but, please do not get to wrapped up in the
preternatural aspects of his existence. Mistakes and faults are not only the attributes of
humankind."

Jungkook whispers out, "what do you mean?"

Uram steels himself, gulps. "Unfortunately, despite his otherworldly abilities in manipulation
and tactical thinking, the worst thing about Park Jimin is the adroitness of his human
mind. Even without vampirism, he's got the working brain that is so similar to regular human
— a human on the precipice of evil, but human nonetheless."

"What are you saying?"

The man's eyes are dark and they coalesce with the shuddering white of clouds, as they
scuttle across the pupils in ghastly vapours of blind omniscience. He responds, in a voice so
low and avid, it wraps around Jungkook's brain cells instantly. "Never forget, despite all his
macabre details, and all his gory depictions of darkness; despite his fuselage of hell, and his
lust for disaster and blood, never forget, he used to be human as well." Jungkook gulps
harsher. "He was just a regular man once."

&&&

A man sits, shivering in the darkness. His eyes tremble as they try to turn, try to make out the
shapes and configurations that come to him in the thick concatenation of the night. The
ceiling is tugged over his head, like a shield, or, perhaps, like a prison; it's as if he's stuffed
into a glass box, visible to all the midnight wanderers, who chase him into the farcical world
of delight.

His breath shudders out of him, like fingertips tracing along a cymbal of perturbation,
sending a jazz-infused tremor across his spine. In the black and white world, in the jungle of
noir, he struggles to make out anything aside from the fuzzy grey. So, it's such a horrendous
shock when, suddenly, he's being smothered with cloth.

A person is behind him, tall, looming, drifting over his head, which is covered by something
— a burlap sack, he thinks — and he's suddenly being suffocated as someone pushes down
on the cloth that he has around his mouth and nose.
"Sorry for the wait." The person who's strangling him, who has an arm tucked around his
stomach, keeping him at bay, has a petrifying sort of cheer to his voice, and it booms out
across the shrunken world the man in the sack has yet to become accustomed to.

He's slumped in a chair, and he's not bound down by anything — he'd been expecting chains
or rope, or something, alas, they leave him in just the chair. For some reason, this is more
scary than actually being tied down; it allows his imagination to wonder about who exactly it
was that had taken him; who was it that thought themselves to be so strong they could handle
him with so much ease?

As soon as the sack is removed, the hand snakes away from his stomach and he'd be
completely free to run, if he were stupid enough to try. The person to which the hand belongs
is evidently wearing expensive shoes, the man can tell by the way they thunk against the
floor, by how they peel such elegant sounds from each gentile movement.

A splattering of pink hair is enough for the man to know who he's up against.

Park Jimin's face blurs into view, and, in spite of the harsh, tuscany lighting, he looks nothing
short of beguiling; his pale face is pulled into something arresting, not exactly un-charming,
but it's got this peculiar glimmer of attitude about it. He seems irritable, and Mae Kyungwan
doesn't like it.

"I apologise," He doesn't sound apologetic at all, and his teeth glint so harshly in the light, so
naturally silver against the haze of artificial beacons. "I'm sure you know kidnappings aren't
usually my schtick." He grins brilliantly, but there's no hint of joy in his eyes; he looks
painfully bored, like he was on the verge of unleashing some monstrous declaration of gore.

Kyungwan's frown deepens. He tries not to tremble, tries to keep some ounce of dignity, and
his reply is tough, with no recognition for collateral, "why am I here?" His voice shakes,
despite himself.

Jimin leans back and he takes a long sigh. It slips from him like a gargantuan wave of relief,
his shoulders falling down, and he takes a small step back. Half of him is embedded in the
shadows now, not paying much attention to the large, overhanging light that cowers in the
frost of his gaze. "Oh, you know why you're here, Mayor Mae— or, I suppose, it's ex-mayor
now?"

Jimin is stood far enough away that, effectively, the man could launch from his chair, could
make a half-decent attempt to break for the door. He doesn't, of course, doesn't even think
about it, and he realises why exactly he has nothing binding him.

"You know," Jimin begins, laughs into his words, "I actually rather liked your policies. If I
had bothered to vote, I would've wanted you to get in again." It almost sounds sweet, but the
way in which it curls out of his mouth is violent and sickening. "Still, no matter, you lost —
c'est la vie." His hand waves around, a flutter of swan feathers, splashing again the open air.
"I'm almost glad I'm not too inexpediently dependent on politics to run my life, as it surely
would make a mockery of me, huh?" He laughs like it's funny, like they're having an actual
conversation, and he's not just talking for the fun of arrising tension.
A footstep encroaches on their predetermined darkness, and the shadows of the room seem as
if alive, as if enhancing Jimin's untouchable power; his entire physiology drips with the
descent of the dark, and he seems to grow more joyous with it. Another man steps out, his
eyes sparking with elation, and he hands Jimin something.

Kyungwan sees it fulgurate in the gloom.

"Ah," The pink-haired man takes it in his hand, twirling the dagger around, and he's
unnveringly skilled in it. He plays the object around his fingers, dances it along to the rhythm
of his own design, as if twirling ribbons, or something as mundane as a pencil. It looks so
much more threatening when used so casually, so easily.

"Tsk," The other man, Hoseok, the one with tawny hair that glitters in the absence of light,
shakes his head, comfortable. "Such a beautiful technique."

Jimin scoffs, and his smile is more prominent than before. He eyes Kyungwan fruitfully, his
teeth poking through this peach-perfect lips. "Don't you think daggers are so pretty, Mr
Mae?" He takes a step closer, brings the weapon closer. The man gulps. "Hm?" Slowly,
tortuously slowly, Jimin's head tilts to the side, and he leans in so close, he can feel the
oscillation of the other man's breath. "Of course," His eyes attack Kyungwan's, hold them in
their quivering prison, latching onto them in lavish pools of red, as he purrs out, "I wouldn't
need to use it on you," The dagger rests firmly in his palm, and he presses it aimlessly into
the other's chest, right against his heart, poking against his shirt. "I can tear you apart with my
bare hands."

Kyungwan hates how much fear must find itself congregating on his face, as he feels every
slight hint of anxiety congeal together in a waxen sheen across the outer-layers of his body.
He shakes, he sweats, he feels every ounce of professionalism leave him.

"Oh!" Jimin suddenly releases, and he keeps the dagger firmly against Kyungwan's chest
with one hand, while the other comes to clutch at the man's necklace, taking the piece to his
fingers, inspecting the cross. It doesn't scald his skin at all. It has no effect. He brings so
much attention to it, as if trying to taunt the ex-mayor. "A pious man." He murmurs, faux-
adoration softening his eyes, the slope of his strong brows slackening. His head clicks in a
jutting motion, like the click of a gun, as he turns to face Hoseok, putting his back to the
other man. So damn assured. Kyungwan wishes he has a reason to make him uneasy, but he
has nothing.

Hoseok wets his lips. It's so animalistic in nature, his deep gaze heady and hooded by an
insatiable hunger. It's as if the idea of being religious made his stomach growl.

"Ah, I used to rather like the one — oh, what was it?" He twists the knife against the man's
shirt, tearing a hole into it. His other hand releases the necklace and moves around, searching
for the word, "hm," he pretends to think, and it's all a game to him, Kyungwan realises,
loathes. "The God of peace will soon crush Satan under your feet..." Another laugh, "yes,
that's the one." He says it like a song, like it's a verse that belongs to him, and he smiles with
it, conniving and rampant. "Do you suppose the irony is intentional?"

Hoseok speaks then, "how can peace be achieved without war? Without crushing?"
"Oh, what a delicious notion." Jimin chuckles, and it sounds so deep and rumbling, though
also a little airy, as if he had some sort of authority over the air. "What do you make of it?"
The dagger pushes further against the man's heart, and it seems to break his skin.

Kyungwan can't find his voice. He really does try, but every attempt at a response comes out
in a crack of despair or a wheeze for breath. He can feel his heartbeat beneath that knife, and
he can almost feel what it's going to be like when it stops.

"No response?" His pout is cruel, and his expression turns mean in an instant, completely
devoid of any of that humble, humoured sentiment. Crimson eyes and blue lips, his face is
uncanny, like it's struggling to uphold it's imitation of humanity. It looks so unlike anything
remotely like mankind; like a wicked anthropoid, barely clinging to the inkling of mortality it
previously upheld. "I would've thought you'd like that one. You seem all for war; I suppose
you are of the belief that malicious actions are justified by a simple cross-benefit analysis: do
the ends justify the means?"

Mae Kyungwan doesn't speak, but he feels as if his mind is being read, he feels as if Jimin
can see all of him, in his entirety. It makes him so scared, to feel so naked, makes him feel
sick.

"Ah, you've no use saving your words." The dagger presses in harder, blood starts to trickle,
to stain his shirt. Hoseok salivates, so Pavlovian. "I can promise you, whatever words you
wish to say here, will be the last you ever say." His teeth grit together. The light swings over
their heads. Kyungwan thinks he actually might be sick, the pain of the knife sweltering
within him. "You see, I don't like to do this, but, you were under the thumb of Kil Plexus,
weren't you? He had you in his pocket during your... reign." His words spit, acidic against
Kyungwan's barely viable skin. "And, unfortunately, that means your values directly deviate
from mine. It seems you know too much, and, well, with the downfall of the Kil Crime
Family already beginning, I can't allow you to get in the way. Your position is of no use
anymore — perhaps it was a curse to be mayor. You know all the secrets of the city, of me
and my friends, and you're trustworthy. Oh, how the people adore you." He pretends to fawn,
but then his voice is cold, hard, serious, "I'm sorry to say I can't let you walk around freely,
knowing you could out me and our operation, so, there we are — at a cross-roads."

Kyungwan looks up, dares to look Jimin in the eyes, to look at his killer, his murderer. He's
almost glad it's a demon who's going to kill him, not just any old random. It's nice to know
his sins are genuinely being punished.

He almost expects to be given the offering of last words, of a prayer, but he knows the devil
is not so kind and he knows he probably doesn't deserve a mercy.

Deserved or not, what he gets is a smile and the dagger pushes in further, and further, until it
seems as if it can't go any more, as if stuck amongst a ring of muscle. Blood drags up his
throat and he coughs, his eyes wide, pale, as he watches Jimin, watches him as he looks so
curiously at the object, at how far it sinks into the other man's body.

Then, with one relaxed hand movement, with one burst of inhuman strength, he juts the
instrument along side ways, gouging a jagged, red hole across the skin of his chest, deep
enough to crack against bones and muscles. Skilled enough to just about miss all the vital
organs that keep him alive, that forces him to keep feeling that pain.

He can't help but scream. It rips out of him as fast as his skin peels from his body, as fast as
his blood starts to spill from the opening in his chest.

He's so hyperaware, he feels the exact movement of Jimin, as he steps away, and, in his place,
Jung Hoseok stands. His red eyes burn in the darkness, and Kyungwan realises, belatedly,
this is the man who will be his killer — a subordinate, not even the boss himself. He's not
worthy of the boss.

Without sparing a moment, Hoseok dives forward and he grips ahold of the man, keeping
him in place. His long fingernails dig crescent moons into his shoulders through his shirt,
through his blazer, and it hurts like actual nails are being hammered into him.

He doesn't feel it for long though. Because, Hoseok is biting at his neck. No, he doesn't just
do that. His fangs latch onto the flesh there and they don't spare a moment in gnawing down
on it.

Jimin stands back and watches as Jung Hoseok tears out the man's throat with his teeth, as his
bones gleam with in the light, as his flesh is meaty and rotten, all bright red and lively.
Hoseok chews on the flesh of his throat, the corpse of the man still in his grip. Blood runs
down Hoseok's chin, his teeth mashing up the tissue, suckling out every oozing speckle of
iron.

Jimin watches him in some hint of distaste. He's satisfied though, with the quick end to the
ex-mayor. And so he leaves the man in peace, and he ambles around the room, grabbing his
coat, leaving the light swinging.

He feels so hungry.

&&&

The Sugar Lounge is only just empty at 6AM. It had been a long night, and Taehyung lays
himself down on the stage, right on the edge, one leg and one arm swaying from the ledge.
He's in stockings of variegated black, and a grey shirt, that hangs from his shoulders, too
large for him. It's the sort of outfit no one outside of their club would ever even think of
putting together, but it doesn't startle any of the few people still here. His eyes close, and he
waits for a while, waiting for one person, of course, and he can hear the hubbub of the other
dancers in the background; they're like fireflies, buzzing and bright, smooth in their
wandering, as they swoop through the room, on their way home.

"Good job today, Tae." One of them says, and Taehyung had sensed her coming, but he didn't
care enough to open his eyes before, thinking she'd pass by like all the others. One of his
black-glittery eyelids pops open, revealing his tired, chestnut gaze. Her name is Deiji, and
she's perhaps the tallest woman Taehyung has ever seen; she towers over him when they
stand, and it's a little enthralling, he must admit. Her skin seems to have a slightly pink
undercurrent, her cheeks bursting pastel rose, her eyes as well, even her eyelids. She rarely
wears makeup, because her face itself is so unique and filled with colour, every inch of her
popping with vitality, begging you to look.

"Thank you, darling." He grins up at her, still laying down, and his finger aimlessly comes
forward to play with the ribbon loosely wrapped around her shapeless dress. It keeps her in
place, fixes his boredom somewhat.

"You waiting for your beau?" She guesses, her voice slightly hoarse with how much it had
been used throughout the day.

His shoulders touch his ears in a shrug, and he bats his lashes as he looks up at her. "I leave in
ten minutes." He decides. Jimin hardly ever missed it when Taehyung danced, even amongst
his busy schedule, he nearly always turned up, encouraging the man blissfully from the
crowd. There had been a few instances where he'd told Taehyung in advance that he wouldn't
be there, but there'd only ever been one time before where he just didn't turn up all together.

He expects that to be the case today, but he's still willing to wait a little longer.

Deiji smiles loosely down at him, and one of her hands clutches the one of Taehyung's that's
still playing with the ribbon of her dress. "You're turning into a housewife." She chides
sweetly, and the slope of her jaw ticks upward with the words, so seamless and mystical an
action.

"You sound like Yoongi." He rolls his eyes and he smiles so fondly at the other, tugging at her
dress now, out of sheer boredom.

"Oh, please," She giggles, and it rumbles from her chest, her eyes squeezing tightly with joy.
"I think it's quite romantic."

"Yeah?" Taehyung's hand grabs now, clutches at the fabric of the main bodice, and he grins
even wider, even darker, as he hears footsteps near them. It spurs him on. His hand is daring
and cold as he reaches up, slithers his fingers along the woman's waist. He hears her heart
rate speed up, can feel the lovely onslaught of tension that forces her shoulders to square. His
other hand is worse, and he hears the door open just as he comes to cup at the woman's cock,
over both the fabric of her dress and her undergarments.

There's shock there, and Deiji just gasps for the fun of it, as her breaths untangle from her
throat, so full from the emotion of surprise. Deiji knows exactly what he's doing, as she feels
a hand on her shoulder almost instantly.
She doesn't know Park Jimin well, only knows that he's here a lot, that he supplies the
alcohol, and he doesn't like people touching Taehyung. His touch seems to both surprise her
and fulfil her needs, as she unleashes a subtle plume of languor, of ecstasy.

"Taehyung." Is all Jimin says, and Deiji tries not to shiver at the tone of it, at the demand in
it, the undeniable blur of control that swirls along with it. She feels out of place and her
cheeks turn pinker, flushed. Taehyung releases her, and Jimin follows along.

"See you later, Tae." Is what she manages to get out, before she leaves, her hunger having
been fuelled by the beautiful flower of surprise currently springing in her. Her footsteps melt
away into the darkness, and Taehyung's hand flops by the stage again.

They're alone now, and Taehyung only just manages not to immediately gulp as he sees
Jimin's face. They play games with each other a lot, Taehyung especially likes to tease,
because he knows Jimin gets riled up and he knows that makes the man more heavy in the
discharging of his desire. However, today, he doesn't just look mildly irritated, he looks as if
seething, not even able to mask the scorching red of his eyes that flicker with all the lights of
Hell as they look down at Taehyung.

His fangs look sharper than normal as he opens his mouth, and Taehyung involuntarily
shrinks into himself with the vapid heat of it. He looks hungry, hungrier than he has been in a
while, and Taehyung shudders, his toes curl in their stockings.

"You're late." He says, and he forces his voice to be steady and clear, lets it leak with destiny
and breathy eroticism. Palm pressed to the stage, he pushes himself upward, sits up for the
pure sake of feeling too exposed and too far away.

Jimin's brow cocks upward, and he seems faintly amused underneath it all, but his anger, and
his sweltering malnutrition makes it seem more disastrously abominable. "I was going to give
you something nice." He says, and his voice drawls out so incandescently, his hand drifts out
before him and it's so delicate in the way his fingers brush across Taehyung's cheek, curling
against his warm skin. "I wanted to apologise, my love," Taehyung's eyes are wide as he
looks up at Jimin, and he already expects the way Jimin's hand suddenly tightens at it slips
against his chin. The grip is so tight, the blonde almost thinks the bones of his jaw are going
to crack, and he's paralysed as he looks up at Jimin. "But, it seems you found another way to
entertain yourself, hm?"

Jimin leans himself over the blonde, making him feel so small, as he coils into his own
countenance; Taehyung is positively immobilised, and his mouth gently pulls open as Jimin
pries down his chin. Without warning, his thumb smooths along the pomegranate pulp of the
blonde's bottom lip. He's so slow, so impressively composed, as he moves Taehyung around
to his own will.

The dancer immediately closes his mouth around his thumb as Jimin pushes it into his heat.
Jimin frowns and he presses the digit down, hard, clamps it down on Taehyung's tongue in a
motion that's both painful and wonderful. It makes Taehyung gag slightly.

"You think I'm going to let you off easy, sweetheart?" His voice is so cruel, and it makes
Taehyung's eyes wet with anticipation, with this flailing sort of desire. It hurts though, the
way Jimin's thumb suddenly lets go and manages to reach further into his mouth, his hand
twisting slightly in order to reach. He grins horrifically at the way Taehyung chokes, even
though the thumb doesn't reach the back of his throat. "Unfortunately, I'm not in the mood for
such games."

Taehyung's breaths are unsteady, and he curls onto his knees as soon as Jimin pulls his hand
away. He rubs the man's own saliva on his face, and he tilts the beautiful array of features
upwards, looks him directly in the eye.

"Tears, already?" He almost laughs, but it sounds strangely soft, almost concerned.

Taehyung doesn't reply for a moment, just keeps his eyes fixed on Jimin, shaking slightly
with the intense crimson of his gaze. Then, he repeats, "You're late."

But Jimin doesn't fall for it, and he's too cloudy with the zealous phantasm of lechery, he
struggles to see anything beyond his hunger, beyond the sizzling feeling under his eyes. "And
you touched someone who isn't me or our boxer friend." All he sees is a warm body, a heart
that pulsates with blood, and a man who belongs to him, at his mercy.

He's not given enough time to catch his breath, when suddenly it seems the appetency within
Jimin proves too much, and he grabs Taehyung by the hair, yanks his whole face sideways.
His teeth sink into his neck before the blonde can try and stop him. He bites down so harshly,
and Taehyung is used to being bitten, he likes it even, but this time it's too hard, it seems as if
Jimin hadn't drank anything in days.

With one hand in his hair, the other clutches at his shoulder, and the vampire steadies himself
aimlessly, pulling Taehyung closer to him, inhaling the transcendental scent of him; he smells
like soap and citrus, a bitter alignment of honey-lemon and hot summer days. He hears the
man whimper, and one knee falls to the stage, struggles to remain upright, as he desperately
tries to take in as much of the man as he can.

His canines are inches into Taehyung's neck, the blood pouring out like tears, like a waterfall.
He hadn't managed to get so much to spurt out all at once in a while. He drinks it up like an
animal, and Taehyung's head tips back, his spine arching slightly, as he whimpers softly. His
blood is like strawberry jam, and it's so thick and resplendent on Jimin's tongue.

Some egregiously possessive flare bursts from his fingertips, and his hold on Taehyung
seems to toughen, holding him so ardently, as if he wants to complete sew their bodies
together, like he wants to be within the man, like he wants for them to conjoin themselves.

He's so lost in his hunger, in his insatiable, burning desire to have, have, have, he barely
notices the way Taehyung's whimpers turn to gasps, cries.

"Jimin," He tries, and his voice wobbles slightly, coarse like some sort of rough fabric which
doesn't at all match how his tone should be. "That's enough."

Jimin let's go immediately, and his teeth feel cold as soon as they pull from his neck, but he
doesn't care. He's replenished enough to see clearly, and, though his denticles are stained with
blood and it spills messily from his mouth, he still looks so obscurely tender as he looks
Taehyung up and down. The man is breathless and his eyes are blown up wide, like black
balloons, floating away into space, ready to be popped by the pressure of it all. Jimin doesn't
know whether he's elated or disgusted to think Taehyung looks a little scared.

His fingers come gently to run across the marks left in the skin of his neck, so acutely satin,
the peace of the action, as he wipes away any remaining blood. Taehyung's lips pout
outwards, his chest heaving, his eyes watery. Jimin is made glad by the fact the man doesn't
look uneasy, just lets Jimin do as he pleases.

His voice is a susurration of amour, as he says, fondly, "there's my good boy," and Taehyung's
whole body twitches from those words alone. "Aw, calm down, pretty, you did good, didn't
you?"

Taehyung gulps, and Jimin feels the movement with his fingers that still smooth over his
marked skin. Tentatively, he dips his whole body forward and he begins to leave droplets of
love across the marks he'd just bitten, kissing gently along the man's golden soma. The
blonde sighs, content, and one of his hands falls into Jimin's hair, feeling the pillowy, silken
trusses, pulling them through his fingers.

"I thought you weren't going to stop." He admits, quietly and almost a little vulnerably.

Jimin stills entirely, and Taehyung is worried he's annoyed him for a moment, perhaps it was
too tender for the atmosphere. However, the pink-haired gangster merely shoves his other
knee on the platform, and his pulls his hand around the younger's waist, pulls him in, flush
against his body, like a hug. Almost, but not quite. "I'll always stop, Tae."

Taehyung's breaths are back to being haggard. He lets his forehead fall to Jimin's shoulder, as
the man massages his back. "I know." He says, sighs into it, and he chuckles in that musical
way of his, "you just— I don't know — seemed so... hungry."

"I'm always hungry." Taehyung's laugh is weaker. Jimin brushes his hands along the man's
spine through his shirt, actually hugging him now, pulling him so close to him. It's not
exactly a familiar action for them, but it's not all that strange. "You did well, though, to let me
know you wanted me to stop. I'd never want to hurt you."

Now, his laugh is like a thunder crack, it's like great sunder, tearing through the beautiful,
panting atmosphere. "If only your enemies would hear you say that." He giggles into Jimin's
chest, breathes in the man's emotions. "You were with someone like that before you came
here?"

Sometimes it's easy to forget how much Taehyung really knows, even when he pretends he
doesn't, Jimin's always liked the fact he's more aware than he lets on. He supposes it has a lot
to do with his abilities. It's still a wondrous feat though, makes him so much intriguing.

"Yes," He pats down Taehyung's hair, sighs into his supple scent. "I was with the ex-mayor."

"Oh."

"Oh?"
 Taehyung's head pulls away from Jimin, so he can look the man in the eye, the man who's
hand doesn't stop stroking his hair. "I thought you might've been with Jungkook."

Jimin huffs, and he tuts. He's not at all surprised by it though, no, he feels completely
understanding of it. They hadn't seen Jungkook in a number of days, as expected, and it was
obvious Taehyung didn't like it. "He needs time to fully understand, Tae."

The blonde's face falls together in a conniving befuddlement, and that's another thing Jimin
sometimes forgets, just how cruel the falsely delicate man can be on his own. It's strewn all
over his face now. "You shouldn't have showed him like that." He tells Jimin, purposeful,
"he's probably packing up his things to leave the city."

"I doubt it." Jimin smirks, and there's a glint of knowing in his eye, his face glowing in
discretion. "I know you've got your mind settled on him, and I agree now. I see what you see,
my love. And, I know he'll be back."

"You—" But Jimin shushes what was no doubt about to be an onslaught of questions, by
slipping his hand along the man's thighs. Taehyung groans at the touch, always so over-
sensitive after being bitten. "Ah," He grumbles out, as Jimin pulls him back to him, lets his
head press into his chest. Jimin's hand moves to the front of him, slips beneath his shirt and
cups at the bulge in his underwear. "Fuck, 'Min." He gasps out, so turned on by the mere
spark of touch.

"Don't worry your pretty head, Taehyung." He responds, and he grins at the moan the man
releases, as soon as Jimin's hand is successfully stuffed in his undergarments, tugging his
hard dick out. He rubs the succession or pre-cum along his length, and Taehyung's mouth
falls open, panting against Jimin's hard chest. "It'll be okay," He moves his hand up and
down, quick and calculated, letting Taehyung rut into his palm, letting him grip onto his
waist, trying to keep himself upright. It doesn't take long for the man to release, and he does
so with the most breathy groan Jimin's ever heard come from him. "He'll come back."

"Fuck." He grunts out, as he spills onto Jimin's expensive trousers.

Jimin pays it no mind, merely kisses his hair, pulls him tighter to him, wiping off the cum on
his hand with his tongue, while Taehyung's eyes strain to watch.

He grins down at the man, and he finishes his previous sentence coyly, "I promise."

Chapter End Notes

hi hi, so i hope the gore wasn't too much - i know there was an awful lot of blood in this
chapter, gosh. but, anyhow, i hope things aren't confusing, especially with what uram
was saying (keep in mind, he's not a vampire himself so take his words with a grain of
salt). also i swear vmin's relationship isn't as violent as it seems, and!! don't worry!!
vminkook are in full swing now and they shall all reunite in the next chapter!
thank you for sticking with me and for the support! i hope you enjoy it and feel free to
ask questions if things don't make sense lmao <333333
 Chapter 12
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Thanks to Jimin's words, Taehyung certainly isn't expecting to see Jungkook so soon. He'd
spent the next few nights thrusting himself into his dances; lights and dreams spiralling
before him in glamorous spectacles. Nonpareil and wondrous, he'd allowed himself to
become fully constricted amongst the smog of desire he's met with each and every night.
Moonlit creatures and their huckleberry teeth always trying to claw at him, to groan out for
more, and their emotional arousal is what sustains him, is what keeps him going.

Jimin's been rather stressed out recently, working on business, struggling with his plans and,
thus, he's been unable to come to the Sugar Lounge as much. Consequently, Taehyung has
been working hard to help him unwind; be it giving him a personal show, letting the man tie
him down to a bed, or even tying the man down himself, he's been so full of desire, so
beautifully tangled with this preeminent sense of distraction.

So, he hardly has time to think about Jeon Jungkook, as he forces himself not to — the only
time he does, is when they finally come into contact again.

Taehyung's cleaning up after his shift, helping to haul out the last of the cantankerous clatter,
when Yoongi taps him on the back. Today, the bartender is covered in silver glitter, covering
his eyelids, the tips of his cheeks, his temples, even the gentle flutter of his eyelashes. His
thin shoulders shrug themselves around, somewhat uncomfortable, as Taehyung turns to him
with a smile.

"There's someone waiting for you on the balcony."

"Oh?" The blonde raises an eyebrow, and his lips part into an 'o' shape, like a tangerine or a
whirlpool. He thinks for a moment, ponders over who it could be that managed to get such
VIP access, as normal guests weren't allowed past the main bar — not to the dressing rooms,
nor the upstairs parlour, unless specifically invited. Taehyung hadn't invited anyone. "Hm,"
He hums, and he frowns a little, because his mind is a little run-down after such a powerful
performance. "I don't want to see anyone today."

Yoongi pauses for a breath. He shakes his head. His smile is light but so distinctly there,
woven into his muted features. "You'll want to see this person."

So, lured in by the mysterious thrill, Taehyung had indulged the man, and marched his way
up to the balcony. He sees the arch of the man's back first, how broad he is, his spine sturdy
and straight, like a sort of pole, keeping his entire body upright, his coat drifting gently in the
wind — a little like a coat-rack, he is, with that strong spine and the spindly fabric of his
outer coat. Even from behind, Taehyung can recognise him, and his heart stutters with even
more of that mechanically distributed thrill.
"I didn't expect you here." He announces, soft, mellow, as he slips through the balcony door,
and he lets the words fall upon the young man, with his tight jaw, and his eyes that look as if
melting into the night sky. Black and white they are, like a mirror to the ether itself, barely
managing to standout amongst the slew of the stars.

Jungkook looks at Taehyung like this is the first time he's ever seen him. He doesn't look
scared, nor annoyed, just faintly curious, and perhaps a little piteous. "I need to talk to you."
He says, straight to business. The wind whistles coyly at them, as if suggesting something
between them. The sky unwinds itself, like a staircase, that goes around and around — a
helter-skelter that's ever so fun until your skin garners scrapes from all the friction.

"So, talk to me." Taehyung implores, taking a step closer to the man. They lean slightly over
the railing, toward the caw of the 4AM streets. Jimin will start to wonder where Taehyung
has gotten to. He doesn't mind. "I know you must have a lot of questions."

In truth, Jungkook looks a lot more sure of himself than Taehyung imagined he would —
though, he supposes, the man has learnt to always walk around with such a burnish; always
having to fight for the right to survive, to have his place in the world. It comes naturally that
he must appear so self-assured, how else would he get so far?

"Can I trust you to be honest in your answers?" He asks, and it's said with this sense of
urgency.

Taehyung understands it well and he tries to make his voice delicate, earnest, as he replies,
"you can."

Whether or not Jungkook believes him, he seems to decide he can't wait any longer to have
his questions answered. Taehyung supposes the man will try to figure them out later, when
he's coherent and alone. "Jimin," He begins, and he speaks his name with this callous twist
that rather enthrals the other. His lips are bitter red in this light, his eyes too, and it's obvious
he's more than a little tired. He finishes, "He's a vampire."

It's not a question, but it does warrant an answer. Taehyung presses his fingertips to the
railing, and looks out at the rows of alleyways that stretch out before them like ant columns.
He sighs out a vapour of condensation. "He is."

Jungkook nods, solemn. "And you?"

Taehyung almost laughs, a tinkering sort of sound, like fairies, in all their pretty petals,
dancing across the surfaces of glasses, using every essence of their bodies to make music. He
smiles, short, benign, keeps his tone to a murmur, "human."

"Human." Jungkook exhales. "Just human?"

The blonde looks at him gruffly, eye squinting. "In essence."

"So," Jungkook's gaze is steely, in the same way that it is when he's in the ring, fighting, he
always looks as if he yearns for blood, like he needs to set himself on fire. He's angry, it pulls
at his skin, weighing him down, till he's nothing but a bag of bones, and a heart, a heart that
bounds and begs to leap out of his flimsy ribcage. "He's using you for blood?"

In honesty, Taehyung's becoming a little tired of such an accusation always being casted upon
their relationship. However, he doesn't mind so much when it's Jungkook. It's obvious that
someone with a head that houses such a shallow bowl of knowledge on the subject of their
world would be prone to misunderstandings, to jumping to the worst conclusion.

"I've told you before, haven't I?" He smiles, and their eyes meet in the leer of the dark. "He'd
never hurt me. He's not a bad person."

"He's not a person." Jungkook retorts, and he seems to regret it immediately, having let his
anger get the best of him. His strong arms come to wrap around his own stomach, hugging
himself like a child, so lost and alone.

Mild like the wind, Taehyung watches as his hair flutters into the cold expanse of space. He
sort of wants to reach and touch it, to smooth it back into place, but he resists the urge,
strongly. "He is a person." He tries at a smile, but even he knows it must look rather puny.
"He may seem... frightening at first, but he's truly very caring underneath it." He can almost
hear the scoff in Jungkook's mind. "He can be cruel, of course, but, tell me, who isn't?
Everyone must be at some point, and everyone does what they can to survive. It's not his fault
he needs blood." Their eyes are clamped together again, as Taehyung continues, insistent, "I
mean, you must know he can be decent. He didn't hurt you, did he?"

Jungkook bites at the inside of he cheek, the blonde watches the way his skin pinches,
holding back that glimpse of rage — Taehyung likes to see beneath his eyes, likes to be able
to see how that monster giggles in the poor man's psyche.

Of course, that had been one of the main things the boxer had been contemplating over,
during his time away, while he figured out his plan of action. He didn't think he'd done
anything in particular to warrant getting killed or hurt by Park Jimin, but, in that line of work,
people get hurt, deserved or not. Jimin could've killed him then, or even just gorged on him
— he could've done anything. The decision to do nothing still rots in Jungkook's gut,
churning up pieces of liver, kidneys rusting, heart atrophying.

"Whether or not you come to realise that," Taehyung persists, and he's looking back toward
the back alleys of the city, like there's something so intently interesting in them and their
dullness. "You should know, I— our relationship is mutually beneficial." He needs to tell
Jungkook this, because it's vital for his understanding of their relationship dynamic, of how
they progress with him. There's nothing to lose in telling the truth.

"What?" Jungkook's words crack out of him, like a great canyon suddenly comes between
them, a chasm of earth turning out from under them, sunder crack, splitting them apart.
"'Cause he gives you money? Sex? Food? Jewels? A house?"

The blonde's head shakes, and he bites at his lip, wet from the incessant exploration of his
own tongue. "I've not had to explain this to someone in quite some time," He doesn't look at
Jungkook as he says, "but, I want you to know that, though I am human by technicality, my...
my body is fuelled differently to yours."
The boxer's brows furrow. Taehyung can feel the shift in his demeanour, from mildly
aggravated to humbly curious.

"You see, I have this sort of force that runs through me, it's something that I was born with,
everyone in my family had it too," The air seems to dance before him, as if it too was rather
excited by his story, "I told you before that I can see emotions, of the past, the present and the
future? Well, that ability, along with my other abilities is sustained by this... this sort of, I
guess magic force, in laymen's terms." He really hasn't had to explain to someone in a while
— most people who didn't already know about a witch's abilities, weren't ever going to know,
so it was hard to express himself without sounding too strange. "Essentially, in order to use
my abilities and to sustain my life force, I need... energy. Just as all humans do, as animals
do, as plants do, as vampires do, as any other creature does."

Jungkook looks at him a little preposterously, but he looks like he truly does believe him. He
doesn't doubt his words, it's clear to see, and it spurs the blonde on.

"And emotions take emit a great deal of energy, you know? My life force is fuelled by
concentrating the energy people emit from their emotions into magic. Does that make sense?"

The boxer's head tilts to the side, his mouth twisting. "Sort of."

Drumming fingertips against the metal bar, Taehyung says, "All witches like me do the same
thing, but, different emotions create stronger effects on each of us." He doesn't know how to
express himself without choking up, truly, it's a struggle to say, "my emotion is desire. The
more desire people have for me, the more energy they emit, the more my magic grows. It's
enhanced by touch." Jungkook's eyes flicker with something like recognition, and he feels
this well in his heart, almost like sorrow. Taehyung continues with a jolt of his body, away
from the railing, "one of the dancer's uses surprise." He giggles, thinking about Deiji.

Jungkook looks down at the man, who looks, in some distorted form of retrospect, a little
more human than he ever had. He looks truthful, real and understandable. In a world so
suddenly overcome with idiosyncrasies, it all suddenly starts to make sense. "So," He starts,
slowly, almost as if he would startle the other, "you're actually trying tell me — I mean
you're seriously saying that you feed off of desire?"

Taehyung's lips turn downward, as if secured down by velvet ropes and golden dreams. He
himself looks like desire — spangling eyes so immediately glistening beneath the black
onslaught of eyeshadow. Yes, Jungkook doesn't think it's all that farfetched.

"Yes, that's what I'm saying."

Jungkook wants to scoff. He's only just come to terms with Jimin being an
actual vampire, and, though Uram had told him Taehyung was a witch; he'd expected spells
and potions and cauldrons and hats — not, a living, breathing daydream.

A wonderfully sexual nightmare.

"I can feel it. When I dance, when people look at me," His cockiness is laced with some sense
of delicacy, and it's like liquor is lacquered to his lips, allowing them to coruscate in the
moon. He sounds so much like himself and he makes so much sense. His hand comes
forward, presses gently to Jungkook's chest, just as he had in the changing rooms of Blood all
those weeks ago. "Even from you, the way it thrums beneath your skin, pounding against
your edges, like a never ending drumbeat. I can see it swimming in your eyes, when they land
on me, when they land on Jimin, so full of guilt, of sin. I see it all. No matter how far down
you try to shove it, no matter how much you wish it wasn't so, the band marches on — the
drums never cease."

Jungkook's teeth grit. He doesn't shove the blonde away this time, doesn't force away his
hand or shout his distaste toward him. He endures. He sighs. He soaks it in. Gnawing at his
own lip, his head shakes in tandem with the immense shattering of his heart; he knows how
much it must beat, how much his blood must be flowing with delicious little freckles
of desire.

"Okay." He offers eventually, and the older male takes a step back, his waxy eyes fluttering in
the illumination of the teardrop sky. "Okay." He nods, and he chooses to believe the man for
the time being, because he may be full of fronts — he clearly uses people to fuel himself and
he clearly acts in order to get what he wants — but, Jungkook doesn't think of him as liar.
Deceitful, yes; duplicitous, perhaps; but a liar? No, Jungkook doesn't think so.

He speaks into the smokey dark, "It must be a lot to take in right now."

"Honestly," Jungkook responds, and he lets the word float around the space for a moment
— honestly — because honesty is like a drop of dew against a tulip petal, all phosphorescent
and light, and it's so easy for Jungkook to shake them away if needed. His selective honesty
must match the other man's well. "It's not that hard for me."

"No?" Taehyung smiles, like a headlight through the beat of a storm, like a car thrashing
puddles of water, turning them to spritzes, puffs, a little like smoke.

"No." Jungkook agrees, solemn. That breathing, panting monster of anger is like a pet to him
within his own mind, as it tears against his flesh, as if trapped with in it, constantly trying
to escape. He steels himself before he continues, as he asks, "so, everyone in there is..
magical, in some way?"

"Oh." Taehyung's eyes widen, and he looks like he's run out of time, as if his glimmering
glass slippers are about to crack. Forlorn and desolate, the jezebel shakes his weary head, and
huffs out, "You should talk to Jimin."

"I don't want to talk to Jimin."

Taehyung almost pouts. "I can't tell you anymore, I don't— he might not want me to."

"Oh, so he does control you?" The boxer's nostrils flare, that rage monster twisting so
vehemently at his patience.

"No, it's not like that." The blonde sighs, and he doesn't know how to describe it, how to
convince the other what it actually is like. "Just, please, come back to the house—" He can
already sense the protest, "Jungkook, the talk is inevitable, isn't it? Why prolong it?" The
boxer stills, sighs. "Come on, I know you have more to ask."

"I just wanted to talk to you." He announces, and his back presses to the railing now, so he
can twist and properly look at Taehyung, having something to grip to contain his fear-induced
rage. "I'm not sure why. Is it something you did to me?"

Hurt flashes across the blonde's face — at least, something like it, maybe something in the
image of it, like he's pretending. "I didn't do anything to you."

"But the ointments." Jungkook insists, "you playing doctor. That's— your magic?"

"Yes." Taehyung agrees instantly, "yes, it is. You feel no pain, do you? It served it's purpose,
no?" He's right in Jungkook's face, humid and pretty, his features mean and a little ghoulish,
in spite of his beauty, as if trying to wash it out. "You may not agree with some of my
methods — or with some of Jimin's. But, I helped you, right? He did too. He's getting you all
that money, giving—" he pauses, shakes his head, "We all do what we must do to survive.
You killed a man the other week, Jungkook, don't forget that. We are the same deep down; we
all shred to bone."

The boxer's hand quivers against the railing, the whole metal framework sounding with an
ominous clatter as he tries to keep calm, to keep from lashing out. He's been too tired to do so
recently, too plagued with other things to even imagine getting angry. It all floods into him
now and he sends it into the sky, as he snaps his head up, cranes his gaze upward till he can
see every paint splatter of the stars, the ways they shine like dynamite against the boring
black — so ready to be ignited.

"Okay," He breathes out, exhales with the force of a dragon — no fire, all smoke. He looks at
the hopeful witch in front of him, with all his eerie beauty. He thinks of Chung Uram. He
sighs, frowns, says, "Okay, I'll talk to Jimin."

Someone drives them to the house. A man with a moustache and pink face, small eyes, a little
like a mouse. He doesn't ask questions, doesn't even seem to wonder about the stranger with
Taehyung. Jungkook wonders if Taehyung often leaves with strange people; he wonders more
about his relationship now, as they drive, silently. Taehyung had been picking at his clothes
the whole drive back, and Jungkook thinks he looks so normal — aside from his ethereal
beauty — he just looks like a normal person.

He wonders about how he and Jimin had truly come to know one another; wonders about the
business they conduct together; about the true dynamics of their relationship. They were
always outside the realms of normality — stemming from the fact they're two men being so
open — that, along with their blatant hyper-sexuality, already made them an unlikely pair.
Now, he wonders just what kind of things they get up to in their relationship. He wonders
with this peculiar sort of hunger.

He follows the blonde through the door of their house, and it glows a little brighter in the
lights of the early morning. Pink soap is being scrubbed against the earth, a lemon yellow
sponge leaving all the little suds in an intermingling of orange. It's a cool sunrise.
Taehyung's cat curls around the man's foot as soon as they step through the door — a
familiar, Jungkook thinks, bites his tongue. "Jimin!" He calls into the empty halls, and it
echoes all across the expanse of them, so cold and caustic.

"In here, my love." Jimin's voice isn't a shout, more of a mumble, and it comes from the
kitchen, which Taehyung takes the lead in walking towards.

Jungkook follows along, not quite scared, but more so uncertain; he's entirely unsure what
exactly to expect.

Park Jimin is stood beside the window, watching the sky, and he almost looks like he's
marvelling at it. It takes Jungkook a moment to realise he's looking at the sun — he's looking
and he's unaffected. He looks at it like he likes the feeling of it against his skin.

"I have a guest." The blonde announces, and he sounds both excited and a little weary.

As Jimin turns to them, something almost like boredom seems to trail across him, he looks
tired and it's the most human expression Jungkook thinks he's seen on him. His eyes are
brown as they usually are, his skin a little fairer than normal, but by no means undead. Eyes
flutter with interest as he looks at the boxer. "Ah." He smiles, that coy little smile of his, and
it curls naturally against the slope of his cheeks, the bones of them snapping. "Mr Jeon."

Jungkook doesn't say anything because he doesn't actually know what to say. He hadn't really
intended on coming in contact with the man again, especially not so soon, and he hadn't truly
had time during the car ride to come up with a suitable manner of interacting. He wants to hit
himself, wants to gear himself up, to fully immerse himself in whatever half-baked plot he'd
concocted with Uram.

"You look well." Jimin says, and it's almost kind, almost genuine. Taehyung walks to him,
and the elder's eyes immediately fall on him. They share some sort of majestic frequency
between them, sparking like electricity, and the pink-haired man mumbles something that the
boxer doesn't quite catch. He does see the way Jimin kisses along the younger's wrist, so soft
and passionate, and he feels a little intrusive. He wants to shake himself out of it.

"Jungkook is ready to talk to us now." Taehyung announces, his wrist still in the other's grasp,
his other hand holding onto his pussycat. "I didn't know what you wanted to tell him yourself,
so... he agreed to come and see you."

"That's very good of him." Jimin agrees with a slight nod of his head. "I'm sure I must've
startled him some the last time we saw one another." His tongue pokes out between his teeth
— his not at all sharp teeth, all human, and yet somewhat predatory still, teasing.

Jungkook is almost embarrassed to remember how easily he'd let Jimin get the best of him;
he hates how easy it was for the man to have him in such a horrendous position. Jimin turns
toward him fully, slips passed his lover and walks, walks with such purpose, with such
fervour, like a cat stalking it's prey — like a snake, maybe. It seems like he's looking for a
reaction, with every step he takes, and, when Jungkook forces himself to seem completely
unaffected, he smirks. The boxer has never seen a snake of the ability to create such a
beautifully cruel expression — or much of any expression, at all — but, he imagines, if they
could, that's what Jimin's expression would remind him of.

He stands in front of the man for mere moments, his absence of breaths so hard-hitting now
that Jungkook knew he wasn't imagining it. With a coy grin, he says, "glad to see you're back
to being a little less... easily startled."

Jungkook's knuckles crack, the room accommodates the sound beautifully as his fists come
together, clenching. "You really think that was an atypical reaction?"

"No," Jimin shrugs, "not from a normal person. But, I don't know." His hands are prying as
they come toward the younger's lapels, pulling at his overcoat, scraping his fingers so close to
his neck, teasing. "I always thought," He whispers now, low, dark, "you might be rather
enthralled."

"Why would you think that?" Jungkook takes a step away from him, out of his grasp, out of
his smog of steamy perfume and glistening beauty.

Jimin is so beautiful. And it hurts all the more for Jungkook to come to such a conclusion.

"Oh." The vampire turns toward Taehyung, who's holding his cat close to his chest, watching
them with his wide, curious eyes. He turns back to Jungkook. "No reason." The boxer can't
help but keep his eyes on the blonde for a moment, watching as he pays them no mind,
merely stroking at his cat. Jimin smirks in the corner of his eye, or his daydream. Slowly, he
says, "well, I've no doubt you've come to a correct conclusion, hm?"

"What?" Jungkook looks so intently at him then: at the angle of his jaw, the slope of his nose,
the zeal of his eye, the gloss of his lips. He's all mechanical thrills, with jangling jewels for
eyes, and buttons for teeth; and he's a potent exhibition of tutelage; like ice and fire, so bitter
cold, like the boomerang nebula; like he dips himself in the oasis' of Venus and carves his
face from the rocks of Saturn's rings; angel wings and vicar scoffs, he's a ghoul wrapped in
the skin of a person, all pulled together by the belt of Orion. He struggles to get out his
words, to fully announce them, but he lets them spit into the world, "that you're a vampire?"

"Oh, you say it with such contempt." Jimin laughs, and he seems so lively, though his skin is
still so pale, his under-eyes so dark.

"Yes, well, you drink people's blood to live, how else am I meant to say it?" He's surprised
himself by how easy the concept is to come to terms with — by how easily he lets himself
give into it.

Jimin is still laughing, and he turns to Taehyung again, who smiles back, enthusiastically
almost. "Oh, so you do understand me to be alive?"

"Of course?" Jungkook frowns. "You don't mean to say you're... not?"

"Ah, I'm very much alive, dear." His hand yanks upward, in the way that it does, where it
almost seems like his movements are being decided by someone else. He thumps it against
his chest, and Jungkook half expects for dust to scatter. He thumps his chest just as a human
would. "Do you know much about my kind?"

"I never knew you existed." Jungkook tells him firstly, because it's the only logical thing to
do. "I did research, and... I read Dracula—"

Jimin interrupts him with a hissing noise that sounds very much like it could have come from
Dabria, the cat. Taehyung laughs wholeheartedly, and informs, "he doesn't like Bram Stoker."

"A miserable man." Jimin holds his nose high, and, Jungkook is a little disturbed by just how
human he is, how easily he blends into that description. "So obsessed with blasphemy and
blood; so wrapped up in his little tin hat, while his head pulsates with all these ridiculous
notions of sexual appetites and the horrendous disdain one should have toward them. Instead
of promoting true depictions of vampirism, he works on equating it with a lack of morality, of
chastity. Sexuality is no less a feat of humanity, it's merely something we are better at
exploiting and enhancing—"

"Jimin." Taehyung giggles, cutting off his tirade.

Jungkook can't help but ogle at him, at how ludicrously passionate he sounds on the subject.
With a dry throat, he concludes, "I suppose it's not the most accurate source of information?"

Taehyung muffles his laugh into Dabria's fur, while Jimin just stares. His eyes are so hot, they
ignite, leaking with lights that are so desperate to lure you in, to entice you. His lips rest in a
flat line. "The only information you need, Mr Jeon, is that I'm not going to hurt you."

There's so many ways Jungkook wants to answer that, starting with why, ending with let me
go. He settled with a gruff, "Why not?"

"Don't be that way." He chuckles, dark, rich, ominous. "You know you're too important to
me. To us."

"In what way?"

The man smiles. It's so small, and it makes him look so young, and Jungkook wants to ask
how old he is exactly, but, for some reason, he doesn't, he doesn't dare to. Jimin glances at the
grandfather clock that stands in the corner, tall and tough. "Kil Plexus was right the other day,
you know." His words are so ominous, and he says them with such a dark undertone, it
instantly reminds Jungkook who he is, who he always has been. "I like to have the best things
for myself."

Jimin may be dark and brooding and horror incarnate, but it's not enough for Jungkook to
forget he has the right to anger. He holds onto that right so tensely, keeps it within the
shaking palm of his clenched hand. "I'm not a thing."

"No." Jimin murmurs out, voice like a dream, like a glacial projection of a nightmare. "But,
you are the best fighter this side of the city — I don't know how or why, but... you're so
damn good." He grins then, almost, but it more so just looks as though his skin is melting,
and his mouth is turning upwards to try and keep it from slipping from his bones. "Just as
Taehyung is the best performer, and I am the best— well, the best at getting things done."
Glitter seems so dull compared to him, with his diamond mind and ivory skin. "Wouldn't you
like to keep on being the best, Jungkook? Hm?" His head cocks, entices the boxer to stare at
him, as he continues, "don't you want for us all to keep being the best. Oh, I have so many
things to offer you, just as you have many to offer me. I'm sure you can see."

Jungkook's voice is hoarse with his lie, "I'm not sure I can."

"You will, then."

Dabria meows through the scene, and Taehyung shushes her, bouncing her in his arms like a
baby.

Jimin smiles, a genuine one. He places his attention on the boxer and, coyly, he asks, "are you
free tomorrow?"

&&&

"This isn't enough." A voice echoes across a dark alley, and the sky is opaque, completely
black, void of any stars, simply existing as a vacuum, as a shield, that masks and relinquishes
all the wrongdoings that occur beneath it. The voice flows through the realms of disaster like
a particularly tempting example of pulchritude; slips out into the world like blood from a
wound, so stark and vibrant in contrast to the colourlessness of the body, yet somehow still
smooth, delicate almost.

"It's— it's all I have." This other voice is one that trembles. It scarcely manages to fill up the
space that allows for it; it rests like a cry in the wind, lost amongst a sliver of grey clouds, so
outcast, so alone.
"Oh? And why's that?"

Jungkook watches as Jimin crowds over the boy in the alley way — he says boy, because
that's what he looks like beside Jimin, despite the fact he was probably in his late thirties.
But, right now, he's all but four foot, with curly hairs and rosy cheeks; he looks as if just
freshly birthed, with all those wrinkles and stressed out eyes. He's so pink and grey, like he's
inches away from death. Perhaps he is.

There's a car panting behind them, just at the end of the alley, the engine still running on the
Rolls-Royce phantom limousine, the door open, with another man leant against it. It's the
same man as the one who'd taken Jungkook to their house the day before, and he's reading a
newspaper beneath the street lamp, lackadaisical.

"It's all they gave me." The poor man tries, and his voice shakes like the legs of a fawn.
"They said it was enough."

"Did they now?" Jimin is in a suit that makes him look distinctly like the role he adopts —
with his all black attire, black gloves and black smile. He looks so clean, so professional, and
it almost worries Jungkook, to think about how many sides the man has to him. There's a
cigarette in his mouth and the boxer can't help but wonder whether his lungs work well
enough for him to actually use it.

The poor man shrinks back into the wall like a crocus, all those tainted petals closing up for
the night, beneath the sharp moon of Park Jimin's face.

Jimin seems to be enjoying himself, and Jungkook just stands there, watching. He'd perhaps
feel bad for the other man if it weren't for the fact he seems so sleazy, reminds him so much
of his old manager, Lee Doh.

Leisurely, the vampire pulls the white stick from between his mouth, and his slender finger,
with it's long nail, covered in his black, leather glove, comes to tap at it, sending harsh
flutters of tobacco across the trembling man's nose. They land against his red skin, and serve
to make it darker, uglier, redder. Jimin uses him as an ash-tray, and Jungkook supposes it's
supposed to show him how easy it is to be so cruel.

"Well, that sure is bad business." He tuts, brings the cigarette back to his mouth. "I don't
suppose you know much about that though, do you?" The man wordlessly shakes his head.
Jimin continues, slow, drab, like a game, "let me help you get to know a little something
about it then." He taps more tobacco across the other man. "You see, in my line of business,
I buy the merchandise from you, in order to sell it to other people. Now, the number one rule
of consumerism, is to abide by the consumer, to always make the customer happy. And," He
takes a long drag now. "You know what makes people happiest of all?" The man shakes his
head, bangs it against the wall. With a breath of smoke, he purrs out, "opium."

The man jerks away pathetically, and Jimin's not even touching him, not even
really that close to him. Jungkook is somewhat prideful in the knowledge he didn't look that
powerless, even when the monster had him pinned to a wall, a lot like this one.
"Now, do you suppose you could hazard a guess as to what my favourite principle of business
is?" He grins, taking no notice of the quivers that clutch at his smoke, the hands that tremor
beneath it, within it, trapped within his own, personal hell. "I rather like the one that states:
the supplier pays up or his subordinate gets his voice box ripped out so he can no longer try
and dangle such worthless excuses before me." The man actually whines at that, his mouth
opening to sob, but being too scared to utter a sound.

Jungkook is glad he's not in his position and, in that moment, he realises just how terrifying
Jimin truly is. He supposes that's the purpose of him being here. That must be it. Why else
would Jimin be so adamant on taking him here? It's evident he can fullfill this job himself,
easily, without question; what was Jungkook's purpose?

"You like that one?" His voice is so mockingly soft, like the underbelly of a snake, with all its
scales, smooth like silk, but with a nasty bite that lingers just beneath the surface. And
Jungkook watches the sizzling of the poor man's skin, as Jimin stubs his cigarette out on his
neck, right on the adam's apple.

His expression is so harsh, as he turns to Jungkook, as if finally remembering he was there.

There's something a little joyful beneath it though, like a garden that shall soon bloom into a
wondrous multitude of colour. It sparks with pink and purple and green and it bleeds down
his face with the cackling of the rain that slowly starts to fall. Oh, how poetic, the pathetic
fallacy that they find themselves delving into, as the sky drizzles out it's misery, and blurs out
any remnants of reality. The rain makes Jungkook feel a little dizzy.

"Jungkook." He says, almost like a call, like a lighthouse, calling out the forlorn ship of
Jungkook, steering him toward him, beckoning him. "You ever knocked someone out in an
alley before?"

"What?" The boxer instantly utters out, his hair starting to flatten, the crack of thunder
echoing beyond his field of vision. In truth, he has done exactly that; before he found a
manager and a bar, he'd been involved in street fights — he developed a reputation that way,
dancing between the veins of the city, seeing how many people he could knock out in one
fight. He'd perfected his craft that way. But, they'd always been willing participants, not a
man who can hardly find it in himself to scream.

"I want," With one magnificent kick of his foot, his thin leg steps over the crumpled,
quivering lump of meat that calls itself a man, and he's directly in front of Jungkook. His
voice is hushed as he continues, "I want you to hurt him enough to make it so his boss knows
we're not messing around."

Jungkook looks at him like he's crazy. He wonders if such a state of mind exists amongst
vampires, or, if perhaps they all would just be considered that way. "Why do you
want me to?" He dares to ask, and he knows the other man must be so uneasy, but he can't
bring himself to care.

Jimin smiles, and it's a relatively sane smile by his standards. "I want to show you how we
can be mutually beneficial for one another." Jungkook frowns and, noticing the expression,
Jimin adds, with a droplet of temptation, "I want to show you how I can make your life
better."
Jungkook's eyes flash to the poor man, who stares up at him, his box of drugs — opium
— laying limply beside him, as he slumps against it, cowering.

"Come on," Jimin purrs, chuckles, "what's another beating?" He whispers into Jungkook's ear
now and the man doesn't know if he's using some sort of power to compel him, or he really is
just that easy to want to please. "C'mon," He coos, "make it so he can't even feel it, so he
can't even remember you doing it."

Jungkook takes a step toward the man. Jimin's eyes are so firmly attached to him, watching
his every move, as he dares to strain forward, to delve deeper and deeper into this insatiable
desire to hurt. It's just another beating. Another opponent. He's not sure what it is that makes
him actually want to do it — is it Jimin? Is it his desire to have something better? Is it his
urge to hurt? His urge to release his anger? Is it something more?

Whatever it is, he finds himself slamming his fist into the man's gut, causing him to fall even
further to the floor. He looks in his eyes as he does it, sees this sort of fear that's mixed with
curiosity. He sees something like desperation and it makes him want to hit more, doesn't want
to torture him. His foot kicks into his chest. The man wheezes. He grabs his head and keeps
him in place, as he punches him right in the cheek. In the temple. He's so similar to all his
other useless opponents, he lets himself get lost in it. In unleashing all those sorrowful
clumps of emotion that fall from him in welds and split against the other man in spritzes of
blood, of bruises.

He passes out so quickly, with a crooked tooth and an eye that is half-peeled open.

"How beautiful." Jimin's voice is but a purl in the moonlight, so dainty and resplendent, like a
pearl-drenched hand that pries at the ribbon of a present, unfurling all the wrapping that hides
all that splendour.

Jungkook pants as he pulls away, and he finds the thrum beneath his knuckles is a little
euphoric, the way in which it slips across his bones, shudders through him so wonderfully.
It's a little like he himself had taken those narcotics.

"Jun," He calls out then, and the man who'd been so avidly reading his newspaper before,
turns his head up. With that puffy cloud of a moustache, his mouth twitches, he sniffs, places
the paper into the backseat. "Be a dear." Jimin finishes, and the chauffeur seems to know
what to do, as he walks around them with thundering footsteps.

Jimin's gloved fingers squeak as he clutches the box of opium in his hands with so much
ease, like it weighs nothing at all. Jungkook has no idea why he hadn't just poked the poor
dealer, as he's sure such a minuscule action would've knocked him out flat. He can't make any
sense of it, so, he elects to ask the man on their drive.

The chauffeur — Jun — had done something to the body, though Jungkook wasn't allowed to
see what, as Jimin quickly escorted him to the car, depositing the crate in the front seat, while
the pair sit in the back.

Jun drives them in silence, and Jungkook doesn't feel like he's much of a threat, so he opts to
ask, "why didn't you hurt him yourself?"
Jimin is readjusting his gloves, so nonchalant, like that event hadn't just occurred — like it
was just a part of everyday life. It probably is. It's probably not the worst of it. He doesn't
turn his head, just gives the man his eyes, glancing sideways toward him, with something a
little crimson soaking through that tender colourant of walnut. "My hands," He replies, and
he widens them, making the leather creek, flexing their shape to the other. Jungkook doesn't
understand what he means, clearly, so he continues, "they're not like yours."

"Yeah, you have long nails." Jungkook comments, a tad stupidly, a tad sarcastically.

Jimin laughs, it bursts out of him like he hadn't meant for it to, like he had no control of it.
His whole body shoots forward with it. "I do," He agrees, his mouth curled so wonderfully
into joy; his lips are so beautiful, large and warm-looking and they look so dark in their
pinkness, like they're full of blood, sloshing amongst them like a waterbed. "But, I don't mean
how they look." His face twists fully to meet Jungkook's now, as he tells him, "I am a being
of many talents, Mr Jeon, but, unfortunately, punching like a man isn't one of them."

The boxer's nostrils flare, his head cocks to the side, so damn confused. "You mean..." He
tries, wonders if he'll ever get used to the clearly well-educated man's somewhat cryptic
diction. "You're bad at punching?" Even he thinks it's ridiculous, because someone with as
much physical strength and agility as Park Jimin couldn't possibly be bad at it.

"It's not that," Jimin pursues, not laughing, despite the fact Jungkook was being a little
foolish. "It's just that my abilities are... too advanced." He grins then, that cockiness he holds
so well slipping across his features. "You see, not everyone in this business is a vampire like
me, nor do they know of the fact I am. I'd like for it to remain that way in some cases. So,"
He looks wholeheartedly at Jungkook, "I need someone who can punch like a human, to not
arise suspicion."

"Seriously?" Jungkook frowns, and it's so simplistic an explanation, he rather thinks it sounds
true.

"Mm."

"So, you want me to punch people because... you're too strong?"

"Not too strong, but," He grabs Jungkook's hand, clutches it in his, and the leather of his
thumb rubs against the back of boxer's hand, and the man is too shocked to even fully react,
as he listens to the other's words, "I am too careless." He speaks like he's talking to the wind,
like his words will be carried off somewhere. His hand is strangely warm through the glove
and Jungkook feels weird to be touching him like this. "Your hands are strong and careful. It's
what makes you so good."

Jun is watching them through the rear-view mirror, his eyes dark, bags darker.

Jungkook doesn't tear his hand away, but he feels his heart beat a little faster, feels his pulse
in his neck. Jimin's eyes are locked in his, his own apparently strong hand gripping him so
softly, merely a suggestion of the action, like he's a ghost, like a phantom hand, that doesn't
truly manage to provide much. It's so intimate to hold hands with the dead.
Jimin laughs, "I can hear your heart."

&&&

And thus begins Jimin's usage of Jungkook as his human protege. Jungkook likes it, amidst
his weekly fights, Jimin will sometimes take him to manage other areas of business and the
man is powerless to resist. Well, he gets offered so much money, and he earns the trust and
favour of the most powerful gangster in the city — talk about an offer he can't refuse.

Jungkook had been asked to perform many a task; whether it be hassling bad clients who
refuse to pay their debts, making very human threats to those who try to stick their noses up,
being malleable with police officers who aren't in Jimin's pocket, he's very much adapted to
this life already. It's not all that different from the jobs he'd had to do before — aside from the
fact he's getting paid so much more — and so he doesn't even get a chance to question the
morality of it.

Morals are something so easily pried at and engineered to fit any given situation, he's come to
learn, as Jimin is ever so good at his justifications for all the horrendous actions.

For instance, Jungkook was once required to punch some subordinate of Jimin's who got a
little mouthy — that's all, had just gotten a little too comfortable and he was just used as a
sign that one shouldn't allow for that to happen in this line of business. He was someone who
Jimin hadn't yet deemed worthy enough to turn, so the subordinate still needed to believe
humans are the only ones who can be so awful. Jungkook had been a lot more reluctant in
ramming his fist in this guy's face than any of the other peoples. Jimin had noticed, of course,
and had simply told him, "a baby tiger is cute when it growls at it's mother, but any other
creature shall eat it alive for trying to yap so loudly."
Jungkook wonders if he uses such expressions to justify his behaviour to himself, or just
because he likes to say profound things.

He doesn't have much time for free thought, because Jimin is dragging him around places,
and keeping both his mind and hands busy. He doesn't mind, in truth he quite likes to keep
himself distracted, he's worried that if he pauses for even a minute he'll realise what reality is
and want to break down and cry.

Fortunately, no such opportunity arises and so he besieges himself in all Jimin's requests and
saturates his mind with all the new information he uncovers about him, about his abilities,
about his business, and about how certain people really do have the ability to make the world
spin. It's really quite horrific, to be so submerged in fantasy, you can see how leather gloves
grip at the chin of the Earth, and flick their wrists, watching all the little people spin.

"He makes a mean bodyguard." Is what Jung Hoseok says one day, as they're sat in the back
of the Sugar Lounge; with Min Yoongi mixing drinks, and Park Jimin counting coins. It's
quiet where they are, and there's a person showing off their flexibility on stage. People awe at
them as they twist themselves between their own limbs and crack their bones in and out of
place. It's a little like a circus, Jungkook can't help but think, as he watches them, whilst
fetching Jimin a drink like he's some sort of assistant. Amidst that thought, he wonders if the
person is expressing an ability of humanity or if they, too, are compellingly devilish. Hoseok
continues with a simpering, "Or, is he a workhorse?"

Jimin ignores him, in favour of scribbling down whatever it is he's scribbling down, his eyes
darting around the various pieces of paper scattered across the table. He truly has been so
busy lately, and he doesn't have time to offer explanations for all of his questionable actions
and decisions. Hoseok doesn't seem too bothered, simply chuckles. It takes a little while
before the boss finally concedes and offers the gift of his words, "anything from Plexus?" He
asks, just as Jungkook arrives, placing down the harshly mixed drink, which he's sure Yoongi
had probably spat in.

"No." The informant mutters glumly, regarding Jungkook momentarily, with those glittering
eyes of his, as if scouring his form, searching for any hint of disloyalty. Slowly, his hand
reaches to the inside pocket of his blazer, and he pulls out a tattered piece of paper. "But,
this," He places it on the table before Jimin, who merely looks at it wearily, "this is from
the Saw Sloggers."

Jimin's laugh is a tut, a sort of clicking sound made from his tongue slapping against his
teeth. "And what do they want?"

Jungkook desperately wants to ask who they are — he imagines another gang, or, well,
obviously a Syndicate of sorts, but he's unsure whether they operate in this city. It seemed
unlikely as, in divulging himself amongst all the green-glazed gangsters and orange-skinned
outlaws of the underworld, he had only come in contact with Blood Snatchers or Kil Crime
Family members.

Hoseok taps the paper with one finger. "They think there's going to be a war." He tells them,
and it's an obvious thing to Jimin, but Jungkook can't help but be rather confused.
"A war?" The boxer repeats, perplexed.

"Mm." Jimin nods, and looks up properly at him, a cigarette hanging from his lips as his eyes
splinter a little, scuttling red in the obscenity of the dark. "The Kil's and us have the biggest
operations in the city, of course, and, for the most part we've maintained our competition
within some sort of equanimity. If we were to go against one another authentically, a full-
scale war would break out amongst us." He explains somewhat nonchalantly, as he waves his
hand around deftly, "Now, that would certainly put a damper in our business plans, and that
wouldn't be very good, would it?"

"No." Jungkook agrees, understanding easily how a war wouldn't exactly be preferable for
either side.

"However," Jimin grins in that unlit way of his, as his teeth gleam ivory in the light, and
rubies glimmer in his eyes, with something like hell between his gaze, and he's so predictably
unpredictable as he tells him, "sometimes war is unavoidable. Can't have peace without it
— un gâteau manger en paix en vaut deux en peine."

"What?" Jungkook frowns.

"A cake eaten in peace is worth two in trouble." He translates, with that wonderfully placed
cockiness, that literally melts off of him, slamming down his bones in droves.

"So, war is valuable to you?"

"Can be." Jimin chuckles, "if you know how to do it well." His eyes widen for a split second,
exploding with blood, before they mutate themselves back to that pulsating brown, looking
back toward his own papers, and frowning as he sees the all-knowing smirk of Jung Hoseok,
still desperately tapping at his paper. "So, what, Saw Sloggers aren't in favour? Tad ironic,
isn't it?"

"Well, I suppose since you're not planning on reading the letter they sent to the Kil Crime
Family that I went out of my way to track down for you, I shall just explain it." Hoseok
grumbles, a tad petty, as if expecting a reaction. Jimin just gestures for him to do just that. He
huffs and says, "they're making arrangements to join forces. You made a lot of people upset
since you killed the mayor—"

"You killed the mayor?" Jungkook can't help but splutter out, and he curses himself for his
stupid reaction, but he can't help but be a little surprised. When news got out that Ex-Mayor
Mae Kyungwan was missing, no one really payed much attention, and Jungkook didn't care
enough to wonder whether he was dead, especially when news got out that he was 'bent',
affiliating himself with gangs and violence. His corruption was reason enough to not care.

"No," Jimin shrugs, tells him, "Hoseok did, as it happens."

"It's not really important which one of us did it." The other brushes him off. "What is
important is that his associates aren't happy with it. In our circle, it's obvious which
conglomeration is to blame — that's us, if you're not aware — and, well, most people are
starting to believe you're wanting to start a war."
 "A correct assumption."

"Yes, but one that makes people scared, makes them scatter and start to cling to sides. And,
oh so surprisingly, those who start it are rarely the ones who come off well-liked. Thus, they
all align against you."

Jimin smiles, and clicks some coins together, as he spreads them across the table, as if this
news meant positively nothing to him. "Yes, well, I highly doubt we need allies, much less
those ruthless pigs of the Sloggers, who can barley see their feet beneath those great, big
bellies of cowardice that hang heavy from their bones."

"Sir." Hoseok shakes his head, voice lacquered in something so distinctly fed up, "if we aren't
going to get allies, surely we should act fast, in order to not let their alliances grow too
macro-scale in strength, no?"

"Yes, I suppose, but, not to fret, everything is going according to plan." Jimin assures,
without a slight hint of worry in him.

Jungkook chimes in then, too frustrated in his confusion to truly care about the lack of
consideration he puts into his words, "Can I ask what exactly is your plan?"

The leader just laughs, rich and rambunctious, and he smiles, taking his cigarette between his
two fingers. Simply, he tells Jungkook, "to succeed."

Chapter End Notes

wooo okay so this was a long ass chapter and, once again, hell of an info dump oh my!!
but i hope things weren't too confusing, specifically when it comes to tae's powers?
lemme know if it doesn't fully make sense to you, i feel like it was explained badly but
ahh it should be okay, i'm gonna go into more detail a little later! but anyway, thank you
for reading and supporting!
feel free to leave comments or kudos, as it really does help motivate me :))))))
 Chapter 13
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The Sugar Lounge has become something of a workplace for Jungkook at this point; he's like
an office-worker, with a somewhat steady income and a permanent location for his job. Only
difference is, he doesn't just punch out for his breaks, he punches out for his job, hitting a
constant slew of enemies, of randoms, of subordinates. At least, Jimin's subordinates, he's not
entirely sure he's able to class them as such — in truth, he's still not exactly sure where he
stands with them, but he supposes all the lower-ranking Blood Snatchers seem to view him as
superior to them and he'll take it, he likes it.

If there's one thing Jungkook's always yearned for in his life, it's to have control of it, and in
this offbeat purgatory of violence and banknotes, he certainly feels like he has just that. Even
if it's all an illusion in the end, the gratification he gets from being on top is enough for his
rectitude to drop out, for his entire body to be overtaken with eminence.

"Your sister hunts around the corner of Adamantine Street?" Jimin's cajoling voice suddenly
flutters toward him, disrupting his ugly peace of mind, and his contemplative thoughts, which
had been a recurring thing in his mind of late, as he'd found himself constantly in a battle of
morality — one that is always won over by survival instincts.

They're sat at one of the tables of the front row, and it's just the two of them, as it has been so
often recently, and it's eerie how easily this had become a sort of normality. No one bats an
eye. Perhaps he is something of a bodyguard as Hoseok had suggested; or, maybe he's more
of a glorified assistant, a secretary to a demented CEO, like a real office worker.

"Hunts?" He repeats, and he doesn't mean for his lips to twist into a snarl in the way that they
do, but he can't help it; he immediately tenses at the mention of his sister, of his family, of the
reason why he'd let himself do all this. At least, what he tells himself is the reason.

"Well, in the sense people pick her up there." Jimin corrects, and it doesn't do much to amend
it, but he doesn't seem too bothered, merely tapping at his cigarette, letting flecks fall to his
ashtray.

Jungkook shrugs and glances into his own glass of water. "I don't know."

"Really?" The older man raises a brow, unconvinced.

He doesn't know how best to get the other to understand, doesn't think someone so capable of
such cruelty and monstrous horror would be able to. So, he simply grumbles out, "I don't like
to know what she does."

The other's eyes narrow a little and his lips purse, as if in a state of understanding. Then,
softly, "but, you don't want her to continue her... work?"
"Of course not." Jungkook snaps, and he reels his head upward, his entire body lurching
forward with tension.

He's about to speak again, when another body comes to slip into the seat between them; Kim
Taehyung, opulently dressed in a silvery shirt, all dangly jewels and beads, with these baggy
trousers, made from an equally shimmery fabric, and he's like a disco ball that sweats glitter.

"I don't want to dance today." He says, and he sounds a little restless, his eyes decidedly
glum, placing his face into his hands, cupping it, all cherubic like.

Jungkook hasn't seen the man all that much, surprisingly, as he's mainly been shadowing
Jimin, following him through every aspect of the day, disgustingly comfortable with the
prospect. The blonde man had performed on a few occasions, but he usually disappeared
afterwards; it's a little bizarre to Jungkook, to see how quickly his desire to get to know him
had changed — he hardly seems interested of late.

Now, he looks positively burdened with hell and damnation, and Jimin's eyes flicker pink and
purple and all the shades of a flower, as if they have fallen, fresh, from a magnolia tree. "Why
not?" He asks, already dropping the topic they were on — and it's so curious to observe, just
how quickly his demeanour seems to change — or, Jungkook supposes, how it grows,
blooms, blossoms.

"I don't feel like it." He sighs out, melodramatic, as if the entire world revolves around him,
and, well, perhaps it truly does.

"Okay, darling." Jimin half-chuckles, and pats softly at the blonde's bent elbow. His other
hand pulls his cigarette from his own lips and, without word, places it to Taehyung's.

It's like a sedative, and the man appears somewhat pacified momentarily, as he lets all those
pretty fumes of death swirl into the erotica of the scene, and his smile trips across him like
nirvana, so sad and solemn, yet a form of catharsis nonetheless. He plucks the item from
between his lips, and he tilts his head ever so slightly. "Jungkook," He says, purrs almost, and
it's like even the air is blushing, tickled by the way he plays with it, "long-time no see." He
puffs the fumes of his cigarette into the man's face, and they perform pirouettes and cavorts
across the space between them, tempting him.

"I saw you a few days ago." The boxer tells him, trying his best to see him through the tender
smog.

"Oh, has it already been so long?" Taehyung grumbles, and he turns to Jimin then, almost
whining, "you're keeping him from me." He accuses, petulant, playful, like he's in need of a
distraction.

The vampire's eyes roll, finger tapping across the wooden table now that he doesn't have a
gasper to busy it. "We have business to attend to." He tells him, stern but equally as playful.

The blonde mirrors his expression, but then scrunches his nose in distaste. "How dull." He
declares, and his cheek sinks slightly deeper against his palm. "I'm frightfully bored."
"We were talking about Jungkook's sister."

Taehyung's eyes light up, snapping his head to face the ravenette. "Your sister?" He asks, so
morbidly excited.

Jungkook's stomach churns. But, in some weird way, his heart picks up and it feels almost
nice, light and wholesome, like, for the first time in his life, he was having a real life
conversation. What's wrong with him? "Yeah." He nods. He takes a gulp of water from it's
lavender glass.

"Is she older than you?" He inquires, his attention solely focused on the boxer.

The man doesn't really know what to do — doesn't know whether or not he should entertain
him with fantasy or to actually tell him the truth, to embed all the sparks of his life into their
psyche to use against him. Or, equally, to get them to trust him. "She is." He admits, another
gulp.

"You have a younger sister too, no?"

Jungkook doesn't recall having ever mentioned that before, so he gives him a stilted sort of
nod.

"How old?" He whispers, and something a little sad flickers over him, but Jungkook can't
work out why.

"Seven." He replies, eyes narrowing ever more as Taehyung's own eyes widen, suddenly so
curious and densely packed with something unbeknownst to the other, and it's so melancholy
in nature, like a particular harsh memory.

"Seven." He repeats in a whisper.

Jimin watches him for a moment before quickly asking, "the older one, what's her name?"

Jungkook can't help the way his face clenches, the way his thoughts transpire so disastrously
across his head, the corpus callosum snapping, tearing apart the hemispheres of his brain,
disrupting all his normal cognitive processes. Tensely, he tells them, "Ara."

Taehyung smiles, a sad sort of smile, one so full of genuiness and wildfire delight. "What a
pretty name. I bet she's beautiful." It's said with this sigh of adoration, and it spools from his
mouth in keeping with his smoke.

Jimin shakes his head. He smiles. "She fetches work at Adamantine Street."

The blonde's eyes flutter in understanding. He already knows that, of course, Jung Hoseok
had told him that, the little sleaze he is, and so he knows so much about her already. He never
learnt her name though, and the knowledge of it now glows warm in the wilting rose garden
of his heart.

"It's Kil territory." The tone shifts with those three words, and Jungkook bites so harshly at
his lip he's afraid it will draw blood.
"Meaning?" He bursts out — he remembers what Duri had said, insinuated, what Plexus
himself had said, and so it makes sense, rationally, that the woman would be near them at
some points, would be between them. It aches to realise now, just how much danger she'd
been in, while he'd had no option but to ignore it, let it be.

His fist shakes, mighty.

Jimin's hand is pressed on top of it, and it stops. Taehyung watches with this ridiculous smile.

"You remember I said I would ensure your family don't get hurt, don't you?" Jimin asks him,
his voice a husky alignment of comfort. "It's why you agreed to this, isn't it?" Jungkook hates
the fact he needs reminding. "They know she's important to you, they know you're important
to me." He doesn't need to fill in the blanks. "What would you say if I could get you enough
money to stop her working out there?"

"You—"

"Don't think of it as charity." The man interrupts, already foreseeing it. "You'll earn it
yourself." He nods conclusively, giving the other man room to answer if he so pleases.

"It must be a pretty big job..." He utters out, wearily.

"I was hoping you'd agree." Jimin nods, but it seems as though he wasn't so much hoping, as
he was knowing, and he glows with it, positively wicked. "There's a fight lined up for you
tonight."

Jungkook sputters, "tonight?"

Jimin just smirks and he gently pries his cigarette back from Taehyung's lips, so luxuriated
and tranquil, as if the whole room was merely full of ink-smoke dreams, that he could bend
to his own will. He places it between his teeth, and he grins so malignantly, the rows of
straight white obstructed by the sharp jutting of his canines — it's the first time Jungkook's
seen them fully since that night, and his eyes flicker a little green, like he is money and
consumption itself; all gluttonous and proud, with his rosy face and voluptuous prowess.

His smile is fantastic, and his wrist clicks as he pulls the cigarette out, takes a long exhale,
smooth tones of violet-grey pooling from his face. Blood face, void of any such thing,
completely lifeless and yet so animated.

Glancing at his watch, he says, "twenty minutes."

Twenty minutes pass and they're outside a house.

It's a rather rundown establishment, dark roof peppered with pale holes, and moth-grey bricks
crumbling down the sides, fragments of violence trickling from every aspect; it's a mind-
boggling state of suburbia, just on the outskirts of the city of Quellnex, amongst the
disentangling ash-heaps of the rich's tenure and the neglected bursts of fun that party-goers
exude as they screech through it in their fast, pretty cars. It's dripping with sloe-tinted oil, that
reeks of dirt and clings to your skin immediately, even after having been there for mere
seconds.

They had all gotten changed before arriving, with Jungkook in a white vest and trousers with
suspenders, as if trying to make him look as un-glamorous as possible, and, for some
unknown reason, Jimin had insisted Jungkook wear a specific pair of shoes — black,
expensive leather — sharp, sharp heels.

"Jun, look after Tae." Jimin instructs, as the man brings their car to a smooth stop right
outside the infrastructure.

"What?" Taehyung immediately protests, his face broiling with this imminently gorgeous
frown. He'd also changed his outfit, to an emerald waistcoat and trousers, making him look so
dark and tough. Maybe even a little intimidating, as he doesn't attempt to soften his tone in
his protest. "No way, I didn't endure that arduous journey just to sit outside like a common
dog."

Jimin shakes his head, and opens the door, letting Jungkook out, the man trying not to pay
attention to their ridiculously domestic squabbling. His voice is slightly quieter as he says,
"It's dangerous."

"I don't care." The blonde insists, and he's making to get out the car as well, the cool air
bristling across his skin, like this curious sort of fizz. However, Jimin, predictably, grabs him
by the arm, perhaps a little harshly, desperate. Taehyung huffs, and doesn't even try to shake
him off, knowing it will be futile. "Come on, Jimin, it will be fine, I want to watch."

He looks so redolent to stone, like a glorious statue, a slender imitation of a Greek God,
forever frozen in one identifying expression, that shall live on as an idea of his likeness.
Then, it slowly contorts itself into an expression that's a little more like life and it's so
contemplative, waxen and beset, as he softens ever so slightly. "You don't really want to
come in, do you?" His brow raises, his face pale in the harsh yellow moonlight.

Taehyung leers at him, and, in a tone of immense taunting, replies, "Yes. I do."

Jungkook watches them, a thrum of uncertainty and tension causing his arms to sway, rather
impatient.

"Fine." Jimin responds then, sharp, and he steps onto the street, pulling Taehyung out with
him. "But don't leave my side." He pauses, then, in his most doom ridden voice, he adds, "I
mean it."

The dancer just beams that sensational smile, something that puts the stars to shame, dripping
all their vapid reflections across the oceanic wonders, so seeping with mermaids and sirens.
In a smooth movement, he latches his arm around the elder's, and then, much to Jungkook's
surprise, his own arm is being pulled toward the blonde. He loops both Jungkook's and
Jimin's arms in his own, and pulls them close to him, his smile so pure and maniacal, it
makes them both a little stunned.
He releases them soon after, and Jungkook can't help but feel as though the man was too
excited for this, as if he really didn't get out all that much. The boxer wonders if that's true,
and, simultaneously he wonders why Jimin actually allowed him to come. It was evident
most people in this business knew of the two of them, even Uram, and many seemed to not
really care, Plexus even offered a depiction of jealousy. Yet, here Park Jimin was, seemingly
scared for his safety, as if he had anything to worry about anyway.

Through working with him so intimately, Jungkook's come to realise literally no one stands a
chance against him — there's no way anyone would be dumb enough to try to actively pick a
fight with him, or to stir up something to do with Taehyung.

That would be a death wish.

"Okay." Jimin's voice rumbles through the dark, and he speaks more to Jungkook now, smiles
almost, "it's like all your other fights, okay? Just like that one with that Kil dolt, hm?" He
looks so silken, like he's all the influxes of sexual desire, like it spritzes out of him without
him knowing. Jungkook shudders. "Run everything by me again."

Jungkook thinks back to all the things he'd been told in the car. "Okay, he's a member of the
Saw Sloggers, known as Big Pig Presley, he's around thirty, American, a lot bigger than me,
but he's weak without weapons." The boxer nods to himself, and sighs out, "which is great,
but, unfortunately, he's got weapons."

"That he has." Jimin nods, and he seems happy the man recalls all of that information. "But,
it'll be fine, Tae says you'll win." The man in question pats Jungkook between the shoulder
blades, and Jimin adds, "you remember, don't you? If you win this fight, which you will,
you'll get so much money, your sister can buy her own fucking prossies."

"Watch it." Jungkook snarls, and Jimin smiles, harmless. A moment of doubt flickers across
Jungkook's mind, slithers all across his face. Dully, he inquires, "but, how come this fight is
worth so much money? I thought Plexus' fighters were supposed to be the best in the city,
surely his would be worth more?"

"No," Jimin's head shakes, harsh beneath the dim light. "He may have the bigger gang, but
his fights aren't worth as much. You may not think it but they're too classy, attract too
courteous a crowd." Jungkook frowns, thinking that couldn't possibly be true, just
remembering the way in which the crowd had cried so joyously as he'd pulled the life from
Duri's body. Jimin continues, "these guys are the real deal, all the people that congregate here
aren't just looking for death, they want violence, they want clean, streaming blood and they
want it to spurt in their face. They pay extra for dirty fights, they salivate at the thought of
sadism, want so badly to see people hurt, to see their limbs torn from their bodies. They want
to chew you up and spit you out and they want every part of your body to scream with it."

Jungkook feels sick.

"But, there's no reason to be scared, Jungkook," He speaks so affectionately, so stark a

contrast to he previously burly tone of before, "you're going to win."
Jungkook isn't scared. That's what makes him feel sick, because he feels as if he has the
fortification of fate on his side, and he feels as if his body is the perfect vessel to perform
such a task. He feels sick in himself because it's not fear that thrums through him. It's
excitement.

"Mm." Taehyung murmurs and, just before they're about to make it toward the door, he
reaches forward, he grabs the boxer's shoulder, pulls him down, and he kisses him on the
cheek. It blushes so red beneath the burning heat of his lips. Taehyung whispers, so callous,
so warm, so fruitful, "you're more monstrous than any of them."

&&&

Big Pig Presley has tattoos all along his neck, along his arms, his chest, a constant unzipping
pattern of his skin, as if gaps to reveal the true, dark innards. There are mementos of the war
sprawled across each of his arms, but Presley has personal love and devotion stitched into his
bicep also. Jungkook sees it as the muscles flex, as he wields his saw like a trophy.

Jungkook had been expecting that — he supposes the gang had some sort of affinity for this
type of weaponry, and he supposes it's a sort of gimmick, something to get their name out
there, so different to Jimin's personal plans to blend in.

Jimin is smiling, it's hard, but it's a smile nonetheless, a steady disposition of confidence
adhered to him, and Taehyung looks as if chained to his side. Few people approach them, but
Taehyung is talking aimlessly to this one man with a greasy grin. Jimin doesn't offer much of
a reaction, squarely focused on Jungkook; and Taehyung's arm is wrapped up in his, quaintly
together, a silent reminder of the fact no one can touch him, not really.

Presley doesn't speak, but he yells. He roars like he's electric, like he himself is made of
machinery, a steel-ridden house of gore and atrocity. His face lurches like a demon's would,
beneath a black, leather mask, obscuring his identity, making the fat of his bulbous chin spill
out, and the crowd coo in a choir of mellifluous blasphemy. They spur him on, with his
overhanging stomach and titan frame that blocks Jungkook from the crowd at certain angles,
making him lame-brained enough to want to please them.

Jungkook doesn't have to rile himself up, despite the fact he knows this is life or death. For
some stupid reason, he trusts what that fiendish Park Jimin had said, believes him when he
says he'll win — why would he lie? If he wanted rid of Jungkook, there's more fun ways for
such a thing to occur.

He doesn't have time to dwell on it, too busy dodging the behemoth's advances, wondering if
it truly is the echo of his future fate that tugs out all his movements. He doesn't have to think
too much about how he fights, he never has, and he wonders if it was just destiny that had
granted him such an ability.

In a sense, he supposes he owes a little of it to Lee Doh, who'd found him fighting in dirty
alleys, malnourished, poor, angry; he'd taught him the art of anger, had shown him the path to
monetising it. Of course, as it turns out, it was all a ploy, a means of tying strings to his
wrists, to his ankles, using him as a puppet that dances and bleeds, begging for coins.
Everything is a game in this life, he supposes, and he's got to learn how to play it.

That's what he'd done with boxing. "You're like a gladiator, ain't ya? They pay to watch ya
get hurt, it entertains 'em. You get more money bein' the underdog." That's what Doh had told
him, and it's that same sage, ugly notion that forces his body to work as it does. He's learned
how to play this game, knows it so well; he knows people hardly know him on this side of
town, he knows they don't see him as a threat for Big Pig Presley, but that's exactly what can
secure him the win.

The crowd, filled with sweaty bodies, contaminated by the stench of poor, gormless varmint,
all howl wonderfully at the way Jungkook suddenly swings for him. It lands with
a thwack against the leather mask and hurts his own hand. This isn't a boxing match, not
really, it's just a fight, and Jungkook has been marching into those all his life. There are no
rules, and he best operates beneath that pretence, within the realms of chaos, wherein it's pure
anger that surges from him.

His knee reels forward and slams into the man's gut, so hard against that layer of fat, it
practically bounces off him. He snarls, Presley actually growls, grunts, stands more or less
unaffected, and his frighteningly normal teeth bare, a wad of spit falling out. In a swift swipe,
he slams his fist into the side of Jungkook's head — it's pure, human strength that he feels, as
his body is shoved sideways, and it ruptures against his skin, makes his ears ring and his
blood slosh.

His entire body becomes somewhat desensitised by the velocity of that hit, and thus he's
filled with nothing else but rage.

Grabbing the larger man by his shoulders, Jungkook uses him to rise his body from the
ground momentarily, slamming their heads together. He's like a slab of pavement — hardly
even reacts. Thus, Jungkook tries again, punches him repeatedly in the face, hooks from each
side, from beneath, and Presley sways, and grunts, but his body seems so steady, so still, like
a real, unbeatable monster.

The boxer is thankful for his own stamina, as it allows him to keep it up, even as various
objects are thrust onto the platform; the crowd is going absolutely wild, tossing money,
jewels, knives and spit. Jungkook doesn't want to pick up one of those knives until he has no
other choice, as he doesn't like weapons, doesn't like death to be unnatural. It's an odd thing
to care about, but he can't help it.
He delivers a harsh kick to his opponent's inner thigh, just brushing his privates, which is
what seems to finally spark the buffoon awake again. Any sense of confidence Jungkook had
managed to grasp at vanishes in an instant, as Presley laughs. Yes, he laughs, chuckles, dumb
and slow, as if he's not capable of any other such sound. It tumbles from his wide throat and
evenly submerges itself across the audience, who all seem to know what that laugh means.

Without warning, the man slashes his saw, waves it just inches from Jungkook's face. His
footsteps are thunderous, and they physically shake the platform, as he inches toward the
younger, his instrument of death getting closer and closer with each movement. The ravenette
has no choice but to dodge, to move backward, and he keeps it up till he meets the ropes of
the ring.

Closer and closer.

The air is so still, so silent, and adrenaline rushes through Jungkook's body, so much so, he
can hear nothing but that guzzling sensation of immediate demise in his liver.

The hollering crowd are silent in his ears.

Presley gargles out a snort, and this next render is intended to kill, his eyes, just discernible
through his mask, shining like death and diamonds, as he wields his weapon, directly swings
for the younger man's neck. It inches so close to Jungkook, and he can feel the cold horror of
demise touch his skin, can feel his soul reach out for it.

"To the left." He hears, in a whisper, a sort of guidance almost, that sounds so much like Kim
Taehyung. It forces his body to jerk to the side, and Presley lurches into the ropes of the ring,
the empty space Jungkook had left.

He almost tears them down, his whole body reeling into them, so calamitous, as he stretches
them out, nearly falls into the screaming larrikins in attendance, almost slicing them. They
cheer. They boo, wanting to see Jungkook dead.

Jungkook wants to disappoint them, and so he launches at the pig before he can find his
footing, sending his own boot into the man's hip, the sharp heels serving him well, slipping
into the pudge of the man's body. It's a harsh move, makes the man squirm slightly, like he
wasn't just a walking barrel of violence.

"Mean." Is what it sounds like he says, the emotion of it lost beneath his mask, so he just
sounds asinine and petulant. Blood drips out of him in ugly mahogany, and he scowls.
Dimwit.

His feet bound, and he moves so unpredictably, as he suddenly grabs Jungkook by the
shoulder, slams his body to ground, with this strange form of irritation, like Jungkook was a
fly he wanted to swat. Without thinking, the boxer reacts, and his instincts force him to kick
the man again, lurching his legs upward from his position, with his back slammed against the
ground. His heels are like knives — his own secret weapon, and thus, he realises why Jimin
wanted him to have them.

More blood spurts.

Presley whines, and, if Jungkook were more coherent, he may feel a little bad for this man,
who was so obviously being used by the Saw Sloggers; if Jungkook is the gladiator, then this
brute is a lion, the ultimate fighter, the ultimate show, unleashed and generally unbeatable,
starved enough that he won't even attempt a hint at thought as he fights. He does what they
want. He doesn't know how to play the game.

"Ow." He frowns. Jungkook watches how his mask scrunches and his choler sprawls across
him. He seems to also act on instinct, as he launches the saw against Jungkook's head again.
The boxer rolls away, stealthy.

Presley doesn't stop, simply thrashes as if a man possessed. He looms over the younger,
swiping and hitting and batting and groaning, and, eventually, he's stood with one lumbering,
prison bar of a leg on either side of the other's body, trapping him. Jungkook squirms, his
heart picks up.

He feels sick. He feels like the moon is frowning at him, just beyond this man's shoulder, as if
condemning his hubris; that, or his naivety, because he genuinely doesn't know why he'd
allowed himself to be so confident in destiny. That doesn't get you anything, if you want
something done, you do it yourself, even if that means losing all sense of reality. Magic is a
fallacy that pretty persons sprinkle down on mortals with every bat of their eyelashes, until
those poor soul's have lungs filled with pixie dust and they cough and splutter and suffocate
and die. Death awaits him, he looks into the jaws of it, he doesn't think he can escape this
one; he should've never trusted a fucking vampire.

He writhes a little. Blood sloshes in his ears. It drips down the sides of Presley's body. His
body that smells of malt liquor and bubble bath. His body that's moving rapidly. His body
that brings his saw right up over his head. His body that glows with the uproar of the crowd.
His body that brings the saw down, down, down.

The world moves in slow motion, as if punishing Jungkook with the idea of doom for a
while, his final moments caught in a time loop.

His heart seems to stop working.

His mind doesn't ache.

His bones feel so soft.

His eyes are so wide; frozen.

Silence.

A roar.

Then, a whisper, "Your hand."

And, before he can even think, he pulls his hand forward, protecting his face. The blunt, rigid
edge of the saw slices straight across his palm. Blood pours out of him, harsh, harsh; it's
stronger the more pressure he applies, the more he pushes against it. He uses this to his
advantage, the amount of effort Presley is putting into it, all his weight going into it, as
Jungkook suddenly lets go, as he slams his hand to the ground and shoves his face away,
toward the man's leg. He's a little cocky with it, so elated by the fact he shakes the man, he
forgets the move his hand away, his fresh cut pressing into the floor where his head had just
been.

Startled, Presley changes the course of his weapon and it juts a little sideways, slamming
straight into the ground, as he loses balance with how far forward his arm is forced to go. The
slice is quick, avid, and the blunt saw, with all it's rusty edges and diseases, goes straight
through Jungkook's soft, pliant flesh, forcing his supple, painful tendons to burst with nerves
of agony. Presley is like a butcher, so perfect in his craft, Jungkook will give him that,
because the way in which he manages to cleanly slice through the joint of his wrist is
positively utopian.

He splits it apart.

Jungkook doesn't feel it. He doesn't even really notice the fact his hand is no longer attached
to his body, and his gaping wrist is bubbling out blood, too focused on the fact he's alive. He's
alive.

He doesn't scream, doesn't really feel any pain, but he hears Taehyung gasp in his head. And
he feels Jimin trying to tug at his arm.

He doesn't care to think things through. Instead, he uses Presley's pride to catch him off
guard, launching his knee into the man's testicles, causing him to double over, his lack of
balance helping him to topple to the ground.

His knees hit the floor, and Jungkook jumps up.

His stump for a hand make the crowd smile. He feels as if on drugs, as if this is all one
surrealist segment of a macabre sort of show. He hardly feels as if he's looking at his own
body, because he's never been able to see his insides like this; his bones are in view, sticking
through that fleshy pulp of his tendons, blood trickling down what remains of his arms. It
seems to pulsate, like meat that's being tendered, like Presley truly was a butcher.

Jungkook can be sick later. For now, he uses that horrific momentum to thrust his elbow into
the back of the beast's head. He falls to to floor, face first. A gargantuan thud echos. The
crowd is quiet.

Jungkook stares at his severed hand, feels the gore spill from it, like a phantom limb. It's so
painful all of a sudden, like his receptors for agony finally catch up and scream that he only
has one hand. It's like salt is being sprinkled onto that wound, constant, steady.

He only has one hand.

He can't fight with one hand. He can't box. The one thing in the world he could make a living
out of, and it's gone. Torn away from him with all these horrendous curdles of blood.
 Without a hint of remorse, he uses his feet, he slams that thick, sharp heel into the back of the
man's neck. It bursts through his cervical cord. Ichor rains down on them.

He stomps down again. And again. And again.

Chapter End Notes

hey, okay, sorry this chapter was relatively short compared to some of the others. i'm in
the middle of exams, and i'm so stressed, so my ability to write has just completely
vanished lmao. but god i hope this was okay? i promise the next update will have a lot
of vminkook and hopefully i can make it a bit longer ;) but anyway, thank you for
sticking with me!!! i appreciate all the nice comments and kudos so much!1 <3333
 Chapter 14
Chapter Notes

hi!
ok, pre-warning for smut at the start ;) and then a little bit of (not too graphic) violence
at the end!
enjoy <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Once again, Jungkook finds himself in Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung's bedroom. He hears
the amiable flutter of their voices, so light and sopping with devotion, stumbling through the
rainbow at the end of Jungkook's daydream; the colours rain down the scene of stormy
sunshine, splattered by the pink rain. Candy cane trees and marshmallow grass, the stained
glass world caves into itself, in his dream. The rain turns dark, turns to iron, and the candy
floss people melt into sugary lidos of gore, like little puddles of people, dripping down into
themselves, burning down beneath the glazing of Hell.

His dream is disrupted by violence. And, yet, his waking state is flooded by something
distinctly like a daffodil.

One eye slowly peeling open, he feels as if in a state of sleep paralysis, as he can hardly
move, only having the ability to watch as blurry figures transition to stable visions of people.

Taehyung is sat on the end of the bed, and he looks at Jungkook as if it's the first time he's
ever seen him, head tilted, eyes narrow. Jungkook barely even registers him or his position,
so bleary-eyed and incoherent. He doesn't even notice the cold body that is right beside him,
until he feels a soft finger stroking the line of his jaw.

Any hesitance he had drops out of him, and he sits up properly, snaps his head around, sees
Park Jimin on a chair, right beside the bed, way too close for comfort.

"You're awake." Jimin announces, some hint of amusement clearly sparking in him. He grins
at Jungkook, in that lopsided manner of his, eyes grieving and vermillion, teeth a little sharp.

"I'm—" Jungkook begins, stops himself, and flickers his eyes all around the room, watching
Taehyung, who looks like he's inched slightly closer, watching Jimin, who smiles delicately,
and looking down at himself, at his body in cashmere, his comfortable, soothed body. There's
not a single ache or itch and he feels like heaven. "I'm alive." He finishes, almost like a
question.

"You're alive." The oldest laughs, so jolly and sweet, like sticks of cinnamon and rinds of
clementine. "You're looking pretty great, actually. Tae fixed you up so well." He purrs, and
Jungkook isn't sure whether it's malicious or comforting.
Taehyung is a lot closer now. He's right next to Jungkook on the bed, on his knees, leaning
over him slightly as he presents him with a cup — it's a china teacup, with little lilac flowers
eddying themselves across it's surface. "More of those painkillers." He explains the
substance, his voice so tranquil, so drippy and slow, like his song is leaking through a
wondrous dreamworld.

Jungkook wants to tell him he doesn't need it, that he doesn't feel any pain, but Taehyung's
eyes are ripe with an expression Jungkook thinks looks like anticipation. He doesn't pour it
into the boxer's mouth this time, simply waits for him to take it.

Jungkook does, not thinking, not looking away, keeping his gaze locked onto the blonde's.
Slowly, he takes the teacup to his hand, and, slowly, he takes a sip. It feels like sweet-pea and
honeysuckle, daintily dragging across his tastebuds, down his throat, into his pit of a
stomach. "Thank you." He says, as he brings the cup slightly away from him.

Taehyung doesn't say anything, just stares at him, like he's waiting for something to happen,
like he'd poisoned the liquid or something. A little unnerved, the boxer turns his head toward
Jimin, who, surprisingly, looks just as grave, though his expression is a tad more drab, more
drenched in something slightly amused. He's leaned closer also, and if he could draw breaths,
it looks as though they'd be bated. Jungkook can't help but be perplexed. He frowns.

Then, coolly, Jimin merely nods his head downward, making the younger's eyes follow, until
he's staring directly at the teacup. Jungkook looks at the pale, daffodil yellow liquid, frowns
deeper. "Wha—" He begins, but then he stops. Immediately. His whole body goes rigid
instantly, and he comes to realise they weren't looking at the cup at all, no, what they were
looking at was his hand.

His hand.

His fucking hand.

Jungkook drops the teacup. The elixir spills all across their silk sheets.

"My hand!" He yells, and he almost screams, but his throat doesn't feel capable. His eyes
must be comically wide, as he stares at his own body part. His hand, his hand that wasn't
there a few hours ago. His hand that had been separated from him. His hand that had been cut
off. It's there. It's fine. It can move; it can pick up stuff; it can be seen. "What the fuck." He
bursts out, tearing his eyes away from it, and glaring at Taehyung, or, perhaps his features are
more pleading. "What did you— it's— I lost it."

"Shhh," The blonde just smiles, a little benign, and places his own hand upon the man's
shoulder, leaning so close now. "It's back."

"But—" Jungkook desperately runs the fingers of his other hand over his wrist, trying to find
any hint of stitches, of a wound, of even a little mark. There's nothing. In fact, the whole area
looks cleaner and less calloused than it has done in years. "This is—"

"We told you Tae's a very skilled medic, didn't we?" Jimin suddenly inputs, his smugness so
overwhelming in this instance.
"But you can't just reattach a hand like that." He snaps, and he doesn't mean to, but he's
freaking out, he's not sure what to do, what to say; he thinks he might be dreaming.

Taehyung and Jimin share a look. The former giggles, voice warm and soft, "I didn't reattach
it, silly." Jungkook ogles at him. His smile is so blinding, as he whispers, "I helped you grow
a new one."

"Grow a new one." Jungkook repeats, his eyes so wide he thinks they may fall out of his
skull, and then perhaps Taehyung can grow him a new pair; perhaps a pair that actually make
sense of what they're viewing. "But... that's not..."

"Of course it's possible." Jimin tells him, fills in the blank space, and, in a languorous
projection of his arm, he reaches across Jungkook's body and gently takes Taehyung's hand,
stroking his thumb across it. "He's got such a magical mind." He smiles.

Taehyung almost blushes, and he pulls his entire body into a smile.

"But this is..." Jungkook repeats, forlorn, confused, "this is my hand." He flexes the fingers
and he stares at the tattoo just beneath his thumb. His tattoo from his own hand, his old one,
the one that had been chopped off.

"Yes." The blonde agrees, and offers him a sort of explanation. "It's not so much a new
hand, as it is a reestablished version of the previous one. The same in every way, just...
cleaner, newer." The boxer just watches him. "I could've reattached the old one, of course,
but, should anything happen to this new one, well, it will be a lot easier for me to repair
again."

Jungkook gulps, as the words sound strangely ominous in his mind.

Taehyung looks down at the spilled potion, tells him, "that stuff will help you get the feeling
back in it. You can feel now, of course, but you need to keep touching things.. need to let it
understand that it's here to stay."

Jungkook bends and flexes his fingers again. His voice is hoarse and desolate as he whispers
out, "you're talking about it like it's a living creature of its own right."

Taehyung laughs, shakes his head. "That would be silly." Jungkook bats his eyelids — he
doesn't think that would be any more ridiculous than this current situation. It's a little scary
though, to imagine this to be the truth, to fully inundate himself in the idea Taehyung had
managed to spawn a whole new body part for him in a matter of hours. Just what other things
is he capable of?

"So, this hand is... like, brand new." Jungkook repeats, trying to get his brain to actually
somewhat comprehend the idea.

Taehyung nods and tells him, so full of joy, "yes, and it should work just as well as the old
one."
It's silent for a moment too long, with the youngest amongst them wriggling his fingers
around, the feeling a little foreign, yet, he's entirely used to it all at once.

Without warning, Jimin releases the blonde's hand, and comes to clutch at Jungkook's new
one; he gently drags it, till his fingers are able to brush over the bones of Taehyung's wrist.
Without need for words, the blonde takes the hand, and he squeezes it. Jungkook feels it, he
feels the heat and pressure just as he would with his own, original mitt.

"You feel him?" Jimin asks, and Jungkook wonders whether it was meant to come out as
sensually as it does.

With a strange sort of gulp, Jungkook nods, his curiosity allowing for this to occur; if this is
real, they had saved him, they had given him back exactly what he needs to keep his boxing
career, to prevent his sister crying at him. He owes it to them and to himself to allow this.

The gangster keeps his grip loose around the younger's wrist, and he arduously begins to pull
the arm upward; Jungkook's fingers seem as if magnetically compelled to keep attached to
Taehyung's skin, as they start to drift up his forearm, sliding across the light hairs there, the
heat of his blood, the slender tone of his muscles and bones.

It's almost like the sense of touch in his hand is heightened, like his fingertips can not just
feel Taehyung's exterior, but they can feel all the glorious shimmers of his emotions and
organs just beneath his sheen of skin.

Jimin doesn't hesitate to push Jungkook's fingers beneath the sleeves of Taehyung's loose,
silk nightgown, to the areas of his soma where heat is most compressed. Jungkook finds
himself strangely impressed, or perhaps strangely tantalised by the way in which Taehyung
lets him touch him, all along his exterior, letting stars explode beneath every new
examination of touch.

Gently, Jimin pulls his hand back out. He trails it down the silk gown, all along the sides of
his ribs, letting Jungkook feel the pulsing beat of his heart. It thrums against his palm, as his
hand is placed squarely against his chest. It thrums and pumps beneath the flesh of his body,
and Jungkook's own heart jumps, as he feels like the one in Taehyung's chest is trying to leap
out into his palm.

He can feel so vividly; it's like he's in a completely lucid state, like he's discovering the world
for the first time, as if every flash of colour and spark of light is so new to his eyes. Even
with his old hand, he's never held such a beautiful creature, he's never been able to want to
clutch at it so much more.

Jimin's right up against the side of his ear, and Jungkook thinks he can feel the sharp scrape
of his teeth as he whispers at him — it's a warning of danger that bursts out of him and rests
like desire in Jungkook's stomach. He commands him, "touch his waist."

He's let go of his wrist. He's let go, but Jungkook still feels like he's not the one controlling
himself, as he does just that, slipping down the elegant fabric, trickling pads of feeling down
the waterfall of his body. He feels like Taehyung is water right now, like he can just reach
right through him, like he can feel every inch of him so meticulously, so intimately; it's like
he can bathe within his skin and bones.

"Hold it." Jimin says then, still right next to his ear, and Jungkook is so curious, is so
spellbound, he does just that. He clutches the skin of his waist through his clothes, feels the
way he shifts a little. His eyes drift upward and snag on Taehyung's face, so firmly attached
to the comely manner at which his luxurious joy twists at the corners of his mouth, at the
deep brown of his eyes.

His senses must be heightened, it must be to do with all those ungodly potions — why else
would he feel so excited by merely seeing a man express something so redolent to bliss?

"Look at his thighs."

Taehyung's thighs are on display, honey brown, honey baby. He's still kneeling above
Jungkook, yet he seems so small and malleable as the ravenette comes to clutch at the meat
of his thigh. Jimin chuckles in his ear, so damn rich.

Jungkook wonders if this is all about power for him; he knows he's too self-aware, but he
can't help but be at a battle with himself. He doesn't know whether he likes the fact he's able
to elicit such wonderful, breathless reactions from the intimidating dancer who is loved by all
and desired by more than all; or, perhaps, he's just drugged up, incoherent, powerless to fight
against this sinful, hazardous allure that is festooned across every aspect of the room, of the
scene.

He's not sure what he hopes to achieve. He's not sure what they hope to achieve. For some
reason, that uncertainty is quite marvellous.

Instinctively, his thumb starts to rub against the blonde's leg, courageously exploring the
golden expanses of skin. He dips down against his inner thigh, and he strokes so gently along
the flesh there. He watches the way the other man whines; loves the way his face scrunches
and then reopens, like a pretty flower, blooming into something so devilish and wanton.

"You feel him?" Jimin murmurs, low, a rumble.

Jungkook bites his chapped lips, and he can't look away from Taehyung's face, and his hand
draws slightly closer to his most imitate areas, loving the way his body twitches.

"Look at him." Jimin chuckles, almost scornful, "he's such a pretty darling, isn't he? So
desperate for you to hurry up and touch him." He's practically pressed against Jungkook's
back now, so close to him, he practically becomes one with him. His laugh is a little cruel and
it curls so beautifully against Jungkook's spine. "Oh, you should've heard how much he's
wanted this. God, he's such a little whore for you, Jungkook."

Jungkook doesn't know what it is that he adores so much about those words, but he feels his
own underwear become a little restrictive. He's never had this before, not with anyone, not
for anyone; the very idea of sex and desire has for so long repulsed him, that it seems to all
exude out of him in this moment. It's like every starving thought he'd been suppressing
suddenly unleashes from him full throttle, and, for a moment, he forgets why exactly he'd
avoided it so much. It feels so different now, this exposure to sexuality is so avid and smooth,
and it spreads all along his body, like this soft, supple daydream.

"You must know by now, I don't like to share my things with anyone." He purrs, and the
implication is enough to make Jungkook hungry. "But, I want you to touch him." He says,
and the boxer squeezes a little harder at his thigh, to the extent it must bruise. Taehyung
hisses slightly. Jungkook feels bad for a moment, before he looks up and realises the
man enjoyed it, yes, he actually found pleasure in being hurt. "C'mon, release all that tension,
Kook, let it all out on my baby."

Reacting in his usual manner, with his instincts taking over, he surges forward, letting himself
attack at those glorious thighs he remembers staring at the first time he'd seen Taehyung on
stage. He kisses them and he bites at them, yes bites, because he's got this strange urge to
mark him and make him hurt and make him writhe with all the pleasure of pain.

Jimin laughs, and his fingers are in Jungkook's hair, playing with the strands of delicate
black, letting him continue his ravishing of Taehyung's thighs, keeping him down there. He
leans forward and grabs the blonde by the neck with his other hand, pulling him down until
their lips meet. Their tongues come together in a passionate groan of belonging, and
Jungkook sucks a human bite into the blonde's leg.

Taehyung feels so good, their combined desire flaring in his blood, swirling around his
magical force, keeping it sustained, practically overflowing. His breaths come out ragtag and
dark, as Jimin swallows down all his shallow, little moans.

It doesn't last all that long, before Jimin's fingers in Jungkook's hair suddenly start to clutch,
and he pulls his face away from Taehyung. They stop kissing. Jungkook looks up at him,
confused. Jimin smiles, savage. "Don't over exert yourself pleasuring him." He rumbles out,
pulling the boxer's shoulder, so easily manoeuvring him, till his back is against the
headboard. "You've been through so much today." His cold fingers trail across the man's wrist
where stitches should be. "I think you deserve a thank you for all your hard work." Jungkook
runs out of breath, as he feels the way Jimin's lips press against the skin of his wrist, his pulse
thumping into the other's mouth. "Tae." He murmurs against Jungkook's bones. "Be a dear
and help our friend with his problem."

All their eyes fall to his crotch.

Taehyung's whine is guttural, and he sounds so glittering and magical, just as he does when
he sings, or even when he speaks, yet it's so much more heart-wrenching when his voice is
used in this sort of context.

Slowly, he comes to straddle Jungkook's outstretched legs, perching himself in his lap. Jimin
observes them from the side, still kissing along Jungkook's wrist, and feels the fizz of desire
in it, as Taehyung suddenly grinds his dancer's hips against Jungkook's hard dick, through his
clothes. The boxer's cheeks seem to cave into each other and he doesn't care to suppress his
groan.

Taehyung looks so blissful as he continues to rub their clothed members together, so

pleasingly restrictive and burning with friction. The only time he stops is when he suddenly
looks up and meets Jungkook's eyes. His eyes are like black fire. The flames lick up the walls
of his face, his whole expression ablaze with fantasy; he looks so appetisingly monstrous, just
as he does when he fights. Even in the great apogee of the blonde's imagination, he couldn't
ever envision his face looking so perfectly mean; he's every inch the wet-dream he'd wanted
him to be. He whines at him.

"Mm, you want him to suck you off?" Jimin mumbles, still kissing along the man's wrist,
leaving all these little tickles of sex behind.

"Do what?" Jungkook asks, breathless. He's not exactly the most experienced, and he's too
incoherently turned on to think through those words.

Jimin laughs. "You want to fuck his pretty mouth?"

Jungkook's own mouth is dry, and he glances forlornly towards Taehyung's lips, the way they
sparkle, red like fruit punch and blood, and they're slightly parted, as if begging to be filled.
He nods, desperately.

Jimin laughs again, and he gently nudges the blonde, so he sits further down on Jungkook's
legs. Without any chance for rebuttal, he unzips the boxer's trousers and helps to free him of
his undergarments. Jungkook isn't embarrassed in the slightest to be so exposed before these
licentious creatures of libido, no, he can't help but feel a little prideful at the way their
expressions are impossibly turned on. None of them bother to hide it.

"Go on, sweetheart," The older man coaxes, waggling his fingers, as if pulling Taehyung by a
string. The dancer leans forward and his back arches so wonderfully, Jungkook can see how
his spine curves, even beneath his silken uniform.

His tongue is warm. Warm like the heat of a pool on a sunny day, like tropical skies and
sexual cries; and then it's hot like hell, like the devil himself is fuelling the heat of his spit.
Passionately, expertly, he swirls his tongue around the head of Jungkook's cock. His eyes
look a little vermillion in this light, as he stares up at the man he's pleasuring, their eyes
caught in an iron grip.

"Shit." Jungkook hisses.

Taehyung smirks around him, and he leans back a little, sticks his pink tongue out fully, and
slowly, slowly, slowly, he drags it along the underside of the boxer's dick. His whole body
twitches with the wonderful sensation. Taehyung giggles. Yes, he laughs, like the vixen he is.
He licks up the man again and then he pulls back for a moment and licks his lips.

Jungkook just watches him, his eyes glued to the man's every movement.

He hungers for the swirl of the man's tongue, the way it spreads Jungkook's own pre-cum
across his red, glittering lips. "Fuck." He gulps, and the blonde just smiles, happy with the
reaction.

Without much warning, he dives in, enveloping the man's cock with his warm, wet mouth.
Jungkook rises his hips against it instantly. Taehyung's tongue strokes up and down his cock,
and his cheeks come to squeeze against it. He's slow as he moves his head off, licking around
the tip, and then plunging back down. He continues this excitedly, bobbing himself up and
down, gorging on all of Jungkook's reactions, that start from "fuck" and end with "you're so
damn good, shit."

It spurs the blonde on somehow, and he continues to sink his mouth onto the man's cock until
he feels him in the back of his throat.

"Oh shit." Jungkook's eyes roll up to meet the ceiling.

"You can move your hips." Jimin tells him, and it's more like an instruction than a suggestion.
The boxer takes a liking to the idea instantly, so begins to slowly pivot his hips forward,
using his prime physique to thrust his pelvis upward till he can reach the back of Taehyung's
throat himself. "Good," Jimin laughs, and he strokes at Taehyung's hair for a moment, as the
man lets his mouth get used. Then, devotedly, he clutches at the back of his skull and forces
him to keep in place. The blonde starts to gag. Jungkook feels a little concerned until Jimin
tells him with his daring, little smirk, "He likes it when you use him like the precious little
toy that he is."

Jungkook's eyes are wide open and his thrusts become a little demented. His palms lay flat in
the mattress, letting all his strength and agility go into fucking the man's mouth, that's being
held in place by the man's boyfriend. Taehyung is grinding his own hips against Jungkook's
knee — using him to get off, and he rather enjoys the feeling of that wet, incomparable desire
that influxes from him.

He keeps fucking into him, so fast, so hard, and his hips steadily start to ache, his body starts
to stutter.

"Cum in his mouth." Jimin whispers.

Jungkook groans down to the core of the earth, into the pits of hell, as he does just that,
releasing all his cum into the dancer's throat. Taehyung pulls off of him and he makes such a
fantastic show of swallowing it all, licking every last drop from his head, from his own lips,
Jungkook almost wants to cum again.

He thinks he might do just that.

As soon as the dancer swallows, Jimin is on him, biting down hard on the man's wrist and
Jungkook watches as all the blood pools out. He watches as the blonde whimpers; watches
how his face contorts into undeniable pleasure, as he releases himself.

Jungkook thinks he can get hard just from the image of Taehyung moaning, as Jimin sucks
his blood.

What the fuck has he done?

&&&

It's not that Jeon Jungkook has never had sex before, but the only time he had done it was
with a girl from the village he lived in before moving to Quellnex. He didn't particularly feel
anything for the notion, for her, but he'd sat beneath a tree and let her ride him, with her long,
cotton skirt still on. It'd been more for curiosity than to appease the laborious appetite of his
sexuality, as, truly, he didn't have much of a penchant for women, especially those with frilly
black curls and greying blouses and dozens of fruit-stained freckles. He hardly remembers
her name now, but he does remember how much she'd enjoyed it; she'd loved it a lot more
than he had.

This was different. What he'd just done was different. He hadn't just offered his body for
someone else's pleasure, he'd begged for another person to pleasure him. No, not just another
person, a man, two men. He'd let another man tug him around, and he'd let another man suck
his dick.

He's never cared enough to consider the idea of being gay, because that's not what he is. No,
he's not anything, because he doesn't do sex and gratification of that extent — no, he's all
about unleashing every single rampant emotion he's ever experienced into boxing, into
fighting. Sex is a coping mechanism, that's what his dad had taught him, and Jungkook had
shunned it, and he'd found his own mechanisms in the art of being aggressive.

But, somehow he didn't feel like what he'd done was to do with coping, in fact, it was so
much more beautiful than that; it was truly like he'd been drugged, like the whole room was
filled with steam, and every single painting began leaking oil, all the furniture seeping down
into plunge pools of wood and finery. All the lurid colours of magenta and maroon and violet
seemed but mere squiggles on the canvas of life, melting before his eyes, and dripping into a
sexual reverie.

He's not sure if that's the medicine he'd been fed or the fact his desire was so thick and
hedonistic it physically melted all the walls.

Still, it doesn't mean he's into them, into men, into anything; no, he was simply offering up a
means of trust. Intimacy of that description truly does bring people together. That's exactly
what he'd done, he'd brought all their lives closer to one another, let them seem more human
together.
He ignores that fact the most: the fact they're not human. It's bad enough they share the same
genitalia, the fact that they're not even of the same origin is too much for him to bear. This
fact must be very much apparent if Chung Uram's quizzical look is anything to go off of.

"You've got a new sofa." Is what he first says as he enters the empty apartment and sinks into
the plush, red leather. Yes, they have that as well. That's the main reason for him doing what
he'd done, Jungkook tells himself, because he gets so much money being with them, and
perhaps being even closer will get him more.

"We're getting the apartment done." Jungkook tells him, as he fixes the man up with a pot of
tea, the thing brewing wonderfully upon their new stove. Yes, the whole place is getting
done; they'd wrestled with the idea of moving out all together, but, eventually, they reminded
themselves of the reason for being there and chose refurbishments.

"Mm," Uram hums mindlessly. His voice is positively chipper as he continues, "I hear your
sister resigned from her job."

Jungkook raises a brow. Carefully, he considers how best to answer, wonders how the man
knew what she even did, how he knew she'd quit. He prepares the drinks for the man, his new
hand proving to be a little steadier than the old. Graciously, he makes his way to the coffee
table, gently tells him, "she did."

"That's good to hear." Uram smiles, and it's such a quaint sort of contortion to his features, it
makes him look so inherently kind. "That's not to say work involving such intimate exertions
is wrong, but it is a dangerous business and I'm glad you can rest easy knowing she isn't at
risk."

The boxer falters a little, and he sits beside the man, staring at him, as he fixes up his own
cup. His eyes are so wide, his heart so harsh in his chest, as if he's never heard such kind
words, as if no one had even pretended to care about his rest and his ease. "Thank you." He
replies evenly, and his hands are shaking a little, haven't stopped since he'd gotten home two
days ago in fact. Ara had been even angrier than before; she'd actually shoved him against the
wall and shouted in his face, even with Hanai in the next room. She'd settled down once he'd
explained the situation — he'd been in such a huge fight, he'd got so much money. She'd
kissed his head and hugged him. "She'll be around a lot more now, though, so, if you want to
meet again, you may have to find a better place."

"Yes." Uram agrees easily, and his teaspoon clinks delicately. "I think me showing up here
while you're starting to... go deeper, may arise a bit of suspicion." He pauses, adds a cube of
sugar. Two cubes. "I have a place. Me and the other people working on this case have a sort
of... well, a headquarters. It's a little way out of town, but, I can write you some directions."

"That's—" Jungkook pauses and his brows furrow together, taking in the other's words. "How
many people are working on this... whatever this is?" He brings his hands together, cups his
palms against one another, feeling all skin, all his own body.

"You'll see." Uram says, his voice ominous in a way Jungkook rather likes; in some odd way
he finds comfort in every part of this man. He's a figure of a friend that Jungkook has never
once sought to have, and his very presence tranquillises Jungkook somewhat, makes him feel
so grounded in humanity. "Do you want to tell me about your hand now?"

The boxer's fingers perform a squeezing motion. His head shakes, as if despairing. Eyes
narrow, he glares down at the floor, in a state of deep contemplation. "Can you just... can you
tell me why you're doing this?" Before Uram can answer, he continues on, making his point
clear, his voice a dribble of husk, "I mean, I know he's not human, I know he's not... not like
us. But, as far as I can see, he's only doing what any other gangster does. Why is getting rid
of him so important to you?"

The older man takes a long sip of his drink, expression soft. "I suppose I could tell you the
practical reason, hm?" He shakes his head, mumbles out, "I could tell you that such an unholy
creature doesn't deserve to exist, as he shall do nothing but reek havoc upon us mortals. Alas,
you're right, many of us are capable of similar atrocities. But, did it ever cross your mind
that other mobsters could be of the same origin as him?"

"You mean," Jungkook's brows knit together, perplexed, serious, "like... Kil Plexus?"

The man nods, even, shoulders twitching. "Yes, perhaps." He wets his lip, takes another swig.
"But, well, aside from my foolish hope to do society some good — that is not to say I'm a
martyr by any means, just a hopeful beggar — aside from that, I suppose I have a more...
personal vendetta, something that has given me cause to understand the true crimes that the
undead creature can commit."

"You do?"

His entire face clouds over, a forecast of grey skies and thunder storms swivelling across his
features. Something so stoic and serious trickles all across his body and he sits, shoulders
square, face rigid, he sits and he says, completely vehement, "Park Jimin massacred my entire
family."

&&&
"Hey, Ms Kim." Jungkook greets Kim Pulip for the first time in a while, standing on her
doorstep, this time not having to collect Hanai, as the girl was stood right beside him, along
with their other sister, all three of them, together. Since more of Ara's time was free, she'd
been able to stay with Hanai every night, even as Jungkook still went off to fights. He hasn't
seen Jimin or Taehyung since the incident, but Hoseok has shown up to give him money
outside of the ring, just as he had done at the start.

Today, Kim Pulip is in a strange sort of dress, floral and shapeless, coral-hued, as if a little
discoloured. Her eyes match that colour, all dreary and dull — they brighten into sparks of
yellow and white as soon as she sees the three of them, or, specifically Hanai, Jungkook
supposes.

"Oh, how lovely to see you." She grins, her slightly wonky teeth on display, her entire face a
little pale, as if she hadn't seen the light of the sun in months. Her wrinkly features look rather
splendid in their bristling lilt of splendour, as she goes to clutch the little girl's little fingers,
shaking them slightly, as if the motion means everything to her.

"We got you a present." Hanai declares, letting the woman gently caress her delicate paws.
She smiles so magnificently, her cheeks stained rose, her teeth bright white, projecting all the
physical radiance of the sun — a seraphic little child, comprised of sugar and spice,
completely void of any notion of impropriety. Jungkook wants for her to stay that way.

Pulip's smile is slow, as if her mind is too frozen solid to let the meanings of those words sink
in. Blithely, she looks toward the young man, who, she just notices, has a box in his hands.
"A present?" She repeats, like she can't quite comprehend the idea.

"Hanai says it's your birthday." Ara tells her, as softly and kindly as she can manage, gently
nudging the package in Jungkook's hand.

"Oh." The old woman has eyes so wide then, like she'd forgotten herself. Her grin is so sad as
she nods, and, in an agonisingly slow movement, she steps to the side, allowing them to see
the pathetic display she has within her echoey, empty apartment. Two thin, green balloons are
resting on the kitchen table, just barley visible in the dim lighting, and, between them, there's
a cake, with no frosting, just something yellow in colour, looking freshly handmade. Her
miserly birthday celebration. "You didn't need to get me anything." She laughs, but it comes
out so hopeful, so joyful.

"Is your son not coming?" Ara asks suddenly, and her face is pinched harshly together in the
way it does when she's annoyed. She seems very annoyed by the man she's never even met.

Pulip shrugs her shoulders, a far off look congregating in her trembling lip. "I suppose he's
busy with his new dog." She tells them, and all of them doubt the man had such a thing. They
wonder whether she truly believes that herself.

"Ah, that's a shame." Ara declares, her head nodding vehemently, grouchily.
"Open it, open it." Hanai suddenly bursts out, bouncing on the balls of her little plimsoles,
shaking the woman's hand.

"Oh, okay." Pulip agrees, and they all follow her inside, so they can place the box on the table
and she can open it more easily. The place smells of must; the floors are waxed with broken
dreams, the wallpaper a tad too sensationalist, with all their vivid flower petals and bird cages
— too many colours and too many ornaments clogging up any empty space, as if an empty
area shall force her to think about the emptiness of her existence.

Hanai's head only just reaches the top of the table, so Jungkook takes the liberty of hoisting
her into his arms so she can see the way Pulip's face seems to burst to life as soon as she sees
the gift. The transmogrification of her attributes is instant and she looks as if her original skin
was shed, so she's just a pink, plump vision of muscle. Her face is colourful with joy, her
mouth upturned, eyes delighted.

"Oh, an instant camera!" She declares, and she holds the object to herself — the very thing
she'd mentioned in passing all those months ago, the thing she'd wanted in order to better
preserve her memories and make her remember all the blue horizons along her veranda.

"Do you like it?" Ara asks, tongue between her teeth as she smiles.

"It's the most thoughtful thing...oh," She swings the object in her hands, brings it to her chest,
her smile so tear-jerking, "thank you, thank you."

Ara laughs slightly and she gently thunks her brother on the back, as she informs the woman,
"Jungkook picked it out."

"He did?" She coos, holding the item in one hand, while tugging his shirt with the other.
Jungkook tenses as he feels her kiss his cheek, so tender and motherly, so unlike anything
he's felt in eons. "You're such a lovely boy."

"It's nothing." He tries, his face a little red with all the positive attention, as if he was in
anyway deserving of it. "Take it as a thank you, for always looking after our Hanai."

The girl in his arms giggles, and she too seems overjoyed by the elation of the older woman,
such a wonderful exhibit of star-shine, she is. "I'd do it anytime." The woman tells him,
stroking the girl's hair.

When the older woman offers them some cake, Ara makes them accept. They all sit with her
for hours, despite Jungkook's reluctance, and the woman tells them about her son, and Hanai
tells them about her school classes — all is so whimsical and normal, Jungkook feels so
distinctly strange. He's never been in such a situation wherein he's been able to simply relax
and to have tea and cake with his sisters, with a sweet old woman, extending civil
conversation amongst them. He feels like he doesn't deserve it, feels like he's living a double
life.

When they finally leave back to their apartment, Hanai is giddy, and she immediately runs
into her room that she shares with Ara, leaving the two older siblings alone.
"I still can't believe you actually did that." The elder chuckles, her voice warm and a tad
hoarse from having to pretend to be so pleasant for all that time. She's hopping on one leg,
trying to unlatch the buckle of her shoe, laughing inwardly to herself, "you truly are a nice
guy, after all."

Jungkook furrows his brows, immediately annoyed, in the category of annoyance only his
sister was able to reach. "You had doubts?" He's already slipped out of his shoes, decidedly
having no plans for the night. He goes to grab something from the cupboard.

"Not as such." She shrugs, padding her flesh-coloured stockings against their new, clean
floor; refurbishments had scarcely begun, but they were already starting to get in full-swing,
trying to make their shabby house a home. How pitiful. "It's just... you know how you can
get."

The younger frowns again, and he pulls out a glass, filling it with water. He watches the way
his hand moves, the way it seems like his old, regular one — he sometimes wonders if he'd
just imagined it getting cut off in the first place. It all seems like some shuddering nightmare
to him now. He turns to her, taking a sip of his drink, and he observes how she settles herself
gracelessly against the settee.

Gruffly, he asks, "How can I get?"

Ara gives him a look through her slightly narrowed eyes. "Obsessive, aggressive,
idiosessive."

"That's not a word." He tells her, his lip quirking up slightly.

"Still counts." She nods to herself and she mimics his grin, her chin doubling slightly due to
how she's positioned, sprawled out in about as ugly a manner as she can manage. "I've missed
your smile, you know." She tells him, and she sounds a little drunk,
but Jungkook doubts it, none of them are much into alcohol.

He slowly walks toward her. "Had it gone somewhere?"

She sighs, heady, harsh, immense. "It seemed that way." She admits, a little coldly, and, as
Jungkook comes to sit beside her, she kicks her legs out, flexes her stocking-clad feet, and
she looks just like a child; it somewhat reminds the younger of how he's always idolised her,
how, when they were young, she taught him to climb trees and had protected him from ever
falling out. "It's strange," She laughs, swaying her feet around as if, somehow, all her chastity
and innocence has been restored. "Even though your work has gotten more violent and more
secretive, you seem happier."

"Happier?" He questions, without thinking. In truth, happiness is another one of those things
he doesn't think too much about — it's not a necessity, it's a nicety, a rare one at that, and
happiness seekers never truly seem to find it. It's as though they're too blinded by the wish to
be in that state, they can't really read the map that instructs them on how to reach it. He
doesn't care to look for happiness, so he doesn't care to think about whether he has it. How
could it be possible to have it even, in his current position? It must be the money, right?
"Mhm." She nods, draws out the sound, as if suggestive of something Jungkook is blissfully
unaware of. "What is it then? Could it be you've found something new? D'you find a nice girl
at that burlesque lounge you seem to frequent?"

The man's heart stops. He gulps down some water. "You know I'm not interested." He tells
her, some hint at the truth, like truth is a string and he's clutching it, bringing it down, testing
its tensile strength.

"Yeah, I know." She laughs.

It's silent for a moment, and she seems a little contemplative, as if she's trying to discern what
it could be that left such an unforeseeable change in her little brother. Jungkook doesn't like
it, he doesn't want her to know — yes, they swore to never keep secrets to this extent, but it's
not a secret if she doesn't ask. He doesn't have to lie that way. He doesn't have to pretend he's
not keeping anything from her. So, he flips it, asks her, "how about you? Is there anyone
you... like?" It comes out awkward, he knows, and in some corner of his memory, he thinks
he was once quite good at discussing this sort of thing.

Perhaps it was the war that taught him to forget such an ability.

Ara scoffs at him, and her head tips back a little, gifting him with a version of her splendid
laugh he hasn't heard in a while. "Wow, you truly have changed." She tells him, and her eyes
are this splendid shade of caramel, sparkling in the sun of her felicity. "You've never asked
me something like that before."

He pretends to frown, rolling his eyes a little, drinking more. "Fine, I won't ask again."

"Oh, don't be that way." She softens, tapping his bicep, perhaps it's more of an attempt at a
hit, but the man barely registers it. She continues on, with a hushed, "I didn't really get to
making friends in my old job." She tells him, rather enjoying how his features twist and curl,
as she says, "but, I don't know, there was a guy in the library a little while ago. I've been
going there a lot.. running into lots of different people, talking to them..." The short nail of
her thumb wedges itself between her teeth as she looks at her brother. "Does that bother
you?"

His brow immediately raises, gazing through the corners of his eye. "Why would that bother
me?"

Her pause is immense and personal and seems as if weighed down, made heavy by the
lingering clefts of uncertainty that clunks in her heart. Her head shakes, exhales, smiles with
white teeth, as she says, "It shouldn't." And Jungkook can't help but look at her a little
strangely, turning his head, trying to work her out. "Well, anyway, this guy I met..." She
continues, her words like ores that keep the boat of conversation flowing. "He was different,
you know? Like, he seemed to view me as an actual person. He told me about how they're
looking for people at his job."

"You want a new job?"

"Yes." She informs him, ready, "as much as I adore your wonderful business brain that's
allowed me freedom from that treacherous profession I once so heavily divulged in, it truly
did give me something to do with my time." She pauses, then quickly affirms, "I'm so
thankful to you, of course, I never enjoyed it, and that's not your fault, it's just..." Her mind is
cast back to when she'd first been forced to undertake such a role, how lonely, how shameful.
She peers back toward her brother and continues, "well, it was what we had to do. But now, I
want to get work that I'm not forced to do, but, rather, I like doing. You see?"

Jungkook nods, completely understanding. He finds himself rather lucky that he actually
enjoys the profession he's forced into — boxing has always been a passion, since he'd first
learned. He startles to think that he may rather enjoy what he does now as well, as the thought
of giving it up phases him somewhat. "I think you should go for it."

"Yeah?" She beams. "I think I will."

"Funny how we were talking about relationships though, and it turned into money." He says,
absently yet simultaneously intently.

"Yeah." She agrees, am emotionless laugh slipping through her lips. "Well, we can only have
one or the other." Her leg swings out a little wildly. "It seems like the fate of the Jeon's, no?"

&&&

Taehyung arrives early to the Sugar Lounge for many a reason; firstly, because it's practical
and he can always do with more practice; secondly, because Jimin has been so busy recently,
Taehyung finds himself bored on too often an occasion; and, thirdly, because there's this lust
for life that seems to squeeze at his heart for the time being, like this strange sort of desire to
be here, like a pull of destiny, a pull of the stars. He had briefly wondered if he should drop in
on Jungkook, who seemed to want a bit of space, but the pull of the galaxy was too much for
him to truly entertain the idea. Yes, that must be what it is, the singing whirlpool of stars
letting him bathe amongst their trembling modicum of burning hot gas, telling him he should
be here early.

So, he arrives in the summery flutter of noon and Yoongi is, as usual, behind the bar. The
lounge is open for business technically, but it's empty, because business booms at night, when
it's easier to mask your wrongdoings and your torrid fantasies. There's only a few dancers and
bartenders who desired to come by so early, lingering around the room, stretching all their
muscles out, sensual and flat.

"Bored?" The bartender inquires, not even looking up from the glass bowl of this pungent,
crimson liquid, but feeling the younger male approach, knowing, in an instant, it will be Kim
Taehyung.

The blonde does nothing but smile and hum, mildly annoyed by the way in which the man
knows him a little too well. He supposes, to Yoongi, a fellow witch, it must be so easy to
understand every emotion Taehyung exudes. Because that's one of their capabilities — they
can visually descry just how all your emotions and feelings slaver down your bodies in all
their bilious extractions.

Taehyung ignores him and pulls himself up to sit on the surface of the bar, his legs swinging
like a child in the open space. Yoongi's brow cocks, silently analysing the lack of care the
other places into touching his precious bar. The younger eyes the man's potion and, without
second thoughts, dips his finger into it, suckling on the bitter liquid. He pulls a face that
makes Yoongi laugh. "It's not done." He informs, mild in his sense at chastising.

"I can tell." The other retorts, all his features shuffling to ensure Yoongi knows just how
bitter and vile it is. "What is it?"

"It's supposed to be for guests."

Taehyung just nods, understanding. Yoongi is good with concoctions of this calibre, better
than Taehyung in fact, thus why he's the bartender. He always manages to blend such
indescribable hordes of flavour, enabling them to twist together and melt like paper sugar on
your tongue; they're infusions of blood cocktails that makes the experience of the lounge all
that much more exquisite. Such pretty poisons.

It's just as Yoongi is coming to finish his marvellous creation, that a man enters and the stars
align and Taehyung recognises his calling.

Kil Atomy. A self-appointed 'brother' of Plexus, of the Kil Crime Family, with a particularly
lovely arrangement of facial hairs; his skin is brown and ripe with the glow of fragmented
existence and his eyes are bright, like little ringlets of sunlight that coil like springs. He
smiles a killers smile and, immediately, he comes across so cruel and tacky, his teeth jagged
and white, like a shark. He's handsome in every sense of the word, even in the definitions that
make it seem so harsh and dark; because he's got this horrible sense of imminent danger
about him that makes him seem so unpredictable.

"Ah, you are open." He says, voice but an echo across the empty room.

A dancer coughs as she stretches her body on the stage — no lights, no makeup, just cream,
linen undergarments and a bending waist that snaps her stomach and juts out her hips.

"We are." Yoongi tells him, his voice melting back into the way it does when conversing with
customers he's forced to keep up civility with — people like Plexus, people like Jimin. "But
not for Kil's." He says solemnly.
But it's like Atomy hasn't heard him, he just nods gleefully and his cane clicks as he walks
toward them. Neither of them tense, neither seem to care, but there's a sort of unease
bubbling beneath the skin of the pair of them, because it truly is peculiar to have such a
person so close with them, to actually come to them, obviously with all the baggage of intent.
"Aww, but, your ravishing clairvoyant is here, too." He says, as he reaches them, his fingers
leaning forward, as if to cup Taehyung's chin. He stops them just short of contact.

"You want a reading?" The clairvoyant in question inquires, a little intrigued and a lot
disturbed. He hasn't given a proper reading in a while, not one for commercial gain at least —
he could enthuse many items with his magic: tarot cards, star charts, tea leaves, the whole
shebang, alas, he rarely did so. In fact, he truly only did it when Jimin had asked him to for
business, or when a few customers had gotten very curious. Yoongi had made a bit of a
gimmick out of it at first, until Jimin told him to stop because he didn't like it, for whatever
reason, and, so, only those who paid enough would get a reading.

Taehyung can see Atomy's pockets are stuffed with shiny, hard cash.

"Would you mind?" He asks, or pretends to, despite the fact everyone in the room knows that
he will do it, no matter what.

For the formality, Taehyung looks at Yoongi and the man gives him a shrug and a wary gaze.
"Jimin won't like it." His voice is low, resolute.

"He doesn't have to know." He chuckles.

Yoongi looks as if wanting to protest but Atomy is barging in, saying, "yeah, I'm just so
uncertain about the future, you see."

"You have to pay." Yoongi tells him, blunt.

Atomy chucks a wad of papers at him. Taehyung laughs at the display, a little enthralled by it
to some measly extent. Yoongi collects it, begrudging.

Taehyung's face settles into a smile. With his beckoning finger, he coaxes the man to follow
him, and they leave out of the door that leads to a few private rooms that a few of the
homeless dancers use to live and sleep, and sometimes take back their victims to, taking them
into their tarantula arms, wrapping them up in eight ropes of silk and death.

At the back of the hallway, just beside the stairs, there's a room that appears like a cupboard
from the outside, yet, the innards are large and gratifying and spacious. With sheets of
mulberry and indigo festooned across the walls, and charts of amethyst star shine and the
beautiful decoration of crystal balls, the room is every fortune-tellers wet dream, phoney or
not. It's got a permanent scent of incense about it, all humid spice and gentile zest, so
comforting and warm.

Taehyung sits down on the floor, just beside a very short-legged table and gestures for Atomy
to sit on the other side. With a smirking nod, he perches on the silk, cushioned ground and
lays his cane over his legs. He's not old, at least not in physicality, and he hasn't got any sort
of disability, yet he carries that thing around like he needs it, like a functionality.
"You want tarot?" The blonde inquires, and giggles intentionally at the way Atomy just
frowns, insuring that the blonde knows he doesn't know what that even means. Shrugging to
himself, he picks up his cards and begins to shuffle them — his hands moving so agilely and
professionally, as he shows off his little, whimsical tricks. "Say," He starts, as he carries on
his shuffle, looking at the way his own body moves. "Can you tell me why you were so
desperate to get your future read?"

Atomy narrows his eyes, and one of his feet is flat on the floor, his knee bent, the other
crooked and resting beneath it. If Taehyung were anyone else, he supposes he'd be a little
intimated by his stance. "Well, what with the tension arising between our two syndicates, I
don't particularly want to end up clueless."

"So you seek help in the den of the enemy?" One of Taehyung's own eyes narrows a little,
amused, and he splays the cards out across the table, his ringed fingers moving so elegantly
and slowly, engaging the other man.

The man shrugs, tilts his head side to side, pondering, then, in an even tone, he asks, "are you
suggesting you may trick me?"

The blonde shrugs. "I could do."

"Isn't it wrong to lie about what the cards say?"

The blonde raises a brow. "It's impossible." He confirms.

"Precisely." He grins, hostile and magnificent. "Besides, we aren't enemies yet. Our boss is
meeting with your Snake Eyes soon, is he not?"

Taehyung tries hard not to let any emotion show on his face. He's not sure how to answer that
question because he has no idea of the answer — he's been a little out of the loop lately, so
he's not always sure of what Jimin's planning. It seems unlikely that it would be this though.
Still, Atomy may be many things, but, in this situation, he comes across nothing but earnest.
Suddenly, a grave feeling sinks over Taehyung and he thinks he knows what the cards are
about to tell them.

"Pick three." He whispers.

Atomy seems smug, as if he certainly realises the weight of his words, and he silently draws
out his wonderfully sculptured hand and taps down on three separate cards. "You don't seem
to be involved in the business much."

"I prefer not to be." He informs, with a temporary sort of magic in his grin.

"Is that so?" Atomy clicks his head sideward. He looks suddenly so mechanical and a little
too much like Jimin, all his cruel, dark exposition leaking out of him full throttle.

Taehyung nods, moving all the other cards off the table, so only three remain, facing down.
With his most beautifully stark smile, he looks the man in the eye and they both watch keenly
as he flips the first one. It's a luridly coloured image of indistinguishable creatures howling
toward an ominous yellow being in the sky. "The Moon." Taehyung says, his tone dramatic,
in the way it tends to be when he enjoys his pretending too much.

"What does it mean?" Atomy asks, and he looks genuinely curious, his eyes a little wider.

"I sense there is something yet to be told in your future."

"Okay, that's a little vague." He twists his cane in his fingers, eyes intently set upon the
image.

"Tarot generally is." The blonde tells him, but he continues on anyway, "but, well, The Moon
especially is aligned with uncertainty." He giggles at the quirk of the older man's brow. He
says, "There is something amorphous surrounding you — an unknown shape, an obscurity,
that's beginning to swarm you. I feel... feel as if it bends legality, and, hm, well, it seems to
stem from you. Like an error in your own behaviour."

There's a small beat of silence.

They both stare at the card, and, eventually Atomy looks up with a scoff and he shakes his
head. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Taehyung smiles, cheeks red with bubbling splendour. "I am not talking, so much as I am
reading. I am merely feeling." Atomy's nostrils flare and it's clearly not the card he wanted,
not the fate he'd desired and the blonde is dangerously aware that sort of thing is what makes
these kind of men angry. Tentatively, he turns over the next card. "Oh dear," He sighs out,
voice deep and melodramatic, "the Three of Swords."

The other man glares down at the illustration: a great big red heart, bursting with blood, three
swords stabbed into it, making it all the more pathetically gory an image. "Is it supposed to
signify heartbreak?" He questions, his tone a little mistrusting, as if he would never be
capable of such a thing, as if he doesn't have a heart that beats wildly enough to actually give
love in the first place.

"It can." The blonde nods, honest. "But more so betrayal, that can be in a romantic sense, of
course, but, you don't really seem the romantic type."

It's teasing, but Atomy's unhinged, unpredictable persona has him a little grouchy at the
insinuation. "I'm sure the women I've been with would say otherwise." He grunts out, every
inch the archetypal caveman.

"Oh." Taehyung giggles, solid and undeterred — he's dealt with monsters of a much worse
temperament. "God. There's such a thick musk of masculinity that's accompanying this card.
I can't tell whether it's your own. Your intellectual prowess is to be put to the test, and I sense
a smouldering smoke burning against your skin."

The older man frowns, his dark skin crinkling at the forehead like scrunching paper. "Stop
with the riddles."
"It's no riddle." Taehyung retorts, almost offended. "I'm merely telling you what I'm picking
up."

"Okay." Atomy concedes, evidently not wishing to get into such a debate. His voice and tone
are haggard and half-hearted as he continues, "Well, if it pertains to betrayal, is it suggesting I
am to be betrayed or I am to betray someone else?"

Taehyung shrugs. "I can not tell you the specific events, I'm just reading the cards."

"You can though." He suddenly blurts out, like an accusation, like he's nagging, like he's
annoyed. Harshly, deeply, he says, "I hear you can read someone's future just by touching
them. Is that true?"

Biting his tongue between his back teeth, Taehyung looks the man up and down for a
moment. His assumption isn't entirely accurate, but it's close enough to irritate; he feels his
skin itch in absence of calm and he shakes his head, places on his best smile. "This is tarot."
He tells him.

"Mm," Atomy leans a little further away, surveying the blond for a short moment, looking
him up and down and all around. Suddenly he clicks his fingers and a horrific smile flushes
over his face. "Ah, yes! I recall where I'd seen you before — Cirque de la Terre, 1913." He
smiles so horrifically, Taehyung almost completely slinks back, the words shocking through
him. "Aw, was such a pity what happened. I remember the newspapers." He pouts and his
tongue clicks.

Taehyung gulps, and he can see the flare of victory in the other man's eyes, but he tries to
ignore it for the time being. He can't let his pride get in the way. So, tersely, he coughs and
says, "Let's just see the last card, shall we? Perhaps it shall indicate the back-stabber." It's a
king, Taehyung's right, sat on a throne, a sword in his right hand of the conscious mind. "The
King of Swords."

"More swords?" Atomy raises a brow, letting the other angle of conversation go.

"Yes. The King of Swords is bound to a throne of intellect and justice. The wise green-man is
rather accustomed to pulling at justice and manipulating it. Prying at it till it turns rotten."
Taehyung explains in brief, in a way that's easiest for the other to understand. "I feel as if that
could relate to you."

But, the other doesn't buy it. He looks at the blonde for a long, arduous moment and his
caramel eyes start to twist into red little droplets of blood. They rest so mahogany in his
sockets, uncomfortable and bursting, like a plump gut from a figure-hugging shirt. "You think
so, huh?" He questions, and he rubs one of his fingers across his chin, just beneath his lip, his
jaw clicking outward; his other hand is still clutching his cane, and his knuckles are turning
white with how harshly he holds it.

"You don't see yourself as having such great intellect it can easily be used to take advantage
of others?" The blonde asks back, quick, and it almost sounds like a compliment, but he
makes sure that it doesn't, makes sure to watch as those knuckles bleed to black; he doesn't
mind making him angry, he feels he knows what's to come.
Atomy's eyes are bloodshot, and his teeth somewhat seem sharper — but, it certainly must be
a flicker of the candlelight. "No. Unfortunately, I feel I know someone who better aligns with
such a vapid description."

They both know who. The knowledge sits amongst them like a whole separate entity, like
another participant in their conversation. A new stranger, a new enemy.

Taehyung doesn't get the chance to speak again, he can only watch as Atomy leans his whole
body across the table, right in the blonde's face. He smells like honey and heat, and his breath
fans all over the other's face. "I wonder if you'd considered the possibility I'm not as easily
fooled as the usual, rambunctious crowd, who flock to you and believe everything you say if
you flutter your pretty eyelashes at them."

Taehyung remains silent. Still and strong. He tries to look bored, if anything.

"No, I doubt you'd ever expect me to believe that I may be the one who was going to
betray you." The 'you' is collective, it's the Blood Snatchers he means really, Jimin mainly,
but Taehyung for the moment. "The only louse I know that's so inexplicably cunning and full
of enough guile to actually do such a thing when peace is trying to be made, is your stark
raving queer of a boss."

Taehyung is still silent.

Atomy's nostrils flare. "Well," He starts and he leans back again, and he looks so perfectly
calm for a moment, palms against the coquettish garments of the floor, so relaxed.

Then, his entire demeanour switches and there's a snap of his shoulder as his hand suddenly
reaches back out across the table and he grabs a fist of Taehyung's hair. Before Taehyung
thinks to react, his entire face is slammed into his little table, and his forehead throbs
instantly at the slight ringing sound he hears, buzzing all across his ears, straight through the
middle of his skull. His nose crunches with it, his forehead burning with a bruising sensation
he hasn't felt in so long.

It's silent for a moment, but Taehyung doesn't doubt he'll do it again. He does. He pulls the
dancer's head back and slams it again, just for good measure, as he rises to his feet. His anger
is seething and it seeps out of him so gloriously — in some horrid way, he reminds Taehyung
of Jungkook, a man who's such a slave to his temper, rising to anything that even mildly
offends him. Only difference is, Atomy has the power to do so and come off unscathed.

Most of the time.

Slowly, the blonde peels his head away from the table and he can see the blood from the
crunch of his nose, the battering of his forehead. He has to pry a card from his forehead and
the King of Swords is now covered in blood. He looks at the other man, who seems a little
unnerved by his lack of a real reaction.

Angry again, he makes a swiping motion with his cane, like he's going to whack the blonde
with it. He doesn't, just wants to get a reaction and comes out miffed when he's given no such
thing. No, because all Taehyung does is look, right down the black holes of his eyes. Atomy
 uses the cane to prop the man's chin up and he says, harshly, "tell Snake Eyes this is a
warning. I can do so much worse if he thinks about double-crossing us."

Taehyung says nothing.

It's only as Atomy seems happy he's got the message, that he leaves, making the door rattle
with how harshly he slams it behind him. It's only then that the blonde allows himself to hiss
in pain and lets something like a tear well up in his eye.

It trickles down his bloody face, so smooth, so slow, so graceful, so sensual. It slips down to
his chin, crossing over the bridge of his smile.

Chapter End Notes

ahhh sorry this chapter took a while to get out! school and work have been so hectic, it's
been hard to find time to sit down and immerse myself yk? but i hope this longggg
chapter was worth the wait! i know there was a LOT of plot points being set up here,
and i swear there will be more vminkook interactions in the next chapter ;) but also
aghhh the fortune-telling scene took me so long to try and get right - my friend taught
me everything about the cards and such and had to vigorously train me in how to write a
decent scene for this - i don't know if it's quite perfect, but it's hopefully good enough!!
anyway, thank you all so much for your sweet comments, it seriously made me so
motivated to get this chapter done! so thank you so much for sticking with me!! <3333
 Chapter 15
Chapter Notes

ok so trigger warning for another rather graphic torture scene at the end!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Jungkook is called to The Sugar Lounge to meet with Jimin, and it seems like it may be the
usual business, as he'd sounded to casual and faintly amused through the phone line. Still, the
boxer can't help the fact his entire body feels slightly more weighed down by guilt and fear as
he makes his way there. He's not sure what it is he feels guilty about: about lying to his sister
and pretending everything's fine, or, about siding with Uram and choosing to extract
information out of Jimin and Taehyung, or, perhaps it's the most obvious source of guilt, the
fact he'd drowned himself in the pleasure of the devil and he'd enjoyed how glorious it felt.

Despite what Uram had told him about Jimin; despite what he himself had actually seen the
man do; despite the fact he knows what he is, he can't help the buzz of excitement that bugs
him every time the phone rings and the prospect of it being Jimin dances in the ridiculous
confounds of his head.

He can't help the fact he's a fool.

Perhaps it's a spell they've put on him; that's what Uram seemed to suggest, at least, that
creatures like vampires and witches are physically made to appeal to you, to draw you in, all
so they can gain your trust and make you more delicious to tear apart.

He hasn't seen them since the night his hand was taken from him. So, he's somewhat nervous
to come into contact with them, not sure how he's going to interact with them. He suspects
they'll be more flirtatious than ever, perhaps they'll try something again, or, maybe they'll act
completely normal, perhaps this was just a ritualistic occurrence for the couple. Either way,
he's not sure how he should react to whatever they thrust at him, doesn't trust himself to give
the right response, no matter what.

However, he doesn't really expect to find a flustered state of being from either of them. Alas,
Park Jimin doesn't look anything short of panicked when Jungkook finds him, in a back
booth, his cigarette smoke a lot more red in its frothy eruptions that slide across the black-tar
of the dim room. He looks as if placed beneath a flickering spotlight, his cloud of gloom so
ostentatious, swarming him, a glittering mist of frustration and uncertainty. To some degree,
it's a little unsettling.

Jungkook nears him slowly, and he sees how fast the man's free hand is tapping against the
table, like in a state of cosmic anticipation, as if awaiting a great meteor of clarity to come
crashing down on him and scatter all his bones across a field of glory.
"Hello." The boxer says, being the first to speak, which, for some reason, is a feat that sits
rather uncomfortably on his tongue.

Jimin's eyes snap up to him, his face construed in such a way he looks rather like he hasn't
slept in months. Honestly, Jungkook isn't even sure whether he sleeps at all, but, if he does
need to, his current appearance gives off the impression he hasn't. With a nictitate of his
skeletal-looking finger against his cigarette, little speckles of silver grime dance in the waves
of the stage lights, flowing slowly to the table, landing in little splotches, all lento and
graceful.

"Greetings." He responds, congenial and slightly rough. There's something bitter and pungent
like a thick, lime cordial in his tone, like his saliva is made from the stuff, like it intertwines
itself amongst every word he unleashes. "Have a seat." He gestures to the booth, the opposite
side.

With a stiff clicking of his knees, Jungkook slips into the space and Jimin's eyes lock
instantly on his face, scanning all over him, as if he's missing something, like he needs
something. "Uh," Jungkook begins with a clearance of his phlegm-ridden throat, "is
everything alright?" The question is a little less awkward than he thought it would be — he's
generally not good at caring for other people.

"Maybe." Jimin says immediately, and his eyes are a little clearer from this angle, so,
Jungkook can see it's not bags that make the outer rims of them so dark, but something more
like makeup, like eyeliner, like ink. His skin is so perfectly unblemished, the boxer wonders
if he can get bags at all.

"Maybe?" He repeats, unsure, uncomfortable.

The vampire's teeth are flat as they stretch out his bottom lip, hooking into the dark thulian
shade of it. "I have an itch." He tells the other, and he looks a little angry, his hand coming
out to gesticulate in meaningless motions. "A bad feeling in my gut." He reestablishes, teeth
baring, nose flaring, eyes glaring.

"Oh." Jungkook knows his brows must furrow so deeply, but he's not sure how else to
respond, what he's meant to do. "Is it to do with why you called me here?"

Jimin shakes his head. "I don't think so."

"Why am I here?" The younger deadpans.

It's silent for a moment, and Jimin is just smoking away, his lightning rod of a cigarette
looking so strangely bright between his dull looking skin. He's like a thunderstorm all by
himself, with the cracks of the world rumbling through every breath he doesn't need to take.
Eventually, he asks, in a slightly less exasperated way, "how's your hand?"

The boxer's brow raises. "It's... well, it's fine. I thought it would be weird but I hardly even
remember that it's different."
Jimin's smile is quick and bleary, and it somewhat submerges itself beneath the searing grey
of his dove-wing vapour. The echoes of it slip into his distressed demeanour. "That's good."

"Is that why you asked me here? For a checkup?" He doesn't mean to bite out his words as he
does, but, as usual, he's in a place where he's caught off guard and he doesn't know what he's
meant to do. He can see the elephant that's sipping it's French 75 at the table with them.

A beautiful face slips so darkly through the headlights and bearings of smoke, and Jimin's
voice is deep as he says, "no." He drags out a pause, then continues, "it's because of my itch."
He nods decisively to himself.

Jungkook frowns harder. "You asked me to come because you have a bad feeling?"

"Yes." He smiles. "It's your job."

"I never signed a contract." He says, snarky.

Then, just as a snarky, Jimin responds, "oh? So, you don't want all the money you've earned
without a contract? Or, would it make it easier if you had a properly labelled position? I can
draw one up for you, if it will appease you, Jungkook." His tongue licks along the edge of his
teeth. "Though, I thought perhaps we've managed to reach such a position where
professionalism and formalities weren't such a necessity. I mean, after..." And he looks so
suggestively at the boxer now, his cheek bones rounding, curling into little bobs of apples, all
red and candy-floss sweet, deceptively so, as they bare such a flirtatious sensuality.
"After what's happened, I supposed an official, legal binding might be rather... bizarre."

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek. "It didn't mean anything." His defensiveness strikes
him and his fists are clenched and he decides his instincts can guide him as usual, because
they always get him the most. So, he lets his conscience take control. "I was high from all
those potions and drugs that were so clearly laced with something so... so... otherworldly."

Jimin's smug smile is weirdly comforting, as he's back to being somewhat reticent, relaxed
almost, how he usually is. "I was talking about the fights." He says, a ringing symbol of
laughter in his voice. "It's why I called you here as well, because when my nails are too sharp
to scratch my nagging itches, my human right hand is there." He drags his cigarette through
the air. "That's you, by the way." Jungkook feels ridiculous, but he knows the man had
wanted him to come to the conclusion he had, still, he feels a little embarrassed by his
defensiveness. "I figure, after all the illegal activities you've gotten into and been involved in,
it would be so strange to have something so legal and clean to bind us together."

Jungkook's jaw clenches. "I see."

The vampire leans back a little and finally stubs out the stick of horror. Slowly, he says,
"though, if you wish to get into the events of the other day, I'd be more than happy to indulge
you." Not giving the other the chance to interject he says, "I must first inform you that no
such underhand activities occurred. We may be creatures of questionable morality, but, well,
at least for me, entertaining relations with a person without a sane state of mind is not at all
fun." His sentiment is almost nice, but his words do nothing to instil comfort. "Of course, if it
makes you feel better to pretend you had no free will, then, very well, I have no qualms with
that."

And Jungkook so desperately wants to retort, wants to shout at him for being such a
hypocrite, for having such a temporary and malleable idea of virtue. How can he kill entire
families — like Uram's — and yet be so sound-minded when it comes to intercourse and
consent? He wants to question him, but he can't because a thundering patter of footsteps
interrupts.

"Jimin." It's Min Yoongi, and he looks annoyed, more so than he had when Jungkook had
first met him. Immediately, he recalls how the bartender had interacted with Jimin, how much
hatred he seemed to harbour, how much irritation. He makes a note to question him as to why
exactly he feels that way. For now, he focuses on the grumbling distress that slides down his
lithe, glittering body.

"What?" Jimin responds, and it's not a snap, more so a syllable spat with immense urgency,
and that look of immense panic comes back, bursts all across his features, trembling down
from his eyelashes.

"The show starts in ten minutes, but Taehyung won't leave his dressing room." As soon as his
name is mentioned, Jimin immediately seems more alert and, simultaneously, Jungkook feels
his own heart sink a little. He hates it.

The older man leans forward in his seat. "Do you know why?"

Yoongi bites his lip. He looks like he does. He just begrudgingly says, "you should probably
go talk to him."

Jimin doesn't miss a beat, standing from his seat, and his eyes look so unmistakably green-
grey as they land on Jungkook. "Come on." He instructs.

The boxer doesn't need to be told twice, curious and perhaps a little concerned. He doesn't
know why exactly Jimin wants him there, but he can't deny the fact he actually did want to
know what was going on, even if it was something as simple as Taehyung being tired or not
wanting to dance today.

Jungkook's heart fizzles and splits itself into a bubbling little broth, melting down to bubbles
within his bones; it feels like a cauldron of its own volition, as he's so uncomfortable,
walking through the backstages of the club. All the glamorous creatures are getting ready, all
monochrome peacocks, blending into a slur of a rainbow as Jungkook passes by them, only
acknowledging them through the corner of his eyes. Feathers and garters and chokers, all the
pretty beings glitter in their self-indulgent moonlight, lingerie and silk, coaxing him with all
their midnight whispers. He can't help but wonder how someone like Uram, with his crucifix-
necklace and values, would react to such a scene.

Jimin's fist hitting against the door of the dressing room at the back of the corridor is what
brings the boxer back to reality. It says 'KIM TAEHYUNG' in golden letters and it looks like
the most extravagant door of them all.
"Go away, Yoongi, I'm not dancing." Comes Taehyung's muffled voice, and he doesn't sound
sad at least, no, he's clearly alive, clearly breathing.

The gang leader doesn't waste time bargaining over whether he'll be let in, just simply swings
the door open, revealing a beautiful room, with a black vanity, a black wardrobe, a red chaise
lounge and a vast array of dark-tinted mirrors. Taehyung is sat at the vanity, facing away
from them, and he only turns as the door closes behind them.

"I said I'm not—" and he stops as soon as he sees them. Jimin is still as well. Jungkook thinks
his heart is the only thing moving, and it pulsates so magnificently in his chest. Blood
pumping, pumping, pumping.

He's holding a silken cloth to his nose, and, evidently, it contains some form of ice, like an ice
pack, pressing it to the place that's clearly injured. A solid purple circle sits on his forehead,
so easily discernible through his wisps of yellow locks. The room smells of burdock and
something iron-induced, and there's a myriad of items on his desk, a pestle and mortar beside
it. He's clearly making some sort of healing potion.

"Oh." He releases, as his eyes fall on the pair of them and he tries for a smile, but it comes
out pained and awkward.

Jungkook thinks Jimin's itch must be flaring up really badly right now. He can feel the droves
of heat rolling down the man's spine, and, as he glances at the side of his face, he sees how
much the man's jaw is clenched, his cheeks twisting inward, his eyes black and filled with
something so, so angry.

"What happened." It's not asked as a question, and it's spat through his gritted teeth. His teeth
that now boast two sharp canines. Jungkook sees the way they press into Jimin's own lip. He
also sees, in spite of the tremendous barrage of mirrors, Park Jimin doesn't cast a reflection in
a single one of them.

"I tripped?" Taehyung tries, jokes.

Evidently, it wasn't the right move, because, before Jungkook can blink, Jimin is right in front
of the blonde, crouching between the seated man's legs, clutching his thighs. Jungkook,
surprisingly, doesn't feel out of place, because he also feels this strange sense of anger for
Taehyung and he doesn't know why.

"Taehyung." Jimin persists, his tone so dark and desolate. His hand comes upward and,
gently, so gently, he pries the man's own hand away from his face, so they can all see the
mess of his bruised, red nose. His eyes are darker now, if possible, to the extent it's like he's
stolen the night's sky and kept it all for himself within his own body. Yet, his tone is still soft,
as he repeats, "what happened?"

Taehyung sucks in his cheeks and, if Jungkook didn't know better, he'd think the man was
about to cry. Or maybe he really was. Either way, it makes Jimin's grip on his thighs more
harsh. "You can't do anything, 'Min." He says, desperate and his voice cracks in a way that
makes the earth stop turning and makes both the other men in the room want to steady it.
"Just tell me what happened, sweetheart." He repeats again, and Jungkook can see how hard
it is for him to keep his patience — he'd know that look anywhere, because it follows him
everywhere he goes, it's part of him.

"Park Jimin, promise me." He tries, and he looks directly into the older man's eyes. "It's what
he wants, obviously, and if you do something—"

"Who, Tae? Just tell me and we can sort it out." His voice is so vindictive, and it trembles,
not able to keep itself up. It's so evident he's struggling to keep his cool.

Taehyung shakes his head, equally as stubborn. "No. Your way of sorting something out is
going to make things worse."

"Well, what do you expect me to do?" He growls, and there it is, a release of anger; but, it's
not such a burst or a roar like Jungkook's would be, it's subdued, subtle, scary. His eyes are
wide and Jungkook actually thinks he might topple over from how much aggression he feels
radiate from the man. "Look at you, darling, look at the mess they made of your face. You
really expect me to not do anything? You think I'd ever let someone touch you like that and
get away with it?"

"Jimin." Taehyung's lip trembles and his eyes are definitely watering now.

Jimin's grip softens, his tone too. With a hearty sigh, he shakes his head, and, gently, he
approaches him with a, "okay, we can decide together what we'll do — me, you and
Jungkook, okay?" The blonde looks toward the boxer who's stood by the door, arms crossed
over his chest, face set and dark. Taehyung nods, nods so instantly. Jimin almost smiles
properly. "Just tell us, who did this?"

With a gulp and an avoidance of eye contact, he admits, gradual, tense, shameful, "Kil
Atomy."

Jungkook sees Jimin's eyes turn red again, and he thinks he should be used to how horrific
they are, alas, all he can do is marvel at the expression they conjoin with, tantalised and
terrified. He doesn't manage to see him rise to his feet, he's just suddenly standing, his
vampire speed making his movements blur, a state of total monstrosity. Yes, his skin is
drained of all colour, his pupils seem to have burst, disappeared, till the entirety of his iris' is
deep crimson, his mind swimming with thoughts of blood and gore, so much so, it comes to
leak from any orifice it can. His teeth look longer as well, as if that were even possible —
they're so sharp, so wild.

He looks like a doll. Unreal. His features look as if mere brushes of paint, so gaudy and
almost kitschy, like opaque colours of the rainbow, like his eyes are cranberry juice — sour,
pungent, dark.

He looks downright terrifying, and his head clicks sideways on his neck, which almost looks
too thin, like his skin is being ironed against the rings of cartilage in his neck, every line of
his trachea visible. Gaunt and angular, the motion seems like he's going to snap himself in
half, and he does that thing where it's like there's something deep within him controlling the
action. Whatever it is that's within him, it seems to slurp the humanity out of him, leaving
him as an image of a beautiful, skeletal, anaemic monster.

His lips are still deeply red, still full of life. They open and release no breath. "Jungkook, go
find Hoseok—" He begins to say, but is stopped, by Taehyung, whose arms suddenly lurch
forward and wrap and around his waist, his seated position making it so he's the perfect
height to bury his bloody face into the vampire's stomach.

"You said you wouldn't." He says — nay, sobs, and, just as he had done before — a little
while ago, when Jungkook had fought Duri and Jimin had gotten so angry at the prospect of
him refusing to partake — Taehyung manages to calm him down instantly.

His neck snaps back and he looks down at the blonde who's sniffling into his stomach.
Jungkook can just about see the tears and blood that stain the bottom of his shirt. "Tae." His
voice is an ache, a cowering cry of desperation, cracking like a spine beneath the scrunch of a
hammer. Hand stroking through his hair, he keeps the blonde against him, comforting him.
"Don't cry." Taehyung grabs him tighter, leans in closer. Jimin exhales. "Please."

Jungkook stands awkwardly by the door and contemplates leaving, but the blonde suddenly
pulls his face away, twisting sideways, the top of his head resting against Jimin's abdominals.
His eyes look a little red, but there are no tears, just desperation, and he affixes that very
emotion onto Jungkook. One hand leaves Jimin, outstretches, coaxes the boxer forward until
Taehyung can grip his hand.

The younger really doesn't know why exactly he lets this happen, but he figures it would be
rather inhumane to pull away from such a distraught entity. That's the only reason he lets his
hand get squeezed. It's the only reason he looks so softly at the witch as well. The only
reason.

"Don't do anything, Minnie." Taehyung whispers, but he's looking at Jungkook.

Jungkook's looking at Jimin.

Jimin's looking at Taehyung.

His eyes are brown again and they're brown like love, like devotion, like warmth, like
canyons of wondrous anonymity. Muddy waters of freshly blooming flowers.

It looks so much like love.

He kisses the blonde on the top of the head. He whispers, so gently and so filled with
butterfly fondness, each bat of its wing sending shock-waves of love onto the scene. He
whispers, "I'm going to kill him, Taehyung."

Taehyung is still looking at Jungkook. His face is wet with blood and glittering tears and he
looks so incongruously bright as he smiles. Yes, he smiles so deeply at Jungkook.

He smiles and he looks so much like death.

&&&

When Jungkook first meets Kim Namjoon, it is under the unfortunate circumstances of
hellfire. He's a tall man, beautiful and terrifying, and he's got a smile that swims across his
face, drifting across the surface of his tan skin, like a delicate jasmine petal floating along a
dark veneer of spice-infused tea. His smile is angry though, and the petal seems to burn into
the sweltering liquid of his skin, and so the joy in it seems to shrivel and disintegrate, till his
chin is left charred and dripping with embers of falsity.

He's a very attractive monster, despite it.

It had been two days since the incident, and Jungkook had been waiting by the phone to be
called; he wasn't sure what he was going to be asked to do, what he even could do, but he
couldn't help but feel indebted to Taehyung. At least, that's what he'd thought about as he'd
sat by the telephone on his new sofa, chugging down orange juice with his new hand.

Jimin had given him directions here: a warehouse, dark and abandoned, as, evidently, the
Blood Snatchers seem rather fond of gloomy places. Now, Jungkook stands behind Jimin in a
small office room just above the rest of the warehouse, the man seated, his smoke curling out
of his mouth, his red eyes glinting harshly at anyone who dared to look. There's about four
other men in the room, all staring at him, and Jungkook can't help but be unsettled.

Namjoon, even without being introduced, immediately looked the most important. His gloves
match the gloves of everyone else in the room — black, velvet — yet his animosity surpasses
them all easily. In his knee-length coat of black, his body seems even more looming, slinking
into the tenebrosity of the room, like a shadow.
"You're sure about this, Jimin?" He asks, his voice a fumble, a detriment to the silence of the
room, filled with inquisition and husk.

The leader merely takes a drag of his cigarette, eyes narrow, face locked, dead set on his task,
not caring to think of anything else.

They're waiting.

Namjoon looks up toward Jungkook then, who, unfortunately, doesn't manage to shield his
discomfort quite as well as he usually would. The disastrous spells of anticipation and
emotional belligerence forces him into a state of aroused perturbation. One of Namjoon's
hands slams onto the metal table, and everyone turns to look, as he uses it to balance, leaning
all across it, stretching his other arm over Jimin's shoulder, holding it out to the boxer. "Kim
Namjoon." He tells him, and he has these disturbingly human indents of dimples compressed
into his undead face.

Slowly, Jungkook shakes at the man's gloved hand and, in a gruff voice, replies, "Jungkook."

Jimin looks up at them, watches how far Namjoon's smile seems so stretch, like it's a river,
whittling down unsteady rocks in order to make space for it's own gluttonous suspension of
liquid. "The boxer, right?" He nods to himself, voice dropping down an octave, and it's
evident he's about to say more, "Oh, I've heard a lot about you." His gloved fingers slip a
little, rub at the boxer's wrist, right against his pulse. "Such a quintessential technique of soul
killing, is what I've heard you have. Such a wondrous way of contorting your muscles to
weapons and pounding at the human mind." His hand latches more eagerly around
Jungkook's wrist then. "Such pretty, stretchy flesh, all pulsing and mangling, working to kill
and maim. You use it so well."

His eyes gleam red. His fangs jut out. Jimin suddenly brings his hand forward, forcing
Namjoon to release his grip on Jungkook.

"Don't fucking touch him." Is all he says, and, it's accompanied with a hiss, something so
strangely terrifying to hear from a humanoid creature, due to its animalistic nature. It's
enough for the older it seems, as, though Namjoon smirks a little, he holds both hands up in
surrender, obeys.

Jungkook can't help but feel a little like a child, and he's not too keen on the fact Jimin has
adopted the role of his protector. The feeling only lasts for an iota of a moment, before he
finds himself strangely thankful.

With wide eyes, he glances around the room, sees the rest of the men a little on edge, all
waiting, waiting.

"There's so much peace tonight, don't you think?" The older man, with his dimples and
hungry eyes, asks, and Jungkook sees how Jimin rolls his own eyes. "It's going to be such a
beautiful juxtaposition in a moment, and I believe that to be so poetic a disturbance to the
ideas of the night. It's a shame to meet Jimin's prized panjandrum during this most
melancholic of occasions." His face is a gleam of light, yet it's so close to the dark, he comes
across rather disturbing, as he addresses Jungkook, with a twirl of his hand. "I'm not usually
so advantageous," He continues, introducing his own personality it seems. "But, Jimin said it
would be better to be hungry for this." Jungkook thinks he might gulp. "I don't wish for you
to think poorly of me for my... lack of control. We're all angry here. We're all hungry."

In truth Jungkook didn't really think he had any right to think poorly of anyone, much less a
being who'd merely bared his teeth. Plus, he's not exactly looking to start a fight with a gang
of vampires while locked up in their warehouse. "It's fine." He tells the man, and he can't help
but wonder, as he looks at all the anaemic, starved, little monsters, why on earth he was
needed.

Namjoon grins down at Jimin. "He's so tough. Bet his blood would be so damn rich—"

"Can you just keep your mouth shut?" Jimin spits out, interrupts, and laces the entire room
with venom. His eyes are darker than anyone else's, and it's enough to make the subordinates
shrink back into the walls, casting themselves as shadows in this little play of corpses.

Namjoon, on the other hand, bites his bottom lip, and he nods to himself. He winks at
Jungkook. Jungkook raises an eyebrow.

The room is filled with silence again, and Jimin stubs out his cigarette. Quickly lights another
one. It's so tense, Jungkook thinks he's going to choke on the atmosphere, that's becoming so
heady and overrun with smoke, tangling itself to coils, ready to be stuffed into your throat.
He can feel Jimin's anger from here, can taste everyone's hunger, as they wait for, well,
whatever was going to happen.

His blood is cold. His heart is a knot. It's too tight to pump any bloody around his body, so it
just bobs up and down his ribcage.

It's almost too sudden, too soon, when the door swings open and the metal sound creates a
reverberation all across the room. Everyone stands to attention, but Jimin merely glances,
head still hooked low, anchored toward his own fingers.

Hoseok stands there, his eyes twisted into something so inherently catastrophic. His long
nails look longer than ever, and his face twitches into something pink. "He's awake." He
informs, his voice like doom.

Jungkook hasn't been filled in on anything, didn't even know they already had Atomy — who
he assumes Hoseok was talking about. It's not all that surprising they would be able to
capture the right hand man of the leader of one of the most notorious gangs in the city,
considering who they are, but still, he'll attest to being a little startled by the ease of it.

He wonders how they'd managed to stay on top for so long with such weak players — Duri
and Atomy clearly topple like chess pieces.

Jimin rolls his neck back, and they all listen to the click of his bones. In a surprisingly slow
motion, he stands, his chair scraping like nails on a chalkboard. "Jungkook." He gestures for
the man to follow him.

"What about—" Namjoon starts.

Jimin's smile stops him. "Patience."

The human boxer follows the vampire down the stairs, that chink and clink with each
metallic clunk of the older man's boots. Hoseok follows, slowly. He sits down on the bottom
step and lights up his own cigarette, causal, like there wasn't a man chained to a chair just
inches away from him.

As they reach the bottom of the staircase, the air suddenly feels so cool, so open. The empty
space pools out before them, and it truly does feel like jumping into a lagoon of ice-cold
water on a warm day that leaves sweat all down the back of your neck. Or, perhaps it's more
like falling off a ledge into dark waters of hell, with the souls of the damned clawing at your
funeral clothes, forcing you to stay down, to stay submerged.

"This is a nice place, Jimin." Atomy calls out at the man, and Jungkook immediately snaps
his head toward him, looks properly at the way in which his once handsome features look
rather dishevelled, disenfranchised by the manner in which he's arrived.

Jungkook remembers him from the fight, remembers how severe he'd looked the day he'd
killed Kil Duri, and it's almost like another reality now, to see him so filled with animated
aggression. There's no sense of composure, despite how much he tries to force it. No, he's
scared and he's angry and it's written all over his face.

"Thank you." The vampire replies, and he sounds composed, so stark a contrast to the
vehemence he'd displayed just moments ago in the office. With a puff of smoke, he takes a
step into the light, glittering like a state of purgatory, leaving the boxer to watch from the
dark. "I was worried it would be too dingy. You see, I'm rather fond of bright lights and
glamour, but, a dry old warehouse fits my idea of you better."

Atomy scoffs, his head dipping forward, and his hair falls in his face, black curls splaying all
across the strain of his skin — it looks like he himself is going to burst under the light and his
brown skin becomes a little electrified by a pigment of yellow.

Jungkook bites his lip at the notion Atomy could be a vampire too. He's not sure. He doesn't
know. But, isn't that what Uram had alluded to? All the gangsters of the underworld were
vampires or monsters of some kind? In which case, this probably would be much more
horrendous of an experience than Jungkook had first anticipated.

"I see you didn't take too kindly to my little message then." He simpers, and Jungkook
wonders where he gets the gall, to refer to what he did to Taehyung as a little message, right
in front of the man who'd been enraged by it.

Jimin's jaw ticks, Atomy clearly notices, as he chuckles more, his cheeks rounding in a
similar way that Jimin's do, as if filling with blood or venom.

"Is that what you call it?"

"Mm."
This time, it's the pink-haired vampire who scoffs and his glee is maniacal, like it's genuinely
created by a sense of catharsis at being able to be so cruel. "And yet, the message appeared a
little distorted, a little misjudged. I mean, if you meant it as a warning to me, you didn't do a
very good job, did you?"

"Didn't I?" One of his brows raise, cocks and twirls, suggestive, arrogant. "I mean, it sure
scared you enough to act so brashly. Bringing me here, tying me up, threatening me — it's
enough to start a war, you know?" His teeth bare, and they're flat, straight, white. "Surely
even you can't be conceited enough to think you can actually hurt me and not suffer any
repercussions?"

"You think yourself to be that important to Plexus?"

Atomy's nostrils flare. He smirks, scowls. "Surely you yourself must know
just how important I am. There's no Crime Family without me, I'm not just an asset, I'm the
goddamn framework. You can't hurt me."

Jungkook watches the way Jimin shakes his head, his gloved fingers slipping into his
pockets, his cigarette still in his mouth, so he talks around it in puddles of languor, "oh, you
poor, deluded fool." Atomy forces his features into something hard, something mean, though
his curiosity can't help but bleed through. "I do feel sorry for you, really, knowing just how
used you are by the person you deem your inferior. In fact, it's enough to actually make me
want to retreat on my advances, to enact some sort of mercy." He snaps his torso forward, a
jutting motion, enough so he's right in Atomy's face, as he laughs and, in a mocking timbre,
utters out, "but, then I remember what you did to my Taehyung and, well, I don't think I will
be able to shred even an ounce of remorse into what I'm going to do to you."

Atomy cranes his head upwards, and then Jungkook sees it, sees the flicker of orange in his
eyes, like a subdued flame of rage. "The little charade in which you truly pretend to care for
someone is rather amusing, I must admit, but, well, I'm not ever going to fall for the idea Park
Jimin, prince of blood and horror and mutilation, could ever hold such an affection."

Jimin smiles. Horrendous. "Is that why you did it, hm?" He bleeds out, each syllable like a
slew of indigestible horror. "You thought there truly wouldn't be any consequences for you?
You're blinded by this foolish notion that I don't care, and, I suppose that will be your
downfall."

There's something ironic there that Jungkook can't quite grasp.

He leans back for a moment. Atomy replies in a blood-curling tone, "and you say I'm
deluded."

One hand comes from Jimin's pocket, and Atomy is forced to watch, as he slowly peels his
cigarette from his mouth, drops it to the floor, drifts his foot over it, hovers, lowers, pushes,
harder, rubs, snubs.

"Oh." He undoes his own tie. "How sad it shall be for you to be torn from this world, with
your only legacy being known as a pawn who doesn't know himself to be a pawn. Born too
proud and full of anger, to ever fully understand just how easy he is to use."
Jungkook feels his stomach churn.

Jimin's tie drops to the floor. "It's unfortunate also how you refuse to accept the fact that it
wouldn't be me who betrays you." He undoes his top button. It pops. "Poor thing." He grips
the man's face in his hand, the other still stuffed in his pocket. Atomy's cheeks press together
and his eyes pop out a little, red, burning. "That's why you hurt him, huh? Or, it's the excuse
you gave him. You told him you thought I would try and betray you." Jimin tuts, shakes his
head. "We both know that's not true, don't we?"

Jungkook watches them, confused, and he sees the rage of agreement that spreads across
Atomy's features.

"Aw," Mocking, Jimin pouts, and his voice is suddenly harsher as he says, "I'd be impressed
if it wasn't Taehyung you used for your little game. If only you hadn't tried to use something I
cherish against me, if only you would've understood the extent of my devotion. I don't mind
killing you to start a war, I don't mind at all, because you hurt Taehyung and I'd start a war
over that any day."

Jungkook can see the 'extent of his devotion'. It's in the squeeze of his fingers, the inhuman
strength he pushes through them, enough to add enough pressure to permanently maim a
fellow creature of the night. It's startling for him. He wonders if that truly is it, if he truly did
care about Taehyung that much. Uram says vampires can't love, but what is this if not an ugly
version of it?

His other hand slithers out of his pocket, and he's squeezing hard enough that Atomy's mouth
is forced open and it almost looks like his strength is enough to permanently mould Atomy's
face that way.

"Jungkook." He beckons, and Jungkook feels his heart sink, watching as Jimin's free hand
calls him over. "Grab that watering can." He points to the stairs, toward where Hoseok is
nonchalantly leaning against them, reticent, reclined back, smoking, like he was posing for a
portrait. Without a word, his own gloved fingers hold out the silver object. He smirks, shows
all his teeth.

With thudding steps, Jungkook advances toward Jimin and almost jumps back as the vampire
turns to him. But, it's not out of fear nor disturbance, no, it's more so out of shock from how
his own emotions flutter like a bow against a violin string. He's so scared of the way he feels
a little gleeful, looking into Jimin's bright red eyes that smile back at him, soft like the devil.

Grabbing the boxer by his shirt, he pulls him so he's flush against him, the sides of their
bodies melting into one. Right against his ear, he purrs, "pour some on him."

Jungkook furrows his brows, and his mind wanders, wondering what exactly it could be thats
in the watering can that could actually do anything. He looks at Atomy, looks directly into his
pink eyes, watches the desperation that ripples in them. Curious, savagely so, he does as
instructed and lets little droplets of liquid pour out onto the man's knee. If it weren't for
Jimin's hand on the back of his shirt, he would've jerked back at the reaction.
The liquid seeps through the man's trousers, splashing across his skin with a hiss, like he's
being burned — he sizzles, like fresh meat. The sizzling, or burning, is hot enough to cause
steam, and thats hot enough to burn through the fabric of his trousers. A patch opens up, and
then another, and Jungkook realises it's not just the fabric that's burned away, but a layer of
his skin, so his entire knee is completely seared, bright salmon in colour, steaming.

"What the fuck." He releases, trying to move away but Jimin keeps him in place.

Atomy can't scream but it's clear he's in agony, his tears collecting in his eyes that glow red,
even in the whites. His legs shake, and his throat releases sounds similar to protests, but
Jimin's hand prevents them from being anything but gargles.

Jimin laughs in his ear. It's actually quite a horrifying sound, echoes all across the warehouse.
It scuttles down Jungkook's spine and he can't help the way he enjoys it.

"It's holy water." He announces, lets the words leak out into the boxer's ear, "burns like acid
on a vampire, you see." Jungkook remembers Uram telling him that, about repelling the light
of religion. "He's trying so hard to repel the tender touch of God, that he tears himself apart."
His laugh is so ugly it makes Jungkook feel a little giddy.

"Can it kill him?" He asks, horribly.

"Not quite, unfortunately." Jimin smiles. "It takes a lot more to kill a vampire."

Jungkook wants to ask him how, but he's not sure it's the right time. Plus, in some strange
way he finds it's rather nice to be trusted enough to hold a means of torturing a vampire right
next to one. Though, he supposes, even if he wanted to, it would do him no good to hurt
Jimin, or even to try. Even if he managed some, Hoseok could kill him as revenge before he
could even revel in the victory of momentary pain infliction.

He likes the idea of being trusted, anyway.

"But, if holy water hurts you. That means..." Jungkook gulps and he's equally horrified and
intrigued as he says, "you truly are the spawn of the devil."

Jimin laughs aloud, and clutches the man by the waist, so warm and delicate. "Oh, why, of
course, dear."

Jungkook feels himself go paler, and he thinks his legs are going to fold into themselves.

"These chains," Jimin continues, so lackadaisical, as he lets go of the man's face and grabs at
one of the objects keeping Atomy locked in place, and Jungkook realises why he's wearing
gloves. "They're laced with a similar compound, thus why he's trying not to struggle against
them."

"You fucking sadistic—" Atomy begins, and his voice is so high-pitched, like a scrape. But,
he's cut off as Jimin wraps his hand around Jungkook's and pours more holy water over the
man, this time on the thigh of his other leg, and this time, with a mouth that's able to scream.
Jungkook does recoil back with how shrill it is. He can't help but feel sick — he's hurt people
so often, so easily, yet he's never had to sit and watch them scream. It's not a particularly nice
sensation.

As the sizzling settles, there's now a large patch of his leg on display, unleashing steam, and
Atomy bites down onto his lip, his canines sharp, drawing blood out. His eyes are fully red
now.

"Is it too much for you?" Jimin asks then, his voice hushed and disturbingly soft, right against
Jungkook's neck.

His eyes are so wide, and he's about to reply but Atomy spits out, his voice deep, deep, deep,
rough like hell, "you won't fool me with that act — you're just pretending to care. You don't
really, you don't. You're as sick as they come, the worst of them, even before you were
turned. You've always been a twisted individual." It's weird how coherent he sounds, with a
voice so distorted by the depths of the abyss. "Your little bitch deserved what he got and I
wish I had done worse, I would love to see you pretend to care when you haven't got to. You
only do this to win his favour, so you can get him to fuck you and satiate your revolting
sexual perversions."

His eyes are bright red now and it's clear he's saying all this to irritate Jimin, to get the man
riled up, and it rings so similar to how Duri had teased Jungkook in the ring. He wonders if
they both had just accepted their fate and were calling out for a quick death. Or was it
something more? Jungkook doesn't know, he's too lost in how red Atomy's eyes are.

Jimin's eyes are redder.

He doesn't say anything, but his anger is thick, and it curls across the darkness of the room, in
much the same way a ball would ping around all the walls, thumping and bounding, playful
and out of place.

Jungkook watches as he just reels his fist away and then pulls it back, eyes a flash of Tophet,
anger a burst of Hades' love: a punch, a punch that Jungkook realises he wasn't lying about.
The punch is hard, harder than possible from a human, and Jungkook can hear the crack of
bones, the yell of agony, the cry of blood; his face looks like it may snap in half and, in that
moment, he understands why Jimin had needed someone who could punch like a human.

No person of the realm of the living could cause such an injury that's so similar to the mark a
hammer would make. If he hit a little harder, Jungkook's sure his fist would've gone straight
through the man's skull. It's still hard enough to completely shatter all the bones of his nose,
forcing it to cave inwards, the entire centre of his face having been split, all falling into itself,
like a black hole. It looks rather like he'd placed his face on a grenade, completely
dishevelled, in a state of no return.

"Tarda reverti erimus in inferno." Jimin's voice is a hiss from the pit, spewing latin from his
smile, and it's clear, even in all that rage, he'd controlled himself enough to keep Atomy alive,
well, as alive as an undead creature can be. He'd punched him hard enough to hurt, to leave a
great crater of pain in his skull, but enough to not deprive him of the horrors that still await
him.
Jungkook can't take his eyes off Atomy's face — it's the most horrific thing he's ever seen.
Truly, it appears as though he's made of plasticine, like clay, like something malleable and
easy to break apart.

He hardly even notices as Jimin calls for Hoseok, who goes to get Namjoon and the other
hungry vampires.

He only snaps out of his stupor as Jimin is pulling at his waist, pulling him out the room,
leaving them to ravish the vampire.

Vampires drinking another vampires blood. Killing him. As if the only way to kill him is to
have other vampires do it.

Could that be the only way?

As soon as they're outside, the whole world seems like it's been turned on it's head. Jungkook
can hear Atomy scream, and he's not sure if it's because he's still screaming inside or if it's an
echo within his memories.

"I'm sorry it came to that." Jimin tells him, already tugging out another cigarette. Jungkook
watches how steady the man is, how easily he manages to continue with his daily, mundane
tasks, despite what he'd just done. He observes his blood-stained gloves as they hold his
cigarette to his mouth. "I don't tend to get so angry, but, well, people go crazy when they're...
well...."

In love.

It's like a scream, or like another punch, like those words slam into Jungkook's mind with the
force of that inhuman fist.

He feels like a fool for so many reasons. His thoughts are like quicksand, and he can't help
sink into them; the main reason eating away at him, pulling him in, ridiculing him for ever
doubting that Jimin was as monstrous as he was told — he can't help but feel so damn stupid
for thinking that Uram could've been exaggerating, for thinking Jimin could truly be decent
underneath it all. He doesn't know why he'd sought to see some sense of good within him,
despite all he'd done, but seeing this, seeing how easily he could hurt if he wanted to, it does
nothing but make Jungkook want to run and hide.

"Jungkook?" Jimin's finger clicks in his face and he bursts from his daydream — from his
nightmare of Jimin picking him apart. "Please don't be wary. I don't tend to go that far," He
laughs, almost sheepish, but Jungkook knows better. "I mean, only when it's personal.
Besides, I already told you I'm not going to hurt you. You mean too much to me."

It's another thing to add onto the list, he supposes. The fact that he's allowed himself to
believe Jimin cares for him, to imagine that he could care for the vampire as well. He thinks
he must do. In some insane, devilish way, he thinks he must hold some sense of care for Park
Jimin. That's probably the most foolish thing of them all.
 Sure, Jungkook himself is no saint, he's no martyr, but he's still human enough to decide that
monsters and demons have no place on Earth, no matter how tempting they may be.

"It's okay," He answers, finally, and he shakes his head, looks up at the sky, at the apparent
God that may look down on him and shudder at all his perversions and desires toward unholy
beasts. "I get it."

"Good." Jimin smiles, a little brittle, but a smile nonetheless, and there's another pause where
both are struggling with whether to say what's on the tip of their tongues. Eventually, Jimin
says, with a jovial timbre in his voice, "I suppose it's important to note that when a vampire
can feel their life coming to an end, they tend to lash out." He laps his tongue across his
bottom lip. "If their immortality is threatened, they start to say anything they can, they lose
the parts of themselves that aren't mortal, you see? They become fully-fledged horrors."

"Is that..." Jungkook begins, pauses, and only starts up again when Jimin's eyes are
encouraging enough. "I mean, is that what happened with Kil Duri? He kept saying similar
kinds of shit."

The gangster takes in his words and his smile is like glass, transparent. "Perhaps. But, well,
he wasn't a vampire. Of course, he's probably seen enough of them die, has been around
enough of them to understand the ways in which we operate."

Jungkook nods, and he can't help the way he groans, rubbing his hands over his face, trying
to smooth it over with his own callouses. He glances at Jimin then, and he's not able to be
cunning in the way he wants, but he still says, "I just feel like there's so much I don't know.
About you, about your world, about magic. Hell, I don't even know what it was you were
talking about in there, about betrayal and everything. I have no idea what your goal is, I don't
know what I'm fighting for with you. I don't like being out of the loop."

Jimin just smiles at him, and it's a smile of something so coruscating with knowledge. With a
wink, he tells him, "I'll tell you everything in good time."

Chapter End Notes

ahh ok so im sorry i'm a total sucker for a character (or characters) getting pissed coz
their love interest is hurt trope! so this chapter is near enough just me being purely self-
indulgent and exercising that. but, of course, it is filled with a lot of important plot
points, and, i'm sure what jimin said to atomy may be slightly confusing, but i swear, if i
do this right, it should all come together! but yeah poor jungkook is really going through
it, he really doesn't know what to feel or what to do!
ahhh anyway let me know your thoughts and i want to give a big thank you for the
support you give me. it makes me so excited to write!! ;D
 Chapter 16
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Chung Uram is waiting for Jungkook that next morning. Upon getting home from his
sickening, morality-bending experience, the boxer had telephoned him, and the elder gifted
him the address to their headquarters. It truly is a little out of town, and it's plenty
inconspicuous, residing in the suburbs of the wealthy — a large, brick building, blended in
with all the others on the street. Jungkook thinks he probably would've looked right passed it
if he hadn't seen Uram stood outside.

Tipping his hat to the younger man, Uram welcomes him through the large, red door with a
sense of eagerness that almost strikes Jungkook as odd. Still, he can't help the fact he's vastly
on edge since last night; in fact he'd been overcome with a sense of paranoia since he got
home, thinking Jimin could be anywhere; could already know of his plan, could have
followed him here; hell, he could've shape-shifted into one of the pigeons Jungkook had
walked passed for all he knew.

His sense of unease heightens everything else, and his state of reality is somewhat distorted,
sent into a blur of hypersensitivity wherein every thought or feeling he'd ever suppressed is
laid out before him, volatile and polychromatic.

He's reached a point where he can no longer exist in a state of peace — no longer can he
relax on the fence, me must choose which side to hop off of; he must choose between morals
and money.

Uram brings him through the house which, in some strange way, bares a little resemblance to
Jimin's, what with it's dark theme, albeit it doesn't manage to maintain the very same amount
of glamour as the vampire's. No, it's rather dull, with sage walls and tilted picture frames of
white faces and their screaming, grey eyes. The floorboards creek as he's brought into an ever
darker room: chipped wallpaper and shutters in the windows, everything lit by candles.

He hears the sounds of people talking, voices calling from each closed door he walks passed.
The place is busy, there's a lot of people here, clearly.

But, the room Uram takes him to is nearly entirely empty.

Two people configure at a table, glancing at something, their backs hunched, heads bobbing
as they mumble to one another, immersed in their own space.

"Jeon Jungkook," Uram begins, gaining the attention of the pair, who quickly turn to them, so
the evidently older man can continue, "meet Park Hojin and Yang Yepa." He gestures toward
the them in a signalling motion.

The man, Hojin, who's rather short, young looking, with hair that's black and sticks up, as if
in a permanent state of disarray, a slightly startling craze in his eyes, jumps forward and
shakes Jungkook's hand with an intense fervour. He rather looks as if under the influence of
some startlingly strong narcotic, the way he bounces around in that insane manner. "So good
to finally meet you."

Pulling his hand from the man, Jungkook can't help but frown a little at the sheen of grease
that now coats his palm. Without care for feelings or grace, he rubs it off on his own trouser
leg and responds, calloused and despondent, "yes, you too."

Yepa is a tad less enthusiastic in her approach, as she merely studies Jungkook, looking him
up and down, her impending jut of a fringe frames her delicate features rather well, and she
twirls a ringed finger in her beetle-black hair. She's rather severe looking despite her fragile
attributes, and the contrast of her aura and her physicality is unnerving in itself.

"Is this it?" Jungkook asks, upon realising he wasn't going to get a verbal greeting from her.

Funnily enough, it's her who snorts and releases a reply, in a very much dull tone, "lord,
where'd you find such a straight-talking firecracker, 'Ram?"

Uram, who had merely been watching from the sidelines, makes a show of rolling his eyes,
and Jungkook isn't sure if he's doing it at him or Yepa. He doesn't much care. No, all he cares
about is the fact this is supposed to be the team that shall takeout the most dangerous creature
to walk to planet — they should be able to snap bones with their teeth, to have minds that
pulse with knowledge and woe, with fingers that can twirl stakes and uniforms that hide away
bottles of holy water and other such religious symbols; they should be unstoppable.

Yet, all he finds is a trio of reckless, shaky nonentities.

"Of course this isn't it." Uram tells him, and his voice is so steady, as usual, as he agilely
manoeuvres himself across the room, opening a door, that leads to another sunken hallway,
with voices echoing through it, loud and venomous. "Down there is where the real guns of
operation are. That's not to say, actual guns, I just mean the rest of our operatives."

He watches as Jungkook slowly trails through the door, down the corridor, just enough for
him to be able to see the few flashes of people walking around. He slinks back, marginally
satisfied.

The boxer's eyes narrow a little. "How many?"

Uram smiles. "Well, all in all, there's thirty four people involved—"

"Thirty four?" Jungkook repeats, snaps, interjects, and he's truly at a loss for words for how
unjustly, indisputably fucked he is. "There's only thirty four people working on this?" And he
truly doesn't know what else to do but to let them into his sunset twist of paranoia that he's
forced to live in a state of from now on. "You realise how many hundreds, if not thousands,
of people are involved in the Blood Snatchers? Fuck, do you know the insane amounts of
people involved in any crime organisation? Do you?" His eyes are wide, but he still doesn't
see the way they're all looking at him. "I mean... thirty four people. What good is that?
Seriously, what good?"
"Jungkook," Uram says immediately, his voice like a singular line of silver, wrapped around a
cloud of gloom, contorting itself into the most resplendent configuration that shall keep all
that dreary horror within. "It truly doesn't matter how many people we have in operation—"
As if sensing the other's means to interrupt, the older man quickly tells him, "yes, that's not to
say the large number he has against us isn't significant enough to be a problem, but, we don't
need to go after any of the little subordinates. We only need to bring him down. If you do
that, if you remove the kingpin, the rest of the organisation crumples."

The boxer pauses for a moment, lapping his tongue along his front teeth, glancing toward
Hojin and Yepa, who seem so scarily curious of him. Then, with a slightly more calm but by
no means less aggressive tone of voice, he scoffs and says, "okay, sure, you don't need to kill
every single one. Not even all of them are vampires, I get that. But, fuck, even thirty four
people can't take him down. If you've seen the shit he—" He stops, closes his mouth tightly,
lips drawn together, and he shakes his head, sighs out, shakes his head some more. "No, you
know what? I don't want any part in this." He takes a step back and they all watch him.
"You're all gonna get killed, that's it, your lives will be gone, easy, merciful. But me? I'm not
just going to get killed, I'll be tortured and toyed with and there'll be nothing I can do about
it."

"No, you won't—" Hojin is the one who starts to say, but stops as soon as Jungkook looks at
him with eyes so full of fire.

"Please," He flares his nostrils. "Please don't even try and give me that, as if I'm an easily
manipulated child. I'm done being used as bait, as a sponge for you to chuck into their
seeping barrel of blood, soaking in all their secrets, only for it all to be squeezed right back
out of me again." His hands shake along with his head. "I'm not being your scapegoat. I— I
can't." And with that, he turns to try and make his leave, to try and escape, even just for a
while, just to clear his head.

As soon as he's out of the door of the room, he doesn't even get time to close it, before Uram
is there, right behind him, with his moonlight eyes and his scars and his comforting aroma.
His tanned fingers grip at the cross-necklace around his neck, and he's staring at Jungkook's
back — the way the man's shoulders rise up and down and they shake with fear, or anger, or
simple cowardice.

"Jungkook," He repeats the boy's name in a dark, warm thunk of a whisper and it's like the
wind, whipping all across the younger's hair, his face, his clothes. "Jungkook," He says,
places his hand on the man's shoulder, feeling in his palm, how harshly he flinches from the
touch. With a sigh, a moment passes, and they can hear the silence of the house, as they stand
in the hallway, not looking at each other. "Would you have a seat with me?" Uram asks then,
as he gently lifts away from the boxer and backs off until he's able to sit himself on the
staircase.

Trepidatiously, Jungkook gazes at what he's doing, sees how calm he is, how sedate his entire
manner is, as he elegantly places himself down on one of the steps and pulls his hat from his
head, a symbol of personal defeat. His face suggests he wouldn't be surprised if Jungkook
chose to bolt out the door right then and there, which is exactly why the boxer chooses to sit
as well, perching himself on the rickety step beneath the older man.
"Thank you," Uram smiles, well, almost, it's more just his eyes that show something akin to
joy, than his mouth moving. Jungkook takes a moment to catch his breath, letting the silence
stretch out before them. In that silence, he can't help but think of his sisters, of how
dependent they are on him; Ara's still hunting for a job, but he feels like it may take a while,
simply, he couldn't afford to die. His sisters didn't have enough money for it and death is so
expensive. "What are you thinking about?"

Craning his head toward the other man, Jungkook merely shakes his head, tells him easily,
"my sisters." He has no reason to lie. In fact, he thinks, in this case, that would do him more
harm than good.

The elder nods, considering. His scar cracks a little as he opens his mouth and he responds,
inquires, "you would do anything to give them a better life, wouldn't you?"

Jungkook clenches together his front teeth. Nods.

Uram sniffs out and smiles softly to himself. "I used to think the same for me and my
siblings." He recalls the memory fondly to himself. "We grew up with work-oriented parents,
and, well, their primary concern was getting us good jobs." He sighs, "we just wanted to play
games, but, they were always so dead-set on us working." He licks his lip. "Me and my
brother always imagined getting ourselves a toy shop, so we could play with all the toys we
wanted, all day long."

"That's nice." Jungkook tells him, and he means it sincerely.

Uram smiles at him now. "It was a silly dream of silly children." His smile doesn't move at
all, as he changes the topic slightly and asks, "it's just the three of you, right?"

Jungkook thinks the man already knew this. Still, he grants him a civil nod.

"You know," Now, there's a definite smile interwoven in the man's facial features, and the
boxer isn't sure whether he's attempting to hide it, or if it's just that small of a thing. It rests
like amusement in the white spritz of his eyes. "Our team is pretty good at finding
information about people. Look, we even had tons of dirt on Jimin himself, and not just due
to personal connections. And yet," His eyes sparkle a little as he looks directly at Jungkook.
"We couldn't find anything on you."

The boxer raises a brow. "You found out where I lived."

"Yes, we found out the current details, but those are easy," He shakes his head, almost
laughing to himself, "but, from your past, there's nothing, no birth certificate, medical
records, school records, police records. There's no hint of you in any system, anywhere, no
previous address, no parents. Nothing. It's like you don't exist."

Jungkook bites harshly at the inside of his cheeks, forcing them to fall inwards, squishing
into his pulpy muscles. "Most things got destroyed." He says, absently, "the war."

Uram nods at him, but there's still a lingering smile there, something that implies he doesn't
fully believe him. "I don't mean for you to tell me every detail of your life," He explains, and
he's back to playing absentmindedly with his necklace, saying, "it's just, it makes you a pretty
good fit for a secret agent."

The boxer can't help but laugh, even if it is more of a cruel huff of breath. Some secret
agent. "Is that why you wanted me?"

"Sort of." Uram agrees, his words, for once, coming off in a clear manner. "I mean, I really
did know Lee Doh, you know?" Jungkook gulps and he remembers how he'd been told that
when he'd first met Uram; he can't help but feel bad for how little thought he's truly put into
his ex-manager, even after finding out what Jimin is. "You remember I told you I used to
box? Well, I did so with him for a while. He used to scout poor, young blood in the boxing
gyms, and, though I was too old to be considered by him, we got to talking and slowly we
began to develop a form of friendship."

Jungkook feels his heart in his throat, feels like he could be sick. "I'm..." He licks his bottom
lip and shakes his head again, finishes with, "I didn't know he had friends."

Giving him a shrug and a knowing look, Uram continues, "It's okay, he didn't have many. He
was an exploitative man, always wanted money, always wanted the best. So, when I got word
he was managing in a bar run by Park Jimin himself, I couldn't help but want to scope it out.
It's not to say he was a form of undercover operative, but I did ask him to report things to me.
Though, before you, Jimin rarely came, none of his higher up officers either. Alas, Doh
agreed to watch things over, because I paid him, obviously." Jungkook smirks at that. "So,
when he went missing, I followed the tracks to you. And, well, when I saw how close you
were with Jimin already, it was startling, I thought maybe he was recruiting you, maybe he
wanted to turn you." He smiles down at his cross. Something rather grave crosses over his
features, something like mixed emotions. "But, when we met, I saw so much good in you."

And the boxer thinks he must be having his leg pulled, he thinks it must be some sort of
windup. He scoffs, disrupting the tender atmosphere, curling his mouth to a scowl. Jungkook
doesn't think anyone has ever considered him that — oh, well, maybe his sisters who didn't
see him in the shadows — but, no stranger could ever think that. Surely not. Especially one
whose first impression of him was being shouted at and seeing him beat a man to death.

"Good?" He spits out, incredulous. "How can you say I'm good? You've seen the things I've
done. You were there, at the fight with Kil Duri, and, oh, I've done worse now, Uram, so
much worse." He thinks briefly of the death of Big Pig Presley, but, mainly, he thinks of the
night after. He thinks of Jimin's mouth on his wrist and Taehyung's mouth— well, Taehyung's
mouth.

"You don't mean to tell me you still believe good and bad to be so black and white?" The
older man asks, rhetorical and somewhat stoic. It's a sentence that rattles Jungkook more than
he thought words ever really could. "Good people can do bad things and bad people can do
good. But, well, at least for me, we are all capable of good, we can all find the light, we are
all deserving of it. It's strange to say, but I believe it's a means to an end." He looks so
purposefully at Jungkook as he tells him, "your bad deeds can be forgiven if you repent, or, if
they're done for the greater good."
Jungkook looks at him, but, it's like he's looking straight through him, like he's missing
something. Then, solemnly, in a whisper, he asks him, "but you don't think Jimin is able to be
good?"

The question doesn't really seem to stump the man and his philosophy as much as it perhaps
should, but there's a small tendril of something there, something almost like regret. But, it's
gone almost as quickly as it had come and he replies, "he was made in the image of the
darkness. There are some people who can't... can't be helped."

"But he didn't start off that way." He counters, and he knows he shouldn't be so defensive of
the undead creature, but he can't help but look for some sort of sense in this world. "You said
so yourself: he was a regular man once too."

"Yes," Uram agrees, face a little taut, almost tense, "but all that humanity is gone from him
now. The way I see it, the old Jimin, the one who once had a beating heart and mortality, he
doesn't exist anymore. It's like his body has been overtaken by something else, like there's
another entity within him. The old Jimin can only be truly put to rest when the creature that
has ahold of him is relinquished." He pauses for a mere second. "It would be a hard task, but,
it is my belief that his death would actually be an act of peace."

And it's Jungkook's turn to look at the man now, to watch over him and all his twitching
features, so full of sincerity — earnest and yet subdued, like there's a storm brewing.

Could it really be true? Is it true that Jimin once was a regular, decent man, but now is
nothing but a vengeful monster? Perhaps, any act of kindness or goodness is truly just a drop
of residue from the old inhabiter of the body. If such is the case, maybe Jungkook could find
a way through to him.

It sounds ridiculous even in his head.

Tenderly, he questions, "why do you think I'm so important to him?"

Raising his brows at the sudden question, Uram gives himself a ponderous moment to
contemplate the various answers that he could give, but none of them seem true. Gently, he
asks back, "didn't he say he needed you for traction at Blood?" Then, he licks his lips,
amends, "or, because he needs you on the human-end of his business deals?"

"Yeah, that's what he said," Jungkook replies, but he can't help but feel empty with that idea.
"But, I mean, he keeps emphasising how important I am, it feels like it's something more."

"I don't know, Jungkook. I'm sorry." He sounds earnest.

"It's not your fault," The boxer twists his body forward again, watching the front door, and he
says, "I just... I know you want me to get information from him, stuff that will help you, but
he hardly tells me anything. I get the feeling he trusts me, but he won't tell me what he's
trying to do. I mean, I know, ultimately he's trying to take over the city, to be the biggest
gang. But, he doesn't tell me specifics, he just gets me to complete tasks then and there." He
bites his lip again. "Honestly, I don't know what good I am to you."
He almost jumps at the feeling of Uram's arm suddenly back on his shoulder, but he sinks
into it then, and he can't help the way it seems to instil vast amounts of comfort into him. The
man is so strangely comforting.

"We know enough about him." Uram says, his voice a soothing breath of heat, like they're
suddenly tucked inside a sauna. "Eventually, we'll just need to find a place to capture him. He
has weaknesses, we know for sure Taehyung is the biggest one." Theres a slight pause, but
Jungkook is too sedated to think much about it. "I think, for whatever reason, you are very
important to him. I think... you yourself could become a weakness."

Jungkook snaps his head around then, jutting away from the man's hand. "Is that really your
plan?"

Uram purses his lips. With a sigh, he tells him, "I think your importance to him has
something to do with Taehyung." Jungkook's frown deepens. "He knows everything, you
know."

And Jungkook remembers the dancer telling him exactly that. After the fight with Duri, when
he'd patched him up, he'd told Jungkook that Jimin will tell him whatever he wants. He
knows all of Jimin's plans, he must do.

"I won't let you get hurt, Jungkook. You're good."

&&&

"Hello, Taehyung, long time no see."

The blonde dancer swivels ever so slowly around on the bar stool, immediately recognising
the voice, but making a show of pretending to be surprised. "Oh, Mayor Kim, how good to
see you." He utters out, spreading his fingertips against his heart, enjoying how the older man
rolls his eyes in jest.

"Seokjin." Jimin pronounces the name callously, making his presence known, moving to the
side of Taehyung, stood fully, one arm behind the dancer's back, pressed into the bar.
Kim Seokjin just slips onto one of the seats, propping his elbow against the counter, grinning,
keeping his eyes on the younger man the whole time. Taehyung smiles back at him, unnerved
and fizzling with excitement. "I'd like my usual." He announces, and though he's still looking
at the blonde, he's evidently speaking to Yoongi — Yoongi who just nods, already starting to
prepare his drink, which really wasn't all that usual, as he hardly ever visited the lounge,
especially since he'd grasped his new role in society.

"I'm surprised you have time to be here," Taehyung tells him, harmless, voice marinated in
something libidinous, in that way of his that's oh so natural, yet clearly drenched in plastic.
"You know, I figure your mayoral duties must be ever so arduous."

Seokjin cocks a brow, and his eyes look a little golden, infused with the sparkle of the stars,
all his arrogance seeping from him in a shudder of movement. "Well, it certainly is an
exciting new position for me. I just hope..." and he looks more tenderly at the blonde than
Taehyung thinks he ever has. He hasn't known the man all that long, mind you, and Jimin
tries to keep them away from one another for as much as he can, so it's strange to see
anything but severe merriment cross his face. "I hope we manage to complete everything in
time."

Beside the blonde, Jimin tuts, and he tells him, "everything is going well."

The oldest amongst them taps his long nails against the warm, shiny wood of the bar and
seems to chuckle inwardly with himself, sharing a joke in his mind. "Well, it sure seems that
way. I mean, look at this poor dear." His other hand reaches forward, the lantern sleeves of
his overcoat hanging down around his wrists, as he gently taps Taehyung under the chin,
turning the man's head softly, inspecting him. "You cleaned up well." He informs him,
smiling so deceptively nicely.

"That's enough." Jimin hisses, like an immediate reaction, a biological response,

instantapneous and uncontrollable. Seokjin smirks, but he does let go, winking at the young
witch in a coy manner. Taehyung giggles, and he tucks himself a little closer to Jimin despite
it.

"I heard you wanted to lock him up for a while," The mayor says then, faux-innocent, as he,
without looking, plucks up the glass that Yoongi had just placed in front of him. Taehyung
looks at the thin, red liquid, sees the tiny little bone that sticks out for decoration. "Namjoon
told me you were planning on keeping him away for a while after what happened. I would've
done."

Taehyung twists his head so he can rest against the side of Jimin's chest, just beneath his
armpit. "I thought about it." The pink-haired one admits, nonchalant, like it were perfectly
reasonable. "But, I wouldn't do that to Tae."

"How lovely," Seokjin purrs, swallowing down his blood cocktail, so fast it seems to stain his
lips. "You're quite right, too. How could anyone think to hide such a marvellous face?"

The blonde grins, and looks up at his boyfriend, who doesn't look quite so pleased. With a
chuckle, he declares, "oh, you're quite the flirt. I forget how enthralling you are."
"I should make an effort to see you more." The other agrees, not bothering to hide the fact
he's attempting to piss the younger vampire off.

"Okay, I'm beginning to tire from this conversation. Out with it already. Why are you here?"
Jimin suddenly cuts in, and Seokjin looks up at him with this false sparkle in his eye.

He takes a slow gulp of his drink. Then, simply, he says, "I wanted to check up on you, dear,
to see how you were handling things. Not just with our precious Taehyung's ordeal, but with
everything. I haven't heard from you for a while, and I thought it best to checkup. You see,
Namjoon mentioned he met your... your Jungkook the other day."

"Oh?"

Both the men seem to tense a little at the mention of the boxer, their eyes a little more eager
on the topic.

"Mm," Seokjin chuckles at their expressions, "quite the natural, I hear." His eyes are a splash
of gore then, bright red, sensual, like the flicker of his fangs, beginning to enlarge in his
mouth. "I'd like to meet him properly."

Jimin just laughs. "You will." He says, promises, and it dances around the room like
something so ominous. "Not yet, though, we're not ready."

"Oh. What a shame." He swirls the remaining clots of his drink around in the glass for a
moment, before turning back to them, and, with a steady voice, and dark eyes, he tells them,
"I think Dalrae shall be here soon."

Taehyung tenses a little. Jimin frowns. "She will? But, it's so early..."

"Well," Jin shrugs, his smile so conniving, taking his final sip. "She heard about my new
position and, of course, she wanted to come and see the fun."

"So, that's why you're here." Jimin scoffs, "to give a word of warning?"

Jin smiles, licks his lips. "I think she wants to escalate things. I think she... she really trusts
me."

Taehyung looks up Jimin, a little starry-eyed, but the elder is smiling, holding onto that
expression with the largest cluster of hope he can manage. Something in him is rather elated
about the news, so, genially, plainly, he declares, "well, that is good news."

&&&
In truth, Jungkook doesn't think his stomach will ever settle from the sheer horrors he's been
forced to endure over the past few weeks. Which is exactly why he comes to the decision to
dive in the deep end; he wants to get out as quickly as possible, and, he can't do that by
hiding away. If he's had to do so many horrible things, perhaps the maggots in his guts would
be sedated by the notion things will be alleviated in the end. Perhaps he should grasp onto
that wishful thinking.

So, he opts to go to The Sugar Lounge. Jimin had asked him to come, of course, at midnight,
as usual. So, naturally, Jungkook decides to come at eleven, and, as soon as he pushes
through the doors, he feels the weight of everyone watching him. It's as though all their eyes
have been pried from their skulls and sewed into a beautiful beaded curtain, brushing across
every inch of Jungkook as he pushes through it.

Something like a spider seems to latch onto him, sticking to the skin of his back, just beneath
his cheap, cotton button-up, and clambering all the way along his spine, using the bones like
stairs.

He wonder how many people he passes could actually be classed as human. He wonders this
so deeply, ponders over it, tosses the idea around, as he slumps himself against the bar.

His eyes make a quick scan of the area — Park Jimin's pink hair is nowhere to be seen, and
neither are the spots of drool in the corners of stranger's mouths, suggesting Taehyung wasn't
here either. A group of creatures with tall hair and bright purple makeup running down their
cheeks are doing the fandango on stage, jumping between partners, clapping their solid silver
hands. They thump like silk, rubbing all along each other, slithering their bodies against each
other, shimmying, shimmering.

It's hard to look away, but, as soon as he does, his whole body lurches backward. As he turns
back to the bar, Min Yoongi is standing there, right opposite him, looking at him but not
really seeing him. His eyes look black in the emerald lights and his skin looks so pale, he
almost looks dead. His right eye twitches, as he scans over the taken aback Jungkook.

"You don't drink." Is what he says, after a moment of tension. There are only a few other bar-
dwellers right now, and one of them is being seen to by another bartender, so, Jungkook gets
all of Yoongi's attention. It's what Jungkook wanted, but, at the same time, it's hard to think
straight with the man staring at him like that. He looks suspicious. He looks, in the vaguest
sense of the word, intrigued.

"Yeah, that's right." Jungkook affirms, only marginally surprised by the fact the bartender
could recall such a small detail about a man he didn't know. As coolly as he can, he inquires,
"Don't you have anything without alcohol?"
One of Yoongi's dark brows jerks upward and his expression writhes into something faintly
amused. He nods. It's a slight twitch of his skull more than anything, but it's enough to make
Jungkook relax a little. He doesn't tell Jungkook what he's making, simply starts to do it, as if
he knows just what the man wants. Maybe he does.

Within a few seconds, a tall glass is placed in front of the boxer; it's in two sections, the top
half suspiciously red, crimson, scarlet, while the bottom part is a thin layer of frothy white.
Yoongi places his palms down flat on the bar, spread apart, looking like he intends on
remaining in such a position.

Jungkook tilts his head to the side. "What is it?"

Yoongi's smile is mean. "Cranberry juice."

The boxer doesn't really believe him — it looks too thick, too pumped with life. "And?"

There's a pause and the bartender presses his lips together, eyes sharp and void of anything
but truth. A hostile sense of truth, Jungkook supposes. "Snow."

It's Jungkook who narrows his eyes now. "Snow?" He shakes his head. "Like... cocaine?"

Yoongi's eyes roll. "No, like ice."

The younger just looks into his eyes, tries to work out what they're saying; they're coated in
black ink, his earrings black to match, and they look darker than Jungkook thought
conceivable, especially in contrast to his phantom pallor. Yoongi looks bored, looks as if he
can hardly stand to remain there for a moment longer, but, beneath that frosty integument,
just brewing below the surface, there's this grave sense of hilarity. He looks a little human.

Without too much thought, Jungkook takes the drink to his lips and lets it fall onto his
tongue. Cranberry. Cold as ice.

Yoongi doesn't quite smile, but he gives him a little look, as if to say I told you so. Jungkook
nods his approval, and he supposes the other is going to leave then, but he doesn't, he just
stands and watches, like he's expecting Jungkook to say something. Jeon Jungkook isn't that
stupid.

Eventually, the blonde caves and he says, in a voice that's as melodic as it is gruff,
"Taehyung's not performing tonight."

The boxer nods, takes another sip of his drink, which is a surprisingly refreshing blend of
harsh flavours.

"That means your precious boss won't be here for a while." His voice sounds so bitter, so
perfectly malleable to what Jungkook wants.

He suppresses his smile, as the invite into the topic he wants to discuss comes so much more
easily than he'd suspected it would. Still, he can't get too carried away with his hopeful
notions. "I don't mind." He shrugs, keeping his voice dull as he says, "I've grown rather fond
of the atmosphere here."
Yoongi's nose scrunches in something a little like distaste, his lip curling, like things hadn't
gone the way he wanted them to go. "Is that right?" His tongue licks along his top teeth.

"Mmm," Jungkook agrees, with a vacant expression, and, slowly, he endeavours to ask, "do
you own it?"

The bartender looks annoyed, almost like he can't suss out Jungkook's intention. "I do."

The boxer swivels in his chair. "So, you're a witch too then?"

His eyes burn so brightly, snapping around the area. "Keep your voice down, for fucks sake."
He grumbles, and he looks mean in a way that's rather appealing; he looks so bizarrely
translucent, all holographic skin and platinum bones, with a countenance that does nothing
but reflect other people. In a strange way, he seems rather far away.

"Sorry, sorry." Jungkook holds his hands up, and he comes across earnest. "I forget not
everyone here is..."

"A monster?" Yoongi guesses, blunt, but his voice is so quiet, it sounds quite regaling a
perception. Even his scoff is rather light, like a little bubble, colourful, airy.

The boxer shakes his head and simply responds, "I was going to say subhuman, but that
suffices."

"I'm not subhuman." The bartender looks offended, his nose crinkling. "I'm beyond-human if
anything."

Jungkook finds it a little strange how easily the man is offering up information about himself,
he really seemed more closed off than anything. Still, he doesn't wish to give him reason to
second guess his words, so, with a grin, he leans forward so no one else can hear and asks in
a murmur, "can you read the future, like Taehyung?"

Yoongi's lips purse together and his pupils look as if diluting, his cheekbones quivering, and
he appears almost like a puppy that had just been kicked. Then, anger. He looks for a moment
as if he's going to leave, like he's not going to bother answering the question, as the spiral of
red heat sinks over his face. A breath. Then, faintly, he looks Jungkook in the eye and he
responds, "no, that's unique to him."

"I see," Jungkook nods, takes a small sip of his drink, and he thinks he needs to say
something almost immediately, for fear of letting his mind wander; not to mention the idea of
Yoongi up and leaving. "But, you can make... potions like him? I mean, is that something all
of you can do?"

Yoongi smirks. "What do you think you're drinking right now?"

"This..." The ravenette tilts his glass, looks forlornly at the liquid.

"No need for the paranoia." His eyes roll. "You'll make yourself crazy."
Jungkook nods, stilted. He releases the glass anyhow, and he bends his arm at the elbow,
flexing his wrist, and, he changes the subject. "You know about my hand, I presume?"

Yoongi looks at the thing. He nods.

"Can you do that too?" He lowers his voice again to the point it sounds downright accusatory,
"can you grow body parts?"

For some reason, the bartender glazes over with something a little more closed off then. His
eyes narrow and he chews his lip for a moment before answering, "I don't make a habit of it.
Taehyung has more experience." He almost sounds rather sad as he says it.

"How long have you known him?" Jungkook asks, and it's meant to be smooth, meant to be
an innocent question, but Yoongi seems even more solid in reality now.

"Is this a police interrogation?" He suddenly snaps. No, in fact, he poses the question rather
softly, like he's playing into a game that knows no rules.

Jungkook blinks up at him. "I was just being friendly."

The bartender smirks then, almost, as he replies, "I hear you're not one for making friends."

"You're right." Jungkook tells him, cocks his head sideways, keeps calm. He's calmer than he
has been in a long while. "But, well, it seems like we're going to be seeing a lot of each other.
I don't see the harm in... becoming acquaintances."

"Acquaintances, hm?" And he actually looks amused, like genuinely entertained, as he

releases his palms from the table and leans back, his face glowing green beneath the lights.
His teeth show as he spreads his mouth up, almost like a smile, but somewhat eerie. Frankly,
he says, "sure. I'm not averse to that."

"Really?"

"It surprises you?"

"A little." Jungkook shrugs. Yoongi watches him drink some more. "You can't blame me.
You've come across as so hostile every other time we've come into contact."

"You're one to talk."

"Maybe we're quite similar people." The boxer is quite fond of his word choice and he's even
more fond of the other's reaction.

With a dark wave of irritation, he laughs out a, "I doubt that very much."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"Well, for starters," He leans a little closer then, not quite in the boxer's face, but close
enough for his skin to become lucid and luminescent. His voice is deep and slow, as he says,
"I don't worship your little boss like you do."
Jungkook wonders, for a split second, if Yoongi was intentionally bringing up this topic, to
test the boxer, but, well, Jungkook couldn't deny it was what he really wanted to ask. He
figures it would look suspicious to keep avoiding it. "You seem to hold a lot of animosity
toward him."

Yoongi really does smile then, cruel and gripping. He shrugs, his hair falling into his eyes.
"It's not animosity." He says, leaking his voice out in splashes of colourful murder. "More so,
it's precaution."

"You think he's going to hurt you?"

The bartender scoffs. "Not me, no. I'm stronger than I appear, I can assure you." Jungkook
doesn't doubt that. He does somewhat doubt that, should they fight, Yoongi would come out
on top. "But, I care about Taehyung and he runs into things too fast. One of us has to take
precautions."

"Then," Jungkook chews the inside of his cheek, hating to think his worst suspicion could be
true. "You're worried he'll hurt Taehyung?"

There's a short pause. A woman tries to get Yoongi's attention, tries to get a drink, but he
shushes her with a glare, and he turns back to Jungkook, dark and sharp, like shards of black
glass. "Jimin is many things: arrogant, irritating, intelligent, manipulative, cruel. But, he
doesn't intentionally hurt people he cares about."

Jungkook gulps. He remembers Jimin telling him that he cared about him. He wonders if he'd
keep up that attitude when he discovers what Jungkook's doing. "Then," He flickers his eyes
around Yoongi's face, suddenly so much more intense in his thirst to know, getting a little
vexed by this cryptic diction that leaves him stranded in oblivion. "Why do you feel the need
to be cautious?"

Yoongi looks him directly in the eyes, and Jungkook can see the twists of them, writhing
black scales slithering amongst each other, a pit of snakes tangling together, intimate and
deadly, living in his iris'. He says, "he's a selfish person, Jungkook. That's what annoys me
most. He may not want to hurt those he cares about directly, but, being with him, being
under his care, well, that will hurt them in the long run."

"How so?" Jungkook leans forward now, so invested in Yoongi's space, right over the bar
worktop.

Yoongi frowns. "He can live forever, Jungkook." He pauses, drowns in the clapping of the
audience, the immense thump of the drums. "He's lived a thousand lives. He takes what he
can from them, reaps them, enjoys them. They end. He moves on. He can't hold onto the
same people forever. He gets bored." He snaps his head toward another customer. Then, just
before he leaves, he says, with a solemn smile, "people get left behind."

And Yoongi moves on. His smile gone. His face back to boredom.

And Jungkook feels wholly empty.

A great sense of melancholia takes over Jungkook. But, as if sensing the man's lack of
conversational partner, a cold presence is suddenly very much prominent beside him. He
knows Park Jimin from his mere aura by now, his scent even, the tickle of hairs at the back of
his neck as he talks.

"You're early." He sounds surprisingly chipper, and, when Jungkook turns to greet him, he
looks it. Taehyung is there too. Jungkook thinks he smells of banana and coffee, while Jimin
smells of spiced pears and Jungkook wonders why he hadn't noticed their distinctly
voluminous scents before. His senses feel heightened somewhat.

"So are you." Jungkook replies, as his eyes scan over the pair of them, stood together, looking
all sorts of mismatched and perfectly aligned.

Jimin's in one of his usual, immaculate suits, a black blazer with many buttons and gloves
that match his burgundy waistcoat; his eyes are casting spells of vermillion about him.
Taehyung hangs onto him, head tilted, standing a little lopsided, his own body in wide-legged
trousers, with a belt that cinches his waist, and suspenders that cling to his large white shirt.
His eyeshadow is glossy red. His lips too, as they spread to a grin.

"I always try to get here early." Jimin tells him, and he's looking at the younger like he's
anticipating something.

"Would you believe he's not letting me dance, Jungkook?" The blonde suddenly cries out,
releasing the vampire's arm, in favour of stepping forward, grabbing the boxer by the
shoulder. "He's forcing me to come everywhere with him, you know?" Jimin tuts. Jungkook
just looks at the melodramatic dancer, who looks positively scandalised. "Honestly, you'd
think I were a criminal and he my warden." He continues, looking accusatorially at the
warden in question.

Jungkook wonders if Taehyung himself sees the irony in that. Criminal. That's the least of his
labels.

"Oh, do be quiet." Jimin tells him, fondly, no real malice behind it. It's hard to believe this is
the man who had punched a hole in another person's head just a few nights ago. "You see,
Jungkook," He addresses the boxer now, looking directly at him, "he sometimes likes to make
a scene and pretend he doesn't enjoy being doted on."

Jungkook soaks the words in and he can't help the ghost of a smile that threatens to spill over
his lips. He forces it down. It's all part of their charm, part of their allure. They're beyond
human. They're not good people, they're criminals at best, demons at worst, and they're not
worthy of fondness. Biting his tongue, he tells the blonde, "your face looks better."

"Oh, right." Taehyung's eyes widen. "You haven't seen me since..." He trails off and he looks
a little less flamboyant and cocky as he says, "I'm sorry you had to see me like that."

Jungkook's eyes narrow, perplexed. He's unsure what exactly the blonde is referring to; the
last image Jungkook has of him is his tear-stained face dripping with blood, curled beneath
Jimin's arm, smiling like he knew all the secrets of the earth, like he wasn't really hurt at all.
He's not sure why the man would be apologising for that.
He's about to respond when Jimin cuts in, "you're not usually this early." He repeats his
words of greeting and his eyes are so narrow they look as if merely jagged cuts against
supple skin. "I can't help but observe the fact you look a tad... troubled."

"I'm not troubled." The boxer tells him, allowing the change in subject — it's what he'd
wanted anyhow: a decent segue into his intended topic of discussion. "But, honestly, I can't
stop thinking about the other night." Their faces flit to something rather serious. He continues
in an uncharacteristically inquisitive drawl, "I mean, it just got me thinking there's so little I
know about your abilities."

Taehyung looks gleeful in the most ominous of ways and Jimin stills entirely. He says
nothing for a moment and his face is void of any emotion whatsoever, standing as still as
statue; though his expression is so grave and resolute, he more so appears like a corpse. A
beguiling sort of corpse, with exquisite faucets blended to its shrunken skull, propped up for
a picture, like Victorian families, pretending he's still pulsing with viability.

He blinks and flicks his head sidewards, gesturing toward a booth.

Their feet click like magnets across the floor.

As they take a seat, Taehyung in the middle, Jimin leans across toward Jungkook and, in a
hushed tone, he inquires, somewhat open in his manner, "what is it you wish to know, my
clever boy?"

Jungkook doesn't care enough to refute the nickname, though it does unfurl something rather
demonic beneath his skin. It's simultaneously pleasant and radically disturbing. "Everything."
He says, "I think I've been too unsettled to ask questions before. But, now I feel it's important
for me to know." Uram clearly didn't know enough.

Jimin chuckles, almost snide, and he looks at Taehyung for a moment. Their touch is subtle,
merely a scuffling of fingerprints, but it's enough for Taehyung. His eyes close for a second,
reopening with a bold press of brown and he nods at his counterpart, urging him to indulge
the boxer. If Jungkook weren't watching them so closely, he would have perhaps missed the
subtle exchange.

"Okay," Jimin agrees, shrugs his shoulders, and he smiles so intently, so serenely. "Fire away,
heavy hitter."

Jungkook does. "You drink blood to survive?"

"Indeed." His eyes reflect something of a challenge. "Taehyung's."

"Why do your eyes change colour?"

His challenge drizzles to puddles of blood. He laughs. "That's what you wish to know?
Above all else?" Taehyung laughs as well, and Jungkook supposes it would be easy to get
annoyed, but there's a pulse of good intention in their joy, and it seems more kindred than
being the subject of mockery. Jimin's head shakes, and he replies, "you're a very surprising
fellow." He tells him, and his smile is sweet in a way it's almost repulsive. "As for my eyes,
well, they are whatever colour you want to perceive them as. Naturally red, of course, but
most people don't like to look at such things, so, they subconsciously choose not to."

Jungkook frowns. He'd assumed the man had been doing it intentionally. "They flash colours,
though."

"You're a curious boy." The vampire purrs, "they do naturally change colours when certain
emotions overtake me. Most people don't manage to notice."

"I see." The ravenette nods. He tries hard to not to feel any sense of pride at being able to
notice. He closes his fist around the fabric of his trousers, and he readies himself for the next
question, asking, so very casually. "They used to be brown though, right? You used to be a
regular human?"

Jimin stills. He doesn't look annoyed, just somehow less alive, melding into his countenance
of beyond life. His eye twitches. "Yes."

Jungkook ignores the sense of unease. "How did it happen?"

The vampire doesn't bother to hide the fact he turns so eagerly toward Taehyung, searching
his features. The dancer blanches a little and his eyes glint like the scales of a fish, rainbow-
silver.

"Are you asking how one becomes a vampire?" His voice is a low husk, and, although the
room is vivid and frantic with sound and costumes, his tone is so grave, so fervent, he sounds
like the only person in the room.

Jungkook had, in truth, been meaning to ask about the man's personal experience, but, he
suspects Jimin knows that and doesn't wish to grant him that information. So, he nods, rapt.

With a quick punch of a smile, he says, "in order to become a vampire, you must undergo a
transfusion, of sorts. You must yourself, drink a vampire's blood, must swallow it down,
resisting the urge to wretch at the thought of suckling on another's blood. This can be
consensual, or it can be forced. You can be compelled to do it." Jimin looks a little graver
then, and Jungkook wonders if Jimin had chosen his life. He had never wondered about it
before. "Then, you must have your own blood gorged upon. The creature will gnaw on your
skin, sinking fangs into you, burying into you, prying all the life from you, lapping up every
last drop of your iron-doused pulp, milking you of every remaining percolate of blood. They
will swallow the pap of your life. As soon as your heart can no longer endeavour to hope to
pump enough blood through your veins, as soon as you are on the brink of cessation, you will
go into a deep sleep. The death sleep. When you awaken, your human blood will be
completely replaced by vampiric blood. You are undead."

Jungkook isn't sure why, but the way in which Jimin delivers the words drives some great
sense of dolour over him. All the fine corners of his face seem to deflate, his organs too,
drizzling into inertness; his heart that pumps with humanity tripping over itself in that beaten
old cage of his body.
Jimin looks at him, so serious, and he's perfectly still, aside from the slight tremble in his
bottom lip. The tremble. It's such a small thing, but Jungkook has never seen it before, has
never seen him so overcome with a state of being that's so very tender.

Taehyung's hand is on Jimin's arm.

"That sounds traumatic." Is what Jungkook opts to say, and his tone is soft as cotton, so he
supposes they manage to project his genuine plight.

Jimin shrugs and his gaze falls upon Jungkook's face, yet he seems so distant, like he's
looking straight through him, straight into the black clouds of a daydream. In that same
dreamy tone, he replies, "it can be rather beautiful, actually."

It can be.

The words linger rather uncomfortably for a moment.

Then, the gangster suddenly snaps back to reality and any sense of softness suddenly
sharpens, his jaw gaunt, eyes tapered to a sodden grey. His arm moves forward slightly, out
of Taehyung's grasp, and he grins malignantly into his words, "is that all you wish to know?"

"There's a lot more, actually." Jungkook shoots back instantly.

Taehyung's arms have come to cross over his chest, hugging himself, his eyes flickering
between them, vacant and neon.

"Unfortunately," Jimin says, and he's back to sounding gallant and joyful, though his face
shudders at concern as he looks at the blonde. "We have things to do. You can make inquiries
into my private affairs and personal background another time."

It doesn't sound all that snide, but Jungkook still rises to the throw-away comment, saying, "I
wanted to ask about your capabilities."

"Well then you should have done that." Jimin jeers at him, mocking but somewhat jovial.
Then, in a tone so redolent to jest, he says, "perhaps we ought to get you an inquiry box? You
can post all your questions in it and I can get back to you."

Jungkook knows he's joking, but, he can't help but wish he could actually have such a thing.

It serves to make Taehyung snicker, and, the boxer realises that must've been Jimin's
intention.

"Okay. I'll ask you another time." He agrees, then, quickly, adds, "if I may ask one more
thing."

Jimin smirks, shaking his head but telling him, "okay." anyway.

So, Jungkook goes ahead. "How old are you?"

The vampire almost looks like he's going to cackle, his eyes widening, his whole face
opening up with amusement. "Why," His teeth are so pretty and white as he grins. "I'm
twenty four."

Jungkook doesn't appreciate his derision.

"Plus one hundred and eighty-five." Taehyung giggles, taking pity on the boxer, who he
seems to believe is worthy of the truth.

"Oh, you're no fun." Jimin pokes his nose.

Jungkook can't help the fact his heart shrinks. He feels as if it's about to disappear from his
body altogether. "You're..." He stares down at the table, but he feels them both watching him
as he continues, "you're two hundred and nine years old?"

"Yes," The pink-haired man agrees. "I was twenty four when I was turned. Back in 1736."

"Seventeen..." His eye are wide. He looks at them. "Thirty-six..."

Taehyung laughs in a warm, strangely comforting manner. "I think he's gone into a state of
shock."

Jimin tuts. "It's rude to make such a scene about someone's age, you know?"

The dancer smiles despite himself and gently swats the man on the arm.

Jungkook quickly comes to his senses. He'd already known that. Sure, it hadn't been
confirmed, but he already knew Jimin was hundreds of years old. Of course he knew. He
turns to Taehyung. "How old are you?"

His lips are pulled up into such a serene expression as he answers, with a slight purr of
promise, "I'm twenty four. Just twenty four. Without any additional years." Jungkook blinks
absently at him. "A little bit of an age gap, hm?" He chuckles.

One hundred and eighty five years.

One hundred and eighty five years in a state of living and Jimin has chosen to spend this part
with Taehyung. Jungkook tries not to think of that as in any way romantic. He tries not to
think of himself.

He shakes his head. "Okay, why did you call me here?"

Jimin smirks, eyes glowing a little darker. In a divine manner, he responds, "I need you to
escort Taehyung somewhere."

Taehyung beams at him.

Chapter End Notes

ahhh ok so not really a very action packed chapter. but once again a lot of plot points
which are being revealed and will all be revisited. things will get very hectic in the next
few chapters, so be warned :)
anyway i hope knowing a bit about jimin's past, as well as uram's should be interesting?
it certainly puts poor jungkook in a very difficult position. but aahh i hope you're all
well!! thank you for reading <333
 Chapter 17
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

"You've genuinely never been to a tailors before?"

Taehyung's smile is a blood diamond; taxing to behold, despite its obsolete beauty. He bats
his black lashes at the boxer, and they flutter like dragonfly wings, dashes of pigment falling
from them, kickstarting a fusillade of blooming missiles to shatter through Jungkook's heart.
He comes to realise he hasn't spoken to the man properly since the night he'd regrown his
hand — since the night he'd sat on his lap and looked him in the eye and used that pink
tongue to unfurl all the unbreakable shades of lust from his belly.

"What use would I have for it?" Jungkook replies, following the man through the door,
entering a room comprised of a sombre orange, burnt slightly in it's hue. Jun, the man who
seemed to be Jimin's personal driver, had taken them here, and he's already driving away,
wheels caressing tarmac, leaving the pair alone, alone and tense and trusted. "I don't exactly
attend many festivities that call for more splendid attire than what I'm currently wearing."

Taehyung gives him a small chuckle, and walks along expertly. He leads the man forward,
through another door with a glass window. The place looks open, all gleaming lights and
marmalade ruptures of warmth; art deco: trim golden lines, straight, classy ornaments and
intricate patterns along every surface. It's weird how alive the place looks, despite the fact it's
the middle of the night.

A man with a moustache and red cheeks rapidly makes toward them, and he's so energetic as
he calls out, "ah, Monsieur Taehyung, mon trésor!" He kisses the man's cheeks, and
Taehyung kisses the air around his pink skin. "Goodness, how well you look," He smiles, and
his eyes fall over the blonde for a moment too long, like he's a drug and the moustached man
wished to overdose. Still, there's something a little informal in his greeting, in his giddiness,
something that can only be categorised as a sheen of fear.

"It's great to see you again, Sunsin." He replies, courteous, almost amused, in that manner of
his that wills any listener to want to do anything for him. "I'm afraid measurements will have
to be done. My friend here has never been to a tailor of this fine a calibre before."

Jungkook is so focused on the immense, thick curls of flattery that hang in the air, cloying, he
almost forgets the pay attention to the actual words. Coming to his senses, he bursts out,
"measurements for me?"

The violent nature of his voice stirs Sunsin a little, and he flushes even more than he already
was. Taehyung just giggles, looks at him coyly. "Of course. You can't go to the theatre like
that." His cruel tone is actually somewhat thrilling to hear, the way his eyes run down the
boxer's fading, brown clothes as if it personally offends him.

"Theatre?" He frowns, forcing the blonde to look him in the eye again.
"Oh, I suppose I should've explained." He nods to himself, almost like he's scolding himself.
He gleams gold as he says, "it's to be a grand event. It's not your run of the mill weekly
movie ticket, I must say. It's supposed to be a live performance, and we are to attend, Jimin
received an invite."

"I must attend?"

Taehyung nods, grinning softly, and Sunsin is wringing his hands together awkwardly, his
face set at joy, unable to burst into anything other than such a false sentiment. "It's not
everyday you get a cordial request from the Mayor of Quellnex."

"The Mayor..." Seokjin. Jungkook remembers his face in the newspaper. He remembers his
face in the Sugar Lounge. He remembers the idea that he, too, could be a vampire or a witch
or many manner of other such laborious creatures.

Jungkook, amongst such thoughts, comes to the realisation the place is so expensive and his
own tawny clothes stick out rather biliously. The blonde seems to sense his dilemma and,
kindly, in a tone Jungkook has heard him use on a surprising amount of occasions, he says,
"Jimin's treat." Flashing a wad of cash, grinning, and clearly enjoying the hunger in the store
owner's eyes.

Sunsin and Taehyung are flittering over one another then, and the owner of the establishment
is nodding feverishly at everything the blonde says, as if scared of disapproval. Jungkook
watches them vacantly, and he can't help but feel his entire life flash before him in grey
sparks of dust — clouds of his every memory, his every life choice glistering before him,
causing him to wonder how exactly he managed to get here. He has absolutely no idea how
he managed to reach this point, to clamber up to this summit, wherein he can look down and
see the ghosts of his past forever tethered to the ground, so far behind him. He's been invited
to meet with the Mayor. How could such a thing be possible?

Then Sunsin is getting him to remove his shirt and he's stood on a platform, a tape measure
twisting over his body like a snake, restricting his mind. The curtains behind him are teal and
tall, hanging from thick, gold hooks, and they're so large, they loom over him, the ceiling
perhaps triple his height. He feels as trapped as he really is, and the glamour of the plain
curtains and the great chandelier that threatens to fall onto him and the manicured hands that
prod at him, and the whispers to another plastic-toned person, only serve to force the gravity
of the situation to truly dawn on him.

It's only Kim Taehyung's cherubic face that manages to provide any sense of comfort to him
whatsoever. He's stood just beneath the platform, regarding him softly, no sense of cruelty or
judgment, not even a vague idea of suggestiveness, just a callous depiction of consideration.
His features are so supple and delicate, almost pearlescent, like the innards of a seashell, pink
and pale. He looks soft to the touch; Jungkook's eyelids feel like silk, tapping against each
other, blinking in the tender image of the dancer.

Taking his measurements, Sunsin pulls at his small male assistant, who sports round glasses
and a button nose, tinged slightly peach. They speak amongst themselves in French, though
it's clear Sunsin is, in actuality, not French. They nod at each other and then the small man is
tottering away to retrieve something.
"My assistant has gone to get my book of ideas. Your friend," He says, clearly addressing
Taehyung, "has a wonderful physique, I am sure we have many things that shall be to his
taste. Though the body ink is troubling, and.. there are a few deep marks that shall prove hard
to shroud. Some things require more than just expensive fabric to hide."

Jungkook doubts he's talking about a physical affliction. Never in his life has he cared when
people looked down on his looks or his attire, but he doesn't like to be treated as if he's not in
the room; he despises most when people jab at his social status and stick their noses up, as if
he's nothing but grime beneath their boot.

Jaw clenched, he retorts, "I don't suppose you'd like to tell me what it is I need to hide?"

Sunsin blanches a little, but his chin remains high, despite the flutter of hot, white fear that
crashes across his features. "A scar on your arm." He replies, innocent, but it doesn't fool the
boxer, who, in his discomfort, strives to reach for his sense of aggression.

"I think a fucking blazer would hide that." His nostrils flare and his lip curls into something
of a snarl, and he can't help but feel rather comforted by his anger.

Taehyung smiles, a wicked sort of smile, looking at the scene like it was ongoing for his own
entertainment. "You'll have to excuse my friend, Sunsin, he bites." He tells the man, and he
sends the boxer a little wink, subtle but enough for everyone in the room to see.

"Of course." Sunsin nods, and his face turns even more red. "My apologies, Monsieur, I truly
meant no harm in my words." He tugs at his collar, and his face practically exudes heat,
unsure what to do with himself.

Pattering steps sound and the small man returns with a sketchbook, which he hands to
Taehyung, his eyes not looking passed the blonde's feet, simply staring down at his
expensive, leather shoes. He mumbles something but, even in the silence of the room, it's too
quiet to hear.

Taehyung thanks him, and he perches himself on a blue-patterned lounger and neither of the
men dare to stop him, letting him move around as if it were his shop. His eyes look toward
Jungkook, who slips into his shirt, still a little enraged by the owner's blatant rudeness.
Taehyung beckons him over and they sit beside each other on the sofa, flicking through the
designs, which, to Jungkook's annoyance, are actually rather beautiful.

"We're making you a suit from scratch." Taehyung informs him, and it's quiet, both workers
observing them tensely. Still, the softness in his tone makes Jungkook feel rather like there's
no one else in the room. "Jimin insists upon it," He says with a roll of his eyes, "he wants it to
be perfect. He wants it to be black and red — he's got quite the affinity for colour schemes,
you see."

Jungkook had noticed that actually.

Taehyung then flicks to another page, one that is a spiralling image of a room — different
schemes on each side of the page. His gaze becomes a tad more sharp then, as he inquires, "if
you could have the grandest ball of them all, which scheme would you choose?"
Jungkook's confusion is evident. He eyes the different images and then eyes Taehyung. "I
don't know." He admits.

Taehyung bites his lip. "White or black?" He asks, gesturing to the two images — one more
shadowed, the other almost too light.

It almost seems like a test, but Taehyung seems scarily curious, and Jungkook chokes on
instinct as he supposes, "white?" He scans across the drawing, admires the accents of red that
press upward, and he says, "I like the... coldness."

Taehyung's head nods, and a dainty smile slips onto his face. "Me too." Then his hand slips
and he goes back to the images of suits, and, as, they look at all the various watercolored men
with their faceless bodies and perfectly suited regalia, he says, "now, which suit?"

But Jungkook's still a tad unnerved from the previous question, so merely says, "I think you
should choose. They all look the same to me." He hears Sunsin gasp a little, offended, and he
can't help but smirk to himself.

The blonde shakes his head but his smile is intricate and there, and he seems rather flattered
that the boxer was giving him such free reign — though, he'd probably expected it. It doesn't
take him long to choose and, when he does, Sunsin shakes his hand excitedly. The small
assistant does so as well, though it wasn't necessary and he's clearly nervous, was most likely
just desperate to touch the blonde.

"You have a week." Taehyung tells the man as they leave, and it's not said in a stern way, but
both men react as though it shall be a matter of life or death. Jungkook, perhaps in a state of
naivety, doesn't think Taehyung or Jimin would truly kill someone over something like not
having a suit prepared on time, but, then again, their horrors never failed to surprise him.

Jun is back outside by the time they leave, and Jungkook wonders why he'd even bothered to
drive away. He holds the door open, and they both clamber inside, easy, letting the door click
behind them. Jungkook steps in with a feeling of unease lingering over him, feeling strangely
like he's being observed. Jun drives off without saying anything and the boxer has this weird
desire to hear his voice, wonders if he even has one.

"Where are we going?" Jungkook asks, absentmindedly, and he's not sure why he feels the
need to fill in the silence, but with his newfound mission, he finds enjoying silence to be a
flaw, a waste of time.

"Home."

"Home?"

"Your home." Taehyung confirms.

"No." Jungkook doesn't quite burst the word out, but it is said with more conviction than
intended, and it causes the dancer to adopt such a quizzical expression. "I don't want to be
seen in this car, not in my neighbourhood." He tries to explain his rationale. "My sisters
would be suspicious, and, people would ask questions, people could see me exit this
expensive car and see where I live, they could try and get to my sisters."

Taehyung looks at him for a moment, and something almost sorrowful crosses his face. His
tone is grave and small as he responds, "okay, we can drop you off a few streets away."

Jungkook releases a knot of a breath that had been previously lodged in his throat, but now
managed to unravel into the cold air. "Thank you."

The dancer just nods, and his eyes are a little narrowed, a little absent, staring forward toward
the front seats, clearly lost in thought. Jungkook wishes he had the power to read minds,
wishes he knew exactly what it was the blonde man was keeping clogged up in his body. He
wants to bite open his skull and drink all those pretty, little thoughts.

Instead, he says, a little stiffly, "I thought there may be more to this job." Taehyung turns
toward him fully, granting him all of his attention. "I mean, tonight, I figured it would be
more important than clothes shopping."

Taehyung scoffs. "Oh, fashion is the most important thing in the world, Jungkook." He says it
so candidly the boxer would believe him to be serious if he weren't grinning so incessantly.

"Of course, how foolish of me." He rolls his eyes.

The dancer bites his lip to suppress his smile, and it's quiet for another beat, before he adds,
"actually, I really wanted to take you out here."

"Oh?" Jungkook raises a brow. "Why's that?"

He almost looks shy, as he tells him, "well, frankly, it's the only thing Jimin would allow me
to do." The boxer is clearly about to ask more, but Taehyung continues for him,
"since Atomy, he's been so paranoid, you see. I meant it when I said he's hardly let me out of
his sight. I understand it and I don't mind it really, seriously." He looks so earnestly at the
man then, as if realising what he's saying. "I don't wish for you to think poorly of him
because of this or anything, I truly do love him and his devotion," Jungkook physically
flinches at the word love and Taehyung notices, he clearly does, but he says nothing, just
continues on, "but, well, he goes a little overboard at times. I could tell he had things to do as
well, a schedule to adjust because he felt the need to be with me all the time. So, I suggested
going with you somewhere, and, it's quite funny actually, he seemed to only trust you to be
alone with me."

There's something rotting in Jungkook's gut, and he thinks, if he should open his mouth, the
stench of it shall leap out. He's drowning in the endorsement of the word 'love' and he's
choking on the notion of 'trust'. He doesn't quite know what to say, doesn't know what to feel.
He thinks, amongst all his sincere desires, that it must be a trick of sorts, some sort of
calculated means of playing with his guilt. Simply, he replies with a, "I'm glad he feels that
way."

Taehyung's lips twitch, flickering with a static smile. "I didn't mean to take up your time. But,
well, it truly was of the utmost importance to get your suit."
"It's okay." Jungkook tells him, twisting with honesty. "It's quite nice to not have to do
something so violent for once."

The blonde agrees with him silently.

The idea of love stills hangs heavy against Jungkook's shoulders, so, tensely he changes the
subject, says, "they seemed scared of you."

The blonde's brow raises. "Who? Sunsin?"

"Yeah, and his little lackey. I mean they could hardly stand to look at you."

A small titter of laughter buzzes in the car and Taehyung shrugs, replies, "well, I am a rather
intimidating individual." He says it like a joke but Jungkook, who prides himself on his
fearlessness, thinks it's completely, utterly true. "No, I reckon it's more because my boyfriend
is the leader of a big gang and they're scared he'll hurt them if they mess up." He snickers.

"Right." Jungkook acknowledges. "But, I mean, does Jimin really do that sort of thing
often?"

Taehyung laughs again. "No," He declares, "no, he doesn't." Then, a tad more seriously, he
adds, "I know you don't pay much attention to what I try to tell you about him, but he truly
isn't bad. I mean..." He looks at Jun for a moment, who's driving them quietly, seemingly not
paying attention. He lowers his voice anyhow, "I know I shouldn't tell you this as he fears it
shall ruin his reputation, but, he's actually not killed many people. I think he says only around
twenty, and, in two hundred and nine years, through a multitude of wars and thirsts for blood
and a horrific business of crime, I think that's rather impressive, no?"

Jungkook frowns. He feels his bile rise in his throat. He thinks about Uram. He thinks about
Uram's family. He looks Taehyung in the eye and he asks him, "do you truly believe that?"

"I know it." He taps his forehead and Jungkook remembers how he must have seen it, in
Jimin's past.

"But, you can't see events," He reminds him, and he knows questioning Jimin's character so
outwardly, especially after everything they've been through, would be cause for suspicion,
but he can't help it. Somewhere deep within him, he clings to the idea Taehyung is being
manipulated. "Only emotions."

Taehyung doesn't looks suspicious. He looks calm. It's almost unnerving. "Yes, and you must
know how much guilt one can have over killing someone, how many emotions that can
effect."

Jungkook, in such a despicable way, can't help but think he doesn't quite agree with that. In
fact, he thinks he doesn't fully realise himself just how much horrendous guilt he should feel.
It annoys him somewhat. "Okay. But there's no way it's only twenty people. He killed the old
mayor just the other month."

"No." His tone is adamant. "Hoseok did."

"And what about—"

"He didn't kill Atomy either, did he?"

Jungkook thinks about it. "No." Taehyung almost looks satisfied, till the boxer adds, "but he
did so indirectly then. He may not deal the finishing blow, but he's the one who got those
people into such a situation. That's something even you can't deny."

The blonde sucks on his teeth and his face turns mean in a way that, should Jungkook not
already be inundated with rage, would terrify him to no end. "I think you're underestimating
why exactly he doesn't deal that final blow." He pauses for a moment as the tires screech to a
halt and Jun's presence is more obvious than before. Taehyung continues anyway. "Death is a
necessity, Jungkook, especially in this business. It's an inevitability. Jimin understands that,
he knows that to stay on top he must be ruthless, and he's good at appearing so." He grips the
man by the arm and he leans forward, tells him, with each word melting into his psyche, "I'm
telling you this because I like you, Jeon Jungkook, and because I trust you. Jimin isn't as hard
as he seems; he's fragile, his bones can be crushed beneath your tenderest of touches. He
doesn't kill people unless there's no other option, because he's soft and he'll crumple under the
weight of his conscience. He doesn't like to hurt people, but he must, he has no choice. That
will become clear to you soon. I hope it will."

Jungkook's eyes are wide. He tries to untangle every single syllable that had been launched at
him in immense knots of gold and silver, and his breathing labours, devilishly unsure what to
say, what to do, how to react.

Taehyung smiles then. It's slow and it's deep and he looks out toward the street. "This is your
stop."

The boxer gives a slight nod of his head, glancing into the grey space of the night and he
somewhat recognises his surroundings — enough to know his way home, at least. He pushes
the door open and he feels the tension in the joints of his arm as he exerts himself in the
faintest way possible. His throat feels hollow, his legs like jelly, as he stands on the pavement
and he turns to the dancer and tells him, "I believe you." And he doesn't know why he says it,
but the wholehearted grin Taehyung flashes him is enough to make him feel a little better.
"I'll see you later."

"You will." Taehyung promises.

The car shoots away before he can close the door properly, so it shakes a little, almost like it's
going to fall off. He sees Taehyung's delicate hand reach out and slam it closed. He watches it
leave into the vast emptiness of the lonely city. He sees them go. He's alone. But, despite that,
he still feels their presence, still feels like Taehyung's watching him.

It doesn't take him too long to decide to walk, trundling down the streets, the midnight sky
cooing down at him. It's strenuous, full of this sickly notion of calm, stretched out against his
vision, pulled so taut it manages to gather holes — little scarpers of light scintillating against
the barrage of beetle black.
His footsteps echo across the swirl of his lonesomeness, and there's a compelling chill in the
air. He can feel eyes on him, but he can't see anyone on the streets. No, he's completely
isolated from the rest of the world, all the lights are off in every building he passes, and even
the drunkards who soak in the juices of the gutters, are void absent. He doesn't see anyone,
can't hear anyone, but he feels it, feels it so deep in his bones.

He wonders if Jun's car had some sort of invisibility filter and was actually following him,
sussing him out. He doubts it, but he wouldn't be surprised.

It unnerves him enough to ditch the roads, and he slides into a dun alleyway, scraping against
brick buildings, thick and blackened by soot, his feet treading in puddles of nondescript
liquids he cringes at.

It's here, in the confinement's of the alleyway that his stalker reveals themselves. "Jungkook."
They say, a booming, glorious fragment of a vocal, dripping across the empty air, so damp
and sparse.

"Uram." He responds immediately, turning around to see that exact person. Bright white eyes.
He stands right in front of him, for once, his suit isn't quite tan, but it's brown, dark, with a
thick jumper plumping up his body beneath his dark blazer. He carries a stick in his hand and
his crucifix glimmers in the moonlight. Yang Yepa is stood beside him and her hair is harshly
pried into a bun, making her high cheekbones more visible. She regards him with a scowl.
Jungkook doesn't acknowledge her. "How did you know I was here?"

"I have functioning eyes." He says, his smile small but enough to entice some sort of solace
into unveiling itself from Jungkook's gut. "Sort of." He blinks then, and Jungkook stares at
their unflattering vomit of white, cloudy and swirling. Jungkook, of course, in his newfound
desire to understand every aspect of the world, wishes to ask him why exactly his eyes are
like that. But, Uram speaks again, tells him, "I saw that blasted phantom limousine and saw
you emerging from it. We didn't mean to startle you by following you."

"We're getting rather good at trailing that thing." Yepa says then, and her voice is almost
soothing — at least, she speaks in a tone that isn't totally evocative of hatred.

Jungkook grants her the same. "You follow them?"

"Well, their driver — Jun, I believe his name is — is constantly driving around. I think he
must do a lap of the city at least once a day." Uram tells him, almost laughing, and Yepa
smiles faintly. "That's not to say he makes himself easy to follow. But, well, when you scour
every remote edge of the city every single day, it's inevitable that, on a few occasions, people
should take notice."

Yepa continues, "we trailed his car for half an hour, and we saw you getting in outside that
clothes place."

"Surely he must've realised?" Jungkook frowns.

"You shouldn't underestimate our tactics, Jeon." Yepa says, and Jungkook would interpret it
as snarky, if it weren't for the playful hint of something floating across her lips.
"Do you wish for us to give you a ride home?" Uram asks then, and he grips his cane-like
stick harder, almost hobbling, and it appears as though he's injured.

"Uh, no," The boxer replies, looking curiously at the man's leg, "I'm alright. I don't wish to
draw attention to myself or my family..." He tells them, distantly, and, when he snaps himself
from his thoughts, he inquires, seriously, "is your leg okay?"

Uram gives him a somewhat pained expression and, in this light, basking in the harsh nature
of the moon, he looks rather old. Sure, his hair is dark and his skin smooth, his physique and
stance exuding something of a hint at youth; alas, in this light, with his skin crinkling at his
eyes, with the whites of the ages fermenting in his iris, he looks nothing short of matured. He
looks rather sweet, in a strange way, his expression warranting fawning over and caring for.
"I got in some trouble trying to retrieve some weapons."

"Oh."

"He got his leg caught beneath a sodding door." Yepa chuckles and, in absence of her
irritating veneer, Jungkook finds she's actually rather likeable. "I think he's not cut out for all
those physical missions anymore."

Uram tuts, but it's playful, it's nice. "I think there's some truth in that. It's not to say I'm a
liability, but I do feel I should preserve myself for when the time comes that I need to exhibit
such great strength."

"God, must you speak in such a tedious manner?" The woman shakes her head, bright eyes
flooded with fondness. "He's talking of killing Park Jimin, of course."

"Of course." Jungkook nods instantly and he feels his heart in his throat again. He can't stop
thinking about Taehyung's words. It will become clear soon, but Jungkook can't allow
himself to wait; there's too much at stake. Jimin's still a danger to society and the longer he
stays with them, tangled in their snake pit of a love den, the harder that is going to become to
remember. If he's to repent for all his sins, if he's to genuinely do some good in society, he
thinks he must get rid of them as soon as possible. His mind can't hang on much longer. So,
he licks his lip and he stills his heart. "There's to be a trip to the theatre."

&&&
Jungkook hasn't fought in Blood for a while. He's been way too preoccupied in ensuring
Jimin's work is all okay, bending over backwards to commit sins for a vampire, and, in
honesty, he's missed boxing. Recently, everything's been too real, too much to do with life
and death, and he's missed being able to exist between such labels, simply exhibiting his
livelihood through his punches. Not to mention, he feels the need to wane off doing the pink-
haired man's bidding, for fear of having nothing left when the man's gone for good.

He doesn't dare think of the logistics; Uram had told him of his safe houses, places Jungkook
could go until the big fights were over. Though sceptical at first, Uram had rebutted with
"where do you think I've been hiding from him all this time?" and it forced Jungkook to relax,
to put some genuine faith in the 'vampire hunter'.

So, he loses all sense of reality in the ring, pounding his fist into the face of a man who's so
lithe he can barely stand. Jungkook doesn't think about him becoming target number one,
doesn't think about his sisters, doesn't think about money, doesn't think about Taehyung,
certainly doesn't think about Jimin; he simply focuses on knocking this guy out.

There's a clatter of bones that assist the man's downfall and his skin slides across the ground
in a pile of flesh, wrangled and bruised. Everyone cheers as he falls — but the sound is so
diluted, so strangely quiet compared to the crowds of Jungkook's other ventures.

As he's getting changed, he's met by Jung Hoseok, a man whom he hasn't spoken to for a
while, at least, not alone. Today, his slim figure is pulled into an exquisite green garment and
a long necklace is thudding against his chest as he walks. "Salutations." He bows in a manner
that can be deemed nothing short of mocking. His grin is that of an alcoholic disposition and
there's a specific smell of soap that's exuding from him, like his cheeks are ripe, rubbed raw
with divinity.

"Hello." Jungkook replies, slowly doing up the buttons of his shirt, inwardly cringing at the
large bruise that seeks hospitality in the dip of his waist. He'd like to smile at the man, but he
can't bring himself to look at him for longer than a moment; he doesn't harbour much
animosity toward him, but he can't allow his emotions to be engulfed by sugar, can't allow
himself to convey anything similar to fondness. No, considering what he's planning on doing,
there's no chance he's allowed to smile at the man. The vampire. Jungkook berates himself
for not putting a distinguishing line between the two. Hoseok only looks kind and
magnetising because he wills himself to be so.

"Such tension in thy shoulders." The vampire chuckles, and, for a ghostly breath of a second,
Jungkook feels as though the man is going to massage his aching muscles. He doesn't. He
stands by the door and continues, with a twist of ambivalent humour, saying, "things are to
get rather hectic soon."

His fingers shake as he draws out a shuddering breath. "Are they not already?"

Hoseok is scratching his neck, thick lines of crimson jutting from the skin there, before
melting back down to a smooth blade of white. "Kil Plexus is to be at the theatre, you see."
His tone is a little sage, as if awaiting some specific kind of reaction from Jungkook. He
ambles on with a tick of his tongue, "as you can imagine, he's not best pleased with the fate
that awaited Kil Atomy."

Jungkook grants him a faint hum of acknowledgment, keeping his back to the man.

"That's three of his devotees down in the past few months — the ex-mayor, Duri and Atomy
— you understand what I'm getting at?"

"A war is to start." Jungkook answers him, feeling the lack of enthusiasm as it spills from
him. He feels like his entire body is weighed down by something not as kind as guilt, but that
delves into the depths of his bones and digests a pathway for all the vagabonds of disease and
disgruntlement.

"Indeed." Hoseok nods. "A war is to start." He pauses for a moment, evidently noticing how
the boxer was wilfully refusing to look at him. It's the first time they've spoken in a while and
it strikes him rather intensely just how unwilling the aggressive man is to start a fight. He'd
usually already be barking at him to leave. A little coyly, he says, "but the Kil Crime Family
are on their own now."

"On their own?" Jungkook furrows his eyebrows.

Hoseok clacks his teeth. "Your fight with Presley managed to spur the Saw Sloggers into
choosing the winning side." Jungkook visibly flinches, and he feels it in his heels, feels an
impulsive spike of electricity shock up his bones till it manages to curl around his spine,
resting there like an anchor. "Plexus is even more angry now. His plan failed."

The boxer has run out of things to busy himself with, now fully dressed, with his bag slung
around his shoulder, his bruises tucked away from prying eyes. "Plan.." He echoes, a breath
of confusion spritzing along his attributes, so dazed with exhaust.

The vampire looks all across his face now, and his smile is intense, unwavering, as if, when
he'd undergone his own transition to vampirism, his blood had been drained while he smiled,
leaving it stuck like that for all eternity. "Yes." He continues on, happy to have the man's full
attention cast his way. "Well, it's obvious, isn't it?"

Jungkook gives him a look that's drizzled with a lack of comprehension.

Hoseok chuckles to himself and he explains to him, slyly and with a sprinkle of gold, "Plexus
wanted Jimin to be the one to start the war by using Atomy as bait. We killed him, that
disturbs our agreement, and we're the ones to blame for the disharmony that's to come."
He bites the inside of his cheeks. "But that didn't work?"

"No." Hoseok laughs. "Taehyung had foreseen it. We already started building bridges with
other gangs — using scare tactics in your case — and, well, I guess they forgot the most
important thing of all," His grin is wicked, doused in all the dark breadths of the world, with
beetles and spiders crawling from the pearls of his teeth, blood smeared against his gums, and
he says, "Jimin is the one who wanted to start the war."

Jungkook already knew that. That much he was allowed to know, that much he deserved to
know, as it seemed to Jimin. Now, he strives to know more, he longs for it. Eyes almost surly
with hope, he latches onto the opportunity and inquires, "but why exactly does he want war?"

Hoseok doesn't look surprised by the question. "He hasn't told you yet?"

Yet. It implies Jimin was planning on doing so; it suggests Jimin didn't trust him enough; it
draws emphasis on Jungkook's lack of time. Jungkook shakes his head.

"Hm." The vampire huffs out a fantastical breath — something he doesn't truly have at all.
He looks the boy up and down and it's not quite pity, but more so some grave understanding,
a wave of despicable empathy scuttling over his emotionless front. "He has his reasons, I'm
sure."

"So, you just blindly trust everything he says?" Jungkook wants to pose it like a question, but
he knows it draws from his mouth more like an accusation, a hint toward his own paragon of
petulance.

Hoseok's eyes narrow for the faintest of seconds, flashing a tumbling shade of violet. "Of
course I do." A pause, as he thinks through whether or not to unveil what he's been keeping
wrapped up warm within his stone cold organs. A sigh, and he says, dolefully, "I wouldn't be
here without him."

Jungkook merely raises a brow, urging him to continue — he can't deny the flutter of horror
that bursts from his insides right now, like his guts become cocoons, housing moths that are
ready to fly and coat his bones in dust.

"He's the one who changed me." Hoseok tells him, and he looks in a stage of memory, his
mind dipped into a fond reverie of his past, the image of his halcyon days pooling out before
him. "I was on the brink of death," He's still smiling as he says it, placing his hand to his
torso, palm pressed to his ribs. "Cancer," His eyelids bat, and Jungkook, for the first time,
notices how sad his smile is. "It was already bad when they diagnosed it and I knew I was to
die. But, I had a father to support. Without my income, well, he would've starved." They lock
gazes then, both with pupils that tremble. "Then I met Jimin. He was still building his empire
then, this was back in 1847, you see, and he was gaining noteriety through grapevines — he
was known as a sort of miracle doctor." Hoseok scoffs at the memory.

"A doctor?" Jungkook's entire face warps into something bleak and his skin feels so tight,
he's scared it shall fall right off his bones and muscles.
"Yeah." Hoseok nods at him, eyes squinted, as if he's confused Jungkook didn't already know.
"He's fully qualified, actually, though, his practices at the time weren't all that savoury. Still, I
went to him, desperately, and... well, we settled on an agreement that could rid me of my
ailments. You see, vampires can't get diseases of any kind." He smiles more beautifully then,
like stars and galaxies.

"He asked you to work for him in return for... turning you?" Jungkook guesses. His throat
feels full and achy.

Hoseok shakes his head, says, soft, "no, he just wanted my blood at the time." He blinks his
eyes toward the flickering light of the changing rooms. "After my father eventually passed
away a few years later, I found Jimin again, and, this time he was making a real name for
himself. He took me on board when I asked him to."

"Jimin saved your life."

"Well, he saved my fathers." Hoseok laughs. "He replaced mine with something more
beautiful, something more meaningful than you could ever comprehend as a human. I don't
mean that in a derogatory manner, either, I couldn't understand it at all when I was in your
state."

Jungkook doesn't feel offended by it. It is unnerving though, and it does absolutely nothing to
alleviate the onslaught of guilt that has his conscience in a choke hold. How could Jimin do
something so selfless? He wasn't human, he didn't have a working heart, he couldn't show
compassion. It's another trick. "Why are you telling me this?" He asks, voice a rasp, eyes
narrowed and charred.

"Because," Hoseok beams at his confused expression and he's uncharacteristically easy-going
as he tells him, "you asked."

Jungkook feels sick. He hasn't stopped feeling sick since he met Park Jimin.

"Anyway," Hoseok shakes his head, as if taking pity. "I didn't come here to share my life
story. I came here to let you know you're to go to Jimin's house tomorrow. I'm not sure why,
but, he wants you there."

"Okay." Jungkook agrees, wanting to escape this awful conversation, and he tries hard not to
think about what happened the last time he went there.

&&&
"Oh, marvellous! You look amazing." Taehyung claps his hands together, violent colours
expanding from his lips as he unleashes a viral onslaught of praise upon Jungkook. Jungkook
looks down at him, his usual expression of insouciance trembling into something untoward
and almost bashful. He masks it wonderfully, and so, mainly, his face melds into something
uncomfortable. Sunsin had managed to make his suit, and now Jungkook stands in Park
Jimin's drawing room, showing off the garment. "Magnificent, isn't it?" Taehyung continues,
eyelashes batting, flickering in the room, with his palpable notions of beauty. "Isn't it, 'Min?"

Jimin is stood, leant against the ornate fireplace, his shoulder tucked neatly into the mantle.
Jungkook had actually done a double take when he'd first walked in and seem him — he'd
never seen him so casual. In a grey jumper, that hides the frail bones of his neck, sleeves
rolled up to show off his pale arms of stream-lined muscles, glittering with silver jewels.

Jimin smiles at him, dark and gleaming, feathery white beneath the glorious interior design of
the room — its grey, predominately, with chaise loungers and tables, and a grand piano that
sits in the centre. Glowing, white cherubs are sprayed all across the walls, paintings of
creatures bridled with innocence and congeniality, serving up a dose of something ever so
ironic.

All teeth and glitter, he replies, "oh yes, wunderbar." And one of his blanched hands, with his
silver rings and long nails, comes to stroke the bottom of his chin, red eyes sliding along
Jungkook's profile. His smirk is vile and gorgeous all in one, and he says, "Sunsin made a
splendid job of it."

Taehyung grins, and something like pride crinkles the corners of his eyes, as he turns back
toward Jungkook, also looking him over, though, his gaze is a lot more syrupy and leaves
little percolates of sensation across Jungkook's frame.

"Okay, we can all stop staring now." He says, not in a manner of self-consciousness, but more
so because he can't bring himself to look them in the eye. He can't bring himself to face who
he is and what he's doing.

They both share a huffing laugh, before Taehyung nods and tells him, "okay, you can go and
take that stuff off." And Jungkook nods in relief. "I can make dinner."

His eyes go wide at the words, and they chase Taehyung down, following him as clicks his
heels toward the door. "Dinner?" He echoes, but Taehyung just turns to him and laughs again,
a flitter of flower petals seeming to erupt from his mouth as he opens it, so pretty and
magical.

"Taehyung insists." Jimin informs him, in that cold, seductive manner he rarely springs forth,
but seems to always be somewhere there, ready to sizzle out of him.
"I don't want dinner." Jungkook shakes his head, shaking off his blazer, before ducking
behind the black screen, not feeling completely comfortable, even shielded from sight.
Although he knows Jimin doesn't have x-ray vision, his paranoia can't stop him from
constantly considering the idea.

Jimin doesn't say anything for a minute, and Jungkook almost thinks he must have left. His
voice makes him physically shake as he suddenly says, "I know." Then, he sighs and it almost
sounds like he's about to laugh. Instead, he continues, "But Taehyung seems to think you're
malnourished."

"Has he seen me?" Jungkook's brows draw near to each other, like magnets, and his frown is
probably evident in his voice. He looks down at his naked chest, the broadness of him, the
packages of muscles that align every crevice of his body, and he quickly pulls on his own
shirt.

"He worries about those sort of things." Jimin tells him, mild, but there's something a little off
lingering there.

In fact, it's been that way since Jungkook arrived, like Jimin was constantly on the cusp of
telling him something, but couldn't quite get it out. Paranoia sinks it's teeth into his neck, and
he feels it like a leech, annoying and painful, and his brain tells him Jimin knows. He knows
of his plot, of his allegiance with Uram, he knows of everything — how could he not? He
knew everything. Fuck, if he didn't know, Taehyung must; he's a clairvoyant, for fuck's sake.
Alas, there's no hostility nor animosity projecting from either of them, like they've absolutely
no idea. Uram had told him that they didn't. He'd said Jimin's mind was still human, deep
down, he was human once. He had seen that as the man stood by the mantle, leant against it,
casual and beautiful and dangerous and human.

"Would you mind humouring him? Just for tonight?"

Just for tonight. Tomorrow is the day of the theatre and tonight is all they may have. He
supposes it may be all he has and he nods. "Okay."

He thinks Jimin probably looks happy behind the screen, but he can't see him, so he just
supposes. "Besides, we never know what may happen in days to come. Always best to take a
good meal when you can."

Jungkook pauses instantly. He must know. He goes frigid, feels like a block of ice, grumbling
out, "I suppose you're right."

"I'm always right." He says, and he's not joking, he's entirely serious, and Jungkook believes
him. "You should make a call." The boxer finishes changing, and he pulls out from behind the
screen, just in time to flash Jimin a confused expression. The vampire hasn't moved an inch,
is staring directly at him, still welded to his fireplace. "We shall be departing early tomorrow,
you may not see your sisters for a few days."

He must know. "A few days?"

"Yeah." He looks almost apologetic, as he tells him, "you should rest here for the night, so we
can travel tomorrow. You may get home late." He looks purposefully at him then. But, still,
there's no sense of maliciousness, nothing remotely vicious or angry. He almost seems kind.
"You wouldn't want to worry them."

Jungkook just nods at him, deciding he probably was right; he'd let his sisters worry for too
long, had left Ara to sit and pray he didn't make the same terrible decisions as their parents.
He follows where Jimin gestures, into a sitting room, virtually the same as the drawing room,
but with a telephone, which is perhaps the most wondrous of architectural pieces Jungkook
has laid eyes on.

With shaking hands, he dials his home number, and he hears Jimin leave out the door, giving
him privacy. The operator puts him through and he's immediately met with Hanai's giggling
slur of a voice, "Kook?" She coos into the phone and Jungkook flounders for a moment,
losing sense of everything he was doing, of everything that surrounds him.

"Han?" He responds, voice nothing but a crack, a relapse of emotion that seeks the aid of a
little girl's ear.

"Jungkook!" She calls out, nothing but innocent joy spilling from her. Then scuffling, and
Jungkook's sure he can hear her shout something else, before a heavy breath thuds through
the line.

"Jungkook?" Ara rasps into the phone, her voice tinny but live with emotion. "Jungkook,
where are you?"

"Hey, Ara." He greets her, pausing for a moment, growing cold as ice with the weight of
deceit. "I'm with Jimin." He tells her, truthful, fruitless.

She sighs, long and hard, and Jungkook can hear Hanai protesting in the background, can
almost picture her jumping up and down to try and grab the phone. Something like pain
uncoils in his gut. "You're always with him." She says, voice remaining steady.

His pause is immense, shows the doleful wedge that's forced itself between them of recent. "I
know." He wants to tell her this is the last time. But he can't risk it. Can't say it out loud. "I
wanted to inform you I might not be home for a few days."

There's another pause, and this one is even more painful. Jungkook's fingers curl in the
telephone wire and he almost yanks it fully as she suddenly releases a shriek of a laugh,
mocking and mean and upset. "You wanted to inform me, huh?" It's not quite a spit, but it
settles like one in Jungkook's heart, teeth pulled over his bottom lip, eyes downcast. "Well,
how very kind of you to consider us in your newfound world of glamour."

Hurt punches in his stomach. Anger rises in his throat. "I'm doing this for you." He tells her,
wants to scream it, and his teeth clench, grit, eyes valiant and wild with grief. "Everything I
do, everything I've ever done is for you."

She says something, but she's not talking clear enough for Jungkook to catch. He realises
she's talking to Hanai, telling her to leave. Her voice is heinous as she addresses him again,
nasty even, as she says, "don't give me that." It's a plea, but it bursts in his ear like anger and
he understands that trait so well. "You're doing this because you're hooked on the lifestyle —
the gangster lifestyle. Oh yes, don't think I didn't do my research on your little friend. Park
Jimin." She scoffs his name, her teeth clacking through the phone. "It was hard, he keeps
himself hidden, I'll give him that. I could find almost nothing on him, libraries and street-
dwellers and self-proclaimed oracles could give me nowt. Then, by chance, I find a boy
crying on the street. A boy, Jungkook, crying because his dad's got himself in trouble with a
loan-shark, a greedy shark that goes by the name Park Jimin."

Jungkook licks his lips together. "That's not—"

"Not what?" She snaps, shrill in his ear. "Not right? Not accurate? Not the whole story? No?
Oh, well do enlighten me on the big picture, brother, for I do not understand how you could
stoop so low."

"I didn't—" He tries again.

She interrupts, "what exactly is it that you do? You steal peoples money? Exploit them? All
the people like us, scraping to get by, do you rough them up, make them scared? Huh? Do
you fight people, hurt them, kill them?" She's breathless, her voice clanging into the phone,
like a rock being slammed to his head with each syllable. He doesn't know how to answer and
it makes her splitter out a breath.

"You already knew he was in a gang." He tries, weakly, not knowing what else he can say,
trying to keep calm, but his panic resonates as anger and he feels sick with tension.

"No." She snaps. "No. I did not know that." He thinks he can visualise her face right now:
fierce and angry and tense and so so scared. "In fact, I think I remember precisely telling you
that him being in a gang would be the worst thing to happen. I think I remember us agreeing
to talk about that kind of thing."

He hears the pain as it tears from her throat, the fear and the tears and the hurt she's always
felt and he feels his own anger start to grow, spreading red flowers of fire along his heart. "I
don't recall you having a problem with it when I was bringing in money." He says to her, his
voice low and harsh and cruel. "In fact, I don't recall you asking any questions at all about
where I was getting it. You didn't care when it was getting you new clothes, new jewels, new
furniture, new friends, new food." He doesn't realises he says it until it's too late and his voice
is a horrid spell of words intended to hurt and get her to stop. "You didn't care when it was
stopping you from being a fucking prostitute."

He hears the hitch of her breath, the sudden pause in her rage, as it whittles down into
something outraged and aching and nothing less. It bleeds from her, this horrible wave of
violet, green, orange sick, nausea overtaking any sense of anger. "Here I was thinking it was
helping you. I thought you weren't going to turn out so cruel."

"I'm sorry—" He tries to say, but he knows it doesn't come out right, still rests like spleen and
ire in her ears.
"No, no, don't apologise, I'm the one who should be sorry." She tells him, bitter and full of
resentment. "I'm sorry for ever kidding myself enough to believe you wouldn't turn out just
like him. I'm sorry for you because you had no hope, you didn't get any chance to be better.
But, you've always been just like him," Her voice cracks as she whispers, "you're just like
dad."

He wants to retort, wants to scream at her, to cry, to let her know how much he hates her
words. But, he can't, he can't because she's hung up and she's gone and she's probably crying
on the other side.

His breaths are haggard, as he slams the phone into it's place, almost breaking the table it's on
with the velocity of it, the pure, unbridled rage that coaxes it. His eyes are fixed on the
wobbling object, his heart thumping and waning and drizzling down in his stomach.

"Are you alright?" Taehyung asks him as he comes into the kitchen. Both of them are looking
at him, shocked and, dare he try and convince himself, concerned, presumably having heard
the crash.

He's not sure how his eyes start to pool with tears, but he feels sick as soon as he feels them
and his hands come up to slap over his eyes. He thinks it was the question itself that set him
off, something so cruel and kind in its tone. Are you alright? He doesn't think he ever has
been. The heels of his hands press into his eyeballs, forcing the tears back, pretending to just
rub his eyes.

Neither of them seem fooled.

"You like lamb?" Taehyung asks him, softer this time, and Jungkook looks at him
incredulously for a moment, before he sees that very dish on the table, along with an array of
other foods — most of which he's never seen before, not in his wildest fantasies.

"Never had it." He tells them, and the tremble in his voice is so loud in the quiet room.

Taehyung smiles at him, kind but not patronising, and it sends a flurry of something
Jungkook hasn't felt in years: comfort. He feels comforted by the look, by the way Taehyung
gestures for him to come over and sit at the table and eat with them.

Jimin's not smiling, but he looks warm, his skin glowing, darker than it had been earlier, and,
in the hot white flicker of the lights, he looks human and he looks lovely.

"I hope you enjoy it then." Taehyung tells him, placing some onto his plate.

Jungkook nods at him, thankful and guilty, and his eyes still sting and his heart still twangs
with every beat. He watches the blonde munch on the food, content despite the silence, and,
cautiously, he takes a bite. His eyes widen as soon as he does, his tongue dancing in waves,
taste buds giggling and gorging and praising and he never knew food could taste so good.

"Mmm," Taehyung nods to himself. "I don't mean to brag, but this is fucking delicious."
 Jungkook almost smiles at him, but doesn't quite manage. Jimin does, he beams, resting his
chin in his palm, gaze flickering between both of them. Slowly, Taehyung offers a forkful in
his direction, smiling sweetly. Jimin rolls his eyes but takes a bite. "Yum." He says, eyes wide
and teasing, "tastes like nothing."

"He can't taste food." The dancer tells Jungkook, with a sly grin.

"I can." Jimin protests, almost petulant. "Everything just pales in comparison to blood."

Jungkook thinks he should feel sick at the comment, but he doesn't, not at all. He's reminded
of something suddenly, and, after he swallows down his bite, he says, "I heard vampires can't
eat garlic."

Taehyung laughs immediately, and, with his cheeks full of food, he looks a little ridiculous.
Jimin narrows his eyes. "I thought I told you not to trust Bram Stoker." He shakes his head,
like he's actually offended. "I mean, as if a little clove of garlic could do a thing to me."

Taehyung's still giggling and Jungkook feels himself smile a little at the other's despair, and
he doesn't fight it, just lets himself feel content in the moment, with them.

Because it all vanishes as soon as he's alone.

They set him up in the guest bedroom, and the house is suddenly quiet, the world and the
night bending into silent scurries of nothing beyond the realms of his senses. He can think of
nothing but his sister's words, of his sister's sadness. You're just like dad. He can't bear it,
can't bear it at all. He paces around and he feels his anger and his discontent blur into one
fizzling gaggle of emotion in his belly.

He stops thinking as he hears it. A moan. A breathy sort of thing, climbing through the air,
slithering toward him, wafting beneath his doorway.

His heart beats fast with anger, with the idea of his father, the idea of his past, something he'd
tried so hard to forget, to erase, to protect. He feels it in his gut, the black fire of fury, the
sopping tendrils of horror that lurk in the precipice of his mind, the—

This moan is more glittering, more giggly, like a siren-song, calling him to the rocks, to the
path of danger, to the realms of unrest.

He remembers his dad. He remembers everything he'd tried so hard not to be. He remembers
all his aversions, all his suppressions, all his spiels of self-hatred.

He remembers it and he scrunches it to a ball and he chucks it out of his mind.

His rage is burning like desire as he steps out the door of the guest room.

Chapter End Notes

sorry for the slight delay, i have exams coming up and they're really kicking my butt.
also i wrote out a whole 4k part but then decided i hated it and had to completely
rewrite!! anyway, i hope this was okay, again a lot of plotttt. i'm sure you can tell what
will happen at the start of the next chapter ;) -- sorry for the cliffhanger! but also i'm
trying not to make this story toooo long, but i do have a good few things to get through.
i'm determined to finish this story, even if no one reads it ;)
 Chapter 18
Chapter Notes

omg i'm sorry this update took a while! i hope you're still with me, coz i'm going to try
and make updates a bit faster :)
also!!! first half of this chapter is a treat of pure smut, so enjoy!!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Sweat makes a pretty varnish against Jeon Jungkook's palms as he squeezes his skin together,
brushing the bones of his knuckles against the door. Jimin's voice is like an assailant, stealing
away his dignity and any sense of reevaluation; his tone is ice cold and rampant with a cruel
twist of desire as he beckons, "come in." And it makes Jungkook's feet toasty and warm.

He enters, forcing himself not to have second thoughts; in fact, he rids himself of thoughts
altogether and walks in to their bedroom with nothing on his mind except desire and want
and ignorance and bliss. He sees all those things in the blues of their skin, the zaffre tones of
their pulsing hearts, blue blood leaking out of their most delicate points. Cherry magma in
their eyes, as he finds them in a compromising position that ascends him into a state of
craving unlike anything he's felt before.

Park Jimin is sat on the edge of the bed, still in his soft jumper and trousers; his legs are
spread apart as wide as he can in his position, and his ringed fingers squeeze bruises into
Taehyung's back. Taehyung's in his trousers and nothing else, in Jimin's lap, straddling him,
arms tied together with rope behind his back. Jungkook watches as he pants out his
movements, his entire body shaking with his breaths, as his head tips fully backward, till he
can make upside down eye contact with the stagnant boxer. Fauna, they are, with their
growling claws and cheetah-print bruises and panting tongues; like Mother Nature's most
sinful of atrocities and Jungkook wants to kiss her for it.

Jimin's eyes flame red, branding marks of coal and wine, and they snatch at Jungkook's
attention over the blonde's shoulder. Without word, his free hand, the one not pinching
Taehyung's skin lavender, outstretches, fingers curling into a flick of temptation, an order.
Jungkook follows it, slow and stomping, unable to do anything but follow the lure of his
eyes, as if in a trance.

As he reaches them, stands beside them, he feels the emanating heat that exudes from their
mere existence and Jimin's sultry red gaze is asking him to dip down, to come closer. The
bones of his jaw protrude outward, and he's all sensuality, his white skin like a ghost, smooth,
unblemished, such a stark contrast to the bright carmine of his lips and eyes, that call
Jungkook forward.
Taehyung turns into them, and his breath is humid against Jungkook's cheek, while Jimin's
aura is light and frosty. "Can I kiss you?" The vampire asks, and he presses the words into
Jungkook, tingling his lips and making him choke on them. Before he can nod in consent,
Jimin has his plump, soft lips against his and they allot themselves together like nothing else
Jungkook has ever experienced. His teeth feel so sensitive, shivering amongst themselves, as
Jimin's touch resonates like a block of ice against him. He feels the ice melt as they get
closer, and he feels the wet sleek of water trembling between them, saliva entangling as their
tongues draw together, caressing their throats, the soft mush of gums. Jimin is like an animal
as he laps up every drop of life from Jungkook's mouth.

He gasps out a breath as the vampire suddenly moves away, eyes hazy and hooded, with a
gentle look on his face, that could almost be interpreted as feral. Jungkook looks at him
wondrously, and Jimin can hear his heartbeat. With his steady fingers, he strokes at
Taehyung's face, gently plying at the bottom of his chin, twisting his head to fully face
Jungkook.

The boxer looks at Jimin for a second, then at Taehyung, and he sees how the witch's eyes
flicker bright with lust, lips slightly parted, and top teeth slipping through. He doesn't bother
to exercise restraint as he surges forward and connects their lips together — Taehyung inhales
harshly at the suddenness, but he fizzles into it with ease, with pleasure. He's a lot more
malleable to kiss than Jimin had been, and perhaps it's to do with how vulnerable he is
compared to the other two currently, but Jungkook suspects he likes it. He truly doesn't doubt
that Taehyung is enjoying the burn in his wrists, as he tries to shake away the ropes, tries to
bring Jungkook in; he must love the tight grip Jimin has on his face, forcing him to keep in
place.

He chases after Jungkook's lips with a whine, as the younger male pulls away, saliva strings
glittering between them. Tentatively, Jimin's thumb strokes along the slope of the dancer's
cheek and his smile is wicked as he turns to Jungkook, says, in a low, steady voice, "he's
already on edge," his tongue licks his lip and Jungkook watches it, tantalised. "Cute, isn't he?
All tied up like this, for us."

For us. It strikes Jungkook a little too deep in his gut, curdling his loins to thick expanses of
hot, hot pleasure.

"Don't you think so, Jungkook?" It's only as he repeats it in that deep, vindictive tone that
unsettles the lining of his stomach that he realises it had been a question.

Jimin is looking at him in the manner of a storm, thunderclouds and glowing lights, dark and
glum and gorgeous all in one. And Taehyung, well Taehyung looks like he's waiting for the
rain cloud to burst and drizzle all over his sensitive body with apparent purls of libido and
thirst. All things considered, he does look adorable, pliant, squeezable, lovable, and Jungkook
can do nothing but agree. "He does." He says, decisive, trailing eyes all along his face,
leaving the pretty tracks of his excitement all over his skin.

Jimin smiles at him, almost proud. Jungkook seems to harmonise with all their movements in
this moment and so his eyes are immediately fixed to Jimin's hand as he starts to move it. He
watches the puddles of ice he leaves behind as he trickles down Taehyung's narrow back,
sending goosebumps along all that tan skin. His palm suddenly cups at the man's ass, so
sudden and hard, the man jolts in his lap. Jimin laughs quietly, kneading the clothed flesh.

His eyes are blazing with hellfire and it's turning Jungkook on. He asks in a spell of gargling
smoke, "what shall we do with him?" And Jungkook immediately watches how Taehyung's
eyes snap to him, and it takes a moment for Jungkook to realise the question wasn't addressed
to him. It was for Taehyung.

The blonde whines, deep and manly, and Jungkook almost gasps at the sound of his voice. It
flutters like air as usual, but like air contaminated with smoke, thick, black pollution making
it sound so much more guttural and dark and sexual. "Want him to fuck me." He says, and he
looks at the soft patter of pink that bursts across the the tips of Jungkook's cheeks as he says
it, at the swirl of desire that drips out of his eyes.

"Oh?" Jimin's eyebrows raise, still so composed, and he looks toward Jungkook. His smirk
twists upward, eyes so cruel and alluring, and he blinks bafflingly, as he asks, "is that what
you want, Jungkook? You want to fuck our pretty Taehyung? Want to be inside him, to stuff
yourself into his soft, tight heat? Hm?" His head dips a little lower, and he grasps the boxer
by his shirt, bringing their heads to level with one another. His other hand grips tighter at the
blonde man's ass and his mouth bursts with a scary sort of sexuality. "You want to give in to
us, to let yourself go. You want to let us take care of you and put that big cock of yours to
good use. Isn't that right?"

Jungkook's throat is tight and he's never felt so high in his life. His mouth must have fallen
open a little, but he can't bring himself to be embarrassed about it, instead he just nods his
head, rapid, unwavering, as if he's no other option but to agree. He wants it. So deep inside
him, frothing at his very core, he wants it and he wants nothing more.

"That's right."

And then Jungkook feels a gust of inhuman strength and his entire body is shoved to the
mattress. "Settle down." Jimin tells him, and the boxer does just that, settling against the
headboard, just as he had done before, the last time he was here. It plays in his mind now, a
broken record, stuck in a constant loop of his own pleasure and he feels nothing but sexual
desire influx through him like tidal waves of life.

Taehyung crawls toward him, having been released from Jimin's grip, and he expertly uses
his knees to better reach the boxer. Behind the blonde, Jimin's hands jut out and he grabs both
of Jungkook's knees, prying them apart, so his legs are wide and the stench of his lechery is
palpable in the steamy hue of the room, as it starts to swing around them, like they're
balancing on a tight rope of moralities.

"Tell him what you want, sweetheart." Jimin says, his lips kissing along the exposed hilt of
skin at Taehyung's neck, his head craning around from behind, carving little marks of love
into him. He's still gripping Jungkook's knees, the pair of them kneeled between his
outstretched legs.

Taehyung gulps, the bulge of his adam's apple dunking down the skin of his throat. "I want
to..." He looks Jungkook in the eye, Jimin leaving little bites along him, not the bites of a
vampire, but the bites of care and owning and desire. "Like last time," Taehyung says, and
Jungkook instantly stirs at the remembrance that echoes between them all. "Want to suck his
dick."

Jimin smiles against the shudder of his body and nods. "Is that okay, Jungkook?"

Jungkook nods in immediacy. "Yes, please." And Taehyung is quick, in how he comes
forward, crashing their lips together in a clash of colour and a bursting jut of desire. They
meet in the centre of their universe, and Jungkook's hand grips Taehyung by the waist, the
heat of his body so wonderful in his fingers. He feels the world in his palm, feels like he's
walking on the moonlight, like it's his dance floor and his bare feet can glide all across it,
soaked in milk and bleeding with a sexually haunting nightmare.

Jimin's fingers make quick work of undoing Jungkook's buttons, pulling his shirt open,
unveiling his broad chest, muscles and vigour evident in the imprint of his body. Taehyung
kisses down his neck, licks and nips and trails, leaving silky midnight in his wake, kissing all
the way down his chest and torso. His lips press like a phantom of care into the delicate areas
of bruised skin; he gently brushes the medicine of devotion into the contusions that pepper
his stomach like branding marks.

His mouth doesn't stop at them, though, not for long; it's enough to leave minute sprinkles of
relief in the boxer's aching body, but it's gone too soon for him to forget what was about to
happen. Without much warning, Taehyung starts to kiss along the top of his trousers, all
along the dip of his hips, just beside the zip. He's leant so far forward now, Jungkook's
surprised he doesn't fall, especially considering he can't balance with his hands.

He looks down at him, panting, eyes wide. He's about to assist him, when suddenly
Taehyung's teeth clutch into the fabric and, with a slow performance of movement, he
manages to undo the button with his teeth alone. Jungkook has no choice but to look at him,
to meet his eyes, as the master in the art of seduction moves his teeth down to bite at the
metal zipper, eyes rippling with desire and embezzling fantasy.

Sensual, slow, sybaritic, Taehyung pulls the fly all the way down, head moving, bobbing,
staring Jungkook right in the eye. He gulps, feels the twitch in his dick as Taehyung's breath
fans over it through his underwear.

"Fuck."

The blonde then flicks his head upward, signalling for Jungkook to do the rest. The boxer
instantly complies, lifting his hips, pulling down his underwear and trousers enough for his
erect member to spring free. Then, without any hint of hesitation, Jimin's cold body leans all
over Taehyung, forcing the blonde to dip down, all the way, until his mouth fully engulfs
Jungkook's cock.

It's not like last time. There's not a hint of teasing, of tempting him with kitten licks; it's just
one second Jungkook's dick is exposed in the air, the next it's nestled inside the startling heat
of Taehyung's mouth. He instantly arches his back into it, thrusting up into the heat like it's a
means of survival. Jimin's still leaning over him, and, as Jungkook's hips buck up, he's
pulling on his clothes, prying them completely off of him, until he's completely naked.
Jimin smirks, as Jungkook tumbles out profanities and praises, "oh fuck, that's so good." He
groans.

The vampire backs away, slowly pulling away from Taehyung, making the man lose anything
that had previously steadied him — he all-but chokes on Jungkook's dick as his body falls a
little forward and engulfs him further. The boxer doesn't see Jimin, but Taehyung feels the
cold trail of his fingers, as he pulls Taehyung's trousers and underwear fully off as well.
Jungkook only notices what's happened as he feels Taehyung moan around his dick, sending
vibrations of appeal across him. With hazy eyes, he looks over and sees Jimin, knelt behind
Taehyung, with a finger wedged into his hole, thrusting in and out.

Taehyung whimpers, clearly losing balance, so the younger man helps him out, grabs at his
smooth, silky locks and pulls his head up slightly. He's strong enough to help the older
balance in this way, as he keeps him in place and slowly thrusts up into him. Taehyung
whines around him and Jungkook can see the whispers of blue-black tears squeezing from the
corners of his eyes, dripping down his cheeks in little orbs of mercury.

The blonde jolts again and Jungkook looks up, looks over the man's back and sees Jimin, still
fully clothed, dipping his body forward at the waist, two fingers sinking into Taehyung, along
with a tongue that rapidly licks at his hole. He locks Jungkook's gaze in his, and the boxer
thinks he could cum on the spot.

He watches Jimin's head disappear as his tongue works into the blonde's ass, along with his
fingers that are relentless in their pounding. Jimin stares at him as he works his tongue in and
out of the dancer, swirling it around, and his eyes are red, pure like hell. Taehyung's tears are
hot. One of them splashes into Jungkook's thigh, and his hips spasm, his thrusts becoming
unsteady.

He can feel his breath hitch, feels his moans echo around the room, feels Taehyung groaning
and sobbing onto his member. He feels himself about to release, feels himself ready for it.

But then Taehyung's head is yanked upward, and Jimin's hand is icicles and snowflakes
against Jungkook's, as he places it over the top, gripping it, forcing him to tighten his hold on
those golden curls. Taehyung whines, a little high pitched, eyes closed, glittery with tears,
mouth open and breathing heavy.

"He's ready to take you." Jimin tells him, and Jungkook can do nothing but nod, grunting a
little at the feeling of wanting to release so badly. His dick is pulsing, his heart pumping
wildly, and Jimin looks at his chest, like he can see all the blood in it. "Look how desperate
he is for you." Jimin coos, and, again, it takes Jungkook a moment to realise he's not the one
being addressed. "He's so hard for you, baby, god, I can smell how much he wants to fuck
you." He laughs, pressed against Taehyung's back, inhaling against his neck, smelling his
sweat and desire. "Isn't that right, darling?" His lashes bat, still pressed right to Taehyung, his
lips pushed against the back of his ear, but he's looking intensely at Jungkook, is
calling him 'darling'. "Tell him how much you want it."

Jungkook thinks he might literally be shaking, his lips parted, teeth chattering, toes curled,
breaths hanging from his nostrils, as he tries to compose himself enough to answer. He needs
to answer because he needs to be inside Taehyung. He needs to release. He needs it so bad.
"Yes," He nods, exhales, inhales, "fuck, yes, want him so bad." He shakes his head, tries to
clear it, but it's impossible, the clouds of lust too thick. He'll say anything right now, even all
the things he's been suppressing. "I want you both, fuck, I— I always have. You're so
attractive, so, so... god, I want to fuck him. Please, Jimin."

Jimin almost looks surprised, and there's something a little pleasing in it, that makes
Jungkook feel so electric. It stampedes down his spine, resides in his gut and flutters in his
loins, scalds him with sexual desire.

"Come over here then." He says, soft but strict, and he smiles, as he gestures Jungkook to
where he is, behind Taehyung. He slips his hand out from underneath Jimin's and he uses his
knees to move around, while Jimin's on the other side, gently pressing the blonde's head into
the mattress. "Good boy." He whispers to him, as the dancer lays there, face smooshed into
the soft, plush sheets, knees digging into the mattress, ass out, arms tied, completely exposed
and vulnerable before them.

Jungkook looks at Taehyung's hole then, stretched and slick with Jimin's saliva and he
flickers his dark gaze toward the vampire, who curls his fingers into Taehyung's hair.

"Can I?" Jungkook asks, voice muted and strained from his intense influx of need.

Taehyung's head shakes in the pillow and he mumbles out, "please, Kook, please take me."

Tense and tender, the boxer obeys with a gulp, placing his hands on Taehyung's hip and he
feels himself gasp as his tip brushes against the dancer's rim. Taehyung whimpers into the
mattress and Jimin chuckles, soothing and alive. "You're such a tease, dear." As he smirks at
Jungkook.

The boxer gulps again, his heart hammering so hard he fears his ribs shall shatter. With his
teeth gnawing into his lip, he finally lets himself sink into heaven. He groans as soon as his
cock feels all that tight heat of Kim Taehyung. "Fucking hell." He rasps out, as Taehyung
trembles beneath him, and he feels so content right now, could possibly stay like that forever,
buried in the witch and his beautifully sensual heat. He doesn't because he's always been bad
at self-restraint and the urge to get off outweighs everything else. So, slowly, he starts to rock
his hips back, his cock getting almost stuck with how tight he is. "Shit, oh oh shit." He raps
out as he pulls out only to fall back in almost immediately.

Jimin beams darkly, stroking soothingly at the blonde's hair as he sobs and takes it and loves
it.

Jungkook continues with his slow sense of pace, drawing in and out so leisurely, like he's
scared of hurting Taehyung, when it's more he's just savouring every second.

"M-more." Taehyung mumbles out into the covers, crying into his words.

"More what?" Jimin asks him as Jungkook stills, watching them, shuddering at the cool tone
Jimin adopts, still so composed while the other two are falling apart into each other.
"More... m-more, please." He whimpers, and his desperation spurs Jungkook on, makes him
give him exactly what he wants, slamming back and forth as quickly as he can, as harshly as
he can. "Oh.. oh! Thank you, thank you," He actually sobs, his breaths caught in his throat.

"Tell him how good he is." Jimin says. Demands.

Jungkook can see he's got his eyes closed, cheeks wet with tears, mouth open, drooling.
Jungkook grips harder at his hips, fucks into him harder, unleashing all his fears, all his
animosity, all his pain, all his anger; he fucks away all his problems and Taehyung cries in
pleasure.

Jimin scoffs and he moves so quickly Jungkook hardly sees it. His hand comes beneath
Taehyung's curved body and the blonde screams, hollow and strangely breathy. Jungkook
understands seconds later, that he's squeezing the dancer's cock. "I asked a question, Tae." He
says, almost like he's fed up, and it's so bored, so mean, so effortless, Jungkook can't help but
get a little more turned on — which he really didn't think was possible.

Taehyung cries more, turning his face away, fully into the pillow, and Jimin squeezes his dick
again, his oversensitive dick that's leaking with pre-cum and is so pink with its painful
hardness.

"Taehyung." He repeats, like a warning, a scolding.

Jungkook is unsure whether he should slow down and help the blonde out, but there's
something strangely pleasurable in seeing how much he's sobbing right now, in seeing him so
desperate and fucked out he can barely talk, that it makes him do the opposite. He gives into
the mean side of his mind and he speeds up, goes harder.

Taehyung's entire body racks forward, and Jungkook groans as he screams again, but it's so
hoarse and pained it barely registers over the smog of Jungkook's desire.

"It—" He starts, head turning to the side for air, and his wrists and hands look a little purple
against the glorious tan of his skin. He breathes out desperately. "F-feels... it feels good." He
groans out, a half scream, as Jimin starts to rub his cold fingers more vehemently against his
cock.

"How good?"

Fuck. Jungkook thinks. Fuck, Jimin is so mean. His tone is so harsh and cold, it actually
makes Jungkook shudder, and it wasn't even directed at him.

Taehyung is crying again, properly, his eyes squeezed shut, tears making a stain against the
sheets. "Ah... s— s'good, Sir," He cries and Jungkook's hips slam harder at the word, even
though it wasn't addressed at him. He's so close now, and he can feel it in Taehyung's body, in
his trembling thighs, that he is too. "Ju— Kook fucks me... s'well." His voice is more
damaged and vulnerable than Jungkook has ever heard it and it's so hard, physical, like it
could be snapped in Jungkook's hand. "Best... the best."
Jimin smiles, a little softer, and his hand is more rampant now. "Such a good baby, my good
boy." He tells him, and Jungkook fucks him hard, not at all steady, pulling him by the hips,
slamming him back down onto him as he thrusts. Meanwhile, Jimin is stroking his cock and
Taehyung is actually writhing, sobbing desperately into the pillow.

"I'm— I'm gonna—" Jungkook starts, and Jimin turns to him, smirking, and he releases
Taehyung's cock, in favour of leaning into Jungkook.

Grabbing him by the cheek, he pulls his head down and whispers, "cum for me, love, cum,"
And he presses their lips together again, this time it's so much harder, their teeth clash and
Jungkook falls completely into him, his hips spasming as he releases into Taehyung.

The blonde shivers and takes it, moaning straight from his throat, as he feels the hot, white
liquid fill his hole, filling him with all that warm, reproachful proof of Jeon Jungkook's
sexual desire.

Jimin kisses Jungkook hard, and the boxer pulls out of the blonde, letting the last of his cum
spurt against his entrance, dripping from it, white and mean and there. He lets Jimin kiss
away his screams, and he pants into the man's mouth, his heart rate calming as he finally gets
his release, only for it to accelerate again, as he feels the press of something sharp against his
lip, his gum. Jimin's teeth are sharper now, his canines clacking and in the way of their
intimacy, threatening to tear open his skin.

"Can I bite you?" Jimin asks him, and, even though he doesn't breathe, he sounds rather
breathless, as he keeps himself close, staring into Jungkook's eyes, almost vulnerable with the
question. Something hot and surging and scared slithers into Jungkook's stomach and he
breathes harshly, closing his eyes and, slowly, sadly, his head shakes, telling him no. There's a
pause, so minuscule but so loud, and Jungkook feels guilt in his throat, and he almost feels
like Jimin is going to do it anyway. There's a pause. There's a second. And he chuckles softly,
into a whisper, gently pecking the boxer again. "It's okay." He says, and he sounds so sincere,
so kind and considerate, like he understands.

He moves away from Jungkook, just as the boxer opens his eyes again, and he catches the
small twinge of tenderness that still lingers all over the vampires face.

He's still fully clothed. Jungkook remembers, and he watches him, panting, on his knees, he
watches the perfectly composed Jimin, as his affectionate hands come to Taehyung's,
effortlessly untying the ropes that stain his skin violet and mahogany. The blonde whimpers
and Jimin shushes him, placing his gentle kiss — a kiss Jungkook had just felt — against the
marks on his wrists. He kisses all along them, releasing soft coos and shushes. "Doing so
well, baby, so good." He tells him, carefully gripping his waist and turning him over, onto his
back, so his still hard cock is visible. Jimin sighs adoringly, "pretty boy." And he kisses his
inner thigh, making him shake and whimper. "Let me help you." Jimin tells him, eyes so
lovely and dear, they could wilt a flower. He smiles at Jungkook over his shoulder and
whispers, "look up." Before he turns and bends back down, taking Taehyung's erection into
his mouth.

Jungkook is confused for only a second, before he follows the instructions and, still panting,
unsteady and light-headed, he peers at the ceiling. He sees his reflection in a mirror on it. He
looks so fucked out, rosy-cheeked and red eyed, with lips that bulge and chap, and a sweaty
body, covered in bruises and burning love.

Flicking his eyes to the side, he catches Taehyung's orgasm; he sees the twist of his face into
the ultimate scene of pleasure and beauty. His face is pink, dripping with tears that rest like
crystals on his gorgeous, moaning face, that is absolutely rife with relief. He looks wonderful.
Wonderful and alone.

Jungkook's eyes narrow, perplexed for a moment, before he comes to the realisation, Jimin is
a vampire. He had no reflection. In real time, he may be able to see exactly how Jimin
swallows down all the dancer's cum, but, in the mirror, it's just Taehyung, just Kim Taehyung
cumming, not touching himself, no one touching him. He's just lying there, getting pleasured
by nothing, and it makes Jungkook's insides purr with pleasure. He's shaking a little,
trembling and whining, and yet there's nothing there. It's so sultry, Jungkook thinks his
memory turns photographic for a moment, capturing the image and clutching it forever.

His thigh has a mark in it then, in the reflection, it's bleeding, out of nowhere, blood is
disappearing out of his thigh and it's strange how seduced Jungkook feels by it.

His breath picks up again and his eyes widen, trailing to Taehyung's face. His breathing stops
as they meet Taehyung's in the reflection. Taehyung looks at him through his haze of sex and
fantasia and his smile is wonderful. He smiles like bliss and love and Jungkook can feel it all
projected at him through the mirror.

The heat of his love is a knife in Jungkook's heart.

&&&
Jungkook aches — his muscles pull themselves apart, the rive of his inner organs stimulated
by the charming scent of rose petals, as the rain patters down the window in a salvo of
disillusionment.

It's the early hours of the morning, it must be, for, despite the curtains having been drawn
tightly to the windows, there's still the distinct sagging of grey that engrosses the room, so
indicative of daylight. He can feel it beyond his eyelids, the crisp shapes of the world starting
to formulate, begging him to curl back into reality.

He ignores it as best he can, and he pulls at the warm object beside him. He's laying on his
side, face tucked against something that smells like blood and fire, a little metallic,
fermenting in his psyche as something desirous. In the haze of his dreams, he just about
manages to blink an eye open to make out sloping bones of shoulder-blades and scantily
placed marks of magenta covering tan skin.

Taehyung. He breathes in his soul, and he feels so light-headed, swarmed with jasmine
flowers and shades of cool, summer evenings, with their skies, dripping pink, cascading
streaks of plum along the lines of eternity.

Without need for thought, he clutches that peace and he feels Taehyung's body shake a little,
like he's in pain, or cold. His dazed sleepiness allows for him to give in to his urges and press
a gentle, fleeting peck against his shoulders, right in the dip of his bones, melting into his
flesh. He presses his lips against the nape of his neck, inches from his hairline, and the
trembling ceases.

So peaceful.

Smoke billows through his concept of peace, of fulfilment, and he feels his heart pound as his
eyes trail upward, following the tracks of smoke.

Park Jimin's eyes are staring back down at him, deep and brown, and crystallising to caramel
in the heat of themselves. His smirk ghostly but present, clearly having observed Jungkook's
action. Jungkook freezes under it, unsure what to do; he's rooted in reality again, but he's too
tired to do anything about it.

He takes in their position, at least: Jimin's sat up, leant against the headboard, shirtless,
showcasing pale thews of muscle, indented like waxwork. He's still thin though, in a sense
thats almost translucent, and his fingers drag a cigarette to his plush lips. Taehyung's cuddled
into him, head resting on his torso, completely naked, covered by silk and bruises. Jungkook's
behind the blonde, arms still wrapped around him, and he can't bring himself to move, rather
liking having a body to hold, to steel himself in reality. Besides, he comes to realise,
Taehyung's holding onto his hand, so, he couldn't move even if he wanted to.

"Morning." Jimin says after a moment, his teeth shining white in the glow of his smile, as he
takes a long drag, eyes flickering with entertainment.

Jungkook coughs, clears his throat. "Uh, yeah." Is all he says, looking back down at
Taehyung, who was still resting peacefully. Jimin giggles a little then, and Jungkook thinks
he sounds wonderful in it, even though he's laughing to himself. Uncomfortable and unsure,
the boxer blinks, hard, squeezing his eyes so harshly they begin to burst with pigments and
shadows. He quickly forces himself to speak, asking, "how long have you been awake?" His
voice is naturally lower and a little gravelly from having just woken up, so it somewhat
manages to mask his awkwardness.

Jimin raises a brow, smiling, looking at the door. "I didn't sleep." He says.

"Oh." Their eyes meet again and Jungkook realises what he'd been forcing himself to forget
for the duration of the night. In the reaping of dawn, he feels he has no option but to dwell on
reality, and his stomach churns as he realises the day. He realises what he's agreed to.
"Vampires don't sleep?"

The vampire in question gives him a small shrug. "We do. But our bodies don't follow the
same circadian rhythms as your own." He looks tired as he speaks, Jungkook can't help but
think, there's a strange sense of it in his gaze. "I can go months without sleeping, but I do
need to rest on occasion."

Jungkook nods, his forehead brushing against Taehyung's back and it suddenly feels a little
inappropriate to have a conversation cuddled into him. "So, you've just been lying there all
night? Watching us sleep?"

Jimin scoffs. "No, I returned a little while ago. You see, I actually have better things to do
than stare at you breathe all night, all green with envy." He doesn't sound serious in it, but
there is something rippling through his tone that comes across a tad genuine in its sadness.
"For some of us," He grins, looking at him purposefully, as he sing-songs, "the work never
stops — the devil's favourite piece of furniture is the long bench."

"Right." Jungkook rolls his eyes, used to the man's tones and manners of speech. "Okay." He
agrees, not wanting to remember the image of the devil that resides in the fiery rivers of
Jimin's eyes. Jimin seems content, as he taps his cigarette to the side, his free hand slowly
trailing forward and rubbing carefully at Taehyung's blonde locks. He just about makes out
the soft hues of pink that crisper in Jimin's gaze as he looks at the sleeping dancer and he
feels so sick, so ghastly.

"You know," Jimin laughs then, and it's not his usual sort of laugh — it's unfamiliar and
gleaming and it sounds almost vulnerable. Jungkook doesn't mind the strange sound, as it
interrupts their silence and provides some sense of escape. "When I first met you, I couldn't
have ever imagined we'd be in such a position."

Jungkook flinches. Jimin notices, but he doesn't say anything to remedy it, as is typical of
him. He simply sits and waits, let's the words sink into Jungkook's skin and encase his heart
in some insipid sort of armour. He's so taut with tension from the statement, he can do
nothing but attempt to alleviate it, replying, "I can't say I ever would've imagined it either." It
comes out too kind, too delicate, too easy for Jimin to tear his claws into and get inside.

But, the vampire's tone is a little too nice as well, as he threads his fingers through the
dancer's hair, thinking to himself, as he says, "I'll be honest and tell you I had no ulterior
motive with you, besides wanting to get rid of that manager of yours. I only wanted the
money."
Jungkook flinches more at the mention of Lee Doh. In a mist of curiosity, wherein he's
stuffed into a silhouette thats not his own, he dares to inquire, "what happened to him?"

"I got rid of him." Jimin says instantly, and his teeth look almost like they're sharpening. "Or,
a subordinate did, I suppose."

"You killed him." The boxer says, with the audacity to feel horrified, as if he'd really cared
about his old manager.

The vampire bites his lip, fingers twisting in Taehyung's hair. "I didn't." There's this far-out
look on his face now, like he's gazing off into a recluse of fairies and nymphs and they're all
cooing at him in their pastel lined clothes, with fingers made of dust, that crumple under the
weight of reality. Jungkook remembers what Taehyung had said to him, and he ascertains
Jimin feels guilt. "He was stealing money from you."

Jungkook's eyes widen for a moment and he moves to sit up, wants to be more awake and
ready for this conversation, but Taehyung's grip on his hand is surprisingly tight. He stays put
and says, "you're trying to justify killing him."

Jimin looks like the inferno as he twists with infusions of incredulity and fear. "You think me
so barbaric I would just kill for no valid reason?"

The boxer gulps. "I don't know."

Jimin grins. It's a manic sort of thing, ugly, even on his beautiful face, and he purrs, "yes, you
do."

Jungkook feels sick, well and truly ill, and it's black as tar in his veins. "I only know what
you show me, and, to be frank, it's not an awful lot."

"I show you what you need to see." It sits ominous and unsteady in the air. Jimin corrects, "In
fact, I'd go so far as to attest to the fact I show you everything, and you pick and choose what
you want to see. It's the same with everyone, humans, vampires, witches, werewolves,
whatever — you show them a minefield of bodies, corpses rotting and blue, with death and
violence spread all over it, and they pick out a bright silver bracelet one of those carcasses
has glittering on their limp wrist. They say it's a shame that such a wonderful item should be
forever tainted by all that death."

Jungkook is too tried, truly, to comprehend him fully, but what he does get sits darkly in his
stomach and he feels the vile crunch of it in his conscience.

The vampire shakes his head and takes a small drag of his cigarette. "It's part of nature, you
see, not just human nature, but all of nature, all of the Earth and it's walkers; everyone
looking for something to crush up, to turn to diamonds. Hell, even corpses can become
diamonds in the end. Death seems to scare everyone so, and I don't see the fear to be had, I
never have; death can be diamonds."

Jungkook wets his lip and his hoarse voice murmurs a reply, "you truly think death to be so
beautiful? Or, are you just trying to justify killing?"
"We all kill." Jimin tells him. Jungkook knows. Jungkook has. "Even if we don't know it,
everyone does it, in small things or in obvious things. We all die." Jungkook realises the day
again. "But when you've been in a state not so loving as death and yet not so harsh as life for
as long as I have, you come to realise, neither state is truly all that beautiful. I've existed for
long enough to have lived many lives, and I don't deem them to be better than dying, not at
all. Life is too brisk and harsh and people don't understand it well enough to do it right." He
laughs serenely then, his eyes back to their warm brown, projections of summer love, as he
tells him, "You don't know how unlucky you are to be alive, my love."

And Jungkook feels his face fall, his heart stampeding into his ribs, begging to be unleashed
upon the world and all its fresh, deadly air. A sudden thought occurs to him, and he replies,
tensely, softly, "Hoseok told me you were a doctor."

The vampire's eyelashes flutter, and he readjusts himself a little, fingers still in the blonde's
hair. "I am a doctor." He tells him.

"And you saved his life." He persists.

"Mm," Jimin nods, thinking it over, afond look twirling in the crevices of his attributes. "It
was a mellow point in my existence, I suppose. Before I kickstarted this business. I don't
imagine you'll understand me, even others of my kin don't comprehend, but, for me, blood
doesn't taste as good when it comes from a body that fights against it. Many find it more
thrilling, but I've always been a sucker for a passionate excursion." He grins at his own pun
as he continues on, "So, I gave some poor people medical treatment in return for blood."

"That's..." Jungkook frowns. "Uncharacteristically altruistic of you."

Jimin tuts, mock-offended. "Why, don't you know me at all, Jeon Jungkook? Altruism is my
middle name."

The boxer shakes his head, closing his eyes for only a moment, trying to prevent the smile
thats threatening to rise from the vampire's playfulness. "It's strange to imagine you're a
doctor."

"It's what I wanted to be, always, even as a child." He says it in such a way that doesn't sound
like him at all, so out of reach, so deep and twisted into the crescent of a smile. For a
moment, the tone of his voice makes him sound like a normal human. "I always wanted to
help people." He actually laughs at that, and Jungkook can understand it. He's always been
one to scoff at the notion. "You see, and I know this may be hard to picture, but my family
were dirt fucking poor."

Jungkook, in some weird way, can imagine that. But, beyond his imagination, deeper in the
rationale of his thoughts, he's condemned to wondering why exactly Jimin is being so
personal with him.

The vampire continues on, as if the matter of his family wasn't precious information. "My
mother, poor thing, was clinically insane — was locked up for most of her life." He smokes
harshly at his cigarette. "My father couldn't handle it; he used to work at a brewery, until he
got fired for stealing merchandise. Oh, it was such an embarrassment." In honesty, he seems
more sad than embarrassed, even as he cruelly says, "They were the people in the street you
laugh at; the town drunk and the town crackpot."

"It's hard to picture you coming from a family like that." Jungkook admits, the beacon of
honesty.

Jimin looks at him through the corner of his eye, face almost void of emotion, but with a
modicum of something vapid lingering. "Well, I'm glad." He tells him, adjusting his position
marginally, careful in how he adjusts his hand in Taehyung's hair. "But, thats besides the
point. It didn't make me angry at the time, but it made me long to help people. I didn't want
other people to be as fucked up as my parents." He bites at his bottom lip. "Only trouble is, I
was poor and I didn't have enough money or connections to go to a fancy university." His
fingernails scratch softly at Taehyung's scalp. "So, I befriended a slightly murderous-looking
aristocrat, who was also set to begin his training, at a school run by his own family. Kim
Namjoon."

Jungkook is still unsure why he's getting Jimin's life story, but he listens to intently, as if he
can see the events of his life unfolding before his eyes in gargantuan streams of white light.

"He seemed to really like something about me and it got me into the school." He clicks his
tongue fondly at the memory, as if he was genuinely overjoyed by it. "I never saw my parents
again. I got a little caught up in my new life. And, not to brag, but I became a fucking
incredible doctor. But, well, I suppose I started to confuse saving life with immortalising it."
He pauses entirely, both of his hands suddenly still. "Namjoon wasn't the soft-hearted rich
boy I had once thought and, well, we fell in with the wrong crowd..."

Jungkook thinks he can safely assume the crowd they fell into was not the human kind. It's
almost sad to understand the fate of Park Jimin, a poor boy from a laughing-stock of a family,
who only wanted to help people. Look at him now, destroying lives every second of the day.

"Why are you telling me this?" The boxer asks, words tangled amongst a breath.

Jimin's reply is instant and assured, and he says, the epitome of sincere, "because you asked."

Jungkook watches him, the slight curve of sadness that threatens to spill out in liquid form
from his trembling mind. He can feel the pulsing muscle in the palms of his hands, feels like
he's completely within Park Jimin now, like he knows all of him. Everything.

"Anyway." Jimin abruptly snaps out of his memories and brings his gaze back to Jungkook,
smiling again, lips stretched in an animalistic tug. "I digress. I was attempting to give you
some intel into why you're here in my bed."

"It's because I had a fight with my sister." Jungkook cuts in to whatever he was going to say,
wanting to get his excuse out. It wasn't that. Not fully. It was more of a goodbye, a last
chance to clutch their beautiful sensuality before he cuts their chains to him for good.

"No it wasn't." Jimin says, mild, and Jungkook suddenly wonders if he truly does know what
he'd planned — maybe he knows the real reason. "And I don't mean just here right now, by
the way. I was trying to tell you why you're not just a star fighter." Jungkook remembers, he
was, in fact, trying to tell him that. "As I said before, I never imagined us to be in such a
position, but, well, Taehyung told me to keep an eye on you." He knows. Jungkook feels sick.
They've always known. "He wanted to have sex with you from the start."

They don't know? "Really?" Jungkook furrows his brows and he doesn't doubt it, he recalls
the dancer had always approached him so flirtatiously, even when they first met. He thought
it was just his personality, but, as he's seen how genuinely considerate he can be, he
somewhat thinks perhaps it was more.

"Yeah." Jimin chuckles, "he said you were... hiding something and I felt it too. It's
intriguing." His eyes travel all over the boxer's face and he whispers then, "I still don't know
what it is, because as I unravel more of you, I can't seem to find the core of you. Or, perhaps,
I'm missing it, pulling too hard."

"There's no core to me." Jungkook mumbles, and he can't escape the vampire's gaze. Jimin
looks half amused, half intrigued, and it sears from his every orifice. Uncomfortable,
Jungkook quickly quizzes, "you believed him without doubt?"

Jimin's brow raises. "Yes."

The boxer's lips purse together and he remembers his conversation with Yoongi — people get
left behind. "I only mean that you were okay with him entertaining his desires for someone
else?" His voice is delicate and cruel and genuine as he says, "It seems like you'd do anything
for him."

"I would." Theres not a beat of silence, no hesitation, nothing, not even a sliver of reluctance,
and it's almost scary to hear. His eyes are dark on Jungkook, almost black as they burn in the
midnight sun, soaked in mud and insects, and he tells him, "I would do anything for the
people I love."

"Love." Jungkook repeats, breathes it out without meaning to, and the way Jimin's looking at
him makes his delusional side imagine he's not just talking about Taehyung.

"Love." Jimin confirms.

"Vampires can love." It's posed as a question, but it's more a realisation and it hurts to
acknowledge Uram may have been wrong on this topic. It's not surprising, Jungkook had
always suspected it, yet it hits a little harder as it's said in the echoes of reality.

"Of course." Jimin almost laughs again, and his eyes are intense and insane, but his hand in
Taehyung's head is cupping more sweetly, pulling him closer.

"But..." Jungkook tries, drastically and desperately, to keep ahold of his tone, of his
preconceived ideas about their relationship, and it comes out fleeting a fearful. "Your heart
doesn't work."

The vampire looks at him so wildly, an expression thats unfamiliar and wonderful and looks
like he can't believe what he's hearing. His smile is sweet as he looks down at Taehyung,
who's, somehow, still asleep. "Oh, you beautiful fool, Jungkook," He giggles, "love doesn't
come from the heart. It comes from your mind." His cheeks puff up with his smile and he
looks gorgeous and serene in the faint twinkle of the daylight that can't get past the curtains.
"Anyone can love. It is not something hard to do, it is something natural and beautiful and
even the most heinous of beasts are capable." His hand is so tender in Taehyung's hair.
"Now, being loved is another playing field. To find someone who loves you truly is a great
deal harder than one could imagine, and, well, when you come across someone willing to
love you, you take them and you never let them go."

Jungkook's not sure when the vampire's eyes had shifted to him, but he feels the words so
deeply in his gut, he's not sure how to respond. Truly, he hasn't a clue what to do, what to say,
how to excuse himself from this conversation. So, he thinks back to Yoongi and he's a little
nastier than intended as he replies, "but he's not like you."

Jimin's brow arches, but his expression is still soft, almost frail.

"I mean, he's going to get old. He's going to die."

And he doesn't think he's ever seen such a terrifically melancholy expression on Park Jimin's
face; but it drips down him now, puddles itself in the droop of his eyes and mouth, any sense
of soft love hardening like wax, thick and solid and crushed into something that you can grip.

"Did you not hear what I just said?" His smile is magnificent and scary as his eyes turn
hollow, a gateway to his soul. "I won't ever let the people I love go."

Jungkook knows he's not just talking about Taehyung then.

"He's so dramatic." A grovelling, deep voice suddenly sounds, and Jungkook feels the rumble
of it in his chest, pushing up a little to see Taehyung, with his eyes wide open and alive. He
smiles as he turns his head, facing Jungkook better, as he informs him, "He means I'm going
to be turned."

Jungkook's heart picks up, and with the blonde now awake, he manages to slip his hand from
around him, pushing himself up, so he's sat, palm pushed into the mattress. "You are?"

Taehyung smiles at him.

"How long have you been awake?" Jimin asks him, back to his tone thats easier to listen to.
He's looking down at the blonde, who's still lounging against his chest, grinning like a cat.
The vampire scoffs at the lack of answer. "You shouldn't eavesdrop."

"You had a conversation over me." He retorts, somewhat indignant, and, actually pretty
logical.

Jimin rolls his eyes and takes another drag of his smoke.

It goes quiet for a minute and they both seem content with it, but it's making Jungkook feel
sick, the atmosphere alive with too much said and unsaid. "How do you smoke?" He splutters
out, curious and desperate to stir away the silence and all the screaming critters it brings with
it.
Jimin, still stroking softly at Taehyung's hair, looks at him, curious and pondering, and he
looks vaguely intrigued as he repeats, "how?"

"Yeah." Jungkook nods, and he feels Taehyung turn to him, curious. "I mean, no offence
intended, but you don't breathe."

Taehyung laughs at that.

Jimin smiles and takes a long drag then, and he seems to make quite a performance of it,
because he knows Jungkook's watching; watching the sharpness of his jaw, the tip of his chin,
the squint of his eyes, the movement of his lips, the sexuality in the smoke that floods out of
him, bold and provocative, and when he turns to him, he sees three Xs of lust in his pupils. "I
don't breathe." He agrees, "but, I can. Well, not in the sense you're familiar with, I presume,
but, I have a rather wonderful ability to take control of each of my organs. I can make my
lungs replicate gaseous exchange should I wish it."

"I see." Jungkook nods, eyes slightly squinted. "Is that why you sometimes do that thing with
your bones?"

There's a pause.

"What thing?" Jimin frowns, brow raised, looking genuinely clueless, which was a foreign
expression on him, certainly.

Jungkook sits up straighter, ignores the fact his bare chest is on show. "You know, that thing
you do when you, like, move as if there's something inside you compelling you to do it."

Taehyung's gaze flickers between them. Jimin looks confused and offended. "I don't know
what you mean."

The boxer tuts and moves, does his best job of imitating the motions he's seen Jimin do many
a time. "You know, when you..." And he snaps his arm forward in a robotic motion, clicks his
head to the side, jutting and sudden. "You know?"

Taehyung cackles at that, rolling onto his back, off of Jimin, and he arches himself in
laughter, and Jungkook feels it's rather contagious, can't help but join him. Jimin looks at
both of them, something mocking frustration in his face, but is gloriously overshadowed by
his fondness.

"I don't do that." He resists, petulant, eyes narrowed.

Taehyung chuckles more, almost hysterically. "Yes.. you do." He backs Jungkook up, and he's
hugging his sides with how funny he finds it.

Jungkook laughs with him, softer, almost proud, and he can't help but find the blonde rather
adorable, rolling about giggling.

A smile pokes its way through Jimin's dark facade and Jungkook almost stops to marvel at it,
it's so unexpected, so gorgeous and moving, it makes him want to be sick. Jimin locks eyes
with him, and his smile broadens, in good faith.
 "Okay, when you're all done making fun of me—"

"We're not making fun." Taehyung insists, still laughing a little, as he pushes his naked body
upward, so now they're all up.

Jimin slips out of the covers, his trousers on, shirtless, and he looks strangely tall from their
angle. "Yeah, okay." He scoffs, but it's light, and he's moving the get his clothes. "I think
you'll find we can't spend all day laughing." And his tone is cool and callous and it strikes
them both horrifically. "We have business to attend to." It sounds so horrible in his mouth,
and it comes out of him like there's something else behind it, like much more is to go down
than just a theatre performance. It's like he knows something.

It makes Jungkook feel sick.

Chapter End Notes

woooo okkaayyy so that was wild?? ok i know we're all thirsty for more jikook and
don't you worry, it's coming, but i gotta build up to it!! idk how well the smut will be
received, i feel like it's not my best, but deffo fun to write! also yayyy we got some jimin
backstory!! also sorry jk is suffering so much, but well... it's about to get worse. not too
bad though, because happy endings are my thing, so no need to worry!!
anyway if you're still with me, thank you so much for reading and for being patient, coz
god my update schedule is poor!! ily <333
 Chapter 19
Chapter Notes

ahhh ok so this chapter is finally here! wooo you're in for a ride. also essentially just
wanted to say you don't need to know about the play they're watching really, i just used
it coz i'm a fan and it fits my metaphors! ok enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

"You need to stop staking your beliefs in fiction."

Jungkook feels as if deserted on an island. Shark fins circle around crystal blue waters, and
they start to run red with hunger; he thinks he can see his own red life surging toward them,
his neck beside their teeth, ready to be torn apart. It's only a matter of time and the tide is
closing in, the island he's seeking salvation on shrinking exponentially, with each sordid
wave of temptation.

"I've never seen you in the daylight before, though." Jungkook replies, and he tries to keep
his voice steady; he's always been good at that — sangfroid — and yet, in this moment, torn
into pieces by his own intentions, he can feel nothing but terror. "I mean, I assumed that
meant you couldn't go out in the day."

Jimin slips into the car beside him, slamming the door, but the sunlight still leaks through,
splashing against pale skin that looked as if hadn't felt such a tender touch in so long. It's four
pm, and the day had been spent mainly in bed, eating food, showering and preparing. Jimin
shakes his head, with his amused smile still burning through. "There's nothing I can't do."

"Untrue." Taehyung sings at him, placing himself in the passenger seat beside Jun, wiggling
his lace-gloved fingers toward them.

Jimin rolls his eyes. "Well, there aren't many things. The light of the sun does have an effect
on me, but I won't die upon being exposed to it, as you can see."

"He draws strength from the dark." Taehyung says, twisting around to face them, grin broad
to juxtapose the enigma of his words. "The sun won't kill him, but he's weak and docile
beneath it."

The so-called 'weak and docile' male's eyes snap red, like bark ripped from trees and nails
ripped from fingertips; he looks annoyed at the teasing, but, predominantly, he
looks... confused.

"I find that hard to believe." Jungkook tells them, and Jun is starting up the vehicle, seeming
to pay them no mind whatsoever.
Jimin grins at him, like he's proud, or perhaps even a little flattered. "A wise idea. I do not
become weak in the light, but, I become stronger in the dark. Does that make sense?"

Jungkook shrugs. "Sort of."

Taehyung scoffs and turns back to the front.

The vampire seems happy with the conclusion and they settle into a well-earned silence,
wherein the car trundles and revs and makes beeps of anger, all the while, it's driver sits still
and patient.

Jungkook can't help but let his gaze wander; he looks outside the window, beyond the steam
of the city, beyond the veins of the roads that stretch into oblivion; there's a black abyss
where he's supposed to operate. He thinks of his sisters, thinks of how ever he's going to
make it up to them.

His heart clenches to consider it, as, he's not even sure he'll be there to make it up to them
again. His thoughts are so loud in his head, he wonders how Jimin and Taehyung don't hear
them. They thump against the outer edges, trying to free themselves from the mush of his
thoughts. His thoughts of Uram and their plan. It's electric, like a constant current that floods
through him, dangerous and unimaginable, and, with Jimin sat beside him, he doesn't think
they would ever be able to execute it.

With Jimin sitting beside him, he's not sure how he can. Not just because the man is
impossibly strong and wise and vicious, but because, Jungkook keeps forgetting why he
should be trying to get rid of him.

Logistically, he understands everything wrong with such a creature even being granted
existence, and he's not unaware of all the horrible things he's done. He knows about Uram's
family, the mayor, the millions of others who he's affected in some way; the little boy his
sister told him about — a family tugging at the end of one of Jimin's ropes of possession, and
barely hanging on. There are so many families and civilians in peril, caught in terrible
situations, on the brink of death. All because of him.

But, in a more vitriolic sense, he can't help but wonder if Jimin is really as bad as he seems;
Taehyung had tried to tell him he wasn't, Hoseok had, and, fuck, Jungkook had seen it. Jimin
has been kind to him.

Or has he?

He bites aimlessly at his already blunt nail, staring absorbingly out at the world that changes
before his very eyes; he can see it mutating into new scenes every second, can see the figures
of people shaping themselves to slurs of colour, and he can see trees dipping and bending,
curling around the horrendous spiel of buildings that occupy every street.

Jimin hasn't been nice to him. Not at all.

"We're here." The vampire says, and the world stops its turning, the car dribbling and panting
with exhaustion, as they park in an alleyway, beside a large, white-bricked building. They
vacate the vehicle with a shudder of footsteps, all grooving together as they march out,
toward a door that looks simultaneously dingy and palatial.

A man with white gloves escorts them through the back-door and the place is fermented
yellow, glowing like the rotten moon. The theatre is beautiful, everything about it is
egregiously wonderful. The colours are so subdued, they merely reside in the precipice of
one's imagination, and so the shapes of the architecture are what blur into a majority of your
visual field. Crisp lines of gold and twisting configurations of red, all smeared into the
background, melted into nothing behind the chatter that resounds in a room just beyond them.

"We must make acquaintance with the Mayor before the show commences." Jimin tells him,
as they file into the hallway, all closely knitted together, like loops of the same thread. "He's
rather excited to meet you." He says, some sense of purpose in it, and he looks toward
Taehyung.

The blonde exhales and he continues, "he'll come across like a bit of an asshole, because,
well— he is. But, you should be careful with him." His smile is twinkling, like a spell of
stars. "Okay?"

"Alright." Jungkook nods back, and he's not nervous about meeting the Mayor of Quellnex,
because why would one be? How could he possibly bring himself to be scared when he's
going to go through such immense turmoil in a matter of minutes? Uram had showed him a
map of the theatre, he knew where he had to be and when, he knew everything, and it runs
wild in his mind, skimming through his jungle thoughts.

He feels the minutes sprawled out in his wrist, bent into the shapes of hours, but they're
seconds really. Seconds that tick away in his hands.

As soon as the door is opened, they're in a curious-looking ballroom, honey walls and golden
scrapes of composition; opulent persons with their blood-drawn smiles look around at one
another, with their dresses that drop and their ties that knot, feet pattering in their stagnant
formations. Dipping backs of swans emerge in his line of vision, bones coddling and clicking
inhumanly, and he feels as if they themselves are the theatre production, all looking as if
playing a part.

"My, oh my," Comes a voice that Jungkook does somewhat recognise, and it's like it's
slithering along a line, crawling over the heaps of all those other silly tones. His beauty is
eerie, just like the others, but there's something about him that gives the impression
he's more. His lips are bright pink as he talks, and Jungkook's gaze falls to them, sees that
strange symbol tattooed beneath them. "What a pleasure it is to meet you, Mr Jeon."

His bony, white hand, with its singular ring, outreaches and Jungkook feels compelled to
shake it. It's so cold beneath his palm. "The pleasure is mine, Mayor Kim." And both Jimin
and Taehyung seem a little taken aback by his decided politeness. In truth, Jungkook doesn't
have it in him to be anything but; he's keeping all his energy in the reserves for now.

Seokjin smiles marvellously, all teeth, his eyes crinkling as he releases an overly amused
laugh. "I'd forgotten how ravishing he was." He claims, eyes transfixed to Jimin, who's by
Jungkook's side.
The boxer is honestly surprised the other man even remembers their interaction — it had
been months ago and it was fleeting, in the most extreme sense of the word.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." He says then, "you always like a pretty face." And his
hand pulls away from Jungkook's so slowly, like he's trying to leave a trail of his existence.
He extends it toward Taehyung, pries his slim fingers forward and he kisses the back of the
blonde's hand, despite his gloves. His eye floods to the corner, looking at Jimin, and he
smirks as he releases the blonde. "Aren't you going to greet me properly?"

"Hello, Seokjin." Jimin replies, taut, and he sounds annoyed, in an almost petulant way that
Jungkook is unfamiliar with.

"Very good." Seokjin nods, appeased. "Thank you for coming, gentlemen, I'm happy to know
I have your support."

"Well, when I heard Plexus was to attend, I couldn't very will miss the opportunity."

"Oh." The mayor rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, giving Jimin an unimpressed look.
"Haven't you any time for fun anymore?"

"I'll have plenty of time for fun, when Kil Plexus isn't around." His eyes are so dark, his
resolve darker, and he speaks with infinity on his side, as though he knows how events are
going to transpire.

"Mm, I suppose it was foolish of me to assume you've given up fun." The older man tuts to
himself, and his smile lands on Jungkook, as he deems him fun. Jungkook can't help but think
he won't find him so fun when Jimin's dead. "You box, I hear, Jungkook?"

Jimin scoffs. Jungkook dazedly answers the question, "I do."

Jin nods, and his smile is devilish and mean and it's so much like Park Jimin's. "You've
caused quite the storm amongst my people. Jimin especially." Jungkook doesn't really know
what he means, but he listens nonetheless. "I mean, it takes rather a lot to startle a vampire
through violence, but, I suppose you're just that good."

"I guess I am." The boxer replies, a knee-jerk reaction.

The mayor is evidently amused by it, as his smile broadens and flattens into something
permanent upon his face. "Oh, I admire your confidence so much. Quite right. No need for
modesty when you're so formidable." Formidable. Jungkook wishes that to be true. Then his
eyes narrow a little, but his smile is still there, constantly echoing and breaching, and
Jungkook thinks he looks horrific and he can't help but want to watch more of him. His voice
is a mull, a whisper, like alcohol in your veins, addictive and lovely and, in the end, not at all
good for you. "I don't suppose you've ever been told you'd make a wonderful vampire?"

Jimin's hand flies out, and he jerks Jungkook back by the shoulder, not too far, but enough
that Jimin is in front of him. "Control your fucking eyes." He hisses, and Jungkook sees then
that the other vampire has eyes that are neon and black all at once.
"Oh, you're always so protective over your little pets." He laughs, as his gaze is brown and
warm again, but it still flashes with this imminent glimmer of cruelty that is obscenely
disconcerting. Jimin stays completely still, glaring at Seokjin, and Taehyung looks uneasy
also, subtly drifting a little further behind the pink-haired man's back. "Lighten up." Seokjin
grunts, and he looks displeased, even with his smile. "This is supposed to a celebration. I was
just having some fun."

"Congratulations." Taehyung says suddenly, though he's still attempting to tuck himself away
behind Jimin. Jimin turns around to face him, eyes narrow, perplexed. "His ring." He nods
toward the man's hand, which, sure enough, has a ring right on his wedding finger.

"You're engaged." Jimin's eyes go a little wide.

Seokjin laughs. "Didn't I tell you?" And his head shakes, eyes alive with mirth but nothing
else. They're distinctly dead underneath. "Did you not understand what I said to you before?"
His head tilts. "Dalrae is coming back."

"You're marrying her." Jimin sounds disgusted.

"In the eye of the city, yes." Jin laughs. "Apparently it doesn't suit to have an unwed Mayor.
It's drawing attention."

Taehyung asks, quiet, "does Namjoon know?"

Seokjin dulls at the question. "I'm doing this for all of us." And he looks accusingly at Jimin.
"If I don't keep my position, things won't work. Namjoon understands."

Jungkook is still so curious about what things. He doesn't think he'll ever know; he doesn't
think he deserves to.

"Okay." Jimin snaps suddenly, and he takes a slight step away and suddenly the buzz of the
room becomes more apparent. He checks his watch. "The show is going to start soon."

The show. That's what it shall be; a show of death and betrayal and romance and horror and
Jungkook feels sick as they pull away from Seokjin, who watches them leave, knowledge in
his eyes, fixated on Jungkook. "I hope you have fun."

They've got balcony seats, of course, and Jungkook had been counting on it, anticipating it.
His fingers grip into his expensive, handmade suit, shaking with the immense vigour of what
he's supposed to do. Uram had left him to come up with his own way of getting Jimin in the
position they need him, and, as he watches the way the vampire helps Taehyung into his seat,
he thinks he knows what he must do.

"God, I always feel shit after talking to him." Jimin says, and it comes out of nowhere and it
sound so out of character. He settles in the seat furthest from Jungkook, his hands coming to
light a cigarette. He puffs at it frivolously, intense and hazy in his exhaustion of smoke.

"He's not that bad." Taehyung smiles, looking down at the near-enough empty room. It's so
quiet. A few people getting to their seats early, but, mainly, it's quiet and sedate, filled with a
sense of generous peace. "He's just a little unreliable."

"A little?" Jimin repeats, disbelieving, and he takes sulky puffs of his cigarette, forcing the
smoke out easily. It seems to calm him down, and Jungkook almost wants to say something,
wants to offer his own thoughts on the man, to ask more about him, and their plans, but,
before he can, a cold eruption of laughter takes ahold of them.

Jungkook doesn't blink before he sees Jimin get to his feet, immediately standing to attention.
It's such a perfervid swirl of motion, Jungkook almost loses his own sense of sight trying to
catch him move.

His neck strains to follow where Jimin is looking. His heart beats a little harsher in his chest
as soon as he sees the owner of such a laugh. Kil Plexus is stood in the next balcony, talking
aimlessly to someone. He's so tall, all gold teeth and rings, and, Jimin was right, as usual, he
looks tacky and eye-catching in the most devastating way.

Pale red eyes fall onto them, and they're so close to one another, Jungkook can almost hear
the beat of his undead heart. He's licking his lips, angry and plain-faced, as he properly looks
at them, craning his head around the slight protrusion of the wall, seeing them all staring at
him from their balcony.

His skin is darker in this light, no sense of pinkness, his eyes a little grungier than brown, his
hair greased and slick, with a line of white running through it, a few strands falling into his
gaze. Cracked lips turn into a grin as he catches them in his netted observation. "What a
coincidence you're here, Snake Eyes."

Jimin smiles, and it's that cruel sort of expression he has when he's angry and conniving. "Oh,
I'm delighted to be in your presence, Plex." He nods, curving his mouth into something ugly.
"I fear we've been the victims of miscommunication. I've been rather desperate to speak with
you in person again, it's been too long."

"Indeed, it has been a while since I've managed to look into those slitted pupils of yours."
Plexus responds, and the unfamiliar man beside him stands a little broader, as if squaring
himself out, trying to seem larger.

"Oh, come now." Jimin laughs softly, though his tension is obvious, and he's not as playful as
he usually would be. Jungkook can't work out why.

Plexus scrunches his nose, eyes narrow and vivid in their viciousness. "I hope you're not
going to ask me for forgiveness."

"Does that seem my style?"

"No, I suppose it takes a little more to make you grovel." His form is so tall, so stream-lined,
wonderfully crafted in the most vain of ways. "Though," And his voice is calloused, like he's
got a smouldering rage embedded beneath his dark eyes. "I must attest to the fact I didn't
believe kidnapping and murder to be much your style."
Jimin's smile is so cruel — it's even uglier than before, in fact, and Jungkook can almost see
the bloodlust in his gaze, the rotten flesh clenched between his teeth; he can see into his soul,
and he sees all the death that swims through his darkness. "Well," He purrs out, his voice soft
and melting, like liquified sugar, "perhaps you don't know me so well anymore."

Plexus raises a brow. "I suppose you're right. I've grown too comfortable with you."

"I agree." Jimin says, and the rage he's trying to choke down billows out in a smooth curl of
aggression. "You're certainly comfortable enough to send your little goons after my beloved."

"Oh." Plexus' eyes soften, but only into a state hilarity, and they snap to Taehyung, who's
watching him in a strange twist of certainty. "You can't think I asked Atomy to do that, can
you?" Jimin is silent, his tongue licking at his bottom lip, gormless yet focused. "Why, Jimin,
I thought such horrible actions were your style, not mine."

"He got his due punishment." The vampire tells him, and his eyes are black as tar. He's so
angry underneath it all, Jungkook doesn't think he's really even reached the tip of the iceberg
when it comes to understanding Jimin's devotion for Taehyung; he doesn't think he's fully
allowed himself to think about how much he means to him. How much they mean to each
other. Taehyung was to be turned. They wish to remain together forever. What would
Taehyung do if he couldn't have that? What would Jimin do if someone tried to take those
hopes from him? His face is so void of anything but cold, hard resolution. "Wouldn't you
agree that could be seen as a truce between us?"

They both look at each other, and the world is silent for them, up in their balconies, avoiding
the harsh gazes of the customers who begin to file in, all dancing between aisles, with
feathered ballgowns and charcoal party makeup; long cigarettes and lacy stockings, smiles
conjoined, and glowing like peace in the mellow lighting.

"Atomy was like a son to me." Plexus says, and Jungkook can actually feel the slight croak of
care that scrapes along the pulpy flesh of his throat.

But Jimin is laughing, like he has no empathy whatsoever.

Plexus' face flashes darker in his storm of choler, his face transfiguring to suds of blood, as
his skin starts to fill with it, starts to ripen to crimson anger. "I don't think you know quite
what he meant to me."

Jungkook doesn't believe him either. He doesn't doubt Atomy was just a ploy to him; but,
regardless, Jimin's bitter seeds of laughter are nothing short of cruel.

"His death is a mark of war in my eyes, and I don't think peaceful negotiations are in the
cards for either one of us."

The room starts to flood with people and voices and blood; people's bodies are full of guts
and grime, and they all crawl about in their pretty dresses of skin and pigment, decorating
their skulls with gold, lips moving and bursting out glimmering words, as if to try and shroud
the fact they're not so individualist beneath it all.
"I've come to see a play today, though, my old friend." Plexus cranes his head to the side, his
hairs staying perfectly in place. "So, perhaps we could save our turmoil for another time."

"Perhaps." Jimin nods and his smile is unwavering in the most unnerving of ways. The dark
haired man is about to turn back to his seat, a tight nod of his head and wry smile concluding
their conversation, but, Jimin's voice is quick and magnetic, as he says, "perhaps you could
mull over your decision throughout the course of the play. If you still desire war by the end,
don't refrain from starting it."

Plexus gives him a somewhat incredulous look, and Jungkook thinks he almost looks
spooked. But, before he responds, boredom seems to take over him and he disappears further
behind the wall.

Jimin's face is joyful as he turns to them, and there's something horrendous writhing in the
crevices of his features.

"I thought the war already started." Jungkook says to him, his voice a hush, a rush of warm,
streaming disaster.

The vampire grins at him, and he glances briefly at Taehyung, before he peers over the
balcony, away from them, and he looks out at the the sea of people, watching them twist and
turn before him, like they're dancing for him, combing their limbs across each other for his
own pleasure.

"There are rules." Taehyung responds for the man, and he turns a little closer to Jungkook, his
eyes rife with beauty. Jungkook thinks they look so clear, like a sky, solid in colour but not
quite so in matter. "The underground world of gangsters isn't quite as uncivilised as one could
imagine."

"No?" Jungkook chokes out.

Jimin turns back then, and a startling sound of a musical instrument bursts through their
golden liminal stage of peace. He sits in his seat beside Taehyung and he says, coherent and
definitive, "everything has rules, Jungkook, and many of them aren't quite so easily broken."

Jungkook nods, though he's not sure what exactly the man is referring to. They both smile at
him, a little like they expect him to say something in response. He refuses and he feels his
feet shaking in his expensive shoes, as he forces his attention to fall onto the stage thats
starting to light up.

A musical number preludes the performance, and they slink into shadowy silence, listening to
the glamorous pearls of sound, as they colour their skin with lavish finery. Jungkook's on
edge, he can hardly stand to listen to the notes, as they fly out from their instruments,
fluttering butterflies in the still air, as everyone grows silent.

He's fidgety and he can't help but to let his eyes look down, to travel over the plain heads of
all the plain people. His eye scanning only varies as he meets eyes with him. His heart
simultaneously feels heavy and light as soon as he sees those strips of white; Chung Uram is
staring up at him, nodding slow and steady and reassuring.
Jungkook feels a slightly distorted wave of confidence in him, and he tries to let that be the
only thing he feels.

He tries to force himself to be okay.

The fourth act. That's when he's to enact their plot, thats when he's to take Jimin away from
the crowds, to use Jimin's trust of him and take him to a place where he can be most
vulnerable.

He forces himself to be okay.

But when he looks back to the stage, he sees it, he sees the name of the play they're watching,
something he didn't care to ask about before, and he feels like he's looking at the last words
he'll ever see written down.

William Shakespeare's 'Julius Caesar'.

&&&

"Et tu, Brutè?"

The lights are harsh; brash decisions of betrayal and death dawning over the somber crowd.
Jungkook's never been to the theatre before, and he so wishes he never would've been given
the opportunity, especially under such dire circumstances.

Everything is stunning, costumes and words rolling off the stage, phasing into a sheen of
colour; a wild sort of artificiality overtakes him, and he can't help but feel implored by the
scene before him. He would be loving it, if it weren't for the tension that hardens his muscles,
forces him into something horrid and stiff.

Jungkook watches Julius Caesar die, watches his conspirators murder him; he sees the actor
play dead, and he feels his own heart stop, can actually imagine himself in the same position
as Julius, though, his heart would truly never beat again. He watches Julius get betrayed and
he watches, through the corner of his eye, how moribund and unsuspecting Jimin and
Taehyung look.

He doesn't believe it. They know. They have to. They're taunting him. They're trying to get
him to act out, they must be. They're trying to show him how powerful they are, how
powerful they always have been.

But, they look so innocent; perhaps it's the soft glow of the stage lights that make them
appear so fragile, so much like they're mere paper dolls, able to be crushed beneath
Jungkook's swirling fingerprint. Or, perhaps they've always appeared as such, and Jungkook
had never cared to notice.

Either way, he can't help but feel cowardice imploding through his bloodstream. He truly has
no option but to resign to the idea he really is like his father; tough skin to try and distract
from his ghastly yellow belly. He feels it now. He feels the cruelty of genetics awakening
within him, and he wants nothing more than to run away, to avoid everything. He's
powerless, and his knuckles are growing white as he grips so hard at the expensive fabric of
his trousers.

"They'll rip." Taehyung's voice is melodic in his ears, so smooth and quiet compared to the
booms of the performers and Jungkook's eyes widen, terrified, as if the man could read his
thoughts. The blonde gives him a smile, and he looks almost confused, like he has no idea
why Jungkook's so scared. "Your face is green."

Jimin peers over, his face stern, concentrated. It melts into kindness as he locks eyes with
Jungkook. "Are you ill?"

"No." Jungkook says, surprised by how gruff his voice sounds, before realising how tightly
his face is drawn together, remnants of anger curling in his skin.

Taehyung looks at him heavier. Jimin blinks and he seems perplexed, wondering why he's so
outraged. "You look sick." He says, genuinely concerned, like he's completely unaware of
what Jungkook was thinking.

"I'm fine." Jungkook tells him, and he snaps his head back to the stage.

He can feel the sweat in his palms, leaking from all the small crevices of his pores, his face
ticking with a frustration he doesn't know what to do with. It whines in him, broiling and
gargling, like an overcooked cauldron, and he presses crescent moons into his palms with his
blunt nails, bites blood into his lips.

Taehyung is looking at him still, he can feel it. And he can feel the way he looks at Jimin
then, can see them in his peripheral vision, perhaps silently discussing what's wrong with
him, perhaps laughing at how easily they've trapped him.

Jungkook glances briefly at the other side of the room, and in the sanctity of the dark he sees
Kim Seokjin, settled in the balcony across from them. He's looking directly at him, his smile
a glorious little thing. His rampant tongue licks along the slope of his white teeth. He looks
away.

Jungkook feels his heart in his own hands.

Mark Antony's speech is ongoing, and Jungkook doesn't know much about Shakespeare,
hardly knows his name, but he does recognise the bitter cornels of betrayal that sprout from
his words, as Antony tries to defend Julius. Act three. Still act three.

"You all did love him once, not without cause."

Jungkook feels the crowd shudder beneath him, waves of emotion sliding across their
iniquitous faces. The moon hangs in the sky just beyond the ceiling and he feels it's
willingness to come crashing through.

"What cause withholds you then to mourn for him? O judgment! Thou art fled to brutish
beasts, and men have lost their reason."

Mourning is not something Jungkook has ever cared to do. He'd never cared for someone
enough to mourn for them, even those who died for him, beside him, with him, he still is yet
to feel the fleeting touch of death. He can almost see her now, with her scythe and her skull
without eyes, that can see all of his secrets just the same. He wonders how it shall feel to
mourn.

"Bear with me. My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, and I must pause till it come back
to me."

Jimin yanks at his arm.

"Come." He says. Jungkook looks at him, sees how he's standing, the shadows casting
beautiful silhouettes of humanity across his face. Taehyung is headed toward the door.

"Where?" Jungkook asks immediately, looking around, confused, disturbed. Still act three.

The vampire doesn't say anything more, just yanks harder, and he's so strong Jungkook can't
even begin to think of fighting back. His eyes quickly snap to the crowd, down to the lower
seats, desperately reaching out for the light. But Uram is already gone.

The boxer feels his head pulsing, as he's yanked back into the tangerine-fermented hallway,
all the way out of the gloom. He hears emotion draining from the performers, as he moves
out into the startling lights.

Jimin's face is so harsh in them, and he no longer appears so fragile. Taehyung stands beside
him, and his eyes are closed, gloved fingers gripping into Jimin's bicep, squeezing tightly, as
if feeling faint.

"What's going on?" Jungkook demands, and he doesn't mean to come across so mean, or so
unsympathetic, but it's the last thing he allows himself to focus on. It's still act three and
Uram is gone; they're not in the theatre anymore, Jungkook doesn't know where he's meant to
be, he doesn't know what he's supposed to do.

Jimin gives him a meaningful look, eyes burning amber, flickers of hellfire casting death
across his visage. His fingers gently run across Taehyung's hand on his bicep; Jungkook
watches in awe as they skip along the white lace, his long nails looking soft and harmless, as
they project tenderness into the clearly struggling witch.
Jungkook feels sick. He looks around the empty hallway. There's no one in sight, no workers,
no meandering guests, absolutely not a soul. The hallway looks eerie in it's vacancy, too
quiet, too calm.

Jimin is whispering something to Taehyung, but it's a language Jungkook doesn't recognise,
and he wonders if he should run. His best friend, Paranoia, tries to grasp his hand, to slot their
fingers together, tries to appeal to him, to force him to run. But curiosity forces him to stay,
and he watches as Taehyung's eyes slowly start to peel open.

His glance bursts toward Jungkook for a mere fragment of a second, so fast the boxer almost
thinks it's a hallucination. "They're here." Taehyung says, in the most ominous of tones.

Jimin nods, calm, but Jungkook's nauseous. "Who's here?" He asks, not really expecting an
answer.

Taehyung does grant him the privilege of his eyes though, and he looks at him like he still has
no idea of the man's intention. "Plexus went to the third fire exit on the ground floor."

"What? Why?" Jungkook frowns, heart rate excelling. There's an empty feeling in his skull,
as if his thoughts have bashed around him so much he no longer has the ability to have them.
Truly, he finds he's completely void of any sense of cognition.

Jimin exhales harshly, and pulls Taehyung closer for a moment. "Good." And he gently
places a kiss to the witch's nose. He takes note of just how gentle it is, of how heartfelt and
poignant it is, because seconds later it's gone, and his anger is falling from him in a drive of
indelicacy. His eyes land on Jungkook and he's looking at him in such a way like he's out of
it, like he's completely dazed.

"Well?" Jungkook questions, a little meek, almost completely giving away how petrified he
is, and yet it rests so hard in the air.

Only one of Jimin's eyes widen. It's rather startling to look at. But his smile reforms and it's a
tad less caustic than before. Plainly, in an echo of calm, he tells him, "Plexus sent someone to
kill me."

The boxer feels his heart scraping the edges of his liver. He feels the horrific identification of
fear coiling around his bones like telephone wires. He tries not to let his terror show.

"Or, well, to expose me for being a vampire." Jimin laughs, but the words don't do anything
to soothe the boxer. If anything, he feels more terrified. "He's a fool. He's running."

Taehyung slips out of Jimin's hold, and he hastily says, "we ought to leave."

The vampire nods, and his teeth are sharp, eyes red, skin pale. He looks like he hasn't eaten in
a while. And he's looking at Jungkook.

Jungkook doesn't know what else to do other than follow them. Jimin takes the lead, pulling
them down into the lobby — an area Jungkook had only seen on the map. He knew that there
was a set of double doors down to the right, and outside them, Uram was supposed to be,
with his supposed team of vampire hunters. Jungkook has no clue whether he'll be there now.

He's unsure if he should try and usher Jimin to the doors, whether he should try and go on
with the plan, whether he should try and end his own suffering. But Taehyung has a harsh
grip on his wrist, a solidifying touch of skin, that pulls him back into the graces of reality, and
tugs him out of his uncertainty.

Jungkook somewhat expects them to go to the third fire exit, to find Plexus, to attack and kill
him just as they had done with Atomy. It would make sense. Alas, what they really do is
stand beside the door of the first fire exit. There's no staff around in the lobby. It's all cloudy
white, lightning yellow crackling through the empty image of heaven, and the vicinity is
completely, utterly silent.

Jimin grins, thick and caliginous, and he turns to them, leaning his back against the door. He
does so with a shocking thud, a bang, something completely ear-piercing.

Jungkook takes a moment to realise it wasn't Jimin's back hitting the door that makes the
sound.

A gunshot.

A gunshot on this floor, just behind the doors of the theatre room. There's gunfire in the
theatre and screams crawl out of mouths, like demons clawing their way from the pit.

The boxer widens his eyes, looking fearfully up at Jimin, who's still grinning that horrendous
little grin of his. Taehyung is still holding onto his wrist, grounding him in reality. In their
reality. Their reality of gunshots and screams and a play being ruined.

"Don't look so scared." Jimin tells him, eyes flashing red, and Jungkook sees how hungry he
looks: concave cheekbones, blood lips juxtaposing the snow-drenched powder of his face,
and those eyes. He looks terrifying. His teeth bare as he grins. He looks terrifying and yet
there's something in it that makes Jungkook feel more settled. "It was a warning shot." He
laughs, humourless and starved. "Just trying to scare the poor civilians. I doubt the shooter
will do anything once they realise I'm not there, but Kil Plexus is always one for theatrics."

"I—" Jungkook starts, and he's so unsure of the situation, he thinks he could cry. He looks
helplessly at the vampire who's so horrifying and sweet all at once. "I don't understand." He
settles for, breathlessly.

Jimin's grins makes his teeth more visible, sharp and monstrous, jutting from his face, like
razor blades. They look perfectly crafted, as if comprised of stone, carved into such
marvellous pins of sleek white.

He doesn't say anything, and Jungkook had almost forgotten how composed he always is,
how much he always seems to know when to talk and when not to. He'd honestly forgotten
how malicious he is.
Without need for words, he pushes the door open, another gunshot sounding as he unleashes
the cold night's air onto them. Taehyung pulls Jungkook out, and they follow Jimin into the
alleyway, where the night sends flailing rays of moonlight onto them, and Jimin seems to
thrive in it, just as he said, he seems to grow larger beneath it. The dark has so many
unknown creatures worming around it, scuttling six legs all along it's every corner, hiding in
plain sight, swarming you with the ticking fog of mystery, and Jimin grows stronger in that.
He's so incandescently untouchable in it.

They only have to march a few steps before they find Plexus, having actually vacated from
the third exit. He's not standing anymore though, he's crumpled and on the floor and
Jungkook swells with an adrenaline that wiggles along his synapses, all too fearful of making
itself known.

Kil Plexus is on the floor, with three people stood over him. Jungkook, even in the dark, takes
a stab and understands who they are. They stand large and menacing, with their leather masks
and their saws, the greying flicker of their eyes swirling with comprehension as they land on
Jimin, biting their tongues, backing away at the sight of all that hollering hunger. Saw
Sloggers.

Taehyung stops a few feet away, and Jungkook stands side by side with him, looking down at
the sopping mess of a man in the dark alleyway; in this light, in this scenario, he appears like
nothing more than a common thief or swine, very much akin to the men Jungkook has had to
deal with for Jimin.

There's no power in him, it's all been pummelled out in such a small lick of time and
Jungkook wonders what exactly had occurred for such a powerful man to be writhing so
horrendously on the floor. He looks like a corpse. A corpse with glowing gold teeth, and eyes
that look so red and bloodshot, his skin almost seeming to deteriorate with each passing
second.

But he blinks as he sees Jimin, and he groans as Jimin stamps his heel into his gut. Jungkook
has never cared about being exposed to violence in any sense, but, right there, in that
nefarious second, he felt nothing but abhorrence for it. He thinks there's something about
Jimin's beautiful way of adhering to dirty tactics, that makes Jungkook feel rather like
vomiting.

The Saw Sloggers watch through their masks, and even they seem a little perturbed, as Jimin
kicks his hard, leather shoe into the man's face. "What a chore it has been to look at that face
of yours, Plex." Jimin coos out, and he says it in such a way that is redolent to catching up
with an old friend, full of mirth and kindredness.

Plexus groans as his spine curls, cracks into itself, as he tries to bury his face into his
stomach, tries to become a woodlouse.

Jimin uses the tip of his foot to stop him, placing it beneath his chin, and pulling him away
from himself, enough that his bloody face is on show.

"You truly think I'd grant you mercy right now?" He chuckles, and it melts into the darkness,
like the night is part of him, like he was born from it. "Oh, Plexus, I almost feel sad for you, I
truly do, in just the same way I felt sad for your... your.." and he starts to laugh properly into
his words, as he regurgitates Plexus', "the man who was like a son to you." He pouts
mockingly and Jungkook truly observes how cruel he is. Still, he can't help but understand it,
and that terrifies him to no end. "Honestly," He giggles, a winsome smile on his gruesome
face. "Did you really think I didn't know?"

It echoes in the alleyway.

Jimin knows everything.

Taehyung's hand is tight on Jungkook's wrist, like he knows how much the boxer wants to
run away. He wants to run and hopefully find a corner of the earth where he won't be found,
or even just to find Uram, to tell him to forget about his little pipe dream, and forget about his
murdered family. He can see the rage inside Jimin, sees how horrible he is to those who try to
hurt him or his family, and he knows he could've never gone through with it.

But, Jimin doesn't know that. He must only know that Jungkook was plotting to kill him.
Hell, Jungkook looks down with terror, because he doesn't doubt whatever Jimin was about
to do to Plexus, it would be nothing in comparison to what he was going to do to him.

"Hm?" Jimin pushes his foot further, makes the man on the floor crane his head up, his neck
stretching back in an uncomfortable manner. "No words? How unlike you. Usually, I can't get
you to shut your mouth."

"I think.." Plexus begins almost immediately then, and Jimin perks up at it, seems more
excited the man wasn't quite unconscious. "I think you're the one... who can't... shut... up."

The pink-haired one smiles, the glowing moon enhancing the glittering length of his fangs.
"Oh, your voice sounds so beautiful when broken." He sighs out, in faux adoration. "I almost
wish I had been able to do this earlier."

"You think you're going to kill me?" Plexus asks, and he sounds like he's going to laugh, the
corners of his mouth pulling upward in a bitter sort of beam. His voice and words are
surprisingly steady for a man in his state, though, Jungkook supposes, he's not really a man.

"You think I'm not?" Jimin asks back, batting his eyelashes, clamping his eyelids down over
his scorching eyes.

Plexus coughs up blood. It's a little dribble of it, pooling out of the corners, just where they're
poking up. He's smiling while his own blood starts to spill from his throat. His skin looks
almost unblemished, aside from the little cut on his neck, and so, the act of him choking out
that iron-saturated liquid is all the more disproportionate and unnerving. His smile is
unnerving. Jungkook gets a very uneasy feeling in his heart.

The battered man's neck curves even more, as Jimin pushes his foot further backward.
Jungkook knows for a fact that Jimin could probably snap his head all the way off with his
strength, so he's clearly composing himself enough to not do so, despite the obvious laments
of impatience that fall from him.
His voice is even more choked up, as he tries move his jaw against the sole of Jimin's foot, as
he tries to say, "I think..." and his smile is still present, while blood starts to run down his
chin, dirtying Jimin's pristine shoe. He strains to get out, "you don't know as much as you
think you do."

There's an ominous pause, a lull in the tension, before Jungkook's heart fully starts to
escalate. His eyes widen and he sees Plexus is looking at him, he's looking at him like
he knows.

Jimin's eyes narrow a little, his expression surprised and muddled, as he spins his head
around to face Jungkook as well. The boxer reacts instantly, not able to resist his pull,
immediately meeting his gaze. Guilt encases him.

"What—" Jimin starts to say.

Taehyung releases Jungkook's wrist.

Jungkook sees it first, he sees it best, the movement in the shadows that pounds passed the
stagnant Saw Sloggers, who are startled into idiocy, letting the figure stampede through them
with tremendous strength and agility. Too much of it for who he is. Too strong, too fast, too
violent and alive, Chung Uram charges out of the dark and there's a definite glow in the
coruscating whites of his eyes.

Jimin is too distracted to notice till it's too late.

He doesn't notice because he's comprehending what Jungkook's doing, what he's done.

Jimin's hair is yanked backward, being pulled back by the suddenness of the force that takes
ahold of him, by the ridiculous stealth of a man as old and injured as Uram.

A quick glance at Plexus' smirking face is all it takes for Jungkook's instincts to kick in, and
his legs spring to movement. Uram's behind Jimin, has him bent awkwardly, his back slightly
arched due to having been caught off-guard and there's a stake in Uram's hand, a stake soaked
in holy water, made from birch, infused with lethal toxins. A stake that's meant for Jimin's
heart.

He's so fast in the way he comes to bring the stake down, so fast the crunch of it meeting
flesh and bone sounds almost like a snap of twigs in a forest.

It's blunt, hard edge penetrates skin, cracks into the wonderful casings of shining white
bones, and the marrow of them caves inward, as blood immediately begins to fall and a
scream echoes across the alleyway.

Jungkook's scream.

The stake is in him. It's in his hand. His hand comes to shove at Jimin's chest, just before the
stake reaches it. Uram shoves the stake through his hand. His new hand.

Uram releases the object. Jungkook wrenches his hand back, pulls it away from Jimin's chest
so there's not a chance he'll be hurt by it. Uram releases Jimin's hair and backs away. Jimin
looks down at him, with owlish eyes.

"Why the fuck did you do that?" Uram shouts, pants it out, and his teeth bare, as a look of
complete incomprehension scatters over him, as if he had never even considered this
possibility. He'd have been a fool not to.

Jungkook can't say anything.

Jimin can. He steels himself and he whips his head around, throwing his whole body in the
way of Uram, standing before him like a glistening nightmare. Uram's hands shake as he
watches him, his eyes so disastrously wide, trembling pupils and dilapidated bursts of ivory.
He looks upon the ghoul that is Park Jimin and he sees him for what he's always been: a foul,
hollow creature of tantalising pulchritude. He gulps to see something like recognition in his
face. "You." Jimin spits out, and he makes a move to come forward, and so Uram moves
back, all his fearsomeness lost with the loss of his weapon.

He can see the souls of dead daughters in Park Jimin's eyes, can see the river of blood they're
drowning in, eternally writhing in a fate worse than damnation. He sees their fear there,
embedded beneath it all, sees his own in the crippling reflection of those lucid, wet eyes. He
can't do anything except stand in fear, as Jimin nears him, a great swathe of wrath unfurling
from all that tormenting beauty.

"You bastard," Jimin releases, toneless, eyes wide and unblinking, face completely still aside
from his moving lips, and he looks every inch the corpse he is. No longer human. No longer
living. A vessel for a soul thats contaminated by the devil. He takes a step closer. Uram takes
one back, shrinking into his own memories, falling back into who he was as a little boy,
curled behind a counter, praying the monster won't get him. "I should've known you were still
knocking around. I should've suspected it. I should forgive it. But Jungkook's hand is hurt
now." He sounds sinister and empty in his inflection, so much so he really does sound like a
carcass, like a dead boy trying to find a voice that's not there. "So, I think it's time to put you
to rest."

He reaches ever closer and Uram doesn't know what to do. He's paralysed.

"Jimin! Don't!" Jungkook calls out, and the vampire stops, turns to him suddenly, trying to
register what he's hearing.

Another shadowy figure is there then, in the dark, and Jungkook immediately recognises
Yepa, her hair meticulous, despite her obvious anguish. She has a stake in her hand as well,
but she's not foolish enough to go running at Jimin with it.

Jimin actually hisses at her, like he's struggling to keep his animalistic side at bay. Jungkook
remembers how hungry he looked.

"Uram..." She tries, her tone soft and slow, as she looks over the scene in front of her, sees
Jungkook kneeled on the floor, with Taehyung at his side.

"Oh, it's an entire organisation you have going on." Jimin barks out, almost mocking but too
empty, and his voice seems deeper, seems as if he's losing control of it almost, like there
really is something buried deep inside him thats trying to burst its way through the surface.
"Well, it's a good job I'm so worked up."

"Uram, fucking run!" Jungkook screams then, and he doesn't mean to, but he can't stand to
see the man standing there so scared out of his wits, to see the ever-composed Yang Yepa
unsure of herself. He expects the look Jimin casts him, as his head jerks to the side, his ear
dragging down to his shoulder, as his eyes seem bulgier, darker around the edges. "I said go!"
Jungkook reiterates, and the two finally stand to attention, finally learning what it means to
run for their lives.

Their absence makes the alleyway very quiet suddenly. The entire area is. It's just them and
the dark of the night.

Plexus is gone. They all register that in the backs of their minds. He's completely
disappeared, had done so in the midst of the yells and the violence.

None of them say anything at all.

Jungkook looks down at his hand, and he tries to control his breathing, tries to avoid Jimin's
eyes. He knows they're solely transfixed on him, can feel the heat emanating from them, the
vile pull of understanding beginning to infest his mind.

Jimin didn't know.

It's only as Taehyung is knelt before him whispering, "this will hurt a bit." And yanking out
the stake from his hand, that Jungkook even remembers there was a wooden weapon shoved
right through it, penetrating both sides, in a way that it definitely hits against important parts.
He doesn't know what to feel, almost feels like he's dreaming, as he sees the hole that's made
straight through his palm. He wants to scream, but he's too scared of Jimin to even truly think
about it. Then, Taehyung's long, gentle fingers are clamped over it, one of his hands on either
side of Jungkook's. His eyes are squeezed shut and he mumbles out a chant, "renasci, renasci,
renasci." He calls into the deft hours of the night so focused, even when Jimin releases an
ugly, incredulous laugh.

"You knew." He says, and his words hit against the pair of them, as Taehyung focuses on his
chant, and Jungkook feels his skin starting to reform, tissues starting to meld back together.
Jimin actually cackles then, and he sounds so horrible and angry as he repeats, "you fucking
knew, Taehyung."

The blonde just continues to chant, but Jungkook is looking at him, can see the flurry of
tension in his face, as he tries to actively keep his eyes squeezed shut.

It only lasts another ten seconds before Jimin grows too impatient and fists at his hair, forcing
him away from Jungkook, forcing his head upward, his eyes pried open, as he stares up at
Jimin, whom he's never seen so angry. "Fucking answer me." He growls.

Taehyung just blinks.

 "I can't believe this." Jimin declares, still horrific in his outrage. "That's why you gave him a
new hand? So you could heal it when this happened?" Jungkook selfishly glances at said
object, and sees it is in fact healed, completely and absolutely. "You fucking knew he was
plotting to fucking kill me, and you didn't tell me." He accuses, completely accurately.

Taehyung tries to shake his head, but Jimin's still holding onto him, and Jungkook thinks he's
projecting his anger on the wrong person. "It's not his fault." He says meekly, and again he
knows he shouldn't have, but he can't help but want to defend the man who'd just saved his
hand, again. "That looks like it hurts."

"Oh, does it?" Jimin snaps back instantly, turning to look at the boxer, and his face truly is
completely still, like a dead body, aside from the lines of anger starting to push his veins to
life in his forehead and neck. "How fucking dare you?"

He releases Taehyung then, which Jungkook feels rather glad about, even when it means
Jimin is shoving him now, pushing him back until he's almost lying down, just propped up by
his elbows. Jimin leans over him, and he smells like smoke, like fire, a necklace hanging
from his neck, swinging in Jungkook's face, as he stands over him and Jungkook expects him
to kick him like he'd done with Plexus. He expects Jimin to bite his throat out, to pop his eyes
with his nails, to tear his skin from his face, to rip his hair from his scalp, or his nails from his
fingers. He expects something brutal and violent and he doesn't think he should fight back,
thinks it would be justified.

But he doesn't get it.

All he gets is Jimin's cruel smile, and something ghostly in his eyes — a faint twinkle of
sadness.

He moves away, and he grabs Taehyung by the arm, pulls him up, and Jungkook can do
nothing but watch as Jimin grabs the dancer's hand. He feels his heart pounding in his ears.

All Jimin says is, "go home, Mr Jeon."

And they disappear into the shadows.

Chapter End Notes

well... uh?? that was smth. idk if this is surprising? i feel like it's probably a little
confusing, but everything is going to be cleared up soon and hopefully all come
together. i really like this chapter but idk how it's going to be received because obviously
it's very busy! i hope you enjoyed it! let me know your thoughts! <3
 Chapter 20
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The car ride is shadowed by an unmistakable veil of darkness, looking over them,
cacophonous, like sopping veins of tar-black, wrapping around their bones. They keep their
hands on one another's hearts, squeezing at them, pressing out more of that sickly, black
blood, that seeps from their very essence, like paint, like smoke.

"Go to the bedroom and don't move until I say so."

Jimin had never used his compulsive abilities on Taehyung, but he was so angry, so blood-red
with hunger, that he couldn't bring forth any sense of delicacy. So, as soon as Jun had brought
them home, he'd said those exact words to Taehyung, and he obeyed. His body moved despite
his mind; although he can't fight the compulsion, his mind is still free to writhe and whimper
and beg Jimin to just hear him out.

Alas, Jimin forces him to stay in the bedroom and he paces around there, unable to sense any
movement beyond the howling winds that mock and jive at him. They rattle his windows,
while his bare feet patter against his carpet, and his teeth agonise his lip, lacerating skin,
turning it to ember.

He's never seen Jimin so angry. Not at him, at least. He's seen it flashed before doomed
vagabonds and worthless entities, but never at him. He's never been the forefront of all that
monstrosity, and he forgets sometimes, just how quiet all that monstrosity can be. It makes it
all the more horrendous, he supposes, forcing one into a stupor of indescribable anguish.

When Jimin finally enters, an hour later, he doesn't glance in Taehyung's direction. The
dancer's pacing halts as soon as the door opens. Jimin's hair is messy, but that's about the only
abnormality that immediately jumps out. In fact, he looks a little too normal; gone are his
gaunt features that outline his hunger, gone is the deathly glow of his skin, gone are the red
eyes.

It leaves Taehyung with only one conclusion. "You've fed." He says, and his voice is meek,
and he watches Jimin, who ignores him. The blonde tries to hide how much hurt is lingering
in his heart, he tries to hide how fast it's pulsing, but he knows Jimin can hear it anyways.
The dancer crashes his back teeth together. "Is that... is that where you've been?" And he feels
his heart in his throat, gargling and whining. "Finding someone else's blood to drink?"

Jimin hears his sense of unease and he ignores it. He's immediately by the chest of drawers,
prying them open, and wordlessly shoving clothes into a bag.

Taehyung's eyes widen, as Jimin gracefully pulls silks and linens of blueberry and redcurrant
into his leather bag. His attention quickly transitions toward this new plight. "What are you
doing?" He asks, his words hoarse, cramped up from all that writhing they'd done in his
throat, lingering there, begging to leave.
Jimin doesn't pause his menstruations, doesn't offer him even that, much less a glance or hint
of acknowledgment. Still in his most baroque of garments, his form drifts like elegance
incarnate, as he continues, dipping down to grab something from a bottom drawer.

"Leaving." He replies, after a moment wherein the white night sends their room of vibrancy
into something so cold.

Taehyung gasps, and his breaths fall from him, hiccuping out of him in delicate juts, like
green fingers against harp strings. "No, Jimin," He suddenly begs, his feet thudding against
the carpet as his soul flutters and brings him into Jimin's immediate vicinity. "Please, we can
talk about it, properly. You can't just leave me." He begs, he whines, he grapples, and his
fingers are inches from Jimin's blazer. "You can't, please, you're all I have, Jimin. I'm sorry,
I'm so so sorry. But, you have to hear me out, don't you? Don't you at least owe me that?"

Jimin suddenly turns to him then, and his eyes are warm oceans of brown, seven story waves,
churning together blood and salt. "Sit down, Taehyung." He tells him, and the blonde doesn't
think he needs to bother using compulsion. He does exactly as he's told. The vampire watches
him as he settles himself on the edge of the bed, bleak eyes staring back up at him, mirrors to
the soul. He turns around and continues his packing. Then, after a pause that's indefinite and
indelicate, he speaks, so gruff and low and smouldering, "I don't owe you anything."

The silence carries the weight of their emotions, and it's so fragile, Taehyung thinks he can
see it crack. He can feel it.

He doesn't mean for his sob to be the thing that smashes it so violently.

Jimin flinches at it, Taehyung can just about see through the watercolour tears, the way his
bones stiffen.

Taehyung finds he can't say anything, finds he's merely waiting for Jimin to continue, to be
the one to speak. He's too ashamed to say anything.

When he eventually does speak, it's with the action of his body turning to once again face the
blonde; it's a whip of movement, and it's accompanied with a sigh for himself and his own
lack of resolve. "You really think I'd leave you forever, Taehyung?"

The blonde bites his lip, as something as dangerous as hope clogs his throat.

Jimin shakes his head at the expression, at the clear lack of certainty in the usually so
confident dancer. "Don't be a fool, it doesn't suit you." He bites.

Still, Taehyung can't help but sit up a little straighter, his eyes blinking rapidly, pushing back
his stupid tears. "You were so hungry..." He mumbles, and his tone is crumbling like dirt in
his gnarly teeth. "But, you didn't drink from me."

The vampire tongues along the row of his bottom teeth but his face remains stoic and stern.
"You think I'd want to after tonight?"

The blonde shakes his head, eyes downcast. "Then— then, who?"
A sigh is what causes him to look up, and he expects to see something light on the vampire's
face, alas, all he gets is malicious beauty. "I haven't drunk from another person in years,
Taehyung, you really think I'd start now?"

"You wanted to drink from Jungkook." He reminds him, before realising what exactly he'd
said, and his eyes widen, shocked by his own idiocy to mention his name right now.

Jimin's face is completely closed off again. "I don't drink from other people, Jeon
Jungkook was different."

"Then—" Taehyung is about to question him more, until he realises what he's already telling
him with his words, and his face falls back into despair. "Oh, Jimin... please say you didn't."

The vampire laughs, hollow. "I must admit, blood isn't so good with a mouthful of fur."

Taehyung actually gasps, and his hand slaps over his mouth, eyes beginning to water. "How
could you?"

Jimin pauses and looks at him properly. The roll of his eyes is like a knife to the heart, until
he continues, "oh, please, why are you acting as if you don't know me at all?" Taehyung's
eyes are wide, and it makes Jimin proceed, "your stupid cat is still alive, Taehyung. I can't say
the same for some of the snakes — though, cold blood isn't as delectable."

"You killed my snakes?"

"They're my snakes."

And Taehyung just nods, loosing his will to fight, his will to do anything but beg Jimin for
forgiveness, because he can't stand the tension thats inundating them currently. As Jimin goes
back to packing, he plucks up the audacity to inquire, "where are you going?"

"I have things to clear up." He says, and it's perhaps the first time he's not easily given away
information to Taehyung. "Since I've found myself in the midst of my very own Caesar-
Brutus escapade, I'm in need of fixing a few kinks in my workforce." His pause is minuscule,
just enough time for him to run the pad of his thumb along his bottom lip. "That was a nice
touch, by the way. I suppose you and Seokjin picked that play to laugh amongst yourselves?"

"No, Jimin," Taehyung begs again, desperate, and he wants to stand up, to reach him, but
Jimin told him to sit, and he's powerless to go against the command. "Please, can you just let
me explain? Please." Jimin remains silent, and the blonde jumps on it. "I'm serious, I swear
on the soul of my coven, I wasn't colluding with anyone, much less Seokjin. I only trusted my
visions, and I knew you weren't really in danger. I knew Jungkook would've never gone
through with it, 'Min. You really think I'd ever let anything happen to you?"

The vampire smiles, mean, and his head shakes, his body drawing near, and dragging with
him, a grey shadow of horror, letting it loom over them both. "Oh, Taehyung," And he sounds
so cruel again, something so strange for the blonde to hear. "You really think that's why I'm
angry?"
The blonde blinks, his eyes sticking to the soulless appeal of Jimin's warmed features, that
are quickly beginning to deteriorate back into ribbons of ghoulish green.

His head cocks to the side, smirks as Taehyung's eyes face it; there's something redolent to
torture in his movements. "Come on, Tae, sweetheart, you know emotions better than anyone.
You know my emotions better than anyone. You must know the real reason why I'm angry?"

His face leans closer and the blonde instinctively reels back. "I—"

Jimin's eyes widen, a challenge, a jeer, snickering at the man's lack of coherence. He tuts,
fully leaning over the witch now. "Frankly, I don't give a shit if you try and kill me. Drive a
stake through my heart, sever my head, burn my skin, I couldn't care less. If it's you, I don't
care. Fuck, if it's Jungkook, I don't care. You wanna know what I do care about?" The blonde
nods his head, eyes stuck to Jimin's ever-menacing visage. "I care when I'm lied to."

Taehyung gulps, and he can do nothing but look Jimin in the eye, all of his fighting spirit lost
in the cloud bursting epiphany of integrity.

"I didn't mean to lie to you." He tells him, promises with the crack in his tone.

"No?" One of his perfectly sculptured brows raises, and his absence of breath becomes so
obvious in this second.

Taehyung's head shakes rapidly, trying to calm him with the mobility of his sincerity, sending
sprinkles of it darting from each crick of his neck. "It was imperative you didn't know, Jimin,
I felt it. I saw it." The blonde tries to make himself perfectly clear, but he can't be sure he
succeeds, due to the stony emptiness of Jimin's features. "He was never going to kill you, not
really, and you needed to see that. If I had told you, your emotions toward the situation
would've been totally different to what they should've been."

The vampire leans a little closer still, till the tips of their noses almost brush. Taehyung espies
how vile the curve of his smile can be; he sees how his lover's face takes the form of
inclement weather, and he feels the chill of it in his bones. "Mm, okay," The man purrs, and
as his mouth opens, Taehyung can see his fangs again, deadly and not at all arousing. "So,
what else do you feel, Kim Taehyung? What other events are yet to come that you haven't
told me about?"

He's completely still.

Jimin's smirk grows wider, meaner. He scoffs, pulling his head back for a mere moment,
before he reels forward, snaps into the dancer's face, "we don't keep secrets from each other,
do we?"

Taehyung shakes his head.

Cold, cold hands come forward and it's so fast Taehyung almost expects the touch to hurt.
But, it's soft. Pink sands and teal sunsets, the fingers are feathers, smooth and natural. The
backs of his fingers brush along the supple skin of Taehyung's cheekbones, and his eyes
remain dark, yet his smile seems somehow more imbued in sunlight.
"Don't forget that I'm doing this all for you, Kim Taehyung," His fingers squeeze as he
reminds him with such a calloused burst of words. "Everything I do, all the plans I make, all
the people I hurt, it's all for you."

Taehyung shakes his head. "But... it's for you, too."

Jimin pauses and his eyes narrow.

"It could be for Jungkook, as well."

Jimin scoffs, "Oh, perhaps I've been too soft with you, hm?" He murmurs, a faint whisper of
his internal thoughts, and he looks into the blonde's eyes as he continues. "I give you
everything you want, don't I, darling? Whether it be jewels or furs or pets or information or
bodies, fuck, even pretty boxer's who want to touch you all over — I give you everything."
His hand turns and he cups at the skin of his cheek then. "And you know why that is? It's
because I love you." His grip becomes a little tighter, fingerprints scaling the length of the
blonde's jaw, leaving the essence of himself all over the man. "I love you and you belong to
me. Isn't that what you promised when we first met? I'd have you forever, you're mine," He
tilts the man's head up slightly, tightly, as he continues, "my pretty little witch."

Taehyung dares to look properly into his eyes, to see the spikes of blood-terror that linger
there. He looks up at Jimin and he remembers the world for what it is.

"Everything about you belongs to me, Taehyung, don't forget that." And he rises to his full
height, towering over the still seated blonde. "That means your abilities and all your secrets,
too." His nostrils flare, as he soaks his mind in the waxing elixir of anger. He looks the
blonde in the eye and makes sure he understands him, makes sure his words sink. When he
yanks his hand away, it makes the dancer jolt in surprise, and he can do nothing but stare
forlornly up at the pink-haired man. "When I get back, I expect you to be ready to tell me
everything, Taehyung."

Taehyung nods, not able to say anything, merely observing as Jimin goes to pack his bags.

Just as the vampire is about to leave, he turns and he says, coldly, demandingly, "don't lie to
me again."

&&&
He pours water into his kettle. It fizzles on the stove, quiet and mellifluous, rumbling along,
warming up the liquid. He watches the blue flames, wiggling and banging against the
metallic object smothering them. He watches it start to boil, as the depths of the night roll on
beyond his peripheral view. He takes the kettle from the stove, and he can feel the tingle of
heat in the backs of his fingernails. He places his free hand over the sink, looking at the
tattoos that are crawling from beneath his blood-hardened sleeve. His exhale coils in his
throat, scratching the pink pulp there, like barbed wire. He watches the boiled water as it
pours all over the skin, sizzling against it, steaming across it, sending waves of itself all along
his lines of ink.

He doesn't feel a thing.

His teeth sink into his lip and he feels that, feels the metallic pain that he immediately laps up
with his tongue.

But his hand feels nothing at all.

"Kookie?"

His heart feels that heat though; the heat that falls from people in the midst of sweet
bubblegum summers, and apple-scented winters, and he snaps his head immediately away
from the sink, looking down at Hanai, who stares up at him, with her soft, hazelnut eyes.

Tiredness clings to every inch of Jungkook's little sister; from the dishevelled state of her
dark locks, to the slightly pinched rouge of her cheeks and the tattered stuffed monkey she
grips in her little, flower stem fingers, everything in her form suggests she's just woken up.

"Hey, lovely," He says immediately, slamming the kettle down, rubbing his water-covered
hand on his expensive trousers, and rushing to kneel before her. "I didn't mean to wake you."
He whispers, and the crack in his voice is warranted and bizarrely comforting.

She stares at him for a moment, her head falling sidewards, pouting, as she tries to make
herself seem at least a little scary. "Thought you weren't coming back."

His heart lurches and does somersaults all the way to the very substratum of his stomach.
"Why would you think that?" He asks, and he grasps the girl's free hand in his non-wet one.
She doesn't say anything, just twirls her monkey in her hand, doleful. He wilts before her and
murmurs, "I'm never ever gonna leave you, kid." He promises, because it's just about the only
thing he can say.

Even if he can't really promise it.

He doesn't know what he's going to do now. He's got no control over his life. His mind is
such a mess it's seemed to completely fall apart, leaving both his soul and brain empty. He's
in a state of unfeeling and he can hardly think straight. The only thing he can concentrate on
is the inevitability of Jimin coming to kill him.
He doesn't blame him. He'd be the same way if someone tried to kill him. But, he doesn't like
the fact he really can't promise the sanctity of his existence to his own little sister.

In absence of his mind, he can only live by his heart.

"Never?" Her words are like ticking time bombs, and the notion of eternity crumples beneath
such a weight as hope.

"Never ever." He says, and he gently kisses her cheek, something he hasn't done in so long.
She almost seems surprised herself. "Now, let's get you back to bed, hm?" His killer hands
are brushing the hair from her eyes, cupping her tiny face and trying to make himself
remember what he's fighting for.

Her nod is clear evidence of her sleep-deprivation. So, he makes short work of carrying her to
her room, as quiet as he can, so as to not wake his other sister, who's sleeping peacefully on
the other bed. He kisses her temple, tucks her covers around her body and she smiles at him
as he does it.

"I love you." She says, as her face falls into a state between sleep and wake.

He can feel tears in his eyes. Painful, stinging tears. "I love you more." He tells her. That's
one thing he can promise.

As soon as her eyes are closed and her breathing becomes laboured, he decides to leave. On
his way out, he catches sight of Ara, curled into her larger bed, face hard and stony, even in
sleep, and her eyelashes, even in the seeping pearl river of the night, he can see the starlit
residue of tears hanging in clumps from her thin, black lashes.

He leaves the room and he feels his own tears on his cheeks.

His fingertips catch them immediately, and he's more shocked than anything. He can feel the
heat of them, as they steamroll down his face, over his fingers. Even his new hand feels them
as they patter down his skin. He's damp grass beneath their torrential rain.

Without thinking, his feet drag him to the cupboard beside the oven. He unlatches it, with
tears still hot and fresh on his skin, and he pries the thing open, shuffling around till he finds
what he desires. His heart wrenches as he finds it: dry gin, unopened, collecting dust.

His heart is scratching like a broken record, and he soothes it with spiteful intoxication.

He drops his body to the living room floor, beside the window, watching the gargling city
beneath him, and drowning his plights, starting from his guts. Just like his daddy.

And he falls asleep in the gentle curve of the moon, sat on the living room floor, staring out
the large apartment window, gazing forlornly at the night sky. He stares at it, and he drinks,
bitter, toxic drops of distaste and he feels the darkness lend it's malignant hand, pulling away
his tears, pulling him to sleep.

"You're here." The sun says.

Jungkook's eyes snap open as soon as he hears such words, and he finds his forehead still
pressed to the window, cold, despite the warmth of the sun that's looking through it. He felt
like he hadn't really slept. He'd just closed his eyes for a moment, but, somehow, hours had
passed.

The sun is stood three feet away from him and she's wearing her pyjamas.

"I'm here." He says, as soon as he comes to his senses enough to make out Ara in the dim
silhouette of streaking, bright sunshine. His whole body aches with the position he'd been
resting in, but he doesn't care, merely twists himself perfectly till he's on his knees and
imploring.

Her hair dusts her shoulders, silky and nice, despite evidently having just woken up. There's
this impending sense of terror in her face, suspended amongst the sadness, and it sits there,
all dewy and robust, and Jungkook doesn't know what to do. She looks down at him,
sorrowful, and her voice is hoarse as she speaks, "You were meant to— uh, I thought you
might be gone a few days."

"Things changed." He tells her, and it comes out softer than he'd wanted — he'd wanted it to
be reassuring.

With a curt nod, her hair bounces, and she looks as if she's about to explode. "You slept on
the floor."

"I think I deserved it."

"Deserved?" She narrows her eyes, eyebrows darting together, confused. "You mean like..."
And realisation dawns. "A punishment."

"I suppose." He nods, and he turns back to the window, sees all the people that are wandering
around beneath him. Their street is bustling, always, and the ants look rather beautiful in
certain emotionally-stunted times. "I'm—"

"You opened it." Ara cuts in, her surprise clear.

Jungkook takes a moment to comprehend what she means, and when he does he feels his
rotting guts start to pulsate. He stares down at the bottle of gin, half empty, and shining
polychromatic in the refractions of the light. "Shit." He shakes his head. A bitter, deep laugh
falls from his dry throat, out of his dry lips. "I really am like him, huh?"

There's a slim pause, Jungkook wants to laugh into it, wants to slam his fists into it.

"No." Her tone is austere and solid. She sounds so like herself. "You're nothing like him,
Jungkook."

He scoffs at her words, and he's not sure why, but he thinks there's just something so
bittersweet in her attempts to console him now, to backtrack her own words. The damage is
already done. Her voice is comprised of scalpels that have already firmly wedged themselves
into Jungkook's brain.
"I am." He proceeds, thumbing along the neck of the bottle lackadaisically. "I'm good at
nothing except hurting people; my anger gets the best of me, always, and I don't care enough
to get help. I'm selfish. I don't give a shit about anyone beyond how hurting them would
affect me." He shakes his head, keeps his eyes on the bottle. "Violence is what I always resort
to. Always, always, always. I fuck people over. All the time. I fuck you over— you and
Hanai, and I lie to you. All the time. There's been this red mist of the devil choking my vision
for as long as I can remember, and it makes me lose sense of anything but myself. And it
makes me hurt people," He glances up at her then, and his voice catches, falls into a whisper,
"fuck, I've really badly hurt people, Ara."

She's crying.

He's crying.

They're both looking at one another, stuck in a momentary detention that bleeds into infinity,
swarms them with the inevitable. Fate will never truly be on their side.

"That doesn't make you the same." Ara tells him, warm and yet so strong. It feels like stones
are dropping to the floor with every word. "It was wrong of me to ever say that to you. You're
a good person. You're just troubled. It's not your fault. It's the worlds. It gave you this
upbringing, ripped you from mother's womb and chucked you in the deep end. It's not your
fault you were forced to learn to survive in such terrible conditions. You adapt. We both do.
It's how we've got so far, isn't it?"

Jungkook's hair falls in thick, black lines into his eyes, as his head dips down to his chest,
staring in disbelief at his own body. Muscled and dirty and forced into a coquettish shirt of
someone else's design. He's trying to stuff himself into someone else's life.

"Don't you see?" He mumbles, speaking to the floor. "We haven't gotten far at all." And he
looks up at his sister as he continues, keeping his bitterness in check as much as he can. "I
mean, shit, we came all this way, moved all the way out to this godforsaken city just to get
away from him. But, we never will. I never will." His palm presses flat against his own chest.
"He's always with me, Ara, always will be. We were fools to think we could escape our
destiny."

"Destiny?" She howls suddenly, all sense of tenderness suddenly lost. "Since when do you
believe in such tripe?"

"Oh, there are many things I've come to find myself believing in nowadays."

"What? Fate and destiny and devil's spawn?" Her tone is like a spit, like a slap in the face.
"You may have violence and anger, but you are not destined to be anything that you don't
decide yourself. Sure, life events may force you into a corner in some situations, they may
make it so you have no option but to adhere to what you must. But, ultimately?
Ultimately, you are the one who decides your own actions and how far you're willing to go."

Jungkook let's the words sink in. They're dripping against his cheeks, and he curls further into
himself, shoving his face into his knees. He supposes he must look rather stupid — a fully
grown man, in a suit and tie, cuddling himself in a ball on the floor, crying like a baby.
"Oh, Jungkook." She softens immediately, and she's on her knees beside him in a second,
wrapping her kindly arm across the sloping muscles of his back, tucking her face into his
bicep. "Oh, my little brother."

"I've already gone too far, Ara." He tells her, muffled into his kneecaps, but still very much
easy to make out. "I'm a monster."

"You haven't," She says into his arm, her melancholia pouring into the unfamiliar fabric.
"You're too good. Deep down, you are."

"I'm not."

"You are." Her hold on him toughens. "Look at us, Jungkook. I mean, look where we are,
safe, in a... not too shabby apartment, alive, well, nourished, sheltered. You're the reason for
that. You're trying your best."

"That's not what it feels like."

"No?"

He shakes his head, but he doesn't say anything, keeping his face away from her and any
notion of nicety she tries to grant him. He doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve a morsel of
it.

Someone is yelling in the apartment downstairs, and there's thuds in the apartment above.
The stench of meat seeps through the closed window from the streets below. The toneless
voices of insignificant wanderers meander toward their ears and canoodle with their sense of
tranquility.

Ara's head pulls away from Jungkook's arm, but she keeps herself wrapped around him, as if
transmogrifying herself into a blanket. She asks, softly, "What happened, Jungkook?"

"What?" He frowns, his breaths having calmed exponentially to slightly less impassioned
jolts of his body.

"With... with Park Jimin."

His name makes Jungkook feel sick. Not because he despises him, of course, but because of
what he did to him, because of what realities are sure to await him.

"Last night." She reaffirms, "you were meant to come back later, in a few days. And, you
were clearly drinking, which you've never ever done. Something happened."

Jungkook pulls his face from his knees, his eyes dark and soulless. He shakes his head and he
looks up at the sky.

"I tried to kill him."

&&&

MAYOR KIM SEOKJIN SURVIVES ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT.

That's what the articles in the newspapers say, that's the headlines on the tongues of everyone
in Quellnex, that's what the ordeal had been spun into. The gunshots, the fear, Seokjin's
presence, it had been spun into a publicity stunt; it's now a situation wherein he'd calmed the
gunman down, saved the day, saved them all. And Jungkook stares bitterly at the headline, as
the rain pours outside, and he can't help but think: why guns? If they really were meant for
Park Jimin, surely Plexus should've known that guns would be of no use. Surely he should've
have known.

A clinking sound brings him back to Earth and he sees Chung Uram, sat there, slouched, with
his eyes void of emotion, swirling with ivory, sagging from his withered, sallow form. He's
stirring tea, hand shaking a little, as the cold air presses their bodies into ranks of steel, as it
flutters through the window.

It's been four days since what happened, and Uram had finally requested to see Jungkook.
Just the pair of them, in the supposed 'HQ'. Jungkook denies tea and denies eye contact as
much as possible, slouched in his chair, one leg stretched out beneath the table. There's such
tension in his pose of relaxation.

"I see your hand is better." Uram comments, though he doesn't look up, so Jungkook is left to
assume it's a detail he'd already noticed.

The Earth is quiet around them; a greying mass of decay, the sodden trundle of people
whirling about beyond them, just past the sheen of glass. And they're trapped inside this
awkward atmosphere.

"Taehyung fixed it." Jungkook tells him, and, hating the bouts of silence that consistently
stretch on between them, he adds, "but, now I don't seem to have any feeling in it."

Uram looks at him, though his head remains downcast, his white eyes trail up and the clouds
of purity begin to shake, as he takes in the man's appearance. "It's known that a witch's magic
often comes with some sort of price."

Jungkook just nods, as he doesn't really feel as if he deserves to be doing anything else; the
entirety of his soul is weighed down by the knowledge he hasn't got a position to stand on.
"Your leg seems to be doing better." He comments, somewhat aimless.
Uram's pause is monumental, as they sit and wait for the ticking clock to denounce them of
their self-hatred. "Please, Jungkook," The man says, tone a little bland, a little incredulous,
almost like he's begging. "Let us not do this, hm? We both know why we're here, why are we
beating around the bush?"

Jungkook bites his bottom lip and he nods, eyes down, as he lets the older man take the
reigns, allows him jurisdiction over the passage of their conversation.

With a hearty sigh, the older man sips his drink, and his eyes are cast toward the overhanging
light of the kitchen room they currently inhabit, with all it's mahogany furniture and old-
fashioned china, festooned with drooling flowers. "So, I guess my first question to you is:
what on earth happened?"

The boxer doesn't think he could even fathom trying to concoct an answer for the other,
especially considering he hasn't a clue himself what he's thinking. Even in the forced silence
of his day and night, he's had no real revelation over his emotions. Still, he owes the man that
much, at least, doesn't he?

"It was all so fast, Uram, I really..." His palms press harshly to his own knees, rigid, his back
straightening, as his head falls forward slightly, in an invocation of coherence. "I just acted on
this strange sort of instinct."

"Instinct?" Uram repeats, brows furrowing, and Jungkook suddenly notices just how rugged
he is and always has been. His brows are thick and Jungkook can see all the humanity of him
in the hairs of them; he's so real and solid and kind. And his expression shows it all. "Your
instinct told you to intercept the best chance we had to kill Park Jimin once and for all?"

Jungkook doesn't have it in him to get angry at the question. He just shakes his head,
distraught. "In fairness, I don't suppose it was all that good of a chance."

"No?" Uram's brow raises then, and it's his turn to lean back, to take the leisurely position,
bringing his china cup to his chapped lips. Jungkook watches the scar there for a moment,
and he thinks he can envision it splitting open, thinks he can see maggots and ghouls
crawling out of it; thinks he can see beyond it, right through the skull of the man, directly into
his barren soul.

"No." Jungkook confirms, "I mean, you just ran at him in an alley, where was the tact in that?
Where was this amazing plan I was promised? Where were the team?" He doesn't mean for
his words to bite, he means for them to be soft, but he's never been good at maintaining a
standard threshold for emotional tones of voice, so it lands like a slap in the face.

The older male clears his throat, his face blanching, as he slowly places his mug down. "I
suppose it wasn't the best of plans, but that's not to say it wouldn't have worked. Think about
it, we really did manage to catch him off-guard somehow, do you know how hard that is?"

"I do." Jungkook promises, leaning even more forward, trying to get the other to listen. "But,
that doesn't change the fact you lied to me. There's not team of people, is there? It's just you.
You and Yepa and Hojin. That's it. Isn't it?"
"It is now." Uram confirms, stoic and almost like he's unperturbed by it. Alas, Jungkook
knows the man well enough to see the slight tick of hurt that's buried beneath the pigment in
his iris. It somewhat makes the boxer feel bad himself. "I suppose I did over exaggerate the
legitimacy of our operation. But, you have to understand, I needed you. I had to do whatever
I could to keep you, and perhaps that was wrong of me— no, I know it was, of course it was.
But," His hands are shaking, and he forcefully grabs ahold of the edge of the table, as he
continues tenderly, "You have to understand just how much of a personal vendetta this was.
It's been my life's mission for as long as I can remember, and you— you were like this
miraculous spawn of the sun, just placed before me, for me. You were our one opportunity
and I had to say whatever I must to keep you. You understand that? Don't you? You know
what it is to want nothing more than to insure the safety of your family?"

Jungkook gulps, but his body remains perfectly still, and he merely lets the words sink over
him. There's a painful kind of rot that's beginning to spread across his conscience, and it's
starting to churn his organs to a state of vegetation, wherein he can do nothing but berate
himself. He let Uram's one opportunity slip away, he let his own one opportunity slip away.
Now, who knows what is to become of him?

"I'm sorry." Jungkook tells him, and he thinks of his sisters, thinks of their faces of cherubic
imitation, that twirl in the rhythm of a dance in the sunlight, and bundle up red in the snow,
all warm with button noses and mulberry eyes. He sees them in his mind and he knows he
understands Uram's plight. "I really, really am. I wasn't prepared, and I know that I've messed
everything up for you." He looks down at his own hands, sees the sweat that lines them,
almost as if a permanent addition to his countenance. "I know I can do nothing to help you
now, and that pains me as much as it must pain you. But, I don't think I can kill him."

The older man licks his front teeth, pausing, and his eyes turn a little less vulnerable, more
bright, as he scans them across the black-haired man's features, taking him in for what he is.
"You know why he killed my family?" He asks, and his voice is rosebuds and thorns.

"No." Jungkook shakes his head.

Uram smiles, muted, mean. "Me either." He tells him, taking another sip of his drink and
then, with a gruff scoff, he continues, "I lost them all, Jungkook, and I don't even know why."

Jungkook bites his lip. "Jimin said he never killed without reason."

The whites of Uram's eyes seem as if having popped from his skull, bright white, hot, right in
Jungkook's face as he looks at him incredulously. "You're saying he had a good reason to kill
my young sisters? My brother?"

The boxer quickly shakes his head, thankful for his own rapid reaction speed. "Fuck, no,
that's not what I mean." He tries to correct his own error, but he's aware he's already made
himself a hole, and he supposes he may as well dig his own grave. "It's just what he said, is
all."

With a sober nod of understanding, Uram unleashes a loose sigh and responds, "I suppose
you've lost your source of income now?"
"Yeah." Jungkook scoffs, "but, strangely enough, that's not my primary concern."

"No?"

"No."

"Then," Uram leans forward. "Pray tell, what exactly is your primary concern?"

Jungkook tells him, honestly, "making amends."

"With me?"

"With whoever I've wronged."

And the older man nods, and his face looks rather lively in the pensive lull of grey skies and
rain pour. He takes a moment to respond, but, when he does, it's with this great purpose, and
he leans backward again. Jungkook glances at the crucifix around his neck. "If I asked you
something, would you be honest with me?" And Jungkook nods, instantly. Uram smiles into
his question, "who are you, Jeon Jungkook?"

The man looks a little startled by the question, his eyes irradiating, though he's still
completely stagnant. "Who am I?"

"Mm," Uram takes another sip of his tea. "I mean, as I've said to you before, you don't exist
in any database known to man. You have nothing, you are nothing — nobody from nowhere,
and, yet, here you are, completely unscathed."

"Unscathed." Jungkook spits back at him, and his head shakes rapidly. "I told you most of my
things got destroyed in the war."

"You fought?"

"I did."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty two years."

"So, you only joined the fight in the last year?"

"I joined up when I was seventeen. I lied about my age."

"Did you lie about your name?"

"No."

"Well then," Uram leans forward again, and the symbol of God clatters against his chest, right
against his heart. His hand presses into the table as he looks the boy in the eye, forcing
something civil and marvellous into his own tone, as he asks, "why are there no records of
your name?"
"Huh?"

"You heard me." Uram nods. "Even in official military documents, there's absolutely no
mention of your name, anywhere."

"I just told you, it got lost." Jungkook doesn't mean for his teeth to grit in the way they do,
and he certainly doesn't mean for his tone to mutate to something so vicious. Alas, he can't
help it. He never can.

"Lost." The older chuckles, "such a funny word, is it not? So vague and perfect for a liar to
store in his vocabulary. That's not to say I'm calling you a liar, but, well, actually that is
exactly what I'm calling you."

"Why the fuck does it matter?" He suddenly snaps, and Uram doesn't look at all surprised. "I
am who I am now. Why the fuck do you need to know my education? My previous address?
My previous life? Can't you live in the fucking present? God, I'm so sick of futures and pasts
and all the bits of gore stuck in the in-between. If people weren't so obsessed with the past,
they wouldn't find themselves still trying to avenge it. You can't change the past — you can't
do anything with it. It is what it is and always will be and you've just got to suck it up. Move
the fuck on."

And he finds he's becoming almost like a friend to the variant emotion of regret, and he feels
her slender finger, as it comes to clutch at the curling cerebrum in his skull.

Uram's silence is mild, and his face doesn't seem all that hurt, considering Jungkook had
essentially told him to move on with the deaths of his entire family. He's so resoundingly
calm, it's almost disconcerting. "Do you think you've managed to ditch your past, Jungkook?"
He asks him.

The man just looks at him, and it tells Uram all he needs to know.

His smile is small and yet aggravating. "You and I both know it is not easy to escape one's
trauma. It remains with you forever, and it gnaws at you. It always will, unless you put an end
to it. Unless you overcome it. Pretending a problem doesn't exist, does not make it go away."

Jungkook gulps again and his eyes travel to his hands, unable to glance at the other man.

"Now," Uram says, and it's so curious in its comfort; there's a definitive twirl of sunshine
about it, a dripping tendril of amour flurrying from his tone, his voice that falls from him like
a string, being wrung out, and shaken to match the tune of a song, with it's waxen melodies
and pale harmonies. "Why did you stop me from killing Park Jimin?"

His eyes can't help but meet the older man's and he finds himself falling victim to the notion
he can't avoid all his problems. He thinks his eyes might be getting a little cloudy. He looks
up at Chung Uram, into his eyes that still rest at something so kind, despite the fact Jungkook
had been so terrible to him. Jungkook looks into those mists of star spangled purity, and he
feels the torrid winds of realisation unearth themselves from his deepest desires. His desires
that sit beneath a grave, in a chest of padlocks, buried so deep down they scrape the edges of
Hell.
He pulls them out and they burst into a river of blood. The blood pours from his face, taking
the shape of foolishness.

"I think I love him."

Uram's arms are wrapped around him in a moment, leaping from his seat, pulling the younger
man to him, crouching a little, as he lets the boy shove his face into his shoulder, as his
necklace presses between them. He pulls him close and forces the man into a state of comfort
he doesn't think he's ever had before.

It feels like paternity.

"Remember what I told you before?" The older man whispers, like he's curling each of the
words into Jungkook's skin, caressing his scalp with their pulpy kindredness. "It's the curse of
being a vampire, their simplest strength: they're designed to draw you in."

Jungkook reels his head back, eyes red and glaring, but Uram snatched his shoulders, keeping
him in place.

"Don't get angry, Jungkook, I always told you it was the case—"

Jungkook's teeth grit. "But, it's not just attraction—" Exasperated, he shakes his head, tries to
pull away from the older. He can't. "It's more, I know it is. It's not just some sort of wicked
desire, Uram, it's so much more— complex than that."

Uram swallows the sparkles in Jungkook's eyes, shaking his head. "There's nothing complex
about love, Jungkook." And Jungkook feels this strange sense of vitality roaming across his
blood vessels, arching at the capillaries, and starting to clog up his solar plexus. He pants as
he listens to the other. Uram is taut and pleasing as he says, "You know what is complex? The
ease at which a person can get themselves tangled up in the manipulation of a vampire.
They're made to attract you, that's not to say you specifically, but they attract anyone who
lays eyes on them. They pull you away from morals, make you feel things you shouldn't. You
shouldn't feel such a thing for a man, Jungkook, don't you see? That's the beginning. They
change the inner workings of your mind. They can manipulate your mind to make you stay."

Stay.

"And that's not to mention the emotional side of enforcement that witches are capable of."

Jungkook sucks on his teeth and he feels something like ink resting there, something
poisoned and blackened by the perilous streams of mankind. He blinks and asks, "so, you
think every feeling I have for them is to do with... magic."

Uram smiles sadly. "Magic is such a pretty word for manipulation."

&&&

"Well, I can safely say none of this was part of any plan now, was it?" Seokjin purrs, his lips
turning upward, grinning like a cat who got the cream, holding a glass in one hand, a pen in
the other. A man with white gloves is holding the telephone for him, as such a task is beyond
someone as profoundly diligent as Kim Seokjin.

He's lackadaisically placed himself in Cronus, his own bar, listening to the faint trail of jazz
music that shares its body and soul with his ear. The room is dark and palatial in a sense it
almost becomes gaudy, and yet, his very presence alleviates it of such a condition. No, with
Kim Seokjin in the room, it becomes very much the antithesis — it's smoke screens and lilac
dreams, with a twisted reverie of blood-money and corruption, leaking so sublimely from his
smirking mouth.

"Can we?" Park Jimin asks him from the other side of the telephone; he's sat up straight, one
leg crossed over the other, with a cigarette between his lips. His stance is so redolent of hard-
work and dedication, it doesn't really match the image of the worn down factory he's
currently inhabiting.

He uses the telephone of a man, who's tied up in front of him, his eyes glimmering with fear
in the darkness, shaking and sweating and unsure what to do. And Jimin looks deranged in
the way thought only possible of humanity.

"Oh, don't be that way." Seokjin chortles, drawing aimlessly along a piece of paper with his
pen. "I knew you weren't to die."

"But, you knew there was to be an assassination attempt from him." Jimin flicks his cigarette,
spreading speckles of his stress across the grimy floor.

Seokjin laughs, it bursts out of him. "Please, I think calling it an assassination attempt is a bit
far." Then, he pauses for a moment and sighs dramatically into his next line of speech, "oh,
don't get so dejected, dear one. It was only a bit of fun."

"I don't see it that way."

"Mm, I'm aware." And Jin takes a small sip of his drink, thinking through what he's to say
next. "But, well, things all worked out as we planned anyway, didn't they?" Jimin says
nothing, so Seokjin happily elaborates, "we had already accounted for Plexus' trying to kill
you, we already knew how we were going to spin it." He hums happily to himself. "Look at
the situation properly, Jimin, we've exposed Kil Plexus to the public, there's a face to the
name behind the leader of the Kil Crime Family." He snickers into the words, like it was all a
joke to him. "Now, everyone knows his name, how much of a danger he is. They know that
I'm a saviour, a brave hero, who they can trust." His voice dips down to something sapped
and stretched, as he coos out, "in the grand scheme of things, what does it matter that your
little human was trying to kill you too?"

"I don't expect you to understand, Seokjin." Jimin informs him, tonelessly, though he can feel
his hatred begin to froth up further in his throat, prying at a whirlwind of aggression. He
cracks his neck and glances briefly at the other man in the room. "I fear it would be
redundant to inquire as to how you knew what he was up to."

"I know everything." Seokjin tells him anyway, and he smiles to himself. "I suppose it's one
of your favourite traits of mine — of course, along with my sense of dramatic devices. You
like my usage of Julius Caesar to enhance the scene?"

Jimin's tone is flat. "It was inspired."

The older man chuckles warmly at him, and he continues on, "I really thought you would've
been smarter than that. But, I suppose your heart still is weakened by your pretty pets. You
couldn't even begin to fathom the idea of them betraying you."

"I don't see it as betrayal."

"No?" Jin laughs again — always amused. "You see it as a trust exercise then?"

"I see it as something that's none of your business."

"Oh, well," The older doesn't stop laughing, even through his mock-offence, he's chuckling in
such an infuriatingly beguiling manner. "I thought my business was your business. After all,
isn't that what we agreed upon?"

Jimin pauses for a moment, observes, morbidly, the enervated trails of smoke that enhance
the shadowy image of the shaking man before him.

"Mm, it is my recollection that we are to be working together properly soon." The elder's
voice darkens, but still manages to maintain that somewhat cheerful sentiment. "I am doing
you a mighty big favour, am I not? I mean, taking this arduous role as mayor, marrying
Dalrae, lying to Namjoon; it's all for you, Jimin. You seem to forget that."

The younger scoffs. "Yes, and you seem to forget you do not commit such actions from the
kindness of your own heart."

"Oh, but how can you blame me?" Seokjin coos, and he snatches the phone from the man
who'd been holding it, pulling it closer to him to say, "you've always been a catch, Park
Jimin. From the day I met you, your blood-thirst has always enthralled me. You're the creme
de la creme; the best of the bunch. Lord, and you don't even realise why it's so."

"Oh? And what do I not realise?" Jimin huffs, never really in the mood for Kim Seokjin.
"Please, do enlighten me, as it's come to my attention there are a great deal of things that I do
not realise of recent."

"Such a drama-queen, you are." Jin shakes his head and leans down, sprawling drawings
across his piece of paper. "You know, Jimin, despite how naive you are when it comes to
 falling into the quicksand ailments of love, I do believe you are the smartest man I know." He
licks his lip. "Even before you became a vampire, you've always understood what it is to
thirst for blood and death." He laughs. "I don't know quite how you've managed to convince
your little human, and your little witch that it isn't in your very nature to fascinate over
killing. You've always been that way, always."

Jimin shakes his head. "I think you'd do well to understand that I, unlike yourself with all
your trickery, do not depend on convincing anyone of anything; I am seen for what I am."

Jin nods, though Jimin can't see him. "By everyone, perhaps, except yourself."

And Jimin's eyes flash red, his teeth starting to elongate. The man groans in front of him.
Jimin says, "farewell, Seokjin."

The older laughs. "Farewell, Jimin."

As soon as he places the phone down, he presses his hand to his face, and his sigh is palpable,
spewing hot smoke from his mouth.

When he finally comes to his senses, he sees the man tied up, still shivering, with a terrified
tremor to him. Jimin smiles at him, instantly brightening at his fear. "Now that that's over."
He says, leaning back more comfortably in his seat, while the other man shakes before him.
Amusedly he says, "perhaps, you'd like to tell me more, Mr Chung."

Chapter End Notes

okkkk here it is!! i hope this chapter was satisfactory, even if it does seem like a bit of a
filler! this is the aftermath of the last chapter and setting up for the next! just a little bit
of angst, coz what's a fic without it???
 Chapter 21
Chapter Notes

ahah i'm back. okay so i just want to say this chapter is a little confusing coz of the time
jumps and stuff. also a lot of it is just exposition, wherein the characters explain a bunch
of stuff in a very in your face way?? i know it might come across very like blah blah
blah but it was the easiest way to reveal a bunch of things. and a lot of important stuff
comes out. okay, enjoy!!!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

"You're back." Kim Namjoon says into the almost empty street after seven days of Park
Jimin's absence, and he can't help the manner in which his mood fizzles upward toward joy,
at the cajoling sensation of Jimin's eyes gleaming at him in the dark.

It's a heavy sundown, and the world rolls across itself, clouds twisting into their own galactic
mist and evaporating into the sponged out black of the sky. The night-time provides a
wonderful shield for bad deeds and inappropriate desires, and, if you look hard enough, if
you lend your visions to it's most erogenous of parts, you too, can finger the seeping cesspool
of murderous erotica at the pulp of it.

And Park Jimin is all that proclivity and more, as he stands before Namjoon, looking
refreshed, revitalised, with a sensational pulpit of appeal glittering in his crystal skin and
eyes.

"I'm back." Jimin affirms, making a small movement with his arms. His footsteps are a
cacophony that's nothing short of panache, leather soles against the concrete street. "And
you're smiling." He informs the other, with a jutting twitch of his head. "Surely not on my
account?"

Namjoon smirks, and he moves further into the other man's space. It's nearing midnight and
so the street is near enough empty, despite the fact it would usually be bustling. Since the
'attempted assassination in the theatre', theres been a sharp lull in the folly that tends to
submerge the city. For now, people live in a state that's much more timid. Still, the pair fall
together like magnets, as if they need to be close and private.

"You think I'm not relieved to see you?" He asks back, in a tone of colour that Jimin is almost
unfamiliar with: cognac and matt black. "Don't pretend to be modest." He scoffs at the
expression on the younger man's face. "You know, it's sad to say, but you've made quite the
impression on my life and, as such, I find myself struggling to adapt to a position without
you."

"Don't make me blush." He comments, a little sage, obviously amused.

"Please, it would be hard-work to stir such a reaction out of you," Namjoon tells him, easily
reaching into his throat and prying out their usual manner of conversation, slipping into it
with utmost ease. "Even if your face had the capacity to redden in such a way, I doubt anyone
besides your obsessions could do such a thing. Much less your oldest friend."

The younger narrows his eyes, and, aimlessly, he stuffs a hand into the pocket of his
meticulously pressed trousers, uses the other to brush the stray strands of candy-floss pink
hair from his face. "Is that what you've taken to calling them now, obsessions?"

Namjoon leers at him, eyes rotting green at the whites, stirring themselves into something
that gorges with bloodlust and something fouler still. "At least I don't refer to them as 'pets',
as I've heard some do." He pauses for a moment, and it's vengeful, his mouth contorting itself
into something intangible, like spite, and he says, "though, smoke around the campfire is
you've moved on?"

"Moved on?" Jimin's eyes narrow even more.

"Mm." Namjoon nods, and his own attributes transmogrify to something a tad more serious
and solemn. "Well, I haven't seen much of our little witch recently, nor that rousing boxer.
Hearsay has it that you've finally bit the bullet — or, I suppose, bit their necks."

Jimin supposes Namjoon must delight in how his eyes darken; he doesn't mean to do it, but
he's powerless against the bumbling smoke of emotion, as it billows around him in a
succession of hazy greed. "And here I thought you said you were my oldest friend. Surely
you must know me best?"

The older vampire nods, his cheeks rounding, with the pinpoints of his delectable dimples
livening his face a little. "Sorry, you know I can't resist tweezing reactions from you
sometimes. It's like a mutual experience of arousing emotions. Whenever you unleash them,
it's like..." He gesticulates his words with an indelicate gyration of his thin, tan hand. "Like
it's so thick, I can taste it on my tongue. Makes me feel like a witch myself, you know?
Feeding off all those succulent feelings, just as they do."

"Is this really the conversation you wish to have with me, right now?"

Namjoon answers him with a look that's soaked in faux incomprehension, so human in its
nature, it almost makes him look dead, like he was just a simple corpse.

The pink-haired man shakes his head and releases a sigh into the atmosphere, and he feels the
stretch in his lungs as he does so, physically. "I've been gone for seven days and you wish to
discuss witchcraft?"

"No, I suppose you're right." Namjoon nods at him. "I should ask where you've been. And, I
should ask how you knew I was here."

Jimin merely glances toward the building they're stood in front of, and then back toward
Namjoon: the city hall. "It's midnight, where else would you be besides the mayor's office?"
He replies, toneless, but something in his eye suggests he's amused.
"Well, I could be—"

"It was a rhetorical question." Jimin cuts him off, and he continues on with his spiel of
enlightenment. "Now, I think it important we immediately get to business. But, first, I feel the
need to ask how you're doing."

Any sense of good humour falls from Namjoon's face, and he stares back at his friend,
gormless and completely unsure of whatever the man is getting at. "How I'm doing?" He
repeats, tries the words in his mouth, tries to imagine meaning them.

"Well, I presume news has got to you about Dalrae." He responds, not caring to sully his
voice with something sugary, to soften it with a touch of glossy tenderness.

"Indeed." The man nods, suddenly a little more sincere in his demeanour. "It's kind of you to
worry, but, well, Seokjin and I, we aren't even really like that."

Skin pulled between teeth, Jimin sucks in his cheeks and his eyes darken evermore, till
they're mere mirrors of midnight and all it's sable, as he lets the other's words sink in. "Of
course." He says, unconvinced, glancing toward the door of the building Namjoon had just
exited.

The older follows his gaze and his expression turns sour. "Can't you just get to business?" He
snaps, though it's a little nicer than he'd probably anticipated it being, and it rests rather
calmly.

"Indeed." Jimin nods, as he doesn't wish to pry fruitlessly into the other's life if he's sure to
get no clear cut answers. He already knows the truth, even if Namjoon doesn't realise it.
"Well," He says, in his voice that's indicative of the fact he's onto something more intense in
subject matter. "I've come to grips with what went wrong before. I mean, it's quite literally
out of the realms of reason for me to be fooled as I was."

Namjoon looks as if he's smirking.

Jimin ignores it, proceeds, "it truly is. Think about it, in all these years, I've never come close
to the ultimate sleep, as I did in that damn alleyway." He shakes his head, still a little bitter
when recalling the ghastly memory. "You know, this experience was actually rather good for
me. It made me remember just how comfortable one can get. It made me remember exactly
why I changed my career path." He stares nonchalantly at his long nails, inspecting them, as
if he's bored.

"Well, it shan't be like that for much longer."

"Hm?" Jimin muses, eyes on his nails.

"Seokjin's ready to make the changes." Namjoon says, tongue at the corner of his lips.
"Forging bonds. Making connections. Only to tear them up."

Jimin grins. "You sound quite defensive. You think that's the only reason he's marrying
Dalrae? To sever the bond?"
Namjoon scoffs, evading the provocation. "We all know why he's doing what he's doing." He
says, a smug smirk on his face, "foolish hunters and goddamn witches."

And Jimin grins grimly. "Goddamn witches."

Goddamn witches.

Jimin thinks as he sees Taehyung again, seven days after their argument, with the man in
virtually the same spot, coiled into a spring-like spiel of seduction upon their bed-frame. His
eyelashes bat and press pretty little pads of foamy love across his cheeks, sending spritzes of
fairy dust with each blink. The shadows they cast seem to shake, seem as if fragile, like
brittle autumn leaves, atrophying in the sunlight that leaks through the winter air.

Jimin had half expected him to be asleep, so he almost chokes on his own existence when he
finds him as he is: opened up like a poetry book. Sweet relish upon his sun-ripened lips, with
eyes of honeydew melon, bashful hues of peach resting on his cheeks. He's on his knees on
the edge of the bed, in cream, silk shorts and a loose brasserie, twisted with wispy lace,
silvery in inflection. And he smiles so softly at Jimin, it makes the vampire instantly want to
grovel before him.

"Welcome back," Taehyung whispers, almost as if testing what kind of mood Jimin was in, as
if wondering whether the man was going to shout at him again.

The vampire smiles back, or attempts to, but it's more a twitch in his lips, which could easily
be interpreted as something much more diabolical. He's too riddled with hunger, of every
kind, to even consider anything else; getting by on animals for the past few days hasn't done
much to satiate him, and, though he prides himself on his sense of self-control, in this
moment, he's willing to forgo such praise.

"Did you manage to clear up all your loose ends?" He inquires, harmless, watching the other
man, as he fumbles with his composure in the doorframe.

He snaps back into his senses at the lull of expectation, as he simply says, in a tone that's
gravelly and redundant, "I did." And he thinks of his meetings in basements with tied up
assailants and says, "actually, it was rather refreshing to revisit... old friends."

Taehyung nods his head, and, honestly, Jimin is unsure whether or not he truly knows what
he means. Taehyung seems to know everything, more than he lets on, Jimin knows for
certainty, but, still, he's can never be entirely sure whether that truly does mean he
knows everything. But, he seems to understand a little, and the vampire truly is too hungry to
get into it in that very moment.

"I've been good, Jiminie." He tells him, and it's said in a surprisingly innocent way, that
certainly doesn't match his current position nor outfit. "I've reflected on myself."
Jimin chuckles, huffs it out in a puff of enamoured humour, as he takes a step closer, another.
He walks with bare feet padding to carpet, till he stands, towering over the blonde. He
presses his palm to his head, feels the smooth conditioning of his locks, feels the sloshing of
his brain, the beat of his heart. "Have you now?" He asks, as he rubs at his hair.

"You seem in high spirits." He comments, disregarding his other topic for a moment, tilting
his head enough that Jimin releases him and they look into each other's eyes.

The older nods, smiling softly. "I'm glad to be back, is all. And," He leans down a little, and
the younger instinctively moves a little backward, to accommodate him. "I'm glad to have
concocted a plan of how to smooth out my forthcoming operations."

"Forthcoming operations..." Taehyung blinks up at him.

"Indeed." Jimin nods, and his eyes are bright red, soaking across the whites, starting to stain a
little black, as he looks at him again, and says, "now, my little turtle dove, what is it you've
reflected on?"

The blonde frowns. "You're not angry at me."

Jimin opens his mouth to speak, and as soon as he does, Taehyung gasps, and so he looks
down at him, perplexed.

"You're just really hungry." He seems to decide, seeming to come to the conclusion that the
man couldn't possibly have forgiven him so soon and, in actuality, he was growing a little
delirious from not having drunk from the blonde.

Jimin's thumb catches his pout, pressing the pad of his digit to the bottom lip of the witch,
and grinning down at him in a rather disturbing manner. "Don't be so sad, pretty boy."

Taehyung sighs, ducking his head away, and it's in a spritz of flirting, sparkling air that he
says, voice deep and dreamy, "I got something for you."

Jimin's brow quirks up.

"It was supposed to be a form of apology." He informs the man, and he looks almost shy in it,
almost insecure, and Jimin, despite his gargantuan haze of hunger, feels concern take ahold of
him, concern for the idea Taehyung is no longer comfortable with him, concern for the idea
Taehyung is perhaps, even, a little scared of him.

Jimin taps his finger upon the other's nose, and smiles as warmly as possible. "Is that so?"

The blonde nods, and his breaths are lurid, alluring, and his body is like clay beneath Jimin's
hand, levigated, and ready to be yielded to the man's every desire.

"And what is this surprise gift you have for me, hm?"

His face is hot, not in a bashful sense, but in a way that's so coy and cloudy, it almost
convinces Jimin he's just a figment of his imagination, just a pawn in his wettest of dreams.
He bites his lip and, in a purr, he whispers to him, "you'll have to take off my bra."
Jimin leans forward instantly, barely feeling the way Taehyung presses his hand to his chest.
He pauses as he does. Only for a moment, only long enough for him to realise, the blonde
just wanted to touch him. Allowing it, he leans even more forward and he smiles, as he
presses a chaste kiss to the side of the younger man's neck, placing all the seeds of his own
evil into the supple undercurrent of pomegranate in his skin.

He places another gentle kiss, just a little closer to his ear, and another, in the crook of his
jaw, and Taehyung's so focused on how laboured his own breathing is becoming, is so
focused on the feathery feeling of warmth that seeps from each press of the other's lips, he
hardly notices the feeling of Jimin unclasping his brasserie.

He only notices when the man pulls away, and stares down at his naked, flat chest, at the slim
shape of him in all his tanned tones. He feels so much pride swell in him at the widening of
Jimin's eyes, at the hitch of his non-existent breath.

His eyes flash with something more than hunger.

"Oh, Taehyung." He whispers, and the blonde flushes with joy.

Jimin's fingers are quick to move, as he presses the tips of them to the words now tattooed
upon the man, the words of thin, black ink draped just along his ribs: noli me tangere,
Caesaris sum.

"Do not touch me, I am Caesar's." The blonde whispers, as if Jimin needed the translation,
and he marvels at the wonder that's colouring Jimin's face.

Jimin looks him in the eye, and his voice loops and twirls as he says, "Thomas Wyatt, no?"
His fingers continue to stroke the skin there, and it's still delicate and pink, evidently having
only been done recently, the message sitting there, fresh and timeless.

Taehyung nods. "Mm, well, he used it." He tries not to moan at the mere act of being
touched, and he tries to explain further, "They say that such a message was found inscribed
upon the collars of white stags, three hundred years after Caesar died." He smiles blindly
toward the vampire. "Don't you love the idea of it? Even in death, his memory and
possessions still—"

He doesn't manage to finish, before Jimin's face is right in his chest, his entire body being
pushed backward, till he's lying awkwardly, with his back to the bed, knees still tucked.
Jimin's leaning over him, and his teeth sink deeply into the tender flesh of his ribs, of his
chest.

He bites down hard and Taehyung audibly whimpers from the pain.

"Shh, shh, you can take it." Jimin whispers to him, even with his mouth full.

It's a difficult place to bite, due to the arrangements of muscle and bone, and yet Jimin
manages to reach it perfectly, in just the correct spot to pull at all that honey-glazed blood.
He's biting so close to where Taehyung's heart is beating, it almost seems as if he's taking it
directly from the organ. He pulls at it, more, more, more. He leaves so much of a branding
mark on him, Taehyung supposes it shall remain there for a while. And though it hurts a great
deal more than other places he's bitten, it's still so sensual an act, and it leaves the poor
blonde trembling, toes curling.

Jimin's so close to his vital organ, so hungry and dangerous and his previous anger seems to
slip out in bouts, and it's quite a wondrous thing, trust, because, despite all that, Taehyung
doesn't protest. He lets Jimin drink from him, despite the pain, and it feels like he's chewing
up his heart.

Later on, Jimin's playing with his hair, and Taehyung's draped across him, playing the buttons
of his shirt, wondering what exactly he needs to tell the other and the other needs to tell him.

Despite their quickly reignited drove of intimacy, there's still something a little stale in their
conversation, something yet to be said. It's as if they're still awaiting something else. Or,
perhaps, somebody else.

And it comes in a perfectly timed phone call.

A phone call which Taehyung rolls over in the bed for, with Jimin's watchful eye observing,
as he makes to grab at the telephone by the side of their bed.

"Hello?" He says into it, though his chipper pep is immediately drained as he hears the person
on the other side, and he can feel Jimin stir too. "Woah, wait, calm down— wait, explain
again... be calm." He says into the phone, and the vampire can only hear half the
conversation, and it's enough to ruin half of his mood. "Jungkook, please be calm." And that's
enough to ruin all of it.

When the phone call ends, Jimin feels this hideous sense of dread in his chest, something he
hasn't felt for eons.

"It was Jungkook," Taehyung tells him, breathless, sitting up, eyes wide and bulging, and he
says, completely forlornly, "his little sister's missing."

&&&
(THIRTY THREE HOURS EARLIER)

The only person who ever called the Jeon's was Park Jimin or Kim Taehyung; and so, when
the ringtone sounded on Friday morning, Jungkook's entire world twisted on its axis. His
mind wasn't at all prepared to make ample conversation with either of them, and, thus, the
panic settled in. Alas, upon answering, he discovered his natural disaster was for nothing; it
wasn't them.

It had been someone worse: Kil Plexus.

So, he found himself clutching at his Sunday best, meeting the pavement, for a hot walk into
Hell.

The Kil Crime Family operate on another side of town and, evidently, Jungkook is unfamiliar
with it. An oak-sunken building is what he walks into, with an emerald pendulum swinging
across his line of vision; everything is green and brown, like nature's slavering lips of
shuddered vegetation and darkened mud. But the green is so heavily played with, it seems
rather ersatz. It smells like the fresh dew-tipped greenery of money.

He's in a building — a sky-rise contraption of mass consumption, with clicking typewriter

fingers and red-bricked workers, with lopsided smiles. It's overwhelming enough to make his
head spin.

"You're the midday?" A barking husk of a voice enthrals his ears. Jungkook turns to meet the
peering orange eyes of a woman at the front desk, who admires him intently. He thinks she
looks like a normal office worker, and it makes him uneasy. He doesn't get to say anything,
before her hustle and bustle mentality has him being sent up a flight of stairs, all the way to
the fifth storey.

Everything is wooden archways and golden flowerpots; grotesque grandeur. He feels as if his
legs are constrained, moving like he's inundated in a stain glass window; all the sopping
greens of his imagination leaking before him in a decaying garden.

Something cold awaits him as he reaches the office door with a label BOSS, and he concludes
that he finds the extraction of nature to be rather abhorrent. It's as if the owner of the building
had bottled up mother nature's tears, burned her very essence and turned her ashes to shiny,
hard diamonds.

"Mr Jeon." Comes a crepuscular tone of voice, stopping Jungkook from bothering to knock.
"Come in." They say, and Jungkook does, gripping his fingertips into his hands, pulling open
the door with crescent-encrusted skin.

Kil Plexus has his feet up on the table. His room is yellowed by the hue of the sun against the
blinds, and it serves the make him appear all the more gaudy. Trousers are lined with
pinstripes and there's a clumsy cigar between his lips, which look as delicate and thin as
paper, despite the harshness they're forced into with his grin.
"Pleasure to see you again." He coos, and there's something inherently nice about it. "Have a
seat." He gestures toward the empty one on the other side of his desk, slipping his feet down.

Limply, the boxer does so, taking a small amount of time to dedicate his attention toward the
man's array of ornaments in the way of faberge eggs and watches — all gold, of course.
Then, he looks back toward the man, who he'd last seen crumpled in an alley, and he allows
himself to think of the real danger he's in. He'd come here because Plexus had personally
called him, and, he couldn't think of any other option but to accept. Still, the reality of being
here, in the face of a vampire who's not Park Jimin, is more than a little disconcerting.

Plexus has healed nicely, though there's still a faint mark that's pressed to his chin. He's
attractive in it, nonetheless, Jungkook thinks, until he sees those golden teeth twinkling.

"You seem uncharacteristically calm." He comments, as his deep, dark eyes skulk over the
dwindling form of the other. "Forgive me if perhaps my first impression of you is incorrect,
but, I had envisioned you entering here, seething with beautiful, red rage."

Jungkook shakes his head, jaw locked. "I'm just confused as to why you asked for me." It's
honest, albeit stilted.

Plexus nods. "I'd imagine it would be rather perplexing." He licks his tongue along his lip,
and his face is so large, so hideous in its handsomeness, Jungkook feels ill just to see it
contort into any kind of feature. "Do you drink wine, Jeon?"

"I don't drink." The man says, though he feels rather guilty in the admission considering
recent binges.

"Mm." The other hums. "That's okay. You want a boiled sweet?" He gestures toward a glass
bowl of them, and Jungkook's eyes narrow at the sight of their polychromatic sugar,
wondering if perhaps they'd suddenly metamorphose to bugs.

"No, thanks." He flares his nostrils.

The older man shrugs and takes one into his mouth, not bothering to suckle on it, but using
those strong teeth to crunch it down instantly.

Jungkook feels something rather like revelation brewing in the itchy muscles beneath his
skin, sliding across his bones. "I, uh, didn't realise you had a whole office building." He
comments, watching the man as he crunches the sweet between his back teeth, still smiling,
in a way Jungkook's not seen him do before.

"Well, I'm a traditionalist," He answers easily, seemingly unbothered by the question. "I do
run a legitimate business, I'll have you know. Unlike your man Park, I don't always parade
around in the dead of night." His teeth glint and look almost grey. "Oh, sorry, that was rather
insensitive of me. I suppose he's not really an ally of yours anymore."

Jungkook's suspicions are confirmed with those words, and he easily comes to understand
why exactly he's here. "Are you going to ask me to work for you now?" He inquires, flat and
monotone.
Plexus widens his eyes marginally. "Don't be foolish," Shaking his head, he slaps his palm to
his knee, eyes a little darker in their star-spangled gold, as he tells the younger, "I'm not going
to ask you anything." His whole face clouds over with something that Jungkook's more
familiar with on him: hostility. There's no hint of mirth as the real business begins, and
Jungkook thinks it's quite the antipode of Jimin. "Merely, I'm to remind you of the fact we are
both reaching for the same conclusion and, as such, we could do well to help each other."

Jungkook feels his breaths as they trundle out of him, deep and thunderous. "Sorry for the
disappointment, but I'm not seeking to kill Park Jimin anymore." He neglects to add he never
truly was.

"No?" Plexus blinks back at him.

"No," Jungkook confirms, "I wish to stay as far from him as possible."

This makes Plexus laugh, and he has such an ugly laugh. "I didn't peg you as such a dullard,
Jeon." Tapping his tan hands across the table, he shakes his head and says, slow, with the
entirety of time at his disposal, "if you don't choose a side, a side will be chosen for you, and
there is an absolute guarantee you will not survive that."

The boxer shakes his head back at him. "I don't care."

"No?" The gangster clacks his head to the side. "You don't care about all the danger you'd be
getting your sisters into?"

The smoke curdles like badly churned butter, and the stench of it puts a damper on
Jungkook's heart and livelihood. He frowns, clasping his lips together as he comes to observe
the horrific disturbance in Kil Plexus' eye. "Are you threatening me?" The boxer frowns.

"Yes." Plexus doesn't shy away from it, and he seems to rather enjoy the ugly insinuation,
seems to almost bask in it. "I want rid of him." His fingers click. "I need you in order to
achieve that."

Jungkook feels anger spurt from his heart, feels the rumble of it in the depths of his stomach.
He replies coyly, "why do you want him gone so bad?"

Plexus leans forward and there's something interminable in the clicking tap of his golden
teeth as he does it. The sun seems to slink past the blind for a moment and Jungkook sees him
as he says, "he is a threat to the sake of society." He watches as he swings forward, and he
sees, for the first time, the bright, gold crucifix hanging from a chain around his neck.

Jungkook's eyes narrow and widen all at once, and something so curious must fall about his
expression, as Plexus himself seems rather surprised. Growing weary, he feels his fingernails
slip further into his palms, feels the way the skin is breached, but only in his real hand, and
yet he feels the blood pour from both.

Plexus' mouth parts as he espies it, trailing his eyes down the lines of tension in Jungkook's
body and landing there. "Is that a new form of coping mechanism for your anger?" The man
all-but simpers, and his face becomes more pointed in Jungkook's slurred vision, his aquiline
nose all the more detestable, as he hooks his gaze across his solid, sharp features. He sees his
murky, brown eyes and dark hairs against his skin and those square, gold teeth.

His gold, fucking teeth.

"You're Christian?" Jungkook asks suddenly, eyes searching the older man's.

Plexus cocks a brow. "You're not?"

"I'm.. agnostic." The boxer whispers back, his face seeming to have solidified itself into
something of permanent shock. How could he be so stupid? How could he have not realised?
The scrapes on the man's chin, the complete lack of allure, the human husk of his speak, the
human skin beneath his eyes, the fucking golden teeth that could never, ever manage to twist
into fangs.

Kil Plexus is no vampire.

Kil Plexus is as human as they come.

Jungkook's eyes go a little manic as he tries to encompass all this new, quickly succeeding
information. His epiphany shakes his very complexion, turning him so grey he almost doesn't
hear it when the man says, "I heard your mother was a practicing Catholic."

He snaps back into reality as soon as it gets through; there's something so dreadful in the air,
he almost feels like he's asleep. "What?" He frowns, not quite comprehending what he's
hearing.

"Your mother." Plexus affirms, "she made you go to church every week, no? Twice a week if
you'd been bad."

"That's not—"

"That was before she abandoned you, I'm sure." The man taps his hands across the table,
cigar still puffing away, all due to his human lungs. He grins like a wildcat as he continues,
"is that why you stopped believing? 'Cause your mummy left you with your son of a bitch of
a father?"

"How—"

"How do I know?" He interrupts, cruel in his laughter, so joyful in his ability to irritate, it
almost feels like he's staring right at Park Jimin. "Let's just say, I have my own magical
influences on my side." Jungkook frowns, intensely setting his face on it, as the man
continues, "you see, despite how I once despised supernatural kind, I have recently been
enlightened into the wonderful prospects of it."

Jungkook's eyes narrow.

Plexus' dark hand comes forward and snags at the cross neck-lace. "This is just a formality."
"You're not Christian then?" Jungkook cocks his head to one side, eyes stapled to the
very human man before him.

His smile is hideous. "This is merely a symbol." He smiles, "for vampire hunters." And his
gold teeth are so harsh they ache against Jungkook's eyes. Suddenly he can think of nothing
but Uram. Of Yepa, too. Of vampire hunters. "It was the old mayor Mae who introduced me
to it." He laughs, his smirk is cloying.

Jungkook's head turns a mile a minute, a constant clacking in his brain synthesising a foul
headache. "But you're not a vampire hunter anymore?" He infers.

Plexus smiles and his entire body radiates heat. Blood hot skin and eyes. A smile that rots
with the freshness of life. "I believe vampires ought to be exposed to the world." He claims,
"that's why I attempted to shoot Snake Eyes." He almost laughs, "He wouldn't have died but
the bullet would've forced his vampiric side to come out."

Feverishly blinking, Jungkook takes in the information. "But you didn't want him to die? Just
to be exposed?"

Plexus' eyes merely twinkle. Like there's a great secret he's keeping and is unwilling to
divulge. Something with more weight than Jungkook could imagine.

"As I said," he purrs, "the supernatural can do a lot for me. I have no reason to hunt them."
He licks his lips. "For example, I know just about everything there is to know about you, Jeon
Jungkook." He meanders on, drab, dry, exhilarated, "I know exactly what makes you tick. It
took me a while to uncover everything, but I've got you so well placed in my mind, I'm sure I
know you better than you know yourself."

"That's fucking impossible." Jungkook tells him, his emotional turmoil flaring up into
unmistakable anger.

"Is it?" Plexus chortles, "because I think you're not as good at hiding things as you'd like to
think. You may have your pretty sisters fooled, but, well, I think we both know where your
father really is. Don't we?"

His hands are covered in his own blood and sweat and he's breathing so hard he fears his
body shall shut down. Memories come pouring back to him, and he feels as if his entire
world is shifting again; any hint of normality he'd tried to dig up for himself is disappearing
before his very own eyes.

"Now that you see I'm not just messing around," The older ambles on, face completely void
of anything but malicious intent. "Perhaps you ought to take me seriously when I tell you you
need to choose a side."

Jungkook shakes his head and his words come out too quiet for him to even hear himself, "I
can't help you. Jimin doesn't trust me anymore."

Plexus snorts. "That's not what I need you for, Jeon."

"It isn't?"

The man shakes his head, his humanly hideous gold teeth burning in Jungkook's direction.
Pulling himself from the table, he hobbles to the other side, right in front of Jungkook, and he
says, into his face, "it's not to say I need your permission for any of this, Jeon, but, it would
certainly make things easier."

"For any of what?"

"I need you to give me your little sister." He grins at the immediate apprehension on the
other's face and he shakes his head, interrupting, "just for a little while. I need you to call
Park Jimin and tell him to come here. I need him to know you're upset and she's missing."

Jungkook gulps at the idea of involving his family. He hates it so much. "He won't come. He
doesn't care—"

"Don't be a fool." Plexus says, but comes out in a mean sort of snap. "Even if he
didn't care, he promised to keep your family safe, no?"

Jungkook blinks. He had done that. How the fuck did Plexus know? "Yeah."

"Park Jimin is many things, Jeon." And suddenly the man makes a move stand, footsteps
slender as he walks to the door. "But he always keeps his promises." He pulls it open. "Just as
I keep mine." He turns to Jungkook. "You have thirty hours to bring her here. Or, I'll have to
take her myself, and, well, if that's the case, I may accidentally let the real truth about her
daddy's whereabouts slip."

The boxer rises and nods and he doesn't spare a second to think properly about it,
immediately leaving the room, rushing past Plexus, who stands by the door with a silver cane
in his hand.

&&&

Park Jimin looks perfectly aggressive when he opens the door of his mansion. The rain is
intense, falling upon the scene in an absolute conviction of anarchy; the grey god's part their
sky and release bouts of sunder in due time, allowing the darkness to fester in their vitriolic
campaign of angel wings and string quartets. Park Jimin's face flashes bright white with the
croak of lightning, electricity bolting through him, portraying him as what he truly is: a
vampire. Count Dracula's inspiration, maybe.
Jungkook's breaths are heavy, his coat being whipped around by the wind, the rain sticking
his hair to his forehead, and he becomes the victim of weather. He pants up at Jimin, stood in
the dry, echoing hallway of his gothic mansion.

"Get in." He says, absent of any meagre acre of warmth, merely protruding an intense bout of
anger. Jungkook follows him inside with a quiet patter of breaths, and Jimin doesn't say
anything further.

He walks up the stairs and Jungkook takes a moment before deciding he was supposed to
follow.

"Take off your shoes." Jimin tells him, not looking back. The boxer blanches a little, but does
so, slipping off the cheap, wet things and thumping his way up the staircase, chasing Jimin's
shadow. In retrospect, he supposes he'd wonder what the fuck he was doing going into the lair
of a man who was set to kill him. But, there's something so serene about the emotion Park
Jimin is evoking in him, that makes all sense of rationality fall away.

The room they enter looks rather like a study, and it's decorated with a great deal more taste
than Plexus' golden abomination. This room is mahogany and stacked with books, with a
large set of windows at the back, displaying the intense onslaught of weather beyond their
horizon.

Taehyung is sat in the overly large burgundy chair that arches over his frame, making him
look rather puny. Dabria, the cat, is on the table, peering into a jar, which Taehyung is
currently pulling things out of.

As soon as he looks up, Jungkook's heart sinks even more. Jimin walks over to him, while the
boxer remains awkwardly situated in the doorway. Guilt swarms his every orifice and he feels
the ghostly pull of it in his veins, as it bundles itself amongst his blood vessels and tries to
burrow into his capillaries. He feels as if he has no right to see him, to see them. But then,
Taehyung smiles, faint and gorgeous, and Jungkook forgoes any sense of guilt.

"Hello, Jungkook." Taehyung greets him, pulling his thin, delicate fingers from the jar
containing something green and sickly-looking, in order to wiggle them in the man's
direction.

"Hi." Jungkook replies, and he's too ashamed to say anything else. He feels as if he doesn't
really have the right, and, yet, he'd called them, he'd asked them to be here. Surely he should
be able to say something? Anything?

Jimin looks as if there's a storm ongoing in his mind, very much redolent to the one going on
outside, and it's just about visible in the tense line of his jaw. He doesn't look at the boxer,
even when he says, "Tae tells me you've got an issue."

The younger man falters ever more, floundering with his own sense of comprehension. He
nods, desperately, "I do." He tells him, affirms it, before taking a slight step forward and
forcing himself to say, "and I know I don't have any right to come here and ask you for a
favour, but—"
"That's correct." Jimin does look at him now, and his eyes are as brown as the core of the
earth, canoodling with magma, twisted with heat, but brown nonetheless, brown where it
matters. His face is blank, but every unsaid word is brewing in his broiling iris. "You don't
have any right to ask anything of me, Mr Jeon."

Jungkook feels himself gulp.

Taehyung's silent, flickering his eyes between the pair of them, as if anxiously awaiting
something.

"I know I don't." There's precipitation coiling down his locks, disappearing into a fragment of
memory, in soft, translucent tendrils. "I have absolutely no right to ask you for anything, and
I'd understand you not accepting me. In fact, I would completely understand you killing me
right here and now," Jimin's eyebrow raises. "But, I'm desperate, and I have no one else to
turn to. He has my sister." He admits, eyes wide, "he pretended he was giving me a choice—
but when I got home— Ara said she was missing. He took her and I don't know how to get
her back."

Jimin nods. "I understand."

Jungkook shakes his head, a panic drawls in his throat. He pinches his hands to his sides and
he says, with a wrench of his heart, "I know you despise me. I know you don't trust me. I'm
perfectly fine with you killing me, Jimin, or torturing me, mutilating me. Do whatever you
want to me." He says, voice barren. "Jimin, Taehyung, whatever you want. I just don't know
what else to do. I'm so sorry for—"

"You're what?" Jimin interrupts him again, face set at something nonchalant, emotionless.

Jungkook gulps, evidently surprised by the interjection. Slowly, he repeats, "I, uh, I'm sorry?"

Both of Jimin's eyebrows raise, in a manner that would be teasing, if it weren't so maniacal.
He cocks his head. "Come here."

Jungkook thinks, intrinsically, he's been programmed not to follow orders, but, he doesn't
hesitate for a second before walking toward Park Jimin, staring him right in his beautiful
face.

With a cruel grimace of a smile, Jimin whispers, "say it again."

The boxer feels his teeth grit a little, as, despite himself, something like anger is eating away
at him. "I'm sorry, Jimin." He tells him, tries to stir away any notion of hostility.

"Hmm," Jimin bites the inside of his cheek, and, with a calculating look, he grins, something
that's definitely playful sparking in him now. "You want my forgiveness, Jungkook?" He
purrs out, so hauntingly sexual in his countenance, Jungkook thinks he might be shaking.

"I do." Jungkook urges him.

Jimin's mean smile only broadens, but his eyes remain that solid, human brown, so, in some
way, he appears all the more subhuman. He pushes his face closer to Jungkook, and, yet
again, the height difference does nothing to stilt the threatening stance he ascertains. His nose
crinkles a little, eyes untrained and amused. "Then get on your knees and beg."

The boxer almost wants to punch him in the face at the idea, but, beneath that hardwired
trigger of anger, he feels some buzzing drizzle of exhilaration, and he gives into it easily.
Letting himself slide into the envoy of desperation, he falls to his knees easily, looking up at
the vampire, with his pink hair and gruesome shock, and he says to him, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

Jungkook swallows his pride, gagging on it. "I'm sorry for conspiring against you, Jimin. I'm
sorry for betraying your trust, for ruining it all. For ruining your plans. Mostly, I'm sorry for
not trusting you. For thinking you were worse than them— I'm sorry. I will forever be sorry."

The vampire nods his head. "What else?"

"What do you mean?" Jungkook frowns.

"Oh," Jimin shakes his head, faux-anguish. "Don't you recall the promise you broke?"
Jungkook looks at him, blank and perplexed. "If there's one thing you should know about me,
Jungkook, it's that I never break my promises. Unless, someone has broken their's in return."

Jungkook's face is hot. "I don't know what you mean."

Jimin tuts. "You've already forgotten the contract we signed? Our agreement?" He shakes his
head, grins childishly toward Taehyung. "What was it?"

The blonde happily springs into the conversation, saying, "Jimin promised to always protect
your family, as long as you swore your loyalty to him."

"That's right." Jimin nods back toward Jungkook, who remembers that exact promise being
made, and almost shudders to recall it. "So, if you want me to keep up my end of the deal,
you must keep up yours."

The boxer just nods, intense, heavy. "Please, I will, I will." He goes so far as to actually grab
the vampire by the belt loops of his trousers — something which seems to startle the older —
as the desperation concerning his family seeps in through the cracks and reminds him of his
most solemn duties, of his very reason for being. "I will never betray your trust again, I'll
never lie to you again, I'll do anything you want me to; I'll be completely loyal to you. I'm
yours, entirely."

Subdued in his startled-ness, Jimin brings his hand down slowly, like a swooping, majestic
bird, and he gently spreads his wings, that take the shape of feathery soft fingers, beneath
Jungkook's chin. He grips him tenderly and smiles so calmly. He coos, "there's our good
boy." And Jungkook, for the life of him, doesn't recall having ever blushed so hard. It makes
Jimin smile wider, kinder, and he brushes his thumb along the slope of supple heat. "Very
well, darling, I shall help you."

Jungkook's eyes widen with relief. "Really?"

"Mm." Jimin releases his hold, and walks back to Taehyung, who's fiddling with the jar. "To
be honest, we've already started making preparations." He gestures to whatever it is.

"I sense death is in the cards for our dear Plexus." Taehyung says, sedate as he likes.

Jungkook scrambles back to his feet and leans closer to the blonde. "You do?"

"Oh, of course, especially after he threatened your dear sister." Taehyung tuts, and it would
perhaps sound mocking coming from anyone else, but he presents the words so sweetly.

"Plexus isn't a vampire." Jungkook suddenly bursts out, and he'd meant to say it as a
question, but it comes out as a slightly redundant statement.

Jimin chuckles. "No shit." Then, he raises a brow. "You were under the impression he was?"
Jungkook nods a little, only slightly moving his head. "Oh, let me guess, that twit Uram told
you as such."

At the mention of his name, Jungkook feels his heart squeeze tighter in his chest. "They're
working together?" This time it's a question, because he's not entirely sure.

"Mm, yes, and the rest of their god-loving squadron." Jimin scoffs. "You didn't know?"

Taehyung's eyes flicker with something.

Jungkook frowns, and his body feels wet, pulsating, like he can feel every taupe pull of his
sopping, red organs. "I had no idea Uram was working with him." He doesn't know why, but
he feels the need to make Jimin absolutely believe him about this, and, he supposes, it does
make a difference, the fact he wasn't just trying to bring the vampire down for a moral
purpose, but that he would've been trying to support their rivals. "He told me that he wanted
to kill Plexus as well, he— he said that he was a vampire, and I just... I thought it would be
for the best."

Jimin doesn't look particularly perturbed by the admission, in fact, if anything, he's amused.
Blatantly so. "I could've told you what you wanted to know about Kil Plexus, Jungkook."
He's almost teasing in it, a smothering sort of way, that makes him seem as if he's not holding
any animosity at all toward the human. "I haven't ever lied to you before, have I?"

Jungkook bites his lip, but his head shake is instantaneous, as if it were being pulled by a
string, forceful and entwined with inevitability.

"Jimin doesn't lie," Taehyung suddenly chimes in, staring at his jar, and smiling softly to
himself. "He just won't give you information you don't ask for."

The aforementioned grins down at the blonde, and then back up at Jungkook, as if to say
'see'. The boxer nods, but his mind is too overrun with variant emotions to fully give into
such a notion. Instead, he says, in a bitter croak, "I'm sorry I believed him so blindly, and I'm
sorry I didn't realise he was working for your rival—"

"Enough with the apologies." Jimin waves him away, floundering around the seated blonde.
"I already forgave you. You should know I don't much care whether or not you try to kill me
— I already told Taehyung this, but I should tell you as well, it doesn't bother me. I only care
about the deceit, and, if you're willing to devote yourself completely, I can let it rest in the
past."

Beside Taehyung's cat on the desk, there's a flickering candle, and it's so tall and white, but
it's edges are all slipping off — it's wax crumples down the side, as if bones being unzipped
from flesh.

Jungkook nods. "I am willing. I will devote everything to you. Everything. It's yours.
Whatever you want."

Jimin smiles, faint, and the candlelight scatters across his face, cascading amber shadows
over his jaw. "I'll have you." He says. It lands ominously, yet there's a sweet ring to it that
makes Jungkook shrink.

"Okay." He says, a delightfully tense modicum in his tone, and he delves into it more deeply
as he continues, as he asks, "I just—" He begins, changing the subject, "still can't quite
believe I never realised what I was doing. Never knew they were part of the same
organisation? Uram was sent by Plexus? I don't know how I missed it."

Jimin nods his head, almost solemn. "I've got to admit everything makes more sense to me
now."

"Really?" Jungkook asks, because, honestly, he feels the complete opposite way; if anything,
things have gotten ten times more confusing.

"At the theatre." Jimin hums, "he had a back up plan. Of course, he was expecting us to meet
him outside. He didn't expect the Saw Sloggers to already be there, but it didn't matter,
because he had another plan." Jungkook narrows his eyes, and almost jerks back when the
older suddenly snaps his own gaze up to him. In a sharp tone, he says, "you."

"Me?" He repeats, incredulous.

"It makes me feel better that you didn't know that you were his plan B, but that's what you
were." Jimin tuts to himself, like he's annoyed. "I knew there would be someone out there to
kill me. He knew Uram wouldn't have been able to go through with it. He said I don't know
as much as I think I do, and he was right: he had orchestrated the whole thing, had gotten you
to work for him without knowing." He almost sounds impressed.

Jungkook asks, "he's smart enough for that?"

Jimin gives him a half-smile. "Never underestimate the complex genius of the human mind,
Jungkook."

Taehyung chortles then. But when Jimin raises a brow, he just shakes his head. Suggests, "it
could have been someone else's plan."

"It's beside the point, Taehyung." Jimin pats his head and seems to switch back out of his
conspiracy, falling in line with reality once again. "It doesn't matter too much, does it? What's
done is done."

"But," Jungkook stops them from changing the topic, and he tries to arrange his mind into a
better source of comprehensive words. "Clearly there are lot of things I blindly believed
Uram about and, though I know he hid things from me, and there are things we don't have
any idea about, I do want to ask you, definitively, about one thing." Jimin nods his head,
slow, beckoning the question, "did you kill his family?"

Taehyung's motions still, and his head is slow in it's rising. Jimin's eyes grow a little larger,
almost to the extent he seems panicked, and they flicker toward the blonde, who's looking at
him with something like contempt. That, or curiosity, Jungkook can't descry the difference.

"I promised I wouldn't lie to you, Jungkook." Jimin bites his lip, and one of his hands comes
to squeeze at the back of Taehyung's neck, who seems to startle at the motion. "I'll be honest
with you both: I did know him and his family. I was beyond my doctor days, alas, a few
strenuous snags of my character led to a residual amount of people still seeking my help." He
shakes his head, and starts to massage the nape of the blonde's neck, like a stress-reliever.
"Chung Uram was a boy when his parents brought him to me. They were wealthy and
expected money would've swayed me enough, and— well, it did. I was so desperate to
expand my empire, and they had connections, they were marvellous: a miracle."

Taehyung's cheeks suck in, and he glances up at the pink-haired vampire, who's staring
abysmally at the clementine candlelight, features enhanced by the ghoulish nature of it.

The thunder rumbles against their window-pane.

"They wanted to help Uram?" Jungkook narrows his eyes.

Jimin sighs to himself, as if having to trudge up painful memories. "I'm sure you've noticed
the eyes." He almost laughs, and it's not in a way that's cruel, but, merely, it's disdainful. "He
was born blind. All of his siblings had been sent to work already, but he couldn't do anything;
he was a leech to them, and, though they loved him, he was no use to them in that state. His
life was as good as over."

"You..." Jungkook's face is pale, and the lightening cracks, making Jimin seem all the more
omnipotent and drenched in the cherubic parameter of a God's divinity, as the boxer says,
"you cured him of his blindness?"

Taehyung's head flies up toward Jimin, and something like realisation flies over him. Jimin
avoids eye contact, says, "don't be an idiot." Clicking his teeth, he continues, "becoming a
vampire wouldn't help with that, it can only stop disease, virus, infection, etcetera." He waves
his free hand around, while the other presses deeper into Taehyung, as if scared he was going
to jump away. "But, as I say, they were desperate, they were willing to do anything." He licks
his bottom lip. "So, I went and—"

"You found a witch." Taehyung interrupts, suddenly recalling exactly what he'd never really
been able to piece together before. "A witch from Yoongi's old coven?"
 Jimin looks down at him, almost pityingly, and he nods, confirms it, "yes, I found a witch
who could heal him, but, again, that came at a price. Magic always does."

"What was the price?" Jungkook whispers.

Taehyung flickers his eyes down, a gravity settling amidst them, and the sky howls at their
misfortunes and gesticulates their bereavements with all it's mocking crashes.

"I lost someone." His fingernails press into Taehyung's neck, and he stares out into the
shadows of the room, as if staring into the river styx, and seeing the physical form of deathly
lullabies, all beginning to swim in his soul, in his eye. Callously, he says, "I did something...
and I lost... I was too wrapped up in materialism back then, I never thought twice." He laughs
bitterly, looking back at the younger man. "Still, that's besides the point, I went out of my
way to heal him, and I did, and— they didn't keep up their end of the deal."

"So you killed them." Jungkook surmises.

Taehyung shakes.

Jimin massages his skin gently. "No, I punished them for their misdeeds." He says, solemn,
serious. "They were bad people, made even worse with the ways in which they fucked me
over. I lost something, for nothing." He scoffs, "it did sort of make me realise how ridiculous
I was getting though, made me realise I needed to start caring more."

Jungkook sees Taehyung bite his lip.

"That's why I let their children live."

Jungkook's eyes widen a little.

Jimin turns to him and, with a smile, he says, "an eye for an eye makes the whole world
blind, you know."

Chapter End Notes

wooooo okay shit is going down! i hope the explanations weren't too hammy and made
sense? also obviously now there's more questions left to answer. also, i know it seems
like all is being forgiven very fast -- ideally, i would have liked to keep them separated
for a bit longer, and built up a bit more angst and tension. alas, there's too much to get
through for me to do that. so i'm sorry if the forgiveness seems a bit rushed? obviously
there's still wounds left to heal, but they're starting now and putting it aside to focus on
the major issues!!

ALSO AHHH HOW GOOD IS PROOF? IVE BEEN STREAMING ALL DAY WHILE
REVISING IM OBSESSEDDDDD
thank you for reaading <333
 Chapter 22
Chapter Notes

ok, so quite an exciting chapter (i think). pre-warning for graphic violence, slight gore,
and death!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

It's dark. The night sky enshrouds them and their breaths meld together, as they file into the
alleyway, just beside Plexus' building. Jungkook thinks he'd rather like to avoid skulking
around in alleys in the foreseeable future. Nothing good comes of them. He never hears the
good news he so wishes for.

"Taehyung tells me everything is going to work out fine."

Jungkook's eyes widen, and he slams his back to the wall, his exhales falling from him in
stark flushes of grey. "Really?" He asks, aware of the redundancy that bounces across the
bricks.

Jimin is smiling at him in the dark. It's not quite trusting, not quite caring, but it's enough to
make Jungkook's heart rate settle, even just a tad.

Taehyung is the one who replies, soft, "you just follow Jimin, and I'll go retrieve your sister."

"Just like that?" Jungkook can hardly imagine events transpiring so easily.

"Yes." Taehyung assures him. "It won't be hard." And he moves ever so gently, brings his
face closer and plants a tender kiss to the cold-stricken patch of skin on Jungkook's cheek. He
kisses him and whispers, "I shall take your sister back to your house. Doubtless, Ara will be
anxious."

"She's probably—"

"She's scared." Taehyung confirms for him, before he can even speak. "But, we must stop
floundering." Lurching back, he flickers his pretty fingers at them, waving goodbye, with a
devious lilt in his smile, that reminds Jungkook of the magical influx that pumps through his
veins. "I'll see you both back at Jungkook's apartment. Don't be late." He smiles, moving
back past them, and prying open the side door of the building.

"Don't have too much fun." Jimin tells him, and he sounds surprisingly ecstatic.

"He's going alone?" Jungkook pipes up, suddenly recognising exactly what was happening.
The vampire smirks, while Taehyung scoffs, "of course I am. Yoongi trained me to be a
warrior." With a final wink, he disappears into the building, leaving the pair alone, once
again, in a dark alley.

Jungkook tries to quieten the sickening torrent of deja vu by releasing an exasperated, "you're
seriously okay with letting him go off on his own into your enemy's lair?"

"Lair?" Jimin practically cackles, "please, it's an office building."

"Full of vampire hunters." He counters, adrenaline spiking in his veins.

"Taehyung's no vampire." Jimin laughs back, a little too jolly for the occasion, as he starts to
fasten something at his waist. Jungkook looks at him so incredulously, it's almost hilarious.
"Have a little faith, Jungkook." Jimin spiels out, as sweet as April's first roses, crimping away
in the pink-sugared garden of life. "You really don't trust him to handle his own?"

The boxer sucks in his bottom lip. "It's not that—"

"Actually, why am I surprised?" Jimin stands a little straighter, still grinning away like the
wild entity he is. And, insanely, he chuckles, so luxurious, like bath bubbles and candlelight.
"You wanna know one observation I made when looking over all the signs of your betrayal I
missed?" Jungkook nods, still ashamed, despite the casualness of the mention of his
wrongdoings. Jimin bares his teeth as he says, "you've never asked about Taehyung."
Jungkook narrows his eyes, perplexed. "I mean, you've only ever asked about my abilities,
my life, my work; and, as far as my memory can stretch — and it's pretty far, let me tell you
— you've never once inquired about him. You've never asked about how a witch's magic
works unless he tries to show you, and, well, you've never asked anything about his life. His
life before you, and even, his life before me."

Jungkook's whole mind falters, and it dawns on him that it's true. It's so true. He knew
Taehyung's somewhat unpredictable personality now, he knew he had healing abilities, knew
he had a strong connection with emotion and time. But, he'd never thought to seek beyond
that; he'd never even considered asking about him. It hadn't been a factor at the time, but, in
retrospect, he supposes it was weird how little he had bothered to get to know.

The pink-haired vampire just laughs again. "Oh, don't give me that befuddled look," He
places his cold, smooth fingers to Jungkook's chin, gripping it softly, and he can feel the
younger's warm breath on his face. It's strangely intimate. "You don't need to feel too bad
about it. It's a thing he does. He makes you not want to ask questions about who he is and
what he's been through; he's developed a capacity for accepting desire and that's it, so, he
makes you attracted to him. It's what makes him such a marvel at the Sugar Lounge.
Everyone is so lured in by his looks, they don't think to press beyond the perception filter."
His thumb comes to stroke at the man's cheek now, horrendously soft, it makes Jungkook
almost shake. "It's what he wanted."

Jungkook is about to ask more, about to suddenly unleash a preposterous onslaught of queries
that were now beginning to drown out any sense of other purpose. But, Jimin pulls away,
sharp, and the cold air hits the boxer's face again.
"Anyway, I trust Tae to get out of there unscathed, and he'll take good care of your sister, I'm
sure." He gives a subtle wink, which seems indicative of something Jungkook's unaware of.

Curiosity reached, Jungkook dares to ask, "if you have so much faith in his capabilities, why
do you pander over him as if he's made of glass?"

The pink-haired man looks only mildly stirred by the question. Tutting softly, he responds,
"you must already know I've developed a great desire to hold close what I find dear to me.
I've sworn to always look after the things I care about." Jungkook nods, following the train of
thought leaving the station of Park Jimin's strangely compassionate side. "I mean," He smiles
almost coyly now, as he says, "why do you think I'm not letting you go in there alone?"

When the words register, Jungkook's not sure whether to be offended that Jimin thought him
incapable, or flattered that he was deemed dear to him. "You think I can't take him on my
own?" He asks, slipping into his old habits of confrontation.

"I think you're too impulsive, my dear." Jimin taps the tip of his nose, his smile dense,
compact with cloudy inclinations. It's rather startling when it snaps so suddenly to blood.
"Anyway," Jimin grins. "No time to stand around now." He causally adjusts the object at his
thigh, and Jungkook sees the sleek black metal of a gun in a holster. Jimin widens his eyes,
every inch the beautiful insane-person he's always been. He says, low, hyper-static, "We've
got a bastard to kill."

Jungkook feels himself grow excited by those words, and he feels, in some strange cognition
of self-awareness, how tender the touch of the devil feels against his cheek. He bathes in the
unfolded urges that unearth themselves before him, as he makes his move, following the
older man out of the alley and in through the front door, of all places.

Jimin is walking expertly through the halls, leaving Jungkook no choice but to aimlessly
follow along, like a puppet tethered to a string; an anchor to a ship; a leash to a dog. He finds
he doesn't mind it.

With a nonchalantness so heavily infesting Park Jimin's walk, so easily creeping at his
posture, Jungkook almost forgets why they're here. He finds so much relief in the confidence
the other exudes, because, he knows he would be falling apart if it weren't for him. The elder
pushes the doors open with a harsh whirl of motion, and Jungkook's never heard so many
gun-clicks.

It looks rather like a conference room, and it's a little eerie, the way in which the dark sky
makes it seem so grey, as if sapped, completely stricken of viability. Desks are
rambunctiously shoved to the sides, papers lining the floor — useless acts of capital
paperwork, condemning souls to the unity of a pen; Plexus is sat on a chair near the window,
cigar in hand, the rain making a grisly backdrop to his ashen, smug countenance. On either
side of him are two men, and they all have their guns pointed in Jungkook and Jimin's
direction.

The vampire lets out a hollow hoot at the display, and Plexus doesn't seem the least bit
perturbed. Clapping his pale hands together, Jimin arrives in a spectre of mockery, cavorting
marvellously from his plush, red lips. "What a way to greet one's guests." He simpers, but
Jungkook can hear that underlying ring of darkness remaining latent in his tone.

"These are troubling times. Aren't they?" Plexus beams, gold teeth looking as if they were
about to contract electricity — not human, but not vampire, no, he's his own brand of garish
sensibility. "You can't blame me for being too cautious."

Jimin shrugs, and Jungkook isn't surprised by how steady he seems, in fact, he uses that aura,
draws from it, brings it into his own psyche, as the man replies, "Mm, considering the
hostility of this society, I understand how fear can be extinguished by hiding behind all those
guns." Jungkook thinks, ironically, about the gun stowed away on Jimin's thigh.

"I'm not hiding from you, Jimin. How on Earth would guns help me?" He grins, laughing,
making a few of the men beside him chuckle as well, though they stop at the same time as
him. "But, well, your friend is a tad unpredictable I must admit."

Jungkook scowls.

"I'm glad you managed to do the right thing, Mr Jeon," He clicks his tongue against his teeth.
"I knew Jimin's fragile heart would stir his decision. You're always so easy to use when it
comes to the protection of your... prettiest things."

Jimin doesn't so much as flinch at the words, and so Jungkook tries not to as well; and, he's
not sure why, but he's watching Jimin's every move, seeing what he's going to do. He's
always been too headstrong for his own good, Jimin was right — he's impulsive — and he
doesn't like being told what to do; yet, for some reason, when in the presence of the older
vampire, he can't help but long to be obedient, to follow his orders. He's not sure why he feels
so comforted in such a mindset.

"Well, who can blame a man for giving into the kindness of his own heart?" He thumps his
palm against his chest, and, in Jungkook's imagination, he envisions the shaking of an empty
ribcage. Who needs a heart without blood? Emotions are from your mind, anyway.

Plexus smiles, somewhat sardonic in his acrid aggression. "That's touching. Truly." He nods
toward one of the men beside him, who's in a suit with too many buttons. "Please, do come
forth, we needn't converse from so far."

Almost tensely, Jimin turns to face Jungkook, and, with a great deal of endearment, he turns
back and they walk, with slow steps, just aching with languish, toward the man, who's sat by
the window, legs now spread wide.

"Gosh, you truly are so amenable when you want something from me, Jimin." He chuckles to
himself, and, as if to test the theory, he outstretches his hair-encroached hand and murmurs,
"bow for me." The way the vampire's spine freezes up makes Jungkook startled, and he can
feel the drones of tension starting to elevate in the other. "I can make the order
for sweet Hanai to be killed right this second, you know."

Jungkook flinches at the name, finds it revolting from such hideous lips, and he almost
forgets that Taehyung is already there to retrieve her. He can't help but think of the worst,
especially when Jimin gets down on one knee. His eyes go wide, almost seeming to blur the
scene before him; how is it possible that Park Jimin is kneeling? Surely, it can't purely be for
the sake of Jungkook's sister. Surely.

With a surprisingly gentle brushing of fingers, Jimin takes Plexus' hand in his, and presses the
ice cold skin of his lips to it, lowering his head in a stance of submission. Jungkook feels
sick, watching.

Plexus smirks to himself and catches Jungkook's disgusted eye. "You did well to bring him to
me like this, Jungkook. You're really something else, you know. So unlike anything I've ever
known." He takes his hand from Jimin's grasp, and uses it to rub at his chin. Eyes falling
across Jungkook's forlorn face he says, "I have someone who wants to see you."

With his mind solely based on his little sister, he somewhat expects to see her toddling
through the door, hair curly, cheeks rosy, and fingers gripping some sort of plush animal toy.
So, he actually releases a small gasp when he sees the very antithesis of that: a large man
walks in, bedecked in camel, with a large scar straight down his face, eyes murky white and
miraculous, with a sheepish expression tethered to him.

"Uram." Jungkook says, bitter, and he feels Jimin stir a little, but he still remains crouched by
Plexus' feet and, for the life of him, he can't work out why.

"Hello." He replies, and he looks different now that Jungkook knows the truth about him. He
stares at the cross around his neck, and the longevity of age beginning to crumple into
wrinkles across his eyes, his eyes that seem a little clear now, stripped of their cumbersome
mystery.

Jungkook tenses his jaw, and his bottom teeth stick out over his top teeth, lips compressed
into a line, barely managing to encapsulate his illustrious anger within. Nostrils flaring, he
finds he's not exactly sure what to say. The man looks guilty, and it's a little bit of
consolation, but, it's not enough. Impulse forces his hands to fists, and he's about a second
away from charging, when Uram speaks.

"You don't know how bad I feel for deceiving you." He says, and his voice is horrible in the
way it's so kind.

Jungkook spits at him. "Fuck you." His features scrunch up, and there's nothing but rage
lining his every orifice then. "I don't give a shit how bad your feeling. I want you to feel
worse. I—"

Plexus releases a seething laugh. "Oh, how delightful your aggression is, Jeon. When this is
all over, I should still like to recruit you as a personal fighter."

The boxer's head swivels around, eyes wide and immense, like an owl, and he gapes at the
man for mere moments before he snaps back, "you're even more fucking mental than I
thought if you think that would ever be a possibility."

"Oh." The man pretends to frown.

"Jungkook, you need to calm down." Uram tries to soothe from the side.

It seems to worsen Jungkook's anger, clearly having the complete opposite of the desired
effect. "I'm not listening to anything you have to say to me. Fuck, you're the lowest of the
low, using your personal experiences to manipulate me into helping you. You used me when I
was most vulnerable and confused and you lied to my face about your sincerity." He shakes
his head, losing himself in a blithering rage, ignorant of the entertained looks he gets from
Plexus and his men.

"Everything I told you was true, Jungkook." He tries to counter, tries to save himself.

"Oh yeah? And I suppose you forgot to mention the fact you never planned on stomping out
Plexus." He bites his lip, trying not to hysterically laugh at his own stupidity. "You made it
seem as though I was doing a good thing by trying to kill an evil gang-leader; you made it
seem as though I was being righteous, as though we were doing a service to the world. But,
no, you were trying to fend for yourself, trying to get your gang on top."

Uram certainly does look more guilty now; but, it's mixed with this curious sense of
something deeper, something darker. He seems as if trying not to say something. "I'm sorry
for deceiving you." He eventually repeats, and Jungkook bites a laugh at him. "But, you
should know, I really only wanted to avenge my family. It just so happened my cause aligned
with Plexus'."

Jungkook laughs again, and it comes out as a horrible snicker. "Well, I guess it was all for
nothing, because your siblings are still alive."

Uram visibly halts his actions. "What?" He asks, tense all of a sudden.

Plexus groans, as if growing bored of the display. "Please, we have other matters to discuss. I
just wanted to witness this little reunion. I love to see the echo of betrayal on your little Blood
Snatcher faces."

"No, but what—" Uram continues, and the desperation on his face is enough to stir Jungkook
somewhat, almost making him feel incredibly bad.

He's interrupted by a harsh cough, and it bounces around the room harshly, like a indication
of a deadly disease. Jungkook slams his eyes toward the source, and sees Jimin still on one
knee, beginning to wretch forward, almost hitting Plexus on the leg.

"Jimin?" Jungkook kneels down beside him, panic arising in his throat, eyes blown up,
circling with a squirming sort of terror. He grasps at the man's shoulder, but Jimin is staring
vacantly forward, coughing and splurging intensely. "What's wrong? Fuck, what's
happening?" He looks up at Plexus, who remains sitting with a cigar in his mouth.

He sighs, nonchalant, giving a meagre shrug, waving his free hand in the direction of the
boxer. With eyes glittering like the devil's, he says, "holy water, mixed with... wolfsbane." He
glisters. "You see, when something that's not of this earth, such as he," His foot pokes Jimin's
shoulder, "makes contact with a potion so melded with Earth, it can cause terrible turmoil. It
can easily take effect when soaked through the skin, or is inhaled through nose and mouth."
Jungkook's eyes are so wide now, his body so taut with despair, as he recalls how Jimin had
kissed the man's hand. He'd done it as if he had no clue of the other's plan and Jungkook can't
quite comprehend the fact that it was possible Jimin was outsmarted.

"But—" He starts, but Jimin is coughing again, and, even with his head directed to the floor,
Jungkook can see the mess that's beginning to come of his pretty face. His skin almost turns
to ash, seeming to cave into itself, as if adhering to his bones, which almost pierce the fragile
china of his features, gaunt and white and trying to poke through a sheen of humanity. "Jimin,
oh fuck, Jimin what do I— what do I do?" He asks, shaking the vampire's somewhat inert
figure, trying desperately to awaken a sense of brilliance from him. But, when he tries to
speak, he bursts back into a fit of coughing. Jungkook bites his lip, so desperately, and he
says, "Jimin, please, stay with me. You're gonna be okay. I'll get you out of here, safe and
sound, okay?"

"Oh!" Plexus clicks his tongue to his teeth and throws his head back to laugh, turning his
attention to Uram. "Isn't that just so touching?" He shakes his head. "Love is truly a beautiful
thing, hm?"

Uram blanches a little, still uncertain about his stance, and the image of Jungkook whispering
softly toward Jimin, trying to help him, isn't helping him to hate the creature. "It's not love."
He says, tries it like a broken record. "Jungkook doesn't understand what Jimin really is."

But Jungkook solemnly disagrees. Because he can see it. He can see the way Jimin's body is
contorting itself into something way beyond humanity, as if the creature that's been laying
stagnant inside him is suddenly coming to life. There's no way a regular person could curve
their spine that way, to flash their eyes so purely black, even at the whites, to have bones so
jagged and yet sturdy. It's impossible for a human to look so beautiful as they fall apart.

"You're such an idiot, Chung." Plexus tells the other man, shaking his head, almost
disdainful. "He understands just fine. He's in love with a creature from hell, and, I'm not fool
enough to pretend Jimin can't feel the same way back."

Uram grapples with his mind there, and, should Jungkook be looking at him, he'd probably
have a better grasp of the man's dilemma. That's always been the man's prime factor to justify
his actions; he didn't believe vampires were capable of love, nor real, true care; to him, they
were nothing beyond flashy desire and gaudy flashes of teeth. It was near enough impossible
to imagine that, in actuality, he was capable of love, of devotion, of honesty.

"Now, can we..." Plexus gestures with his hand, and one of the men instantly moves, is
pulling Jungkook by the hair and reeling him down, before the man can even comprehend it.
His head smacks the floor and he feels an ache in his skull, which leaves him hissing, but
otherwise uncertain. The man slams his foot on his head, keeping him down. Jungkook isn't
stupid enough to fight back. They're both crouched then, forcibly bowing before the other.
"Oh, Jimin."

The vampire coughs again, eyes snapping sideward, seeing the pain on Jungkook's face, as he
adjusts to the change in position.
"You're so disappointing." Plexus natters on to himself, unaware of how his men all start to
tense a little, watching as Jimin seethes beneath him. "I thought the weakening of your body
would be more difficult to achieve. You're usually so difficult to get a good hold of, so
difficult to... hurt." He laughs to himself, "well, see the thing is, I managed to track down
patterns in your behaviour."

There's a sudden cracking sound, which has the man with his foot on Jungkook's head reeling
back a little.

Plexus is too caught up in his hubris to pay it much mind. He trundles on, "For someone who
prides himself on having such a wise soul, you don't seem to have the capacity to learn from
your mistakes."

The man over Jungkook pulls off entirely, and Jungkook slips to his knees again. Plexus
looks down at the vampire, who's still crouched by his feet, face down.

"I'm referencing the ease in which you keep walking into my traps." He says, but, as more
syllables slip out, the less confident he becomes and, as he looks down, he realises his
confidence was out of place.

The rain pounds against the glass. Jimin is silent for only a moment, in fact, he's stopped
moving entirely, and they all watch as his neck harshly snaps to the side, and his body starts
so rise up, like a phoenix, trembling from the ashes. But this phoenix is laughing. Yes, Jimin
laughs as he sits up fully, and Jungkook can't help but feel relieved. He tries desperately to
hold onto that relief, even as he gets to see Jimin's appearance in it's entirety.

He looks as if a mere shadow of himself, a mockery, with skin sponged white, bones forged
from their rightful place, with lips bright red and wide, sharp fangs falling from his mouth, so
damn animalistic. For all intensive purposes, he looks like a corpse, with his hair tousled and
forced into a thick mess of black. It rests rather elegantly against his pale skin, and it seems to
highlight the dense black beneath his eyes, which squirms into a slight blue tinge.

Most notably, his eyes are completely red, so it's a little hard to tell what he's looking at. But,
it's not too hard to imagine he's glaring at Plexus.

"It's true," He says, in his regular voice, dense with mirth. The fact his voice isn't at all
distorted makes him all the more disconcerting somehow. "I fall into old patterns and they
say time is the best teacher." Everyone watches with bated breaths, as he suddenly rises to his
feet and, with a motion so quick it's hard to catch, he has his claws around Plexus' neck and
has hauled him up into the air. "Too bad time kills all it's students."

He looks so tall like this, so large and omnipresent, seeming to have jurisdiction over the
entire room, and, from this angle, despite how terrifying he looks, Jungkook thinks he's
absolutely beautiful.

"S-Stop hi—him," Plexus croaks, gesturing to his stagnant men, who remain in a place of
perpetual fear.
Eventually, one seems to spring onto action, and he leaps forward, pressing his gun straight to
Jungkook's temple. Jimin notices instantly, and he doesn't stop holding Plexus so tightly, but
he does glance toward the boxer. More anger spurs out of him. "Don't you fucking dare." He
tells the man with the gun to Jungkook's head.

The man has more guts than Jungkook had first thought, as he attempts to combat Jimin,
spluttering out, "the— then drop the boss."

He does just that, not hesitating, before he's slamming the poor man down so hard he slams
into his chair and breaks it. His head clicks to the side so fluidly, like he has complete control
over it now, and his eyes widen a little, and they themselves convey nothing, but his face is
set upon such an expression that seems so mocking, as if teasing the gunman to do
something.

Evidently having not expected the vampire to give in so easily, the other stands completely
still, not sure what to do. Frustrated with being tussled around, Jungkook takes advantage of
stillness, in order to swing his head back, whacking the man in the chin, sending him reeling
back, quick enough for Jungkook to smack at his arm, loosening his grip on the gun.

Grabbing it, Jungkook swivels and stands to his feet, slamming the butt of the gun to the side
of his head, sending him to the floor instantly. He had almost forgotten how exhilarating
violence can be.

Jimin smiles at him, his usual smile on a slightly disjointed face, but, yet again, he's
interrupted by gunshots. They're aimed it him this time, and Jungkook watches in awe, as
they seem to bounce straight off of him. The men both stop as they see their bullets have no
effect, and their mouths open, downturn. They don't have time to scream, before Jimin pulls
out his own gun and hits both of them. One in the throat, another in the eye.

The only remaining man runs. He runs and no one chases him. Jimin merely ignores him.
Tossing the object, he turns back toward Plexus, who's cowering on the floor, seemingly
miles beneath him.

"How— how the fuck are you—" The man tries to get out, with a face that's bright red,
pulsating with all the blood that beats from a cowardly heart, so vapid .

Jimin cocks his head and jeers at him. "Stronger?" He guesses, and, with a rising of an
eyebrow, he says, "you think I wasn't anticipating your underhanded tricks, Kil?"

"You—" The man bares his gold teeth, and he desperately tries to move, tries to wiggle away,
but he has absolutely nowhere to go. He has nothing in this moment, not anymore.

"Taehyung's potion." Jungkook suddenly recalls the strange green thing he'd been concocting,
the thing Jimin had spread across himself. Damn, they were good.

Jimin nods in confirmation, smiling in a horrendously lovely way. "Mm, you see holy water
can have little to no effect when mixed with something of earth: a natural plant. But, it can
have a positive effect when mixed with the green earth and a symbol of hell."
"Fucker." Plexus spits out, shaking his head wildly, and he tries to smile, despite his awful
appearance. "You got me good. So— so— this is your real form, huh? What you look like
without all that stage makeup?" He asks, almost ironically.

"Indeed." He grins, his sharp fangs practically lurching from his mouth. "You know, you've
been a worthy foe. Your cause was almost worthy, but, you've pissed me off too much and it's
getting boring." He sighs, dragging this out as if he wants to take as much joy in it as
possible. "I'll be glad to have you off my back. Maybe I'll finally be able to commence my
plans."

"No." A booming voice suddenly sounds, and they all turn to the man that they forget was
even there. Chung Uram stands large and unavoidable now, with his arm wrapped around
Jungkook's neck and the gun the man had previously been holding to the bottom of his face.
"I'm not gonna let you win."

Jimin's eyes roll, or at least, they seem to, and his head tips back in annoyance, as if it were a
mere inconvenience to him.

Uram shoves the gun right up against Jungkook. "Look, Plexus may not be a good guy, I
understand that, I believe that, but that's not to say that you are any better, Park Jimin." He
says, holds Jungkook so tightly to him, the man can feel his heartbeat. "It would be for the
best if you both died."

Jimin huffs, and he raises an eyebrow, so cruel. "Oh? And what are you gonna do? Shoot
me?" He almost laughs.

"I'll shoot him." Uram says, and Jungkook feels the tremor in his vocal chords, feels it loud
and hot against his skin. "If you truly do care about him, I know that will hurt you."

"It would." The vampire says, slow, returning to a more cautious mentality. "But it won't get
you what you want. If you kill him, I'll kill you."

Uram chokes on his words as he whispers, "At least it will hurt you."

Jimin clenches his back teeth together, and his face seems to be getting rounder by the
second, his cheekbones starting to become a tad less harsh. "You would really
shoot him though?"

The older man coughs out, and he holds Jungkook tighter if possible, his eyes shaking so
wildly, as he feels the tender humanity of a heartbeat perusing in the younger man's chest.

He doesn't reply and Jimin gets his answer. Trying his best to be kind, despite all his
adrenaline, he continues, telling the other, "I did kill your parents." He watches him flinch,
watches him shake the gun against Jungkook. "I gave up a lot to help them and they didn't
uphold their end of the deal. I killed them." He nods his head, eyes looking toward the floor,
as if trying to remember everything. "But your sisters are still alive. Your brother is too." He
smiles softly to himself.
"You're fucking lying." Uram accuses, but his voice shakes so much, it's clear it doesn't fully
believe his own accusation.

Jimin ignores him, and he carries on with a smile. "I saw your brother recently, actually. He
owns his own factory." His eyelashes bat, and his eyes flicker brown with it for a moment.
They lean into crimson when he looks up properly. "If you stop this, I'll take you to him."

Uram shakes his head, and Jungkook feels the tears shuddering out of him, in fact, he can
fucking smell them, and his own heart aches with it. "It can't be." He says, but his grip is
already loosening.

"Uram! Don't be a fucking idiot." Plexus suddenly hisses, still reeling around on the floor.
"You're being lied to. It's a fucking trick. Look at him, he's a vampire, he's a fucking monster,
and he's a fucking liar. He killed your parents, he's—" Jimin kicks him in the mouth.

"I'm not lying." He says, looking down at Plexus, and, Uram can't help but feel the harsh
string of sincerity that underpins his movements. It's odd, he thinks, how such an unholy
creature, in it's true, blasphemous form, can seem purer than the soul that's writhing on the
floor.

"You— you're really telling the truth?" Uram whispers out, his grip loosening even more.

"You dumb fuck." Plexus yells at him, but this time, Jimin ignores him, and he turns to the
pair fully.

The vampire's entire face is soft and drenched in sincerity and the thunder rumbles outside, as
he says, so softly, "he got that toy factory, like you guys dreamed about as kids."

Uram's entire hand shakes so much he has no option but to let go, for fear of actually pulling
the trigger. He's just about releasing Jungkook when it happens.

The gun fires.

Jimin gasps and jumps forward. But, his eyes are turning back to red, his face growing more
pale, just like the moon, solitary and bold, as he comes to realise it wasn't Uram who had
shot.

Plexus is holding the gun Jimin had previously discarded. "Idiot." Is what he says, panting,
leaning up on his elbow. And those are his last, ugly words, before Jimin jumps at him and,
for the first time in years, he sinks his teeth into an unwilling throat. His teeth are sharper
than usual, more animalistic, and he tears the skin to shreds, pulls it into ribbons, till his
tongue laps at bone.

Jungkook watches for only a second, before he turns around, steadying himself from where
he'd just been pushed, and he sees Uram on the ground, with a gun-wound in his gut, writhing
with a bullet that wasn't meant for him.
&&&

Jeon Hanai thinks Kim Taehyung is beautiful.

The witch had gracefully walked down to where she was being held, like he didn't have a
care in the world, waltzing through the dingy old building, practically whistling along to the
sound of the howling wind. Basements freaked Taehyung out, in truth — he didn't even go
into his and Jimin's — but, alas, he's duty bound to ensuring the safety of this girl, and so he
forces himself to be calm as he walks.

He actually laughs out loud at the sight of a guard stood outside the rusted metal door at the
bottom of the staircase. It's ridiculous to have such a man standing there, gun at the ready, all
to keep an eye on a child.

"Who are you?" The guard asks, waving his gun in the direction of the blonde.

Taehyung smiles, and, with a slow steps, he comes out of the light, and he can't help but revel
at the shock that slathers itself across the poor guard's face. "Just an explorer," He hums, and
his eyes are more jaded and sharp in his light, so pretty in their creamy delilah. "Looking for
something exciting."

The man visibly gulps, and Taehyung is used to this reaction; the reaction of everything being
too much, of not knowing what to think, of not understanding the sudden trenches of
attraction that encroach upon you. The guard goes a little rigid, and Taehyung doesn't waste a
second, before slipping closer toward him, and the guard, in his confused, attracted stupor,
allows it.

His gun lowers and Taehyung smiles, pressing his hand suddenly over the man's nose and
mouth; the elixir is inhaled so fast, the man doesn't even notice he's been knocked
unconscious.

Taehyung had expected it to be easy, but, damn, that was child's play. He giggles to himself,
and doesn't bother to grab a key, merely using his foot to boot the door down.

Hanai looks up at him with wide, starry eyes.

Jun drives them to Jungkook's apartment building, and Hanai holds onto Taehyung's hand,
somehow entranced by him and his warmth. "Did they hurt you?" The blonde asks her,
tenderly, as they drive through the city of rain and neon lights.

She blinks toward him, shyly shakes her head.

Unsatisfied by how uncomfortable she seems, he offers her his grandest smile and says,
nicely, "do you want to see a magic trick?" He whispers it to her, pretending to look around,
as if it were a secret. The little girl nods her head hesitantly. With a charming grin, he makes
a show of looking around him again, before bringing his hands close to her face. She watches
them, tantalised, as he makes little wave motions with his fingers. Then, with one crisp clap,
a new object appears in the palm of his hand.

"Wow!" Hanai declares, forgetting about the fact she didn't know this person. Jun looks at
them through the rear view mirror. Taehyung grins, and, gently, he places the tiara onto her
head.

"I knew you looked like a princess." He tells her, adjusting the object he'd just 'conjured up',
and gently fluffing out her dark locks. "I think it's rightfully yours."

Hanai giggles at him, cheeks rosy, as her little pearl teeth flash at him. He pinches her cheek.
"Thank you..." She trails off a little, like she's wondering what to call him.

"Taehyung." He tells her, leaning close to her, once again, like he's sharing a secret. "But
royalty can call me Tae."

She smiles at him. Then, with slight hesitation, she asks, "can I call you TaeTae?"

The witch laughs, leaning back, and nodding at her. "Of course you can. You can do whatever
you want when you're a princess."

Her smile doesn't leave her face, immediately enjoying the presence of the other. "Are you a
princess too?"

He blinks at her, and shrugs his shoulders. "Don't tell anyone."

"But— are you a boy?" She asks him, suddenly rather curious, as she listens to the
unravelling of his deep voice, and sees the sturdiness of his pretty face, covered in makeup.

His smile doesn't falter. "Anyone can be a princess." He informs her, soft, and she likes the
sound of it. She likes everything about the witch, she decides.

"You saved me." She tells him. "Like a knight."

Taehyung nods. "Well, can't I be a princess and a knight?"

She seems to think about it for moment, seems to really contemplate it. And, as she gently
touches over the crown on her head, she decides she likes it. She nods to him, and beams. "I
want to be a princess and a knight."
He winks and pats her on the head. "Then, that you shall be."

They drive is long and the girl falls asleep during Taehyung's rendition of George and the
Dragon. He tries not to be offended, merely brushes it off and looks out the window until
they arrive at the girl's home.

"That was a nice thing you did." Jun tells him, just as he's leaving the car, with the little girl
in his arms.

"Thank you for the ride." He says to the man, as he pulls her out.

Taehyung arrives with a flourish. There's something rather uncanny about him being there,
outside Jungkook's apartment — the dilapidated old building seeming way too heinous a
place for someone as finely-tuned and perfectly sculptured as Kim Taehyung. Bedecked in a
long black coat, fur-trimmed, oak-scented, his face is pale, lips pulled tight and pink, making
his aura appear like china. His eyes are lightly coated with something fuchsia, with little
sparkles as teal as peacock feathers spread across them, and he just looks too wonderful to
exist in the same world as Jungkook's horror-hole of an apartment.

"Hello there." The man says, as soon as the door is opened, his deep voice pulled at and
knotted so hard it turns moderate in temperament.

"Hello?" Ara replies, sniffling, despairing, staring at the newcomer at her door, through eyes
that sting red and yellow — they suddenly go wide, shock drizzled all over her, as she sees
the tight bundle of a human body curled against the stranger's chest. "Oh! My god, Hanai!"
She declares, prying the little girl out of Taehyung's arms, waking the delicate thing, who's
evidently confused by the way in which her sister reacts to seeing her.

Taehyung can't help but be overjoyed by the scene, and his heart starts to beat a little faster,
magic curling in him at the feeling of all that emotion bouncing around them. He blanches for
a moment when the woman suddenly opens her eyes again, and all-but gapes at him. He
smiles and outstretches his hand, says, "Kim Taehyung, I'm sure your brother has mentioned
me."

Being confused and polite, Ara gently shakes the offered hand. But, being vile and even more
confused, she suddenly pulls it back. "No." She says to him, adamant with it. "He hasn't,
actually."

"Uh." The dancer flails with himself for a minute, and Ara takes him in in his entirety and she
doesn't know what to think. "How rude of him." He tuts, and his skin turns almost hot, he can
feel it, leaking all the way down his throat, like hot water in cracking pipes. Unperturbed, the
witch shushes himself and pushes his way into the apartment to inspect the place rigorously,
while Ara does nothing but send him a confused look.

She looks at him and she thinks she may be starting to piece something together.

"Quite the quiet lifestyle you have." He says, as his heels clack against the wooden floors,
looking as if they could snap through them.
Ara stares at the man in high heels and her eyes are wide, red, tear-stained and her voice is
hostile as she asks, "who exactly are you?"

The blonde glances at her, one perfectly plucked brow cocked. "I just told you."

"Okay, but—" She tries.

He interrupts, suddenly overcome with a sense of offence, "oh, I bet you've heard about Park
Jimin though, havent you?" And it takes a moment for the woman to understand what he's
talking about.

Her heart snaps at the sound of his name, and her tone does too, "does he have something to
do with this?" She asks, shaking the girl lightly in her arms, bouncing her up and down.

"Oh," The man turns to fully face her, seemingly having grown tired of his intense inspection.
"How hurtful, Jungkook," He presses a hand to his heart, speaking as if the man were there.
"I can't believe he really only told you about Jimin. I'm hurt actually. After all, I have been
the one to stick my neck out for him on numerous occasions, and, well, I'm really the one
who convinced him—"

"Is that who you are then?" Ara interrupts, her patience falling to pieces before her very eyes.
She's all tattered and bruised and she feels the weight of the boa constrictor universe
wrapping itself around her waist, squeezing her till all her organs amalgamate. "You're Park
Jimin's discrepancy. You're his... pet."

Taehyung stops entirely.

He blinks. "Define pet."

Ara's resolve crumples then, it's as if it had never been there in the first place and her tone is a
begging lurch as she pleads, "is he the one who took her?"

The blonde's face becomes serious instantly. "Jimin would never kidnap a child." He tells her,
bites the inside of his lip; Jungkook's sister's limbs slump down, slithering into something so
comfortable and quiet in composure. It's strange to see how easily she's satiated. "I can assure
you he had nothing to do with it, and, you see, your sister is perfectly unharmed."

Ara preens, eyes watery, and she looks at the little girl, so happy to have her back, she loses
everything else in the background — they become lingering afterthoughts. "What's with the
tiara?" She asks, voice hollow and wavering.

"I'm a princess." Hanai declares, smiling wildly. "TaeTae saved me from the dragon."

"He did?" Ara questions, almost shocked, but not quite. Why else would he have brought the
girl back in one piece?

Taehyung's smile grows. "I did. And you needn't worry, your brother will be here shortly. I
believe Jimin will be along with him—"

"Jimin's coming here?" She suddenly snaps, and she tightens her hold of the little girl.
"Yes. Well, he should be helping Jungkook home. I'm not yet aware of when but—" He stops
as he sees the genuine terror on her face. "What's wrong?"

She gives him an incredulous look, frustrated with her confusion or confused with her
frustration. In truth, she's not precisely sure what to make of the bewitching character stood
before her, with all the glamour that drips from his fingertips, ready to be suckled on; she's
unsure what to think of his aura and golden features, and she's unsure why she feels so much
dreamy danger deriding from him.

But, amongst all of that, he seems nice. He seems sweet, even. "I don't want gangsters in my
house." She tells him, as if confiding in him.

The man's gaze softens, and he shakes his head at her. "He's not what you think, I promise."

"What is he then?" She asks back.

"He's someone who swore to protect your family. For better or for worse."

Taehyung's eyelashes bat, and Ara thinks she can see the seams of the universe amidst his
marble, brown orbs, in the gaps of each lash. Ara blinks back at him, but her action is
performed with much less grace. "He did?" The blonde nods, and the girl uses her sudden
surge of reliance on the man to ask, "but— he had a fight with Jimin, no? That's what it
seemed like anyways."

"Yes." The blonde smiles, and he glances at Hanai for a moment. "Jungkook tried to.. end
things." He makes a subtle wringing motion with his hand, something only the older sister
catches. "It didn't end very well at all."

Ara's eyes widen as she comprehends what that means. "He really— he tried to—" As far as
she was aware, her brother was practically worshipping the ground the gangster walked on,
and so, it was bizarre to imagine he had been planning to kill the man. But, with the
newfound presence of this cross-dressing man, she thinks she never quite understood their
relationship at all. "Well, even after that, he's still— helping us?"

The blonde nods. "He's very big on promises." He says it mindlessly, like he has the ability to
dangle infinity from his fingernails. His solemn gaze surges toward the younger of the
siblings and the casualty of his promise is seeping from his skull, from his sugarcane teeth, as
he says, "it's something you ought to come to grips with. Promises mean an awful lot to
people like him; a lifetime to him is not a lifetime to you or I, and so promises mean more
than what is skin deep."

Brows furrowed, she nods her head. "But that's still a lot to get over. It's hard to believe that
he'd be willing to help out, even now."

Now.

The notion of the present swarms them; it lurches from the depths of nothing and begins to
choke them, like life's purple tentacle, breaching against their skin, puckering, leaving harsh
rings of eternity upon them. They live in the present and, in this leech-riddled glory, the past
seems a world away.

"Always." Taehyung tells her.

Ara blinks at him, eyes stamped blue with the inky-hue of tiredness.

"So, is it okay if I stay here for a moment? Just until they return." He changes the subject,
flicking his eyes to the sofa.

Hanai is already excited by the idea. "Yay! He can stay." She tells her older sister, tugging at
her hair.

The blonde's eyes are wicked and soft all at once, for a moment just flooded with blood,
rushing across his renaissance pupils, that dapple within the realms of artistry. He laughs a
moment later, sweet and buzzing, like a bee. "Is that okay?"

Ara bites her nail, teeth scraping against the skin of her fingerprint. "It's the least I can do."
She supposes, gently gesturing to the sofa.

Taehyung winks and agilely places himself down on the thing. It's not sturdy at all, and it's so
worn it's almost too soft and it hurts Taehyung's back in all the wrong places. He likes it.

The woman is still unsure what to make of him, and she watches him craftily as she makes
tea; she observes how lightly he speaks with Hanai, and how much adoration the girl seems
to have for him already.

"Shhh," He says as soon as Ara walks back over to them, and the little girl suddenly places a
hand to her lips. "Sorry, Miss Jeon, but we can't tell you about the important matter we were
discussing."

Hanai giggles. "Yeah, Miss Jeon."

"Is that right?" She responds, trying her best to be unimpressed, but, really, she's rather fond
of how happy the younger seems in the presence of this stranger.

"Yup." She nods, still laughing away. Then, suddenly she says, "did you know that TaeTae is
both a princess and a knight?"

"Hanai!" He gasps, clapping a hand over his mouth. "That's a secret."

"Oh no!" She replies, looking guilty, but no less joyful, as she mirrors his expression.

Ara sips on her tea and mumbles, "I don't know that it's that much of a secret."

Taehyung hears her loud and clear. He's not offended by it. Not at all. "I see it's not just your
brother who got such aggressive genes."

At the comment, the girl seems to ache with something guilty and she dismally tries to
retract. "No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that." She tells him, her good conscience flooding in;
how could she be so rude to someone who saved her sister? Sighing out, she says, "I just.. I
think you're very brave. To walk around like that, I mean."

"Thank you." He tells her, voice quiet, and he gently drinks down some of the tea, ignoring
how piping hot it is.

Her heart flutters and she smiles at him. It's been a long day for her, and, she's too tired to
truly think about what she's saying or any possible repercussions. Taehyung's nice and she
doesn't find much harm in commenting, "I suppose your affiliation with Park Jimin stops
people from saying things."

Taehyung glances toward her and his features soften, glow. "I can understand why you may
have such a harsh impression of him, alas, I can assure you, he's not at all as bad as he
seems." He doesn't give her a chance to protest, before he continues, "but, well, that actually
doesn't have much of an effect anyway. I'm not stupid enough to walk around like this on a
regular day." He pulls softly at his fur-trimmed coat and sighs out puffs of melancholia. "My
face is too pretty to get lynched."

Her expression is one of sorrow and she asks, painfully, "has that happened?"

Taehyung grins at her, features raw and harshly imbued with sadness. "Not, lynched, no, but
someone did try to drown me when I was a kid." He says it so casually, Ara almost misses
how evil the action sounds. Her heart skips a beat and her mouth parts, but he's continuing,
"mm, so I make an effort not to go around the streets like this. I only dolled myself up to flirt
with some guard."

Ara bites her lip and she feels her heart squeeze a little. Hanai is busying herself, brushing her
doll's hair, and so the elder woman feels free to ask, "is that what Jimin has you around for?
To... uh, flirt?"

The man releases a low laugh, and smiles bitterly. "No no, it's nothing like that." He assures,
and she actually does believe him. "Jimin doesn't like me getting involved in that sort of
thing. But, I actually enjoy doing it."

"You do?" She raises a brow.

Taehyung gulps, and he nods, soft and genuine, and there's something of understanding that
passes between them. "When it's on your own terms, using your sexuality to get what you
want, it's rather liberating."

Ara takes a sip of her drink. "I think I can understand that, actually."

The blonde smiles, and he takes a small moment before he says to her, "I dance in a
burlesque lounge most nights. I think you might enjoy it there."

She has never really thought of the idea before, has never understood the concept of it. But,
there's something inherently desirable about the idea that she just can't escape. "Do you think
so?"
He nods. "I think so indeed."

She packages the idea in her mind for later and then, with a slight pull of knowledge she asks,
"is that why Jungkook goes so often? To see... you?"

Taehyung chuckles, and it's so rich and warm, Ara can't help but dive into the depths of it.
"Sometimes. Though I'm not sure I'm aware of the notion that's underpinning that question,
Ara." Her name sounds all kinds of sweet on his tongue.

She hadn't even told him her name.

She's slightly more sceptical now. "It's just... you and Jimin seem very interested in my
brother."

Taehyung winks. "He's an interesting man."

She'd like to ask more, to delve in further, when the door suddenly slams open, and in walks
the man of her nightmares. Well, at least, that's what she notices first; he looks like an illusion
of sleep, all dreamy and embedded in floccose, as if he were just a figment of an insomniac's
candied imagination. He's shorter than she'd imagined, with hair an insane shock of cherry
blossom petals, soft and whimsical, despite who he is; his face is nicer too, and she'd
somewhat pictured him as old, withered, angry. But, he's not, he's fresh and in the process of
blooming. Youth bounces from his features, which are pressed so cleanly into the clay-like
sculpture of his face. He's so breathtaking, she almost doesn't notice her brother and the
corpse.

"Jimin!" Taehyung leaps up. "Jung—" He starts, but stops as soon as he sees what the boxer
is heaving upon his shoulder. "Is that— is he—"

"We need your help, Tae." Jungkook begs, pacing into the room and Jimin helps him to place
the body down softly on the ground, as if it were still alive.

"What the fuck?" Ara barks out, standing up and obstructing Hanai's view of the obviously
traumatising memory this was sure to bring forth within her. "Why have you brought that in
here? What are you thinking?"

"I don't have time." Her brother snaps back, and the lithe panic is rife in his tone, flickering
and bursting. His eyes forge their way into Taehyung's psyche, and he begs again, "please,
Taehyung, can you—"

The blonde gives into those withering eyes of unbridled anguish; he follows the slew of
pessimism, tries to rid himself of it, as he crouches beside the inert lump of flesh and bone.
"Uram." He places his hand to the man's stomach, where a blood-stained cloth remains coiled
around him.

"I got the bullet out." Jimin tells him, and Taehyung doesn't doubt him — contrary to popular
belief, he actually was a good surgeon — though he doesn't wish to ask for the methods at
which the instrument was extracted.
Taehyung nods at him, and he completely believes that the bullet is out, but, the wound is still
there, and yet the blood doesn't seem to be flowing anymore. Worrying his lip, he casts his
attention toward the boxer, and, as kindly as he can, he tries to say, "Jungkook, I think— I
think he's dea—"

"He's not, Tae, he's— he's not dead." The man tries to sway Taehyung's decision, but it's no
use, there's no heartbeat, there's no breaths. Taehyung's look is pitying, and he sees the way
salt is beginning to redden Jungkook's eyes, and tears are beginning to form. "He's not."
Jungkook tries again, and Ara stands still, completely shocked by how much her brother is
torn up about it. "He can't be. He can't be." His head shakes dismally. "He was breathing a
minute ago, he was— he—"

"Jungkook," Taehyung presses his palm to the man's shoulder, cautious.

The aforementioned shakes his head again, and he's so full of emotion, his face is void of it;
every fibre of his being is swarmed by some sense of injustice, and he sobs out, "but, you can
do something, can't you? You— you can make him better? Regrow the tissues, make his heart
produce more blood. You can. You can, can't you, Taehyung?"

The witch, despite himself, feels his eyes water, as if a mirror to Jungkook's soul. His glances
toward Jimin, who's sturdy in his grief. He glances back to Jungkook, and, in an abysmal
tone, he tells him, "I can't bring back the dead, Jungkook."

His breaths become more laboured, and his spine snaps forward as he juts himself into a
looming arch of protection, creating a shadow of himself across the other man's body. "It was
meant for me. He pushed me out the way." He tells them, crying into it. Ara is still confused
about what's happening, but she wants nothing more than to run over and hug him.

She's beaten by Taehyung. She's almost shocked to see it. But the blonde is prying Jungkook
from the body, gentle, and his warm, encompassing arms, covered in feathers and glitter and
lissom muscles as elegant as a fawn, pull Jungkook into him. The boxer doesn't hesitate to
reciprocate; he presses his face into the witch's shoulder and he breathes in all those hollow
spices and aphrodisiacal herbs. He breathes in his comfort and magic and he lets himself
imagine he's allowed it.

"His dying wish was to protect you, Jungkook," Taehyung says, whispers to him, right into
his skull, smashing straight through to the brain. It's surprisingly intimate, though, everyone
else can still hear them. "Don't blame yourself. He wanted to keep you safe. Don't you see?"

Jungkook holds him tighter, and he feels soothed by the words, feels as if he's bathing in
moonshine and meristems, like all of nature is wishing him happiness. It does nothing to
prevent how much he cries though.

He doesn't think he's cried as much as he has in the past few weeks as he has in his entire life.

Taehyung squeezes out a moment of catharsis from him, and he does nothing but press it
back into him.
 "He never got to see his brother." Jungkook says, and he feels as if he's tired of being the
person they're all pitying, despite the fact there's a dead body in the room. He pulls back and
his damp eyelashes sparkle, refracting a kaleidoscope of colour from his mourning eye. "He
only just found out that he's been alive this whole time. He never got to see him again, nor his
sisters— it's— it's not fair."

"We can go to them," Jimin says, sudden, and all of their eyes turn to him, all glimmering
with hope. Ara is the only one who's skeptical. "We can tell them of all the good he did, to
avenge his parents, to try and protect the city." It would be a white lie, Jungkook thinks, but a
nice one to give closure to his other siblings.

"Kookie?" A child's voice suddenly sounds, and Jungkook, who was so lost in his sea of
despair, suddenly remembers what he was here for.

Without a split second to spare, he leaps from his position, and he runs to the girl, pulling her
into a hug. "You're okay." He whispers into her hair, as she hugs him back, hugs him tighter.
"God, you're okay. That's all that matters. That's all. I'm never gonna let anything bad happen
to you, okay? Nothing ever, nothing like that." He pulls back for a moment as he looks into
her eye. "Never again." He promises.

"You need to take away that corpse." Ara says, suddenly, voice hoarse with the decision.
Jungkook looks up at her, sorrowful, and he realises how stressed she must be — she must
not have any idea what was happening, who these people are, where they've been. He's about
to talk, but she interrupts, "you can tell me everything tomorrow. And I mean everything."
She holds her jaw high, as she moves and scoops up the little girl. "We're going to bed."

"I will." He promises her, despairing to know he couldn't inform her of everything now, while
his adrenaline was so high.

She merely nods at him, and, then, with a surveying glance of the other two men, in a manner
that could be conceived as nothing less than exhausted, she tells them, "if you need to stay
the night, you can, but—" She pauses, and tries to ignore how delighted they seem by the
news, almost as if it meant something to them. "Have that gone by the morning."

Jungkook bites his lip and, with a slow, acetone nod, he turns back to the others, who smile
down at him, like the sun, the moon and the stars.

Chapter End Notes

poor uram :( i know some people don't like him, but i always did lmao.
anyway, i hope this chapter was enjoyable! as you can see, there are only a few more
chapters left, and all of them have exciting stuff revealed, so this is definitely not the
final chapter. still have a few more plot threads to tie up, but at least plexus is gone!!!
have a good day <333
 Chapter 23
Chapter Notes

im finally back!!
pre-warning for sexual content (very mild), talks of death and allusions to torture and
homophobia/warped homophobic mindsets.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

"Oh, isn't this just so exciting, 'Min?" Taehyung asks, collapsing onto Jungkook's bed, almost
cutting himself on the sharp spring. "I haven't had a sleepover since— well, ever."

"You're such a child." Jimin informs him, and his tone is hard and mocking, but it does
nothing when paired with the gentile coruscation on his face, all his love trickling from him
in diamond lights, like the moon against a puddle of liquid.

"You're lucky I got a new bed." Jungkook says, as his tiredness begins to catch up with him,
kicking off his shoes and socks. "If this were a few weeks ago, when I was still making
schmuck change, I'd have a single camper bed, and you'd be on the floor."

Taehyung, liking the fact the younger is tired enough and distracted enough to joke around,
falls into it and scoffs at him. "Oh yeah, as if I would be the one on the floor."

Jimin rolls his eyes at the insinuation, and Jungkook smirks — but, they both know it's true,
if there were the option, Taehyung would, without doubt, be the one who managed to get the
bed. Shaking his head, the vampire says, almost tensely, "I'm surprised your sister didn't find
it weird that we were all taking this room together."

The boxer pauses, slips down onto the mattress, expression clouded over in agreement.
"Actually, that's a good point."

The blonde opens his mouth into a small 'o' shape, and Jimin's brow raises at him. "I think
she may have figured out whatever is going on—" He pauses, only for a second before,
suddenly, he's reeling the heel of his foot into Jungkook's back, nearly pushing him off the
bed. With a howl of surprise and distaste, Jungkook grips the sheets and snaps his head
around to the blonde. Taehyung speaks before he can, "how come you never mentioned
anything about me to your sister?" He asks, and it's almost petulant the way he does it, petty
in the most adorable of ways.

Jungkook is incredulous. "What are you talking about?"

"She had absolutely no idea who I was when I heroically appeared at your door. Seriously,
you should've seen how she looked at me," He suddenly pulls his hand to his chest, clutching
it to a fist. "Oh, it was so humiliating. Here I was, confident she'd be curious to see me —
would I meet her expectations? Would I exceed them? I was so excited. And, fuck, she had
no clue who I was." He shakes his head, and his brown eyes go wide and gooey. "That really
upset me, Jungkook."

Jimin kisses his teeth. "Don't be dramatic."

"You can shut up and all." He points an accusatory finger at the vampire, who widens his
eyes, confused. Taehyung himself seems unaware of why he said it, so he settles with a
measly, "it upset me."

Jimin earns a weirded out look from Jungkook, and he suddenly realises what's going on. He
seems to understand the real reason for his outburst.

"I'm sorry for upsetting you, Taehyung." Jungkook carefully approaches the forlorn dancer,
who fails to meet his eye. "I just.. don't like to talk business to my sister, I wanted her to keep
out of it."

Evidently, his wording doesn't do much to appease the blonde nor to ameliorate the tension.
"Business?" Taehyung repeats, light and supple as air. "That's what I am to you? Business?"

Jungkook's eyes go wide with panic. "No! Of course not, I mean— I'm not even sure what
exactly you are to me, but," He doesn't know where this sudden inkling of confidence is
coming from, but he endeavours to clutch hold of it and use it to further establish a point.
"You're not just business to me."

Jimin, still stood by the wall, arms crossed, usual face completely in shape, with no hint of
his apparent true form lingering there, decides to continue on, saying, "you're not business to
us either, Jungkook. Though, I'm sure you already know."

It's weird to Jungkook to imagine that to be true. He's never really been the type to consider
himself important to people and he's never cared enough to wonder where he stands in other
people's perspective. So, it comes in a great influx of pride, for him to recognise, he's
never wholeheartedly adjusted to the notion that he could be anything less than what he really
is to them.

"What am I then?"

The question lingers despite itself, and both Jimin and Taehyung seem to tremble, almost as if
they haven't got any idea of the answer themselves. They stare at one another, like they're on
the periphery of a new discovery.

"Someone who's very important." Is what Jimin says, and the words rise to the ceiling,
constraining their necks with rope and kicking out a chair from under them, hanging
themselves and leaving such a dissatisfactory stench behind.

Jungkook gives them clothes to wear. He doesn't have a very extensive wardrobe — mainly
made up of boxing shorts and casual attire. He sticks to the shorts, and, having never cared
for pyjamas, both the other men wear them as well, though, Taehyung pairs his with a shirt,
and Jimin, one of Jungkook's athletic vests.
It must be nearly a new day by the time they settle on the bed. Taehyung's in the middle, head
shoved between pillows; Jimin's sat up, one leg folded, smoking; Jungkook lies on his side,
facing away from them, facing the window that gives him nothing but the brick wall of the
next building.

"This is weird." He mumbles, organs seeming to fizzle at the admittance — it's as if every
single aspect of him wasn't at all adjusted to this scenario: curled up in his own dingy
bedroom with a vampire and a witch.

Jimin clicks his tongue. "Only because you find it to be so."

It's silent for another moment.

Taehyung sighs out exaggeratedly.

Jungkook's back teeth slam together. "Where'd Jun take the— uh, Uram?"

Jun had come in a few minutes after Ara had left and, in silence, he'd slung the corpse over
his shoulder, bringing him away from humanity. As usual, he hadn't spoken a word.

"A morgue." Jimin says, promises. He says it so causal, amidst a breath of smoke, so it sits
repugnantly amongst them, and Jungkook thinks he doesn't really want to process the events
of the night. In some strange way, they seem so far beyond him now, as if stretched out
beyond his wildest dreams, beyond his reach. Beyond. Everything is beyond and beneath him
and he hasn't the ability to take it for himself. He doesn't want it; he doesn't want to accept
what happened.

Sure, Uram had lied, and deceived and had been blatantly working for the enemy; but, when
ends meet means, he did nothing but stick to the jutting edges of his moral compass. He did
what he thought was right, what he thought was best, and Jungkook thinks he deserved a
chance to live out a life that wasn't so heavily indulged in deceit. He deserved to see his
family again, to reignite a new purpose, a new sense of belonging. He didn't deserve to have
wasted an entire lifetime.

Jungkook almost feels like crying, when he feels a tender scratching of fingernails at his bare
waist. They're blunt and warm as blood, so must be Taehyung's. He's gentle in the way he
manoeuvres them, scraping them down the boxer's skin, divulging little spates of
compassion. Slowly, Taehyung turns, and Jungkook can feel the eddying of breaths against
him, falling out in a serrated manner, and colouring his skin in the sawtoothed tones of
magic.

His palm presses to the man's waist, and his face tucks against his neck. Jungkook can feel
the prickle of his eyelashes, and the pressure of his nose. His face is warm and heavy, and it
feels so nice, tucked against him. It's like a hug, only, it feels much more; it's like intimacy
incarnate; intimacy in it's most pure, rigorous format.

Then there's a cold hand at the waistband of his shorts, and it's certainly not Taehyung who's
pressing such sharp dents to the hard skin of his stomach. No, Taehyung is small and lithe
and is pressed so close to him, they almost press together, like two melded blobs of metal,
burned into a state of unity through all their torrid prowess. They're so close to each other,
Jimin's arm can easily wrap around Taehyung and reach Jungkook.

Jungkook's own breaths pick up, and none of them say a word. Jimin's fingers scratch lazily
at the thick wisps of dark hair that serve as a prelude to the boxer's most private of parts.
Jungkook bites his lip, and Taehyung curls himself further against his back; he's so fucking
hot against him.

It's like larva is pooling down his back, and it's so intense, it almost makes him jolt when the
frozen icicle of Jimin's hand suddenly slips down further.

His red, hot body seems to freeze over in the most wonderful of ways, and he feels all those
white flowers, posing as snowflakes, as they start to crisper all along the edges of the room,
of his soul. Licking at his chapped bottom lip, he tries to not make a single sound, as Jimin's
hand drips further and further into his underwear. His palm is flat as it descends down his
length, and it's cold in the most sensual of ways; it's a shock to the system that does nothing
but heighten Jungkook's senses, boosting him into a state of arousal.

And, yet, he feels there's more to it than that.

It's not just arousal he feels unfurling in his loins as Taehyung kisses fire against his neck; it's
not just sexual desire he bubbles away into as Jimin wraps his fingers around him and begins
to pump his fist up and down.

No, it's so much more.

It's more intimate than a mere act of sexual pleasure — such a thing can be done by any old
person, can be fulfilled by random girls in petticoats and fields; but, this, this aromatic, carnal
unravelling of quiescent emotion can do nothing but fuel a covert unreeling of true, chaste
devotion.

It supplements connection; Jungkook pants his breaths out toward the window, and Taehyung
cries into his shoulder, as Jimin pumps Jungkook till he cums, and bites the blonde till he
whimpers. He pulls blood from him, but only a minuscule amount, just enough to convey the
fact he's alive.

The undead creature pulls at them till they both disperse some signifier of life.

&&&
Ara's eyes are more skeptical than last night; having rid herself of that mind-consuming
exhaustion, she can now better survey the situation, the people she'd invited to stay in her
house, and the ability to sustain anger. She looks hard in the harsh brackets of early morning
sunshine, her face beautiful despite the atrocities of her sleep-deprivation, with her mouth
pulled into a scowl.

"Since when do you cook breakfast?" She asks in a snap, at her brother, who's currently the
only person in the room. Jimin was still in bed, and Jungkook was as surprised by that fact as
one might be, but, he was seemingly fast asleep, keeping a protective hold over the lightly
drowsing witch. Taehyung had kept pressed against Jungkook all night, and so the boxer had
been forced to leave him lying on a pillow instead.

He blinks blearily at his sister. Unlike Jimin and Taehyung, the siblings weren't granted the
luxury of sleeping in, so early rises were normal for them. "Since I haven't eaten in two
days." He says back to her, mindlessly continuing his frying of an egg.

Her tongue pokes the side of her cheek, and she narrows her eyes to slits. "What've you been
doing, Jungkook?" She asks, and despite her rough expression, she sounds nothing short
of fed up.

The younger has to stop himself from grovelling at her feet and begging for forgiveness. He
settles for merely turning to her, slipping his egg onto a plate with fried tomatoes. He places
it in front of her. "I'm sorry." He nudges it in her direction. She looks down at it as if it has
teeth. He sighs, "I know we swore we'd never keep secrets from each other, that we'd always
discuss important matters." She says nothing, just stares at the egg, sunny side up. "I feel as if
I've said sorry so much these past few days it's lost meaning. But, I genuinely feel so bad
about how awful I've been to you."

"Yeah." She tuts out, giving into her hunger and shamelessly jabbing a fork into the egg.
"You know, I don't even care about that anymore. I made my peace with the fact we didn't
need to know everything about each other as soon as I found out you were working with
gangsters." Jungkook bites his lip at the reminder, and the notion of it almost feels like
another world away. It doesn't quite fit his current situation, almost like it's way, way beyond
it. "I'm angry because you put our sister in danger, Jungkook."

The man stills a little, and his tongue runs over his calloused lips. "I know. That's something
I'm going to have to live with—"

"It's something I'm gonna have to live with as well." She interjects, with a choking slur of
feeling. "I mean, shit, do you know how scary that was for me? To try and collect her from
school, only to find another man had already taken her? A man claiming to be her father, of
all things." She scoffs crudely at the idea. "And then, I don't hear a fucking peep from you,
Kook. I get home and you're not here. I have no way of reaching you. I search the streets
looking for you, for any sign. I had no idea what to do." She bites down on the metal fork.
"Fuck, I went to the police and they did nothing, said they couldn't until forty eight hours had
passed. So, I wandered around all night looking for something. Anything. Do you know how
fucking hard that was?"
Jungkook feels like crying again and he thinks he needs to call in a plumber to undo whatever
it is that had broken the faucet in his tear duct. "I'm sorry, Ara, I never meant—"

"Why?" She interrupts him again, still chewing down her egg, and then she clarifies, "why
did they take her? I mean, who took her?" She jabs her fork into the tomato and the watery,
red juice spurts across her hand. "Fuck, I was so messed up last night, I couldn't even think
about it."

Jungkook nods at her, in a state of complete understanding. Then, with a hefty twinge of
guilt, he tells her the truth, "she was taken by a rival gang, as... as a way of getting to Jimin
—" He stops as he sees the rage beginning to redden her visage. He amends it, barely, tries to
cling to her sense of understanding, as he says, "Jimin swore to protect our family, and he
did. He always will, Ara. I know it sounds bad—" He pauses again, "but, she's unscathed,
isn't she? She's got tough skin."

She chews dismally on her food and suddenly it starts to taste less like lovely, free-range,
organic egg, and a lot more like blood and guts. "Sure, ok, she came out of this unharmed.
She happened to be kidnapped by some very soft pricks. But, shit, what about next time?
What about when it's someone worse, who also knows of how easy it is to get to meet up
with Park Jimin in the flesh?"

"There's not going to be a next time." He tells her, and he's so adamant in it. "Firstly,
because I'm never gonna let it happen." The resolve he shows is so promising, Ara almost
believes it. "And, secondly, because the rival gang was dissolved last night. We.. got rid of
the leader, and, without him, the whole operation falls apart. Jimin's gang's on top now.
There's no one who can beat him."

Ara's eyes are wide as she stares at her brother, almost like she doesn't recognise him. "Listen
to you. All this talk of gang wars as if the casualty of violence means nothing to you. You
seem to forget how hard we fought to get away from that kind of thing."

Jungkook suddenly recalls what Plexus had said to him; it comes back to him in a burst of
reality, just exactly what the man had managed to find out. He knew things about their family,
about their father. He knew. And, if that's the case, that means the information is still afloat,
still able to be dug up.

He shakes away the thought. "It's different. Seriously, I can't even begin to describe how
different, but, the kind of violence with them is—"

"Oh, that's another thing that warrants an explanation." She cuts in, again, and she's actually
surprised Jungkook hasn't gotten annoyed by it yet. "Them." She says, referring to the two
people in Jungkook's room. "What exactly is going on there? 'Cause, I'm no expert, but I
don't think it's common for a gang leader and his partner to spend the night in a member's
apartment, all in one, cozy, little bed."

Jungkook feels sickened by the way in which she chooses to interpret events, and, with
twitching hands, he starts to make his own breakfast — he wasn't lying about having not
eaten. "You're the one who invited them." He reminds, trying, futilely, to shift the
conversation away from the inevitable.
"Don't lie to me. You told me you were going to tell me everything."

Cracking an egg into the pan, Jungkook can't help but gulp. "Okay, well, it's.. it's kind of hard
to... uh, define."

"Please," She clicks her tongue — a warm gesture in some regard. "Your relationship isn't at
all bound to business. Is it?"

He stills entirely at the mention of the word business, remembering it being used last night
and he almost fears she could've overheard them. It wasn't exactly farfetched, the place was
tiny. Still, he tries to remain calm and tries to stick to the topic at hand. But, as he adheres
himself with the topic, any ounce of calm bleeds out of him anyway. He doesn't think he's
ready to say anything to his sister; he barely knows himself.

But, then the question comes, "Jungkook," She says his name so softly, so differently to the
tone she'd been using before. Air melts beneath the saccharine nature of it, like candy floss to
a liquid tongue. "Do you like men?"

And it doesn't smash into him as he'd expected.

He thought the idea of it being spoken aloud to him would have terrified him, he thought it
would have even angered him. Alas, all he feels is a strange wave of peace. The oceans
stroke the tides and he understands himself, in that moment, he seems to get it.

"Yes." He tells her, but he doesn't think, despite the liberty he feels in saying it, he doesn't
think he can look her in the eye. "I like men. But— specifically, I like them."

His egg is starting to spit oil at him, so he hastily removes it from the pan and slips it onto a
plate. He didn't realise his hands were shaking.

Her hand is on his. His new hand. He feels it. He hasn't felt anything in that hand since Uram
had driven a stake through it. But he feels the pulse of her veins against his, and it feels so
soft and human.

They make eye contact and she says, "I love you." And he makes an expression almost like
grimace, but is intended as a smile. "No matter what, I always will, okay?"

He doesn't think he's ever felt so content.

Despite the fact his life was literally falling apart before his eyes, he can't help but feel
content.

"But," She continues, tensely, drawing her eyes from his hand, to his face again. "You don't
like men."

Jungkook feels something harsh suddenly scraping against the insides of his throat. "What?"
He replies, and his sister watches the marshy trickles of hurt as they thunder down his face.

She resists the urge to crumple, bites at her lip in reservation. "You don't like men." She
repeats, caustic, and she tries as hard as she can to ensure her voice doesn't crack as it longs
to. "It's just a — perversion."

"A perversion?" He repeats again, and his tone is dismal, as he searches the woman's face for
any signs of uncertainty.

"I've seen it many a-time, Jungkook," She tells him, referencing her previous job. "Many men
in my old job searching for it," Her breaths are harsh. "I told you before, everyone has their
own fetishes." Jungkook gulps painfully. "That's all it is. A fetish."

"No it's not." Jungkook tries.

"It is." She persists. "You can achieve sexual gratification through such a desire. But that's it."
Her lips are completely dry and her eyes are stealing all the moisture from her body, making
them a watery mess. "Romantic love can only be shared between a man and a woman."

Jungkook pulls away from her, lurches his entire body backward, as a dark cloud of thunder
slides over his head. "That's not true."

Ara's smile is pathetic and she shakes her head with it. "It is, Jungkook. Just as that Taehyung
dresses up as he does — it's not a pastime that begs to see the light. It is abstract. It's merely a
deep secret, forever reserved to be clandestine."

"No," Jungkook shakes his head, tells her, "you're wrong."

She shakes her head, but, despite herself, she somewhat feels like it's a lie. She's missed this
side of her brother so dearly; he used to be happy often, used to be happy to make her happy,
but, until recently, he's been nothing but cold. He's never been so vehement about something.
Not in a long time. One could blame it on the war — most did come back with new outlooks,
and some were a lot worse — but, she blames it on her dad. She blames everything on him
these days.

She exhales. "I'm sorry, but I'm not. It's just a— repercussion of dad's actions. Most fetishes
come from childhood." She bites her lip, and forces herself to say, "how he would act with
those women, what he'd do, not caring if we saw— it has effected both of us in our
adulthood. This is just how—"

"You're making me sick." He interjects, "This has nothing to do with dad." His teeth grit,
discomfort emerging at the memories he'd tried to keep down for so long. "These are true
feelings."

Her face is sorrowful but resolute. "They are feelings that can be explored quietly, but are no
less deserving of their silence—"

"No. They don't deserve to be silenced." He suddenly snaps, and gratuitously leans himself
over her, in a way that shall force her to listen. "Just because society deems it to be so, it does
not mean they are not fully formed emotions inside of me, Ara. They're not simply fleeting
feelings of desire. It's a finely spindled endearment that lives inside of me."

"You're inexperienced—" She tries.

He scoffs at her, interrupts. He pushes her to the side, and her hip sharply bangs against the
counter. He marches away from her in a huff of violence. "Experience in romance has
nothing to do with the strength of the emotion I find myself with."

He finds he can't bring himself to be swarmed with her negative outlook for much longer, so
he bursts away from her, reeling himself toward his bedroom.

She watches him, and she can't help but bite her lip in anticipation.

Jungkook stops in place as soon as he opens the door. "What's she doing in here?" He frowns,
and Ara, interest peaked, moves a little so she can see over his shoulder.

She can't help but be rather surprised by the picture: Park Jimin is sat cross-legged on the
bed, in Jungkook's shorts and vest, pale muscles on display. Taehyung is lying on his side,
head propped up by his elbow, a picture book between him and Hanai, who sits on the other
side, cross-legged like Jimin, listening to him read to her.

"TaeTae is reading a story." She informs them, looking expectantly at the blonde.

"Is he now?" Jungkook raises a brow, completely stunned by the scene. He hadn't had time to
stop and think about the fact his sister had been left alone with the witch for a long while. He
only recalled the fact Taehyung was the incarnation of sex appeal, making it surprising that
he was also so good with children.

"Minnie is being the dragon." She says then, and Jimin grins up at Jungkook, like he's teasing
him.

Jungkook feels disgusted and he's not sure why; the image was just so entirely domestic;
wholesome; grotesque.

"Where'd you get that tiara?" Ara suddenly questions her, having not really payed much
attention to it last night, but the object was now gleaming at her in the sullen grey of the
bedroom.

Hanai looks sheepishly toward Taehyung, and he gives her a smile of reassurance. "Tae can
do magic." She blurts out.

Ara scoffs. But, no one else laughs, and she thinks back to the previous night, about what
Jungkook had said about Taehyung, about how he could regrow tissues, and no one had
laughed then either. She thinks, for the first time in months, about Jung Hoseok.

Her pause in reality is only squandered by the fact Jimin is suddenly right in front of her,
standing just slightly taller, with his pink hair meticulous and his eyes warm, despite the
sharpness of his face. There's something intense and cold about him, despite the fact he
radiates charm. "We didn't get formerly acquainted last night." He says, grinning in a manner
that can be described as nothing other than gentlemanly. "Park Jimin." He holds out his hand.

With a barely visible reluctance, Ara takes it, and she feels how cold it is instantly. "Jeon
Ara." She responds, looking directly into his eye, which he narrows a little, as if inquisitive of
her, as if trying to get her to question him. "I have to..." She pulls her hand away and, in a
flurry of understanding she turns to her brother, tells him, "I have to get Hanai to school.
Come on, princess." She says. The girl resists until she catches sight of her sister's
infamously terrifying looks.

She follows her out the door, with a 'thank you' to Taehyung and Jimin, and the woman pulls
her out the house, still in her pyjamas, ignoring Jungkook's yell of, "it's Saturday!"

"Did I do something?" Jimin asks him as soon as the pair are out. Jungkook is actually
surprised by how genuinely despondent he seems in not being accepted by Ara.

"No." Jungkook says.

"I think she's realising you're not human." Taehyung says, simply, as he sits up on the bed, the
storybook still laid out before him.

Jungkook frowns at him. "That doesn't seem likely. You only said hello."

The blonde shakes his head. "You underestimate her. That girl is brilliant, I tell you. She
doesn't take weeks to figure out the obvious things like her silly little brother."

The black-haired man shakes his head, huffing, though he's not entirely sure what she'd do if
she figured it out. Perhaps she'd take the same stance as Uram — to blame Jungkook's
feelings on their supernatural allure. Something so sad spreads through him, hollowing
himself out. Shaking the thoughts away, he suddenly asks, "anyway, what was this whole
display about? Since when were you two such kid-lovers?"

"She just came in and asked us to read it." Jimin shrugs, but his tone is slightly stifled, and
Jungkook quizzically follows his anxious gaze toward Taehyung. Taehyung is frozen in
place, almost as if he's unsure what to make of the question. "Tae?" Jimin takes a step closer
to him, causing him to snap his head up.

He gives them both a strange sort of look, then draws his attention to the book in front of him
— it's tattered and the once bright colours of the pictures are starting to fade. It's a story about
a toy shop, and old rag dolls, a story for the poor. "I used to read this book." He smiles, and
the idea of sadness is so prevalent in his line of speech, it's almost appalling. Jimin seems to
understand, and Jungkook frowns. Taehyung's eye flicker up and softly he says, "it was my
brother's favourite."

Jungkook opens his mouth, gaping like a fish, and he realises what Jimin had said yesterday
was completely true, he doesn't know anything about Taehyung. He's only ever known what
Taehyung had wanted him to.

It's both marvellous and unnerving.

&&&

Jimin is hesitant to accept the offer to Chung Uram's funeral. Despite the fact Uram's siblings
had been the ones to personally invite him, he felt it would be inappropriate to attend a
memorial service of a person who's parents he'd killed. But, Jungkook asks him to come. So,
he does.

The day is distinctly ordinary; the sky blue, royal tones, deep as the core of the earth. Their
expensive shoes squish down all that earth, crunching down the bones and coffins,
magnetically clutching various scrapings of mud and prying off mother nature's skin. Their
feet graze over skeletons, a continuous thrum of endless life pulsating beneath them,
clustered together in ripe, red fruits of viability.

Jungkook's wearing one of Jimin's long, black coats, and he sports Taehyung's sleek, leather
shoes, and he's so dark in integument, he feels as if studded within the hard shell of a beetle.
There's a light breeze following him, sending coarse whispers through the trees that line the
graveyard. The trees seem to look over them, thick trunks twisted, and overhanging leaves
drooling out across the pathway, like they're imbued with the remnants of the people buried
here — reincarnations of tired souls.

"We therefore commit this body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in
sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life." The priest says into the quiet.

They watch men in black lower the coffin, white flowers sitting in bundles in the centre of
the finely polished wood. The smell of earth is wet, and it festers like fresh birth in the air, all
green and dew-drenched, like cut grass. Uram's sisters take handfuls of it and crumple it
between their fingers, amidst their fingernails, turning the soil within themselves, before
dropping it onto the coffin. His brother does the same. They all feel the brown harrowing
anchor of life between their fingerprints, and let it rest eternally upon their lost brother's
bones.

None of them cry, though. None of them give speeches. It is only the priest who speaks, and
so, everyone else feels out of place to say anything.

Park Hojin and Yang Yepa, Uram's partners in crime, who Jungkook supposes must also have
been working for Plexus, stand out near the front, with ashen faces and solemn stares.

Jungkook's near the back, keeping a respectful distance from the body he accepts
responsibility for. Taehyung and Jimin are next to him, and they look so beautiful beneath the
curve of the sun, with their skin so normal and grey-tinged, with eyes dark and somber, and
red lips that downturn in accordance with human emotion. Taehyung sniffles a few times, and
his hand is holding Jungkook's. His eyes redden, like he's trying not to cry.

Jungkook stares out at the grave in front of them, and the cold air is surprisingly tender
against his cheek. That is, until it suddenly becomes biting, when Yang Yepa turns her head
to face him. She looks serious as always, and her hair is meticulously scraped back, cheeks
concave, with eyes that look so sad. Anger fizzles through them, as usual, but it's minuscule
in comparison to the swelling of tears that form there.

He has an urge to reach out to her, to go and speak with her, to give and get answers. As
people start to walk around and offer respects, he almost does.

But she's still rooted in place, with Hojin crumpled at her side, and her eyes flicker to
Taehyung and Jimin, who hold Jungkook to them, wrapping him in some sense of
compassion. Her eyes are pale and soft. Then, her lips slowly, assuredly, turn up into a smile.

She smiles and shakes her head. And that's the last time Jungkook ever sees her.

She disappears into the crowd of black swans, all with curving feathers and arched brows,
frowning as best they can, weaving in and out of each other, and shaking hands.

The trio stay at the back, and wait for Jungkook to have his moment. They expect to get
through the service in an isolated silence, hope to remain out of the eye of the rest of the
mourners. Alas, such a task is near enough impossible when you're Park Jimin and Kim
Taehyung.

"Thank you for coming, Mr Park." A dry voice says, and it seems only Jimin had seen him
coming, as he turns and smiles cordially.

"Wanted to pay my respects." He replies, sounding earnest.

Taehyung lets go of Jungkook, too, as if remembering they're in public, sensing the person's
calculated eye trailing over their interlocked hands, and it's painful to imagine the sober seas
of reality starting to inundate them.

"You must be Jungkook." The man says, and Jungkook can already tell he's Uram's brother
from the warm grip of his handshake. "Chung Kyuha." He introduces himself, despite the fact
it was incredibly unnecessary. His face is slightly older than his brother's and Jungkook
imagines, should Uram have lived to see such an age, he would perhaps have the same
snagged skin and thick nose. His eyes are a deep brown, so lurid and clear compared to
Uram, and his face is slightly softer, rounder, with thicker brows, and smaller features. He's
like a slightly distorted version of the man Jungkook once knew.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Jungkook tells him, but he can't bring his tone to be as warm and
puffy as he'd like it to be, so it's dense and writhing with something unsatisfactory.

Kyuha shrugs his sharp shoulders, and, with a sodden smile, says, "thank you. But, well, I'm
sure it is your loss more than mine." Jungkook feels a gulp fall down his throat. "I have long
thought him dead. If anything, this feels like a consolidation of my prior understanding. To
me, this is simply putting to rest a mystery I was too scared to try and solve."

Jungkook chews on his words. He can feel them dispel out of the older man and onto his
tongue, melting down his gullet. Sagely, he gives a nod. Jimin speaks for him, says, "I hope
your life can go on in peace now."

Kyuha gives a frank smile. "Your's too." Then, he looks at Jungkook, meaningfully, just
brimming with purpose. "I don't blame you." He tells him, and Jungkook feels his heart rate
speed up, feels it start to bob up and down in his ribs. "My brother was always righteous,
even as kids, and, to know he died protecting someone he cared for, well, it's better than I had
first assumed."

The boxer's throat constricts and he feels as if his tongue is nailed to the roof of his mouth,
like he can't say anything at all. His head nods, and he can't help but wonder what exactly it is
that this man knows. Jimin's serpentine-spilt spiel serves to convey he knew everything, as
the vampire says, "I believe at the end of the day he got what he wanted."

Kyuha smiles faintly. "Well," He runs his large fingers along the lapels of his jacket. "It
seems like the debt's repaid." Jimin's eyes flash. The man continues, in a tone that's almost
inconceivable, "you did lose something you cared for in order to get him sight and, now,
he saved someone you cared for in return."

Jungkook grasps his tie. "You know about it all?"

With a tender sort of swallow, the older man nods and says, "of course. I mean, it would be
hard not to place things together when the man I see before me now looks the exact same as
he did thirty years ago." There's a glimmer of humour there, and it sounds almost like Uram.

Jimin smiles back at him.

"It would also be hard to imagine the strange benefactor who kept an eye on us all these years
wouldn't have had anything to do with our dead parents and long lost little brother." A cool,
soothing voice echoes around them, and they all look up, espying two women who look as if
they were perhaps once of the dizygotic nature, but seem to have fizzled out into the
silhouettes of their own person. "Chung Gi." The one with pink lipstick stretched across her
chapped lips says, holding out a gloved hand.

The other wears a thin veil over her face, and the same kind of glove on her hand. "Chung
Hyo." She says in a voice that's deeper than the other's, raspy, like smoke was clogging up
her lungs. Jungkook, Jimin and Taehyung take turns in shaking their hands.

Gi smiles, and her eyelashes splash prettily against her warm, tan skin, as she withdraws her
hand and says, "it's nice to see you again, Mr Park."

Jimin smiles at her. "You too."

Jungkook realises in that moment that Taehyung had been right about what he'd told him
outside the tailors: Jimin did feel guilty when he killed. It was evidently enough to make him
keep a somewhat active role in the lives of the kid's who's parents he'd killed. Jungkook
doesn't know that it's all that much consolation, but the siblings seem to like him well
enough.

"It really is a relief," Hyo mumbles from beneath her veil, and she says, so softly it almost
overweighs the gruffness of her tone, "to know his soul will now be at peace."

"At first I'd wished you would've got a witch to help him out like last time, Mr Park." Gi
says, looking directly at the man, then at Taehyung, with a knowing look in her eye. "Or, I
thought perhaps you would've turned him before it was too late."

Jimin nods slowly, but it's Jungkook who says, "he wouldn't have wanted to be a vampire."

The sisters smile at him. Hyo tells him, "it would've been his worst nightmare."

Then, Gi, "he'll be in the loving embrace of death now." And she smiles back toward Jimin.
"Mr Park always told us there was nothing more forgiving than death."

They leave in a flutter of chrysanthemum and hyacinth, all good intentions and not an ounce
of bad blood pulsing through their bodies.

The trio stay until everyone else has left to the wake. Neither Jimin nor Taehyung say
anything about time or wanting to leave, and they remain in place, watching Jungkook, as he
watches the last person leave through the gate.

As soon as they're alone in the graveyard, he releases a sigh, and he turns to them, both of
them watching him, seeming willing to follow whatever he wants. "Is there really such a
thing as Resurrection into eternal life?" He inquires, the words of the priest still brewing in
his mind.

Jimin raises an eyebrow, hands stuffed into the pockets of his long coat, pink hair lightly
tussled by the wind. Jungkook still finds it weird to see him in sunlight, to see him exist so
easily amongst mortals; he thinks he gets it now though, looking at the soft edges of him, of
the sun-scorched twinkle in his eye, the slightly more visible hairs of his eyebrows: Jimin is
not weak in the light, but, merely stronger at night. By that, Jungkook comes to think, Jimin
looks more human in the sunshine.

"Are you asking if there's an afterlife?" Jimin asks back, tone mellifluous.

Jungkook shrugs. "I suppose."

The pink-haired vampire sniffs, eyes trail down to the ground, watching the mud beneath his
feet. He says, "I don't know."

"You don't?" Jungkook almost pounces on him, the idea of Jimin not knowing something
being all too fantastical a notion, like it was completely beyond the realms of fathomability.

Taehyung's arms are in a cross formation, the left hand pressed to his right hip, the right hand
to his left hip, like he's trying to keep all his bones together. He tells Jungkook, "Jimin's never
been."
The boxer furrows his brows. "Well, yeah, you're not— well, you are dead, but—"

"I'm not dead."

"Sorry, undead." Jungkook corrects himself, and the streams of zephyr gently flutter at his
hair that's getting rather long, slightly curled near the ends, as if crumpling into itself. "But
you said you were the spawn of the devil." The words should perhaps be a tad more
concerning to Jungkook. "Holy water ails you, and you're a creature that directly goes against
God."

"I thought you didn't believe in God." Jimin hums, nonchalantly.

"Funnily enough, my beliefs have changed quite drastically over the past few months."
Jungkook retorts.

Jimin rolls his eyes. He sniffs again. "Truth is, Jungkook, I have no clue whether or not God
is real. The power of the devil is something I do believe in." His fingers tap against
Taehyung's shoulder. "He holds some of it, I'm sure." He presses his lips together, then looks
Jungkook straight in the face. "I believe in power and I believe Satan has a great influence
over it." He presses his tongue to the back of his teeth. "But, whether or not Satan is a fallen
angel who rules over an underworld, collecting rotten souls — I'm yet to discover."

Jungkook frowns. "So, you believe in Satan? But, not God or an afterlife?"

The vampire glances up, toward the vapid fumes of the sun, that spritz across the day in a
modicum of broiling yellow, golden cascades of light and heat, twisted up into beams of
purity. "I believe that whether or not such entities exist, enough people believe them to, and
therefore they're granted some level of existence no matter what." He smiles back down at
Jungkook, says, "I don't think it matters much, either way." Inhaling, he adds, "whether or not
there is an afterlife, I certainly would not end up in the good one. And, well, neither would
either of you."

They all look at each other, in that graveyard, swarmed by the sun and the blue skies, and
they make their peace with it.

"Were you implying my magic has something to do with the devil, a second ago, Jim?"
Taehyung narrows his eyes, projecting his voice within the small gap of silence.

Jimin smiles sheepishly. "No." He lies.

"Don't put such lies in Jungkook's head." The blonde presses a hand to Jungkook's shoulder.
"It is merely something I was born with, Jungkook. I didn't sleep with the devil or anything."

The boxer's eyes widen cartoonishly. "I never thought that."

Taehyung's tongue clicks. "Very good." He pats the man beneath the chin and hums to
himself. "It was always the way though. Those accused with witchcraft were seen to have
gotten their abilities from being seduced by the devil."

"I didn't mean it like that." Jimin says, panicked.

The blonde scoffs at him. Jungkook asks, innocently, "how did you get them?"

Taehyung registers the question, then, he looks down at his thin, tanned fingers, long
stretches of gold, folded meticulously into slender sticks of ability. "Passed through my
family. Just as is the case with all witches."

"You mean... you can't learn it?"

Taehyung grins at him then, positively feline in nature. "Not to this extent. There are ways
though, but it takes years of practice and dedication." Jungkook nods his head, then,
Taehyung adds, teasingly, "why? You want to?"

The boxer just rolls his eyes. Truth echoes from the burning slaps of the sun, and Jungkook,
with a sudden burst of it, looks down at Uram's grave, freshly made, with dark soil spooled
all over it, so warm with the touch of human flesh. Softly, he says, "y'know, Uram always
said that vampire's were made to draw people in. He said witch's had spells that could do the
same. He said that's the only reason I..." He pauses, but he doesn't look away from the grave.
"That's the only reason I stayed."

Jimin keeps his hands inside his pockets, but Jungkook feels strangely like his digits are all
over him. Deftly, the vampire responds, "do you believe that?"

Jungkook sucks in a breath. "He also said it's the only reason for me to be attracted to... men."

Taehyung asks now, "and do you believe that?"

Jungkook looks back at them. "No."

Having grown tired of standing around, they all decide to leave the graveyard, with the green
trees and breathing vegetation aiding them in their descent toward the gates. A bird chirps
and distant wind-chimes flutter through the cold ambience that the sun establishes across the
area. There's still a slight breeze and it crispers their toes, makes their noses pink beneath the
harsh lights of the sun that cast them as pale deities.

"I've never been to a funeral before, you know." Jimin says, suddenly, changing the topic
completely, as they all start to walk down the path that grovels with gravel, out through the
looming gates.

"Me either." Jungkook replies, coarsely. "Do you just make a habit of not going to them?"

Jimin taps his long nail against the shiny glass of a watch on his wrist, then looks out at the
clear world before them, in the empty tracks of road, just outside emptiness of the yard. "I've
never had anyone who's funeral warranted my attendance." He grins, "most of my friends
can't die."

"Right." Jungkook nods, drags the word out, tugging languorously at each syllable.

Just then, a car begins to rumble down the road, black and stretched, so incongruous to the
soft harmony of the day. "He's loosing his edge." Jimin murmurs, as Jun brings the car around
for them, about forty seconds later than usual.
They all hop in and Jimin is in the middle for once, leaning forward, elbows on his thighs, as
he pries up paper, filing in tobacco, rolling it, pressing it together, drawing out a lighter, to
light the thing, placing it dolefully between his teeth. Jungkook takes the silence as
opportunity to divert his attention out the window, watching the blue skies and sunshine, as it
seems to clutch hold of the fluffy, white clouds, keeping them there to detract from the
smoothness of the aqua skyline, allowing them the ability to surge out before the world.

He's unsure where exactly they're driving, but he doesn't mind, as he just blindly follows
them through life.

"This is my seventeenth funeral." Taehyung says, mindlessly, letting the words unspool from
his mouth in sopping jumbles of thread. He's staring out the window, watching the world
tumble.

Up till now he'd been quieter than usual and Jungkook had taken subconscious notice, but, he
supposed, in being a witch who's particularly attuned to emotion, it wasn't that unreasonable
to believe he was simply drowned in empathetic sorrow. The news sits uneasily within all of
them.

"Was it too much for you?" Jimin asks him, practically purrs out the words in a gargling
bramble of despair, afraid to have made the other uncomfortable.

Taehyung sighs. "No, I wanted to come."

The words drift around the cramped space of the car and Jimin smokes while staring
incessantly at the blonde, who's watching the chemtrails interwoven in the pastoral sky.
Jungkook bites his lip and his thoughts seem to blossom in a way they never have before, a
new era of mindfulness inundating him, as he recalls all the important details of the pair.

Tentatively, he urges himself to say, "when we first met," He pauses for a moment, watches
Jimin's reaction, which is nothing but a terse nod. Avidly, he continues, "you said you were a
family man."

Taehyung grips the fabric of his trousers at his thighs. "I am." He whispers back. "My family
was everything to me." He chuckles, then looks back toward Jungkook with water-dripped
eyes. "I'm surprised you remember me saying that."

Jungkook gives him a sheepish shrug. He curses himself for how soft he's become, but he
can't help but reply, "family's everything to me too."

The blonde smiles tightly, like he's trying to stop himself bursting. Jimin taps at his cigarette
and looks Taehyung in the eye, a silent sort of communication fizzing between them. Then,
with a jut of his head, Jimin faces Jungkook and tells him, "Tae's family were killed by witch
hunters."

Jungkook's eyes widen and he curses himself internally for never having given much thought
into the background of the other. Jimin had been right, he had never even thought about it
properly, had never fully understood the idea that Taehyung was a person, who was birthed
 into the world kicking and screaming, just like him. He had a family and a life and he wasn't
just a puppet tethered to a sexually influenced string.

"It's always safer in a coven." Taehyung says, bitterly, looking down at his hands. "My pa
always believed that." He licks along his bottom teeth. "My old coven were part of a
travelling circus. Cirque de la Terre." He shakes his head, eyes dropping, shoulders too. "All
witches, of course, all performing with real magic — all kinds of tricks and stunts, with
bright colours draped across the skyline, and rhythmic music and dances that pounded against
your skin; everything there was like wildflowers, growing across the heath, with aromatic
smells of rich spices and blends of pure joy. There were acrobats who could bend themselves
in half, and persons who could morph their faces into ghouls, and people who could
communicate with animals, and, well, I even got my own fortune-telling tent." His voice is so
twinged with sadness and bitterness it physically aches to listen to. "Being on the move felt
safe, it felt like we were never gonna be anyone's target, 'cause they never knew where we
were going next."

Jungkook listens, completely rapt, as usual, as the blonde had such a remarkable story-telling
quality about him that made him so enthralling to listen to.

Taehyung tuts. "But, well, that obviously wasn't true. These hunters had been tracking us for
months, and, one night, I got a real bad feeling. I tried to tell them not to go to the show that
night, to just trust me." He's still looking at his hands. "But, they didn't listen." He bites his
lip. "I didn't want to go, but I couldn't just stay by myself and they all went... my mother,
father and brother, and the whole damn coven." He takes a short breath. "The lucky ones
were burned in the tent." He takes a longer breath. "Those of us who weren't so lucky, who
tried to make quick escapes, were caught and they kept us in a basement, tried cutting off
limbs to see the colour of our blood and the thickness of our souls." The doesn't look up, but
he does point toward Jungkook's hand. "That's where I learned to regrow them, you see?"

"Tae..." Jimin starts, but Taehyung shakes his head.

He's crying, and the tears fog up his vision, so he can't quite see the sadness that swells on
both other men. "My brother was seven. He was seven and they... fuck, the things they did—"

Jimin pulls the blonde to him, pulls his head to his chest, and whispers, "it's okay, you're
okay, baby, we're here."

Jungkook feels his own tears well up. To think, he almost sided with the hunters, the
torturers, the hell-hounds. He gently places his hand atop the one of Taehyung's that's on
Jimin's back, and Taehyung quickly turns it, snatches at the boxer's hand and clutches it tight.

His eyes move momentarily to the rear-view mirror and, in the blinking sun, Jun is smiling at
him.

Chapter End Notes

ok. a lot to unpack?
firstly, try not to be too hard on ara, this is the 1920s, and her view is mild compared to
what some were like back then and even now, and of course it comes from a lack of
education and a warped view on love and lust.
also i hope the insight into tae's life was interesting - the circus he was in was very very
briefly mentioned when he was reading atomy's fortune all those chapters ago! i hope
his character will start to make more sense to you.
thank you for sticking with me <3
 Chapter 24
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Taehyung's dances with a troupe of the prepossessing dead, all dipped in a lurid complexion;
limbs extend, and heels smash onto the stage in such a cacophonous melody. Their venereal
coalition ignites flames across the eyes of whomever dares look. It's a dance performed
within the blaze of trumpet roars, with movements so perfectly timed, it's almost as if the
instruments are engrained within them, all a part of each other.

When Taehyung steps off the stage, he's sweating, and he allows himself the luxury of tasting
it, drawing his tongue against the ridges of his lips, collecting salt.

"That was beautiful." Deiji comments, slipping past him, heading to her dressing room.

Livli, who had also been on stage, gives Taehyung a slap between the shoulder blades — her
sturdy way of assuring him her compliments. A man named Vaska, whose eyes are dark
green, speckled with white glitter, and whose lips are always a little blue, as if permanently
frost-bitten, gives Taehyung a grim smile, as he passes him, with an unsuspecting member of
the audience following him.

The blonde himself hadn't had to lure in strangers for so long, it almost saddens him to see
someone else still adopting the past-time. Still, he can't help but recall he really did enjoy it at
some point. But, today, in the aftermath of the storm, it feels a tad too habitual, and the
ritualistic practice made him feel as if he had barely moved on from where he'd started.

"The mayor's arrived." Yoongi says, almost as if he's irritated by the news. Taehyung hums at
him, sitting himself down by a table of props, still out in the hallway, with various persons
meandering by, in boas and pearls, with fluorescent smiles and devilish intentions.
"Apparently he has some big announcement."

The blonde scoffs. "I'm sure he does."

The older man's brow rises, and, almost kindly, he passes the younger the drink he was
holding — coloured dusky pink. "You sound as if you don't like him."

Taehyung laughs pitifully, but he accepts the offer of the drink and says, "I don't."

"I thought you loved those blood-suckers." Yoongi snips out, never resisiting getting in a little
jab when he can.

"Firstly, you drink blood too." Taehyung says, merry, and he's not lying; while witch's may
not need it to survive, blood is a grand mixer for ailing elixirs. It wasn't particularly seen as a
bad thing to indulge in the digestion of an animal's life force. "Secondly, you know I only
tolerate them." He sings. "Jimin is the only one I feel any sort of affinity for."
Yoongi doesn't bother to resist the urge to roll his eyes and the very action instills something
in the other. He recalls, in that dismal beat of a moment, exactly what he'd wanted to say, but
had never really gotten the opportunity to.

"I know why you hate him."

And the older of the witches suddenly seems to liven up, as if the conundrum of hatred was
something that sits so wonderfully beneath his skin. Taehyung somewhat believes that Min
Yoongi's magic is most fuelled by such an emotion — just as Taehyung's is desire, Deiji's is
surprise, Livli's is despair, Vasko's is hilarity — Min Yoongi's must be hatred.

"The first time you met him, before you knew me or any other vampire," He starts, coming to
his own conclusion, but wanting to have it affirmed. "You saw him sacrifice someone dear to
him."

Yoongi's face is distorted; his emotions are mere tumbleweed across a barren desert, and the
orange sands are beginning to swirl into something hot. "He told you that?"

Taehyung nods, slow. "Near enough." And he takes a long sip of the drink, knowing he
perhaps shouldn't so blindly accept a random glass of liquid, though, he must admit, if there's
someone he trusts the most in this world, perhaps even more than Jimin, it's Min Yoongi.

Said man is currently grating his teeth together, looking into the black paint upon the wall, as
if he'll find something redolent to an answer. Eventually, he says, "he didn't
sacrifice someone." He bites his lip. He looks the blonde straight in the eye, all deep and
resplendent, but positively rotten with live emotion, and he tells him, "he sacrificed himself."

Taehyung squints his eyes. "Himself?"

"I know it is something you cannot see. He blocks off certain memories from you, doesn't
he?" Taehyung's nod is weary. Yoongi tells him, "he came to my coven for help. All those
years ago. He came for help, to cure a child of blindness, so he could get connections from
the family." Chung Uram. "My people could do it and it happens that we wanted protection—
from the hunters." He turns purposefully to Taehyung. "You understand? Your people went
through it—" he stops himself and shakes his head, says, "he closed off his guilt, Taehyung.
My people asked him to kill the hunters. He did, torched them — men, women, children." He
licks the inside of his teeth, gulps. "He lost himself."

Taehyung rises suddenly. He can't listen to any more besmirching of Jimin's name, or of their
bond together. "We've all done things we regret."

"Have we?" Yoongi raises a brow, not trying to be cruel, but it's hard for him to do better.
"Something like that? Just for power?"

Taehyung wants to snap at him even more at the idea — though, he's got to admit, it's an idea
he hadn't actually thought of. Now, it runs rampant in his veins, brewing and bubbling as a
harsh insecurity. "Yes." He tells him, firm. "Don't act so high and mighty. You're entire
establishment is built on death." He barks, "this place— your life— it's all about killing."
Without any further words, the younger pushes his way out of the door, out into the open bar
of streaming larrikins and all their contemptuous sexual fever. It drizzles down foreheads in
cold sweats and lines the sheen of their eye; it's everywhere, in the smoke that pounds from
their lips as they talk, in the corners of the room where shadows lurch. Sexual fantasy is all
around them.

Taehyung sinks into it easily. He forces on an easy smile, and he follows the trail of haughty
smoke and bilious pink reveries.

Jimin is with Jungkook, of course, and Namjoon is twitching beside them. Taehyung sees
Hoseok by the bar, conversing congenially with Seokjin. The blonde slips over to the pair he
cares most about, and Jimin welcomes him with an arm around the waist.

There's a set of cards on the table, and they appear to be playing some sort of gambling game
— Jungkook against Namjoon, the latter preoccupied.

"Great job, sugar." Jimin tells the blonde, kissing the side of his neck.

Taehyung brushes off his animosity, gives him a small wink, and leans down a little to watch
the match. "You better not be using real money, Jeon. Namjoon scams people at any chance
he gets."

The mentioned vampire bares his teeth at Taehyung, to which the blonde chuckles. Jimin
places his palm flat on the table, a cigarette hanging between his teeth, and the area is so
dark, it's only the whites of his eyes and the whites of his denticles that are visible.

"Fuck's sake!" Namjoon cries out, slamming the rest of his cards to the table as, Taehyung
presumes, Jungkook won. "How the fuck are you so good at this? I didn't think you had the
critical thinking skills for a game as difficult as this — uh, no offence intended of course —
it's just, from mere observation alone, I've come to understand that you're exceedingly hot-
headed. That kind of irrationality is usually indicative of a lack of critical thinking; thus, who
can blame me for drawing my conclusion?" He continues on, finishing off by saying, "I just
mean, who would have thought that you're actually good at tactical thinking?"

"It's hard to survive without that." Jungkook tells him, trying not to gloat too much. But, in
truth, he was astoundingly good at thinking on his feet; he really wouldn't have gotten this far
without such an ability.

Namjoon slinks back in his seat. He doesn't even move an inch when Seokjin suddenly
appears beside them. His face glows pale as the stars, and just as hot and dangerous. "Tae!
Sweetheart," He kisses his tongue to the roof of his mouth and pulls the witch in for a hug,
inadvertently pulling him out of Jimin's grasp. "Oh, how glad I am to see you."

Taehyung frowns, giving the other a measly pat on the back in lieu of full on reciprocation.
"You are?"

Seokjin nods his head feverishly, and pulls back, gladdened by Jimin's vaguely possessive
glare. "Certainly. Come on, after that performance, I am truly spellbound by you." He cups
the blonde's tan cheek and gives him the fondest of looks. "Could just gobble you all up, you
know."

"I know you're doing it on purpose, but you should watch your hands." Jimin spits at him.

Seokjin releases an exasperated sigh. "Trust you to ruin the gleeful atmosphere of our
celebration." He releases the blonde, and Jimin folds his arms together. The mayor then
places his attention on Jungkook, placing both hands to his shoulders, massaging him
aimlessly, delicately. "And look at this tough guy. Lucifer knows you three make quite the
team." Jungkook is honestly unaware of whether Seokjin is using a figure of speech, or
whether Lucifer actually thinks that. "It's amazing how easily rivals can be stomped out with
the power of love."

"That's foul." Namjoon comments.

Seokjin shushes him, pulling his hands from Jungkook. "Oh, come on. It's such a beautiful
thing. And, now, I have my own announcement to give!" He pulls his hands up in an almost
predatory motion, or perhaps it's more Phantom of the Opera. "You're all invited to my
wedding."

Namjoon clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "No thanks."

"Don't be that way, Joonie." Jin tells him, as, despite the soft tone, it is underlined with
something like a command. "It's only temporary, after all. And, see, the thing is," He clears
his throat. "It's actually going to be rather soon, you know, we thought better get it over and
done with as soon as possible."

"Oh? And when shall it be?" Namjoon asks, still not entirely happy with the notion.

Seokjin smiles manically as he tells them, "the seventeenth."

Jimin and Taehyung both snap their eyes to him, harsh and hard. "Of December?" Jimin
inquires, his mouth opened and eyes sharpened like a gleaming, silver knife.

"Indeed." He smirks.

"Are you joking?" Jimin furrows his brows, anger pungent.

"What's wrong with that?" Jungkook frowns.

Jimin blinks at him, like he's about to shout, but, then he comes to realise that Jungkook
doesn't actually know. He flails around for a moment, fingers clawing and declawing, unsure
what to tell him. It's Taehyung he decides to admit the truth, "that's when I'm being turned."

Seokjin nods, evidently very knowledgable of it. "Mm, I thought I'd kill two birds with one
stone there, you see."

Jimin's eyes are ablaze, all putrid green and entangled with fermented yellow. "You can't do
that." He says, and his cigarette is bitten down on so hard, half of it falls to the floor, while
the other remains in his mouth and starts to stain his sharp teeth black. "You're supposed to
help." He lurches forward, ever closer to the golden grail of tearing Seokjin apart. "It's what
we agreed on."

The older vampire sighs. "Don't be dumb." He presses his fingers to Jimin's forehead,
pushing his face up and away from his own. "You can do it at the wedding. It's to be
a... grand celebration." His words seem to register somewhat with everyone except
Jungkook, who is completely lost. Jimin presses back against his fingers, pulls himself
further in. To which, Seokjin grins, lips spread, eyes amused, teeth flashing, and he purrs out,
"don't be so dull, Jimin. You only live once."

Jimin takes Jungkook and Taehyung out of the lounge after that.

There's not so much as a goodbye, before he's whisking them away, out the building and into
the car that awaits them.

He's practically seething, and his hands are shaking as he comes to light another cigarette.
They're all crowded in the back, with Jungkook squeezed into the middle, his physical
position redolent of his mental one. He's extremely out of the loop and he's entirely unsure
what position he's meant to contort his body into in order to fit in it.

"Perhaps it's not that bad of a thing." Taehyung says, let's the words flutter like the wings of a
moth, sputtering dust across the tight space.

Jimin shakes his head. "He's such a foul, loathsome irritant." He says, staring out the window,
watching the steady spread of the night, as it remains in a position of permeance; forever
dark, forever star-peppered, forever there, even as they move so rapidly below it, the sky
stays up there, ever the same. "Fuck, I can't even believe I ever— I can't believe I ever trusted
a prick like that."

Taehyung sighs. "You're lying to him too." He murmurs.

It makes Jungkook feels worse, being stuck between them, with nowhere to look for himself,
and he feels as if he's in the middle of a feud.

"I mean, shit, can you imagine being that fucking conceited?" Jimin suddenly speaks again,
not seeming to have heard Taehyung, puffing relentlessly — Jungkook doesn't recall seeing
him so mad about something before, especially about something so petty (ignoring, of course,
any even minor remark concerning Bram Stoker). "I understand what he plans on doing, of
course, but, god, couldn't he have waited another day?"

Taehyung mumbles back, "his whole philosophy is different to yours, Jimin. He's been alive
so long, he doesn't care about anything but having a good time. Carpe diem, you know."

Jimin lets out an incredulous huff. "Well, it's a damn nuisance of a mindset."

There's only a slight pause, before Taehyung replies, in a tone of subdued pettiness, "you had
the same one when I first met you."
Jungkook tries not to laugh at the vampire's gasp. He whips his head around to face the
blonde, eyes bursting wide, mouth slightly parted. "You take that back! I am nothing like
that.. freak. Never have been, never will be."

Taehyung raises a brow. "You're basically destined to be like him."

"That's not how it works, honey." Jimin's tone is so deeply compelling and drenched in that
very substance — sickle and sweet as honey — Jungkook almost feels dizzy. "When I bite
you, you're not gonna turn out like me."

"No? Well, then I guess you already had the genetic vulnerability to be like him."

"Oh, now that's just—"

"Seokjin's the one who turned you?" Jungkook suddenly asks, blinking at them, turning his
head between them, trying to comprehend what they're talking about.

Jimin sticks one finger in front of his face. "One second, Jungkook — I mean, yes, he is —
but that's not the point right now. What is the point is that—"

"That actually makes sense." The boxer interrupts again, and he feels as if he's struck upon an
epiphany, feels the silver mist of it rolling over him and his entire soul.

Jimin raises an eyebrow at him. "Don't you dare try and tell me you think we share any sort
of similarity, Jeon Jungkook."

"Well.." The mentioned man presses his front teeth together and gives an almost sorrowful
expression.

"Oh, well that's just perfect." Jimin slinks away from the pair. "I can't believe you're both
siding against me, acting as if I'm anything like—"

"Isn't that why he turned you?" Taehyung interrupts, starting to enjoy the fact he has someone
else as leeway to win an argument with Jimin. "I've heard Namjoon say that Seokjin was
impressed by how vampire-like you were, even in a human state."

"You are on very thin ice right now, Kim." Jimin threatens, but no one in the car seems to
believe it.

"I feel like I'm wholeheartedly left out of something here." Jungkook tells them, if not to
alleviate the somewhat playful tension, but to actually try and uncover what exactly it was
they were so mad about.

Both of them look at him with a softness in their gaze, and then their eyes lock with each
other, and they come to the very same conclusion. Jimin is the one who informs him, "Tae
was meant to be turned on the seventeenth, as you may have gathered."

"Yes." Jungkook nods back slowly. "I take it that date is significant?"
Jimin bites his lip. Taehyung's tongue makes a strange wet sound, before he replies, "I'm a
witch." And Jungkook nods at him, as if he was being an idiot. "A witch won't turn into a
vampire as easily as a regular human. There's— it's more risky."

Jungkook narrows his eyes in thought, because, truthfully, he'd never cared to understand the
logistics of it. Vampirism and witchcraft were both concepts beyond him — that's not to say
he didn't wish to learn, he just didn't have the time until recently. "Because of your magic?"
He assumes.

Taehyung nods at him, encouraging. "Yes, you see, magic is a tricky thing to navigate. Unlike
what you may presume, it has absolutely no rules. There isn't a strict list of things that are
possible and things that aren't; unlike vampires, witches don't have a certain amount of
powers that they can perfect. I can do just about anything in the correct situation." He licks
along his bottom lip, readily giving up the information to Jungkook, who he clearly deems
completely trustworthy. "It's difficult for you to comprehend, because everything you know,
even if you don't really think about it, everything you know has some vague sense of purpose
or some rule over its existence. But magic? There's no such thing as rules. It's forever
changing and evolving, forever contradicting itself. And, well, none of it makes sense to
those who can't wield it."

Jungkook thinks he's well and truly tantalised. He realises what Jimin had said the other was
completely true; he never asked about Taehyung's magic, about being a witch, about how
Taehyung ended up where he is. He's never even had the urge. It's magic that had done that, it
has to be. Because, with that lacquer of indifference gone, Jungkook can think of nothing
more than wanting to heavily invest himself in every wavering aspect of the blonde.

"So, as I said, it's difficult for either of you to truly comprehend really. Even vampire's have
their bounds, and well, because of that, transitioning out of being a witch is... difficult." His
tongue slips between his back teeth, and both the men watch him collect his string of
thoughts, as he pulls at them like a crocus of saffron. "Also, I'm not leaving my witch-hood
behind." He looks back at them as he says, "I'm going to be both a witch and a vampire."

Jungkook had never thought properly about that either. It was obvious that when a human
was transformed, they left behind their humanity completely. But, well, it was a whole other
thing to want to keep some remnants of their past life when they suddenly switch.

"It's been attempted before." Jimin says, almost solemn. "There's been perhaps ten trials, and,
it's a very dangerous process. There's only one time it's been successful. And, well, that was
on one specific date."

Jungkook's head nods. "Why that date though?"

Jimin looks at Taehyung. Taehyung looks at Jimin.

"There's an old pagan roman festival..." Taehyung starts, and there's something almost like
guilty swelling at the press of his jaw.

Jungkook watches the way thoughts burrow in and out of the pair of them. He longs to soak
in them for eternity.
They look at each other, as if entirely contemplative of the facts that they've been concealing
since the moment they decided upon letting Jeon Jungkook amongst them.

"Saturnalia." Jimin says.

Jungkook blinks at him, eyelashes gorgeously pressing against the parlour of his skin, as he
takes in those nimble syllables. "Okay.." He yearns for them to elaborate.

Taehyung looks almost too tense as he endeavours to say, "you have always been so precious
to us, Jungkook." The boy senses something horrendous is to come. Taehyung tells him, with
a solemn tone of voice, "it is not the same now. But, well, traditionally, when the time of
Saturnalia is upon us, a Lord of Misrule is appointed."

"A lord of what?" He frowns, dread snagging at him more harshly.

Jimin continues for him, tender as he can be, "it is merely an symbol of upholding the
tradition, but, well, the Lord of Misrule, tends to be someone from a less well-off background
who, during the festivities, is given the opportunity to oversee them, and to hold some power
over those usually above him."

The one. The poor boy.

Jungkook gulps. "So... you've assigned me such a role?" He supposes.

They both nod at him, and Taehyung says, "it's merely a tradition, but we wanted to make
everything as perfect as possible to ensure things go to plan."

The boxer ponders for mere moments, glancing at them both, with their sheepish faces,
clouded over with something obscene. "So you wanted me simply because I'm poor?" He
pauses for a moment, as the cogs in his head churn and turn and spin out into a tizzy of heat,
and he asks suddenly, "is that why you tried your best to get me money? To change my
position? Because you deemed it necessary for my position in society to be flipped in order
for me to undertake the role?"

They look even more sheepish. But, Jimin coherently tells him, "for a haze of time, yes. But
you worked for your money, Jungkook, and, wouldn't you agree things are better off for
you?"

Jungkook's eyes go wide in a second and he quickly informs them, "oh, I'm not angry." As
the words Jimin was spinning seemed to be that of trying to coax him to calm. "I appreciate it
no matter the original intention behind it."

"You do?" Taehyung asks him, dripping with curiosity.

The dark-haired man tries his best to show them sincerity. "Yes. It was all I cared for at the
time anyway. It was mutually beneficial, as you say." Jimin seems rather impressed by how
calm the other is. "But," Jungkook adds, and they go a little tenser again. "If that's all there is
to it, if you only wanted me to fulfil a traditional role that did me good anyway, why do you
look so guilty?"
They look down. They look at the sky. And Taehyung looks Jungkook in the eye, as he tells
him, "it is not guilt, Jungkook." And Jimin seems to share the same sentiment, as they tell
him, "it is sadness."

&&&

Pae Dalrae has a girl against the wall when Taehyung first finds her. Her long, black waves of
hair coruscate against her back, as she bites her way into a stranger's soul. She's chewing up
the bones and blood of Konnie, a chestnut-imbued dancer, with coffee stained skin and a
curvaceous figure. Taehyung can hear her heartbeat before he even leaves his dressing room.

"Sorry to interrupt," He murmurs out, not having to waste time trying to identify the tall
woman bending herself over the smaller dancer. "But, we need her for the next routine."
Dalrae has such a thick aura about her, as if she's managed to collect the air for herself and
turned it wretched in all her imposing viscosity; she smells of lilac and there's something of
Versailles about her, with her satin skin and colourful grin, like she's on the verge of partying
for eternity.

She peels herself from Konnie with a sharp hissing sound, and the blushing witch is
disappointed, yet relieved. Her cheeks are rosy, Dalrae's, and her gaze is doused in lavender,
her entire essence is, as if it had been rubbed raw against her. A smile tickles at her red lips.
"Kim Taehyung." Her voice is like water, like little droplets of sweet sufferings.

"Salutations." He smiles back at her, as she clacks her bones to place, standing to attention,
and her heels creak against the floor, as she crosses the hallway to see him. They stand at
around the same height, but with her in heels, she towers over him.

She holds out her hand, and he gently rises to her request, pressing her rose petal skin to his
lips, like feet crushing against angelic white snow.

Her smile is radiant. Never-ending. Before he can release her hand, she grips his hard and
pulls it to her own mouth. Though, she doesn't kiss him, no, she dares to press the sharp edge
of her canine to his fingertip, lapping up a drop of blood. "Sugar sweet." She whispers to him.
Then, upon seeing his tension, she adds, "aw, don't be like that. We're practically family now,
handsome."

Taehyung forces a smile. "Indeed." And, in truth, he's not all that bothered by the fact she had
just drunk a droplet of his blood, no, he was more freaked out by the sudden recollection of
who she is and why she's here.

She and Seokjin are old vampires, not the first, but among them, and their lives have spanned
far longer than thousands of years; they've seen time itself, seen the golden streams of it
stretch on past their eyes, and they've seen death and desertion far worse than imaginable.
Once one reaches such a state, it's easy to imagine that meaning itself starts to lose meaning.
As Taehyung understands it, the pair of them have lived for so long, they grow bored with
meaning, and only seek pleasure. Only seek fun.

"I'm getting cold feet." Dalrae tells him, changing the subject, dancing around in
melodramatic fashion.

Taehyung clicks his tongue at her. "I'm surprised you even wanted to do this in the first
place."

She preens. "Well, it's been a while since I last had a wedding, after my last husband up and
left me, so, well, I figure it's time to move on."

Taehyung almost wants to laugh at that, as the notion of her ex-husband having left was a
joke; she had, at one point in her hundreds of lifetimes, made a habit of marrying men and
killing them. This union, between her and Seokjin, was certainly not going to end the same.

"You're here early. The ceremony's not for another week." Taehyung informs her, drily.

She sighs. "Mm, well, I wanted to show my face around Quellnex. It's been a while since I
was last allowed to be here — over a hundred years, I'd reckon."

"Truly? It's been that long?" Taehyung inquires thoughtlessly and the women coos at his
curious expression.

"Oh, I had forgotten what an adorable delight you were, Taehyung." She pinches roughly at
his cheek, and the blonde allows it because he fears he hasn't any other option. "God, I could
just eat you all up." She chuckles, but Taehyung doesn't doubt she would if she could.

They'd first met around six years ago, just after the war, and she'd been covering her face
with a black veil, making a show of weeping for a dead husband, who she didn't really have.
It hadn't been long since Taehyung had met Jimin, and the older man had informed him of the
women's deception. Taehyung couldn't deny how intrigued he'd been by her then, and he
continues to be so now.

He watches her as she takes him by the wrists and causally places his fingers to her forehead.
"Oh, do that genius thing where you dip into my future."
Giving her a soft smile, he infuses himself with his magic and he grabs a fistful of her mind,
tearing between the lines of the world. "I see the ultimate bliss in your near future." He says,
almost gasping to feel such a pulse of emotion.

"You do?" She inquires, her golden eyes firmly holding onto his, some manner of blood still
stained across her lips, as she licks them, staring down at the delectable witch before her. She
always had an eye for rarities. "Well, that is the plan, isn't it?"

Her head dips down a little, and she smells like cold air, smashed against her skin, tangled in
her hair.

Before she can do anything more, the door opens and a voice says, "ah, here you are Dalrae."
Comes Jimin's voice, sturdy as he can manage, as he looks on at the scene with a vague sense
of irritation.

She keeps her hold on Taehyung's wrists, but turns her eyes toward the newcomer. She drops
them upon seeing who he's with. "Oh, Jimin, who on earth is this?" She gasps, drifting
toward the pair.

Taehyung breathes out a sigh of relief.

"This is Jungkook." Jimin almost barks.

Dalrae is beside herself. She runs the back of her fingers against Jungkook's pale cheek, and
the boxer regards her with a gloomy, lifeless expression — one that makes him look
distinctly the same as he had done when he'd first met Jimin and Taehyung. The woman
seems overjoyed by it. "You certainly are a pretty thing." She purrs, and her long, black
fingernails are cold against him, canoodling her death with his pulp of life. "I'm Ms Pae. But
you may call me Dalrae."

"Pleasure to meet you." He tells her, but there's not a single syllable that sounds like he
means it.

Her tongue clicks in delight. "What a soft manner of speaking for such a hard outer shell."
She glimmers, lips sparkling in a way Jungkook's never seen before.

"Need I remind you you're to be married next week?" Jimin inquires darkly, fluttering his
eyes over her, aggressive.

"Oh." She pulls her hand away and Jungkook's shoulder relax. "He is one of yours?" She
supposes, lidded eyes turning to meet Jimin's. The man's dark look is enough for such a thing
to become known. She clicks her tongue again. "Alas, you haven't bitten him." A brow raises
in eternal judgment.

Jimin doesn't say anything, just keeps his steely eyes set on her.

With a tight scoff, she grins back at him. "I see. Pretty Park Jimin gets to keep his array of the
prettiest little things." She chuckles. "You know, I fear our dear Namjoon resented you for
that."
Jimin narrows his eyes. "I hardly doubt he resents me more than he does you."

Her smirk curls up her gorgeous face like wildfire, clambering itself across woodland,
reaping homes and habitats. Destroying worlds, seconds at a time. "I wouldn't be too sure."
She whispers.

And away she goes, disappearing out the door, in a puff of mystic glitter, on the search for
another easy prey, one who has not already been spoken for.

Jungkook brings his eyebrows together in an expression of neutralism. "So that's the woman
Seokjin is going to marry." He says, almost like he feels bad for the other vampire.

Jimin nods. "Nasty, little viper. Just like her husband-to-be." He whips his hair around with
the vicious shake of his head, lowly in his disapproval.

"She felt so..." Jungkook tries to think of the right word, but falls flat, relying on, "big."

Jimin nods, smiling shortly. "Indeed. She has lived for over a thousand years, you know. It
does something to one's aura, I'd presume — does something to their sense of ego." He draws
his tongue across his lips. "That, and she is able to get inside your head."

"Get inside your head?" The younger repeats, eyes blinking disastrously.

"Mm." The elder continues aimlessly, "she can read thoughts."

"I didn't know vampires could do that." Jungkook informs, blithely.

Jimin shrugs. "Not all can. Not all vampires are given, or can perfect the same powers. She
got lucky." He ticks his tongue. Then, with a ponderous head movement, he glances toward
where Taehyung is stood, looking down at his own feet. With a sudden swarm of guilt at not
having recognised his torn up position moments ago, he steps forward, belts out, "Taehyung?
Dear? What's the matter?"

Taehyung doesn't look up, but he moves his head a little, evidently having heard.

"Taehyung?" Jungkook repeats, and he follows Jimin, drawing himself closer to the older, as
if by some strange force of nature.

The blonde looks up at them, eyes wide with realisation. He scoffs, and shakes his head. "Oh,
nothing." Neither of them seem to believe him, but he smiles anyway, and he says, "let's get
going."

&&&
"Can I ask you something?"

It's a tad too quiet in Jungkook's apartment, the atmosphere uncertain. Park Jimin stands
before him, aimlessly washing up a plate that had been left on the side. Neither of them had
eaten from it, but Jimin found himself disliking the sight of it, left there, on the side, for it to
mould and rot all over.

So he takes the liberty of washing it up for them.

"Mhmm." He hums, softly, as Jungkook zips up his bag — his duffel that usually contained
his boxing gear, but, right now, was an overnight bag, ready for his stay. Taehyung had gone
off to the tailors with Hoseok in order to retrieve their suits for the 'wedding', and so, Jimin
had accompanied Jungkook back to his apartment, getting him ready for the events that were
yet to unfold.

Jungkook flounders with himself momentarily, before he allows himself to question, "why
haven't you bitten me?"

Jimin pauses, and, placing the plate to the side to dry, he gives the other his full attention.
With slightly narrowed eyes, and a solemn expression, he says, "I've told you before, haven't
I?" One of his brows raise. "I don't make the habit of drinking from people who don't want
me to." His tongue licks along his bottom lip, and he dries his hands on a dishcloth
nonchalantly, like he lived here. "Not anymore."

The boxer nods his head, as he does indeed recollect being told such a thing. Still, it's hard to
believe Jimin genuinely hadn't done it to him.

"What makes you ask?" Jimin inquires, though he evidently knows the answer, as he proves
when he adds. "Did Dalrae make you think about it?"

Jungkook nods. "I've been thinking a lot about that kind of thing recently. I mean, everyone
keeps saying we're yours — Taehyung and I, and, at first I didn't think much about it, but,
now, I'm not so certain I know the true meaning of it. I recall, a while ago, Uram had said to
me that you had the capabilities to enslave people, and I suppose I didn't listen to it so well
back then."

The vampire tucks his hands into the pockets of his trousers and leans himself casually
against the sink, and he truly does look like he belongs here, in the most outrageous way
possible. Jungkook thinks Jimin has the ability to fit in anywhere; he supposes perhaps it is
Jimin himself who bends the world to better fit him, makes everything more radiant with the
mere implication of his presence. He looks so gorgeous when surrounded by normal objects,
his startlingly sublime face seeming almost human in such a setting. And Jungkook feels as if
he can see the fibres of what it was that made Jimin such a fine human, can see the lingering
strings of kindness that tied together to create a beautiful boy who wanted to be a doctor
because he wanted to help people. He looks so good when bathed in the breadths of
domesticity, and Jungkook supposes he's in love.

"I have not enslaved either one of you." Jimin informs him, and he doesn't sound angry at all,
more amused. "I suppose what Uram must have been referring to was my compelling
powers?"

Jungkook shrugs. "I suppose." He recalls that being one of the first abnormalities he'd noticed
in the evidently inhuman Park Jimin. "Do all vampires have that capability?"

Jimin shakes his head. "No, it's as I said earlier, different vampires have different abilities.
So, I suppose my ability to force people into doing things they don't want to do, must make
me the prime example of someone who enslaves others."

The younger nods. Shrugs.

"Oh, or, I suppose," Jimin taps his finger to his chin in thought. "There is often the thought
that any person a vampire turns is automatically a belonging to them — a slave, I suppose.
Perhaps he saw Hoseok working for me and believed that to be the case."

"There's truth in that thought?" Jungkook guesses.

Jimin smiles. "Unfortunately. Particularly with the older crowd: Seokjin, for example, tried to
have me work for him for eternity. He's still trying."

"Seokjin wants you to work for him?"

"In a sense." The older smiles, says, "but, well, to answer your question more thoroughly,
vampires often do keep human pets." The word sounds vile as he says it. "Often a personal
blood bank, and, as such theres an archaic notion that certain mortal beings are the
belongings of those vampires." He sighs and shakes his head, still smiling despite the action.
"You must by now be aware that is not the case. Whilst I am protective over the both of you,
I don't see you as beneath me, nor like a pet."

"I understand that." Jungkook tells him and they share a smile that's as soft as it is deep. The
world pools around them, and the lights in the nightsky all seem to swarm them, as if
pointing their arrowed hands in their direction. Bright colours of the divine spirit flutter
across their minds, and create a bridge between them that only magical entities of love can
pass. They dance between them, in golden trinkets of devotion. "What do you see me as?"
Jungkook inquires softly.

Jimin's smile doesn't waver at all. "Sugar, you know I love you as dearly as I love him."

Jungkook's heart is full of blood. He feels it leaving such a succinct fullness within him.
"That's an awful lot." He replies. Jimin's hand is suddenly upon his face, a gentle caress of his
features, flickering his fingerprints all across him.

With a dip of Jungkook's neck, their lips are together and Jimin says to him, in an absence of
breath, "it certainly is." And their lips are nestled tightly in a kiss — something that Jungkook
hasn't felt in, oh, such a strenuous amount of time. It bounds across him now, slams his heart
to his chest, as Jimin lets their tongues slide together, compressing themselves within each
other, holding onto each so tightly, as if they're scared of slipping.

Jungkook's heart suddenly feels too full.

His blood seems like a barrier.

He gasps as he pulls himself away from Jimin, who was beginning to deepen the kiss.

The vampire blinks up at him, shocked by the sudden way in which their intimacy comes to
an end. His eyes are red, full of a slowly wilting desire, churning into concern. "What's
wrong?"

Jungkook catches his breaths as best he can, and, shuddering, he feels as if stuffed back into
the skin of his childhood self, staring up at a man who's capable of ruining his life. Back then,
it had been equally as terrifying — his father was so unpredictable, could hug you or hit you
on any occasion. And, staring up at Park Jimin, feels a lot like that. It's not at all because he's
scared of being hurt by the vampire, no, it's because he's scared of being hurt by the world
and it's unpredictable nature. However could he allow himself to dissolve so deeply into Park
Jimin and Kim Taehyung without thinking of the consequences?

He's reminded of the last conversation he'd had about love in this kitchen, with his sister, as
she'd crumpled his hopes right before his eyes.

"Jungkook?" He asks again, pressing his hand to the man's shoulder.

Jungkook relaxes into it, but, his tone is still taut as he says, "my sister reckons love can only
be felt between a man and a woman."

Jimin opens his mouth to retort.

Jungkook cuts in, "she suggested love between the same sex is merely a fetish. A sort of
desire that's distinctly for hiding."

"She's wrong." Jimin tells him.

"Is she though?" Jungkook counters. "I mean, you and I, we both know romance to be
possible between us, but, to society, to the rest of this world, it is an impossibility. She's right.
It's something that shall forever remain a hidden scandal."

Jimin's face softens entirely, melts like warm butter, as he takes in the others distraught
words. And, gently, he says back to him, "Jungkook, I'm two hundred and nine years old."
The other flares his nostrils at the reminder. Jimin chuckles, "I'm no longer human, and, as
part of such a privilege, I do not take in the world as simply as you do—" He immediately
continues, so the other can't refute, "I do not mean that in a bad way. But, the lens of my eye
can see the scope of the world in so much more depth. Being on the outside of it, I can see it
all. I mean, why do you think us vampires and witches are so much more liberal when it
comes to sexuality?"
Something hopeful blares inside Jungkook.

"It's because we do not depend so greatly on it. As I've told you before, it doesn't determine
one's character." He smiles, and Jungkook smiles back, remembering that exact question.
"In our world, it is a normality. A pretty simple one, at that."

"But my world is different." Jungkook informs him, in some sense of desperation.

Jimin nods at him, understanding. "But, it won't be that way forever."

"What do you mean?"

The vampire sighs, and he almost looks nervous to say what he says. "We can't be openly
together now, in this time period, but, someday in the future, perhaps a hundred years from
now, it shall be perfectly okay. Don't you think so?"

Jungkook blinks at him, the cogs in his brain turning, and his mouth becomes a little dry,
voice so quiet. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

Jimin nods at him, cheeks rosy with joy. "Taehyung and I both have been thinking the same
thing. We all want a life together, one that's not completely enshrouded with shadow. It's such
a beautiful idea, isn't it? All you could possibly want in life." His eyes are wild and glorious,
and he points them at Jungkook, solely on him. "Aren't you willing to wait?"

"You think I should—" He pauses, shakes his head into comprehension, "I mean— you want
me to turn?"

Jimin nods, intense and bloody. "I want my forever to be glorious, Jungkook. It wouldn't be
that without you."

Ara returns home, juggling groceries in one arm, a pile of books in another. Hanai is clinging
to the fabric of her coat, both their cheeks coloured with creamy buttons of red, bitten by the
frost of winter's harsh weather.

She struggles to get her keys from her bag, trying not to spill the mass amounts of material
possession against her bosom. Releasing a noise of discomfort, Hanai opts to ignore her, and
her eyes trail around the corridor of their apartment, aimlessly gripping at her sister.

Her eyes stop as soon as she makes out the half shadowed figure on the stairs, just up above
them, looking down on them, with eyes white like the snow that threatens to fall outside.

"Ra—" She whispers, and her voice is innocence, something that could easily be bottled up
and cherished.

"Not now." Ara says through gritted teeth, twisting her body awkwardly, still trying to grasp
at her key, desperate to just get inside and wrap herself away from the freezing cold.
"But, Ara—" Hanai tries again, and this time she tugs her, and Ara loses balance, and her
waist bends and her groceries fall to the floor, all spilling out of her bag dismally.

"Hanai, why would you—" She stops her own berating as soon as she looks up, and sees
what it is her sister was trying to get her to see. With a sense of travesty, Ara espies the
shadowed figure towering over the staircase, eyes flashing white, body completely still, just
stood there, watching.

Ara feels her heart rate speed up despite herself, as she squints as best she can, trying to
discern the features of the human at the top of those dilapidated old steps.

She suddenly takes one tiny creek of a step closer, then, with a shaky sigh, asks, "Mrs Kim?"

And, upon hearing her name, the old lady snaps her eyes to the two girls, in an action that's so
sudden, it gets them both to startle, jumping back.

Hanai grips tighter onto her sister.

Ara grips the girl's little head, holding her close. "Mrs Kim, what are you doing? Did you—
did you get locked out?" She inquires, but the woman doesn't move at all, just stands there,
frozen in a perpetual state of fear.

Mrs Kim doesn't move a muscle.

"Pulip?" Ara continues, physically urging the woman to say something, to give a sign of
mortality. "Is everything alright?"

"Ara, what's—" Hanai starts, tugging softly at her sister's hand.

A sudden snapping sound and a harsh spark of a bulb flashing sends them both into a
shocked state, and they look at toward the woman, lingering in the coldness of the dark,
phasing back into it. Ara can just about make out the instant camera in her hand. She'd taken
a picture of them.

"Now, what on earth are you doing?" Ara gasps out, almost angry at how the woman is
acting, not giving them answers, just lingering there, miserably soaking up air.

Pulip suddenly begins to speak, and it's with a damp croak to her throat. "The devil resides in
your space." She tells them, whispers in a horrid slur of speech, petrified.

Ara's brows furrow, but her eyes naturally soften, as the woman is evidently in some form of
deranged, confused state. "Mrs Kim, would you like me to help you to bed?"

"You're not listening to me." The woman accuses, lousily, and her eyes are so bright in the
onslaught of darkness, she looks rather like an oracle. "The devil's image shall not be seen in
photograph, for the devil does not allow himself to be trapped within the snares of humanity."

Ara frowns at her. "Pulip. You stand here in your nightdress, it appears you've awoken from
some lucid night terror—"
"He is in your apartment." She cries out, "oh, god, god, give us strength. He is inside your
four walls, suckling upon the sap of your good souls. I can smell it, can smell the black
smoke of the devil, as it burns against human flesh." She takes a step back, drags her camera
with her, pushes her way back into her apartment. "Your brother is charred by the devil."

The sisters watch her disappear into her apartment in a terrified cry, weeping into her own
imagination.

Ara ponders following her, checking on her immediately. Eventually, she finds it best to give
her a moment. She shall see her later tonight, she decides, when the woman has calmed
herself down. For now, she shall put her crushed up shopping items away and get her little
sister to bed.

However, upon opening the door, a sickening feeling seeps through her, quite similar to
dread, sliding down the brittle coldness of her bones. Because there he is, her so-
called charred brother, perched on the sofa, leant against a man who's smoking a cigarette,
billowing out thick, black smoke.

Park Jimin's eyes rise toward the woman, with Jungkook's head leant against his shoulder,
gently stroking at his soft, black hair, as if intending on making his sleep as peaceful as
possible. Ara is simultaneously sickened and adoring of the image, and it's almost enough to
drop her shopping again.

"Jimin's here!" Hanai calls out, slipping out from beside her sister — whatever previous fears
had consumed her, are overtaken by her sudden excitement at having Park Jimin in her house
once again.

She dashes forward toward the man, and Jungkook jolts awake, just in time to see how Jimin
greets his little sister, cupping her cheek with such a soft, empathetic hand. "Hello again." He
coos to her, eyes a deep brown, burrowing into hers.

"You shouldn't be here." Ara says, and she doesn't care at all how all three of them look at her
with such disappointment. Instead, she focuses on her own tasks, hastily moving to the
kitchen area, slamming down her books, and going to put away all the food.

"Ignore her." Jungkook says, still drowsy from sleep; they'd originally sought to wait for his
sisters, to inform them of his going away, and, they'd sat in silence, thinking through all the
things they'd previously discussed, and, eventually, it had grown too taxing, resulting in Jimin
offering himself as a pillow for Jungkook to rest his weary head.

"Oh, as if that's anything new." Ara snaps back, evidently not in the mood to keep up the
lighthearted atmosphere. She turns toward Jimin himself then, and, with eyes ablaze, she
barks out, "I suppose it was you who sent Mrs Kim into such a fearful stupor?"

Jungkook frowns. As does Jimin, who gives her a look of confusion, and she's annoyed at
herself for thinking of how charming he appears. "I'm afraid I don't quite know what you
mean." He claims, patient and calm in it, despite the fact she'd spoken to him so harshly.
 "Oh. Then I suppose it is mere coincidence that she should be crying about the devil smoking
up our apartment, while you're here doing just that, settling yourself in the skin of a man."
She hisses at him, and she's not quite aware herself of the accuracies in her own mocking
accusation.

Jimin's eyes widen a little. But, Jungkook's the one who answers, "she's doing what?"

"You heard me." Ara bites. "She seems to think your lover boy here is bad news, and, to be
frank, I don't disagree with her."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Jimin responds, aggravatingly polite.

Ara tuts. "God, what are you even doing here? The pair of you," She points an accusatory
finger toward them. "Lounging around here, like a doped up couple in love. It's sickening."

"Don't be a bitch, Ara." Jungkook snaps.

"A bitch?" She chirps back, eyes wide with fury. "I'm trying to look out for you, Jungkook.
Shit, come on, you're going to get yourself hurt with him."

"I wouldn't hurt him." Jimin tells her, too earnest and sweet.

"I'm not suggesting you would." She says back, "but, you being so open about this perversion
will. That's what must've scared poor Pulip so. She must've seen you canoodling, like the
devil bird's you've taken the form of, gosh, it must've scared her to no end, to see such a
display."

Jimin seems amused, but Jungkook jumps up from his seat and anger drips across him, as he
snaps at her, "you're the only one who's hurting me, Ara." She stops and stares at him. "You
and all you're ludicrous thinking. That's all that could ever upset me."

She opens her mouth to respond, but Hanai takes her space, "I like Jimin." She tells them,
easily. "I like TaeTae too."

Ara's nostrils flare. She looks between them and her sinking feeling is alleviated somewhat.

"Speaking of, he's waiting for us." Jimin says, referencing the blonde, smirking when he sees
the slight curl of disdain on the woman's face.

Jungkook nods, gruffly. "I'll be gone for a few days." He tells her, calloused and cold.

He boldly kisses his little sister's cheek, and he leaves them in the warm mist of Jimin's thick,
black smoke.

Chapter End Notes

ahhh so i didn't just call this saturnalia for the fun of it! honestly, i don't know if people
are familiar with the concept, but you really don't need to know more than i've told you
in order to understand it: it'a a pagan festival, first celebrated in rome (i believe) and it is
being used to help transform taehyung into a vampire-witch. essentially.

anyway, jungkook also might get turned?? omg shocker.. but yes i loved writing a cute
romantic moment there. prepare for some fun in the next one ;)

FINALLY i just want to add in as a bit of self-promo, i just uploaded a NEW FIC!
literally two seconds ago. it's a taekook fic, and will be what i focus on when this story
is done. I'm also gonna upload a vmin and a jikook fic before the next vminkook one.
aiming for them all to be slightly shorter. so if you want to give it a go, it would be much
appreciated, but no worries if not/if you're only here for the threesome ;) just wanted to
throw it out there!
 Chapter 25
Chapter Notes

god, i'm sorry this update took so long! these last few chapters have been so intense to
write!
anyway lemme make it up to you with this smut! it lasts for half the chapter, before we
get into some juicy turns ;)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Taehyung is laying upon the sofa in such a lackadaisical fashion when the other two men
enter; with Dabria the cat curled upon his stomach, as he lies, with one leg bent, the other out
before him, mindlessly twirling his fingers, sending little sparks of light from them.

"That's amazing." Jungkook says as soon as he enters the living room, where the man is
currently clumped together, almost looking as if he's about to melt into the sofa.

Taehyung moves his eyes slowly toward where the pair of them now stand, palms slammed
into the back of the lounger, as they lean over him. He smiles softly, and wiggles his long
fingers, sending an undulation of little sparkles through the air.

Jungkook looks at him with such wonder, and he truly doesn't imagine he shall ever get to
know every remarkable facet that accompanies Kim Taehyung's marvel. He supposes, even in
the wake of his thousandth life, he should still manage to find something to fascinate him
concerning the dancer.

"I didn't know you could perform tricks like that." The boxer informs him, leaning slightly
closer to him, dipping himself down at his waist, feeling the strain in his muscles, as he bends
toward the universe.

Taehyung gives him a sensational wink. "I am a man of many talents, Mr Jeon." And his
teeth are bright white as he smiles. They're perfectly human now, straight and milky, and with
all that in mind, he's still beautiful in an otherworldly sense — lord knows what he shall look
like once turned.

"You look tired, sweet." Jimin says then, and adores how the younger man's eyes flicker to
him.

The witch gives a sheepish expression, a discontented frown crumpling his lips. "I ate too
much." He complains, and runs his smooth hand through the fur of the cat that's asleep on his
nourished stomach.

Jimin's brow raises. "Yeah? Trying to eat as much human food as possible whilst you still
can?"
The witch smirks. "You know me too well."

Jungkook bites the inside of his lip, as he truly hadn't thought of that aspect of it — it wasn't
merely choosing to live in the echo of eternity, but it was giving up mortality as a whole. In
changing yourself from one thing to another, you are sure to become beyond humanity and
the depths of time; but, amidst that, there are things that remain skin deep: you cannot be a
part of the many glories of human life ever again. Small things become big things, in such a
state.

"Don't fret too much about it," Jimin says, and is perhaps addressing them both in that
soothing manner of his. "You won't even remember it once you get a taste of blood."

Taehyung licks at his bottom lip, and his head moves so that the bones of his neck and jaw
push upward, and he looks so sexual. "I shall miss oranges."

Jungkook cocks a brow. "That's what you'd miss above all else?"

Jimin and Taehyung titter, in as fond a display as possible. Jimin informs him lightly, "they're
Taehyung's favourite. Has been since we met." Jimin leans forward too, and they watch as his
face lights up with wondrous memory. "I have a recollection of sneaking him some during the
war. They were very hard to come by at that point, I must say."

Jungkook knows that to be true. You were lucky to obtain anything of true sustenance, let
alone something that actually tasted nice. He doesn't doubt Jimin would've found a way.

"You met in the war?" He inquires suddenly, intrigued at the prospect of the pair and their
history together. He feels he must know everything now, especially with Jimin's offer
weighing heavy upon his mind.

Taehyung pries himself up, and Dabria screeches, as she darts to the floor, and whips out the
room. "Oh, I suppose we haven't told you of how our union began, have we?" He says it in
such a melodramatic fashion, one filled with an unmatched sense of excitement, the notion of
love radiating from his shoulders. "Have a seat, have a seat." He urges.

Jungkook does, he slowly walks around and sits himself upon the sofa, in the space Taehyung
had cleared for him. Jimin settles himself on the armchair, an amused glint to his eye.

Taehyung turns toward Jungkook, grasping his full attention, tells him, "we met during the
war." He purrs it out, and he sounds as if losing himself in the halcyon of it all, as if it weren't
such a travesty of an event. "After my family died, I didn't know what to do with myself,
spent a lot of time in back corners and alleys of respectable streets, either performing magic
tricks for money, or, well," he coughs in such a vile fashion, as if it were truly too painful to
try and recall the events. "I could perform other kinds of tricks... to fuel my magic."

Jungkook's heart snaps, and he thinks he recognises that look in Taehyung's eye, that battered
look that melds together shame, desperation and fear, and it crumbles against the smooth
diamonds of his skin, just beyond the surface of his glamorous facade. He recognises the look
from the one his sister carries with her every day.
Taehyung carries on determinedly. "That's when I met Yoongi. I was sixteen, and tensions
were rising politically. No one knew what was to happen, and, well, rich men wanted to
forget about all those troubles. A secret club."

"You started working at the Sugar Lounge at sixteen?" Jungkook asks back, disturbed.

The blonde smiles softly. "Yes, but not as a performer. Yoongi had me become a cleaner,"
Taehyung practically shudders to recall it. "But, well, at the time, the dancers were a lot more
magic-hungry, and a lot more of those men didn't manage to make it out alive. Thus, I was
cleaning up bodies." Taehyung sighs at the memory now. "A lot of the older witches took a
liking to me and they taught me to dance and sing, ready for when I was eighteen."

"I didn't realise so much murder occurred at the Sugar Lounge." Jungkook states.

Taehyung has the good sense to blush, as if ashamed. "They were bad people." He says.
Then, he continues on, avoiding the uncomfortable subject, "I didn't get the chance to
perform before the Great War officially dragged us into it and people began getting drafted."
He plays mindlessly with the silken blanket draped across his shoulders. "Yoongi ensured I
would become a medic, and, well, that's where I met Jimin."

"Cause Jimin was a medic too?" Jungkook remembers them having said before.

The blonde nods. But, Jimin speaks in his place, "it must have been 1916, I'd just been moved
to a station, in more dire need of medical care. It was so dark, so loud, when he came running
in, with a dead body bound to his hands, tugging him in with this devious hunger in his eye."
Jimin snickers. "It shall sound morbid to you, Jungkook, but a lot of magical energy can be
consumed during death. Death is good for witches."

"Just as it is good for vampires." He presumes.

Jimin nods dolefully. "In some sense, yes. I was rather in my element then. There were so
many men that couldn't be more willing to offer me some blood after I saved their lives."

Jungkook nods. "Ah, yes, I seem to forget you are a legitimate doctor."

"That I am." Jimin grins at him. "And, at that point, I was a perfectly civilised man, even with
my empire awaiting me beyond the war." He then points a joking but accusatory finger
toward Taehyung. "He, however, was rabid as a dog."

Taehyung grins cheekily. "Oh, do forgive me for it, Jungkook." He begs. "I was consuming a
vast amount more magic than ever before. It was thrilling."

"Of course, we recognised what each other were right away." Jimin tells him, as they recall
the moment in which they'd caught eyes — as Taehyung had lugged the freshly killed body
into the medical tent, and Jimin had walked to him, in a coat too clean for the area and time.
He had grinned down at Taehyung, as the witch had been helping a man, blood all over his
hands, and they'd looked toward each other and seen the light of heaven. "So, we decided to
help each other. I would help him consume a moderate amount of magic energy, and he
would ensure I get people willing to give me blood."
Jungkook sniffs out a breath of air. "It's a rather insensitive way to profit off the millions who
died in such a war."

Jimin gives him a guilty look. As does Taehyung.

But Jungkook doesn't think he has room to judge.

Not at all.

"Anyway," Taehyung continues on, "we ensured we stayed together that whole time and then,
after the war had officially been declared over, I took Jimin back to the lounge. I became a
proper dancer, and he became the lounge's supplier of alcohol, and it benefited his business as
a whole."

"It's a surprisingly neat story." Jungkook comments, because it's true — he'd expected the
blood, the guts, the sexual appetites, but, nothing could've prepared him for something that
seems as if woven in the stars, to have something that transcends across their timelines and
aligns all their meeting places together in such a perfect manner.

Taehyung nods at him and he smiles softly in a clear sign of agreement. Then, with a sudden
cant of his zephyr-like hand, he flutters a warm summer breeze across Jungkook's own,
pressing their skin together. "You know," He says, with this ridiculous smile on his face.
"There was a flash of gold in my head the day before I met Jimin." He laughs at himself, as if
being foolish. "I thought it was a swelling sort of reaction to the over-abundance of magic
energy I'd consumed." He smiles again and both the men are enraptured. "I only figured out it
was because of my abilities years later. Seems like my mind does that when an important
event is to transpire the following day."

"Is that so?" Jungkook asks, and he can feel Taehyung's breaths as they spatter against his
skin, and their ridiculously close to one another.

Taehyung smiles, soft, almost coy. "Mmm, you wanna know how I came to the conclusion?"

Jungkook nods. Their hands pull together between them, fingers slotted into each other.

"It's because the next time it happened, it was you I met that next evening."

And their lips press together, balmy as sunlight. The dulcet undertones of their two souls
entwining is enough to send the sun herself into a blitz of rouge, all blushing with the heat of
passion. Jungkook allows himself to kiss Taehyung, and he rather adores how the pretty
witch bends to his will — so unlike Jimin, yet just as wonderful. Jungkook shall never grow
tired of it.

"Go deeper." Jimin's voice is a mere exhale across the cold room, with the silk sofa melting
into a cloud beneath Jungkook's body. He's soaking wet, doused in water vapour, and one of
his eyes open, panting out a question to the vampire seated in the armchair. As usual, Jimin is
reclined back, so nonchalant and composed, one leg crossed over the other, with the
flickering shadows of candlelight casting a veil of mystique over him, as if he's comprised of
many moons.
Jungkook can hardly hear the man, as he's so deep beneath the waves of desire, drowning in
it, the water banging heavily against his heart.

Alas, he certainly can see him — yes, he sees the bitter orange of his eyes, that are beginning
to eddy themselves red, as his scrumptious lips press around the words, "I said go deeper."

Jungkook doesn't think he's being compelled. But he follows Jimin's words as if possessed,
grabbing Taehyung by the back of his neck, and pulling him closer, till their noses brush and
crash, and their mouths are open orifices of love. Tongues collide in the tidal waves of amour
fou; the world is blessed by the sound of their harsh breaths, as their moans drift from their
mouths and are directly consumed by the other.

Taehyung is so willing to adhere to Jungkook's naturally violent, demanding actions, it's more
enthralling than Jungkook could've imagined, as their teeth bite and clash at each other, and
Jimin's voice is a ship in the nighttime storm, wielding them toward a red lighthouse, in their
very own red light district. "Bite him." He says, and it takes Jungkook a moment to
comprehend the instruction.

Bite him. Like he's deranged by desire. Bite him. Like he's a primitive beast. Bite him. Like
he's a vampire.

Eyes deeply closed, he suddenly gets the urge to do just that, and, in the blur of a
nympholeptic daydream, Jungkook is pulling more vigorously at the witch. He feels his teeth
meld over the pink flesh, and he bites down hard enough upon Taehyung's plump bottom lip
for blood to start to trickle down. It pierces through the skin, and his human teeth are stained.
Jungkook licks at it and it tastes like iron. It tastes like life.

Taehyung cries out in bliss.

Jimin is behind Jungkook in an instant, aggressive in the way he pulls his head to the side,
forcing his chin to align with his shoulder. "Beautiful." He murmurs. His hand is on
Jungkook's chin then, turning him uncomfortably, until their eyes can meet. There's a smudge
of Taehyung's blood on his lip, and Jimin leans over him, twists his head around to place his
own lips over it. He wastes no time in inserting his own tongue within Jungkook's mouth, and
Jungkook finds he rather likes this as well: being pushed around and told what to do. He
supposes he only likes it when it's Jimin, though.

He can't even fathom what's occurring, with Jimin's tongue inside him, suckling on his own,
and drinking down the remnants of Taehyung's blood.

"I'll miss tasting your blood like this, sugar." He purrs to Taehyung, as he removes himself
from Jungkook's mouth and speaks with a ridiculous amount of self control, even with blood
staining all of theirs lips.

"Well," Taehyung giggles out, breathless from what he'd just witnessed. "I must say,
Jungkook has quite the bite. Almost like a vampire himself."

Jungkook blushes a little at the praise and Jimin coos, kissing him softly on the cheek. It
heats up Jungkook's cheek. "Mm, perhaps he shall have to bite me so I can see." Jungkook
widens his eyes at the curious suggestion. But Jimin is speaking again, right into the canal of
Jungkook's ear. "Look at him," He moves Jungkook's head toward where Taehyung is, and
Jimin's face presses against Jungkook's neck, curled all around him like a snake. "Tell me,"
He kisses at the skin of his neck, feels the jostle of his pulse. "Did you think about fucking
him the first time you met?"

Jungkook sees how Taehyung smiles so cunningly at him, and the orange candles make him
seem darker than himself, all kinds of manic and marvellous; but beneath all that confident
beauty that dangles from him like the pearly strings of a chandelier, there's something so
delicate there. His eyes are warm and bubbling with an expression that begs to be satiated.

Jungkook tells them, honestly, "yes."

Jimin kisses his neck again and Jungkook feels the cold sharpness of his fangs against his
trembling breaths. "Mm, me too." The man laughs against his skin, and it fizzles out in a
string of rippling death, so crude to say, on account of how they'd met. "I thought about
fucking you too, you know." His hands are gripping at Jungkook's waist now, and he's pulling
him back a little, so the muscles of his back press to the muscles of Jimin's front. Like the
true embodiment of a serpent, Jimin's tongue leaves a hefty trail across the shell of
Jungkook's ear as he circles his prey in his mind, and, in a guttural whisper, he asks, "would
you let me fuck you, Jungkook?"

The man gulps, and his eyes immediately trail to Taehyung, and he can't help the small bout
of surprise he gets when he sees all that intense arousal radiating from him in sugary bursts,
literally pouring out of him as he breathes.

"Yes." He breathes out, and he lets his mouth speak for him, because he's not entirely sure
what answer he'd give if he let his mind think it through. He thinks, really, it would be about
the same. Yes, it's true, in this moment in time, when the ocean has turned lavender, and the
sky is purple as a plum, he can think of nothing better.

"Yes?" Jimin asks back, almost as if he himself is surprised by the ease at which Jungkook
admits it.

Jungkook turns his head again, his whole body going with it, and he looks Jimin in his ruby
red eyes and says, "yes, I would let you fuck me."

The vampire grins a magnificent grin and gently moves himself so he's a little further away
from the boxer. Keeping their eyes together, he says, "Taehyung, come here, doll." The
dancer obeys, and wordlessly situates himself on the floor, between Jimin's outstretched legs.
Both men look down at him, and Jungkook looks passionate and curious, while Jimin looks
like hell. He smirks and runs a hand through Taehyung's hair, granting a smashing view of his
pretty face.

Then, with an effortless movement, he kicks his leg out, narrowly missing the blonde's face,
and instead, hitting the coffee table, sending it reeling backwards against the wall. Both of
them startle from the action.
Jimin grins. His hand plays with Taehyung's hair for a moment, the ringed-fingers stroking
through the strands. Then, suddenly, brashly, he's grasping at the man's chin, grip bruising,
but loving in its agony. He presses the pad of his thumb across Taehyung's bottom lip.
Jungkook watches and resists the urge to whimper at the way those pretty, pliant lips, move
around to Jimin's magnetic fingers. He wipes off the last drops of blood and, in a chilling
tone, he instructs, "take off your clothes, pretty."

He sits back then, places his thumb into his own mouth and savours the iron-saturated
droplets. They both watch as Taehyung obliges. He does it slowly, sensually, tugging at his
clothing with lazy, erotic hands, until he's in nothing but his birthday suit, down on his knees
in front of them, his new tattoo on display for them both.

"Good boy." Jimin purrs, dark eyes adhered to him. "Now, show us how well you can wet up
your pretty fingers."

Already expecting what's coming, Taehyung places his fingers into his mouth, and, both men
watch in awe as he swirls them around, and begins to suck on them, making a show of it,
with his prolonged eye contact switching between the pair of them.

Jimin smirks, and with a slight wink, he says, "Jungkook, take your clothes off and stand in
front of me."

Jungkook turns to him, for a moment stuck in a state that rids him of autonomy, and then, a
moment later, he's saying, "I want you to take your clothes off too."

Taehyung pauses his ministrations momentarily, eyes wide.

One of Jimin's prefect brows raises, and simply, he replies, "oh?"

The boxer doesn't dare be put off by how dangerously intimidating Jimin is, as he holds onto
his intentions and slowly says, "you never take your clothes off." It's true. Not once has Jimin
gone all the way with him and gotten completely naked, and sure, if the vampire was truly
going to fuck him now, he would have to to some extent, but, Jungkook didn't want that, he
wanted them all in the same position.

"Okay." Jimin responds with a faint smirk gracing his features, and, Taehyung watches him
with surprise, until the man says, "take them off for me." And they both see how Jungkook
physically gulps and think it to be adorable.

He stares Jimin in the eye, and the vampire raises a menacing eyebrow, daring him to obey.

Jungkook does follow through, he steels himself, and with slightly trembling hands, he forces
himself forward, standing and leaning over the seated vampire, who is simpering up at him,
with a white stream of gory bone running livid in his eye. He observes as Jungkook
unbuttons his shirt, his hands slipping a few times, with the weight of Jimin's gaze upon him,
but he manages to slip it off, exposing the vampire's shoulders, broad and bright, like wings.
Jimin is so beautiful, with his lily white chest, that has him dripping into the essence of
quietus; with the thawing muscles perfectly still like ice sculptures, and the dark ink of a
tattoo at his ribs, with his delicate, brown nipples, he's more than reality itself can
comprehend.

He's a bitch, despite his opulence.

Jimin doesn't help him at all with the trousers, in fact, with his vampire strength weighing
him down like a stone, Jungkook can't even try to tug them down his legs.

"Struggling?" Jimin smirks, meeting the frustrated eye of the boxer.

Jungkook blatantly ignores him and, egged on by the smirk, he uses brute strength to yank at
the fabric, ripping the article down the middle, with a terrific shriek of linen.

Jimin laughs aloud and looks down at Taehyung fondly, confides in him, "isn't he so
enthralling?"

Jungkook feels a thick lambasting of pride take over him, especially as Taehyung says back,
"immensely so."

"Satisfied?" He directs toward Jungkook, and Jimin is still in his underwear, but it's good
enough for now, so Jungkook nods with a smile. Languorously, Jimin tells him, "now, as I
instructed before, I want you to stand in front of me, and watch as Taehyung fingers himself
open."

Turning his back to Jimin with a strenuous gulp, he does just that, looking down at the naked
blonde who's eyes are innocent. All suede, with a sultry glimmer to their deep, all-
encompassing voice — it's as if each one of his organs and body parts has its own voice, and
he's so loud and alive, buzzing with vitality. And, right now, all his voices are screaming
Jungkook's name.

He can do nothing but watch the absolute bliss as it takes the form of scarlet heaven upon
Taehyung's features, as they blister into a soft moan of delight, as he works his own fingers
into himself.

Jungkook is so hard, straining so visibly against his underwear, he can't help but gasp, when
his trousers are being pulled down, slowly, slowly, slowly. Jimin's hands are soft against him,
and he physically gasps as the man cups a hand over his buttocks. He's never felt someone
caress such a place so gently. Jimin doesn't say anything, and neither does Jungkook, he just
allows his consent to flow through the graffitied silence, as Jimin kisses the curvature of his
body — his lips against the place where his back meets his ass. And then, Jimin's fingers are
wet, and they're covered in a jelly like substance, as he presses the ice coldness of them into
Jungkook's tight hole. He supposes the fact he's standing makes it feel weirder and tighter
than it should, but, the fact he's watching the most beautiful man in existence finger himself
before him is what makes the experience less trying.

Taehyung bites at his lip, and his breaths are mere exhales, and Jungkook's watching him
with an intense bout of hunger, his hard cock hanging between his legs, throbbing with urge
to ravage the poor boy. But Jimin hasn't told him to.
Jimin's inserting another finger, and Jungkook hisses, but then Taehyung's hand is on his
dick, and it's running it's warmth across him. The stark contrast between Jimin's frost and
Taehyung's heat is enough to detract from the pain. But, as Jimin starts to move his fingers in
and out, Jungkook's legs start to shake and he jerks a little forward.

Taehyung's slowly jerking him off, while Jimin shushes him, calms him, and uses his vampire
strength to clamp him in place at the hip. He pulls him back a bit further, and Jimin's fingers
sink deeper. Deeper. Everything is so warm, as Jimin's finger start to scissor his hole,
spreading lubricant around it, and, making room for a third.

"Fuck." Jungkook moans out, as Jimin's pesky fingers flick against a particularly sensitive
bundle of nerves, that has him crumpling, wanting to jump out of this torturous position he
currently finds himself in, wherein he's being made to withstand a bitter onslaught of sexual
advances.

Taehyung is still on his knees smearing his pre-cum down his length, his hot breath hitting
Jungkook in all the right places, all the while he's still letting his own fingers run rampant
inside himself. And when Jimin adds a fourth, Jungkook is about to cum, so Taehyung
removes his hand, and Jimin removes his.

"I want you and Tae on the floor." Jimin tells them.

They do it, with Jungkook fully removing his clothes, and rolling into each other like
sardines, and Jungkook has no will or desire to fight back — he wants to get off, and he
wants them, there's no way he'd jeopardise that. They slot together again, perfectly, like it
really is fate that sets off an offshoot of gold within, as Taehyung lies on his side, and
Jungkook nestles himself behind him.

He listens to Jimin as he tells him to fuck Taehyung, and he doesn't deprive himself of the
wonder that is Taehyung's heat, as he easily buries himself inside.

It's done with a cry, almost entirely animalistic in nature, and Taehyung moans, as they
squeeze together so tightly, lying on their sides making it ever so much more difficult. But,
all the same, it's much more fulfilling, when Jungkook's finally inside, and his dreams
manifest themselves before him in steamy re-enactments of bygone fantasies.

And it's even harder to move, but it's twice as delicious when Jungkook's hips smack against
Taehyung's ass, in a motion of deep processing. He drills into him and reaches so deep, it's all
he can focus on. That is, until Jimin is laying behind him and he's cold and hard and
Jungkook can feel the large bulge of his naked cock pressed against him.

Jimin's lips press to his shoulder, and he murmurs, "I'm going to fuck you." Making
Jungkook's movements stutter, and Taehyung gasp. "Is that okay, darling?" His hand rolls
down Jungkook's side, making the man hiss, as his bruising grip squeezes at his hard
muscles. His fingertips press into the swells of his thews, burying into him in something that
is as painful as it is pleasurable. "I need an answer, sweetheart."

It sends shivers down his spine — the attention, the nickname, the feeling of Taehyung
squeezing around him, begging him to move. The prospect is there, the conceptualisation of
his fantasies, are ready for the taking, and yet he's so turned on, he can hardly speak.

"Aw, you're making our poor baby wait." He hums, pushing closer against Jungkook's naked
form. The boxer can feel every inch of him, and it's so beautiful, to have such a gorgeous
creature clinging to him like this. He almost forgets about Taehyung, who's whining on his
cock. "Don't be cruel, darling, give us an answer." It's a purring hiss, sickening as a devil.

The boxer presses his hands into Taehyung's flesh, holding him tighter, pulling him closer, till
there's not an inch of his member that's not inside him. Taehyung is almost sobbing, and
Jungkook kisses his neck, lips all over that hot skin, and he just about manages to say,
"please."

"Please?" Jimin chuckles, and presses his own mouth to the corner of Jungkook's neck. "Oh,
you're so cute." And he's slow and surprisingly delicate as he gently pushes his way into
Jungkook. Even with prep, the stretch is harsh and painful — but the girth and pulse of Jimin
is enough for Jungkook to ignore it. Fuck, he's felt pain worse than this. This pain was nice. It
was sublime.

It takes a second to get used to.

They lay there, quietly, on the floor in Jimin's mansion, with the candles going wild before
them, as if getting too hot with the unforeseen heat of their desire. Jimin is in Jungkook, and
Jungkook is in Taehyung. They're completely conjoined, and the intimacy makes all of their
bodies tremble. Their breaths intermingle, and Jungkook quietly says, "you can move now."

"Okay." Jimin tells him, and he does so, gripping at his arm, as a mechanism of easing the
way in which his hips swivel expertly, and his cock slams into Jungkook, causing Jungkook
to slam into Taehyung.

"Shit." Jungkook groans out, then, at the exclamative, he laughs aloud, "fuck, that feels so
good."

"Yeah?" Jimin asks, and his smirking face is pressed to Jungkook's shoulder, and, slowly he
moves his hips back, and then forward again, and he really does think there's something
magnificent about fucking Jeon Jungkook. Whereas Taehyung is slightly softer, slightly more
willing, Jungkook is hard and he's resistant, despite how much he wants it, and Jimin adores
both of them with everything in him. "It's wonderful, isn't it?" He coos, and his voice is
enough to make the candles melt and tremor. "As I move my hips and fuck you, you fuck our
pretty little witch."

Jungkook's dick throbs, as it happens just as Jimin describes, and his hands are clammy at
Taehyung's waist, pulling him back into him as soon as he gets a little far away. "Feels so
good." He tells them, as he fucks into Taehyung, while Jimin fucks into him.

And their sweat turns silver in the caliginous bite of winter, as their skin runs gold, sparking
up a fire — pure black smoke ignited from their smouldering bodies, as their bones churn
like hearth. The coal black innards of each of them are swallowed down, and clementine fire
burns best of all, rising from the coals like a phoenix from ashes, the depths of their desire
smoking out the room. It reeks.
And when they cum, it's into each other and Jimin whispers fondly, "can I bite you?"

Jungkook doesn't hesitate to agree.

And Taehyung's head is flung back as Jungkook bites a hickey into his neck.

And Jimin bites blood out of Jungkook's and his heart seems to beat for a ponderous moment.

Jimin pulls out, the sweet taste of blood on his tongue and he's panting like a dog as he tells
him, "you taste sublime."

&&&

Hanai watches as her sister sits by the phone, legs dangling down the table, as she perches on
it, face pressed to her hands and shoulders shaking with nerves. The tension of uncertainty
coils around the room and Ara is scraping her fingernails over her stockings, creating spates
of frayed fabric in them. A cigarette hangs from her lips, eyes churning grey, with her dry
strands of dark hair falling across her face — a face that's buckled over itself, looking down.

Hanai hugs her stuffed monkey to her chest, and presses her face into it, inhaling the lucid
mix of faded soap and tattered fingers of care.

Her eyes remain blank and bored, almost pitying, even as the phone suddenly starts to ring in
interminable sound. It's infernal across the quiet room. Ara's pale, shaky hand grasps at the
thing and pulls it to her ear. She looks like chalk, deathly pale, like something that crumbles
against your skin when touched.

"Hello?" She preens into the mouth piece, and her loosely curled hair falls from its ringlets as
they shake. "Jungkook?"

Hanai's face stays still, breaths bated.

"Hey." The man says into her ear, a familiar crunch of noise, indicative of his usual
comforting presence over her; Ara's found that, in spite of how full of loath and repugnancy
he's made her feel of late, he's still such a comfort. "Sorry I've been gone for so many days."
"It's okay." She grips the phone so hard, her fists are trembling, and she has to point her eyes
at the ceiling in an attempt to avoid confrontation in her younger sister's presence. "You—
uh... are you okay?" She bites her lip at the redundant question.

"Fine." He tells her plainly, and, in the heavy tension between them, she feels her heart beat
shake against her skin, like callous palms against the skin of a drum. Faintly, she can make
out the eerie, soft prickles of fingers against a piano, the keys sounding so subtle, so paper
thin, twinkling in an untimely melody. "I have a big event tonight." He tells her, and waits for
the disharmony of her breaths to bound through the phone line.

"An event..." She muses, but it comes out like a surging sense of urgency, begging for him to
continue.

He coughs rather awkwardly. "I want to see Hanai soon."

The piano behind Jungkook's voice strikes up a chord of melancholia, and it strikes the older
so harshly; like ghosts of the past are playing games beneath the moonlight, dipping around
the peaks of mountains and stretching their opalescent fingers out toward the crest of the sky,
where the clouds meet the stars. It sounds so far away, so reminiscent of longing, as if he's
soaked into the province of a dreamworld, pasted into the realms of sleep.

"You're coming back?" She asks, dares to sound hopeful.

The hitch of his breath is like a shuddering scream in a bone-chilled nightmare. "It makes
more sense for me to be here. With them."

"More sense?" Ara pulls the phone closer to her, so the metal almost seems to slip beneath
the parcel of her skin and meld with the hard bones of her jaw. "How would it make more
sense?" She asks then, exasperated by the desperation that seems to prevent her breaths from
flowing at a normal rate. "You should be here. With you family."

He huffs out another breath. "That's rather difficult when my family despises the ground I
walk on."

And Ara chokes on her breath. "That's not true, Jungkook." She tells him, tells him, tells him.
She feels her heart crisper, as if singed, burned down into something sopping and ready to
liquify and seep out of her orifices. "Surely, you cannot think that to be true. After everything
we've done. It's always been me and you, Jungkook, hasn't it?"

There's an ubiquitous pause, wherein both seem to fall victim to memory; the streams of it
wrap around their necks and feet like vines, strong, heavy, and leaking with repressed wells
of disaster. They recall every waking moment with one another, and the lives they've felt
pulsate in each other's soul. In the eyes of their childlike selves, they recall the sights of each
other — seraphic, rosy kids, with poor beginnings and smiley grins. And the fear that gripped
them when their father would come home and see them, it's a fear they would press into one
another, sharing the feeling in little beats of compassion. Sharing everything.

Jungkook gulps, and in a hollow kind of tone, he responds, "I'm not the one pushing you
away."
"But you are," It tears from her, a shred of vocal chords and tumultuous chorus, "you're
choosing them over us."

"I'm not." He insists, angered by the very accusation. "I'm doing all of this for you — getting
money for you, building the pair of you a good life. I should have liked to do it while holding
onto you, but you're the one who's putting up that damn wall."

"They're ruining you, Jungkook," She begs him now, feels the cracks in her voice, splitting
like the cracks in a wall, spreading fast and rampant. "You've always been righteous, you've
always protected us and done everything you can — I shall forever be grateful to you for that,
I shall never be able to repay you." She hounds him, ignoring the quiet piano player in the
background. "But I cannot stand by and watch you lose yourself in the sickening need to save
us. You are becoming something you swore not to be, you're hurting other people, taking part
in Jimin's business, in their life. Your morals are crumpling right before you, Jungkook, and
you're just standing by, letting it happen."

He tuts at her then, and it splices so harshly through the phone. "I'm sorry, Ara, but morality
was never something either one of us cared about. You surely have not blinded yourself so far
as to forget such a thing?"

Her gulp is harsh and full.

"Is Jungkook okay?" Hanai's voice is a crinkling sort of whisper, and her face, still partially
squished into her toy, is bleeding red with sorrow and a childish kind of hope, that Ara cannot
help but clutch hold of.

Ara nods softly at her, lips spread wide. "So, you intend on living with Jimin and Taehyung
then? Is that the case?"

Jungkook feels his throat constrict, as half-truths start to formulate in his mind, and he
attempts to concoct the perfect sort of response. "Yes." He breathes out to her. "I will still
come to see Hanai, and I will give you money, make sure you're both surviving."

She worries her lip and her eyes trail over Hanai, who's shaking her head into her monkey, as
if she can hear the conversation. "But... I need you, Jungkook."

He shakes his head, and she can almost hear the scuffling of his hair against the phone. "You
don't."

"Hanai does." She tells him, begs him with the notion of their poor, little sister. There's a
great storm going on inside her as she allows her thoughts to regress into the depths of her
memory once again, and she thinks of her experiences with the men she'd let take her. She
feels as if she's merely bone now, like, with each person who'd been with her, they'd torn off
parts of her till she was nothing. Jungkook had, for so long, made her feel like she was more
than she is. But, right then, she truly felt the horrors of the world that she'd endured, spread
down her feeble spine, completely bare, and open for everyone to see. With it, she feels her
heart, still partially pumping and ready, sing for her to tell him, "I don't want you to hate me."
The piano in the background stops, and Jungkook's breathing is all she can hear — she holds
onto it, keeps the feeling of it stowed away, as if it may be the last time she hears it. For some
reason, she feels as if it will be.

"I don't hate you." He tells her. It comes across crass, like he's not supposed to indulge her,
but it's truthful nonetheless.

Looking down at Hanai one more time, she breathes out, heavy and harsh.

He swallows it up and adds on, "I love you, Ara. I always will. But, for now, in this moment,
I cannot say things shall ever be as they once were."

She tears up her tights till huge patches of her cold skin slip out, and she's met with a pinging
kind of bitter reality. "I don't want to lose you." She tells him, traps him within the idea. "I
want..." She presses her teeth to her lip. "I want to understand you."

Hanai presses her face fully into the teddy and her mind is full of her mother, imagining all
the immense details of her, as she smells the intoxicating scents of her perfume that are
scattered all across the thing. She feels comfort in that, that and the soft glow of her sister's
face, as she hears, through the phone, Jungkook say, "I will help you understand."

Ara bites her lip.

"Soon." He tells her. A solid, dignified promise.

Taehyung is standing in the doorway, leant against it, and glancing over Jungkook, who
gently places the phone down, exhaling harshly to himself. The witch is dressed in one of
Jimin's shirts and his hair is a mess from where he'd been rolling around the lush, silk sheets
for days on end. For the entirety of the last week, they'd indulged in each other, the trio had
suckled upon skin and minds and hearts, moulding their shapes into each other. They each
have imprints in one another now, forever a suggestion in their silhouettes. How wonderful
it's been. Jungkook truly cannot find a fault in it.

Now, Taehyung stands before him, a suit in his hand, and a smile on his face, kind as the
trembling lake of silver, as it splays out all manner of colourless creatures across it's surface.
"Is everything okay?" He inquires, so tender and loving in his words, and Jimin, who's sat,
hunched over the piano, glances to him, eyes sharp, set at an intense glower.

"I think so." Jungkook informs them, slouching against the sofa, and, in some insane way, he
feels as if the shadows of his movements are etched against the walls now — he feels as if
he's part of the house, as much as he is part of their lives and they are part of his. He feels, for
all intensive purposes, whole.

"There's only a few hours left." Jimin comments, slowly placing the lid over the keys of the
piano, and rising to gather the suit Taehyung holds out to him. "Are you excited, my love?"
He asks, tickling his fingers beneath Taehyung's chin.
The blonde smiles brightly. "Terrified." He exhales, and its a breath of ice he unleashes, as if
he's already dead.

Jimin, with a sweeping nod of his head, turns then to Jungkook and raises a slight brow. "And
you, dearest?" He accepts the garments and grabs at Jungkook's hand, cold fingers across his
startlingly warm ones. "It is still not imperative you should change on this day, you know?
You need not feel rushed."

Jungkook shakes his head, tender and calloused all at once, and, with a shaky sort of smile,
he replies, "I know. But, there's this strange sort of feeling within me. I feel like everything is
slotting into place."

"Like fate?" Taehyung presumes, with a wistful look in his eye, dazedly meandering over to
the pair.

Jungkook chuckles and nods. "I suppose so." He bites his lip, and tells them, completely raw
and earnest, "I'm usually rather hot-headed and, in honesty, this is one of few decisions that
required no manner of rational thinking." He presses his lips together, tightly and solemnly as
he says, plainly, "this is what I want."

&&

Setting off a snowdrift sensation within those who behold it, the room is a pallid rendition of
what one could class as a wedding venue. It's like an avalanche had recently fallen across it,
with bright white table cloths and garlands of no pigment, with trembling ribbons in the
crevices, that are milky in the lustrous ways in which they flow. Puffs of powdered white
flowers stand in bouquets, trapped across a banquet of empty plates — the long, sleek tables
are void of anything other than chalky florets and goblets of creamy translucence.

Jungkook stands, with a fistful of cloth, in his white suit, pasted into the background, as the
stark alabaster wreathes around his posture.

It's the room he'd chosen. Unknowingly. All that time ago, when Taehyung had asked him
what decor he'd liked, with Sunsin in the tailor's. He'd chosen this, as a Lord of Misrule.

He takes in the room, currently absent of people, and he watches the world for the final time
through the eyes of a human; he wonders, in that moment, whether his vision shall be
different when he looks through the eyes of immortality.
His hand has regained the feelings that he thought to be lost — only recently, he's started to
feel again in his regrown limbs. He wonders whether vampirism shall be like that; shall he
feel as if his whole body is changing, re-spawning? He can almost imagine the splitting
experience of his skin, tearing apart like parchment, folding itself to the wings of a bird and
trailing to oblivion. He wonders if perhaps he shall become a new person entirely: Jimin was
like that, wasn't he? It always seemed as if his real, former self was tucked away, just beneath
the surface, while a new entity took over his body, scratching its nails, trying to reach the
surface. A monster.

But, Jungkook recalls having gazed upon that monster, saw it as it tore out Plexus' throat and
gorged on his blood, and he remembers thinking it beautiful.

No matter which way his mind's eye turns, no matter how the notion changes in him, he truly
can't think of anything better. It's best for him, for his twisted feelings for these creatures, for
his sisters, who shall surely benefit from the bounty he shall secure in a new form, and it's
best for his mentality. It's been too long that he's felt uncomfortable in his own skin, like a
shell of himself, a decrepit mirror to his father, cowering in fear of the man in his head. He
wants a new monster to live inside him now, he wants to have control of it.

No matter what, he can't think of a true flaw.

Taehyung and Jimin are with their respective clans — Jimin with the vampires, and Taehyung
with the witches, and Jungkook stands alone, where no humans are. He stands in the shadows
of his memories, and the promise of a new eternity stretched out before him.

He doesn't mean to jump in the way that he does, but, he's still human, still a victim of his
oblivion, and so it startles him when he suddenly feels a cold, ghostly hand against his back.
"Lovely, isn't it?" Seokjin purrs into his ear, and a silver thorn of temptation pierces into the
younger man's heart at the sound.

With a slow spin of his head, Jungkook eyes the man — the mayor, the groom. He stands in
white, just as they all do, with those tantalising eyes of dark grey skies, and the pale skin that
reflects a beauty held even in life — he seems dead in this moment, Jungkook thinks, with
pale skin like rot, like a carcass' fresh bones, ivory and starlit.

"It's a marvel." He responds, voice slightly taut, as there's something about the older that's
terrifying.

Seokjin keeps his smile on. He flickers his free hand around around, like a scattering of mist,
and he says, "feels like we're stood in a meat locker, doesn't it?" His tone is rather flat, a stark
contrast to how it usually is, when he's filled with a slightly distorted mirth. "All cold and
white, ready to be stuffed full of cold bodies. You'll really feel it when you're dead, you
know."

"Jimin says it's not death." At the rise of Seokjin's brow, Jungkook allows himself to
continue, "It's a state beyond life, but that has not yet reached death."

The vampire's lips pull up and his smile is tight and gratified. "Yes, he's always had a fresh
perspective on things." Jungkook's eyes narrow slightly, barbed at the helm. "I suppose it is
something like that. Even in all my years, I haven't been able to place a firm label on it."

At the strangely peaceful atmosphere, Jungkook feels audacious enough to pluck at the man's
vulnerability and inquire, "is that why you turned him?"

Seokjin raises his brows in alarm, or perhaps in contemplation, and he mindlessly hums to
himself. "Because of his fresh perspective?" He muses, and, at Jungkook's slight nod, he
grins and shakes his head. "Not entirely. Though, I must admit, he was the first human I had
met that I was truly enthralled with."

Enthralled. The word is indicative of pining, of forged romance, of something deeper than a
everlasting hatred. It connects the two of them in a more personal manner, in something that
complements emotion and physicality. It strikes a match in Jungkook's gut.

Sensing the pondering stance, Seokjin leisurely continues, "It takes a lot to interest me these
days, but, well, my little Namjoon was a delectable young thing." He licks his lip, subtle, but
heavy in significance. "He was well-educated and... thirsty. I found him at one of
my exclusive parties, lingering in the back. He'd looked at me with such wondrous eyes —
surprising, of course, considering all the blood running down my chin." He laughs, but
Jungkook doesn't like the imagery, nor the indication of debauchery. "Unlike most humans,
the little aristocrat, about to begin studies in a renowned university, became desperate." He
chuckles to himself, "it was almost adorable, just how much he wanted to be bitten, to be like
me."

Jungkook frowns, nods, easily taking in the words, and allowing the ideas to wash over him.

"But, though it pains me to admit, I wouldn't truly consider myself interested until I met his
poor, unknown friend, Park Jimin." Jungkook recalls the stories Jimin had told him, of how
Namjoon had helped him into university and how he managed to undergo his studies to
become a doctor. He remembers that Seokjin was the biter, and he remembers Jimin didn't
seem fond of the story. So, he all but gulps, as Seokjin carries on, "he was such an insatiable
man — obsessed with bodies, with blood, with fixing things. You should've seen the lengths
he'd go to try get his hands on practice bodies, to attempt things no one had truly thought of
before. It was ghastly." He laughs. "But, he was so smart, and most of his ideas worked." He
bites his lip, grips at Jungkook's waist and grins. "He was like a little Doctor Frankenstein —
grown to be insane with the desire to perfect his craft."

Jungkook wrinkles his nose slightly, though he flowers with curiosity. Steadily, he says, "so,
you wanted to bite him because he was so intelligent? Such a perfectionist?"

"Mmm." Seokjin grins wider, and his head tips slightly sideways, as if his neck grows tired of
holding up his momentous skull. Plainly, he continues, "everyone always said he was like a
vampire, even before he was turned. And, god, when Namjoon offered him the wonders of it,
he couldn't turn it down." His eyes are sparkling now, red as blood, and scintillating just the
same.

"Really?" Jungkook frowns.

Surprised, the older tuts. "Yes? Were you under a different impression?"
Jungkook's head rolls into a nod, as he tells him, "he hasn't told me anything, really, but he
doesn't seem to have to fondest memories of the experience."

There's a hunger remaining in-satiated within Seokjin's eyes, as he scours over Jungkook. "It
is rare for it to be a pleasurable experience. Namjoon's was, purely because of his infatuation
with me," For some reason, the words don't sound cocky, merely factual, and they rest as a
solid reality. "Jimin wanted it, of course, he didn't really know much better, but he wanted it.
Alas, he wasn't as drawn to me as he was to the lifestyle, and thus the transitioning period
was more difficult." Jungkook's eyes squint a little, and Seokjin slowly persists,
"unfortunately no matter whether it's a nice experience or not, it's something that sticks with
you, always."

Jungkook scatters his gaze all across Seokjin's features, wondering aimlessly over the densely
packed vulnerability that was starting to bloom across his pale skin, all rosy with life and
heart. In the ease of the atmosphere, he dares to ask, "when were you turned?"

Seokjin's face freezes for only a moment, but it seems to stretch beyond comprehension, and
he appears so much like a pasture of stone, as the thoughts clack ungraciously through his
head. His whole body seems to shake with it, and he's slow to answer, "it was 1359." He grins
into it, despite the somber tone he adopts, and the room seems to somehow grow more cold.
"It seems like longer, though, and yet... I still remember..." His voice is like droplets, sliding
down the clusters of water lilies, soft precipitation against a stagnant pond, and he quietly
informs him, "I remember the look in the strange man's eye. I believed he must've been
crazed, illuminated by some sort of infection, with some primal disease in his red eyes, as he
captured me by the throat. But he came to me with something so horrid and assured in him,
despite the craze, and I was young and scared, as he bent over me and plunged himself into
my neck, spreading himself all across my head."

Jungkook watches him, feels his hand as it slips off of his back, and he can't be sure whether
there's an ulterior motive behind what Seokjin is saying, but it rests in his heart like a pang of
a knife regardless.

Seokjin is staring at the white walls, as he carries on, saying, with a wicked sort of quirk to
his lip, "I was poverty-stricken back then, a lone-wanderer, and, well, little did he know, it
was the best thing that could've happened to me." His hand, that had previously been
clutching at Jungkook's back, comes to wrap around his own neck, pressed to the ivory skin
there, where the bite marks had long since faded. "He was a pure vampire, you know?" He
turns to properly face Jungkook then. "The first of his kind." His nails press into the skin of
his neck then, and Jungkook flinches slightly at the ease in which they press into the pulp of
his skin, like pins in a pin cushion. His smile is bone-chilling and beautiful. "It means I was
given an automatic advantage, you see."

"An advantage?"

Fingernails still interconnected within his skin, he says to him, "you may be familiar with the
idea different vampires are gifted different abilities. For example, Namjoon has a grand
capability when it comes to shape-shifting, and Hoseok has a real talent for reading and
changing minds, and, Jimin, of course, possesses that same talent, along with a multitude of
others — speed and strength and the like." His tone freezes over, his words scattering like
snowflakes, and they melt into water as they fall against Jungkook's skin, sinking down into
him, informing him of all the great things he'd been missing. "But, you may not be aware that
it is the vampire who bites them that grants them these abilities and, well, with each new
generation, these abilities are lost. For example, as I am the one who bit both Namjoon and
Jimin, they are filled with my blood, and thus they inherited many of my abilities." He licks
over his lip. "But, as they didn't taste the blood of the vampire who bit me, they did not
garner all the abilities that he gave to me. You see?"

Jungkook nods, slow, and the room seems to shake with the idea that those whole spiel of
speech was working up to something.

"Of course, they can certainly grow to be more powerful than me, as they work on their own
abilities, and, as Jimin had a natural aptitude, he was already at an advantage." He sighs to
himself, almost dreamily, and pulls his nails from his neck, and the marks fade instantly.
"But, well, they will never be able to possess some of things I was granted propensity over,
and, as such, neither will you."

"Like what?" Jungkook asks, voice hoarse.

Something deadly and familiar spreads over the man's face, and he looks appealingly
gruesome, terrifically hungry, and so far from the previously slender flexes of amiability he'd
shown. Looming over him, casting a dark shadow over Jungkook, he brushes at some dust on
the young man's shoulder, and he calmly tells him, "let's just say, your pretty, little witch isn't
the only soothsayer in our midst."

There are some soft voices starting to build outside, and Jungkook feels his heart pound in his
chest, a thudding reminder of his expendable humanity.

With a dry mouth, he endeavours to ask, "you can see the future?"

Seokjin laughs, and it's a mean thing, a cackle of horrendous might, and he says, "no, merely
the past." His hand presses harshly against the bones of Jungkook's shoulder, in a manner
suggesting he could easily crush his clavicles. "But the past is what makes us who we are,
hm? And I don't have to touch you to learn it." He smiles. "All I have to do is look at you."
His eyes seem to burn more than they ever have — deep and hot as scorching charcoals.

Jungkook goes still. He thinks his heart might have stopped beating completely and he
wonders if this is what it's like to be dead: stuck in a state of anticipation.

Seokjin giggles again, and it's high in pitch, yet the tone of his voice is deep and husky as a
pit of ruby-encrusted demons, as he says, "the vampire who bit me was a smart man." He
presses his lips together in a deeper grin, and the hubbub beyond the room gets louder, fouler.
"He could know everything about anybody with just one glance." His eyes twinkle, so red,
redder than Jungkook thought possible. "I think I may have just the same ability." He grins.
"And I know everything about you, Mr Jeon. Oh yes," He tilts his head again, at the tension
in Jungkook's shoulders and pouts in a mocking kind of jeer, as he purrs out, "well, how else
do you think Kil Plexus knew all your secrets?"

Jungkook feels his heart pick up the pace again.

"You..." He starts.

The people behind the door get closer to entering the room, and Jungkook feels his heart as it
bounds against his chest. He feels like he's running out of time, like the world is spinning too
fast.

Seokjin laughs coldly and says, "you truly believed a greedy, little human like that could
come up with all those plans? All that plotting and scheming and back-ups? Truly?" He
shakes his head, face so full of amusement. "You truly are a naive boy, Jungkook." It's a
demeaning phrase, but Jungkook can't really hear him amidst the sloshing of his heart.

"But..." He furrows his brows. "He's a vampire hunter."

"Yes." Seokjin nods his head, still slight with hilarity.

"Why would you—"

He shakes his head, and there's a pounding sound all around them, as the people start to get
ever closer. Seokjin sighs out as he says, "I thought he could be a new addition to vampire
kind."

"You were trying to kill Jimin." Jungkook says suddenly, exasperated — and it's a far cry out
from the idea that Seokjin was enthralled by him.

"Yes." He nods, not at all ashamed of it, but his voice does go a little quieter with the
approaching cackle of people. "I have to be more selective with who I turn nowadays, and,
well, killing Jimin would have solidified the decision." He sounds tired, melodramatic, and,
he's back to the person Jungkook imagined him to be — lacklustre and terrible. He sees life
as an appendage, like a string he can twirl to fit his every desire. "Yet, something got in the
way." He presses slightly harder at Jungkook still, and the boxer futilely attempts to back
away. "Oh, I'm not angry at you, dear." The vampire promises. "I am ever so enthralled by
you. From the moment I saw how invested Jimin had become in you, I felt myself too grow
this intense curiosity."

Jungkook does manage to back away slightly, but Seokjin just smiles, follows him.

"I know who you are, Jeon Jungkook." He coos, "I know your past, your present and your
future." He smiles, benign and cumbersome and he tells him, "I know what you are capable
of, what you can grow to be when you become one of us."

Jungkook attempts to speak, but the doorknob is rattling and Seokjin is right up against his
ear.

"I know what you did." He whispers, and, the door opens just as he laughs and says, "I know
you killed your father."

And all the heaping, hot guests, contaminated by wealth and repugnance, they all pile in.
Seokjin is gone and the leaking memory of his gory grin is all that lingers in Jungkook's cold,
cold heart, as he's suddenly swarmed by hot flesh.
Chapter End Notes

wooooo okayyyyy
i really hope you're still with me and enjoyed this chapter! idk if those are 'shocking'
twists -- probably more like mildly interesting ones. But i've had so much fun
concocting them! anyway, the next chapter is obviously the last one and ahhh i really
hope it will be satisfactory! i've almost finished writing it, so it should be out very
soon!! <33
 Chapter 26
Chapter Notes

wooo ok it's finally here! the official ending.

i just want to say this was really weirdly hard to write. i seemed to know exactly what i
wanted to put but my mind just wasn't working, so nothing has been entirely satisfactory
with it.
still,, i hope it's enjoyable because it's a damn monster of a chapter!
the first half is sort of the climax. then it goes into a small epilogue. and finally there's a
little smut scene right at the end, just to finish on a fun note!
hope it is somewhat enjoyable <33

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The wedding occurs.

Dalrae's dress was a marvel, silk drenching her spindly frame, as she stands tall, a heap of
moonstone, leaning across her groom, with the lace intricacies of a veil shrouding her
cunning face. Seokjin is a pearl beside her, with cheeks of creamy daffodil, and eyes joyously
tethered to her mouth. The room is a cosmos of bumbling delectation, as the water vapour
seeps across the snarling guests and rises them up to cloud nine.

The press are there, lined up outside, and Seokjin is readying himself for photographs — he
has long had time to perfect the craft of appearing in them. Whilst it wasn't an impossibility
for a vampire's image to configure in photograph, it was something that required substantial
effort, and, both the elder vampires were ready for it.

Jungkook sits beside Jimin, who's jaw is clenched, his pink hair styled neatly back,
accentuating his pearlescent features. With a face like metal, he glares at the scene around
him, picking up the waves of unease that exude from the human.

Jungkook watches Seokjin and is reminded of the night at the theatre, of the smirk that had
graced his features, just as the chaos started. Seokjin had known everything, from the start,
from the moment they'd met. He'd sussed Jungkook out, he knew all of his secrets, all of the
things he'd tried to keep locked inside, welded to him in a sheen of protection.

Jungkook is sick of feeling so shocked, sick of the deception, of the sickly bubbles of
betrayal that claw at his throat like bile. It's driving him to a state of deep distress, and he
feels like pulling at his hair. He's tired of feeling so powerless.

"You ready?" Is what Jimin whispers to him, as they all rise, and the bride and groom,
husband and wife, trot down the aisle, all booming grins and serpent eyes. Taehyung has
pulled a little away from them to shower the pair with flower petals as they crawl down the
aisle, and Jungkook watches them. He sees the power that rolls off Seokjin, off Dalrae, and
he sees the lingering embers of it in Jimin's gaze, as he passes it over to Jungkook.

"Indescribably so." He says.

It's an hour later, just before the feast is about to commence, and it's Taehyung's final
moments of humanity.

"I can't believe you're truly going through with it." Yoongi's soft fingers carefully curl
through his blonde hair, weaving silk through it, whilst Deiji dips in front of him and presses
glitter to his cheeks. They both pamper him with fingers like leaves — satiny nature, sending
shuttling life across his warm skin. He's soft and glowing, gazing up at them, eyes as old and
wise as the waves that caress the sides of the earth. He's a witch and the magic floods across
his body with each of their supple touches. They touch him as if this may be the last time
they are able to do so.

"It's what I want." He tells him, steady. His fellow witches give tender glances, as they
congeal their fingerprints all across him, dressing him solemnly, breaths full of frost, as if
dressing a corpse. "You understand that." He whispers to them.

"We understand." Deiji smiles to him, and her eyes glaze over with something sad, as she
pulls away from him, to fully take in his appearance. "You shall make a beautiful vampire."

He grins in appreciation. But, his tone is somber as the slow fingers of a ghost at a church
organ, as he says, "you speak as though you're never going to see me again." A spark of a
laugh ignites in him, but neither of them truly follow along. "The only thing that shall change
is my heartbeat."

Deiji's smile doesn't stop being sad, as she tears her eyes toward Yoongi, who's still playing
with Taehyung's hair, despite the fact it's perfectly placed already. With a soft bite to her lip,
she rises to her full height and brushes down the dust from her dress, and they all watch them
leave in suffering factions, scattering freely into the air before them. "I'll see you out there."
She informs them, with one last pat against Taehyung's cheek, before she vacates the room.

She leaves a trail of despair in her wake, as Yoongi gently runs his fingertip across the edge
of the younger man's jaw, and his hands are warm as fresh blood, pressing down the blonde's
neck and tapping against his pulse point.

"I look good." Taehyung whispers, as he gazes at himself in the mirror, seeing how powdery
and white his outfit is, greatly contrasted with his tan skin and dark eyes, that are red toward
the corners, all pink with flesh and vitality. "I hope my skin shall not get paler." He murmurs
to himself.

Yoongi smiles in decaying amusement, and informs him, "I don't think it does much to alter
your outward appearance." His palm presses to the younger's neck then, and he gently
continues, "well, other than the hideous eyes and fangs, of course."
Taehyung's eyes seem to round slightly, as he meets Yoongi's gaze in the mirror, and they
hold onto one another's brown orbs, and wonder about all the beauty that swirls in them, as
they are, here and now. It's as if the universe is made for them both to coexist in this moment,
every aspect of existence formulating around them, all the Ganges and mountains, and deserts
and seas, all the infinite worlds of water and earth, rising up before them, for them. It seems
to all settle around them for a moment, allowing their silhouettes to intermingle, to twist
together, and come to the brief understanding, this shall be the last time Taehyung looks at
him with those eyes.

"You won't be seeing that pretty reflection again." Yoongi tells him, and it comes out in a
hoarse kind of whisper, echoing.

Taehyung grins. "I know, I shall have to settle for a less vain existence, unfortunately." He
gently fluffs up his own hair, seeing the icicle-inspired creations Yoongi had composed in it.
Tenderly, he tells him, "you shall just have to tell me how good I look everyday."

The older smiles at him, with a subtle roll of his eyes, groaning into his words, "you'll have
two lovers to do that for you."

This makes Taehyung's head twist all the way around and he meets Yoongi's eyes properly,
not with the obscurity of the mirror, but in the flesh. They can practically feel the blood
between them both, the magical energy surging through their guts, as they stare at one
another. Quietly, almost shyly, Taehyung asks him, "can't you be there to tell me too?"

And Yoongi looks at him with something so grave plastered to his face, and, should
Taehyung have been still looking at his reflection that may be all he would've seen. But, alas,
glancing at him face on, wherein Yoongi is all he sees, he can take in the dashes of sunlight
as they dance from the speckles of gold in his eyes — like a fleck of stone, Yoongi's eyes
pool with sadness, with resolution, and with something that reminds Taehyung of the first
time he'd met the man. He doesn't think he shall ever be able to repay Yoongi for all he's done
for him, and, even as he grips his hand so tightly, he's unsure if he can feel the extent of his
sincerity and devotion.

It's almost too much to say in touch form. Too little in words. But enough in eyes. Just
enough.

"Always." He promises him.

"Then," Taehyung suddenly turns to him, snapping at him, staring, as he begs, "You
remember the favour I asked of you?"

Yoongi gnaws his lip, "yes." He nods, adds, "I still think it's dangerous—"

"As soon as it's done. You have to." He implores.

It's just then, that the room chills over, and Yoongi's hand falls from Taehyung's grasp, as the
door is pried open and Jungkook is there, dark-looking.
It's silent for a moment, and Jungkook eyes them suspiciously. Yoongi pays no attention to it.
"I shall see you out there." Yoongi says, with a crunch in his jaw, as if he'd been singed by
fire. He eyes Jungkook as he walks out, and his smile is volatile, but it's beautiful in the way
it makes Jungkook feel warm all over.

Jungkook almost forgets what it is he'd wanted to say. But, as soon as the door closes, he
meets Taehyung's gaze, as the dancer is swivelled in his chair, smiling at him, with an
incandescent beam in his eyes.

For a moment, he reminds Jungkook of the man he'd first laid eyes upon — the one who
danced with snakes and sunk his hands into your gut and curled his fingers around your
libido, pulling it and tugging it and wrenching it from your body. A painful experience of
enlightenment — that's what he'd always been. But, now, he's something else, something
more.

"You're beautiful." It slips out of him, like a secret, like an ushering of his inner-most
postulations, and Taehyung's mouth downturns in surprise, head turning to the side as if
concerned.

His voice is surprisingly hoarse, as he whispers back, "thank you." And Jungkook supposes
he must know that he's not just talking about his outward appearance. No, he can feel it
within the other, the warmed kindling of hot fires, that wrap around his bones, and create
such a soft, tepid presence about him. He's warmth and glory, and he's staring him right in the
face, smiling like a shy deer upon quivering feet.

"It's okay." He whispers, as he takes a few steps forward so he stands over the seated blonde,
and the rest of the world is so quiet outside the halls, where everyone has already settled in
the finery of the dining area.

Taehyung bites his lip, and stares wondrously up at him. "You feeling nervous?"

Jungkook nods softly. "Terrified."

"Me too." He laughs, almost a cackle. Tensely, he carries on, with a subtle sadness in his eye,
"but Jimin says everything will be fine, and, well, it's what I've wanted for a while now. It
shall be fine once all the anticipation is over."

"I agree." Jungkook tells him, instantly, and his own heart seems to speed up, as he gazes into
those soft orbs, and informs him, "but that's not what I'm scared of."

"No?" Taehyung's brows raise.

Jungkook's head shakes and says, "No. I fear something else is going to happen."

"Something else?" He echoes, and his eyes lashes blink innocently, confusedly almost, as if
he hadn't fully realised there could be another factor that would effect them.

"If I ask you something, would you be honest with me?"

"Of course."
Jungkook takes a deep breath in, and his heart slams against his chest, his cheeks a little
concave, as he forces all of his innards outward in order to pluck up the courage to fully ask
the question, "did you know that Plexus was working for Seokjin?"

Taehyung blinks again, and all that innocent confusion settles across his face, as he takes in
the question, takes in the younger man's desperate appearance, as he stands with an earnest
feat across his face. Jungkook startles slightly when that confusion evaporates and an amused
sort of understanding slides over the witch. It's the kind of face Jungkook doesn't recall ever
having seen Taehyung make, but yet resides so safely in the locked box of his memories. It's
one that's certain, one that's intelligent, and one that seems to show the true extent of his
unmatched knowledge.

Kim Taehyung always knows more than he lets on.

Jungkook had come to know that, he had come to see it, lingering in that glittering facade of
his beauty, of his radiant joy, that dangles from him like beaded curtains, shrouding his true
intentions, but not quite. His true, inner skin seeps through the gaps and it's broiling red, like
the devil.

"How did you come to that conclusion?" He asks, his outfit that's wispy and white, like a
congregation of weaved baby's breath flowers, hangs gangly from his dark form, that
suddenly doesn't seem quite so angelic.

His eyes narrows slightly, as he answers, "Seokjin told me."

"Ah." Taehyung nods, and he briefly looks at the floor, biting his bottom lip, as if
contemplative.

"Does Jimin know?" Jungkook inquires.

This makes Taehyung's head snap up, and his own eyes narrow in a parody of Jungkook's, as
he looks him up and down, and says, "No."

The boxer flares his nostrils and his tone becomes a little heavier as he almost bites, "but you
knew all this time?" When Taehyung nods, he aimlessly continues, "and you didn't think to
inform any of us?"

The witch's eyes sparkle with something so soft it makes Jungkook feel confused, sick, and
wretched all at once, as he takes in the ethereal beauty beaming up at him. "I didn't deem it
necessary."

"To tell Jimin someone was plotting to kill him?" Jungkook gasps out.

"No." Taehyung snaps back, eyes narrow and poisonous. "Just as I didn't see it fit to tell him
that you were trying to kill him."

It shuts Jungkook up immediately. He gulps as he recalls having plotted to do just that — it

seems worlds away now, despite the fact it was merely a matter of months.
The blonde exhales and carries on, "I don't like the insinuation in your tone." He says, and his
voice is distantly upset, though his eyes are dark and cloudy. "I would never let someone hurt
Jimin." He tells him, definitely, and Jungkook watches the sincerity of his words, as they drip
from his lips like honey. "My decisions were made in the understanding that they would
protect both of you. That's all they're ever for."

Jungkook's slightly narrowed eyes widen, as they fall all over the older, zigzagging over his
frame. "But, I don't understand how this could be protecting Jimin, or me." He edges closer to
him, so he's hanging fully over him, where he still rests in his chair. "And, besides, don't you
think there's something bigger going on there? Don't you think Seokjin is plotting something
else?"

"I don't think anything." Taehyung tells him, and his voice is a flutter of soft butterfly wings
in the breeze. "I know that to be the case." He glances momentarily at the door, and his eyes
fall on Jungkook again. "He is supposed to help with the transition today, for me and for you,
but I have a horrid feeling in my gut, Jungkook," He whispers now, grabbing the man by his
tie, and forcing him down slightly. "He knows Jimin isn't going to give him what he wants
and so he plans on taking it by force."

Jungkook's throat goes dry, as he leans awkwardly down the other, staring into his shaking
pupils and whispering, "well, what does he want?"

"He wants to kill Jimin," Taehyung says, takes a pause, briefly thinking things through,
before he admits, "he only wants him alive if he'll work for him."

Jungkook swallows harshly, as the world squishes together before his eyes and the
information soaks through his skin.

Taehyung releases a soft sort of sigh, and runs his fingers across his arm. "The vampire that
bites you will often then see you as their property. That often means they think you should do
stuff for them, work for them." He explains. Jungkook nods his head, the conversation he'd
had with Jimin in his kitchen quickly flooding back to him. "Well, that is exactly what
Seokjin has been trying to do for many years. Build an army." He laughs at the words,
shaking his head, as his tongue slides across his lips, and Jungkook stares at him, blinded.
"Such is the case with many of the older vampires. He's so bored with his dull existence, he's
trying to take over the city, the world, whatever."

Jungkook's not sure he'll ever quite grasp the magnitude of what being a vampire means, of
how vast it is, of how lonely it can be. It's a state of being he's not yet experienced, and, as he
learns more and more, he's not at all sure what to expect.

"It's an old idea." Taehyung informs him, softly. "Magical creatures, particularly avaricious
ones, like vampires, have often thought that they deserve to be on top in the world." He
snickers slightly, as if it's a little joke, and he continues, "he believes that humans are beneath
him, and, as per the natural hierarchy, his kind shouldn't be forced to live in the shadows."

"So..." Jungkook furrows his brows and grips onto the back of Taehyung's chair to steady
himself from the complicated mess he'd just walked into. "Why does that mean he wants to
kill Jimin?"
"Because he opposes him, of course." He smirks with it, and there's something about his
confidence that is vaguely comforting. "He knows Jimin can and will grow to be stronger
than him, and so, he wants to stomp him out before he gets in the way of his plans." He
clenches his teeth together. "He had originally been under the impression that Jimin was to
help him, and that was their agreement: Jimin would help him become mayor, and offer him
the help of the gang, in order to get vampires on top, in exchange for his help in my
transformation."

Their love beats like the wings of a bat.

"You see, as you know, my transformation must take place today, during Saturnalia, and we
must recreate the festival to the best of our ability." He sighs as he says, "and, in some
traditions, they need to offer sacrifices." Taehyung feels a little guilty, a little disturbed by
what Jungkook might do, as he says, "and Seokjin offered to give us one."

"A sacrifice?" Jungkook repeats.

Taehyung nods. "Traditionally, uh, a human is sacrificed, or, in many cases, just an effigy."
He tries to sound as justified as possible. "Or, just an important sacrifice."

"So, he's going to give something?"

Head nodding quickly, Taehyung says, "that's why he's marrying Dalrae. She's to be his
sacrifice, after they've forged a bond, she will be deemed important." Jungkook gapes.
Taehyung continues, "alas, Jimin can no longer go through with it."

"No?" Jungkook frowns, eyes wide and uncertain about what he was hearing.

"No, for, it seems he has truly come to realise the importance of human life, in a way that
Seokjin never shall." It curls across the room, hot and sticky, and Jungkook glances into his
dark eyes and sees his sulking reflection, a trembling image of him and his sister's, bound
together under Jimin's protection. "You changed his mind, Jungkook." Taehyung's voice is
like a song, and Jungkook feels himself smile as Taehyung does, and the witch quaintly spells
it out, "but Seokjin is too far gone to remember what it is to love like a human can."

Jungkook gulps, and is just about to reply when—

"Are you two having fun without me?"

Jungkook jumps backward, hand falling from Taehyung's and stares at the door, where Jimin
has just emerged, pressing the thing closed behind him, as he leans against it, looking dark
and stern despite the bright white light that spritzes around all of them, pasting them to the
walls like splotches of fragile flower petals.

He wonders how much Jimin heard, wonders how much he already knew, wonders how
much he should know.

"Just expressing our nervousness." Taehyung says, easily sinking into the lie that perhaps
wasn't quite a lie.
Jimin inches toward them, a low smirk on his face. "Whatever for?" He gently takes one of
their hands into his, holding them both to him. "I'll make sure everything goes accordingly."
There's something that's always so comforting about Jimin's confidence — even if he's
misplaced in it, it's nice for it to be there.

Jungkook glances at Taehyung accidentally, and Jimin raises a brow.

"Something else you're wanting to tell me?" He asks, and his voice is curious, softly landing
on Jungkook.

The boxer gulps and shakes his head, staring down at the blonde dancer, who unleashes a
slow breath into the air. "I think we need to be careful." Whispers Taehyung, as he nuzzles his
face softly against them, feeling both of their skin against his hot face, as they watch in
adoration, seeming to forget the tension with one flutter of his lashes. "But, I think everything
will be just fine."

&&&

Gone are the belittling breaths of humans, and the creatures of the night start to scuffle
around their empty, white feast. Now, only the vampires remain, all stuffed into the vast room
of golden bright — it's a celestial celebration. This is where they come alive, this is where
they grapple with their strengths, as prodigious masses of the night sky slip over them,
blanketing them in the cold night of a winter that is just unfolding across them.

Jungkook eyes Seokjin, who's sat at the head of the table, with his new wife beside him, and
they share something so insidious between them, he can't help but wonder whether that's
what he's destined for. He supposes Jimin hasn't fallen into their thickly masked cynicism
quite yet, as he's not at the age of carelessness yet.

Yet.

Yet.
Is that what's yet to come?

It's hard to imagine Jimin shan't become like that, and, by equal measures, Jungkook
supposes, that in signing himself up for eternity, he shall become just as they are as well.
Swollen into an image of his previous self, wherein he once knew the capabilities of the
human mind; all he sees in them now, is a monster, a vague creature that is nothing but ashes.
Seokjin and Dalrae are children of the night, who, despite their age, are still not perfectly
adjusted to the light.

And, as he watches them, he almost forgets the marvel of the two men beside him. His eyes
trail to them, and he watches as Jimin's hand pats delicately at Taehyung's thigh. Back when
they'd first met, Jungkook had imagined it an act of possession, but now, as he sees those
nimble fingers curl around that clothed limb, he can think of nothing but the torrenting circles
of solace Jimin must be pressing down into him.

He smiles as he realises he will always have something Seokjin doesn't have: love. Whether it
be within the horrible tangle of veins and arteries that connects him to Jimin and Taehyung,
or in the painful devotion he gesticulates toward his sisters, who he will be stronger for, who
will be more powerful for, he knows he shall always have love. Impure, imperfect,
impossible. But, it's love all the same.

There's something bizarrely comfortable in his stance, as he sits beside Hoseok and Jimin,
and the former is mindlessly gulping down a goblet of blood. It looks fresh and smells warm,
and Jungkook isn't put off by it at all.

He feels comfortable, until he catches sight of Kim Namjoon, who's fingernails are scraping
against the tablecloth. He looks paler than usual, and his eyes are tapered, folded neatly
across the table, staring at the array of glittering, white cutlery. He looks angry, almost, with
the bitter entrails of devotion spurting out of him, and Jungkook doesn't think he's ever made
such a grave misjudgement.

Where would he fit into this?

He can't quite imagine.

Namjoon is in love with Seokjin. Yet, Seokjin is not in love with him. Is it because he cannot
feel love? Is it because he cannot allow himself to? Or, is it because his heart is preoccupied
with fixing the wounds of someone else's design?

His eyes fall to Jimin, as he sees Namjoon's do too.

"Love makes life's sweetest pleasures and worst misfortunes." A honeysuckle voice suddenly
sings into his ear, and Jungkook cranes his head sideward to glance at Hoseok. The man is
making an origami creature from his napkin, and is wholeheartedly concentrated on it, even
as he talks. "Even when you're not alive, you can feel such a sentiment."

Jungkook just glances at him, eyes slightly narrowed, as if pondering over whether the elder
had read his mind.
The corner of Hoseok's mouth twitches up and he tells him, "it's a shame. But, we are not all
so fortunate to achieve the love we seek." And he glances up, trailing his gaze over
Jungkook, then behind him, to where Jimin and Taehyung watch him, tantalised. "Love
makes people crazy." He informs them, with a beautiful smile on his beautiful face. "That's
why I choose not to partake."

Jimin chuckles at him.

Jungkook's eyes are still slightly narrow, as he feels his words flow from the pulsating gore of
his heart, fuelling his speech before his mind can catch up, "You cannot choose to abstain
from love." He says, and he feels the witch and the vampire behind him grin. "Even if you
really want to."

As his eyes peel upward again, he meets those of Seokjin's, and the man looks as if he heard
him, despite the fact he's on the opposing end of the room, listening to a muttered
conversation between some elderly looking vampires. He oscillates in the light, seems to
ponder over the boxer's very existence and, for a short moment, he appears mild. Mild as a
storm, before it takes flight.

"It's nearly time." Jimin says suddenly.

And Seokjin is rising to his feet — he doesn't have to say anything for the room to fall into
silence. Every mouth clamps shut, and any idea of speaking stops in an instant. "May I have
your attention?" He asks for the sake of it, smirking in the knowledge he already has it.
Completely.

Namjoon's eyes are dark as they fall across him.

"Of course, I must first make a toast to my wonderful wife, with whom I intend to cherish
and spend the rest of my life with." Everyone laughs at that, and Dalrae herself seems alive
with the ominous sound of her giggle. Her eyes are dark, and thick dregs of blood seem to be
colluding in them, as she sets her attentions over the cold world before her. "It has been a
wonderful day of untimely celebration, and it is one that shall remain in my memory forever."

Jimin scoffs, right against Jungkook's ear.

"But, alas, I cannot steal the spotlight for much longer." He smiles, and looks out across the
meagre display of opulently made up guests, in their fresh linens and silks, with coats alpine
and lined with blood. "As you may know, particularly the witch's amongst us," Yoongi curls
his lip in a disgusted snarl. It almost makes Jungkook laugh. "Today, December the 17th, is,
in fact, the day of Saturnalia, a beautiful festival focusing on the finer things in life: sex,
gluttony and debauchery." The room sniggers again, and Jungkook resists the urge to roll his
eyes. "Anyhow, along with that, we have the privilege of welcoming fresh meat to our
species."

Jungkook feels eyes fall across him and Taehyung both, and he keeps his head held high, not
particularly caring about being shadowed with them. He's never been one to freeze in the
spotlight, and he shan't start now just because he's amongst the living dead. His brethren, he
reminds himself.
The doors in all four corners in the room open with thuds, and everyone sighs in relief as men
in red suits, with white masks across their faces, mesh, like wedding veils, start to hand out
platters of curious items.

Seokjin smiles, and he passes his gaze between the two of them as well, ignoring the waiters.
"I hope we can all enjoy the feast of Saturn, as we intermingle pagan blood with pure,
vampire lineage, and celebrate the success of the century." He laps his tongue across his
bottom lip, and everyone watches as his fangs elongate, sharp and deadly, as he eyes Jimin
wondrously. "Let the banquet commence."

Just like that, the whole room falls into a sickening scene of gourmandising — as the
vampires and witches all begin to feast on the plethora of hideous looking treats that are
beginning to be spread across the tables on silver platters. Most of it is blood, Jungkook
thinks.

There's music playing — a string quartet, in the corner; more people in red, with masked
faces, and trembling hands, that look almost blueberry in complexion, as they stutter against
their bows. The music is frantic, almost panicky, and it makes Jungkook's heart rate pick up.

"Love?" Jimin inquires, softly, just beside his ear, and he turns quickly, sees the glass that's in
front of him.

Jungkook eyes the other for a moment, and blinks harshly as he comes to realise what it is
he's seeing. Jimin's paper thin wrist, that's white as bone, is leaking with blood. It's dark —
darker than Jungkook has ever seen, to the extent it almost appears black. It's look a puddle
of ink. And he watches the vampire's blood, as it drips against the table, and the percolates
melt into red as it soaks into the pure white tablecloth.

Jungkook's eyes go wider still as he glances beyond Jimin and sees Taehyung. He's sat,
grinning from ear to ear, with his cherubic face and golden eyes, and teeth that are stained
crimson, as he flashes them in a grin. It's smudged against his nose, around his lips, dripping
down his chin. It's seeping from his gums, and he's grinning in pure ecstasy, as he eyes
Jungkook with an intense sort of happiness.

"You must drink from a vampire." Jimin whispers to him, as if he had forgotten. But, his tone
is full of concern and nothing else, and he seems as if he's about to ask whether the boxer has
second thoughts. So, the younger shakes his head and grasps tightly at Jimin's arm, pulling
the wrist so it's right before his mouth. With encouraging melting pots for eyes, the vampire
murmurs, "come on, sugar, taste me."

Without room for hesitation, with the violins dipping in and out of calm, he presses the wrist
to his mouth, and immediately laps his tongue across the bite mark there. His eyes are
dynamite in that instant, blown up so wide, he supposes his eyelashes meet his hairline. Jimin
smiles at him, and watches as he suckles down on his blood. It's sweet as strawberry jam,
with the consistency of milk, and he feels as if supping upon the pleasure of the world, as he
continues to down more and more of Jimin's sugar sweet victual. He supposes he must look
crazed, but in the slur of the room, he imagines no one notices. He downs it till he's fortified,
and then he downs some more, pulling forth more and more of Jimin's candy cane blood.
Jimin groans in pleasure, and he doesn't seem to care, isn't embarrassed at all. And, when
Jungkook finally pulls away, he realises why — he realises that the entire room is merged
together, and everyone is drinking and eating and kissing and biting into one another. They
all gorge on flesh and blood and it fills Jungkook with such pleasure.

He's never felt this way. Ever since he can recall, sex has been something that disgusted him.
Since his mother left on Hanai's second birthday, their father, who had always been a grouse,
took a turn for the worst. He would drink, he would sway, and he would bring home women
from the village and fuck them while his children could see. They're house was a shack,
consisting of one room, and when he'd bring a girl home, they'd have to sit outside in the cold
or sit inside and watch. On times when they'd complain, they'd get hit, and when the man
would tell Ara to give herself to the men in the village for money, Jungkook would try and hit
back.

He feels the horrors of it all — of sex, of drinking, of violence — and he feels it all curl away
into the casts of nothingness as he slurps up Jimin's vampiric blood.

When Jimin gently pries him off, he groans for more, but the older just laughs. "Patience." He
laughs, as he turns to Taehyung and caresses his face, smearing more of his blood across the
his lips, and grinning as he buckles under the touch. With a pointed smile, he says, "you
ready?" And the blonde, without a hesitance, nods.

"Born ready."

He breathes out one last time, and the music picks up, and Jungkook can see the robotic
movements of the orchestra as they continue, just beyond Taehyung's shoulder. He catches
sight of the pair again as Jimin pulls the witch till he's dangling over Jimin's legs — back
pressed to his thighs, as his head is held up by Jimin's blood-smeared hand. He makes a royal
mess of the work Yoongi had put into it.

But he doesn't care, as he leans down and aggressively smashes his lips against Taehyung's
— blood mingling between them, as he kisses him hard and harsh. Jungkook watches in
arousal, and he bites his lip, watching as Jimin kisses all down the witch's tan throat, right
across the jugular, smearing his blood-smudged lip prints all across him.

Jungkook bites harder at his own lip, as he watches Jimin bite into Taehyung, without any
formal warning — he sees the fangs, hears a hiss and, he sees Taehyung's eyes burst open, as
Jimin bites at the side of his neck, and gorges on his blood.

He sees how Taehyung writhes, and his eyes, stained amber, stare directly at Jungkook, as
crispers of bliss unearth from his pupils. His mouth falls open in pleasure as Jimin continues
his conquest, suckling up all the blood that Taehyung has inside him, tearing away any
fragment of him that pertained toward humanity, while allowing the witchy side of him to
breathe.

Jungkook's toes curl as he watches the bliss that forms in the crease between the other's
eyebrows, and almost has a fit himself as he starts to see his splendid, brown eyes keel over
and mutate into something deathly and black.
They congregate as that, little twinkling lights of beautiful black — gorgeous and warm and
deadly, and it's spreading all over him. His veins protrude from his neck, black as night, and
he's writhing still, as Jimin holds him tighter, stronger, warmer, and he pulls him close to his
chest, as he slows down a little.

Taehyung's eyes protrude and his skin tightens across his bones, and Jungkook thinks he can
physically see the changing of his DNA; he observes as the nucleotides alter themselves,
snapping into something far more dark, and far more prepossessing than he ever thought
possible.

The music grows louder, and people are howling all around them, and yet Jungkook feels as
if he's stuck in a bubble with Jimin and Taehyung and it's only them, in this intimate, private
space.

When Jimin pulls out, he's demonic, and his thirsty gaze is quick to land on Jungkook.
Taehyung's eyes close and he goes completely lax in his arms. Blood trickles down Jimin's
face, and his skin is cold, depleting, eyes bright red, and muscles puffed and ready.

"Are you ready, sweet love?" He calls to Jungkook, who's tantalised by the sight of him —
the gory repugnance. The melody spooling from Jimin's lips coaxing the boxer towards him.

"Please." He hums, ogling at the blood stained mouth.

A mouth that's suddenly on his neck. Teeth sink in and bliss starts to bubble, as Jungkook
gasps, feeling a multitude of love spreading through him. It's cherry magma, it's—
serendipity.

That is, until the teeth are suddenly ripped from him, leaving terrible gashes in his neck, as
blood pools out of him, and he hears a hissing voice, "you've lost a lot of blood, Jimin."

Jungkook can barely make out what is happening in the scene in front of him — but he
catches the gaze of the Seokjin, and his suit is completely splattered with blood, as is the
entire room. The ghostly white sheets are all tinged red with eternal life, and it all feels so
hot, and the music makes everything rapid and intense.

Seokjin is beside them, and his hand is at Jimin's throat, thick veins protruding with tar black
blood, nails clawed and scratching at the thin layer of skin there. Jimin chokes, despite the
effortless touch. Jungkook's vision is hazy, his mind too, but, he realises, Jimin is weak.

In much the same way humans cannot lose too much blood, neither can a vampire. Right
now, he's given away enough to fuel two fully grown men. Right now, he's vulnerable. Right
now, so is Jungkook, half-turned and aching. Right now, so is Taehyung, passed out in his
lap.

Jimin's eyes flicker madly around him, and he's heaving, his true form seeming to manifest
itself somewhat — it's that same beautiful image Jungkook had seen on him with Plexus.
Though, this scene is pained, he's a tortured angel, desperate to hide himself.
"Who would have thought it would be so easy for Dalrae to get inside little Taehyung's head
and prevent him from seeing what was to come for you." Seokjin purrs.

But he's wrong.

Jungkook can barely see, can hardly think. But, Seokjin is wrong. Taehyung must know what
was to come, he would never put them in danger like this — Jungkook trusted him, he knows
the witch wouldn't allow something like this to happen.

"You think you can fool me, Jimin?" Seokjin whispers, right beside Jimin's ear, but Jungkook
hears it loud and clear. Jimin's wincing in genuine pain, and Seokjin is grinning as he says, "I
know who you are. I know you're easily won over by good little humans. I know you feel an
itching desire for them and call it love. I know this because I created you. I am you."

Jimin seethes, teeth baring, and his head tries to shake, but Seokjin's grip is too tight. Bones
protruding and face tightening, Jimin strains out, "we're not the same."

Seokjin laughs, a deep rumble that startles Jungkook to no end, even more so when Seokjin's
eyes are suddenly on him. "Oh, I think we are." He titters, "look at the creatures
you love." He glances at Taehyung, "a witch who kills people to gorge on their emotions,"
Then at Jungkook, "and a human who kills for a living, even his own flesh and blood."

Confusion is apparent on Jimin's face.

Despair, on Jungkook's.

It only serves to make Seokjin more enthralled. "Oh, he didn't tell you?" He almost giggles,
as he hisses, "your sweet, little boxer murdered his own father just to get away from him.
Used the war to cover it up. Quite cunning really, to be able to delete all trace of himself like
that." He chuckles, and then his voice is darker, more terrible, "so you say you're not like me?
And yet, the creatures you love are just as dark and twisted as you were. Humans are not
good, Jimin, there's no reason so remain on their side." He digs his nails into Jimin's neck
harder, and says, "we are both attracted to the darkness, Jimin. Just as I loved you for it, you
love them."

Love.

Jungkook watches Jimin, but he doesn't seem surprised nor terrified of the truth about
Jungkook. In fact, he's entirely preoccupied with pain. Emotional and physical. "No—" He
struggles.

"Shh," Jin soothes, "you are like me, Jimin, and, as such, I'm giving you one last chance to
work with me, just as you said you would." Jimin's head shakes, and Seokjin fittingly adds,
"or else I shall tear your throat out, leave the witch to die and let the murderer walk around as
a half-ling forever."

"You can't—"
"Can't I?" Seokjin presses further into him, and Jungkook feels the pain with him. "I have no
need for you if you oppose me. I can train Namjoon to be as good as you, better." Jimin
struggles more. "He already envies you enough to want you dead."

Jungkook's eyes struggle to find said vampire in the room. To suss him out and see if it would
be true. Would Namjoon betray Jimin?

"I don't care—"

"Fine." Seokjin growls.

There's clouds of death stampeding through the boxer's mind, and his vision is red, as Jimin's
countenance is black. Heavenly black, retching beside Seokjin, as if suddenly disgusted by
Taehyung's blood.

Seokjin pulls Jimin's head back, reels him back painfully by the throat; Jungkook can see the
dark splotches where his hands leave bruises on that frail skin. He seems to be leaving an
imprint in him, as if Jimin is entirely malleable beneath him. Perhaps he is? Maybe he truly is
a monster, ready to be moulded to Seokjin's convenience.

But then Jimin's mouth is open and he's whining, and a painful ache stampedes in Jungkook,
a visceral reaction leaping from him.

He's full of Jimin's blood.

They seem, in this moment, as if one. As if two parts of the same whole, and he can feel the
bruises in his blood, like punctures to his organs. His heart is still beating, but it pulsates with
a blood that belongs to someone else, intermingling with his own.

As Jimin's body is tipped backwards, and Seokjin's fingernails press into him like razors,
both their eyes are ultimate pitch. Midnight coloured and monstrous. They paint themselves
in sin, and weave themselves into the creatures they are.

Jungkook can do nothing but give in to the urges that twist in him, as he sees those sharp
nails coming to slice Jimin's throat and tear his head off.

He reacts.

Ridiculously fast.

His body lurches forward and he's opening his mouth, sinking his teeth into flesh.

Seokjin grunts and his hand reels back on reflex.

He stares with those black orbs at his own hand, at the teeth marks left behind and he laughs,
so bitter and cruel, he seethes, "fucking human bite."

He's about to recommence the killing, when a harsh screech sounds from across the room.
Seokjin jumps and snaps his attention to the source, to the ear-piercing sound, that
commemorates his loss, that solidifies Taehyung as the ultimate victor.
They watch as a foolhardy Namjoon bites into Dalrae's throat, and Hoseok claws at her,
murderous as they pry at her. She's being pulled at, scorched, sacrificed.

And it's the last thing Jungkook hears before Jimin's reeling up again, and his teeth are in his
neck, and the world swirls to black.

He almost doesn't notice as the doors fly open and a scream resounds throughout, and
shutters click and people sprawl.

All he feels is euphoria, with god-worship in his veins, as his blood starts to flood out of him,
and he stares out upon the lecherous Saturnalia.

&&&

Ara stands with her back facing the wall, a twisted form of paranoia forever engrained within
her mind, wherein she can do nothing but keep her gaze ahead, to watch out for what's in
front of her. And, currently, what's in front of her is her sister, settled snugly beneath the arm
of a man dressed in pearls and glitter, with eyes sharper than she remembers, with skin that's
a dash more opalescent. His beauty had been radiant before, but she doesn't recall being this
drawn to him. All her eyes can do is linger, falling over the sharp yet rounded features of Kim
Taehyung, as he plays with Hanai, and laughs as she plays back.

It's been months since she'd last seen him.

Jungkook is moving out, and he didn't have any reason to bring his lover round — in fact,
Ara hadn't seen Jimin either for quite some time. Well, as she adds to the list, she feels
strangely as if she hadn't seen Jungkook for a while either. When he visits, which he does
most days, he's different, and it's something Ara can't quite put her finger on. There's a glow
to him, something softer than usual, but by some strange parameter, a great deal more lucid.

Jungkook had always been hard, since their mother left, he'd grown a hard outer shell, and
the war had only thickened it — had made it tough to the point she could no longer seek to
poke her fingers through it. She could never reach him. She recalls when he'd come back,
when the war was over, and he'd turned and looked at her, with this darkness sagging across
his skull. The callous skin of tribulation had taken ahold of him, and, even as he'd told her
that their father was gone, that he had disappeared into the ashes of war, he hadn't seemed
free.

None of them did.

Even with their greatest adversary disposed of, they all felt chained to the extent of their
wrongdoings; instead of adhering to the man that supposedly raised them, they now had to
adhere to society, to be bound by it.

It's only now, in these past few months, that she'd seen that trembling crest of freedom start to
appear. The interminable sheen of ice that had for so long encased Jungkook's eyes, suddenly
seemed to drip away, and the water runs down his face, leaves it oscillating and cold, and a
perfect surface to reflect Ara's own despair. She sees the freedom in him, when he's with
them, when he becomes part of them, and it makes her, achingly, feel as if she has her own
sense of it.

It scares her to death.

Jungkook comes out of his old bedroom, a box of things in his hand, and Jimin's pulling out a
chair from there, bringing them out into the living room, where a multitude of other moving
boxes reside.

"Will we really have a garden?" Hanai asks, for perhaps the hundredth time, as she stares
adoringly up at her sister, lashes pressing across her cheeks.

She's too young to remember when they'd lived in the countryside, all she knows is Quellnex,
hiding, escaping. They'd ran here as soon as their father had been drafted, before Jungkook
was yet old enough. They'd evacuated in reverse, clinging to the city, in the hopes that,
should their dad be alive, should he come back and try to find them, he wouldn't have a shot.

Turns out, he didn't survive.

Jungkook made sure of it.

Still, Hanai never got to experience anything beyond this musty, decrepit apartment. And,
with Jungkook's new line of business, with his newfound purpose tangling with Jimin, he can
buy them their own house. A new one. Just where they want it, with a blooming garden, and
music players, and shiny floors they can slide along in their socks.

Ara says, kindly, "yes, sweetheart." As she glances at Jimin. He smiles back at her, and she
resists the urge to shudder. She's not scared of him, because she's not scared of anyone, but
there's something about him she doesn't want to label. Something she's assumed since the
beginning. She's not sure she always wants to know everything her mind thirsts for.

"And TaeTae will visit," Hanai declares, to which the blonde chuckles and nods.
"Of course." He glances up at Jimin and Jungkook, who are still helping to pack up all the
boxes.

It's sweet. Ara would say it was sweet, if she wasn't so petrified of the answers that she
doesn't bare to let come to light. She knows Jimin is a gangster, but she finds that must be the
least of his negative qualities. He's more. He's so much more. She can feel it. She can see it.
She can see how it's swallowed her family, has consumed and torn her brother apart, made
him into something else. Something he's not.

Or, perhaps, something he had always been trying to reach.

Perhaps Jimin and Taehyung were the final part of his journey.

She'll pack the idea away for now. She's warming to so many things recently. She stays in the
library a lot now, with the man who granted her a job, and she finds her mind expands with
every part of the world she's allowed to explore. Yet, she finds she can't accept something she
doesn't yet understand.

So, she inhales, and says, as smoothly as she can, "come on, Han, we've gotta get you to
school."

Hanai pouts. "Oh." She sighs, but she obediently slips from Taehyung's lap and walks over to
her sister, allowing the woman to take her hand. She's passed the age where she wants her
sister to hold her in her arms, but she still wilfully obliges to holding hands. "I'll see you
later." She says to the men behind her.

"See you, princess." Taehyung winks at her.

Jungkook smiles and says, "say goodbye to the apartment."

"Goodbye apartment." She giggles, as Ara smiles rather harshly, and tugs her toward the
door.

"Thanks for the help." She manages to say, without sounding too biting.

Jimin shrugs, nonchalant, almost teetering toward sweet. "Not a problem." He tells her, but
he keeps his words short, understated, as he supposes she shall only get annoyed if he goes
off on a tangent, if he tries to say something too clever. She's a lot like her brother. It takes a
while for her to warm up to people.

She leaves after a slightly turgid nod, and Jungkook gives her an appreciative one back.

As soon as the door closes, she exhales, her whole body falling into it, thin bones swooping
down to encompass the vastness of the breath she'd been keeping in, bundled up inside her
lungs.

"Let's say goodbye to Mrs Kim, hm?" She smiles down at her little sister, who responds with
the utmost enthusiasm. They clamber the stairs together, for the last time, and neither of them
feel sad about that. Despite how long they've lived here now, the attachment to the building
feigns when they recall all the rotten things they'd put up with there. The only thing
salvageable was Kim Pulip.

Alas, when they knock the woman doesn't respond immediately, as she usually does. She
doesn't open the door, bright and friendly, and ready to converse with you on all manner of
subjects.

Instead, when the door finally peels open, a chain lock ensures it doesn't go very far. They
can just about see her, her grey face peering through the gap, the dark of her apartment
swarming her from behind. The shadows are contagious, and they spread all across her eyes.

"Hello, Mrs Kim," Ara says politely, trying to mask her unsettlement.

The woman's eyes go dark as soon as she makes out who it is. Her voice is a croak, is like a
drop of a stone across a running lake, harsh and forgotten easily. "You cannot come in."

Ara blinks at her. Confusion runs through her, but she tackles it calmly, as she says, "oh,
that's alright. We only wanted to say goodbye. And to thank you for—"

"I don't want your thanks." She quickly interrupts, "I didn't do anything for you. I don't want
you to think that."

Ara tries to keep her smile on, but confusion grasps her by the neck, and Hanai looks equally
as confused, tugging at her sister's leg, as she asks, "don't you want to say goodbye?"

Pulip glances down, her eyes narrow, but they melt into something a little warmer as they
land on the girl. "Innocent flower." She says, and she lingers there, on that sentiment, before
something more egregious settles and she snaps her gaze up to the older girl. "Don't let her be
corrupted too."

The word rests uncomfortably between them. Ara's nostrils flare slightly, but something
rotten as dread soaks in her guts. "Is everything quite alright—"

"I warned you." Pulip tells her, and she rattles the door, makes the chain shake, as if with bad
temper. "I told you the devil was infesting your apartment. Told you you'd need fire to stamp
out the cockroach."

The discomfort quickly mutates to fear.

"And now the smoke is wrapped around your brother. His poor soul is forever contaminated,
plagued." Her nails scrape against the wooden door then, as if possessed with terror.

"Jungkook is not ill?" Hanai says, questions, as she looks to her sister for a childish
affirmation.

"Of course not." Ara tells her, soothes, but she's not sure she believes it.

Pulip is shaking her head, and she grates her teeth together uncomfortably. Her eyes seem red
with tired, face as if having aged a century overnight and she tells them, "it is too late for
him. But you can still go, you can still get out."
"Mrs Kim, I hardly know what you mean—"

"He does not appear in photograph." She says, and it comes out coarse, rife with pain and
transgression, as if she can't quite grasp the concept herself. "He has succumbed to the
darkness, and it shall swallow you whole if you don't get out."

"He doesn't..." Ara lets her mind take over, allows her thoughts to guide her to her
destination. She thinks the answer is on the tip of her tongue; she thinks she knows, she
thinks she's right. And she doesn't know why she's not as scared as she ought to be.

Her brother surely can no longer be human.

But, for some reason, that doesn't frighten her. He's not human, but he's no less alive. He's no
less free. He's happier than ever, and he's shed his human skin. Ara feels her grip tighten on
her sister's hand. She has a long way to go. She has a lot to wrap her head around. But, for as
much as she despairs, she can't help but think: she is so tired of running.

And, well, Jungkook certainly seems as if he's stopped. He's found his place. She's scared,
but she feels as if she must find hers.

&&&

Jungkook examines the newspaper with an unusual scrutiny, running over the headlines
countless times in his mind. Mayor by Day, Bloodsucker by Night. It leaves a bitter taste in
Jungkook's mouth, like the essence of salt on your tongue, a saline solution leaking over
sandpaper.

The town is congealed with hysteria. Once a town cohered by a rampant sense of devotion,
now a place shaking with grief and incomprehension. Following the media entering the
banquet on the day of Seokjin's wedding, news spread about the practices going on there; but,
vampires don't appear in pictures unless they try hard enough. All they could express to the
public is words. Conspiracies. Ideas about the mayor, and his true nature.
It's quite the contrast to what Seokjin had wanted to happen. As per Taehyung's request,
Yoongi had let in reporters, just as the transformations had been complete. Seokjin had
foreseen this, and, it worked in his favour.

He wanted the world to be aware of them, in order for vampire's to dominate humans.

The world was to discover vampires and fear them.

Instead, the world discovers vampires and doesn't believe them.

In some cases, this is worse. Because now, it is a town that's divided. Half the people are
driven mad with fear of a prospect unknown, and the other half revere the believers and spit
in the face of such creatures existing, let alone their mayor being one.

Memories are still woozy to Jungkook.

The last thing he remembers of the damned Saturnalia is falling asleep in Jimin's lap, and
waking up, unable to examine himself in the mirror. Jimin had been there by his side, and so
had Taehyung. For a little while, that's all he could focus on: them. His senses where
hypersensitive, driven by a newfound lust for privileges he daren't comprehend, and the thing
that kept him grounded was the presence of the old vampire and the new one.

Now, he's back in his apartment, sat on his old bed, examining the newspapers his sister has
kept over the past few weeks. The headlines seem to laugh at him. There's been no word from
Seokjin, despite the fact this would be his chance to step in, to admit what he is, to expose his
livelihood and ascertain dominance over humanity.

He doesn't.

No. He's gone into hiding, and Jungkook hadn't understood it at first; he didn't understand
why the older wasn't simply grasping at what he wants, at what was readily available to him.

That is, until he sees it with his own eyes.

Park Jimin.

Said vampire is crouched on the ground, helping to pack up Jungkook's things, silent, but
comfortable in his position.

Jungkook knows Jimin knows that he's watching him. He doesn't care. He aimlessly
examines him with his new eyes, his inhuman ones, that, in some odd way, make him see
clearer. Park Jimin did not go through with Seokjin's request — he didn't pick up his end of
the deal. Seokjin had ensured Taehyung remained safe, but, Jimin has not helped in the
takeover of vampire's over the human race.

Jungkook bites his lip, sharp teeth tugging at the cool flesh, and gently inquires, "is he going
to kill you?"

Jimin stills slightly, his movements no longer so fluid, and he, instead, contorts his body
around, and lends his gaze to Jungkook, quietly observing. "He'll try." He assures, though he
doesn't stop his rapid eye-searching of Jungkook's face.

"He loves you." Jungkook concludes, because it's what he'd sensed, what he'd imagined for a
while, since he'd properly conversed with the other. Kim Seokjin is in love with Park Jimin.
Has been since he turned him. He wants to rule the world with him, or not at all. Because
you can't rule the world without Park Jimin.

"Yes." He nods, not quite shy, but not so cocky in the understanding of the concept, as
Jungkook had expected him to be. "But, that doesn't mean he's not going to kill me."

"He can't kill you." Jungkook suddenly tells him, says it as if it's a fact. Then, glancing at his
hands, he corrects himself. "I won't let him."

Jimin's smile is smooth, languidly pressing across his face, and blinks his eyes, slow, turgid.
There's something so all-encompassing in his warmth, in the radial essence of his body, of his
tone, and of his love. It swarms Jungkook entirely and dapples with his cool demeanour.
"Look at you, suddenly so protective of me."

Jungkook's eyes roll.

Jimin chuckles and rises to his feet. His footsteps are hard clods of reality as he steps toward
Jungkook, capturing the man's face in the coldness of his palm. It feels so magnificent — like
ice tendrils dripping down hot, sexual skin on a sensuously tepid day. "Don't worry. Seokjin
shan't get his hands on me." He caresses his face, softly stroking his thumb, in a way
Jungkook is tenderly familiar with by now. "And I shan't allow him to hurt you either."

"You think he would?" Jungkook blinks at him, enraptured with his speech.

Jimin shrugs, but he knows Jungkook well enough to not mistake the reaction for worry.
Jungkook is past worrying. "No. He won't." Jimin affirms, "we all look after each other, don't
we?" He hums, "it will all be okay."

At that moment, the door creeks open, and both turn to see Taehyung's head peeking around,
smiling in an innocent, falsely worrisome way. "Hope I'm not interrupting." He purrs, and
both other men melt at his presence.

Jimin strokes Jungkook's face one more time, before he moves back and chuckles, dark and
warm and with all the luxury of thick, velvet blood. "Don't be silly, sweetheart."

"Your sister seemed better." Taehyung says, slipping into the room and closing the door
behind him. "But, I figure she's still uncertain about the new arrangement?"

Jungkook shrugs, though he can't help how soft he feels in the presence of them both, as if
soaking himself in water vapour, sailing through a cloud. It's splendid when just one of them
is in his vicinity, but nothing can come close to the euphoria he feels, when both of them are
present, curling their claws into his waxen heart. "She's coming around." He says, because it's
true.
Jungkook had spent to past few weeks away from her. Not out of choice, but because his new
vampire urges were hard to control, and he didn't want to accidentally bite her or Hanai, or do
anything potentially damaging. Of course, she doesn't know about him, about what he's
become, but her suspicions are high following the news of the mayor, and her earlier
conclusions about Park Jimin. He supposes he shall find a good time to tell her. Or, he'll
allow her to truly figure it out when, in twenty years, he looks exactly the same.

In the weeks they spent apart, she seemed to lose any animosity, instead, all she seems to feel
is a hollowness needing to be filled with the glorious friendship of her brother. That's all. She
misses him and that accounts for much more than disdain, than a lack of understanding.

She wants to understand, because she doesn't want to lose him.

That's all Jungkook can ask for right now, because he doesn't want to lose her.

"I can't believe we're really doing this." He finally laughs to himself, effortlessly changing to
subject, with all the giddy and excitement of a newborn — a fledgling, maybe.

Jimin chuckles at him, and shrugs, in quiet agreement. "Well, running the underworld was
getting boring anyway." He says, though it's not entirely true. Still, Jimin had eternity ahead
of him, he couldn't very well remain fulfilled in the same career all that time. Besides, he
himself was in a honeymoon stage, and the three of them desired a retreat, an adventure
where they were not quite so bound by their roles.

"I'll miss dancing." Taehyung sighs, melodramatic as usual, and he releases the tension in his
shoulders. The Sugar Lounge, is officially closed, after many believers named it a top spot for
vampires to patrol. Yoongi and the rest of the coven thought it best to move on, and, with the
promise to see each other often, he'd let Taehyung go, on his conquest to seek a new sanctity.

"You'll just have to give us private shows." Jimin teases, but all of them seem to rather adore
the idea.

Taehyung grins, and shrugs his shoulders, almost sassy in it, indulgent. "If you're lucky."

Jimin smirks at him, and quickly finishes the box he's packing, before huffing out a sigh of
relief and saying, in a beauteous tone and atmosphere, "I am lucky."

&&&
"Fucking hell."

Taehyung's fingers leave white lines across the red leather, as his head falls back against the
back of the sofa, hair spilling down the side of it. Jungkook is on his knees between
Taehyung's spread legs, and his mouth is wrapped around him.

It's been precisely half an hour since Hanai and Ara left. It had taken precisely twenty
minutes for them to talk, before this situation had ensued. It had been happening an awful lot
— sex, exploration, tasting. With their newfound bodies and capabilities, it was endlessly
exciting for them to uncover all the new sides of their fantasies, to ascertain all the ways they
could tip each other over the edge with their stamina.

Jimin chuckles at them, but his eyes are dark, red. They all are. They look at each other, into
each other, around each other, with red eyes, and the entire room is every shade of it. The
lens of hell is what their eyes see through, and it was such a beautiful adjustment. Jimin's red
eyes stare down at Taehyung as he stands on the other side of the sofa, pulling the man's head
back by his hair. He kisses him hard on the mouth, and his tongue is quick, as it explores very
crevice of it, as if he hasn't done it a million times before.

And Jungkook is on his knees, taking Taehyung inside his mouth, watching him writhe in
pleasure, as his toes curl and his thighs shake, and Jungkook drags his teeth along his dick.
That's perhaps what Jungkook likes the most about being a vampire — the fangs. He doesn't
know why, but it's absolutely enthralling to bring them out, to bite into things, to flash them.
He uses them now, softly drawing one down the underside of the blonde's cock.

Taehyung gasps. It's not painful, because Jungkook isn't applying pressure, but it tickles and
it makes him throb. And Jungkook pulls away, just as Taehyung is moaning into Jimin's
mouth.

Jungkook takes a bite into Taehgung's inner thigh, just to gorge on a few drops of blood.
Witch blood tastes better than a humans. But Jungkook finds no blood is comparable to a
vampire's. He suckles on some of that blood, and it's dark, almost black, and yet it smells like
sugar and tastes like honey, smoked and charcoal-like as it slithers down his throat.

He doesn't need to catch his breath. Doesn't need anytime for a refractory period, before he
pulls himself onto the sofa, leaning over it, so Jimin is in front of him, crashing their lips
together. Taehyung watches with crimson eyes, as they kiss, and Jimin's lips lap across
Jungkook's.

He groans into Jungkook's mouth, and grips him by the chin, forcing him to stay, as he plies
his tongue in deeper. Jungkook almost chokes, but Jimin pulls out at just the right time.
Instead, spit coats his lips, Jimin's spit, and it's gorgeous, makes the redness of them appear
like rubies. "Such a pretty mouth." He purrs, as he pulls away, still holding him by the chin.
His eyes trail to Taehyung, sharp and, despite how they all now share the same species, he's
still so much more in control than them. Jungkook supposes it was never really being a
vampire that gave him such an ability but, simply, that was Jimin. "Did it feel good around
your cock, baby?"
Taehyung nods, manically. "'Mazing." He whines, and Jimin coos at him, but his smile is
mean, dripping with a sense of superiority.

"My pretty vampires." Jimin chuckles, as he kisses Jungkook on the nose, before kissing
Taehyung. "All mine."

Their smiles are dazed but, nonetheless, they're there — they're forever present nowadays, in
their honeymoon period. "Careful," Jungkook says, voice surprisingly steady, "you're starting
to sound like Seokjin."

Taehyung giggles, but Jimin's eyes flash slightly darker, and he groans out, with something
almost jovial, "don't mention his name." His tongue runs along his luscious lips, and he runs
his thumb along Jungkook's chin, feeling the cold skin that pulses beneath his fingerprint. "It
shall ruin my mood."

"Sorry." Jungkook whispers, but it's good-natured, as soft and humorous as his heart can
manage. His heart is still very much thumping in his chest. That's the main thing he'd
supposed would change — he'd be dead, he wouldn't be able to breathe, his heart wouldn't
beat, but, it did. It's hard as iron against his ribs, and pounds across his skin, sending
vibrations through him. He feels it when he looks at them most, when there's an
overwhelming feeling of love, and his brain requires more oxygen to cope. He's not yet able
to control his inner-organs as Jimin can, but he thinks he'll get there, someday.

Right now, Jimin can feel the thump of his cold, dead heart, as it sprays black blood through
his veins. He can feel it in the tendons of his neck; every part of him is smooth, supple, and
despite the frosty integument that now clouds his gaze and his breaths, he's still got such a
warm heartbeat.

Jimin bends down again and pecks him on the lips, before he turns to Taehyung and pouts,
mocking, eyes dark as blood, as he scours his insidious gaze across his quivering form,
spread out and open for them. Just for them. "Aw, you still haven't cum, pretty?" He purrs,
eying Taehyung's still very erect member, which Jungkook had meanly pulled away from too
soon.

Taehyung whines and shakes his head.

He's still so quick to fall apart. It's something they both love, still, that, despite how much
power exudes through him, with the matrimony of his magic force and his vampiric
capabilities, he's still so weak when it comes to them. There's a subtle sort of knowledge
there, especially with Jungkook, who knows of the secrets the older can keep, of the true
power he holds, that Taehyung was perhaps strongest of them all. So, that made it all the
more enthralling when he was whining and babbling for them, clutching so desperately at
them for help.

"Too bad." Jimin laughs, as he watches the man's face fall, sees the way his cheeks grow
slightly more pallid in complexion, like he's sinking into a sulking grey cloud, miserable, and
full — right on the precipice of bursting.

"Oh," He groans out, toes curling against the wooden floor. "Please, Jimin— you—"
"Be quiet, darling," Jimin shakes his head, clicks his tongue with a tut. His attention is back
on Jungkook then, as he blinks his eyes and they flutter gold as the sun. His hand strokes
harshly at the man's hair, and Jungkook grunts — his sensations are high, sparking and
leaning into every single one of Jimin's touches. "I'm gonna play with Jungkook, and I want
you to watch, hm?"

Taehyung bites his lip. He can't deny it sounds appetising — cruel and calculated, but so
damn appetising.

"So, just sit quietly," He commands, as his hand comes to roll it's way down Jungkook's neck
-- he's like a collar, like a collar of muscle, that can stroke and choke as much as it pleases.
He presses against those pretty tendons; Jungkook has such a marvellous physique and, in
his new state, he's even more reminiscent to marble. It's startling. It's mouth-watering. Jimin's
breaths are intentional, pulled up from his stagnant lungs, projecting preposessing squirts of
lust from each icy breath he presses across the man's neck. It's like hes freezing him over,
carving him into ice and keeping him there - and poor Taehyung, he can do nothing but
watch, eyes wet, red as blood. "And don't touch yourself." Jimin suddenly snaps, angrily
eyeing the hand that's starting to creep toward Taehyung's member.

He whines, deep in his throat. Jungkook smirks at the sound, grins at it, likes the way it feels,
as Jimin's hands come to slowly unbutton his shirt. Taehyung is looking at them with
something akin to admiration - it flares from him, lights like a firework, flaming in his pupils.
He watches, teeth clenched, nails sharp and penetrating the leather beneath him, as Jimin
licks his long tongue down Jungkook's jugular. He hums to himself, and pulls the man's shirt
off, composed, at ease. He grins, as he presses his face into the corner of his neck, where it
meets his shoulder - Jungkook obediently moves back for him, lets him have all he wants.

Jungkook gets ridiculously thrilled by the fact he can feel Jimin's whole face - the sensation is
ridiculous, but he's sensitive in this state, like he's only just started seeing the world, and
Jimin's face against him -- his prickly eyelashes, soft brows, smooth cheeks and slightly
pointed nose - it makes him feel as if Jimin is everything. He feels as if he has the entire
world buried against him.

Jimin giggles to feel how the nympholepsy rumbles out of Jungkook, all across his body,
increasing tenfold as he suddenly bites down into him. Jungkook groans, as Jimin bites down
into him, and harshly starts to lap up his blood. He tastes of marrigold flowers and springtime
sun's - he tastes like new starts, fresh journeys, fresh life.

Jimin gulps it down and Jungkook grabs his head, lets him.

His eyes wander, falling over Taehyung, who's barely able to see - his face is pulled together,
and his eyes are hooded, obscured by the thick musk of libido that engulfs the room. He
looks enraptured, as if having first seen the gates of heaven, ready to transcend to some star-
spangled, pearl-drenched nirvana. It fills Jungkook with an aptitude for desire he feels most
regularly these days - healthy, almost, but obsessive in the most wondrous of ways.

When Jimin finally pulls back, with blood in the corners of his mouth, a very powerful
hickey in Jungkook's neck, he hardly has time to bask in the transitory euphoria of blood-
drinking, before Jungkook lunges forward, pulls Jimin down to him, from where he's still
knelt on the sofa, so he can return the favour. Taehyung observes how Jimin's face goes from
shocked to pleasured, as Jungkook sinks his own fangs right into the side of Jimin's neck. It's
so rare to see Jimin shocked, and it makes the pleasure traipsing over his feaatures all the
more delicious ot observe.

Taehyung sinks his nails into his arm, trying so desperately to fight off the urge to touch
himself. It's definitely not helped by the fact Jungkook is staring right at him - even with his
concentration centred around sucking out Jimin's blood, his eyes are pasted to Taehyung.
They're obsidion, absolutely wanton, congested with desire. He stares at Taehyung, as Jimin
grabs onto the back of the sofa, steadying himself from where he still stands behind it, and he
suckles on his blood, on his skin, as he watches Taehyung writhe.

"You really can bite." Jimin praises, eyes still closed, lashes pressed prettily against his
porcelain cheeks. He says it as though Jungkook hasn't spent the last few months trying to
bite him at every chance he got.

It was normal for a teething vampire, to be so hungry for blood, but Jungkook was insatiable.
It had gotten to the point he worried when he left Jungkook alone with Taehyung, as he
would always return, to find Taehyung close to passing out, full of desire, as Jungkook
stuffed his teeth into any surface he could get.

It was adorable, really.

He pulls himself away from Jungkook, showing them both easily the person who was still
ultimately in control. His sense of carefree whimsy quickly mutates to cold, stoney anger, as
he sets his gaze upon Taehyung. The blonde in question whimpers, whines like a kicked
puppy, as Jimin's dark gaze looks down at him. In a flash, he's in front of him, stood right
before him, hovering, looming.

"What do you think you're doing?" He inquires, twisted with something so callous.

Taehyung trembles visibly, as he draws his hand away from his dick. "I--" He tries.

But Jimin's head juts to the side, mocking, as he says, "you?" He waits for a moment, for
Taehyung to say something, anything, that may get him out of the hot water he finds himself
in. But, the man is too ashamed to speak. "I don't recall saying you could touch yourself."

Taehyung drops his head down, staring at his stomach. His dick twitches, even with how
mean Jimin's being - especially, with how mean Jimin's being.

"Nothing to say for yourself?" Jimin frowns, and gestures at Jungkook; the boxer obediently
comes to pry Taehyung's head forward, as he sinks down into the seat beside him. "God, you
used to be so good for me. What happened?" He muses, mainly to himself, but it purrs out of
him so controllingly, it's like he really wants an answer.

Taehyung presses his lips together and shamefully manages to get out, "h-hurt."

Jimin's brow raises. "Oh?" He glances at Taehyung's dick, then back at his face, and he looks
bored, if anything, as he shrugs, and says, "good." He peers up at Jungkook again, looking at
the blood that makes his lips slightly redder. He hums, before he says, "get on your knees,
Taehyung." There's no real conviction, it's entirely lacklustre, but Taehyung adheres to the
command anyway. He sinks onto the floor, lets his naked knees bang against it.

Jimin nods, partially satisfied, and it's quiet for a moment, the anticpation pulsating in the air.
None are really sure what to expect -- but, Jungkook certainly doesn't expect, in all his
wildest fantasies, for Jimin's foot to come forward, for his dark leather boot to carelessly,
easily, step down on Taehyung's hard, red cock.

The blonde chokes at the sudden pressure, eyes going wide, as he sinks down lower, till his
butt reaches the floor, and Jimin can firmly press down on him till his dick presses against it.
"Does that hurt, witch?" Jimin asks, casual, but so horribly sadistic.

Taehyung loves and loathes it by the same parameter, and he groans, nods his head, and
manages to get out, "y-yes."

Chuckling, Jimin moves his boot, the smooth, expensive leather running up and down
Taehyung's member, and Jimin looks at Jungkook, hungry. He says, "isn't he so pathetic?
Getting off on my shoe because he's too dumb to listen to instructions."

Jungkook just gulps, already feeling himself aching in his underwear. Jimin watches, eyes
peeled and dark, and he smirks, pressing down harder at Taehyung for a moment. "A--ah, sir,
I'm gonna-" He tries, but Jimin immediately steps off, leaving Taehyung cold and aching and
firmly on edge.

Tears well up in his eyes, Jimin watches them and he simpers, jives, says, "aw." He pats the
man under the chin, holding him there for a second, gazing into his eyes, as if to check he
wasn't pushing too far. Despite his tears, Taehyung gives a soft nod, barely there, but enough
for Jimin to smirk, and command, "if you sit here, perfectly still, perfectly quiet like a good
boy, I'll let you cum, okay?"

Nodding vigorously, Jimin pats him on the head, before he moves toward Jungkook, and
smirks wider, as the man looks up at him. "You're too cruel." He says, eyes lidded.

Jimin's brow raises, and he nudges his knee against Jungkook's cock, still clothed, as his legs
are open and he sits on the couch. "You love it." He grins, as he kneels down. Jungkook
watches, awed, as Jimin casually comes between his legs, on his knees, as if submitting. But
he clearly has the power, as he slowly undoes Jungkook's trousers. "Mmm," He murmurs, as
Jungkook's erect cock springs free, and Jimin laughs at it, laughs up at Jungkook's face.
"You're so filthy," He says, casually bringing his hand forward, thumbing at the slit. "Acting
all self-righteous," He jabs with his nail, and Jungkook hisses, groans as Jimin pumps his
hand down, playfully moving along Jungkook's member, as if exploring it for the first time.
"You can't pretend with me, doll-face, I know how sick you are." Jungkook gulps, toes
curling as he feels Jimin's fingers rub against his balls. It's sudden, and that just makes it all
the more tasty. "Look how hard you are, just from watching sweet Taehyungie get his dick
stepped on."

Taehyung struggles to watch Jimin's hand without screaming, so he watches Jungkook's face
instead, how it twists and turns with pleasure. But, even that is too much for him, when
Jungkook suddenly looks back at him, full of sexual desire, of a burning passion, that makes
Taehyung's insides feel like jelly.

"I mean how foul," Jimin carries on, as he comes forward, still fondling Jungkook's balls,
using those big, luscious lips to kiss at the head of his cock. Jungkook hisses again, loud.
"You're so despicable." He laughs, sending vibrations along his dick.

"No-" Jungkook tries to say, but Jimin's tongue is moving along him now, all the way down
his length, distracting. "You like it too." He manages to get out in a rasp, as Jimin licks his
tongue back down, curling it around his head.

Jimin shakes his head, composed. "I'm not the one who's rock hard." He counters, and it's
true, but it's not fair. Jimin has had years of practice, has perfect control of his entire body,
can basically control when he wants to be hard or not - Jungkook had not yet mastered that
trait, and, honestly, he doesn't think he wants to. He loves this feeling so much, the feeling of
being lost, perhaps never to be found.

"No fair," He huffs, but his nonchalance is cut out, as soon as Jimin takes him all in,
swallowing him into his entire mouth. Jungkook gasps and groans, and Jimin laughs around
him, licking him. He sucks him into his mouth, and there's truly nothing like it. He's amazing
at this, just like he's good at everything else.

His hands still play with Jungkook's balls, and he starts to bring his head back and forth, but
it's so slow, so sensual, and Jungkook can't help but snap his eyes to Taehyung when the
blonde releases a strained gasp. Jimin's right, he does love to see Taehyung like that, to see
the powerful man crumble, to see how beautifully the inlfux of desire fills him with magic, to
see how heat spreads across his cheeks and tears line his eyes. He's beautiful and he's perfect
and it's impossible not to get turned on.

So, with a sly wink, Jungkook brings his hand to Jimin's head, hands tangling in his hair, and
his other hand comes to press against his lips - telling Taehyung to keep quiet. It's a mercy,
and Jungkook likes how soft the boy becomes as he melts at the gesture. He likes to see
Taehyung writhe, but he also likes to see him cum. It's one of his favourite things, really, and
he's not sure he wants to prolong it.

He can already feel himself tipping over, as Jimin's teeth start to drag across his skin, and he
groans, deep and guttural. "Jimin-- fuck, 'Min---" He groans, and gasps as Jimin moves off of
him.

The oldest vampire grins, eyes bright and lovely, as he pulls away from his cock, in favour of
glancing over at Taehyung. He spies him from the corner of his eye and smiles, strangely
softly. "Come here, baby." Taehyung's eyes widen and sparkle, as he moves closer to the
older, and Jimin slaps his thigh - not hard, but enough to make Taehyung's dick twitch. Jimin
chuckles, "Mmm, my pretty," He says, "you wanna cum?" And he laughs meanly at the way
Taehyung nods, at the way he begs with his eyes.

Jimin smiles. He takes mercy. His lips reattach around Jungkook's dick, while his hand
merifully pumps at Taehyung's.
 "Oh!" Taehyung moans, as his eyes close and sinks into it. "Oh, thank you, sir, th-thank you
s-so--"

Jimin peels off of Jungkook to say, "no babbling, baby." And Taehyung just nods, as Jimin
continues to pump him into his orgasm. He pulls Jungkook into one as well, easily. They all
fall together into a rhythm, slipping into one entity, and they cling to each other, cling to that
pleasure, forever, forever, forever.

Chapter End Notes

ok ok
here it is.
i really hope you enjoyed this chapter and this fic as a whole. i never meant for this story
to become so long and such a monster of a fic, but here we are! i definitely wouldn't
have finished it without the support from all your lovely comments. i appreciate all of
you who comment and leave kudos so much, and i really hope you enjoyed it and this
didn't leave you feeling unsatisfied (goodness knows it took a long time to reach the
end). anyway, i'm just really thankful and i hope you enjoyed it!
i'm working on a vmin fic, a jikook fic and another vminkook fic. they should all be out
very shortly tbh, as i've made quite a lot of progress already, so definitely stick around if
you want some more supernatural action!
thank you again <33
End Notes

okay! i hope this chapter was a decent enough introduction. i hope you stick with me and see
how things slot into place. if you read to the end, feel free to let me know your thoughts! <3

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