Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“There is nothing I can do. At least not for now.”

Hoseok– the only enchanter at their disposal– stares at their wrists. At first glance, the limbs seem perfectly unscathed. No visible magic, no mark is to be seen. Yet, when Jimin pulls away too far, he is pushed back into Jungkook’s unwelcome space. Their bodies stiffen each time their hands scrape. The forced proximity has made both of them miserable; it has scarcely been a few hours since this predicament occurred.

Earlier this week, every other magic wielder from the division was sent back to the King’s palace to help rebuild a demolished village– another attack from woodland shapeshifters targeted towards civilians–  which leaves them with Hoseok to release these occult chains.

“Why not?” Jungkook’s voice carries frustration as he flicks his wrist to liberate himself from the invisible link. His fist is clenched as he yanks it harshly aside. Just like his other fruitless efforts, he forcefully falls into Jimin’s side, causing the pair to topple over each other. Their shoulders collide with violence, creating a powerful wind gust as the magical thread sets them back in place. The chair by the desk is knocked down by the gale.

As a result of their constant back-and-forth, Hoseok’s usual neat study has been turned into chaos. The desk has become a disarray of experimental notes and journal entries. His books, which were just moments before orderly stacked on a shelf next to the table, now lie scattered on the floor. The smell of used books now hangs heavily in the air. Only his small library by the large window remains pristine. Naturally, Hoseok has warned the fighters enough times to stick together provisionally.

“Because I have to figure out what spell was used on this. I cannot merely detangle someone else’s spell in the matter of a second.” He explains concisely, ignoring Jimin’s insulated groans of pain from Jungkook’s prior failed escape attempt. Jimin resists rubbing the sore area on his arm, throbbing against his muscles in a steady tact, as the man next to him seems unbothered by the vigorous impact. His face never wavers, even in the situation at hand.

Inversely, Jimin could fall to his knees and cry out loud. The warmth of Jungkook’s hand against his own, while his lour is nothing but icy, prickles through his skin like a thousand needles. He can barely stop his jaw from twitching each time Jungkook’s finger brushes his. The sensation is painfully unfamiliar.

Hoseok observes their hands. He waves his own in the air between them without resistance from the bewitchery. It appears the link only affects the two men. Hoseok takes a mental note of this discovery as one of his eyebrows rises.

“Anyhow, I believe the best course of action is to capture the sorceress that-”

“Dean left the insides of her skull on the muddy ground outside the forest.” There is a moment of silence. Hoseok blinks at them. He lets Jimin’s words sink in before he curses to himself under his breath. This is never a good sign. 

“You are telling me the sorceress is dead?” His fingers are massaging his temples while he does not even spare the fighters a glance. Slowly but firmly, an impending doom fills the room. Hoseok’s tone– settling like a shelf cloud across the ceiling–  signifies that the death of the sorceress is not a triumph but another obstacle to their liberation. The slight tingle from the curse hums against Jimin’s skin, offering no consolation. Still, Jungkook and Jimin nod reluctantly.

“Dead as one can be.”

Jungkook confirms Hoseok’s premise. The enchanter's hands have traveled to the front of his face. His posture slumps, making Jimin uncomfortably shift in his stance. It is debatable whether Jungkook feels the same dread as Jimin coursing through his veins. The younger man’s expression hardly conveys the impression of being terror-struck. He looks solely aggrieved, with a crevice between his brows. His knuckles turn white as his patience thins. He only wishes to return to his quarters without Jimin attached to him. The latter can understand Jungkook’s exasperation.

For Jimin, the tranquil chamber has mutated into a loud ringing in his ears– like the bells singing to warn from an ambush– and he struggles to hear anything else. 

Problem. Trapped. To Jungkook. Oh god. Problem.

Over and over again, the chime thrums in his mind. While many unanswered questions sit in the messy study, one thing is unmistakable; he is on the verge of losing his composure. Jimin recalls his training days when he learned to deal with stress-provoking affairs. With his thumb caressing alongside his index finger, Jimin endeavors to retrieve fond memories– like fishing with his father by the peaceful sea back in his hometown– to stop the rush in his ears. To his luck, it slowly dies down.

“You do know a spell dies with the sorceress. It is important to me that you know this.” Their enchanter looks at them with an undecipherable expression. An impalpable force pulls Jungkook and Jimin together; Unlike before it does not seem to be triggered by the curse. The pair lock eyes, disconcerted by Hoseok’s truism. Why are we still tied together? The question is written on Jungkook’s forehead– on Jimin’s too irrefutably. Both men cannot understand why the spell did not dissolve with the sorceress’ death. The eyegaze only lasts a heartbeat. Jimin’s gaze escapes him to focus on a distressed Hoseok.

“So she is not dead?” Jimin says with uncertainty and concern. 

“Pretty certain Dean still has her brain residue under his fingernails.” Hoseok and Jimin grimace at the graphic image. Hoseok tries not to imagine it, while Jimin wishes to erase it from his memory.

“Well, if she is dead then why is this spell still intact?” His mind cannot dredge up the missing piece, leaving Jimin with the paradox. So, he raises the question. Apparently, an absurd one because Hoseok is once again kneading the sides of his head. A habit he probably picked up after working with magic-clueless fighters for so long. 

“Did you two not pay attention when witchcraft was taught in the academy?”

“Not really, no.” They both say in unison. At that, Jimin glances at Jungkook, mortified by their shared ignorance. The latter, on the other hand, does not pay any attention to Jimin.

“Lord, give me patience.” Hoseok sighs and Jungkook’s eyebrow twitches in annoyance. It is a subtle movement, yet Jimin notices it. The oblivious enchanter takes their linked hands in his own. The action catches both of the fighters off guard. The hold is awkward– a usual unshared sentiment within the division. Jimin’s hand dithers to return the gesture. Hoseok’s stare is anything but awkward though. His grasp tightens as he braces himself to speak.

“The spell is still intact because it is not a spell but a curse. Curses are the only magic that does not enter the afterlife with their magic wielder. It does not function like a spell where you mutter some words and hope for the best.” Jimin watches Hoseok, whose words are distinct and precise, with big eyes. The young fighter regrettably realizes he should have paid more attention to the witchcraft classes. There is a lot he does not know which makes him vulnerable on the battlefield. His fist tightens until his nails dig into his skin. He will need to get some excessive reading about magical powers done. 

“No, you have to assemble the curse diligently with a balance. You take as much as you give.” Hoseok’s stare flickers to the table next to them. 

“For example, were Jungkook to slam his hand against the table with an adequate amount of force, it probably would not break. The table would, in a way, punch back with the same quantity of energy, which leaves it standing. Those potencies are the opposite but equal. Identical with curses. There is an observed magic, keeping the curse alive, even after death.” Jungkook nods, lost in his thoughts. He remembers vividly all the physics lessons. He spent hours listening to his teacher use similar analogies to illustrate how your fist has to be more ferocious than your opponent’s punch.

“They are constructed in a way that satisfies the Spirits of Balance to the point where the curses are allowed to remain here. A curse consists of several components, but the most significant element is the core. In most cases, cores are ordinary items like rings, plates, or even just a tiny needle. However, those items harbor a potent magical power. And the first step to free you is to find the core. Are you following?” Hoseok does not offer them the space to reply.

“A core holds a curse together, but it is not particularly easy to locate.” He lets go of the clamped hands to pick up one of the disorganized papers, ripping a thin section off. Small paper particles waft around the sunlight shining through the large window. Then, without much effort, Hoseok ties it in a basic knot, showing it off to the two men. Jungkook and Jimin who watch Hoseok with furrowed brows, exchange puzzled looks. They are not following where this is going.

“The core is in a simplified manner hidden underneath a very very tangled knot which you have to loosen–” He unties it by gently pulling the ends. Hoseok’s fingers work diligently, never tugging too harshly. Yet despite his efforts to undo the binding, the paper tears. Jimin jumps at the sound, and so does Jungkook. Everyone in this room instantly understands just how delicate this curse is. There is no room for a single misstep. “–without cutting or damaging the rope.”

Hoseok cradles the ripped paper on his palm. It looks like rubbish– trivial and replaceable– but it’s not. Hoseok places his hand above Jimin and Jungkook’s wrists, right above the center of the curse.

“Your curse is this fragile piece of paper, which is protecting the core. If we manage to detangle the knot, a magical path will be unveiled. A trail that will lead us to the item you seek.” His eyes shift between the two men in front of him, and Jimin, for one, is only staring blankly at Hoseok. He is trying to understand what this revelation means for the insubstantial shackles– weighting Jimin’s hand down and connecting him to Jungkook.

So Jimin awaits more information, more insight– anything really– for Hoseok to communicate to them. However, he does not. With a final nod and a pressed smile, the enchanter releases the paper in the air. Jimin watches bright flames envelop the ripped page, emitting no heat, and then it’s gone without a residual scent of the fire remaining in the air. As if the paper never existed in the first place. Silently, Hoseok makes his way to the blackboard. Jimin figures he is giving them space to take the unexpected information in.

And for a moment, they are frozen in place and time. The gravity of their reality hits them at once, like a bucket of ice-cold water. Jimin’s chest feels tight and emptied of all the oxygen. Even Jungkook sends him a nervous glance. Hoseok’s words made one thing abundantly evident- this is not an easy task.

Jimin has spent hours with Jungkook, working in the same division. Spent even more hours together on the training fields. They have fought physically and verbally more times than they have not. To Jimin, Jungkook lacks humanity- constantly making reckless choices, therefore putting his division members in jeopardy. To Jungkook, Jimin is too emotional. Too open and predictable for a fighter, therefore, not a reliable comrade. 

Despite all of that, just a few hours ago, they had the option of walking away when the fights grew too brutal. Now, there is a link forbidding them from escaping. Never- until today- were they trapped like this. 

And regrettably, Jungkook is right about one thing. Jimin is transparent. He wears his emotions on his face; even studied books have more secrets than him. Sooner or later– if this takes longer than anticipated– they will have to face their indifferences. Either with words or their fists.

Regardless, the outcome of this plight will be nothing short of catastrophic. Either they lose their duty or sanity.

“Are you saying this can take hours?”

Jungkook breaks the silence first- his tone laced with trembling worry- voicing the question that is running berserk in Jimin’s mind. In a curious way, relief washes through the older man as he detects the urgency in Jungkook’s voice. At least, he is strung up by this as well.

Hoseok dexterously writes down every known detail about the curse, not hearken to Jungkook's dejection. All while occurring statuesque. Motionless, yet full of intent. 

Sorceress’ curse. Invisible link only influencing entangled individuals. Materials non-affected.  

His hand stops for an instant, tapping the chalk faintly against the blackboard. Then in big bold letters, he writes down his last two points. 

Witch dead. Arrangement of balance?

“Hours? Did I not lay it out well enough for you? You are the luckiest bastards alive if this takes less than a week.”

Hoseok lets go of the chalk. Unexpectedly, it doesn’t tumble down to the floor and break into pieces. Instead, it floats where he discarded it as if awaiting orders. The enchanter grabs a stack of papers from a diminutive shelf next to the writing board before strolling to the shocked pair. Hoseok positions them next to the desk and sets his papers down. Jimin spots small chalk smudges on Hoseok’s right hand, the smell of it embracing them and the room. His brain anchors itself to any minuscule detail– the scent of the chalk, the fluttering of the paper– to calm Jimin down, but to no avail. Hoseok just said a week.

Perhaps it is because the enchanter is keenly preparing his elaborate observation, but he does not notice the perturbation his answer left on the bonded men. Even Jungkook, who prides himself on his impalpable control of his emotions, loses all color from his face. If his shock is openly exposed, Jimin does not dare envision his own. 

At this precise moment, Jimin prays fervently that he is not forced to contend with Jungkook. There is no concealing the torment that persists in his mind and, without a doubt, salient on his face. Thus, he keeps his sight on the decrepit ground. Stuck together with him for 168 hours at least? The room appears to compress the longer he assesses those elements, the walls closing in on him with every exhale. 

Seven days is a long time. Hell, even a single day is never-ending. Jimin’s palm clutches his shirt by the seams. His breathing becomes irregular–any attempts to constrain go futile– as sweat gathers on his palms. The room temperature has risen to a sweltering degree– or is he imagining it?

It is difficult to fathom how a seemingly elementary commission has transmuted into a living nightmare. A task they had done a hundred times before– cleaning off a region overrun by woodlanders– devolved into a battle against a cunning sorceress. She had disguised herself as a helpless civilian, only to be the source of evil. The woodlanders were just her puppets to lure them out of their comfort zone.

A routine commission had shifted to a high risk, leaving their troop with insufficient fighters. The element of surprise came to her advantage. 

And now, as if being ridiculed by the enemy was not enough, Jimin must endure God-knows-many days tangled to him .

“Can you cut my wrist off?” The absence of amusement in Jungkook’s voice makes Jimin’s bicep flinch. He half-believes Jungkook is being serious about sacrificing his hand to be freed. After all, they do not like each other. They can scantily tolerate the other. 

Nonetheless, Jimin knows better. He is tied to his right hand. His dominant hand. It is only Jungkook’s frustration getting the best of him. 

A sting in Jimin’s heart pulls him out of his wandering thoughts. Perhaps his anxiety is leisurely becoming too overbearing. His hand reaches up to the left side of his chest, smoothing the pain. There is a lot to worry about, after all. Chained to Jungkook means Jimin cannot participate in his daily duties. Commissions are already piling up. Each is an unanswered call for help, feeling like a heavy stone on his shoulders. Each commission represents a plea for protection, a burden he carries with pride. Going out to defend the civilians from autocratic creatures is his duty.

To accept that he will have to sit here, handcuffed, while his friends risk their lives for him is out of the question. This is not just about being stuck to the worst person he knows. It’s also about failing to fulfill his promise.

And as much as it irks him, Jimim shares the position of most skilled fighter in their division with Jungkook. Losing them– even if it’s merely a week– is a great loss. They are viable roles rendered useless to their commanders. Completing missions, supporting their younglings in their training, or simply standing on the watch will be stalled until they are unbound.

In the event of an ambush, they would be nothing but deadweight to the rest of the guild. This explains Jungkook’s desperation. The last thing he wants to be, after fighting his way to the top, is deadweight. A premonition Jimin shares with him.

“Nope.” Hoseok dismisses Jungkook’s impropriety without as much as blinking.

He crouches until his eyes are at the level of their wrists, inspecting them once more. His index finger taps against his chin once, twice, and thrice. He has left a small white stain on his chin from the chalk. The clock in his study can be heard ticking in a melodious rhythm. Moments stretch in silence- anticipation hanging thick in the air- then he finally speaks.

“I know this might seem like the worst case-”

“How is it not?”

This time, Jimin lays a punch on Jungkook’s arm. It is not intended to hurt, but the force he uses startles Jungkook enough to look at him. The younger fighter takes his comrade’s discontented expression in before his usual impassive demeanor returns. Concealing whatever might be going through that thick skull of his. Would it be so terrible to show emotions? To present himself as something other than a man made of stone. Jimin understands better than anyone else that they, as fighters, store away their feelings on the battlefield.

But right now, they are in a jumbled study with an even more jumbled curse. Why act so noble and nonchalant when you are just as panicked?

“Let him finish.”

Jimin orders before Jungkook has the chance to complain. And he clearly wants to. His mouth falls open to protest but Jimin beat him to it. As expected, Jungkook responds with an immature eye roll to Jimin’s retort. Jungkook always lets his impatience cloud his voice of reason. 

“That did not even hurt.”

It is a foolish notion, notably because it was not intended to hurt. He is well aware of it- the smirk plastered on his lips being the clear indication- but he will grab any chance to take a jab at his comrade's skills. Jimin’s arms cross to rein in the impulse to lash out at Jungkook and to show him that it can hurt if Jimin wants it to.

“What I am trying to say is a curse might be very complicated, but I am good at what I do. Very good.” 

Hoseok gives them a sheepish smile as he looks up. No trace of insecurity can be detected. He is undoubtedly confident in his skills. And if it weren’t for the circumstances, Jimin would have complimented him on it, but all he can muster is a slight tilt of his chin. Jimin knows to respect someone’s self-assurance in their skills and ability to calm nerves. 

“So good that it will take you a week?”

Others obviously do not carry that respect. The smile on Jungkook’s face is long gone, now replaced with a frown. A gesture Jimin has learned often signals uncertainty. Whether that uncertainty lies with Hoseok’s abilities or Jungkook’s lack of knowledge of magic, the older man is unsure.

It was never a secret that witchcraft was not valued during Jimin’s academic days. With no magic to speak of, people like Jimin did not see the point in learning how to wield it. His focus lay within strategy and strength classes. Considering that Jungkook is just as clueless about magical entities, it is safe to say they shared this aspect in the academy.

But even Jimin knows that aggravating the sole enchanter in their division is not doing them any commendation, especially with a curse that’s tied like a knot made by an amateur climber who is afraid of plumbing down the mountain. Still, reading the room has never been Jungkook’s strong suit.

Luckily, Hoseok does not seem too rattled by Jungkook’s lack of manners. 

“I mean, you are more than welcome to wait for the other magic wielders to return.” He pretends to inspect an imaginary calendar. Or maybe he is– who knows what kind of invisible powers magic-wielders possess. “Should be in about three weeks. And then seek them for help.”

Both men know that time is their biggest enemy in this predicament. They do not have the luxury to twiddle their thumbs. Nevertheless, Hoseok does not hold that sense of urgency as he prepares to begin his assessment.

Seated neatly on his knees, Hoseok’s focus moves from Jungkook to his hands resting on his thighs. He casts a short-spoken spell. His tone is gentle, so gentle Jimin can barely make out the words leaving his mouth. His palms are facing upwards, hardly moving them. With each spoken syllable, the room heats up. The bluish veins from his inner wrist transform into a strong, vibrant red color, resembling a strand of flames. The color spreads down his unmoving palm.

Something compels Jimin to sneak a look at Jungkook. Even with Hoseok’s beautiful handiwork, Jimin catches himself wondering about his comrade. His brown pupils reflect the flames of the spell, making his pupils present as honeyed liquid. There is a whisper of fascination in them. Another common trait between them.

As soon as Hoseok finishes, red fumes leak from his fingertips, manifesting a thread that rises to his shoulders. The flame-like thread resembles a ruler with the metric measurements glowing on the edges. Jimin supposes it will not operate like your standard ruler with magic being involved, and all that.

“And then wait another four weeks to have you detangled.” 

Hoseok concludes with an innocent grin before placing the red ruler on their connected hands. It must be undeniably evident to Jungkook that Hoseok is their only shot at being back on duty by next week. The room falls still, the ruler glowing softly between them. And then, Jungkook breaks the placidity.

“I am sorry.” 

Jimin’s mouth falls open, never foreseeing hearing him out of all people to apologize. 

He could have predicted silence– maybe a scoff– but an apology? No, remorse from Jungkook is rare. Jimin cannot even remember the last time Jungkook voiced feelings of regret. At any rate, he had yet to experience Jungkook with his head hung apologetically low, like right now. It’s a foreign image, at least to the fighter.

Jimin is taken aback, but another feeling is battling for recognition in the pit of his stomach. A dark and ugly feeling. Jealousy. A ludicrous revelation, as there is no reason for him to be jealous.

Nonetheless, before Jimin can dwell deeper into this newfound emotion for Jungkook, Hoseok bursts into a sudden fit of laughter. His loud giggles fill the room, sounding cheery and high-pitched. His howl lightens the space between the three of them. It is unwonted to hear a sound this heartily in a space of battles and doom, echoing off the walls. He continues to laugh right in Jungkook’s face.

To Jimin’s surprise, the man next to him says nothing. No rude comment, no retort. None of his usual arrogance is to be seen or heard. Peeking down, his hands are tightly clenched into a fist to the point where one of his knuckles crack.

However, it is conspicuously not anger pumping through his body since Jungkook does not retain back on it. Just a glimpse of his face sells him out. To be meticulous, the tip of his ears. They have reddened so lively that they rival Hoseok’s veins from before.

Just as Jimin plans to peer his glance off him, Jungkook turns to him. Or rather turns to look away from Hoseok, but in a daze, chooses the wrong direction. Because now, the soldier can clearly see the flush in Jungkook's ears. The embarrassment is not visible on his face– just a vacant facade– but undeniably apparent in his ears. And it is an endearing sight, to his demise. There it is again-  that feeling in his stomach. It is warmer than before.

Hoseok himself looks pleased by Jungkook’s reaction. He grins once more at him before replying.

“Fighters always feel so superior until they realize they are not. Apology accepted.”

His words do not carry malice, yet they are not playful either. Fighters do often emit a pretentious air. Maybe it is because they are the first ones sent to the battlefield. Who knows. Jungkook does not add a comment to it. Whether his silence is caused by the lingering abashment or his realization of Hoseok having the high ground in this scenario, it’s arduous to tell.

Out of nowhere, the enchanter claps his hands together blaringly. The tension dissipates, no longer hanging across the room, now replaced with bewilderment. His clap is still resonating in Jimin’s ears– strong and deafening.

“Now!” Hoseok does not seem to have control over his hands anymore, how much he is waving them around. Perhaps he is swatting the last pieces of tension away.

“Jimin, move as far away from Jungkook as you possibly can. Try to take the smallest steps so I can precisely measure the distance this link allows between you.”

Now, it is clear why Hoseok made the red ruler. Considering that they will submit to a week like this, it is not of a disadvantage to assimilate how far they can part until the magic sets in, especially for showers, restroom visits, and sleeping.

A jolt sneaks up on his fingers as Jimin grows conscious of how little privacy neither of them will have. For seven days, there will be nothing but Jungkook wherever Jimin goes. Lord, taking a shower will be an exercise in itself. He has to blindfold Jungkook, right? A blindfold, perhaps even actual chains for his hands. You can never trust a man too much, right? Just Jungkook blindfolded and handcuffed next to Jimin in the shower. The older man immediately waves off the internal image. An icy shudder runs down his spine, yet his cheeks heat up.

Brushing aside the ardent flush painted on the apples of his cheeks, Jimin does as told. The fighter slowly distances himself from Jungkook, sensing the invisible chain pulsating against the outside of his wrist. As if warning him not to wander too far. The enchanter works his magic as the red thread displays the growing distance in bold, distinct numbers. With each tiny step Jimin takes, two centimeters are added to the measurement.

One last baby step– and the curse’s familiar magic tingles, spreading from Jimin’s wrist to his arm- sending him flying towards Jungkook. Before Jimin’s face can meet the ground, two strong arms catch his fall by embracing his slim waist. A warm chest against his back and Jimin realizes he is completely engulfed in Jungkook’s clasp. It is not the first time Jimin has fallen into his hold. Oftentimes it is during their fighting sessions. Always harsh and tight.

Jungkook’s embrace gives him comfort for the first time since Jimin has met him.

The fighter’s heart races due to the proximity and awareness. Terrified that Jungkook can somehow detect his fleeting heartbeat, Jimin hastily regains his composure. His feet shuffle against the hard floor, feeling instant relief curse through his blood when Jungkook’s arms are no longer around him. His shoulders relax and he releases a shaky breath as he generates a short distance between them.

“So? What is the limit?” Jimin’s blond hair, disheveled from the fall, disturbs his view. His fingers comb through the strands to appear less chaotic.

“Sixty-two centimeters.” The chalk notes this admission on the blackboard for Hoseok without him even casting a spell or looking back. 

“We are repeating this process a few more times. And before you ask why-” 

Jimin swallows down the question of why on his tongue.

“I need to verify that the tolerated distance does not shrink each time one of you goes soaring through the air.” 

They do it seven more times. Each time their distance consists of sixty-two centimeters. Each time Jungkook stops Jimin’s fall, an infuriating yet undeniable comfort.

##################

After an hour of experiments, they are allowed to return to their rooms. Well, as freely as Jimin can, with a human embodiment of frustration attached to his side. He sighs in annoyance, which is disregarded by Jungkook.

As quietness surrounds the pair, Jimin’s stare moves to the large window on his right, where the sun has long set since they departed for their commission this morning. The moon stands tall in the night sky, looking beautiful and peaceful. Her silver light fills the dim hallway in a serene glow. Jimin is suddenly becoming mindful of how exhausted his body feels. The first solution to their million problems will have to be the bedroom.

“Which room should we use for the night?”

The hallway is mostly empty, so Jimin’s voice echoes against the ancient stone walls. It is an old building, so the scent is overwhelmingly musty. The state of the stone walls is just as dilapidated as the smell. The cracks in the walls are like old scars and holes—some as big as his head—are a testament to the battles this place has survived. Black oil stains from the lamps spoil the surface of the stones. Still, they have a roof over their heads and working water. 

They encounter only a handful of fighters and servants. However, all of them gawk at them. Jimin supposes they normally do not stroll side by side in the moonlight without arguing or harshly discussing their training sessions. Unsurprisingly, arguing would only waste their time. Their focus needs to lie on figuring out how to get through their daily routines.

Jungkook does not answer right away, absorbed deeply in his thoughts. His brows are furrowed, his gaze following the cracks in the dirty ground. The shorter fighter leans down in the hope of meeting his gaze, but his attempt goes unnoticed. Straightening his back, Jimin sweeps the hallway for prying eyes. When reassured that no one is watching, he returns his attention to Jungkook. Hesitantly, he pinches the skin on the younger's right hand, watching him flinch ever so slightly. A flash of perplexity crosses his comrade’s face. 

The spot on his hand turns slightly red, reminding Jimin of his blushed ears from earlier.

“What?”

“I asked which room we should use for tonight’s rest.” Jimin inquires again. This time Jungkook’s full attention is on the soldier beside him, which makes the latter even more uncomfortable than being ignored.

“Right.” Jungkook nods his head as if remembering that they cannot cut these shackles loose at night. “Do you… have a preference?”

Jimin opens his mouth but struggles to find the right words. The idea of having Jungkook in his room provides him discomfort. There is so much of him within those four walls– even with only a few months, Jimin has built a private corner. His index finger picks at the skin of his thumb. Jimin does not think he has tidied up lately either. Undoubtedly, clothes– undergarments even– are lying around on the floor. Neither his journals nor unsent letters to Dean are in their usual hiding spot. Jimin cannot let Jungkook enter his room.

However, the alternative does not put Jimin at ease either. Whether he can handle a room with Jungkook all over it is not yet established. No matter where he would settle down, the younger’s scent and presence would haunt him. Jimin can barely work with him, let alone spend the night in his room.

Perhaps this uncomfortable feeling stems from them never setting foot in the room of the other. For them, there merely was no reason for it. They are far from being comrades who hang out together in their dorms after practices. They only ever see each other during their division work. Never did they consider stepping over that line. Now the choice is not Jimin’s anymore.

“You are not keen on either option, are you?” Jungkook’s words surprise Jimin, and his curious tone makes him halt his movements. Jungkook stops before the shorter fighter, tall as ever. Potentially, Jungkook wants to avoid another collision, but the distance between them is small. Not even one of the slender servants could pass through the duo. Jimin does not dare to step back for fear of crashing back into Jungkook’s arms.

An unwelcome blush creeps up Jimin’s cheeks as Jungkook acknowledges in a bypass that he observes him so thoroughly.

“We are barely acquaintances.” Jimin confesses his discomfort, searching for understanding in Jungkook’s eyes. “Sharing a bed with you in my personal space would be overbearing for me, I think.”

And Jimin’s gaze does not leave Jungkook’s. He holds Jimin’s stare for a moment, then runs his free hand through his rumpled hair. The gesture dishevels his hair even more.

“I would suggest using a vacant room, but I doubt there are any.” Jungkook says with a hand lazily resting on his waist, his professional demeanor beginning to fade. His posture appears more slouched, even with the anxiety weighing down on their shoulders. Or he does not care where he spends the night as long as he does very soon.

Unfortunately, his hunch is correct. Any unused chamber has been transformed into a storage room for weapons or a study. One of their rooms is the only choice they have.

And being mindful of everything, his room is beyond the bounds of possibility.

“Your room, then. If you do not mind having me in your safe space.” Jimin embarks on reducing the tension with some harmless wit, which thankfully proves itself fruitful.

“I think I can handle someone like you.” Jungkook leans down til his face shields Jimin from the moonlight, casting a shadow over the older fighter. Jungkook’s face is so close, that Jimin feels the heat of Jungkook’s body caressing his own. He recognizes the mischievousness flickering in Jungkook’s pupils.

“You are confident for someone who lost last night.” Jimin’s voice does not tremble as he replies. His head is raised high, and his arms are crossed as pride tickles his senses. Jimin almost chuckles to himself. The image of Jungkook’s face kissing the ground amuses the elder. Jungkook’s face does not flinch at Jimin’s taunting though. Instead, his head dips even more down. The only thing Jimin has sight of is the face in front of him.

He tries not to note that even from this angle- Jungkook looks pretty.

“Barely.” Jungkook whispers. A tone quieter, and Jimin would have missed it. Such a small word, yet hidden with enormous derision. Jimin’s left corner of his lip twitches at the arrogance. Jungkook would have laughed at him if the roles were reversed.

Embarrassed?

“A win is a win.” Jimin whispers instead. One of them takes another step forward- or it is the both of them, it is unclear- and their noses touch. It is the faintest contact but impels all sorts of thoughts in Jimin's mind. Too close. Step away. One step. Jimin, move.  

“You only got your precious win because I was distracted by-” 

“Jimin!” 

Before Jungkook can finish his sentence, Dean comes running towards them. There are big red blotches on his cheeks from the exertion. His forehead glistens with sweat, no longer wearing his armor. Now, he roams the halls in his nightwear. Loose-fitting pants and shirt hide his athletic build. A worried expression lies on his face. Their exchange probably looked anything but courteous from Dean's perspective.

The pair jump apart swiftly at the sound of Jimin’s name. Jungkook’s warm hand holds Jimin’s wrist to prevent him from deviating too far away, which Dean does not miss. His shouting pulls them out of whatever trance they fell in. Until their comrade reaches them, they stand there awkwardly with strained looks resting on their faces.

“Hey guys… Sorry for the shouting. I thought you were about to start another one of your brawls.” Dean is catching his breath, slightly crouched over. His left palm rests on one of his pecs as if there is insufficient oxygen for his lungs. The smell of sweat starts to linger around them.

“It is okay. We were only talking.” The words slip from Jimin’s lips instinctively. It is not a lie, nor the whole truth. At this, Jungkook finally lets go of his wrist. Jimin looks up to him, expecting to lock eyes, but Jungkook’s gaze is fixed on one of the large windows. He is not even trying to indulge himself in this conversation.

The back of his head faces Jimin as the hallway’s light dims. A cloud covers the moon, preventing the moonlight from beaming into the abandoned space. It’s no surprise I am not the only one Jungkook seems to dislike in our division. 

“Good, good.” Dean mumbles, his shoulders are no longer stiff, seemingly relieved that they were being civil. Unexpectedly, he grabs the end of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face- revealing his tanned torso, and some more. Not knowing where to look, Jimin subconsciously turns his head to Jungkook’s side.

Then the hall falls quiet. Whether Dean feels unease with Jungkook’s persistent lethargy or does not know how to continue the discussion, Jimin is undecided. Dean’s face does not give away much about this. Distant exchanges hug the three of them in a hush. Jungkook still has not broken his intense glare to the window, nor is Dean adding anything else to the conversation.

“Anyway, what has you running like a maniac?” Jimin asks, genuinely confused, why Dean was sprinting in the opposite direction of his dorm while simultaneously, attempting not to drown in the loaded silence. Usually, at this time, fighters are in their rooms resting. And judging by Dean’s clothing, it is clear he was doing the same moments ago.

To Jimin’s surprise, Dean’s entire body flinches at the question as if a bucket of cold water is thrown at him.

“Hoseok.” The name falls off Dean’s lips in terror. With each syllable, his right index finger pokes Jimin’s shoulder, and his nails dig into the material of the fighter’s shirt. His mouth widens goggled-eyed. He resembles a civilian who encounters his first woodlander in the wild.

“The enchanter?” Jimin’s brows furrow. The mention of Hoseok grasps Jungkook’s attention as well. His eyes are now on Dean, confusion flickering in them. 

Jimin gives Dean a perplexed tilt of his head as well. The last three hours he spent in his study replays in his mind. Sure, Hoseok can be weird. Peculiar, even if you will. He fidgets a lot and makes some snarky comments. But scary? No, not once has he found Hoseok scary throughout their many experiments. Dean, who shifts on his feet, seems to have experienced quite a different encounter with the magic-wielder. 

“I do not think there is another petrifying Hoseok in this ancient castle.” Dean starts rubbing his forehead in anxiety, wiping the sweat off his sleepwear. This time, when Jimin faces Jungkook, the latter is already looking right back at him. The bewilderment is shared between the two of them. Literally, everyone else is more petrifying than Hoseok. Jungkook probably thinks the same as Jimin.

Before either of them can recount their meeting with Hoseok, Dean’s anxiety suddenly transforms into an eager energy. Both of his hands run through his dark hair as he inhales deeply.

“Listen, I am just on my bed doing my nightly breathing exercise to calm down from today’s nightmare of a commission–” The two men fully offer their focus to Dean, who has lost himself in his storytelling.

“–which, by the way, what a mess. What a mess of a commission. Where was I? Oh yeah, I was breathing on my bed. So I am doing that when this big reddish cloud emerges right above my head–”

His retelling stuns Jimin, blinking at the sudden pile of words tossed at him. Dean points to the space between their faces “– and this neatly folded note just lands on my face. Already very terrified– I open it, right.”

He reaches for his pockets with fumbling fingers, scratching out the infamous note. There is nothing neat about this note anymore. It is crumbled into a big ball, and Dean struggles for a second to get it open. He pulls on the worn edges to unfold it fully, lifting the paper to Jimin’s face and revealing smudged ink.

“Bring me the sorceress’ hair. Idiot.” He lowers the mashed note, his agape mouth and puzzled expression hove into view. “Why would he want hair from a dead witch? Does he want it like right now? And why is be calling me an idiot?”

Dean ends his rant with a huff, his mouth finally sealed after the flood of words. Now, only uneven breathing exits his lips. His broad shoulders rise and fall with rapid breaths. His face is even redder than when he was darting around the halls, searching for Hoseok’s study. Jimin places a comforting hand on Dean’s shoulder but stumbles to extend any clarification to his confusion.

“I think he needs a part of the witch to trace her lair.” Jungkook speaks for the first time since Dean imposed himself in their slightly heated moment, catching Jimin and Dean’s attention. They both absorb his words. It is not an asinine theory to believe Hoseok could locate the witch’s home using a part of her. And finding her lair could lead them to answers about the curse.

“Makes sense.” Dean voices Jimin’s exact opinion, playing with the note in his hands. He rolls and unrolls the edges of the note.

“Also called you an idiot because you killed her.” Jungkook adds with a snarky smirk plastered on his lips. Hoseok had explicitly stated that the witch’s death only complicated things for them, which Dean is unaware of. So him being the one to have painted the ground with her brain, is the fool in our predicament.

While disbelief rests on Dean’s features– confused as to why killing the enemy would be labeled brainless– Jimin nods in agreement. Hoseok would definitely call someone an idiot for this.

Dean’s gaze shifts between the two fighters. He is not latching on to their train of thought. There is no way he could. Jungkook and Jimin were naive about spells and curses only a few hours ago. Jimin cannot dismiss him for being clueless. 

“Excuse you? I saved your life.” Dean defends himself, still confounded by the accusation. His tone is laced with assertion. To him, he has done a great deed. A deed that is currently being trivialized to hell. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“We are not saying you did not!” Jimin chimes in, stepping between the two of them. Upsetting Dean is far down on his to-do list for today. They all had a terrible day. They are all on edge, and this tension is caused by nothing but a misunderstanding and lack of information. Behind Jimin, Jungkook grabs his wrist again. It is a firm clutch but not a painful one. He is ensuring once again that they stay within the warranted distance.

“Because you so heroically demolished her head, I will be stuck with your friend for a week at least.” Jungkook’s face is hidden behind Jimin. And the angle makes it awkward to face him, so Jimin refrains from observing Jungkook’s facial demeanor. Whether seeing his face would make a difference is up for grabs. The elder does not possess the talent to read people. Nevertheless, based on his voice alone, Jungkook is still very upset about the outcome of our mission. 

He spits “week” as if the letters burn his tongue. Short and hissed. Yet, his bodily gestures are careful and genial. While his speech enacts distance between them, his hand takes the opposite course of action. Instead of keeping him well away, Jungkook closes the gap between their bodies. Jimin’s footing slips due to his anomalous action. His arm is now trapped between his own back and Jungkook’s upper body.

For an instant, Jimin is daunted by this showcase of proximity. Heat burns the muscles on the forearm due to the enclosed space. His fingers buckle, trying to ignore the sensation of Jungkook’s body warmth. His arm is tightly pressed against Jungkook’s abs above each covered muscle. Contrary to his voice, his gesture holds no malice. He employs only a little force.

Jimin scrambles to regain his posture, his feet scuffing against the stone floor, and he hides his embarrassment from Dean with a forced cough.

“Wait, hold on.” Dean rubs the bridge between his shut eyelids before holding his palm up. His gaze ogles at Jimin’s wrist, which Jungkook still has not let go. “You two are still cuffed together?”

“Do you think we would be walking together if that were not the case?” Jungkook counters Dean’s question with rationality. Because no, they would never waste their free time wandering under the moon together. A light bulb lights up in Dean’s mind. He puts his hands on his waist, tilting his head in agreement.

“Yeah, probably not.” He replies more to himself than to Jungkook. The bonded men do not speak a word, but Dean finally gathers all the puzzle pieces together. He scratches his hairline, then rubs his bottom lip with his middle finger– All while trying to get a better perspective of the situation. A couple of blinks later, he sighs loudly and throws his head back in irritation. The weight of the situation dawns upon him.

“You needed the witch alive to get that thing off, huh?” He confirms his suspicion, placing his hand on his forehead in absolute defeat.

“Preferably, yeah.” Jimin replies in short, clamping his lips together tensely. He has found himself in numerous unpleasant positions today. Dean’s apparent repentance is one of them.

“Oh god, I am so, so sorry. I-” Dean stumbles over his apology, fumbling over his tongue to find the right things to say. Even so, Jimin does not seek an apology. At the time, killing the sorceress was a reasonable thing to do. Every single one of them– including Jungook and Jimin – would have taken that initiative. He is not at fault here.

“Dean, it is okay.” Jimin tenders a reassuring smile. Even with the dire reality of the two men being off-duty while war is on the brink of breaching, he believes in Hoseok. He knows that the enchanter will do his utmost best to figure things out in due time. ”And ignore Lord Bad Temper here. He is probably just pissed because he did not get stuck with a pretty girl.”

Jimin elbows Jungkook, indicating for him to join in assuaging Dean’s worries. But his elbow collides with a stone wall– Jungkook’s abs– leaving him wondering if the younger one even felt the jab. Turning around is not an option because he is still trapped in Jungkook’s hold. Nevertheless, his fingers twitch against the elder’s inner wrist. Jimin figures he does not appreciate the little joke.

“Just go see Hoseok, and find out what he has planned.” Jungkook suggests vehemently. His voice is woven with sharpness. In contradiction to his tone, he carefully rests his chin on Jimin’s hair and leaves the older fighter in a frozen state. His palm hovers, feeling cynical about whether he is allowed to move. It is practically unfeasible to ignore every body part that is entwined. The warmth of his caged arm is bearable, but now that heat has slithered up to his head where Jungkook’s skin touches his– Leaving Jimin overwhelmed and muddled.

From the corner of his eye, Jimin catches a glimpse of his expression on Dean’s face. They both are at a loss, not understanding the meaning of this gesture. A beat passes– the breeze from outside howling in the trees– and a million questions roam Jimin’s brain. What is Jungkook trying to achieve with this? Does he want to upset Jimin, and then console him with his kind caresses? Most importantly, what’s with the inconsistency? The tone of his voice carries aversion– even animosity in some instances– but his touch has not once been callous since they departed from Hoseok’s study.

These contradictions are toying with the hate Jimin supposedly feels for Jungkook. Each time hatred is about to overtake his sense, the younger fighter transmutes into an understanding friend, offering gentleness and heartening words. If his tenderness draws out for too long, Jungkook finds a way to remind Jimin to dislike him.

Jungkook removes his chin as if physically showing that his douceur ends here. 

“And with this, I would like to end this pointless conversation and hit the hay.” 

Inconsistent, and so, so confusing. 

Jungkook adds his caustic remark. His words come out flat, without a trace of warmth, and then Jimin is free of him. Jungkook takes two steps back, giving him space to catch his breath. Cold air fills his lungs as a chill passes over his throat, and Jimin exhales in a long, shaky stride. His right-hand flies to his chest, massaging over his beset heart. Relief quickly washes over him. At last, Jimin has some space for himself to think.

“Uhm… Sure. I will go see Hoseok but you two-” Dean stops mid-sentence. His fist floats between them before it is dropped to his side. He did not miss the uncomfortable interaction between Jungkook and Jimin. “I mean- Sleep well.”

Dean seems to comprehend Jimin’s confusion about Jungkook’s volatility, sparing his friend a swift, forced smile, and then he runs past the pair. Dean leaves Jimin no time to wish him a good night as the outlines of his body disappear in the darkness. Abandoning him with Jungkook, who begins making his way to his dorm without looking back.

“Well, he sure is a clutz,” is all Jungkook says.

“Yeah, but he is also very nice.” The elder rebuts, catching up to his comrade and his ridiculous long steps. Dean may be on the clumsier spectrum but he will never leave you stranded.

“Of course, you think he is nice.” Jungkook snorts dismissively. Jimin blinks at his comment.

“What is that supposed to-” The fighter cuts himself short, realizing this discussion is bound to lead absolutely nowhere. Additionally, his muscles are screaming in pain. They are heavy, and each movement takes up all of his strength. And God only knows what time it is. They awoke at the break of dawn, shuffled in filth to fight off a sorceress, and acted as experimental objects for several hours. Rather than wasting his energy on meaningless quarrels, Jimin will use it to get brisker under the bed covers.

“You know what, let us just go shower and sleep. I am exhausted.” For the first time, Jimin grabs Jungkook’s joints, navigating him to the communal shower stalls. But Jungkook stops. He stops so abruptly that Jimin’s hold on his wrist slips to his hand. His fingertips slide across Jungkook’s skin, noticing a thin layer of sweat on his palm.

“What?” 

Jungkook’s lack of movement induces Jimin to swing around. To his surprise, he is met with a stunned expression by Jungkook. Jimin has grown somewhat accustomed to that look as it bears a striking similarity to his abashed look in Hoseok’s study when he apologized. Though, his head is not hanging low like then; the young soldier is staring right at Jimin, eyes filled with disbelief. The color has almost completely drained from his face, and only a faint bloodish blush kissing his cheekbones prevails.

“A shower? Now?” He emits incredibly, eyes widening with each syllable. The corners of Jimin’s mouth twitch, a phantom of a smile slipping out of him. This might just be better than a remorseful Jungkook.

“So you are going to bed with the entirety of Earth on you?” There is dirt on Jungkook’s clothing, and skin, and even small blotches in his hair. Jimin raises one of his brows, pointing to the mud, knowing well he looks just as disheveled.

“No, but-”

“Come on, we do not have all night.” Jimin’s triumphant voice interjects before Jungkook can even articulate an answer. The older one’s hand clasps Jungkook’s firmly, marching towards the showers in big, fearless steps. The taps of their footsteps are the only melody in the empty hallway.

####################

All confidence from earlier wears off as soon as Jimin stands at the door of the communal showers. Now stripped away from his jubilation, he can barely induce himself to step into the stalls. It is fortunate that Jungkook is as lost as him, clutching the clean clothes in his hands. Jimin holds a change of clothes and a dark scarf that he usually uses when he suffers an unbearable headache.

For too long, they only stand here. No words are exchanged, not even spiteful words. No of the usual rebellious elements seeping. The tied pair is sommer quiet like children awaiting their time-out to end. But this complete absence of sound is making Jimin spiral into absolute insanity. The hills of his knuckles are white with his grip on the clothes. Next to him, Jungkook is digging holes into his garments with his nails. 

“We should get in.” Jimin finally squeaks out, clearing his throat at the sound of his high-pitched voice. Nothing is vanquishing about this. No fighter mindset, no surviving instinct, nothing at all is kicking into the soldiers.

“We should.”

Not one of them makes an effort to move. They continue staring at the door as if that would magically clean them. However, it does not. They only look ridiculous, frittering away precious time, which seems enough to tick Jungkook into action.

“Just- Get in.” He pushes the door open, pressing his back against the wooden surface, and creates space for him to slip past. Reluctantly, Jimin passes by. His gaze does not meet Jungkook’s, too embarrassed at the thought of them soon sharing a small space, naked.

As Jimin slips into the stalls, he is greeted with unwell-lit but clean showers. No soul is around, as most are already comfortably in their dorms. Since they have chosen to use the communal showers this late at night, neither will have to worry about anyone with peering eyes entering in a trice.

“So, who goes first?”

After closing the door of their stall, Jungkook places his change of clothes on a stool by the wooden entrance and neatly piles them. Jimin emulates him, setting his own on an unoccupied stool. As Jimin bends over, his bangs fall over his face, concealing his tightened frown.

“I will start if you do not mind.” Jimin responds, pushing his bangs back by ruffling them. His breath catches in his throat, the tension suffocating him with each spoken word. Jimin swallows down to wet his vocal cords.

“Okay, just-” Jungkook awkwardly lowers himself to Jimin’s height. The latter knows what he is waiting for. The scarf. His blindfold. That is the choice the two men decided on while they were collecting their clothes, towels, and shower utilities and making their way here. They will be taking turns. The one not taking a shower is blindfolded to prevent any discomfort– surely that will work perfectly fine– while the other one will try to get themself clean as quickly as humanly possible.

With quivering hands, Jimin reaches for the scarf and inspects it. He has always loved it. It is a pretty shade of black with a minimalistic flower pattern enveloping the soft cloth. The older fighter smoothes the material, lifting it to Jungkook’s face.

“Ready?” Jimin mutters in an undertone laced with uncertainty, his blood rushing in his ear drums. When Jungkook gives him the green light with the tilt of his head, he shuts his eyes. There is a split second when he can admire every detail of his facial features. Every mole, every fine line, every curve of his face. Even in the bad lighting of the showers, he is close enough to observe it all. Everything about him is pretty.

Jimin positions the scarf on Jungkook’s closed eyelids, his arms stretching behind to tie a dainty knot. From his shoulders to his fingertips, Jimin's nerves tremble, doing his best to avoid any physical touch. A storm rages in his mind, which would erupt into havoc if a hair kisses his skin. 

Once satisfied with his binding, Jimin backs away. Jungkook still towers over him with his hands clasped in the front. The black scarf compliments his golden skin, disappearing behind his ears in his dark, wavy hair. Jimin raises his palm to Jungkook’s face, waving to ensure his view is obstructed. He does not flinch, but a smile creeps up on his lips. The young soldier divines Jimin’s intentions.

“Don’t worry, I cannot see a thing.” The grin on his face is widened, revealing his upper teeth, as he reassures Jimin that the blindfold is working. This childish-like smile is much grander, even more blinding, than the roguish smirk Jimin deals with daily. It is silly that throughout the past few hours, Jimin has witnessed more unaccustomed expressions by Jungkook than in the last couple of years of working in the same division. The older man takes in his smile for one more moment. At least one of them is enjoying his time right now.

“Okay, good.” Jimin’s response comes out in a hushed manner as he retreats only so slightly. With one last mental encouragement, Jimin grabs the hem of his shirt. The seams lightly prod against the rough skin of his palms. His body hesitates for a fleeting moment– as Jimin throws one final glance at his black scarf on Jungkook’s nose bridge– then the shirt topples to the ground next to his feet. The shuffles of his garments are the only sounds shrilling against the tiled walls. Occasionally, the clinking of the metal can be heard. To Jimin, they are as loud as explosions on the battlefields, pulsating through his muscles into his bones. This deathly quiet raises many foolish thoughts within Jimin. He even begins to fear that Jungkook can somehow hear his bare skin. 

At last, Jimin stands before Jungkook completely undressed. He intuitively moves to protect his private parts even though he is well aware there is no need. Jungkook’s gaze is covered. And strangely, even if Jimin’s body does not trust him, he does.

The older soldier scans the stall for the water lever, which is located right by his right knee. With unsteady hands, Jimin clutches it, pressing down with more force than intended. The clean, cold water flows out of the rusty faucet with high pressure, spattering on the tiles in loud splashes. He snatches the wooden bucket, leaving it under the faucet to fill up. Jimin has never noticed how long it takes to get the water to the brim in the past while showering with his fellow soldiers. He would chatter with his comrades, the time passing by faster. But Jungkook and Jimin do not talk. The seconds are seemingly going back instead of advancing.

With the bucket finally full, Jimin lifts it to his body, preparing for the coldness, before flipping it over his head and soaking his light hair. The water is icy. His body shrinks as the icy liquid drips down his chest and back. Jimin bites down on his bottom lip to ward off any odd sound, but a small– yet, in this silence, thundering whimper passes his chattering teeth. His stare nervily flickers to Jungkook’s face. 

Fortunately, Jungkook does not seem to have noticed Jimin’s slip-up and remains silent and unmoving. Jimin’s gaze shifts from Jungkook’s head to his hands, only to stumble upon his bonded hand whirling at a tortuous height. Jungkook is exerting himself so their wrists do not surpass sixty-two centimeters. Jimin groans internally at the reminder. He would not want to collide with him in this vulnerable state. So, Jimin expands his left hand, endeavoring a handful of times to take hold of Jungkook. With each attempt, Jimin becomes more tentative.

“Jimin, I do not know how you usually shower, but if you do not speed it up at least a little, neither of us will be clean by dawn.” Jungkook is looking past him, above his head, as Jungkook cannot precisely tell where the shorter fighter’s eyes are. Jungkook’s voice bears no signs of desirousness, still, Jimin can tell he wants to get this shower over with just as he does.

“Sorry, sorry! Just… give me your hand. I will shower with one hand.” Jimin seizes Jungkook’s warm hand, sensing the pulse of his comrade under his fingertips. It is faster than usual, vivacious as if Jungkook had just run laps around the castle— and Jimin feels the throbbing echoing in his blood rush. However, he ignores it; He does not mention it. More water pours over his skin, washing off the filth and soap. Even with the water resembling the cold ocean, his cheeks feel warm.

Moving on to wash his back, Jimin searches for the long-handed brush. He cannot find it in the stall. The neighboring showers are empty as well. Neither can he spot it on Jungkook’s stool. His fist hovers towards his agape mouth as realization dawns on him. They forgot to bring it along. His dominant hand scratches the back of his neck, unsure how to proceed. 

For a bat of an eye, Jimin considers letting go of Jungkook’s hand. But that plan is quickly crossed off since he would rather die than risk toppling over his comrade in nothing but wetness. Thereupon, Jimin grasps the soap and creates a generous lather by rubbing it. Bracing himself for failure, he stretches to his back. The right side is less challenging than the left half, but still clumsy without a brush. He  flutters the back of his hand against between his shoulder blades. It feels slippery and ineffective like he is just moving soap around. Jimin’s palm drops in defeat when Jungkook dishes out an unexpected question.

“Should I clean your back?”

Thinking his mind is playing tricks on him, Jimin hastily whirls around, almost slipping on the wet, soapy ground. His shocked eyes fall to Jungkook’s lips as if he can find traces of the question lingering on them.

“What… Did you say?” Jimin expels in a wheeze. His fingers rigidly clutch his upper arm while Jungkook runs his hand through his dry hair.

“I can hear your struggles. So, want my help or not?” Jungkook repeats his question, setting out to sound unbothered, but there is a hint of hesitancy, even abashment, in the quiver of his voice. He scratches the front of his throat before he adds. “I will not cross any boundaries, I promise.” 

Certainly, the question alone is crossing every single boundary there is. Mundane things like catching the other, or holding a wrist can be laughed at once they are no longer bound together. Jimin does not believe the same could be said about essentially showering together. That is just… too much. He has to say no. There is no other way around. He puffs his chest out, steeling himself to deny the foolish offer. When Jungkook's sheepish face, obediently awaiting an answer, fixates on the older comrade. No hint of ill intentions.

“O-Okay, sure.” What did I just say?

Shocked by his reply, Jimin abstains from slapping himself mid-air. It is difficult to believe that he lets some bashful look influence him into agreeing to the request. This is Jungkook, just because he has his tail between his legs does not mean he has to comply with everything. It is… Has Jimin always been this friable to endearing demeanor?

Before Jimin can master together a believable excuse, Jungkook approaches him, and he swiftly turns his back to him. Oh, not facing him makes this so much worse. There is no way Jimin can tell where Jungkook’s hand will start or when. He is stuck anticipating the touch. The interlude causes a line of goosebumps to spread down in a straight line from his neck to his spinal cord. However, Jungkook’s first move does not consist of rubbing his skin. No, he crouches and taps around the floor until his fingers discover the bucket. He reaches inside, submerging his hand in the water before straightening his posture. He returns to his previous place with their linked hands intertwined.

“Am I facing your back correctly?” Jungkook checks and Jimin manages to release a rasping “Yes.” out. Then, as if lightning strikes his shoulder, a large hand is on his body. The older involuntarily shivers as his back arches at the sudden contact, and Jimin knows he cannot dismiss it to the coldness of Jungkook’s palm. Skin tauts over Jimin’s knuckles as his body’s response elicits foreign. Jungkook, noticing the twitch, stops briefly and waits for further instructions, but the older fighter gulps down the words. Jungkook’s hand lingers, steady and cautious, and Jimin holds his breath, letting the silence speak.

With Jimin’s back still wet and soapy, Jungkook’s palm easily slides down the left side of his body. The calluses on the palm feel rough, however his fingers are slender and soft. The faint echo of dripping water fills the quiet, amplifying the tension in each small movement. Jungkook stops above Jimin’s backside, centering his palm on his spine. 

A second wave of electricity hits Jimin as the younger fighter caresses the bottom of the spine. Like a reflex, his palm flies to his mouth to block any sounds that might escape. The oblivious soldier absent-mindedly paints tiny loops on the center of the back, slowly working his way up. And the nearer Jungkook gets to his neck, the tougher it becomes to stay statuesque.

Jimin’s heart is hammering against his ribcage, titillated blood storming through his blood vessels. With each beat of his heart, his body fails his consciousness, refusing to stay composed. Even so, he keeps telling himself this is nothing but a shower with a man, who he never imagined yourself to share one with.

Nonetheless, all that effort to remain calm proves futile once Jungkook reaches Jimin’s neck and the middle phalanx of his two fingers slides down the foamy surface. His spine becomes as sensitive as a live wire. His eyebrows shoot up as he bites down on a moan, nearly drawing blood. Under all circumstances, he refuses to vocalize his affectivity. The fighter behind him stretches his palm, focusing on the right side of his back. Each circle he traces over unexploited skin sends a tremor through Jimin.

A shaky breath travels past his nose. Jimin cannot seem to find the reason as to why he is this responsive to Jungkook. The touch of another person is no alien concept to the fighter, neither have they affected him to this degree before. Regardless of how much he wishes to deny it, his body betrays him– his nipples perked, and Jimin is fully aware that he cannot chalk this up to icy water only. 

Unbeknownst to Jungkook, Jimin’s sense of reasoning spirals into disrepair the longer his touch lingers on him. Three tiny droplets trickle from the ends of his wet hair to his shoulder blades where Jungkook’s fingers catch it. Jimin counts the tiles on the floor, willing his mind to anchor anywhere but this sensation, but the tickle of the jagged palm supersedes all his determination. Nothing seems to be of any use. It does not help that time passes by excruciatingly slowly. Even though only mere seconds have gone by since Jungkook offered his help, those seconds come across as never-ending hours. 

Just as Jimin adjudges the worst to be over, Jungkook anew attends to his spine. Gently, he kneads circularly down his spinal column. Jimin presumes he is trying to loosen the knots in his muscles, but it endorses the opposite effect. The elder stiffens even more aggressively with his knuckles turning white as the tiles on the wall, eyes squeezing shut. His body refuses to listen despite his many attempts to settle down. It is reacting to Jungkook against his will. 

However, the tingle alongside his length causes Jimin to short-circuit. Just a little under his stomach, a prickling sensation arouses. A fire, scorching his lungs and boiling his blood, spreads across as his plight becomes evident. It hits him with a piercing intensity. Jimin is turned on by Jungkook.

“T-That’s enough!” The stunned soldier stammers, shuffling forward to put distance between them. His words manifest in low and precise huffs. The physical contact of their invisibly tied hands does not allow Jimin to forget how only a few seconds ago, his comrade, who he barely can stand, was stroking his spine. “I’ll rinse my back, thanks.”

If Jungkook renders some acknowledgment, Jimin misses it due to the sound of water refilling the bucket. The splashing fills the shower stalls, throbbing in his eardrums, yet it cannot muffle the thrum of shame resting within him. As promised, Jungkook kept his hand on his back without meddling fingers, venturing for a grope. It is Jimin’s body who deceived Jungkook’s trust, and his own conscience. Water grazes the bucket's rim, overflowing onto the floor and pooling around his toes. The iciness of the thin splash grounds him back into the here and now. Shaking his guilt off– unsuccessfully– he bends down to get a hold of the bucket for the last rinse.

Balancing the bucket steady on his palm, Jimin flips it over his back, rinsing the excess soap and the remnants of his shame off his body. He will deny this ever happened. Deny, deny, deny. These last three minutes will cease to exist once they step out of these communal showers.

When the last drop of water trickles off the bucket, Jimin positions it under the old faucet. A chilly breeze engulfs him as the air grazes his wet, and already cold skin. Silently, Jimin grabs his towel from the stool and begins to dry himself to the best of his abilities with one hand. His teeth rattle due to the iciness. The towel offers barely any shelter from it. The absence of conversing should help to stabilize his footing, yet all he can wonder is if Jungkook noticed the shivers, goosebumps, or telltale signs of Jimin’s attraction. 

Jungkook’s sense of sight might have been impounded, but that highly magnified the others. He must have heard or even felt something. The damp towel is pressed against Jimin’s face as though it could somehow muffle his frustration. Of course, it cannot, not with Jungkook glued to his side. So Jimin concentrates on his breathing. Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth. Repeat. And get a hold of yourself, Jimin. 

At long last, Jimin’s body listens to him, and his exercise succeeds. He is restful enough to slip into the comfortable sleepwear and bury the shame in the back of his mind. After fully dressed, his eyes finally drift to Jungkook. Jimin did not dare to do it until now, having qualms over what kind of sight would greet him. Despite those concerns, Jungkook looks neutral– slightly pensive, considering the situation– yet, mostly aloof. 

His body instantaneously slumps into contentment. It went unobserved by Jungkook, thank God.

“I am done. You can remove your blindfold.” Jungkook flinches, Jimin’s voice breaking the deafening silence.

Suspecting that Jungkook would untie the scarf himself, he surprises Jimin by bringing his head down to the elder’s level, just as he did when the blindfold was placed on him. Jimin’s palm wavers between their bodies, but the hesitance does not linger extensively. His right arm extends behind Jungkook’s head, fingers working on the knot accurately. Eventually, it comes undone, and the scarf slips from Jungkook’s nose, dangling from one shoulder. The fighter blinks, adjusting to the surroundings.

As his gaze adapts to the dim light, the pair look at each other. Jungkook studies the other’s features with no restraint. His gaze flickers from Jimin’s wet hairline, down to the scar next to his left temple, before settling on his mouth. Knitted brows portray Jimin's confusion as he watches Jungkook.

“A pretty girl, right.” Jungkook sneers, tilting his head in perplexity. Jimin bats his eyelids, not grasping the allusion. The older man’s head falls to the side as he searches for an explanation on Jungkook’s face. Invariably, he learns nothing, and tarries in the dark. 

“What?” Jungkook pries the scarf off his shoulder, twirling the ends around his fingers for a better hold on it. A hint of playfulness flashes his pupils, completely disregarding the question. 

“Nothing, I just think you are foolish.” He snickers in a flimsy manner. “Now come here, it is your turn to enjoy the darkness.” 

Jimin is given no time to raise his objections about the obscure comment. Jungkook handles the dark cloth speedily, unlike Jimin, who worked languidly to avoid excessive touch. Within a flash, the scarf is tied around his wet hair, the binding pressing against the back. The sudden dark is unfamiliar yet unfrightening since it helps with his other senses. The first rustle of clothes uncloaks his enhanced hearing. With just the sounds, Jimin can depict a clear picture of Jungkook’s actions. The current action is him undressing. He clamps his eyes shut, trying to push the unwanted image from his imagination.

Jungkook issues no warning as he interlocks Jimin’s hand. With the lack of sight, the touch feels more ardent. The tips of Jimin’s fingers sense each crevice of Jungkook’s palm. Next to him, seemingly unbothered, the younger soldier lades the bucket. The water emits the same coldness as before and brushes against Jimin’s bare skin. The abreast sound evokes memories of the anxiety that accompanied him during his shower. Nevertheless, Jungkook does not appear to mind the other man’s presence as he cleans himself up. He advances swiftly, Jimin’s arm flapping around to shelp along his constant interchange of soap and water.

After a while, Jungkook’s struggles to get his back clean become evident. The sound of his hand thrashing around his back comes across as desperate.

However, Jungkook never asks for help, nor does Jimin offer it to him.

###################

Finally, they arrive at Jungkook's room– clean and somewhat dry. As Jimin steps inside, the lack of mess distinguishes his room from the other division member’s quarters. No food scraps hide on his window stools. No unwashed dishes rest on any of his furniture. Only one corner of his room consists of a small mountain of clothes, but his enclosure is nothing like Dean’s bedroom. That latter man’s room could be labeled as a biohazard by their national medical chief with all the junk in it. It is the complete opposite of Jungook’s room.

Jungkook’s space is neat, with his bed tidily made. A potent, floral scent hangs around Jimin the deeper he dives into his chamber. The scent matches a well-taken garden rather than a soldier’s four walls.

“Your room is nice.” Jimin compliments him, analyzing his filled shelves and desk. Jungkook’s gathered a rather respectable collection of books since they have taken this castle as their base. Most authors are foreign to Jimin, only a handful sit on his shelf. Spread on his desk are multiple operation reports with messy notes written on them. In the corner of his desk, closest to his bed, nestle three incense sticks which would elucidate the pleasant smell.

“Thank you, but can we have the room tour tomorrow? I really, really would like to sleep now.” 

By the end of his sentence, Jungkook covers his mouth, yawning. His eyelids struggle to stay open at this point. His fatigue is properly settling in now that he has changed into his nightwear. Loose clothing hugs his broad build, bicep flexing even hidden underneath his sleeve. Jimin looks away, feeling his own collapse approaching. Since he does not plan on losing any more precious sleeping time, he agrees that a room tour can wait, walking up to Jungkook’s giant bed when a new impediment arises. 

“Do you think one of us will go flying when one of us tosses too much in their sleep?” Jimin examines the mattress closely, noting that it is at least one and a half meters long. The length easily leaves the option open to surmount the sixty-two centimeters limit with one wrong turn in their sleep. Jungkook rubs his jaw in exasperation. Who would have thought that a simple matter like slumber would evoke another issue?

However, Jungkook appears to have had it with these complications and grabs the scarf– their trusty blindfold– from Jimin’s grasp. Sloppily, he ties each end to one of their cursed wrists. The braid of the thin clothing is not too clumped but can withstand some slumberous rolling, guaranteeing a safe night’s rest. 

“There, problem solved.” He says, pointing at the scarf with his four fingers. 

Too baffled by his quick thinking, Jimin simply tilts his chin. Feeling more secure and very tired, they scuttle towards the bed’s left side where Jungkook lifts his bed sheets. He allows Jimin to climb in first, and the elder gladly accepts. The softness of the covers just about puts him to sleep. Jungkook follows right behind him, dropping the sheets, and warrants the warmth to embrace them. The two men sigh in comfort as their backs sink into the cushioned material. Heaven on earth, poets would call this. 

“Good night.” Jungkook mumbles, head rolling to the side. Like many times today, Jimin catches himself staring at the back of his head. However, right now, he is unfazed as his eyelids become heavier with each blink.

“Yeah, good night to you, too.”

For once, a homely silence encloses them as time passes by with each flutter of Jimin’s eyes. The gentle aroma of flowers enters his nose, soothing the pressure from this day. It has not even been a full day since the curse fell upon them, yet they have encountered obstacle after obstacle. From Hoseok’s trials and dreadful showers to the undemanding wish for a plushy pillow under their heads. Each ordinary task has bloomed into a challenge, all because of an impalpable link.

As if summoned, the curse’s mana stirs under the scarf. It is hardly an explosive sensation. It is just enough to remind Jimin that the curse stays put. An invisible link that can only be felt is more confining than a literal bind. Jimin cannot help but laugh softly at the irony of it all. 

His laughter stifles in his throat, remembering Jungkook asleep beside him. He dares peek at the younger man, finding his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. As his eyes move up, Jimin takes notice of Jungkook’s right cheek, flushed to a deep color of red. Concern boils his blood, a sense of protectiveness emanating. Jimin’s body moves on its own accord, springing up to a sitting position to get a better view of his comrade’s face. His eyes were not deceiving me. Jungkook’s cheeks are burning up. 

Maybe he is too hot under the blanket? Or he is actually running a fever? The stress from today surely could cause one. Jimin thinks so, at least. Regardless, he decides to remove the sheets as his first goal, Jungkook’s body heat radiating through the thick material. His hand reaches for the top, grabbing a handful of material in a sealed grip. However, before he can even get the covers to budge, Jungkook deliriously mumbles incoherent sentences. Not being able to make out any of the words, Jimin leans down to hear his voice clearer. His cheeks heat up the closer he gets to Jungkook. The comrade speaks again in a barely audible voice.

“Jimin- ngh! ” 

The elder jumps back to his side of the bed, slightly dragging the cloth wrapped around his wrist towards him. Jungkook’s word knells in his ears. Jungkook is not sick, nor is he burning up because of the heavy sheets. Jimin knows those sounds. He, himself, almost made the same sounds in the shower stall. 

Jungkook is moaning Jimin’s name in his sleep. 

Chapter Text

Jimin did not sleep. Actually, Jimin could not sleep. Not when his comrade was on the other side of the bed, sleeping and dreaming of sensual activities, involving him. The breathy sounds were hushed, yet each punctured Jimin’s body intensively, sending strong shudders to his nerves. It did not help that Jimin could feel the other’s warmth under the bed sheets. The emotions flowing through his vessels were unresolved to Jimin. He felt embarrassment for tomorrow, and curiosity for now. Somewhere in between those sentiments was exhilaration. It danced on his arms, thighs, and stomach– spreading across his entire body. Jungkook, even if only subconsciously, was weak against the man he wished to be superior to. The emotions flooding his veins defied all reasoning.

Every so often, Jungkook would drift towards the elder, his knuckles gently brushing against Jimin's forearm, like a warm summer breeze. Escaping the small touches was not an option for Jimin– He could not even turn his back to the sleeping fighter without triggering the prickling of the curse. Thus, Jimin had no choice, but to endure the husky whimpers of his name. He pondered, as he slouched defenseless on the soft mattress, how to live out his daily routines after the night. He could not come up with an answer. The more he thought of tomorrow, the closer his feet stepped to the unsubstantial cliff, risking a devastating plunge into lunacy, which he had fought so diligently against in all his years on the training fields. Even after Jungkook’s vulgar noises stopped, the elder’s mind was restless and wide awake. Had he missed this flicker of desire from Jungkook in all the years he had known him? Or was the curse influencing them in many more manners than they could have imagined? 

When sleep finally welcomed him, an unease wrapped around his senses, refusing to let go.

After a short-lived hour of sleep, Jimin sits in the dining room at a table filled with curious voices– Jungkook next to him, quiet as ever. His eye bags settle heavy against his cheeks, weighing his head down. Jimin had not dared speak about the night and dismissed his lack of sleep due to the unfamiliar room. The bonded soldier did not question him further.

“So, is that true love tattle true?”

Seokjin, a former member of Jimin’s division, points to their joined wrists with his fork, chewing on his bland meal.

“No.” Both men’s groans are muffled by the smashed potatoes in their mouths. Their bodies slump against the backrest of the chairs, heads rolling to the side. If only Jimin could conjure a puddle of quicksand to bury himself in. Seokjin takes another bite, this time a playful grin hidden behind his fork. 

Jimin and Jungkook had noticed while making their way to get their day meal that something was amiss. The whispers– if one could call them such– were floating through the room the moment the pair set foot into the dining area. As Jimin spoons the indurate potatoes onto his plate, each chirping word from the table behind him cuts his patience thinner. They are together, so it must be true. Cupid’s arrow slashed them. A burning tingle unfurls at the tips of his ears. Jimin’s grip on his fork almost bends the metal when the mumbling comes to a sudden halt. Jungkook, with his glare fixed on his dish, vigorously slams his bronze goblet against the wooden surface. The table shakes. On the aggravated soldier’s neck, Jimin spots bluish veins popping out.

Regardless of his reasoning, Jimin feels relieved that the muttering has quietened, even if Jungkook’s unspoken defense feels outlandish. He glances at his comrade, stunned to see him already observing the elder, seeing his anger mirrored in Jungkook’s pupils. 

Numerous rumors have circulated the base. The most prominent being that the pair had stumbled upon a cupid-like sorceress who blessed them with true love. Jimin shakes his head in bafflement as if anyone could look at them and recognize a blessing. 

“Then what the hell is going on?” This time, it is Namjoon speaking. He has been recently promoted to commander, but the title does not change that he is one of Jungkook’s closest friends. Jimin often stumbles upon the two training together at the isolated part of the field. It is one of the only times he sees a genuine smile on his comrade’s face. Namjoon sits on Jungkook’s left, sending threatening looks to any peering eyes. Most fighters return to their business. Unlike Seokjin, Namjoon appears to be genuinely worried. He is leaning down, knitted brows studying their wrists. From Jungkook to Jimin, Namjoon scans the skin for any magical marks. Jimin is unsure whether Namjoon has some experience with witchcraft, but he does not move his hand away. Wherever Namjoon’s eyes land, Jimin senses a slight discomfort, shifting in his seat with each passing second. He lets Jungkook’s friend inspect him until the latter seemingly gives up, sighing as he rests his chin on his palm. 

“It is a curse.” Jungkook answers his friends in short, pushing the food around the plate. He stabs into a green vegetable but drops the fork before pushing his dish away. He rubs his hand against the fabric of his pants. “Hoseok is working on finding solutions.”

Jimin stretches his arm on the table, forehead laying against his upper arm. Relying solely on Hoseok is challenging for his pride, as the soldier usually only depends on his strength and his commander’s orders to advance with his missions. This is foreign territory for him, the waiting. 

“You two are cursed ?!” Jimin is hauled from his vexations by Namjoon’s roars across the chamber– the soldier’s head jumping upright at the clamorous noise– loud and clear for the birds outside to hear his consternation. This should deal with the spineless rumors, at least. Jungkook’s friend’s bulged eyes shift between the bonded pair, concealing his trembled mouth with his closed fist. His struggles are adamantly written all over his face. 

“Do not quote me on this, but seeing that reaction, I would say that a curse is really, really bad.” Seokjin pilots his finger from a sweaty Namjoon to their linked wrists with one of his eyebrows raised. “Just out of curiosity, how bad are we talking?”

Jimin’s friend has a clueless expression fixated on him while Namjoon is on the brink of passing out. It is easy to tell who has studied curses and who has not.

“Bad? A curse’s core is almost impossible to locate. And we have, like, one enchanter in our entire base. This- Is anyone looking for the witch?” Namjoon rambles, then he reaches for a small notebook from his pocket. His right leg elongates under the table, fingers finally clutching the notepad and retrieving it from his pants. As soon as the battered pages hit the table, Jimin remarks a shift in Namjoon’s stance. He no longer stands before them as a friend but rather as a commander with a straight spine and cheeks sucked in. Jimin unconsciously imitates Namjoon’s composure. Oddly, he finds comfort in the commander. Perhaps, it is because the situation is finally taken seriously by someone other than him and Jungkook.

Namjoon fishes out a pen from his pocket and just like that, he begins noting down several lines of words. The fighter is too far away to read Namjoon's illegible scrabble and inclines closer toward the notes. Jimin squints his eyes, thumbing through the letters– He believes to read the words “ Plan. Step One. ”.

“Jimin.” Lost in his attempt to decipher Namjoon’s plan, Jimin misses to notice how dense the distance between him and Jungkook has become. Ignorant of the close vicinity, Jimin swirls to the source of the voice and eludes by the skin of his teeth a collision with Jungkook’s face. The tips of their noses touch, and both suck in a breath. Each siren in Jimin’s brain is blaring red flags to retreat. Yet, his limbs work against him. He stays put, rooted to the ground like a stubborn weed. The younger man looks startled by the displayed proximity, pushing against the backrest. A gleam of panic settles into Jungkook’s pupils when he realizes Jimin is not moving away. He gulps nervously.

Jimin- ngh!

A phantom of Jungkook’s flushed face from last night startles Jimin’s memory. The image vanishes within a blink yet lingers long enough to ignite a feverish trace on his chilled neck. To remind him of the vulnerability etched into Jungkook’s face– a sight he hoped to forget. Jungkook parts his lips to speak, but Jimin cuts him off by lurching back into his seat with his heart racing against his ribcage. His cheeks burn in embarrassment. He does not dare to glance at Jungkook, fearful another flash of last night will creep on him.

“Sorry… I did not mean to…” Jimin croaks, hoping it would somehow conceal his abasement. He bites down on his index finger, angry at himself for allowing the nearness between them. Even more befogged that he cannot erase last night’s incident from his mind. It clings to every nerve of his body, unraveling when he least expects it without warning or reason.

“That was intense.” Jimin immediately hears the amusement in Seokjin’s voice, glaring at him to shut up. The older soldier merely shoots Jimin a mocking wink, deepening the cursed man’s embarrassment.

“That was a mistake.” Jimin corrects him in a hissed tone. Still, his voice wavers, betraying his conviction. He crosses his arm, shielding himself from Seokjin’s playful grin. His friend tilts his head to the side with one of his eyebrows curved.

“An intense mistake.” Seokjin’s grin widens, teeth showing. A spoonful of mashed potatoes is thrown to him by the end of his sentence. The experienced soldier effortlessly dodges, tipping aside as the mashed vegetable splashes onto the ground. Against his will, Jimin faintly smiles at the fast reflexes of his friend. Anyone else would have fallen victim to a sticky face. Jimin’s fondness fades quickly as his annoyance resurfaces due to Seokjin’s continuous teasing. Before he can get another spoon filled, Namjoon interrupts the duo.

“Can we get our focus back on the curse, please?” His voice is laced with a thinly veiled dread, soon evolving into a commanding tone. He glances at Seokjin with a trace of pleading in his eyes. Thankfully, the latter seems done with his shenanigans, lifting his palms in surrender. A shadow of a smirk still lingers on his lips. 

“Okay, okay. I will be more thoughtful from now on.” At that, Jimin drops his spoon onto the plate leisurely and redirects his gaze to the commander.

“Great. Now, I want to receive every minuscule detail about this curse, what has already been done, and what is planned. Understood?” Namjoon’s authority sticks out as his finger jabs against the wooden table. The prior softness of his features is now replaced with sharpness. His eyes dig into Jungkook, waiting for him to break down the last twenty-four hours. The youngest at the dining table sighs before fixing his posture on his seat. The chair creaks beneath the weight. With one final clearance of his throat, Jungkook recalls everything from the very beginning. He retells their encounter with the sorceress at their falsely rated commission, moving on to the curse that prevented the pair from fighting alongside their peers. Some soldiers from neighboring tables are eavesdropping– the chatty conversations magically muzzled. This time, however, no one from the inner circle minds them. Instead, they listen to the account.

Jungkook inches his brows together, and his voice falters as the witch’s death comes up. Namjoon’s jaw clenches while Seokjin exchanges solemn glances with Jimin. But Jungkook’s tone fortifies at the mention of Hoseok and their ordeal in his office. Still, most of the time, he remains enervated from having to recount the story once more.

“So, to summarize. We have a dead witch whose hair Hoseok needs to forge some trailing spell. Oh, and as the only magic-wielder in the entirety of our base, he is also responsible for detangling the curse.” The commander’s pen taps against his lips in a rickety rhythm, revising the notes on his notepad. Their cards are not looking good, regardless of how they flip or stack them. They remain at a standstill until Hoseok makes headway. The chattering dishes echo against the silence of the dining hall.

“We have a better chance at finding gold in a cornfield than having these two unbound within a week.” Seokjin mumbles under his breath, his patience hanging by a thread. His forehead is squashed against his palms as he processes the situation. To Jimin’s misfortune, Namjoon does not deny his presumption, lips pressed together tightly. The young soldier conceals his curled fists beneath the table, but his frustration simmers on his rigid shoulders.

“You know what,” Namjoon shoves himself off his chair, hands on the heavy ligneous edge of the table. Every pair of eyes follows his movement. “I will go talk to Hoseok. Then work out the next course of action.”

“I will come with you.” Seokjin has risen from his seat as well, towering over the seated pair.

“I do not need a jester tagging along.” Namjoon states, sliding the notebook into its previous place. Jimin cringes at his authoritative emphasis. He peeks at his friend to find him half smiling at the commander. Seokjin walks up to Namjoon, stopping behind Jimin.

“I told you I would be more thoughtful from now on. And I mean it. Because whatever brotherly protectiveness you feel over little Jungkook here, I feel for Jimin.” Seokjin’s hand lands on Jimin’s hair, ruffling it. Jimin’s eyes disclose his disguised smile, as the voice rings through the room, crushing the tension with each sonant. “Additionally, three brains are better than two.” 

“Five are even better, no?” Jimin adds, speaking for the first time in a while. 

“No. You two have another priority for today.” Namjoon immediately cuts the idea short. The soldier jerks his head back, shocked to be denigrated this swiftly. 

“What could be more important than contriving a plan for our cure?” Jungkook jumps in as his legs brace in readiness. The younger soldier joins Jimin in his perplexity– an unusual occurrence. The unforeseen solidarity offers Jimin the courage to stand his ground. His eyes narrow with his spine extended, and the setback evolves into a firm resolve. 

“Learning from your mistakes. You will visit the library and do some extravagant research on witchcraft, especially curses.” The commander’s order seems definitive to him, but Jungkook is on his feet with an irritated expression, ready to defy him. Jimin follows, yet a shower of guilt washes over him. A commander has regarded their situation as their mistake. Instinctively, Jimin avoids Namjoon’s eyes. The words bear a massive burden on his pride. It feels shameful.

“Pretty sure that can wait.” Jungkook counters as his hand grabs a hold of his friend’s upper arm. His voice is interwoven with urgency and conviction. Still, Namjoon shakes his head. He has made up his mind.

“The only reason you are in this dilemma in the first place is because you walked into a commission with a narrow-minded vision on magic-wielders. The sorceress was not killed under your commander’s orders but under your misjudgment of the situation. And look at the outcome. Cursed with its mastermind slain.” A stone the size of a mountain falls on the bonded pair’s shoulders– too heavy to shrug off. The pair falls silent, the air too thick to dispute any longer. There is no room to argue. In the end, it was their fatuity that failed them.

“Do not be depressed. The commander means it well.” No one but them is left in the large dining room, drowning in dirty dishes and a gamey smell. Each window is locked shut, forbidding any freshness to ventilate the sticky air. Seokjin tries to lessen the tension with his gaiety. His efforts prove fruitless. Namjoon, with his chin high, still holds his glare at Jungkook, who contrasty hangs his head low. Jimin believes that Seokjin is right– that Namjoon only wishes to help with his injunction– but Jungkook is marching on a rocky road to accepting his shortcomings. 

“I do not know why you are talking as if you did not ask why a curse was considered bad fifteen minutes ago.” Jungkook is grasping at straws to reimpose himself on the higher ground. His lips pursed like a sulking child. He is au fait with being a flawless fighter. The one to guide his comrades to victory. This might be the first time Jungkook stands before a commander with vanquishment. A lecture of this caliber is trivial yet torturous to him. Unfortunately for him, Seokjin knows quite well how to deal with children.

“I will admit, I do not know much about curses. However, I do know one thing.” Jimin is well aware that Seokjin possesses a valuable aptitude. One that neither Jungkook nor Jimin can coolly live up to, which is many years of battlefield experience. This is something that the linked men are bereft of and will be in the future, compared to Seokjin and Namjoon. The competent soldier walks up to Jungkook in an innocuous manner. His hands are clasped behind his back, not even fearing an outburst from the younger.

“If a spell bewitches me, I will not leave the trenches with a fallen sorcerer.”

With that, Seokjin and Namjoon leave Jimin with a very, very flustered Jungkook.

###############

In two years of knowing Jungkook, Jimin should have gotten used to his silence. He never engages in small conversations during their commissions, only acknowledging the present commander with courtesy. And at first, people deemed it as insolent behavior from a novice. They would ask Jungkook if he reckons himself as grander than the rest of them– poking at his fortitude each time they were no longer under a higher-up’s surveillance. However, within a month of operating in Jimin’s division, Jungkook had established to be exactly what they mocked him for. He was quicker, smarter, more strategic, and, on top of it all, younger than all of his ruffians.

Some had exclaimed his talent would sink with age– that he would be beneath them soon enough. Those fools are still waiting for his downfall, not even attempting to talk to him anymore. Jungkook’s exclusion has become a norm.

So, Jimin should be basking himself in it, the same way he would in the sunlight. Yet, he cannot. Jungkook’s crushed face will not dwindle from his mind. A touch of pity engulfs him slowly. While Namjoon’s disappointment was directed at both of them, it hit Jungkook much harder.

“Are you okay?” Jimin does not anticipate a reply since Jungkook looks as if he did not even hear the question. However, the floodgates open, and Jungkook cannot prevent his wrath from spilling.

“No, I am not okay, Jimin. We were just now lectured as if we made soup from that witch’s head. We did not act on our own. Your nice Dean did. If anything, he should be scolded. He should sit in the library and read the how-to’s on witchcraft while we mend his mishap. Instead, they will form a plan, excluding us completely, and make us sit and wait here like obedient dogs.” Jungkook vomits word after word. Moving his hands excessively, he points to random spaces in the air. In one instance, he slides his finger towards himself after jabbing it towards the ground. On his right side, Jimin bites down a smile, not wanting Jungkook to think he is being parodied. Nevertheless, he feels a chuckle threatening to escape when the uncharacteristic image unfolds in front of him. Jungkook has never vocalized this many letters to the elder. 

“We did not really try to stop Dean though.” Jimin argues.

“I believe we were a little occupied with soaring through the air.” Jimin releases a soft laugh at the recollection. Their arms and legs sustained at least twenty new bruises in the first ten minutes of the curse by constantly roaming away too far.

“You are right.” Jimin stretches his arms over his head, groaning. “However, I have to agree with Namjoon that we are quite inept, concerning magical powers.” 

Jungkook cannot disagree on that.

The men arrive at the tall door of the library. It stands twice as tall, covered in silver and bronze markings. The handle acts as the silver center, as gleaming metals spread as vein-like threads across the surface. Jimin has a hunch that this particular chamber was used as a King’s study before the castle fell into ruins. The pattern is too ostentatious for any other purpose.

“I am not reading more than two books. Just a heads up.” Jungkook mutters, pushing the heavy door open with a grunt, revealing high shelves packed with never-ending manuscripts, compendiums, and tomes. Jimin stares in awe, his steps stunted. He was told that their base manages an impressive archive. Never in his dreams would he have pictured something like this.

“This is amazing.” Jimin whispers feebly as his eyes scan each row, overflowing with unheard authors. Where one bookstand ends, another one begins.

“Finding what we need will be a real pain in my neck.” Jungkook vilifies, analyzing the room with a squint and hands on his waist. 

The older fighter rolls his eyes at Jungkook’s resignation, strolling towards the first bookshelf without accosting his complaints. Jimin disregards the first two rows for now, as he can barely read the titles from his height. His index finger glides against the book spines, each carrying a unique texture. The pungent scent of books consumes his senses. It is even stronger than the one in Hoseok’s study yesterday. His gaze inspects the titles one by one until he spies ‘ The Ruin Of Curses’ on one of the taller levels of the shelf. Internally applauding his spry triumph, he gets on his tiptoes, straightening his back, and stretches his arm to snatch the book. His fingers clutch the panel, however, as he tries to draw it out, a second larger hand envelopes his hand and the book.

A warm body looms behind him, pinning Jimin against the furniture. His breath hitches in his throat with blood rushing to his nape. The volume slips from his hold, and Jungkook backs away with Jimin’s discovery in his hand. The elder ignores the tingles underneath his shoulder blades, blaming it on the element of surprise. He whirls around to face Jungkook.

“I could have gotten that.” Jimin states with a false, straight face.

“I am well aware.” Jungkook responds, handing the book to Jimin. There is a flash of a smile on his lips.

The elder knits his brows together, glancing down at the weight in his hand. He has a million questions, like asking for his true intentions. Was it mockery? Or, merely helping out a comrade? Those thoughts hover at the tip of his tongue, but chooses to remain silent. His feet saunter behind Jungkook alongside the shelves. They spend at least half an hour only browsing the rows for anything useful. By the end, they find six volumes before walking towards a vacant table.

“Should there not be a librarian here?” Jungkook asks, dumping the books onto the table with a loud thud. He pulls out two chairs– the scraping disrupting the serenity of the library– and takes his seat on the left side. With a little more delicacy, Jimin places the volumes next to Jungkook’s before sitting on the right. Jimin examines the library with his head tilted to the side. In theory, there should be a librarian present at all times to guard the archive. However, Jimin has learned that theory and practice never go hand in hand.

“Maybe they are on a break.” Jimin comments with a shrug as he sweeps the first book towards himself. He reads the title a second time. The Ruin Of Curses. Hopefully, the answers they seek will be in this tome.

When the opening page is revealed, the scruffy, old paper creaks under the pressure, and small dust bits explode around him. Jimin almost sneezes, sniffing to suppress the itch in his nose, as his eyes land on a dense fortress of tiny prints in Old English. He blinks as the tedious degree of this read hits him. Not even a magnifying glass could make this font readable. It will take several hours for this book alone. He sighs, the stack of books haunting him. He curses deep inside, rubbing his eyelids with the edge of his palm. 

“Do these authors think their main audience consists of mice? Why is the font so small?” Jungkook has his book up to his nose, eyes scrunched as he tries to decipher the notes. His gaze sloppily glides over the teeny text, attempting to make sense of the words, and then drops the book back onto the table. 

“Is it not too soon to give up?” Jimin says, yet his own motivation dissolves each time the letters dance out of focus. He prays to God that not every book consists of such writing.

“I already gave up in the dining hall.” The younger fighter nudges the volume with his knuckles as a dispirited expression falls on his features. 

“But you enjoy reading right? You have a little library in your room.” Jimin grazes his thumb against the corner of the page, remembering Jungkook’s collection. The books include novels, poems, and accounts of victories, proving some passion for reading. 

“Not saying that I do not enjoy reading, just saying I do not think we should be wasting our time in literature right now.” Jungkook declares, but contrary to his words, he picks up the book again.

“Orders are orders. Let us do our best for now.” Jimin says, shifting his attention to the pages in front just like Jungkook. They fall into a comfortable silence.

Jimin’s book starts by providing the background of the primordial curse, which shifted the power balance in witchcraft. A sorceress named Hedna had given up part of her magic to put a death curse on her cheating husband. At first, the other enchanters did not believe she had succeeded, as her lover continued to live, not a sign of death to be seen. Jimin’s eyes skim to his hexed wrist, which carries no mark of bewitchery. The parallelism shoots a potent shudder down his arm until it reaches his wrist as if there is a tonnage wrapped around it. Jimin swallows down his anxiety before continuing reading. 

The people dear to the unfaithful husband started to depart from life, one by one, in their own good times. First, his mother, then his oldest sibling, followed by his childhood friend. It did not stop there. Affairs, neighbors, nephews, and even family dogs were dying ostensibly for no reason at all, regardless of how much the doctors investigated the bodies– A cause of death could never be determined. The rest of the village began to avoid the cursed man like the plague as they did not want to risk the gruesome conclusion. The man, angry at his former wife, took matters into his own hands. He returned to their past home with a goal and a machete. He killed the sorceress in cold blood, slashing her body incessantly. He watched her dead body and stamped himself a free man. But there was no freedom even after her death, the curse haunted him. No love– whether it was romantic, platonic, or familial– ever embraced him again. He died a lonely man. For the first time in history did a spell not die with the witch; The beginning of damnation.

The text mentions that not every magic-wielder is capable of constructing their own curse. It is a complex assembly, which requires a strong knowledge of magical ordinance and equilibrium. Some offer too much– some too little– to the Spirits of Balance, leaving it up to higher beings to settle their debt for the curse, which commonly ends in a calamity for the enchanter. Further down the page, Jimin routes out an unexpected discovery. 

A beshrew only aye falls upon a singular soul. 

Jimin’s eyes widen slightly, discerning the Old English one word at a time. His grip on the books turns clammy as the sunlight in the library dimmers, the shadows behind the bookshelves darkening. The phrase gnaws at him ominously. He flips the page frantically, hoping to find more definitive clarification, but the next sheet merely starts a new chapter, leaving him adrift in a haze. 

“Jungkook, you might want to-” 

“Are you thinking about opening a circus with amateur magicians, or why are you researching witchcraft this intensely?” Jimin’s concerns are interrupted by a deep voice. It is a familiar one, but Jimin, still stuck on the last line, cannot match it to a face just yet. The bonded pair’s heads swirl to the source and are greeted by grinning Taehyung– A new addition to Namjoon’s division. 

“What?” Jungkook’s voice is hoarse, probably due to the long quietness. 

“Sorry, do not bother with him. He is actually supposed to be arranging the returned books.” A second man approaches the table, not locking his eyes with Jimin or Jungkook. Instead, he keeps his focus on Taehyung, grabbing him by the collar with a stern look to remind him of his neglected task. Jimin does not recognize the man– an unfamiliar voice and face– however, Taehyung seems to be very chummy with him. He drops his head back, locking eyes with the man, and pouts.

“But, Yoongi, we have the talk of the base sitting here.” With an even wider smile, Taehyung points his finger to the two males before him. Yoongi’s gaze follows the direction until it settles on Jungkook and Jimin. He perceives the cursed men closely, curiosity flickering in his eyes. Yoongi must have heard about their incident with the witch because he offers the pair a nod with a tense smile as a courtesy. Jimin observes the two men in front of him, their disparity as patent as flowers sprouting in spring. It is a well-balanced couplet with Taehyung’s cheery personality filling Yoongi’s reservation like the sun casting her light on the moon’s veil.

“Pretty certain they are busy right now. Let them be.” Taehyung is being pulled out of his chair by Yoongi, who glosses over the light complaints. Jimin watches them, especially Yoongi, nibbling at the skin on his lips. He must be the librarian– conservant in bewitchery to some extent. Jimin glimpses at the volume, still heavy in his hold, and his hand moves on its own accord, grasping Taehyung’s and preventing him from leaving their table. He crumbles the fabric of the shirt between his fingers.

“Actually, do you mind lending me advice?” The new fighter stares at their joined hands in bewilderment. He steals the smallest, questioning peek at his friend. All movements come to a halt, even Yoongi’s maneuvering Taehyung out of the chair. To everyone’s surprise, Jimin is not talking to Jungkook or Taehyung. His words are directed at Yoongi, who bats his eyelids, processing the request.

“Advice?” Jungkook sharply turns to Jimin, perplexed by his urgency. He did not expect their research visit to transform into a group council, and he does not understand where this plea derives from.

“I found something I am not entirely sure I understand.” Jimin confesses with a strained voice as his clutch on the book ripens into pain, the border of the spine digging into the skin. The new uncover could result in no change, but an acute gut feeling loiters in him. Being incognizant about his own curse leaves too much space for worries. Jimin is so deep in his thoughts that he misses Jungkook's hawk-eyed look. He barely picks up on Yoongi, who indolently plants himself next to Taehyung, whose eyes switch between the two bonded wrists. His nonchalant face leaves Jimin unsure of his rumination. Yoongi slouches against the backrest with his arms folded and one brow arched. He looks intrigued by Jimin’s proclamation. As Jimin fails to continue it, an awkward air swamps around them. A couple of fighters’ muffled voices from the hallway invade the chamber. They are discussing a mission weighing the safest offensive. Jimin wrestles with retelling their circumstances, not wishing to waste time, or solely focus on his findings.

“I cannot help you if you do not tell me your revelation.” Yoongi’s voice is not strict or harsh. It has similarities to a teacher, who is soothing a nervous student. Bizarrely, Jimin feels his anxiety evaporate in slow puffs.

“Right- Sorry.” He coughs into his fist, fidgeting in his seat. “How much do you know about witchcraft, predominantly curses?” His intertwined hands settle on the table.

“A fair amount, I would say.” Jimin nods. A fair amount is more than enough– much more than Jimin’s knowledge. He takes a deep breath, the sound resounding in his head.

“Okay, good. I can work with that.” The fighter’s voice carries more certitude than before as he talks. He becomes conscious of Jungkook’s stare, boring at his side with protective vigilance, assessing where Jimin is going with this conversation. Unluckily for him, even Jimin does not know where this will lead. His plangent worries can grow to be laughable– perhaps silly. After all, it is just one phrase. A beshrew only aye falls upon a singular soul. Who knows, this might not even relate to the linked pair’s situation. It is merely one sentence that unrobed numerous prospects. Jimin hesitates, the words bitter on his tongue when he finally speaks.

“So, I read that a curse cannot be cast upon two people at the same time.”

“That is absurd. We both are obviously cursed.” Jungkook scoffs with a shake of his head after a beat of silence. It sounds ludicrous, Jimin knows, but something is off about their curse. His intuition is screaming it at him.

“It used to be absurd that a spell could stay untouched after the caster’s death, but then curses came into the picture. Who is to say this is not a new form of a hex? That we are just like Hedna’s husband– the man who proved that curses outlast an enchanter’s death– the first victims of new magic.” Jimin counters, glaring at the younger. His nostrils flare as his frustration floods out of him– bothered by the lack of perturbation from Jungkook. 

“Who is Hedna?” Taehyung and Jungkook ask at once. Taehyung’s eyebrows knit, while Jungkook tilts his head sideways, both entombed in confusion. Jimin sighs, grabbing two fistfuls of hair to keep his cool. 

“Hedna is the first curse caster.” Yoongi replies for Jimin, tapping his index finger against the table. He ponders the possibilities before providing light comfort to him. “I commiserate with your concerns, however; I do not think you should jump to conclusions this hastily.”

“What do you mean?” Jimin’s neck straightens, sending Yoongi a glimpse of hope. 

“I mean- It is reasonable to believe only one of you is cursed while the other is merely playing the role of a puppet.” Yoongi explains, moving his gaze from Jimin to Jungkook, who twists his wrist as he studies it. His regard is keen, searching for answers on his pristine skin. Jimin’s stomach tightens as he recalls Hedna’s curse; how her disloyal husband was the cursed one. Yet the people around him were the ones to suffer death in the end. Maybe, this was similar, and that one of the men was just an unlucky bystander who got involved in someone else’s misfortune.

“Meaning, one of us was at the wrong place at the wrong time?” Jimin affirms, wetting his bottom lip. The comrade next to him writhes, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

“Possible, or, probably the worst case scenario, the sorceress somehow managed to simultaneously enchant two individual curses on you.” Yoongi’s words are sharp and direct, stabbing the bonded pair in their vital areas.

“But that would allude to two different cores, protected by two different bindings.” Jungkook’s eyes are bulging, enrapt to Yoongi. In that event, a week is not going to be enough. Untangling one curse is a struggle– a tremendous effort. Two curses bundled together– that is a prodigious level of expertise– one that Hoseok might not even possess. Jimin’s chest burdens, breathing turning into a strife.

“Unfortunately, that would be the case.” Yoongi tilts his head in a nod, letting the newfound information sink in. 

“Well, that does not sound very delightful.” Taehyung mutters, scrunching his nose in demurral.

“Do not panic right away.” Yoongi has altered his posture, standing before them with more confidence. “There is still information unbeknownst to me, so we should continue delving into the origins of curses– their development over the last decades– and documenting significant discoveries.”

“We?” The word hangs in Jimin’s mind, stunning him with the prevalent suggestion to cooperate– a reassuring, and very welcome, notion. Jungkook appears perplexed as well, but there is a hint of gratitude in his pupils. A sheepish grin revisits Taehyung’s face, contentment about Yoongi’s facility to aid the cursed pair.

“Those returned books will not run away, so…” Faint blushes manifest on Yoongi’s pale cheeks, attesting to his fresh obduracy. Taehyung fondly observes him, prideful to call him a friend.

“Jungkook, have you found something in your book so far?” Yoongi, embarrassed by the beholden interest, supplants the attention back to the persistent matter. The three men take notice of his fluster, deciding to spare him from any teasing. Jungkook wheezes, flipping his book to the last page he read.

“Sure.” Jimin recognizes that tone– dismissive and peeved. “I learned that you are able to conjure a curse that will make your enemy’s farm animals fuck each other in order to ruin the agriculture.” He finishes his sentence with a tight, fake smile that fully stretches his cheeks, but the gesture does not reach his eyes. Instead, they hold relinquishment.

“Is that what you have been doing while I was doing a serious analysis?” Jimin’s upper body faces Jungkook, whose eyes travel from Jimin’s shoes to his eyes. The latter is inarguably indignant, thinking he is the only one grasping the gravity of the curse.

“I was being serious too. Look here. Chapter two; Animalistic curses.” Jungkook lifts the worn book to Jimin’s face, centering his digit towards the chapter’s name. He taps against the paper. The sound transmutes into irritation and provocation, making Jimin tense his jaw. He pushes his view free, frowning at Jungkook. 

“This is stupid.” Jimin says to him resignedly.

“It is not my fault that this book does not contain anything of importance.” The fighter scowls as he examines the frayed book. One rambunctious movement and the volume will be done for. Some pages are barely clinging onto the inner hinge.

“Keep at it though. Magic-wielders love to hide pivotal points in plain sight.” Yoongi orders as he hands out a book to Taehyung, then the thickest one to himself. As the books lay open in front of the men, a pungent scent of wood surrounds them. It does not resemble the fresh smell of a forest, instead, it is viscid and ancient, like forgotten firewood that outlived the four weather seasons. Jimin crinkles his nose, not voicing his complaints. 

“A book club, how exciting!” Taehyung claps his hands, rubbing them with great enthusiasm. He leans down to his book, eyes shifting as he starts to read the first page.

“Do not forget to note down-” Yoongi begins to remind the table when a familiar voice cuts through the air. Four heads whip towards the door of the library.

“I am surprised to find you guys here.” Namjoon’s tall figure steps towards them, on his tail Seokjin and Hoseok. The commander looks a little less taut than before, a smile lingering on his lips. The two men behind him are just as beaming. A playful grin sits on Seokjin’s lips, while Hoseok holds a soft smile.

“You told us to come here.” Jungkook harks back to his friend. A shadow of innocent betrayal flashes his features, however, there is no ill intent anymore. The previous hurt from the lecture has long vanished. 

“Did not expect you to listen.” Namjoon counters, scanning the new faces at the table when his gaze settles on Yoongi. Surprise flickers in his eyes, his posture converting into a salute.  “Oh, General Yoongi, nice to see you.”

A firm hand clutches Jimin’s in disbelief. It stings in pain– the skin reddening slightly– but Jimin barely registers it. His assumption about Yoongi being a diligent librarian missed the mark by a mile. This man's knowledge about magic does not stem from a library position– No, it comes from his experience with them. An insight a general carries. A general. As realization dawns on the pair, they hurriedly jump to their feet, wobbling on their footing. They bow to the general, hands still interlocked, with flushed faces. Jungkook’s stomach twirls, recalling his foul language and puerile behavior about his academic furtherance. No general appreciates lazy fighters. He inhales deeply as sweat droplets protrude from his forehead. Beside him, Jimin is not holding up any better. His childish bickering with Jungkook could prove an incapability of civil fellowship. The duo exchange a glance of shared panic– cursing internally at their display of disrespect towards a man of a very high rank– before rising from their salutation. Both are unsure what admonition they expected, but it turns into reverence when a bright gummy-like grin rests on the general’s face. 

“What is with the sudden change?” Yoongi taunts the stressed men, finding their switch to rigidness quite amusing. Apart from Taehyung, most people tense when he sets foot into a room. Conversing feels unnatural, as if talking to a facade, so he enjoyed the authenticity of Jimin and Jungkook. The other four men are having fun with the duo’s apparent shock as well, their snickering echoing in the tranquil archive.

“You could have told us.” Jungkook mumbles as he takes his seat back, the tips of his ears burning. Jimin joins him, sitting down next to him in silence.

“You were told my name, what comes before that is not that exigent.” Yoongi waves his high-ranking status off as if he did not accomplish grand achievements to receive it. For someone of this young age, he must have done the impossible to earn the title. Still, no gloating of his glory lingers around Yoongi. If anything, he wishes to be treated as an equal– something Jimin cannot say he has seen before from a general.

“Come on, stop teasing them! Look, they are still holding hands in fear.” Seokjin insincerely pouts, his voice laced in feigned concern, as he directs his finger towards the pair and their intertwined hands. Every pair of eyes turn to Jimin and Jungkook whose gazes drop to their wrists, shocked to see that Seokjin is indeed right. They are still holding hands. All the blood rushes to their cheeks with an acrid abasement capering on their napes. They feel very exposed. Both men jerk their hands back to their lap as if the touch magically ignited. Amid it all, it had slipped their mind to let go.

“Oh, sorry-” Jimin dismisses the warmth on his palm, stuttering the words out in a hurry. He is not even certain what he is apologizing for, yet he cannot stop himself.

“No, I am sorry-” Jungkook rubs his wrist as the apology slips out of him naturally. His eyes do not meet Jimin’s gaze; instead, they drift to the bookshelves, in an attempt to escape from the situation. Their friends watch the foolish exchange, noticing a shift in their relationship. Just yesterday, such an incident would have resulted in angry words– not this cultivated response.

“Oh, Jimin. I am feeling so apologetic.” Seokjin’s voice cackles overly theatrical, and Jimin unfortunately prophesies the next phase. His friend swirls to Hoseok over-exaggeratedly before holding onto the enchanter’s hand in a loving manner. He bats his big, round eyes at Hoseok with their hands pressed to his chest as if they are two characters from a romance story. Hoseok is pulled into a close embrace, the way lovers would, and lets Seokjin rest his head on his shoulder.

“No, Jungkook. It is I who should feel remorseful.” Hoseok’s dramatic voice shrills in the high room as he performs alongside the pompous act, hugging Seokjin’s waist tightly. Seated quietly at the table, Jimin’s face remains blank, without even a muscle twitching, as he watches the foolery unfold.

“Are you two done?” Jungkook asked with his elbows on the desk’s edge– his voice flat and unimpressed. 

“We were about to enter Act Two, but I suppose we can take a break.” The pair drop their hands– and their act– as they unrepentantly conceal their delight behind short coughs. Jimin sends a sharp glare at them, silently warning them to behave.

“While the actors are resting, let us discuss your little reading session. How did it go?” Namjoon grabs one of the unoccupied seats, joining the little group at the desk. As he sits down, the squeaks of the chair are strident, grating against the eardrums. The commander’s question is not steered at anyone particular, but his gaze is. It lingers on Jungkook, verifying whether the young fighter took the order to heart. Jungkook notices and his legs begin to pounce slightly underneath the table. The young fighter sucks one of his cheeks in, averting his eyes from Jimin’s book.

“Fabulous, actually. We learned that A; only one of us is cursed, and the other is unlucky. B; we both are cursed with two different hexes and C; the most fun– we suffer from a new curse form.” Jungkook’s facial demeanor is anything but candid, with the upper part of his face unmoving as a strained smile is forced upon his lips.

“It is not looking too dainty for you.” Seokjin slumps his body onto an empty chair and replies with the plain truth. His puckish attitude has transcended into affliction. Hoseok settles next to Jimin with a similar air around him as Seokjin’s.

“Thanks, I really needed to hear that.” Jimin grimaces, his head inclined to the side.

“Do not thank me yet, there is some news.” Uncertainty shadows Seokjin’s features, which goes amiss by Jungkook. However, Jimin perceives it, and a severe wrench expands in his groin, alerting him to stay attentive. The frolic energy in the archive retreats into the back, just like a tide before a perilous tsunami.

“Oh, please, do enlighten us.” Jungkook declares mockingly, raising his palms to his shoulders before they drop upon the table with a thundering thumb.

“Well, for one, the sorceress is not in any of my records, or at least her bloodline is not, so either way, I do not have any information on the power scale we are dealing with.” Hoseok’s voice does not quiver with emotion– it is direct and straight to the point. Yet, the unveiling of another impediment is another jab at the cursed men. It is one thing to underestimate your enemy’s might, but another, much scarier, not to know their strength at all. A cloud of unease settles between the seven men.

“Please tell me there is a ‘but’ in your speech.” Jimin mumbles, the edge of his palms pressed against his squeezed eyes, wishing for the tiniest bit of hopeful news.

“ But I have assembled a trailing spell to locate the sorceress’ lair, and we have received the authorization to depart tomorrow morning.” Hoseok does not meet the eyes’ of the cursed pair and shoots Namjoon an ambivalent peek. 

“Really? That is amazing!” Fresh air enters his lungs when Jimin lifts his head, a wide grin plastered on his full lips as he looks at Hoseok. The fighter expects a mirroring thrill in the enchanter’s eyes. Instead, he lowers his gaze with contrition glossing over his brown pupils. The smile on Jimin’s face falters as the air turns clotted and tacky, his exhales shortening with an evident storm approaching.

“We will receive two more fighters to accompany us in our journey. In the meantime, I need you two to-” Namjoon picks up where Hoseok left off– a blend of regret and anger on his face– as an appalled Jungkook disrupts him.

“Hold that thought. What do you mean, in the meantime? We are coming with you.” Jungkook pleads as he leans towards Namjoon. He is on the edge of his seat with a puzzlement etched on his face as he processes the commander’s words. Namjoon stiffens under the attention, still, he meets Jungkook’s glare with firm resolve. Jungkook’s frustration simmers at the brim of his rationality, threatening to destroy his composure. He endeavors to hold it in, clenching his fists over his knees as the skin is looming to tear at the intensity.

“Jungkook, think about it. Please.” Namjoon massages from his forehead to his nape, aching for understanding from his friends. His tone is braided with defeat as if the sound of his concerns plagues him. Jimin presses his lips together. A small part of him comprehends Namjoon’s worries. After all, he is no longer just a comrade of theirs- no longer merely Jungkook’s friend. If they are to be injured– or worse– the blame falls on Namjoon, the commander of the mission. The chances of crossing paths with the enemy are high, so perhaps, he just does not know whether he could live with that guilt.

“Namjoon, with all due respect. I cannot sit in this stupid library for days and let others redeem my misfortune!” Jungkook is on his feet, his chair tumbling behind him in a blaring clash. His chest heaves in deep breaths as he grips the table's edge. Only moments ago, this library was a peaceful and serene corner to collect your thoughts. Now the room is haunted by a thick tension, confining you in place.

“You two are in no position to complete a commission.” Namjoon hints at their joined wrists, his gaze settling on them. At that moment, Jimin and Jungkook feel a prodding prickle against their inner forearm, summoning the curse’s presence.

“Namjoon….” Jimin stands up in hesitance, with his movements lacking in confidence. There is an inner turmoil transpiring in his mind, leaving him stranded in indecision. His intellectuality argues that Namjoon is right– that they could not offer any aid to their friends in the commission. Yet, the fighter in him refuses to yield to a dead sorceress. His knuckles turn white as he fortifies himself to fight for his freedom.  

“In the event of an ambush, you would be-” Jungkook’s eyes widen as his mind finishes Namjoon’s sentence. Something shifts in his expression. 

“No, no. He is not a liability, Namjoon. We are fighters. We will fight. We can.” Jimin’s voice thunders against the empty walls, squashing the last part of Namjoon’s statement. Everyone at the table flinches at the sudden volume, causing the library to fall into a stilted silence. The dispute hangs tiringly in the air. Jimin breathes deeply with a sharp glance directed at Namjoon while praying that no one catches his little lapse of a tongue. He should have defended himself first, or at least both of them since Namjoon is communicating with both of the cursed fighters. However, before he could even think anything over, the phrase ‘He is not a liability.’ slips past his lips, protecting Jungkook first. Jimin steals a glimpse at his cursed partner, knowing exactly what pushed him to take this man’s side. Whether the others noticed or chose not to bring it up, Jimin is uncertain. Nevertheless, Jimin could not have missed or ignored it, even if he stupendously tried. A mist of hurt hovered over Jungkook when he realized his best friend almost labeled him a deadweight. The sight struck Jimin, like a dagger pierced to a heart, awakening a protectiveness over his comrade.

“I am sorry. You are right. You- I will try and present a new, stronger case. I will go to General Yang.” Perceptible remorse weightens Namjoon’s conscience, as his face is in his hands and his shoulders slumped. He had stressed over the wrong matter, disregarding his friend’s feelings. Jungkook still offers a bright smile, content that he is finally being heard. Jimin appreciates Namjoon’s receptivity to heed their beliefs as well, especially since he carries the responsibility to act as a friend, and as a commander. Finding the perfect balance will take time, but Jimin has faith in Namjoon.

“He will not give it to you. If there is one truth about General Yang, then it is that he is madly married to his unyielding principles.” The moment of credence is short-lived with Yoongi’s utterance. He scratches his shoulder blade absent-mindedly, brows knitted as his mind wanders. Jungkook and Jimin return to their seats, annoyed and exhausted by the never-ending back and forth– and by the undeniable truth. General Yang is bound to the rules of his underlings, the same way actors are to their scripts. He does not alter the rules, just because of your determination.

“Is it not possible for you, Mister General, to grant them the authorization?” Seokjin asks Yoongi, who immediately shakes his head, crushing the idea.

“No, this is not my district. I am here strictly as reinforcement.” Yoongi, whose index finger keeps poking against the wooden surface of the table, explains his restricted power. Next to him, Taehyung spots General’s usual tics when piecing together a plan. A ghostly smirk appears on Taehyung’s lips.

“Let us come with you. Maybe we can convince him.” Desperation and debility lace Jungkook’s tone as his body whirls to the side to face Namjoon, who seems to be going over his future conversation with General Yang. He is preparing an answer for each possible scenario. Jimin looks just as wretched as Jungkook and prays that their combined voices will make their case somehow more convincing.

“Like I said, General Yang is a man who strictly follows the rule book.” Jimin folds his arms at Yoongi’s reminder, pushing his heel firmly on the cracked ground. Hoseok lays a comforting hand on his shoulder, for which Jimin is grateful. “I, on the other hand, do not care if some rules are bent. There should be no issue if a General joins your little adventure.”

Six aghast pairs of eyes cascade towards Yoongi, not fully processing his declaration. It is unheard of for a General to take part in a commission– Jimin cannot remember the last time. Most Generals only ever step into big warfields and definitely do not bother associating with personal missions from underling fighters. Yoongi’s offer is one of a severe rarity.

“Yoongi?” Taehyung’s usual aloof body position mutates into a straight posture. It is the first time since he entered the archive that he has the stance of a fighter. Still, his face holds a blinding smile and he begins to shake Yoongi’s shoulder, pushing him to clarify further.

“Inform Yang that I will accompany you– And I will take full responsibility for these two boys.” Yoongi’s finger is aimed at the cursed pair, who, like Taehyung, cannot stow their happiness away. Their cheeks ache from their beaming grins, with the apple of their cheeks painted in a deep red shade, darkening with each passing moment.

“General Yoongi, I… I do not know what to say.” Even Namjoon has a pretty ruby-like color on his cheeks, gratitude unmistakably painted on his features, especially his soft eyes. He will still have to work his case with Yang, nevertheless, having Yoongi on their side will make it much easier to secure an authorization.

“Start dropping the general. It makes me sound ancient.” Yoongi nonchalantly repudiates his assertion, making Jimin believe that they must be in the presence of a guardian angel. Not only did he lend them an ear with their research struggles, but now he is aligning himself with a group of people he barely knows to join them in a commission, from which he will basically gain nothing.

“Do you think Yang is going to agree?” Hoseok raises the question, which Yoongi dismisses with a casual flicker of his eyes.

“If he does not, I will have a word with him. Either way, be prepared for tomorrow.” The General announces as he rises from his seat, stretching his arms behind his head and releasing the tension from his body and the room. Everyone else at the table gets on their feet as well, preserving their discipline despite the vivacious atmosphere. When a General stands, you do not sit.

“We are in your debt.” Jungkook says with a deep, thankful salute– his forehead almost kisses the table, but Jimin prevents the clash with his hand. He then bows to Yoongi as well with a linear spine. The General only nods at the two men before issuing his final order for the day.

“Repay me by being in your best form tomorrow.” His eyes travel across the table, addressing each person before his gaze lands on Namjoon. “And Namjoon, meet me in my study after dinner. I believe we have some matters to discuss”

With that, a shuffling of bodies begins to sound in the library. Some push the chairs back against the tables, while others silently return the books to their shelves. Not much talking is being done, yet it feels comfortable. A wave of hope engulfs the cursed pair, their hearts finally at peace as they inch closer to their freedom.

############

“I am stuffed. Those rice cakes were absolutely delicious.” Jimin rubs his stomach in circular motions, huffing as he strolls toward the quarters. Beside him, Jungkook looks just as satiated from their long dinner. Their usual quick dinner transformed into a long chit-chat, with various shared meals between the seven men. Even Jimin and Jungkook exchanged some jokes and stories, enjoying the equanimity. By the time they left the hall, the moon had long risen, and most soldiers retreated to their dorms to seek downtime. Jimin and Jungkook are excited for their breather before their long journey tomorrow.

“Having a magician as a friend proves quite nifty.” Jungkook adds, reminiscing on the nostalgic scents from the filled plates. Initially, the table was set with colorless dishes, such as odorless rice and porridge. The sight incited the soldier’s longing for their mothers’ cooking. Hoseok crunched his nose, casting a spell with the flick of his wrist. The achromic meals bloomed into rich colors, the scent radiating strong spices. The unappetizing buffet morphed into a feast as if made by a mother’s loving hand. The seven men eagerly filled their plates.

“Right? He even made a sweet pastry from those dry bread buns.” Saliva almost drips out at the corner of Jimin’s lips at the memory of the sweets. The density was heavenly squishy. It did not resemble the rocks-for-bread they are commonly served. Jimin could not recall the last time he had the felicity to devour a tartlet that relishing.

“Cannot believe we endured dry and bland food when we could have ravished heaven all this time.” Jungkook mutters in disbelief as the stale potatoes from this morning recoil to his mind, to which Jimin adamantly nods. Hoseok had lifted the fighters’ spirit in less than a second, merely by allotting them finer meals. It leaves Jimin wondering what else enchanters could facilitate to raise soldiers’ motivation. Maybe warmer water in the shower stalls or even appropriate clothes for the climate. The true mystery of magical powers should not be unidentified curses and spells but rather the lack of practical usage.

“I do not think I ever ate this much in my life.” Jimin comments, patting his slightly bloated tummy. It has been a good while since he went to bed this jaded. Jungkook eyes him from head to toe, their shoulders pumping together. A sly grin breaks on the younger’s face, coughing to conceal his deceit.

“Maybe if you had eaten this much as a young little boy, you would not be half of my size now.” There is a twinkling of silence before the unexpected remark lodges into Jimin’s conscience, jabbing at his pride with force. The older fighter chuckles in disbelief. He should have known that affability with Jungkook can never last too long. 

“Half-” Jimin halts his steps, glaring at Jungkook with a raised finger. Then his gaze shifts around the hallway, frenetically gliding his digits along his stature in the space between them. Their height difference is barely the width of three fingers, yet Jungkook’s smirk is broad as if it consisted of three arm lengths.

“Half of your size?! You are only a few centimeters taller than me.” Jimin’s tone elevates with each uttered syllable, his flat hand waving from Jungkook to his head. His eyebrows arch in bewilderment at Jungkook’s audacity.

“But also a few years younger than you.” Jungkook’s face is contorted in false pity as the corner of his lips wrenches upwards with his head tilted to the side. His merriment simmers underneath all that feigned kindness, mocking Jimin, who eminently wants to wipe that provoking expression off his face. However, he suppresses the proclivity, clutching the fabric of his shirt into his fist. Jungkook has never regarded someone’s older age as a reason to respect them, including Jimin.

“You make it sound like you are at the ripe age of fifteen. You are a full-fledged adult. There is no more tallness awaiting you.” Jimin squints at the younger fighter, pushing his nail against Jungkook’s firm chest as he talks. The latter watches him with a steady gaze before dropping his lamentable act. A mischievous sneer spreads on his lips. 

“Do not get your hopes too high. My father had a growth spurt at the age of twenty-five.” Jungkook states, leaning down until their hairs blend in a harmony of black and blond. Jimin slightly flinches at the contact– Jungkook having caught him off guard– still, his face remains blank.

“You are just trying to piss me off.” Jimin exhales softly, his breath brushing against Jungkook’s face. The elder glances up at him through his lashes as the proximity flares anger and unease in him. Blood rushes to his cheeks, and sweat gathers on his palms. Yet, his feet ignore every warning, staying glued to the ground.

“It is not trying if I am succeeding.” With that said, Jungkook steps back. He appears satisfied with the outcome as a scornful grin covers his features. Jimin cannot fathom why his patience runs this thinly with Jungkook, as he is not the first to throw snarky comments at him. However, he might be the first to land them where it hurts. A cold breeze from an open window wafts against Jimin’s nape, amplifying his unease.

“You are honestly a pain in my ass.” Jimin begins to walk towards the dorms in the dimly lit hallway. It has been a long day with their library visit and Jungkook’s general existence– a wave of exhaustion hits Jimin. He does not even bother to check if Jungkook is following, his pace speeding up. Jimin’s feet thud loudly against the stone floor, echoing in the empty halls, while Jungkook’s footsteps are barely audible.

“I can tell.” Jungkook closes the gap between them, adjusting his tempo to Jimin, who rolls his eyes at the retort. The young fighter studies Jimin’s face with a half smile, noticing his familiar habits. Without any constraint, he lifts his index finger to his comrade’s face, nudging the skin between his eyebrows. Jimin’s mouth falls agape at the touch. “See, here is the tiny wrinkle, often the initial telltale when you feel upset.”

Jimin instinctively relaxes his forehead to hide the crevice, feeling abashed by Jungkook’s transparent emphasis on his mannerisms. However, the young man does not attend to Jimin’s embarrassment, already moving on to Jimin’s mouth, a trace of levity sways in Jungkook’s pupils.

“The second one is your bottom lip.” A light tap of a fingertip against the lip as Jungkook proceeds to read Jimin with practiced ease and leaves traces of sweltering heat wherever he touches.

“Usually, you press it against your top lip to hold back on your insults, which you will eventually release anyway, so I do not know why you even try. Another one-” Jimin slaps his hand away, confounded by Jungkook’s accuracy to see his emotions. Heavy breaths escape his lungs in long exhales as he marches towards Jungkook’s door.

“Okay, I get it. Can we get a move on?” Jimin interrupts his sly comrade– his cheeks burning feverishly. He only wishes to lie down and receive sufficient rest for tomorrow’s commission. Any more bickering will crumble his strength.

“Eager to get on my bed?” Jungkook elbows Jimin’s side, wiggling his eyebrows. The older fighter sighs with his back against the door. The door creaks beneath his weight, only fueling his irritation.

“Jungkook, I am about to hurl my wrist to the side and bind us for a week to hospital beds.” He warns the younger– no hint of a ribbing tone– and thankfully, Jungkook seems to know when to stop pushing Jimin’s buttons. He lifts his palms in surrender, giving him a fake smile. The older fighter notices it immediately but does not mention it– another discussion is the last he needs now, though, unpleasantly, he cannot help but feel a tiny splash of fondness at Jungkook’s antics.

“Now, let’s not do anything too hasty. I will behave.” Jungkook places his prior raised hands on Jimin’s upper arms, tightening his grip. Both men are perfectly conscious of the elder’s capability to execute irrational stunts if piqued enough. It is not an uncommon occurrence for Jungkook to schedule a visit with a medic after a brutal brawl with Jimin.

“Promise?” Jimin asks, shrugging Jungkook’s clasp off him.

“I mean, it is the least I can do after you defended me like that in front of Namjoon.” Jungkook declares, locking eyes with Jimin. So, he had noticed his comrade’s slip up– Jimin’s stomach twirls at the cognizance. For a moment, he assiduously inspects Jungkook’s face to search for a small crease, a muscle twitch– basically, anything to define the emotion lingering on his face. Yet, the older fighter cannot. And he hates it. He loathes that Jungkook openly bares his feelings to him and still cannot decipher what Jungkook’s intentions are. He cannot read his comrade.

“Are you mocking me?” Jimin hates the bitter taste of the questions on his tongue. 

“No, I am trying to say thank you.” Jungkook’s brow furrows as his head jerks backward, nearly offended by Jimin’s inquiry. The latter chuckles at the reaction before pushing himself off the door. He eyes the wooden surface, gesturing subtly towards it. Jungkook takes the hint and pushes it open. As the door swings to the side, the strong floral aroma envelopes Jimin once more. Just like last night, Jimin’s mind finds itself in a field of copious blooms. The smell brings an odd sense of comfort, like an embrace of spring. His mother would always tend the garden, a kindred fragrance roaming around his home. He hopes to return to his parents for a short stay after the hostilities are settled. The two fighters enter the room together, their arms brushing in a gentle manner compared to their heated conversation from before.

“Do not know how you usually show gratitude, but I am not feeling it.” One of Jimin’s eyebrows curves, staring at Jungkook with amusement. The younger man has a peculiar way of showing his appreciation.

“I appreciate it, Jimin. I really do. Should I hug you to prove my sincerity?” The young fighter extends his arms for an embrace, reflecting Jimin’s expression with precision on his face. It is an unusual image for the older man, a strong contrast to Jungkook on the training fields– always sharp and calculating. For anyone else, the sight of Jungkook’s stretched arms would be pleasantly welcoming. However, Jimin senses a cold shiver mixed with wonder flowing through his veins.

“Your words are more than enough.” Jimin stammers, breaking his eye contact with Jungkook. He dismisses his worries about the novelty of his kindness, not trusting himself to delve deeper. Maybe, it is easier to stay ignorant of his curiosity than to unravel Jungkook’s true intentions.

“I am glad. I am not really a hugger.” The young soldier drops his arms to his sides, sighing in relief. His posture slumps as he struts to a low drawer by the high shelves of his personal library, Jimin merely two steps behind him.

“What a surprise.” Jimin utters behind Jungkook as he glimpses over the younger’s shoulders to observe his movements. The latter skims through the drawer, picking pieces of clothing out and scattering his clothes mindlessly. Jimin’s chin fairly sits on Jungkook, their bodies squeezed together– just like in the library hours ago. The close vicinity comes to him naturally as if his body has always sought Jungkook, a horrific realization for Jimin. His muscles twitch, but before the older man can step back, a pair of trousers is thrown at his face.

“Yeah, yeah. Take these to sleep in.” A shirt follows, and Jimin clumsily catches the garment. He frowns at the clothes, however, bites back on a witticism. Sometimes saying less is more. 

“Thank, I guess.” Jimin mumbles, then the two of them begin to undress. Their backs face each other, offering as much privacy as possible, yet still bumping into each other now and then. The older fighter tackles the shirts first, switching into Jungkook’s tunic in a swift motion. It hangs loose around his arms and a little longer at his waist but fits nonetheless. Fortunately, the pants are the right size as well. Lastly, the socks go, and Jimin is prepared for bed. He glances at Jungkook, whose sleepwear looks more worn out than Jimin’s. The sleeves roll up at the edges, and the color is much duller. The elder peeks down at his body– Jungkook had given him the newest set.

It is now, in his sleepwear prepped for rest, that the weight of the situation collapses on Jimin. Under all the stress, his mind had stocked his retention from the previous night. Despite that, all the memories hit Jimin, like a torrent in an angry ocean, unavoidable. He is sleeping next to Jungkook again; Beside the same man who plundered his precious slumber with his vulgar noises. And worst of all, Jimin cannot exactly blame Jungkook for dreaming about him. Somehow, Jimin even finds it endearing– excluding the sensual activities. The older fighter opens his mouth for other grounds to evade the bed– perhaps another trip to the toilet, or grabbing a cup of water. Despite his tremendous efforts, he is unable to articulate any words– lying down next to Jungkook in defeat.

Jimin twirls his fingers under the heavy blanket, then cracks his knuckles–muffled yet loud in the tranquil quarter– before rolling his shoulders to relax them. The moonlight shines through the window onto Jimin’s bedside, a bluish grace cast on his face with his eyes shut. What are the odds of fantasizing about the same person twice in two nights? Jimin hopes that they are extremely slim. There are hundreds of people at their base– maybe one of them will succumb to Jungkook’s land of dreams. Perhaps Jimin will descend into a peaceful slumber before he can even hear a sound. That way, he will not have to worry about anything, right? Jimin exhales, his anxiety piling up despite his resolution. He turns his head to the side, finding Jungkook breathing steadily and his eyelids closed. He cannot allow him to fall asleep first.

“What do you think of Hedna?” Jimin breaks the silence within the four walls– his voice forced and shaky. The first curse caster was their biggest discovery today, so it is only natural to ask about her.

“I do not. Now, if you wish to have a conversation with someone, do so quietly with the air particles in front of you. I am tired.” Jungkook sounds hoarse as if he is only seconds away from dozing off. Guilt dances on Jimin’s consciousness, pressing his lips together.

“Sorry. Sleep well.” Jimin clears his throat, staying silent as a thunderstorm blares in his mind, unwinding unwanted memories he’d rather obliviate. Sleep would visit Jungkook long before it ever reaches him. Though enervation enwraps his body, his thoughts are keeping him wide awake.

The older fighter lazes on the cushioned mattress, staring at the dark ceiling above him. His eyes trace the clefts all over the surface, like a tree’s roots, but still connected to the chandelier. Jimin admires the design of the bellflower with gold petals. He would love to take this home– his mother would surely appreciate the gesture. Jimin yawns, desperate for some rest. Feeling absolutely helpless, he starts counting imaginary sheep one by one, in hopes of slumbering quicker. Jimin does not move an inch, staying still as time passes by. At some point, Jimin reaches his hundred and twelfth sheep, giving up on his fictitious sheep herd. If a calm mind cannot aid him, perhaps a packed mind can. It wanders back to Hedna and her cheating husband, sauntering in circles. A tragic love story transformed into a slaughter of mostly innocent lives. The majority bit the grass because they knew the man– no other deeper reason. Even the witch died a gruesome death, being sliced open by the last man she loved. Her curse only brought loneliness and grief to him, so Jimin could not help but wonder whether it was worth it. Was she sated with his punishment? And, what was the core of his curse? Did he even know that he had to look for one? Jimin springs up from his position, running his hands through his hair; too complex questions for a tired brain.

He sits in this frozen state for a while, listening to his own heartbeat. Then a small noise– if Jimin had breathed any louder, he would have missed it– but the hushful whimper of his name slices the quietness. Jimin’s head swirls to Jungkook. His face has once again transmuted into a red canvas. His cheeks are flushed, just like the tip of his ears. He watches the younger comrade stir under the blanket, drifting closer to Jimin till Jungkook’s hand brushes his forearm. He cannot handle another night of Jungkook’s lewd dreams. Not when he needs his rest for tomorrow’s mission. So, his fingers move before he has time to overthink, grasping the pillow behind him as if on instinct. The soft cushion flies towards Jungkook, piercing their air like an arrow– precise and deadly. Only does this not kill Jungkook– no, worse– It wakes him up. It lands with a sharp thud on Jungkook’s nose, his eyes shooting open with his hand caressing the sore spot. Jimin curses his aiming skills under his breath, with no time to feign sleep.

“What the hell, Jimin? What was that for?” Jungkook jumps up, rubbing his eyes innocently. His voice is laced with sleep, struggling to keep his gaze on Jimin.

“You have the audacity to ask?” Jimin retorts, pointing all over Jungkook’s body– too embarrassed to specify the obvious. Warmth spreads across the elder’s nape.

“You are so right, I will go back to sleep to attend my trial with the Sleep judge and the Dream witnesses.” Jungkook mumbles sarcastically, not knowing he hit the nail on the head, as he fluffs the bed sheets aggressively.

“Exactly! You cannot do as you please while you– you know– while that happens!” Jimin stutters as his hands wave around, the significant details refusing to pass his lips, as if saying them would ignite a wildfire.

“What are you–” Jimin watches Jungkook’s drowsy daze fade into clarity. The flush spreads from his cheeks and ears, slithering down to his chest. The color only darkens as he grows aware of his body’s response to his dream. 

“ Oh. ”

“Yeah, oh.” The older fighter states with his voice tight in awkwardness. He turns his head, avoiding looking directly at Jungkook, who likely feels even more mortified than him. The lack of noise amplifies the tiniest sound even Jimin’s breathing shrills like the howl of the wind. This is, without a doubt, the most suffocating situation the curse has caused so far. Jimin hears Jungkook shift, the blanket tickling his exposed skin. There is no escape route here– no privacy, no fleeing. Jimin clutches the sheets, the silence drowning him. He wishes he could run off to give Jungkook a moment for himself. Yet, the curse faintly thrums against his wrist, chaining him in place. He is stuck with Jungkook, with no choice but to endure this confining predicament.

“I- God, I am so sorry.” Jungkook hides his face with the bed sheets, evident abasement burdening his conscience. A tree’s branch grazes the room’s window, a scratching noise adding to the awkward air between the two fighters. Jimin cannot help but pity him and despise the curse for robbing them of dignity.

“It is fine. Just– We will figure this out. I know we will.” The elder attempts to present himself as composed, yet there is a quiver in his voice, letting him down.

“We? I think this is my problem.” Jungkook’s voice is muffled under the sheets, pushing it closer to his face– too conflicted to lock eyes with Jimin.

“And I think I am cuffed to you. So like it or not, this is our problem.” Jimin exclaims in a hiss, hauling the sheets from Jungkook, whose hair has become a disheveled mess– matching the expression on his face. Even with the fluster at hand, a ghost of an amused smile escapes Jimin’s plump lips. The young fighter resembles a kicked puppy, with his eyes slightly widened and a dejected frown. It is not every day that Jungkook’s mask slips, revealing the human side of him. Is Jimin breaking down a wall brick by brick to Jungkook’s true feelings? He prides himself in keeping an unreadable face at all times. Yet it has happened twice so far today.  

“I will just wait it out.” Jungkook asserts, tightening his own grip on the sheets, but Jimin stays persistent. The elder considers the proposition– the easiest option. With luck, the erection will go down in a matter of a couple of minutes, and both men can get back to sleep. Nonetheless, Jimin knows better. In the last two days, they have encountered not much luck, whereas doom followed them right behind their footsteps. He cannot rely on felicity. They need to gather all the feasible energy so as not to disappoint tomorrow after fighting for a position in the commission.

“That can take hours.” Jimin counters, his nose sniffing as he purses his lips.

“What else do you recommend I do then, Jimin?” Jungkook frustratedly throws his hands in the air, hating to be the center of this conversation because of a wet dream. He feels humiliated and as if his body betrayed him. 

“I do not know! But we are going on a commission tomorrow. We need to be in our best shape otherwise, we are merely proving Namjoon’s worries to be right.” Jimin edges towards the younger soldier as his voice grows louder, Jungkook drops his gaze to his lap. The older fighter has no idea what the best course of action is here– no one ever prepared them for such a bizarre situation. All he knows is that he refuses to fail to evince their resistance. The cursed pair fought to join the mission– convinced Namjoon that they are capable of fighting, even hexed. They almost went on their knees to beg General Yang for permission. He will be damned if they show up in the morning unprepared and lifeless.

“This is ridiculous, Jimin. Lie down and sleep.” Jungkook knits his brows in irritation, throwing the pillow back at Jimin– a little too harshly– but the fighter smoothly seizes it with one hand. As Jungkook folds his arms, exhaling in a huff, Jimin glances at the cushion on his lap, regretting having woken Jungkook up. Jimin’s chest tightens at the guilt, but he should not wallow in remorse, instead focusing on fixing his mishap. There was no undoing it now– what was done, was done. The bed squeals when Jimin shifts into a more comfortable position.

“If only it were that simple.” Jimin mutters, setting the cushion to its prior place. He wishes he could fall asleep, but he knows it is doomed to fail.

“It will go down sooner or later.” Jungkook’s tone mirrors Jimim’s hushed one as he picks at the seams of the bedsheets. He still does not look at Jimin, sparking curiosity about Jungkook’s expression. However, dwelling on Jungkook’s face will not help with the apparent dent, which still stands tall under the blanket. The discomfort– whether caused by the tight undergarments or Jimin’s close presence– must be unbearable. The two men freeze as stifled noises from the hallways skewer through the door, enhancing their rigid postures. Jimin nibbles at his bottom lip. Not even an uncomfortable conversation seems to help Jungkook calm down– there is no way he will lose the erection by waiting it out. Jimin takes a deep breath, deciding that it is better to push past the awkwardness if they ever plan on sleeping tonight.

“You know what, just do it.” Jimin states bluntly, his hands clenched into fists.

“Pardon?” Jungkook’s eyebrows arch up, lifting his head to finally lock eyes with Jimin– startled and blinking rapidly at the words from his comrade.

“I will face the window, and you get it over with.” Jimin shuffles under the blanket, ready to turn his back to Jungkook, who remains in place like a statue. 

“That is stupid.” He says, his tone laced with resignation, watching Jimin. 

“Better idea?” Jimin asks, pausing mid-movement. A deafening silence settles in the chamber. 

“That is what I thought.” The two men fumble awkwardly on the bed, trying to find positions that don’t feel even more humiliating. 

“If you tell anyone about this, I will have you beheaded.” Jungkook mumbles in a half-hearted tone, braided with a hint of shame and reluctant humor. Jungkook slides closer, his back almost brushing Jimin’s– he flinches at the faintest contact. The faint rustle of the fabric pulsates in the oppressive silence. His threat holds no menace– speaking to ease the tension between them. On the other side, Jimin chuckles dryly, shaking his head at the absurdity– questioning if anyone is crazy enough to disclose something like this, even after enduring hours of torture. Some stories are better left buried and forgotten. 

“If I ever tell someone, I will give you permission to behead me.” Jimin answers, sharing the weight of Jungkook’s ignominy.

Silence falls between the two men as their joined wrists rest side by side on the bed covers. The sways of the tree branches’ shadows are the only activity in the stilled chamber. Jungkook’s movements are out of sight for Jimin, the unawareness quickening his heartbeat to a frantic pace. His heart bangs against his ribcage in strident thumbs, echoing in his ears. Boom. Boom. Boom. A thundering sound vibrates against his skin. Somewhere between the rumbling, a teetering body pushes against him. Jimin recognizes the movements as unbuttoning garments, and sweat dampens his palms. Jungkook’s elbow nudges the older fighter’s waist three times, and Jimin turns rigid, realizing that Jungkook is starting. He bends his knees, pushing his head between his knees to mute the upcoming noises. Jungkook’s hesitancy is obvious in the way he proceeds– halting mid-air a couple of times, yet it does not loiter too long. Jungkook’s bonded hand flinches as he rubs down his length in slow strokes, a withered and wavering touch. His breathing grows ragged as his upper body fidgets against Jimin, each accidental touch sending electric jolts down the elder’s spine. He clenches his legs to prevent any display of affection. 

The room gradually turns livelier as Jungkook’s moans reflect on the empty walls. He no longer attempts to secure the gap between their bodies as he fully leans against the elder now, their shirts crumpled under the weight. He jerks his head back, slamming into the back of Jimin’s hair, amplifying the familiar sensation prickling on his body, especially his groin. A wave of panic swamps Jimin as his own dick twitches in his pants. Jungkook bites down on his lip to muzzle the groans, but every now and then a rasping grunt escapes him.

Jimin’s mind saunters to a dangerous, forbidden place– imagining what the man behind him looks like, completely overtaken by pleasure. He releases a shaky breath. Visions of Jungkook with scarlet blotches under his eyes, strained muscles, and damp hair flash over and over again in his head, not offering him a second to recompose. The older soldier pants against the back of his hand, ignoring the throbbing in his underwear. As if an invisible fire consumes the furniture, the temperature has risen to a melting degree– too stifle to allow his lungs to fill with oxygen. 

The elder’s fingers clutch the bedsheets, nails digging into the fabric, as an undeniable rush of lust curses through his blood. His hand twitches, longing to slip his hand into his pants and seek his own release. Still, he remains unmoved while Jungkook’s movements hasten, sounding much wetter. His moans are much more frequent, low grunts emitting from his agape lips. The meld of Jungkook’s whimpers and friction brings a flush of pleasure through Jimin’s body. He squeezes his thighs for any comfort, but instead, the action brings a stimulating shock down his length– an acute groan oozing out of Jimin. He claps a hand over his mouth, addled by his body’s response.

“Jimin?” Jungkook’s raspy voice calls out to him, his pinky finger engulfing Jimin’s. He halts his movements and peeks over his shoulders, glancing at Jimin’s face. The latter attempts to hide his face, scared that the evident blush will sell him out.

“Sorry- Do not mind me.” The elder’s voice comes out strained, trembling by the end.

“Are you…?” Jungkook stalls, the unfinished question hanging in the air. Jimin stretches his shoulders to compose himself, but a tremor running through his body betrays him– because the answer is yes. Even though Jungkook did not specify, the elder knows exactly what he meant to ask. Jimin is hard, aching from the tightness in his pants.

“It is fine.” Jimin waves it off, avoiding Jungkook’s gaze, his body burning under the intense attention.

“Jimin, look at me.” Jungkook mutters softly– his warm, heady scent on Jimin’s tongue. The elder’s stomach whirls at the overbearing titillations. Jungkook– perhaps oblivious to Jimin’s turmoil– closes the distance between them until they are face to face.

“Just finish what you started.” The older fighter finally meets Jungkook’s eyes, which have a glossy tint over them– pupils dilated. He is even more lewd than in Jimin’s imagination. His lips are shiny with saliva, with his hair slightly sticking to his forehead. He has a cast of arousal resting on his features. Jimin gulps, unable to stop his gaze from lowering, a mix of exhilaration and discomfort hampering his rationality. His eyes settle on Jungkook’s erection hidden underneath the shirt– though it dents the fabric with a small wet spot staining it. It juts prominently.

“Why waste time doing it individually when we can finish together?” Jungkook’s voice drips with honey, tilting his head to the side with a half smile resting on his face. Jimin fidgets in his place, embarrassed by the way his shaft twitches at the suggestion in excitement.

“We– I do not know–” The elder stutters, a battle between rationality and lust unfolding in his mind.

“I will listen to you– stop when you ask me to, go gentler when you plead.” Their noses are only inches apart at his point– each warm breath from Jungkook grazes the other’s lips. Jimin contemplates his choices however, his logical thoughts evaporate in the tension, his arousal consuming his reasoning. The older fighter slowly nods, consenting to Jungkook, who grins at the answer with his eyes glinting seductively.

“Good. Come here.” Jungkook orders tenderly, tugging delicately Jimin’s bonded hand towards his body.

“What? Where?” Jimin’s lips part in surprise, but his body follows Jungkook’s movements.

“You will be more comfortable on my lap.” The young fighter guides Jimin closer to his body, his knees on either side of Jungkook’s hips. The proximity evokes tingles in Jimin’s nape, down to his dick. His free hand grips Jungkook’s shoulder for support– heat igniting on every touched surface of his skin.

“You will have to sit down, Jimin.” Jungkook’s large hand lingers on his comrade’s waist, not inducing any movement. Rather, the young fighter allows him to find his comfortable pace, waiting for the elder to act first. He hesitates for a second, glancing down at the gap between their bodies before lowering himself. Both men suck in the air when Jimin’s hips settle on Jungkook– the friction causing luscious tweaks along their thighs.

“That is it, well done.” Jungkook breathes against Jimin’s collarbone, resisting the urge to bite down on the bare skin. The younger soldier's restraints crumble, his fingers twitching by his side.

“Ready?” Jimin barely takes notice of the question, still tilting his chin. His clasp on Jungkook tightens in anticipation, awaiting Jungkook’s touch desperately.

Jungkook undoes the knot in the older fighter’s pants, pulling on the strings impatiently. It unbinds within a second, the garment loosening around Jimin’s hips, exposing new skin. The younger fighter caresses gently under his comrade’s stomach, applying pressure underneath his belly button. Jimin shifts on Jungkook’s lap, unconsciously humping their cocks together. At the clothed touch, Jungkook hisses, pressing his forehead in the crook of his comrade’s neck. The younger fighter yanks down the seam of Jimin’s pants– his dick springs free, the tip flushed red.

“Pretty.” Jungkook’s finger runs alongside Jimin’s length– the elder’s body squirms as a gasping whimper slips out of him. The sound and the elder’s struggle crash Jungkook’s patience, to which the younger frees his own dick.

Jungkook can no longer contain himself, grabbing their two cocks in one hand– both men shiver at the contact, wincing at the unfamiliar yet pleasant sensation. The skins rub as one, leaving a trail of chills with each brush. Jungkook’s slick arousal from before eases the glide across Jimin’s heated skin, the divergence of Jimin’s warmth and Jungkook’s coldness amplifying the pleasure. The elder’s mind begins to spiral into a haze of need as a bead of precum dribbles down his sensitive skin. Jungkook’s hold remains still to confirm his comrade’s comfort, searching Jimin’s face for any signs– unaware that his lack of movements drives Jimin insane. It feels good, but not good enough. He craves more, more and more. Jimin wets his lips, placing his forehead against Jungkook’s– their breaths mingle in the small gap between them– before thrusting into his grip. He groans loudly as his dick slides over Jungkook in swift motions. The action catches the other off guard, throwing his head back as a smirk spreads on his lips. 

“How eager.” Jungkook releases a soft laugh, grinding his hips with Jimin’s in a steady rhythm. The elder strangles his clutch on Jungkook’s cursed hand, pressing it against his chest.

“You would not move.” Jimin heaves, his head flopping onto Jungkook’s shoulder. His moans grow uncontrollably as Jungkook’s hand slides upwards, palming their tips in a circular flow. Small, sweaty patches hoard his back as droplets trail down, cooling his sweltering body.

“Mhmm. So mean of me, huh?” The air between them turns thick, their whimpers against the other’s neck blending into one. Their hips sway in union, driving them closer to their release. Jungkook grins teasingly, staring at the pristine skin before him. He runs his tongue over his lips, leaning into the spot where Jimin’s neck and shoulder meet. At first, it barely counts as a peck, a phantom-like touch. However, his kisses turn more affectionate– more eager– to the point where he is sucking and biting under Jimin’s ear. It is not strong enough to leave a mark but enough to send jolts of electricity through the elder’s body.

“Can you shut up and just- Go faster.” Jimin says between whiny pants. His neck burns with lust as Jungkook darts his tongue over a tender skin under his jaw, his thighs hugging the younger’s waist firmly. His climax is approaching rapidly– quivering on the edge, merely needing one final nudge to send him over.

“Of course, anything for you.” Jungkook’s voice pulsates against Jimin’s wet skin, his hand gliding smoothly along their lengths with increasing speed.

“Good, good. Like that– Do not stop.” Jimin grows louder with each long stroke, his pleasure driving him past the brim of his sanity. His mouth falls open– saliva coating his lips– as a piercing whimper echoes in the room. Though Jungkook heartily enjoys Jimin’s sweet sounds, the thin walls of the neighboring quarter prove bothersome. He does not like sharing his secrets with trivial people.

“Bite down on my shoulder.” Jungkook guides his comrade’s mouth to his neck, and Jimin instantly obeys. He sinks his teeth into the younger’s flesh, eliciting a sharp hiss from Jungkook– though his dick pulses at the pain. 

Jungkook watches Jimin’s body squirm and flinch, evident that his orgasm is near– the younger close to reaching his limit as well. He moves his hand upwards, running his thumb over their tip and grazing his teeth over Jimin’s earlobe. Fireworks explode in the latter’s body, the muscles under his stomach spasming at a teetering pace. Jungkook follows soon after– Both men ejaculate long spurts, dirtying their shirts as their ecstasy curses from the crowns of their heads to their curling toes. The younger slows down his movements, their dicks gushing out the last drops. His breathing is uneven, holding Jimin in a tight embrace as they come down from their bliss. 

“Jimin?” The man remains quiet on Jungkook’s shoulder. The younger man gently lifts Jimin’s head, his lips parting to speak, only to find his comrade already fast asleep, nestled comfortably against him.

Tomorrow, there will be no trace of the gentle forehead kiss.

Chapter Text

“Now, why do you two act as if you have a branch up your ass?” 

Jungkook and Jimin flinch at the remark before their movements morph into unnatural ones, turning to Seokjin, who calls them out. The older fighter hopes their expressions are not contorted into grimaces.

“You’re being ridiculous.” Jimin laughs it off with a wave of his hand. He attempts to appear aloof, yet his stomach churns exasperated that the stilted ambiance between Jungkook and him is palpable. Straightening his shoulder blades, his eyes dart across the field, watching his exhausted comrades stuff their bags with necessities for the commission. Luckily, they are oblivious to the conversation with Seokjin.

His friend raises a brow, evidently not buying Jimin’s answer, but does not press the matter any further, instead stuffing his bag with canned foods. The cold morning air hangs around the seven soldiers, the tips of their noses red as they prepare to depart. Each spoken word is short and precise. Jimin silently exhales in relief as his friend dismisses them and their awkward behavior. Beside him, Jungkook continues to pack the final items for their journey, his back turned towards Jimin. The elder glances at him for a brief moment, but Jungkook’s body stiffens under the short-lived gaze. It has been like this since they woke up from their heated night, feeling too embarrassed to face the joint longing. Jimin shakes his head at the reaction, sweeping the area around them before he pulls Jungkook towards him. The younger fighter’s eyes widen at the sudden action, confusion flickering in them.

“What?” He sharply hisses at Jimin.

“If we do not get our shit together, we might as well plaster what we did last night on our foreheads. Do not forget we are being watched by a keen commander and a well-respected General.” Jimin whispers pointedly, his lips grazing the edge of Jungkook’s ear– the younger flinches. Jungkook clenches his jaw, irritated that, for once– his embarrassment undoubtedly shows on his flushed cheeks.

“It is not like I am doing it on purpose.” Jungkook says in an undertone, increasing the distance between them. The two look around them furtively before returning to their corresponding bags. They both know that their friends would never let them hear the end of it if they knew about their indiscretion.

Jimin clutches the dense fabric between his fingers, releasing a long breath. It is hypocritical that his lecture to Jungkook has been repeated a million times in his mind. He is well aware that he is not being very deceptive either. His body has become as sensitive as a butterfly’s wing, reacting to the tiniest contact from Jungkook, compelling Jimin to maintain his distance. However, their curse makes it practically impossible, as they are bound as one. Every few seconds, their arms or their thighs brush. And each time, a trail of goosebumps rises on Jimin’s skin, reminding him of Jungkook’s tender, fervent touch. With his heated thoughts, Jimin barely notices the commander approaching.

“Do you guys have a minute?”

Namjoon’s voice cuts the quiet, tense atmosphere between Jimin and Jungkook, who raise their heads to the commander. An expression hovering between anticipation and shame rests on his face as he carefully prepares for the cursed men’s response. There is a hint of uncertainty in his demeanor as if wondering whether his next words will be well received by the cursed pair. With shoulder blades squared, Namjoon approaches the two men.

“Sure, we are listening.” Jimin answers, jumping up. Next to him, Jungkook still crams the last daggers into the side pockets of his baggage– making no effort to rise. Biting the inside of his cheek, Jimin grows aghast by Jungkook’s audacity to stay crouched. He delivers the younger’s back a light, impatient kick– resulting in a sharp, narrow-eyed glance from Jungkook. Still, he scrambles to his feet and keeps a noticeable gap between them. Namjoon merely grins at the exchange.

“Something has been weighing on my mind since yesterday.” Namjoon hesitantly starts, rubbing his hands as if trying to ignite his courage to get his worries out. 

“What is it?” Jungkook pushes, giving his friend a puzzled look.

“I want to apologize for yesterday. I neglected your feelings and hurt you two.” Namjoon’s voice is twined in sincerity, his eyes nervously shifting between the two bound men. A rush of solace flows through their body, not having expected the apology– Jimin’s posture easing into comfort while Jungkook releases a deep breath. Jimin opens his mouth to reply but chooses not to say anything. This is not his answer to give, after all. He peeks at Jungkook, who has a gentle grin on his face. At the end of the day, Namjoon carries his heart on his sleeve.

“I already forgave you in the library, Namjoon. And to be honest, I was not completely fair to you either.” Jungkook responds with a soft laugh. “I did not respect your position as a commander–”

“Right now, I am here as your friend.” Namjoon interrupts, exhaling through his nose as his fingers fidget at his sides. Both cursed men’s eyes widen, taken aback by Namjoon’s determination.

“But we know that you did not mean to hurt us. You were trying to protect us.” Jimin chimes in hesitantly, his voice consoling to prevent Namjoon from spiraling deeper into despair. He places a gentle hand on Namjoon’s upper arm to anchor him in the moment. However, the young commander shakes his head, firmly grasping the fighter’s hand as though not worthy of sympathy.

“Regardless of my intention, I hurt you. That is what I am apologizing for, not my intent.” Namjoon squeezes his hand, offering a repentant smile to his friends. The cold breeze hugs the three men in a thin embrace.

“Namjoon, please. You are already forgiven. Any more of this, and I will feel worse than you.” Jimin laughs awkwardly as guilt blossoms in his chest at the commander’s solicitude. He hates seeing Namjoon this burdened about yesterday’s discussion when Jungkook and Jimin had already put it behind them by the time they reached the quarters.

“Okay.” Namjoon breathes out. The tension visibly drains from his shoulders. Finally, genuine contentment appears on his face. “I felt horrible– I almost knocked on your door to apologize last night.”

With the last sentence, Jungkook’s eyebrows shoot up as steamy memories of the previous evening flood his mind– sweaty bodies pressed together and hands seeking pleasure. The young fighter thanks the lords under his breath, mollified that a torturous conversation was avoided. No excuse nor explanation could have justified his tongue exploring Jimin’s neck while his hand danced between his comrade’s legs– the recollection feels welcome, though. Jungkook steals a glimpse at Jimin, who equally looks mortified at the dodged disaster. The elder forces a strained smile at Namjoon, his gaze dropping to the muddy ground as his feet shift uncomfortably. Both men sigh silently, relieved their friend had decided to wait until the morning to express his remorse. 

“Thank god you did not!” Jungkook laughs awkwardly, shaking Namjoon by the shoulder while a cloak of confusion falls over his face.

“Why, thank god?” Namjoon asks with a skeptical stare.

“Because.” Jungkook stretches the syllables, frantically searching for a believable lie in his jumbled mind. Unfortunately, his brain draws a complete blank.

“Because we fell asleep quite early, right Jungkook?” Jimin interjects light-heartedly, linking their arms and applying enough pressure to have Jungkook’s jaw twitch at the discomfort.

“Yeah, we did.” He mumbles through the pain, masking a fake smile to keep up with the charade. 

“That is splendid. We have a long journey ahead of us– starting it well-rested makes all the difference.” Namjoon approvingly nods, excusing himself with a faint smile to retreat to his belongings, abandoning the cursed pair with their disdain. A shameful jolt pulsates under their skin at the lie. As fighters, this is the first time they deceived a commander– a severe crime in their field of honor. Nevertheless, Jimin’s rationality reminds him that Namjoon may be a commander but also a friend– and their lie is a personal matter. 

“That was horrible.” Jimin mutters harshly with a grin when Namjoon is out of earshot, grabbing his heavy bag and throwing it over his shoulder. The older fighter freezes briefly as a thought strikes him. The conversation became rustic because of the man beside him and his awful lying skills. Then, with narrowed eyes, he turns to Jungkook with a fastened finger. “No, actually. You were horrible.”

“Excuse you?” Jungkook calls out in an offended tone, his brows knitted.

“Thank all the deities in the sky, Commander Namjoon! Thank god! You did not pass by our dorm last night to catch us in indecent acts!” Jimin declares dramatically, his aim to mock Jungkook evident in how he throws his arms in the air, laughing exaggeratedly.

“Lower your voice!” The young soldier hisses, his eyes bulging. He clamps his hand over Jimin’s mouth, frenziedly looking over his shoulder. His cheeks transform into a darker red shade.

“I was not that loud.” Jimin’s words are muffled by Jungkook’s palm. An accustomed heat gathers where his breath cannot pass as all amusement slips through his conscience. The young fighter’s fingers poke deeper into his comrade’s cheek.

“You were loud enough.” Jungkook whispers, his voice low and edged with alertness– just like Jimin’s moments before. It has always been like this between the cursed pair: a push-and-pull game in which the winner has the last word. Oftentimes, those games result in vulgar insults or even brawls. Yet, shielded behind Jungkook’s hand, Jimin does not taste any usual taunts on his tongue. No, instead, his body leans into the younger– and for a fleeting second, Jimin could swear Jungkook is moving closer as well, his eyes lowered to the elder’s hidden lips.

“Everyone! Let us assemble. There are a few points that need to be addressed.” Yoongi’s voice pierces the pregnant silence like a blade, cutting the thread that drew them closer. The two men jump apart, exchanging alarmed glances, before quietly joining their division for the account of their commission. Jimin ignores the tingle on his lips, though it feels strong enough to shake the leaves from a tree.

“I figured it is best to mention a few things before we hit the road.” The General states when all six men stand before him. The sun is brushing against the horizon, painting the sky in a light orange shade.

“Like what exactly?” Taehyung asks with brows furrowed as he crosses his arms.

“Well, first of all– we should reach our destination in about four days. Additionally, it is important to note that we will be crossing the borders of our district, entering unknown land.” Yoongi explains, his austere voice leaving no room for jokes. This was unsurprising, as uncharted territories are a complicated affair since they commonly do not belong to any Kingdom– either not worth enough to be owned or too dangerous. Jimin’s finger twitches at his side, praying deep inside that it is not the latter.

“More significantly, there is no guarantee that Hoseok can stay with us for the entire journey.” The General looks dispirited as he combs through his hair with his hand. With furrowed brows, he releases a long huff. The fighters swap perplexedly glints between each other.

“Why not?” Seokjin raises the question.

“I am the only magic wielder here. It is not ideal for me to leave, let alone for the guild.” Hoseok answers, rummaging around in his bag to search for something. “However, Yang agreed that getting you two back on duty is a priority, so we struck a compromise.”

Out of his rucksack, the enchanter draws out a grey, ordinary stone smaller than Jimin’s palm. Despite that, this one glows in a strange, red gleam– reminding Jimin of the red ruler Hoseok crafted in his study only a few days ago. The rock undoubtedly emanates an aura of mana, though the power is amorphous. There is no change in temperature and no prickling against exposed skin. It is as if no magic at all is present. Jimin stares at the stone as a part of him wonders whether they are before a one-of-a-kind magic wielder.

“I made a teleportation spell. In the event of an emergency at our base, this stone will lose its glow, and I will be able to return before any of you can blink twice.” Hoseok elaborates, tossing the rock high in the air and catching it without taking his gaze off his comrades. In front of him, Jimin’s mouth falls agape as he blankly stares at the caster in disquiet. A spell like that is mostly unheard of– Jimin cannot recall if he has heard anyone cast it since he became a fighter. It is an extraordinary artistry.

“With just a stone?” Jungkook presses, his tone skeptical. It is clear he does not believe such magic is possible. 

“Two stones. One is my study. This one stays with me.” Hoseok replies with a nonchalant shrug– as if the spell were nothing more than a trivial feat.  

“Makes perfect sense.” Taehyung says, crossing his arms as he mirrors Jungkook’s reservation. From their stunned expressions, it is evident no fighter has ever encountered a magic-wielder like Hoseok. 

“Anyway, I need you all to be on high alert. We do not know what awaits us. All I can attest to is unknown lands are dangerous– packed with rogues and hungry savages.” Yoongi’s voice resonates sharply, commanding attention as he puts everyone on their guard. They are venturing into unclaimed territory with no knowledge of its risks. In other words, they are playing a card game they are likely to lose if they fail to focalize on every drawn card. 

“Do not worry, you have the best men from this guild.” Seokjin announces, his voice echoing in the emptiness of the sky. The drab energy shifts into palpable confidence as everyone nods in agreement, ready to start their journey.

“And Jimin and Jungkook, of course.” Seokjin adds with a teasing smile, narrowly dodging a playful punch from Jimin as a ripple of chuckles follows. 

“Before there is any unnecessary bloodshed, I would say let us depart.” The General exhales one final breath with his focus lingering on the forest beyond the castle walls. Dawn has passed by this point as the sun brightens the landscape. Jimin realizes they took longer than anticipated with their baggage.

“May the Gods be with us.” Yoongi proclaims, pushing past the group as he assertively marches towards the gates. Six soldiers follow behind him in heavy silence, eyes settled on the thick woodland before them as their hands brush against the weapons on their waists. 

The party of seven soldiers walks past the entrance, embarking into the dense forest. The meadow has lost its shine– now a miry green as Jimin ambles on it. No one talks as they advance deeper into the woods, the trees growing taller. Even with the sun at its highest point, the trees cast long, dark shadows over their trail. Behind them, their base is merely a distant point on the horizon. The fighter watches his steps, avoiding any gnarled roots obstructing his path, though his mind wanders uneasily. With each stride, Jimin envisions the trials ahead– hostile encounters, unsung greenwood, and the poignant prospect of failure– yet the fighter wordlessly pleads to God each time the curse thrums against his wrist. 

Let me return as a free man.

###########

Every soldier has heard stories of the unknown lands before. Unsurprisingly, they often become the subject of idle talk. Some tales entail dead men rising from the afterlife, turning to walking corpses. Others recount belligerent animals with too many heads and limbs ambushing the troop or forests so dense with nature’s might that no human could ever enter it. Never has a story resembled another– each kingless land seemingly has its own rules and essence. 

As the group crosses into the unclaimed territory, the change of scenery is prompt. One moment the world is hued in the familiar greens and brown. The next, everything transmutes into a purple vellum. While the stories Jimin heard were vivid, they did not prepare him for the impact to be this sudden. Each of the men halts their movements, scanning the bizarre setting. Violet tints are painted on the leaves, the grass– even the towering trunks. Jimin senses an unwelcoming presence on his chest, creeping up to his throat as if choking him. The men exchange wary glances as their grip tightens on the weapons. There is no mistaking it– this forest is hailed in dark magic. 

“This is very unsettling.” Taehyung murmurs, observing the thick bushes for any motion.

“And too quiet.” Namjoon adds, unsheathing his sword as his posture shifts into a guarded offense. Jimin focuses on the sounds– or the lack of them– and the commander is right. No remote calls of wildlife, no rustling leaves– nothing. It feels as though their sense of hearing has been stolen by the forest’s cosmos.

“Stay on your guard.” Yoongi sternly orders with a longbow already poised in his grasp. The others follow suit with their weapons ready and muscles taut, preparing to strike. Their eyes dart around the shadowed passage, scanning for any possible threat.

Just as Jimin attempts to proceed further into the strange woods, a familiar hand wraps around his cursed wrist, holding him in place. The grasp is tight, nails nearly digging into his skin. The fighter whirls around to face Jungkook, who carries an alarmed expression. Jimin flinches under the intensity of Jungkook’s gaze. 

“What?” Jimin peeks down at his wrist, where Jungkook’s fingers almost encircle it completely. 

“Stay close. We cannot afford a collision here.” Jungkook pushes Jimin to his side, their shoulders pressed together. Even through the layers of clothes, the single touch provokes a hair-raising chill down the elder’s arm.

“I will not stray away, do not worry.” Jimin reassures the younger, freeing himself from the clutch but remaining by Jungkook’s side. The gesture leaves the elder’s wrist feeling strangely outcast by the absence of the younger’s touch, though Jimin brushes that emotion aside. There are more pressing matters, like Jungkook being correct. A clash between the cursed men could draw unwanted attention from God-knows-what creatures. 

“I do worry, though. So, do not leave my side.” Jungkook utters in concern, surprising Jimin by closing the gap between them– they look glued together. The older fighter attempts to conceal his shock from Jungkook’s answer, his eyebrow twitching. Worried? About what? The elder’s stomach churns as his mind races with ridiculous reasons– one being that Jungkook truly cares about Jimin’s well-being. 

“O-Okay.” The older soldier stammers, shaking those foolish thoughts off his head. Jungkook’s concern is just practicality, nothing more.

“If you two lovebirds are done pasting your bodies together, could we move on? I really want to get this over with and leave this hellhole behind.” Seokjin says, shoving the cursed men with his hands against their backs as their feet shuffle on the soil, kicking up dirt. It takes a moment to register, but the lovebirds nudge the elder’s brain, syncing with the rhythm of his pounding pulse. Jimin’s eyes widen with a rush of heat scorching his cheeks. Only two days ago, such a pet name would cause a fight, but today, the fighter’s heart misses a beat as though thrilled. Startled by his own revelation, Jimin glimpses at his bound comrade, awaiting a habitual glare on his face. Instead, Jimin is met with a blinding smile and cheeks a shade of red, rivaling the finest ruby.  

“We were just talking, Seokjin.” Jungkook chuckles gently, his usual mischievousness simmering under his laughter, rolling his shoulders to get Seokjin’s hand off him.

“We are in purple hell. I prefer to have conversations in the comfort of non-hell places.” Seokjin mutters, his tone lenient. Jimin scans the forest, and he has to agree with his friend. This is no place for insouciance. 

“Fair enough.” Jungkook replies with a sly smirk on his lips. 

After that, the party soundlessly advances further into the unknown as a persistent discomfort hangs in the misty air. The lack of noise has become eerie as if the forest is trapped in an unfinished painting where the artist forgot to breathe life into its canvas. However, the leaves flutter in the wind, and the sun travels through the sky. This woodland is not a motionless artwork but rather an abnormal mastery. 

“Something is wrong here. Not even bugs seem to exist.” Namjoon remarks with creased brows, placing his palm against a tree trunk. The surface feels ordinary, yet a bristly shudder ripples through his body as if the tree rejects his touch. The commander pulls his hand back, inspecting his hand and the tree with suspicion. 

“Hoseok?” Yoongi turns to the enchanter with an expectant gaze, hoping for more insight into this landscape from Hoseok.

“I am uncertain, but I do have a hunch.” Hoseok responds to the General’s unspoken question as he studies the giant saplings. “It feels like this place once overflowed with magic but was abruptly drained of it.”

“As if its caster died.” Jungkook interjects, finishing the enchanter’s thoughts. A frightening possibility suddenly dawns on everyone– one that lays the foundation for understanding the sorceress’ power scale. Jimin swallows hard, a bead of sweat sliding down his nape.

“Exactly.” Hoseok nods gravely. 

“Which means that she reigned the unclaimed land for… who knows how long.” The magic-wielder continues as he pinches the bridge of his nose, visibly struggling to gather his thoughts. Only one kind of caster could wield such magic. 

“Is it even possible for a magic wielder to possess such energy?” Taehyung asks, his sword’s tip lazily dragging across the ground.

“It is not impossible, I suppose.” The enchanter tilts his head aside, his jaw tensing as if carefully choosing his words. 

“This is the part where you explain to the clueless boys what you mean by not impossible.” Jimin impatiently cuts in, growing tired of the enchanter’s cryptic phrasing.

“Well, magic wielders usually inherit their abilities through their bloodline, which ordains the type of magic they can wield. I am sure the ones you frequently work with are navigators, healers, or metalworkers. However, there are also cobblers, carpenters, and just everything imaginable in our world. These casters inherited their powers from their bloodline– meaning, their father, grandfather, great-grandfathers, and so on, every enchanter possessed powers of the same magical craft.” Hoseok explains, his hands dancing alongside his description. The rest of the troop attentively listens while their boots softly crush the leaves along the path.

“With each inception, the hereditary powers lessen until the sorcerous span draws its ending. Nonetheless, just like each bloodline has an end, it has its origin as well: A first generation of magic wielders. Now, unlike their offspring, their destined power has not yet been chosen, nor split among descendants. So they are extremely powerful– and without a limitation.” An icy silence falls over the group as Hoseok’s words sink in, and many more questions arise. 

“I have heard of the first-generation enchanters, but no records of one have been written in the last four decades.” Namjoon chimes in, his lips pursed in serious reflection.

“That is true, but records have been wrong before.” Yoongi mumbles, his tone contemplative. Beyond question, the General and commander are scaling the likely solutions.

“They have.” Hoseok releases a soft laugh, which catches Jimin’s attention, a flicker of curiosity flashing over his pupils. Something tells him that the enchanter’s magical knowledge does not solely stem from academic roots– there is a personal history one cannot fake. 

“How can you be so sure?” Seokjin vocalizes his friend’s inquisitiveness with a polite tone. Everyone’s attention shifts to Hoseok, who holds an impassive expression.

“You are one, are you not?” Jungkook’s words fill the empty spaces between the branches as his head tilts subtly toward the enchanter. “You are a first-generation enchanter.” 

It is a casual accusation, yet coated in conviction, leaving no room for doubt. The cautious stares of the soldiers morph into astonishment, eyes opened widely as Hoseok’s true potential is unveiled before them– an enchanter with infinite energy. Suddenly, fragments of memories flash through Jimin’s mind—his first meeting with Hoseok in the study, the confidence with which Hoseok untangled the curse, and the magical display in the dining hall. Most importantly, the responsibility Hoseok bears, as the only magic-wielder in their base. The onerous weight on Jimin’s shoulder diminishes as Hoseok's promise, made by an exceptional caster, lifts the burden.

“Was that not obvious?” The enchanter chuckles, resuming his walk down the trail. 

“I– I am not sure. Does anyone else know?” Yoongi asks, his tone edged with cynicism. Out of everyone, the General appears the most shaken by the revelation. 

“Probably not.” Hoseok shrugs, unfazed by the rest’s evident disbelief. 

“So you are lying about it.” Namjoon states, his voice flat and accusing. The tension sharpens in the air, and Jimin stiffens under its grip.

“I have never been asked before, so no, I never lied about it.” Hoseok says, a soft smile on his face.

“You are telling me the King is not aware that he has a scarce gem in his possession?” Yoongi’s tone is more aghast than accusatory.         

“He knows I am capable of great things, just not the whole extent of it.” The enchanter clarifies as the density of the forest thins, the sunlight grazing the fighters’ cheekbones. 

“Why would you keep this to yourself?” Taehyung inquires, and Jimin observes a whispered quiver in Hoseok’s finger. 

“All leaders are… predictable. At some point in their reign, their hunger for power becomes both potent and desperate. And how do you appease that craving? With fear– fear from your enemies, from your soldiers, and your own people. Once it is believed they are indomitable, there are only a few obstacles in their way.” Hoseok kicks a stone as his voice lingers in Jimin’s ear. He is bold– or perhaps merely reckless– to criticize the Kingdom in front of its fighters, especially in the presence of a General. 

“I have studied each sovereignty over the last seven decades. Every King and Queen lost their lives due to their own avidity. So, I undoubtedly know my bloodline would have its future chosen by the crown– forced into becoming a murderous weapon for the battlefields if the King knew. However, my fate is my own to choose.” Hoseok ends his speech with determination, locking eyes with Yoongi. It is a silent battle between the two men– the enchanter versus the General. The unspoken question tarries in the air– which side will Yoongi choose? 

“Then I hope your fate will serve our people with a kind embrace.” The general replies after a beat of silence. Jimin quietly releases a breath, relieved that a confrontation was avoided. 

“It will, I promise.” Hoseok’s gaze shifts to the cursed pair, whose fingers brush in the lightest touch, yet a warm breeze engulfs Jimin’s hand, trailing comfortingly to his wrist. 

“Good. Now that this is settled, let us find that lair.” Yoongi grips the enchanter’s shoulder in reassurance before nudging him forward to take the lead.  

The whole group nods in unison as they follow behind Hoseok to what seems to be the end of the thick woodland. Only a few trees remain tall in the field as the dull grass fades into gravelly soil, each step kicking up a small cloud of dust. While the ground seems arid, the air carries the distinct scent of wet rocks, which grows stronger with every stride. The soldiers move in silence, Jimin basking in the peace. He allows his mind to take a break from all the stress. The seven men walk until they reach the source of the wet smell, reaching a robust wooden bridge spanning a deep valley. Below it, a wide river with a vigorous current, its roar being the first natural sound from the unknown land. 

“Do you think it is safe to cross?” Seokjin asks, inspecting the wood of the parapet. 

“Feels safe enough.” Namjoon answers in a mumble as he stamps his foot on the roadway. 

“We should cross one at a time, just in case.” Yoongi orders and takes the initiative. He inhales a deep breath as he strolls over the bridge in a straight line. Six men obey each bend of the surface, each creak of the wood– triggering a ferocious fear that their General might plunge into the valley below. Yet, he harmlessly makes it to the other side. He straightens his shoulders, turns around to the rest of the men, and gives them a thumbs up. With the General’s sign, the next one traces his path. First, it is Namjoon, then Hoseok, until it is only Jimin and Jungkook left. The bonded pair stand still, staring at the bridge before Jungkook grabs the other’s wrist– marching forward. Jimin glances at Jungkook’s hand, irritation igniting as he faces the younger’s back once more. He wriggles his limb until Jungkook’s clasp slips to his palm, where the elder interlocks their hands, ignoring the younger’s startled gaze at the unexpected shift. Jimin matches his pace to Jungkook. They step into the wooden roadway side by side, only for the curse on their wrists to stir to life. 

Then it all happens too fast. The ground underneath their feet begins to wither as if erased from existence. Hoseok’s wide-eyed shock and muffled shouts are all gone, swallowed by the rushing wind and the rugged edge of the cliff. The cursed men are falling towards the river, the air around them suffocating under the pressure. Jimin does not know for how long they are descending, but no time could prepare him for the freezing impact. The second he splashes through the water table, a frigid ache tears through his body as if a thousand icy shards stab into his skin. 

Submerged in water, Jimin attempts to fight to the surface for air, but the current is too strong, and he struggles to swim upwards. He is running out of oxygen as a constraint extends in his chest. Desperately, he reaches for the sun reflecting on the water in hopes of escaping. To his demise, the curse prickles against his body in a steady, searing pulse, amplifying the dread cursing through his veins. Too late, he realizes that he has strayed too far from Jungkook. He squeezes his eyes shut as his body collides with Jungkook in an agonizing crash. An excruciating pain echoes through their shoulders and backs. Jimin's cries are stifled by the river as ice-cold liquid surges through his lungs. If they do not emerge soon, the soldier will die from drowning. 

He clutches Jungkook’s waist, pressing their bodies together as their legs kick frantically. Their limbs feel numb and heavy as if they are encased in ice, but they defy all the odds, and their heads break through the surface. They cough the water out, allowing fresh air to fill their lungs. The current roars against their eardrums as they continue to gasp. Jimin’s face feels numb as droplets sink into his eyes. It stings and burns, but there is no time for complaints. His eyes dart to the riverbanks, searching for anything that could provide support. It proves difficult as the rushing river distorts his vision, leaving him with a blurry vision. A wave of relief floods over him when he spots a cluster of thick tree branches forming a sturdy dam on the left side of the river. He tightens his hold on Jungkook, their cheeks squished. 

“To the left, Jungkook! Now!” Jimin yells breathlessly, swimming to the best of his abilities. The younger joins, but his movements are much slower and strained.

“Just a little more!” The elder shouts in Jungkook’s ear, choking as another splash hits his face. The weight of his clothes pulls him down, only adding another burden to his exhaustion. Thankfully, Jimin manages to stay above water until his back hits the rough wall of branches. One of his hands finally grabs onto the branch to uphold himself and Jungkook. The wood digs into his skin, but he barely notices it. His chest rises and falls in quick pants before he senses a slippery warmth looming over the younger’s back. At first, he believes it is merely seaweed stuck to his clothes but there is no meadow to grab. With knitted brows, he adjusts his hold until his palm peeks over Jungkook’s shoulder. Jimin gasps, eyes widening, as he is met with blood. His hand is covered in the red liquid, dripping down his wrist. 

“Jimin, you are bleeding.” Jungkook rasps, his voice scarcely audible over the roaring current. With a faint frown, his gaze is locked on Jimin’s hand clutching the dam. The elder confusedly follows his stare, noticing the spreading crimson on his other hand. However, there is no open wound, no stinging of pain on Jimin– this is not his blood. No, Jungkook is the one bleeding– bleeding profoundly. Jimin’s breath catches as panic claws at his throat, his hands shaking. 

“Shit. Shit. Shit. ” Jimin curses, urgently glancing around the riverside to see any of his friends, but unfortunately, there is only the never-ending water. He is alone with an injured Jungkook, stuck in a blood-streaked river. 

“Does it… hurt, Jiminie?” Jungkook asks wheezily. His lips brush against Jimin’s neck, his voice hardly above a whisper. His hot breath contrasts the coldness of the water, his grasp on the elder weakening. One of his arms dangles with the river’s current. A twinge hits Jimin’s chest at Jungkook’s weakened state, his mind wildly scouring for the next move. The panic in his head is overwhelming, but Jimin remains focused. He cannot allow Jungkook to die here. 

“No, it does not. Just hold on to me, okay?” Jimin howls, wrestling to keep Jungkook above water. His arms are sore and ache each time he moves them. The younger barely latches on to him anymore as his face grows paler and his weight drags Jimin downward. The icy water bites his skin while warm blood drenches his clothes. His stomach churns as Jungkook’s breath becomes shallower, body slackening in Jimin’s embrace. His jaw clenches, refusing to let go of the injured.

“Jimin! Jungkook!” Their names echo in the valley as Seokjin leans over, eyes feverishly skimming through the valley, as his head pops into Jimin’s view. His friend is at the top of the cliff, shouting Hoseok’s name. Jimin could cry right at this moment, even as his body burns in pain. At last, they have been found.

“Here! We are here!” Jimin shouts, his voice cracking. His fingers are jabbed into Jungkook’s waist, clasping him vehemently, as his limbs develop rigid from the iciness. He can barely move them. With every ounce of strength, he keeps Jungkook close to him while the river continuously attempts to drag him away. The elder fights against the current when Jungkook’s head flops onto his shoulder as he slips into unconsciousness. For a second, the world turns still, and all Jimin can see is Jungkook’s bloodless face– memories of his declaration to become the greatest flooding his mind. Jimin cannot let this be his end. Rivals or not– Jungkook does not deserve a meaningless death. 

“No, no, no, no. Jungkook, stay with me.” Jimin mutters as panic hits him like a ton of bricks. He only hears the rush of his blood or the river. He cannot distinguish them anymore.

“Hold on for a moment! I will get you two out of there.” Hoseok’s voice rings in urgency as Jimin shakes his head. Ice-cold water splatters against his cheekbones. 

“Jungkook first! Hoseok, hear me? Jungkook first!” Jimin shouts, louder than he has ever before in his life. His throat hurts, each blared word scratching painfully as he screams for Jungkook to be rescued. The burden of impuissance in his chest becomes unbearable as Jungkook’s lifeless body begins to feel colder than the river. Before he can muster another thundering roar, a weird sensation topples over his body. It is an indescribable feeling, as if time came to a standstill for a brief moment. Then, the freezing river vanishes, floating in nothingness as if gravity ceased to exist before crashing onto solid ground. Jimin collapses on his back, gasping for air, with his arm still tight around Jungkook, as though letting go of him would mean losing him forever.

“What is with all this blood?” Seokjin’s tone is laced with fear as he rushes to his friend, yet Jimin’s eyes search for Namjoon. He is Jungkook’s closest friend, after all. So, he needs to be here when Jungkook wakes up. Jimin locks eyes with the commander, who falls to his knees next to them.  Namjoon’s eyes widen at Jungkook’s pale face and slashed-open back. His trembling hands hover in the air, hopelessly inspecting the damage on his friend’s body. The metallic smell of blood surrounds the group with a deafening silence on their shoulders, only broken by Jimin’s shaky breaths. 

“It is Jungkook– a wound on his back.” Jimin splutters, carefully propping Jungkook into a sitting position for better access to the injury. His tender arms wobble under the weight of the limp body. Jungkook remains quiet as Jimin moves him, the absence of reaction haunting the soldiers more than the open wound. However, there is a faint pulse– which gives Jimin all the hope he needs. 

“Hoseok, do something. Please.” Namjoon pleads, firmly grabbing Jungkook’s cold hand as if to prevent him from entering the afterlife. The commander has witnessed death many times on the battlefield– and understands how swiftly life can conclude its story. Yet this time, it is Jungkook’s fleeting heartbeat pulsating under his fingertips, not a stranger’s. Namjoon cannot bear to lose him, especially because he knows that there are limits not even Hoseok can overstep. Once the heart stops beating, no spell can undo it– no magic can bring the dead back. 

“Working on it.” Hoseok snaps, pressing his lips into a thin line. He studies Jungkook’s deep and long wound, the enormous blood loss evident, as he assembles the needed spell. The burden of everyone’s trust rests on him. His clenched fists are buried on his lap before he confidently places his palms on Jungkook’s shoulder blades. A healing spell of this degree is a first for Hoseok, releasing a heavy sigh. He shoots Namjoon and Jimin a warning glance. “Hold on to him– this is going to hurt.” 

The enchanter whispers foreign words, shutting his eyes for better focus. Within an instant, a scarlet cloud emerges from the ground, roaming around Jungkook’s body. It feels warm against Jimin’s wet skin, like a blanket over his shivering frame. The smokey mist slithers to Jungkook’s back, settling over the sliced, bloodied skin, which begins to move slowly to close the wound. Still, no reaction comes from Jungkook as his back shifts in unnatural motion. Namjoon lowers his gaze, the sight too grisly for him. The other men are frozen in fear as they watch the youngest lay impassively against Jimin, whose grip on him tautens. 

“Hoseok?” It is merely a whisper from Jimin but it is weaved in true horror. By now, Jungkook should scream and toss in pain– yet nothing, not even a twitch of his finger. The enchanter purposefully does not respond to Jimin- too caught in the spell. However, Hoseok senses Jungkook’s life essence thinning through his fingers, barely holding on to his body. Jungkook is dying right under Hoseok’s palms. The caster is determined though, concentrating on his magic as he claws his fingers into the Jungkook. Jimin could choke on the tension in the air. Instead, he puts his forehead against Jungkook’s head, his fingers shaking as they hold on to the younger. For the first time ever, Jimin prays to hear his comrade’s stupid criticism once more– as long as it means he survives. 

Just as the first tear slips from the corner of Jimin’s eye, there is a twitch. It is weak– perhaps even accidental– but Jungkook’s knuckles brush against his waist. Surprised by the faint touch, Jimin’s posture straightens as his mouth falls agape. He eyes the younger’s body, watching for any movement. The wound is still not shut, but it has decreased massively in size. Hoseok’s magic is working, stopping the bleeding and healing damaged skin. And Jungkook moves. His face achingly squirms as he slowly wakes up, a moan escaping his lips. The noise sends relief to every soldier as their rigid bodies relax with their shoulders slumping. Namjoon mumbles with quiet gratitude under his breath, running his hand through his hair. Jungkook is in pain. Still, Jimin smiles from ear to ear, a fervor spreading across his chest like wildfire. Being in pain means fighting– it means being alive. 

“Shit, that hurts.” Jungkook mutters as his face twists in discomfort. His eyes are squeezed shut as he arches his back, a tiny trail of blood dripping down his spine. He clutches Jimin’s hand as the torment worsens, hissing and clenching his teeth. He jerks as a harrowing jolt throbs down his upper body, skin unfolding uncannily while almost reconnected. 

“Just a few more seconds, Jungkook.” Hoseok says before releasing a shaky breath, sweat gathering on his forehead. The red cloud begins to dissipate into the injury, the skin tightening. The heat vanishes alongside the mist. Jungkook nods, moisture trickling from his nose to the ground as he groans sorrowfully. His knuckles turn white with the intensity of his grip on Jimin’s hand, pulling it closer to his chest as though beckoning the younger to close the gap between them. Defeated by Jungkook’s exhausted state, Jimin approaches him in small movements. Right away, the youngest finds comfort in the crook of his neck as a twisted grimace overtakes his features. Jimin hesitantly places his free hand on the back of Jungkook’s head, stroking it reassuringly. If anyone is surprised by the display of affection, they do not mention it. 

“There, all done.” The enchanter mumbles as the ruddy mist dissolves, revealing a mended scar down Jungkook’s spine. The youngest puffs against Jimin’s skin, thanking Hoseok in broken sentences for keeping him on the other side of the afterlife. 

“What happened down there?” Yoongi inquires, handing the cursed pairs two water cans. His gaze falls on Jungkook’s wound, a wave of guilt settling on his conscience. As a General, he should have been more attentive and prevented life-threatening incidents like these. He frowns as the bonded men accept the flasks with appreciative smiles before swallowing the refreshing liquid. 

“I think a tree branch poked me.” Jungkook answers in between gulps. 

“Poked you? It almost cut you in half!” Seokjin yells appalled– yet obviously worried– pointing to the ripped clothes as proof that poked is not the right word to describe his injury. Jimin carries a similar expression on his face, to which Jungkook cracks a playful smile. 

“Were you worried?” Jungkook jokes, nudging Jimin’s side. 

“Yes.” The elder answers truthfully, looking at Jungkook with big eyes and one of his cheeks still wet from his tears. He had forgotten to wipe them off after Jungkook woke up. The youngest freezes, stunned at Jimin’s honesty. Heat creeps up to his nape, a blush blooming on his face.

“I think we should rest for now. Let us set up camp somewhere close.” Namjoon suggests, cutting the moment of silence between Jimin and Jungkook. His voice is hoarse, and his eyes circled in darkness. Among everyone, the commander felt the most fear for Jungkook and is still visibly shaken. Even now, his hands tremble as he glances up at the General, awaiting his confirmation. 

“We should. These two boys need to dry and take a break.” Yoongi affirms with a firm but concerned voice, his gaze shifting towards the soaked and exhausted men. The entire group exhales, relieved at the chance to rest. Jimin doubts he could have continued much longer anyway, not with his legs aching and trembling beneath him like jelly. 

###########

The sky has darkened by the time Jimin and Jungkook sit at the campfire, the moon casting its light onto the unknown lands. The rest of the group has retreated to sleep in the lodge behind them– yes, a lodge. Even after everything they have been through today, Hoseok’s power does not fail to amaze Jimin. The flames crack in the silence, sending flickers of warmth and the faint scent of wood smoke into the cool night air. With the stars above their heads, Jimin’s mind replays the past few hours again and again until he feels physically drained. Some things are impossible to forget once you live through them– your comrade’s life slipping through your fingers seems to be one of them. Regardless of how much he held on, a layer of guilt remains at the tips of those fingers. 

“Thank you, by the way.” Jungkook suddenly breaks the silence as if he were dying to say something. He turns his head to Jimin, his voice quiet and sincere. They are no longer in their blood-drenched clothes. Instead, they put on comfortable garments, which ward off the chill of the night. 

“What?” Jimin asks softly, confused by the gentleness. 

“I could not talk to you before since I had to calm Namjoon down, but I remember I passed out in the water. And I know for a fact I did not float down the river because you held on to me. So, thank you.” Jungkook’s voice is laced with earnestness, a tender smile spreading on his lips as his warm eyes meet Jimin’s. He raises his hand, wavering for a second, before pinching Jimin’s nose with a grin showing his teeth. The elder slightly recoils, taken aback by the gesture. Still, a small smile tugs at his lips at the unexpected warmth. 

“Are you saying I saved your life?” Jimin laughs, brushing Jungkook’s hand off his face with an eye roll as if dismissing the notion– and the tingle on his nose. 

“Mhmm, not really.” Jungkook answers mischievously, his smile widening as he casually drops his hand on Jimin’s knee. “Do not want to boost your ego too much.”

“Should you not be kinder to me? What if I let go the next time?” Jimin joins Jungkook’s playfulness, leaning in closer with a tilt of his head as a gleeful glint betrays his innocent expression. A comfortable silence falls upon them and the fire sings in the melody of placidity. Jungkook’s pupils dilate while they shamelessly travel over Jimin’s features, blood rushing to the elder’s nape under the gaze. Just like in the shower stall, he studies every detail on Jimin’s face as though savoring the beauty of an artwork.  

“Yeah, what if.” Jungkook whispers with his voice low and raspy, his eyes tracing Jimin’s lips as if captivated by them.

“Do not do that.” Jimin mutters abashedly, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth. The contact feels electrifying, like thunder against his skin. He cannot help but wonder whether Jungkook senses the earthquake in his body caused by the weight of his stare. Jimin twists his neck to the side, running his tongue over his lips. The air around them seems taut, their bodies drawn to each other like magnets. 

“What?” Jungkook asks as one of his eyebrows curves upward. With a faint, unreadable smile on his lips, he inches towards Jimin until their thighs brush, locking his eyes with him. The elder bites down a twitch, his heart pounding– is Jungkook even aware of his gawking and their nearness? 

“The staring.” Jimin finally answers after a moment– barely audible, muffled by his own hand. 

“After everything we have done, you are bothered by some staring?” Jungkook snickers, a smug smile appearing on his lips. His hand drifts higher on Jimin’s knee– high enough to steal the elder’s breath. Still, Jimin allows it to linger, reveling in the ardor. The touch summons memories from the other night, the ghost of it quickening Jimin’s heartbeat. 

“I know it is foolish. It just feels… different.” Jimin stammers, the words failing to capture the voltage cursing through his body. Only a couple of days ago, Jungkook’s gaze was malicious and full of judgment, and Jimin despised it. Now, it reflects the flames of their campfire– warm and gentle. 

“Do you hate it?” Jungkook’s question is straightforward, and the no lounges on Jimin’s tongue, unspoken, yet undeniably.

“Does it matter to you?” Jimin counters. 

“Well, I actually prefer it when my lovers do not hate me.” Jungkook says, brushing Jimin’s bangs to the side before tracing a line down to his jaw. 

“Your lover?” Jimin repeats, shaking his head in a blend of disbelief and indignation. “I am not your lover.”  

“Did we not do lovely things last night?” Jungkook’s tone is low yet blaring in Jimin’s ears. The crackling fire is louder, but he swears Jungkook’s voice is all he can hear.

“We did some.” Jimin confesses in an undertone, his cheeks sweltering as if the heat from the flames leaped into his face. 

“Only some?” The other challenges, his grin widening. At this point, their arms and legs are pressed together, leaving no space for the wind to pass.  

“Lovers… kiss. We did not.” Jimin whirls his head towards Jungkook, only to find their faces nearly colliding as their breaths mingle in steady puffs. A familiar tingle blooms right under Jimin’s belly button.

“That is true.” Jungkook answers, his gaze lowered once more to Jimin’s lips where his attention persists with unsaid intent. The older fighter attempts to rationalize the sensation of a thousand feathers on his lips, but it is futile.  

“But… it is good we did not cross that line.” Jimin breathes out the words, yet they feel foreign to him. The firelight flickers in the dark, dancing shadows illuminating the men’s faces. He clenches his hand at his side, nails leaving marks on his palms as Jungkook lifts his hand from his knee, leaving a chilly shadow behind. 

“Mhm.” Jungkook hums, cupping the other’s face in a gentle manner, his thumb painting small, smooth circles on Jimin’s soft skin. The elder’s eyes flutter shut as his blood boils beneath every stroke of Jungkook’s thumb. 

“There is no reason for us to kiss.” Jimin continues, his voice wavering in a husky tone. Their noses brush and one of them has moved forward. It is a vague touch– barely even there– still, Jimin feels Jungkook’s fever surge towards him, pooling at the back of his throat. 

“Yeah.” The younger agrees but does not pull back. His breath is steady, unlike his gaze. Surprisingly, he remains in place, allowing Jimin to make the next call.  

“Good.” Jimin whispers after a heartbeat passes, his lips brushing against Jungkook’s– eliciting a shudder down his spine. 

In the middle of unclaimed territory, Jimin should be on high alert. As a fighter, he knows it is the protocol to never let your guard down throughout the mission, even when you feel the safest. Danger lingers everywhere– monsters, thieves, or unseen traps could be hiding between the bushes. Yet, he sits at the campfire, and his mind is solely focused on Jungkook. His touch, his breath, his stare– all of him has seized Jimin’s attention to the point that he has forgotten about the curse humming against his wrist, drowned by Jungkook’s presence. Right now, he is merely a man, wishing his lips were caressed, but he speaks no imploration. It is a foolish thing to want, but he cannot deny it– not when his lips ache in a loneliness he has not felt in years. He prays Jungkook reads the desire on his face, the same way he reads Jimin’s emotions. To his misfortune, the young fighter does not stir, merely keeps his eyes on the lips before him. The insufferable heat ponding in Jimin’s stomach begins to rise, creeping up to his chest and tightening his airways. 

“Jimin.” Jungkook exhales shakingly. His voice braided with eagerness, and something in Jimin crumbles– fragile and sudden– like the bridge under his feet hours ago. 

“Please.” Jimin begs, rubbing his nose against the tip of Jungkook’s, a small act that seems to inflame the youngest’s last shred of patience. 

Two large hands grasp Jimin’s face, squishing his cheeks ever so slightly as they angle his head upwards. Jungkook observes the face in front of him with a dangerous twinkle in his eyes as he dips his head and finally– finally connects their lips in a sensual kiss. In that moment, the forest vanishes around them, and they lose themselves in a bubble of space and time where they alone exist. Both men inhale sharply through their noses as Jimin opens his mouth, deepening the kiss with desperation. His fingers clutch Jungkook’s shirt by the collar, pulling their bodies closer until the gap between them disappears. Jimin’s body burns with excitement, his heart racing against his ribcage at a fast pace. Each brush of their lips leaves him breathless, yearning for the next one.

One of Jungkook’s hands slides down, lightly pinching Jimin’s clothed chest before nestling his hand on the elder’s waist. His grip is tight enough to leave pale bruises on the flesh as if a future reminder of their interlocked lips. However, Jimin does not mind– no, the twinge of pain makes his blood run fiery, stimulating him alongside the kiss. Against his will, he releases a whimper as Jungkook’s tongue swipes over his bottom lip, then gently bites down on it. An intense tingle magnifies in his groin while his lips grow wetter with each graze of Jungkook’s mouth. The scorching temperature within Jimin’s body builds to a frenzy, and he wishes the garments on him would just evaporate. The youngest’s lips hungrily devour Jimin’s, as though unleashing all of his pent-up frustration from the last years. And it feels good to be hated if it means to be kissed like this. The elder parts his lips, allowing Jungkook’s warm tongue to engulf his own as his thighs spread instinctively. Jimin wraps his fingers around Jungkook’s neck, sensing his accelerated pulse– emboldening the elder as he sucks on Jungkook’s tongue before planting several, small pecks on the moist lips. Jungkook moans in a quiet tone, eyes squeezed shut, memorizing each crevice of Jimin’s kisses. He stares at Jimin, both catching their breath but still not satisfied. Their lips entwine once more in a heated embrace while their hands do not let go of the other.

The two men kiss until Jimin’s lips feel numb.      

###########

Four days have passed since the group left their base to start their journey to the witch’s lair, hiking on muddy and rocky paths without encountering a single living thing. The forest feels lifeless, even emptier than any desert. It has also been three nights since Jimin shared a heated kiss with Jungkook under the starry night sky, moaning into his mouth and relishing the lingering spark on his lips. Back then, he had not cared too much about the next morning or the rest of the mission. All he craved was more– more touches, more kisses, more of Jungkook. However, it did draw to a close– the heaviness of their shared desire crashed down on them like a thunderstorm at dawn. Avoided eye contact and curt conversations have been the only communication between them, which feels absurd. They have done much more intimate things than kissing. Jungkook has seen him in his most vulnerable state, yet Jimin cannot shake the persistent thrill off his lips. That night was different, he cannot quite grasp why.

“We should be there soon.” Hoseok announces, pulling Jimin out of his wandering thoughts. This morning, the trail began to fade into the forest, causing the group to force their way into the thickness of the bushes. Jimin feels the sting of numerous tiny cuts on his cheek, left by the thorny branches they have been pushing through all day.

“Thank the lord. I am getting tired of this godforsaken hollow forest.” Taehyung gabbles with his head thrown back, his weapon hanging loosely at his side. There seems to be nothing worth slicing here. 

“I agree. This voyage has been pretty unremarkable.” Namjoon replies, scratching his skin as a twig pokes his temple. 

“Sorry that me almost dying was not exciting enough.” Jungkook’s voice surprises Jimin. The younger has mostly kept to himself in the past few days, which the party blames on his near-death experience. Jimin likes to believe it is because of that too– the terrifying moment on the bridge, not the kiss that has not been mentioned since. 

“Oh look, he speaks.” Seokjin teases, playfully nudging Jungkook’s waist with his elbow. 

“He also fights.” Jungkook squints his eyes, clearly not in the mood for jokes.

“Yeah, yeah. Big scary Jungkook.” Seokjin disregards Jungkook’s threat with a leisurely wave of his hand, walking past the cursed pair to join Namjoon. With a twitching hand, Jimin refrains from scolding Jungkook for being rude to his friend because he would rather not add oil to the fire. 

“Anyway.”  Hoseok interjects, glimpsing at the two men with a sanguine gleam. “I hope to finish unbinding your curse by tonight, which should make our stay at her lair short and quick.”

“Do you think it is a single curse, or two?” Yoongi asks, swearing under his breath when a thorn prods into his neck. 

“I cannot say yet. Once I untangle the curse, I might discover another one underneath it, or I will be able to free them.” The enchanter explains with his eyes focused ahead of him. The meandering roots make the passage challenging.

“So, we might have to return to get the core for these two?” Taehyung chimes in, his tone heavy with discouragement at the thought of a second journey. 

“I will leave a teleportation stone here. It will make things easier if we need to return.” Hoseok’s calm voice eases Taehyung’s worry.  

“Let us just hope there will not be a need for another visit.” Jimin mumbles, glancing down at his wrist. The curse’s humming has weakened over the past few days with Hoseok spending all of his free time detangling the hex while the others worked on their separate tasks. Taehyung and Seokjin help prepare the meals as Yoongi and Namjoon work on the reports of the mission. Only Jimin and Jungkook pass the time by the campfire, waiting for the enchanter to dismiss them.  

“We will have answers soon.” Hoseok states, passing through a dense thicket and exposing a vast, unnaturally vacant field. It looks displaced, as though the space does not belong here. 

“What is soon for you?” Seokjin stresses, the woodland scraping against his skin. He puckers his face in pain until he stumbles out of the impenetrable woods. 

“Like, right now.” The enchanter observes the meadow, hands resting on his hips. “We have reached her lair.” 

The six soldiers stare at the nothingness before them, puzzled expressions spreading across their faces. The tall trees surround the grassland like a living fence, impeding anyone from entering. Yet, it remains a mystery what those ancient trees are supposed to protect as there is nothing to be seen– no structure or signs of a lair, just plain emptiness, stretching before them. For a second, Jimin wonders if Hoseok inhaled some toxic fumes on their travels; no matter how much he concentrates on the field, it remains blank to him. 

“Are your magical eyes seeing something we cannot?” Jungkook asks with his head tilted sideways. 

“Yeah.” Hoseok answers curtly and precisely. 

“Of course.” Jungkook mutters with a peeved nod of his head– being magicless surely proves adverse. 

“So, is it buried? Are we looking for a trap door?” Yoongi offers the only logical explanation, studying the overgrown lawn as best as he can for hidden clues. 

“No, it is right here.” The enchanter gestures towards the void, only to receive dubious gazes from every soldier. He has gone insane, Jimin thinks, gaping at the alleged lair. In return, Hoseok merely chuckles at their heedlessness before searching the ground for something– a pebble. He picks it up, showing it to his peers. With one good shoulder roll, he extends his arms backward and launches the rock across the sky. It flies and flies until it disappears before their eyes– not in the tall grass though. The stone vanishes mid-air, an epiphany sparkling in their minds. 

“An illusion spell.” Namjoon exclaims, marveling at the sorceress’ power and Hoseok’s sharpness. Had he not been here, they would have taken much longer to spot the witch’s house. 

“Exactly. So, we merely walk through the barrier to make the witch's home visible.” Hoseok clarifies, striding purposefully toward the middle of the grassland. The lack of vigilance unsettles Jimin, but the others follow the trail left by Hoseok. Jimin glances at Jungkook, whose jaw tenses under the stare. However, they do not speak to each other, silently shadowing their comrades as they look out for any setup from the witch. The meadow nearly reaches Jimin’s waist, tickling his palms as he marches through it. 

Passing through the illusional barrier is an odd experience for Jimin. The moment his foot reaches over the line, a rush of air flows over his body, crawling under his skin and escaping through his eyes and ears. He shudders in discomfort, shaking his arms to get rid of the bizarre feeling. The rest of the party appear to experience the same malaise, their bodies shivering as they cross over the blockage. Next to Jimin, Jungkook swears in a low voice, rubbing his hands over his face. 

“Holy shit.” Seokjin puffs out, his lips parted and eyes widened with a lavender glow washing over his features. Jimin knits his eyebrows, swirling around to see what has his friends so aghast, and his eyes fall on a small cottage– unlike one he has ever seen before. Jimin’s neck tenses. The cabin before them has throbbing walls, mimicking a heartbeat and pulsating at a quick pace. Jimin almost believes the hut itself is frightened. The roof is blanketed in long-stranded moss, which floats aloft as if underwater. Emitting a pungent smell of rotten food, a thick, viscous liquid oozes down the windows and door. Jimin almost gags at the acid scent, the stench dismantling his focus as he covers his nose with his sleeve. Nevertheless, the smell is not the most prominent element. It is the vibrant pigment of the cottage, snaking through the lair in a fluid motion. The purple hue is so lively– Jimin suspects that the violet shade of the wood emanates from this very cabin. 

“She must really like purple.” Taehyung says after a single breath passes, sneering at the pulsating hut. 

“Well, it is a pretty color.” Namjoon remarks, before turning to the enchanter with resolve. “So, Hoseok, what now?” 

“I want everyone except Jungkook and Jimin to enter her lair. Look through her stuff– notebooks, papers, whatever you can get your hands on, and try to get a better understanding of our sorceress and preferably the curse as well.” Hoseok orders with a pointed finger to the cottage, his tone blocking any opportunity for debate. The four men immediately head towards the cabin, opening the door with an uncomfortable grimace. Within seconds, they are in the cottage, uttering no complaints. Jimin stands alone with the enchanter and Jungkook, reminiscing about the first day in the study– much has changed since that afternoon. 

“Why can we not join them?” Jungkook’s voice is hoarse from the silence he has kept. He steals a peek at the cabin, and Jimin shares the same thought as him. He cannot help but wonder what kind of chaos lies within, certain it must be as atrocious as the exterior. 

“Because I want to untangle this curse and never come back to his eerie thing.” The enchanter’s reply is rushed as he gently guides the two men to sit on the dry grass. Jimin figures he is not fond of spooky affairs judging by the manner he avoids the lair. The fighter can sympathize with being scared to face your fears. Hoseok takes a seat on the grass in front of them, stretching his neck before he begins his spellwork without wasting any time. Like the days before, a red shadow mellows over their linked wrists as Hoseok’s fingers dance in the air, unraveling the curse’s knot in a tense, focused hush. 

“You guys sure are awkward.” Hoseok mumbles, breaking the silence with an obvious observation. 

“We are not.” Both men respond at the same time, cheeks reddening as their heads snap in opposite directions. 

“You have not talked since you two kissed.” The enchanter points out while carefully lifting his hand, the mist mirroring the movement. 

“Well, it is a little embarrassi–” Jimin’s brain freezes briefly, his cheeks blazing as if the enchanter’s statement had set them on fire– Hoseok should not have seen that. “Wait– how do you know that?” 

“No offense, but you guys were not exactly subtle. You were going at it by the campfire. It is like you wanted someone to see.” Hoseok’s words hit Jimin like daggers, each one amplifying his shame. He is already cluttered because of everything involving Jungkook– the enchanter catching them in the act might just send Jimin straight to his grave, no reprieve.   

“We were just caught up in the moment.” Jimin attempts to save his face, poorly though. His voice cracks at the end, endorsing his disquiet and making him wish the ground underneath him would swallow him up. The fighter does not even dare to look at Jungkook, though his curiosity insistently tugs at his conscience, tempting him to sneak a glance.  

“And now you both are too humiliated to even talk, let alone look at each other.” Hoseok calls them out with a raised brow. There are tiny beads of sweat on his forehead as he works on the curse.

“I am just organizing my thoughts.” Jungkook clears his throat while his gaze still dodges Jimin, as though their lips would mesh again if the shortest eye contact occurred. 

“For four days?” The enchanter softly laughs, wiping the moisture off his eyebrows with his forearm.  

“I do think deeply.” Jungkook notes with a huff. His voice is edged with contempt. 

“Does not seem like it.” Jimin quips with his lips pursed in mock disapproval. 

“Let us stop here. I think I am reaching the end of his wretched bind.” The enchanter straightens his back, his fingers rigid under the pressure of the sorceress’ magic. The red mist intensifies in color as Hoseok’s focus locks on the magical binding between the cursed men. The air around the pair feels grievous, pressing heavily on their shoulders as anticipation unfolds in their chest. Their hands shake, but they wait without speaking a word. Disturbing Hoseok is a risk they want to evade, especially because they are aware of how delicate the work is. So, they are patient, though the blood curses at a high speed in their veins. They could be free at any moment now– if God blessed them with a single, ordinary curse. Jimin squeezes his eyes, begging for the desired outcome, his unspoken prayer embedded in his mind: Let this be finally over. His heart pounds in his throat, a chaotic blend of fear, excitement, and worry curling inside of him. 

“It is done.” Hoseok announces with a quiver, tossing his head back. Yet a faint gleam of satisfaction shines over his features, and a quilt of hope descends on Jimin’s worries. Perhaps, the curse’s story ends today after all. With a major sigh, the enchanter drops his hands on his lap.

“Done? You mean– You did it?” Jungkook slopes to Hoseok, eyes big and sanguine. His sweaty hand clamps the caster’s, gripping so tightly into his skin that his nails paint the surface with crescent shapes. If it hurts, Hoseok does not show it, remaining still. Instead, he inclines his head once, confirming it– they are one last step away from freedom. Jimin feels a seething exultation seeping through his blood vessels, each wave threatening to spill over, as though his skin could hardly contain it. 

“I did. Luckily for you, there is no double– or newly configured curse. Only one of you is bound by a good old, regular curse.” Hoseok indicates, both linked men glimpsing at their wrists. Jimin’s heart feels trapped in a headlock, his breath quickening. 

“One of you should see a trail, preferably leading to her little nightmare of a cottage.” Hoseok adds with a head twist. Jungkook examines the back of his hand, his forearm, and then his inner wrist. Still, he finds nothing– no speck of magic to be appraised anywhere. 

“Jimin…” The youngest’s voice falters, ascertaining that the curse has never been directly on him. He cautiously eyes Jimin, his stare bewildered as he outlines his fingertips. In an aberrant, straight line, a purple cloud leaks from them, tickling whatever surface it grazes. A knot of displeasement unbends in Jimin’s abdomen as the lavender hue stretches further into the grassland. 

“I see it. I see the trail.” Jimin whispers, slightly rotating his wrist as the tension in his arm mirrors the one in the air. The magical path sways in the wind towards the witch’s lair, disappearing behind the ominous front door. Its purple glow perfectly matches the cabin’s, undoubtedly both stem from the sorceress. 

“Go now!” Hoseok orders, dragging Jimin to his feet with severity before doing the same with Jungkook. The enchanter does not want to waste any more time. 

“Stay close– the curse is intact until the core is destroyed. Unless, one of you fancies one final flight, then be my guest to wander away.” He firmly reminds the pair, Jungkook straightening his back with his eyes hardening with resolve. 

“Let us find that damned core.” Jungkook says, giving Jimin a determined look, to which the elder nods. It is time to end this dreadful chapter of their life once and for all. 

The bonded pair march towards the witch’s home with a ball of thrill coiling in Jimin’s throat. He swallows hard, but the heated excitement refuses to subside. The commission started in the worst way– with Jungkook’s slashed injury. However, it might turn around for the better. Their target is hidden somewhere in that cottage right here, merely a few meters away. Taking a deep breath, Jimin pulls on the door knob with excessive force, only to expose his friends amid a mound of inhuman chaos. Jimin halts mid-step, absorbing the mess in front of him with astonishment and disgust. Everything is everywhere. Dishes are nestled on top of notes and bookshelves while ripped pages cover entire desks. Not even the tiles of the floor are visible, hidden underneath piles of clothes and journals. Weirdly enough, the walls are barren– no paintings, no garniture, no single remnant of personality. Nonetheless, Jimin has never witnessed a disruption like this. Hell, Dean’s room is a temple compared to whatever this is.

“What the hell is this disaster?” Jungkook exclaims, his eyebrows arched in shock, and his eyes drift across the junk. This must be a nightmare for him, considering how clean his chamber is. 

“Disaster is generous.” Jimin expresses with a scowl, prudently walking into the house. The floor creaks with each step, the room clogged with the stench of decay and mildew. 

“You two being here means–”

“We only need to locate the core in… this ugly mess, then demolish it.” Hoseok interrupts Yoongi, scrunching his nose as he enters the cabin. Barely any sunlight shines through the sticky windows, so the room is dimly lit. 

“Well, get to it. We will continue searching for something useful here.” Namjoon says as he lifts a journal with skepticism, flipping through the pages before dropping it onto the table.

“I will be quick.” Jimin answers, already inspecting the lair to descry where the lavender trail culminates. Behind him, Jungkook’s presence loiters on his back. The younger shifts in his stance, feeling futile as he impatiently waits for Jimin. Fortunately, the elder claps eyes on its radiating light, which channels into a sphere of pigment in the back of the room. The magic undulates on a low shelf. It is here, right here. Soon, Jungkook and him will finally be free. A warm happiness blooms into triumph in his chest, his focus locked on the core. With his fists clenched, Jimin’s feet advance towards the furniture, stamping on crunching papers and dirty dishes.    

In just a few seconds, Jimin stands before the light source, buried underneath books and olden junk. So many various, overwhelming emotions are palpitating through his veins– to the point that Jimin feels numb. Unbeknownst to Jungkook, his face is illuminated by the purple lustre, just like Jimin. The curse tingles aggressively to life against their wrist, as though aware that its death is near. 

“It is here.” Jimin whispers with a shaky breath. The young fighter beside him stiffens as he observes the bland shelf. Still, he does not see what Jimin sees. For him, the furniture looks like just another mess in the witch’s lair. Deep down, he knows it is so much more. With frisson choking him, Jimin fends away all the articles stocked upon the core. His hands move frantically, and mini paper cuts open on his fingers. Yet, the stinging pain does not bother Jimin. He only cares about getting the core into his hands as the rattling of items bouncing on the ground fills the room. 

“Jimin?” Jungkook gasps out, a growing zeal swelling in his stomach. He decreases the distance between him and Jimin, clutching the edge of the shelf in anticipation. 

The elder barely acknowledges him though, staggered by the dazzling light. His inhale pauses sharply as his tongue pushes against the root of his mouth. In front of him sits a crown, glowing bright and lilac. Undeniably, this is the core. Jimin has finally found it.

“This is it! Hoseok!” Jimin’s hand trembles as he takes hold of the glowing item, warm to the touch, lifting it to show the crown to his friends. His relief is undoubtedly plastered on his face. 

“Well done, Jimin! We can start with the annihilation process now.” The enchanter proclaims with great joy. 

“N- Now?” Jungkook stammers, his eyes agape. 

“Of course. Come here, sit down wherever there is solid ground.” Hoseok commands with urgency, flapping his hand toward the floor. Too engrossed in following the enchanter’s order, Jimin does not notice Jungkook’s inscrutable stare. He grabs the youngest’s elbow before dragging him to a corner relatively free of debris, then takes a seat on the cold tiles.

“We are ready.” Jimin announces eagerly, his hands clasped together tightly on his lap. At his side, Jungkook appears slightly alarmed. Nervously, his eyes flicker in random directions as he gulps hard. Perhaps he is merely agitated about the following procedure. After all, they are entering it blindly.

“Okay, hand me the crown.” Hoseok instructs with his palm facing upwards, patiently waiting for Jimin to place the core in his hand. The fighter examines the shining item one last time, hatred coated in repose settling in his mind. This little metal thing holds the power to his curse, and he wishes he could crush it right there. Nevertheless, he passes the unscathed crown to the enchanter, clawing his nails into the fabric of his pants instead. The rest of the group obliquely observes the three men while continuing their search for utile information– the rustling papers being the only fount of sound. 

“I will destroy the core now. However, this might feel a little… peculiar.” Hoseok warns him as the crown’s edges poke his skin. He places the core on the ground between him and Jimin, who stares at the caster as though frozen and his stomach twists– an unsettling choice of word, which can mean many nonreassuring things.

“What do you mean?” Jungkook asks with a worried expression on his face and a hand on Jimin’s shoulder. An unguarded moment of concern breaks through his stoic demeanor from the past couple of days. Nonetheless, Jimin does not have the time to make sense of it. 

“I mean that it will feel like your organs are being pulled out of your mouth, one by one, until nothing remains inside you. Only in this case, your organs are the curse.” Hoseok explains without sugar-coating any of the details, and Jimin’s eagerness transforms into tenacious trepidation, his abdomen churning at the mental image. 

“Will it hurt?” Jimin questions in a quiet voice.

“No, but you will not like it very much.” Hoseok replies, running his hands through his hair before they steadily hover over the crown. After a couple of spoken words, his magic flows from his fingertips down to the core, the familiar warm red mist engulfing it. 

“I can handle not liking it.” Jimin mumbles as he squeezes his eyes shut, steeling himself against the annihilation of the curse. 

“How lucky.” The enchanter says in an undertone, closing his hands into fists. The scarlet cloud expands until its softness brushes against Jimin’s wrist in a fleeting caress. 

“Prepare yourself.” Hoseok’s voice is sharp and stable. “It begins now.”

With that, the most unpleasant sensation overtakes Jimin’s body in a trice, not offering him a moment of serenity. Instead, it is intense and grating. Just like Hoseok said, he can physically feel the magic being plucked out of him. While it does not hurt, Jimin hates the dragging against his tongue, as though a thick thread is stuck from his mouth down to his throat. His body twitches at the discomfort, pushing his back against the wall. Praying for it to end, he instinctively reaches for his neck. He presses his palm against his gullet in hopes of relieving the uncomfortable feeling. Yet, it does not abate. It lingers in every crook of his body. Jimin cannot escape it, his body writhing as he groans in frustration. He is close to losing it when a tender touch grazes his hand. It is like a kiss of fine, summer rain, but it anchors Jimin’s mind, letting him forget about his anguish. Jungkook has intertwined their hands, gently stroking Jimin’s knuckles. A surge of solace flutters in him, surprising and irrational, yet undeniable—it comes from Jungkook. The painless ailment still throbs through his body, yet he can seal his attention to the small circles on his hand, making it bearable. 

For the next few minutes, Jimin attempts to keep his focus on Jungkook’s warmth, ignoring the itching traveling out of his upper body. The magic slowly tapers from his veins, dissipating into the air in silent, violet puffs. The room feels strangely lighter. Gradually, the scratchy sensation lessens with each brush of Jungkook’s finger until the curse completely vanishes. Jimin grabs the front of his shirt, freedom filling him as though rediscovering a piece of him he thought he had lost forever. 

“Are you okay?” Hoseok scans Jimin, searching for lasting marks from the curse’s death. His eyes are soft with concern as they finally settle on Jimin’s face. He finds nothing on the fighter. 

“I… I think so.” Jimin mumbles, rubbing his freed wrist, the reality of his liberty slowly sinking in. 

“So, that is it? They are no longer cursed?” Namjoon walks up to Hoseok, both hope and doubt in his eyes. The two men still look the same as they did a minute ago, as though no magic ever touched them.  

“Only one way to find out.” The enchanter sets out. Groaning, he pushes himself upright and dusts off his knees. Hesitantly, Jimin glances at Jungkook, who is leisurely getting up from the ground. The elder follows his lead, but his body feels raw while moving. He may appear unchanged, but his limbs certainly shiver under the pressure it just endured. Unaware of his own unsteadiness, Jimin wobbles, and his vision is disrupted with black spots. Before he collapses, a strong arm wraps around his waist, steadying him. 

“Are you okay?” Under Jungkook’s voice simmers a tide of concern, and his grip tightens. However, it is not just the youngest who worries for Jimin. The rest of the group stops what they are doing, circling the fighter and observing his condition for signs of distress.

“Yeah, it was just for a moment.” Jimin mutters, giving everyone a reassuring grin. His lightheadedness has faded, and his body feels like his own again– something he is grateful for. 

“Good. Hold on to me in case you feel dizzy again.” Jungkook advises, his eyes flicking to Jimin’s face as his arm leaves his side. Yet it hovers near, ready to offer aid at a moment’s notice. 

With flushed cheeks, Jimin silently thanks the youngest before returning his focus back to the task at hand: Confirming that they are no longer cursed. Namjoon and Yoongi are pushing the furniture against the wall to ensure that no one gets hurt if Jungkook and Jimin are to collide once more. The blood rush rings loudly in Jimin’s ears, and he barely hears the conversation between his companions. For some reason, delight dances on his skin with Jungkook’s gentleness, as if Jimin had missed it in the days where the younger lengthened the distance between them– a thought he hastily rebukes, finding it foolish to miss something you have only known for a few days. 

“Now, if you will please step away from each other.” Namjoon requests, wiping his hands on his clothes. 

Jimin nods, keeping his eyes glued on the ground before he moves away from Jungkook in tiny strides. His feet are heavy as they scuff across the floor, his trample echoing against the empty walls. Jungkook copies his pace, and the gap between them widens slowly. With each step, their nerves thin as they fear to feel the familiar prickle of the curse against their wrists. Yet, only their quickened pulses thrum against their skin. Even with the sorceress’ magic believed to be gone, the two fighters close their eyes, bracing themselves in the event of a clash. From their head to their toes, their bodies are rigid, as though freezing on a mountaintop. Jimin walks until his shoulder hits the wall, and he eventually opens his eyes again. For the first time in a week, there is no one beside Jimin, fleeting loneliness flickering in his heart before relief overshadows it.

“Nothing happened.” Taehyung notes with a broad smile and large eyes, walking up to Jungkook, whose face softens with deliverance, and breaks into a smile. “You are free.”

Those three small words evoke a chaos of cheers within the group, loud chattering exploding into the cabin. Before Jimin has a moment to process everything, Seokjin has him in a tight hug, leaving numerous kisses on the top of his head while declaring raucously how happy he is. The fighter giggles against Seokjin’s chest, allowing his friend to shower him with adoration. From the corner of his eye, Jimin spots Jungkook in a similar position. Namjoon has him in a headlock as he ruffles the youngest’s hair affectionately. A bright smile spreads on Jungkook’s lip– a sight Jimin might not see again for a while, vowing to engrave it into his mind.

After all, the curse is broken. There is no promise that Jimin and Jungkook will continue with their unique relationship, forged by shared struggles and unspoken allurement, once they are back at their base. 

“Thank you, Hoseok.” Jungkook’s voice cuts through the merriment, freeing himself from Namjoon’s grip and striding towards the enchanter. “We are forever in your debt.”

“Do not be silly. I did what everyone would have done.” Hoseok chuckles, raising his hands to his shoulders, his blush deepening as he shifts uncomfortably under their praise. Still, Jungkook stands his ground.

“No, you did the selfless thing.” Jimin joins Jungkook’s side, attesting to his statement. Hoseok has gone far and beyond to release them swiftly from their curse, even joining them in their mission. They are , without a doubt, indebted to him. Not knowing how else to fully convey their appreciation, both men bow heartily to the enchanter with their backs straight and arms fully stretched by their hips.

“We are forever grateful for all your efforts.” Jimin adds with gratitude lining his words. 

“It was my honor, really. Just please lift your heads.” Hoseok mumbles, his voice tinged with embarrassment. Quite obviously, he would rather everyone move on from this conversation. The two men do as told, meeting the enchanter’s gaze, who glances away, clearly unused to such heartfelt praise. 

“On that note, please tell me you found something in this nightmare so we can leave.” The enchanter changes the topic, running his palms over his flaming cheeks. He turns to the other fighters, who all exchange defeated looks, their postures sagged. All except for Taehyung, who practically vibrates with excitement, the gleam in his eyes unmissable.

“I have found a journal of her affluent curses.” He reveals, his voice brimming with curiosity as he gestures to a thick, battered diary beside his bag. 

“Curses? As in plural?” Hoseok tilts his head in puzzlement, the discomfort from before already abandoned as he approaches Taehyung’s bag on the table and snatches the journal with eager hands.

“Very much so.” Taehyung affirms this with irrefutable certainty. 

“Is that odd?” Jimin asks, his brow creasing as he leans against a shelf with crossed arms.

“Well, yeah. Usually, casters only possess a certain amount of magic, which allows for two to three curses. Having a packed journal of them indicates a vast energy.” Hoseok flips through the pages, his eyes widening and breath hitching as he reads the intricate diagrams and cryptic notes. 

“Is it possible she was a first-generation witch?” Namjoon’s voice halts Hoseok’s journal study. The magic wielder pauses, momentarily frozen as he assesses the chances. With hesitance, he scans the cottage, taking all of the books, reports, and notes in. The mess is undeniable, but so is the excessive research she did during her lifetime. 

“I believe she was.” Eventually, he replies to the commander with both awe and unease while Namjoon’s gaze sweeps over the scattered papers. The enchanter closes the journal with a loud thud as he stares at the golden letters on the journalcase. “A witch that miscalculated how much magic the Spirits of Balance drained from her with every casted curse.” 

“So, she died because she had depleted all of her powers?” Jungkook questions, briefly glancing at Jimin as though expecting a reaction from the elder. However, Jimin remains silent and unmoving, attentively absorbing every detail. 

“Indirectly, yes. At the moment, she was probably taken aback by the loss of her treasured magic, giving Dean an opening to lay the final blow.” Hoseok surmises, handing the book to Yoongi, who has intriguingly been gaping at the diary. 

“What a miserable death.” The General says with disgust, his lip curling as he inspects the final pages of the journal. No hint of pity stains his words– he does not mourn the death of the corrupt.

“Especially for someone with this much potential.” Seokjin murmurs, his gaze lingering on the journal’s worn pages, imagining how much damage her powers could have done.

“For some, their potential might open doors, which will forever remain locked for others. However, at the end of the day, not every door leads to conquest. Some chosen paths, no matter how grand they appear, are simply short and prosaic.” Namjoon averses no one in particular, his gaze distant and unfocused, lost in his thoughts.

“But why choose this path? Living in isolation, far from civilization in some unknown land?” Seokjin counters with knitted eyebrows. 

“To her defense, it does look like she was preparing something opulent. Perhaps we are lucky she never reached her ultimate goal.” Taehyung responds, positioning himself next to Yoongi as he peers at the jotted pages, his eyes narrowing at the densely written notes.

“Oh, we are very lucky.” The general speaks, his tone laced with warning as he raises his gaze with a sharp, grim expression on his face. 

“What do you mean?” Jungkook pushes away from the wall, determination etched into his face as his steps quicken toward Yoongi.

“The magic she used on you and Jimin– she called it a hostage curse.” The General explains, his tone plaited with implication as he runs his tongue between his lips. All of a sudden, the air in the cabin feels arid. 

“She knew how to name her curses. I’ll give her that.” Seokjin mumbles as he scratches his nape, his tone betraying unease.  

“And if I am not wrong, she tested her hex on you two to ensure it worked as intended. Nevertheless, I think her plan backfired on her– the two wrong people ended up bonded.” Yoongi folds his arms, his index finger tapping against his upper arm. With an arched brow, he attempts to outline the sorceress’ plan. 

“Backfired– wrongly bonded, what?” Jimin steps next to Jungkook, his eyes steady and his jaw set with quiet intensity.

“You were supposed to be bonded to the witch, Jimin– not Jungkook.” Yoongi’s words are loud and clear with no room for speculation. With a blank stare, Jimin processes the statement, his throat tightening with every burning gulp. Relief at the witch’s death mingles uneasily with the horror of what could have been.

“Wait, how is that possible?” Jungkook asks for Jimin, moving closer to the elder. In front of the pair, the General’s expression is vacant, but a faint hesitation glints over his face.

“The witch crafted a spell to capture the King as a hostage to rule his Kingdom. She created this curse to bond you to the person you hate most within a radius of forty meters. When she tested it on you, she hoped it would link you to her. Instead–” 

“It was me.” Jungkook interrupts Yoongi, his tone quiet and soft, yet it pierces Jimin’s skin like a fine rapier. Wavering, Jimin glances at the younger, expecting a storm of anger on his expression, but finds something far worse. Jungkook’s nostrils are not flared, his eyes not squinted with resentment, and his fists not clenched. No, he merely looks hollow, as if all emotion has been stripped from him, leaving only one– the unequivocal hurt. Jungkook retreats to the back of the room until he is no longer next to Jimin, his steps barely making sound. The cottage has fallen into a hush so strained, it feels as though the walls themselves are holding their breaths.

“It was you.” Yoongi exhales the words, giving them a tight unreadable smile. No one dares to speak as they wait for Jimin or Jungkook to do so first. However, the two men stay quiet for presumably two different reasons. For one, the weight of the truth harshly presses down on Jimin’s shoulders, and his mind is all jumbled. He does not know how to explain his emotions, which have lost all sense of reason over the past seven days. He will need some time before he can offer a coherent response.

“Jungkook, listen.” Jimin starts, his voice trembling and doubtful as he slowly turns to the younger with fidgeting fingers. Jungkook decides not to lend an ear as he passes by Jimin with his gaze fixed on the exit and a bump of their shoulders. Before the elder can stop him, Jungkook is gone, out of the door, which slams shut behind him. The sound is unbearable for Jimin, twisting in his chest like a vice. Without thinking, he runs after Jungkook, his feet barely registering the softness of the meadow. Not even the cold evening breeze anchors him back to reality– all he sees is Jungkook, and all he feels is the pounding in his chest. 

“Stop running away from me!” Jimin shouts at Jungkook’s back as his hand clamps onto the other’s elbow, his grip fueled by inscrutable desperation. Still, the touch does not last long. Jungkook hastily pulls his arm away as though the brief contact burned through his clothes and onto his skin.

“Why should I? You are free, and so am I. We reached our objective, so there is nothing to talk about anymore.” Jungkook is worryingly calm as he finally faces the elder. Even now, Jimin cannot detect any detest in the other’s eyes. Instead, they shimmer with something heavier– a tacit betrayal thundering in the silence. 

“Let me explain.” Jimin lowers his voice to a soft whisper. His plea becomes their secret within the evening winds. 

“Explain what exactly, Jimin? That you hate me more than a murderous villain, who harmed our comrades and even left some for dead?” Jungkook’s voice is braided with bitterness, his eyes pointed as he forces out every syllable. His words strike Jimin’s chest, guilt pulsating alongside his heartbeat. The elder wants to scream into the void that he does not hate Jungkook– at least, not anymore, or so he thinks. A part of Jimin still hates Jungkook for all the hurtful remarks and spineless fights. Yet, another part– an overwhelming one at that– wants to reach out and kiss the pain from his face. 

“You know that is not what this is.” Jimin tenderly replies, wishing he could somehow communicate his thoughts better, but he cannot. His mind ricochets between emotions, never settling long enough to give him a coherent answer. 

“It is not? Please enlighten me then.” Jungkook chuckles in derision, pressing his hands together in a mock prayer as Jimin’s desperation boils into annoyance. A new wave of heat rises in his chest, tightening like a coil as he glares up at Jungkook. 

“Why are you acting as if you did not spend the last years making my life miserable? We never interact civilly. We always fight– throw insults and punches at each other. So, tell me, is it all my fault?” Jimin repeatedly jabs his finger into Jungkook’s chest, his words honed, as though trying to carve his memories into the youngest’s mind. But his face remains stoic and illegible with his composure unremitting as he firmly grabs Jimin’s hand. His grip is steady yet unyielding, sending a strange tingle through the elder’s skin, stealing Jimin’s breath momentarily.

“We could have spent an eternal lifetime quarreling, and I still would have been linked to the witch, Jimin.” Jungkook keeps his gaze on Jimin as the words slip past his lips, resonating in the elder’s ears with piercing clarity and engulfing him in a warm embrace. The elder is confused– by himself, by Jungkook’s words, and by the ghost of despair simmering in his tone. It feels too close, too raw, and too comforting.  

“I cannot control how I feel,” Jimin says as he presses his lips together, hating how foreign and sunken the words felt on his tongue. The silence between them is charged with unsaid truths and still as if the wind is listening in. 

“Neither can I.” Jungkook finally whispers, his fingers slowly slipping away from Jimin’s hand, leaving a faint trace of warmth on his skin. 

###########

The return to their base happened only moments after the argument with Jungkook walking back to the cottage, asking to depart as soon as possible to their quarters. No one opposed his request or interrogated him as to what happened outside. The party quietly grabbed all of their things and then reunited with Jimin in the cold field in forced silence. With Hoseok’s magic, the round trip only took a few seconds– he had teleported the whole group into his study, ordering them to catch some rest while he and Yoongi reported to General Yang. 

Now, Jimin comfortably lies on his bed alone for the first time in a week, and he hates it. The mattress is too long, cold, and far too empty without the weight of another body next to him. Though, the same cannot be said about his mind. A tornado of thoughts whirls in his head, each more damaging and disorienting than the last one. No fight with Jungkook has ever evoked such feelings in him– so penitent and bereaved. Anger and detachment curling into a sweltering ball would be much easier to handle, a familiar shield to protect himself. Instead, his chest feels heavy, and his heart is exposed. Jimin closes his eyes, reliving the last hours once more. That was no usual brutal brawl with bloody knuckles and bruised egos. Jungkook did not offer Jimin cold stares and sharp insults. The younger was not angered by the depths of Jimin’s hatred– he was hurt. The simple truth gnaws at Jimin’s conscience like a mouse tearing through a sack to reach the hidden vegetables. Jungkook’s trembling voice and downcast eyes do not make sense to him, no matter how Jimin tries to frame it. 

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Jimin sits up, pressing his palms against his tired, burning eyes. While his body begs him to lie down and sleep the night away, his heart cries for Jungkook. With every beat, his urge to see his comrade grows, impossible to ignore. Unlike the curse, which only hummed against his wrist, this longing tingles through every fiber of his being. However, the elder does not know what he would say. To explain to Jungkook, who he hated enough a week ago to be cursed to, that his feelings changed– evolved into something softer and more delicate– is laughable and undoubtedly unbelievable. 

Despite all those concerns, Jimin finds himself on his feet, marching towards the door with a wavering conviction. The elder does not need Jungkook to believe him, only needs him to hear him out. Afterward, the younger can react however he chooses. Jungkook can yell, punch, ridicule Jimin– or merely do nothing at all. It does not matter. Jimin wants to release this crushing weight off his shoulders.

With heavy yet determined steps, Jimin passes through the dark hallway. The night sky is cloudy tonight, and only a little bit of moonlight peaks through the windows. The elder is nearly walking in the dark right now, but it is as if he has traversed this route a million times– from his bedroom to Jungkook’s. Jimin knows every turn and corner to arrive at his comrade’s door. Even so, Jimin could count the number of times he’s made this journey on one hand. Shaking his head to brush aside those unnecessary thoughts, Jimin hears a second pair of footsteps rushing down the hallway, creeping up on him with each stride. Before he can react, a solid chest collides with him, knocking the breath out of his lungs as he stumbles back. Cursing under his breath, Jimin blinks, attempting to acclimate his eyes to the dark. It takes a second, but then the elder recognizes the familiar curve of his nose, the floral scent that clings on to him and his room, and the faint warmth of his presence in the cool hallway. Jungkook stands before him in his sleepwear and bedhead, a strange blend of thrill and tension untwist in his abdomen. 

“What… Jungkook? Why are you awake?” Jimin blurts out with a shaky tone. 

“Because I need to talk to you.” Jungkook is out of breath as he talks, clutching onto the elder’s upper arms as he exhales deeply. Unsure if the darkness is toying with his eyesight, Jimin inspects the tightness of Jungkook’s jaw and the expression on his face, mirroring his own desperation, as though he carries the same guilt. 

“No, I have to–” Jimin tries, but the sentence is cut short by Jungkook’s headshake. The young fighter releases Jimin from his grip, running both of his hands through his dark, tousled hair. As the air grows colder around them, Jimin studies Jungkook’s face and notes the flicker of urgency in his eyes. 

“Let me talk first.”  The younger comrade pleads, his voice soft but resolute. Jimin nods with widened eyes, his heart thundering inside his mouth as he braces himself for what is to come. 

“Back at the cottage, I was unfair to you. I did not have the right to lash out at you for your feelings that I created.” The young fighter begins with a resolved tone and his gaze is locked on Jimin’s. Still, Jungkook radiates a nervousness, throbbing against the elder’s skin like a fleeting pulse. 

“I just wanted to keep a distance between us– a distance wide enough to keep my resolutions intact. Because that is what I was taught to do. As a fighter, it is my privilege to die on the battlefield. I wanted to prove to myself that I can earn that privilege. So, if it meant to bury all of my feelings beneath the great depth of my home’s foundation, then so be it. I was ready to live a lonely life and it all felt so right until you .” Jungkook states, his voice cracking at the end. The corners of his lips twitch as he holds back the frown threatening to break free. In front of him, Jimin listens intently, giving each syllable his full attention while the blood rushes to his cheeks.

“Meeting you felt like the first raindrop of a storm– unassuming and welcoming, yet portending a deluge that would eventually drown everything in my world. When I joined our division’s first training session, you were called to the front to demonstrate variant attacks to the novices. Your movements, your strength, and your agility were mesmerizing to me. So, I watched you. Every day I would start my training a little later, just so I could catch a glimpse of you. A few days later, I ended them sooner to hear you laugh with your friends about mundane things. My lifelong dream shrank to a mere grain of sand in the endless ocean that was you, and I had not even talked to you. I panicked, Jimin because not even that distance was wide enough to keep you out of my life– the gap between us needed to be indestructible. So, I became meaner and meaner, so determined to push you away that I ended up playing my part far too well. You hate me, and I alone am to blame.” Jungkook says, swallowing harshly as the truth sits heavy on his tongue. 

Somewhere in between his speech, Jungkook grabbed Jimin’s face in his hands, holding him gently as if the slightest force would break him. Yet, the elder wishes Jungkook would tighten his grip, grounding him in a reality that feels too fragile to trust. Nothing makes sense, and still, somehow, everything does.

“Jungkook…” Jimin breathes out, his hands enveloping Jungkook’s wrist as his own emotions swirl too chaotically to form words. His lips burn to say more– to share the blame with his comrade. 

“No, I am sorry, Jimin. I thought I could live to be a speck of dust in your life, but this wretched curse has ruined me, body and soul, unraveling everything I thought I could endure. After our kiss, I constantly worried whether I could ever return to my ordinary routine, knowing how intoxicating it could be. I have experienced what life would be beside you, and it is daunting to forget.” Jungkook pauses, his shoulders trembling. Jimin’s clasp tightens unconsciously around the younger’s wrists, trying to calm his shivering body.

“My dreams are of you– sometimes soothing and loving, other times a nightmare cloaked in your beauty, haunting me even out of slumber. I know I do not have the right to ask this of you, but please tell me I am a fool– to give up on you. So, I can close this chapter of my life once and for all.” Jungkook finishes, his voice quivering as his eyes turn glossy under the dim moonlight. 

For a while, Jimin says nothing. If his mind was a mess before, then it has now fallen into a whirlwind, disseminating his thoughts in every possible direction. Tears sting his eyes as he loosens his fingers around Jungkook’s wrist. Still, his thumbs draw small circles on his lunates while he struggles to assemble the right answer. The elder wants to kiss the reddened skin under Jungkook’s eyes, wrap his arms around his neck, and hug him until their heartbeats become one. But then, the thought of acting on those desires feels unfair to a man, whose feelings have simmered for so long. Their emotions are unbalanced at the moment. While Jungkook has carried a complicated care for the other since the very beginning, Jimin’s affection only began to blossom sometime within this week. He cannot tell Jungkook that he feels the same, as it would be a lie. However, he knows there’s space in his heart for Jungkook—a place where his affection could grow into something real. If Jungkook could be patient, then maybe Jimin could be part of his next chapter. A warmth blooms in the elder’s chest, spreading to his nape and cheeks. 

“I am not sure how to convey this adequately, but I want to be selfish.” Jimin mutters, gently pushing Jungkook’s hands off his face as he decreases the distance between them. The younger holds his breath, staring down at Jimin with big eyes, as though afraid to impose. 

“I want to take the risk of hurting you if it means you will trust that I can learn to love you in the future because I do not want you to give up on me.” Jimin’s fingers grab onto Jungkook’s collar, pulling him slowly down. The young soldier’s eyebrows lift in surprise, registering what has been said as his eyes flicker to Jimin’s lips.

“We have had a rocky start with misunderstandings and useless rivalry– to the point I feared that I would go insane with you attached to my hip. And I indeed hated you. You belittled me, insulted me, and– God, you were so infuriatingly childish at times. But I would be lying if I said I did not miss you the second you were no longer beside me. In a week, you changed my norm, embedding your presence into every corner of my being. Holding you close feels natural to me as if I have never done anything else in my life.” Jimin mumbles, his steady breaths brushing against Jungkook’s parted lips. His large hands settle on Jimin’s waist as the moon finally unveils, the clouds passing by her with the wind. Jungkook’s fingers curl slightly, as if grounding himself to the moment, scared it might slip away.

“Now, a persisting part of me is already all yours.” Jimin says with a sheepish grin, watching Jungkook’s gaze soften as a small, tender smile spreads on his lips. 

“So if you can wait for me to get to know you , I will be yours. All of me.” His own words ring beautifully in Jimin’s ears, already anticipating his future with the man in his hands. Before him, Jungkook releases a shaky breath, placing his forehead against Jimin’s as the strands of his hair tickle the older fighter’s brows. 

“I can wait– an eternity if I have to.” Jungkook whispers as he closes his eyes, wrapping his arms around Jimin’s  waist and pulling him closer until their lips are only millimeters apart. 

"Thank you.” Jimin speaks in an undertone, glancing at Jungkook’s mouth as a flash of longing sparks in his chest. His body temperature rises, his senses overwhelmed by Jungkook’s touch and the faint trace of his scent. The elder closes his eyes as the distant hum of the forest blends with the stillness of the hall. With trembling fingers, Jimin gently brings Jungkook’s head down, his breath warm against Jimin’s flushed cheeks. He plants a soft peck on Jungkook’s lips, the light touch sending tremors through his legs.

“For trusting me.” Jimin quietly adds, reconnecting their lips in a kiss as their bodies press closer. The world around them fades into the shadows of the hallway. Every argument—every affront—is forgotten as their lips brush in tender, rhythmic strokes. Jungkook’s hand slips beneath Jimin’s shirt, his fingertips grazing the sensitive curve of his back. The elder arches into the touch, basking in the soft warmth of Jungkook’s caress. The other hand clasps Jimin’s cheek as Jungkook tilts his head, his thumb parting Jimin’s lips before his tongue deepens the kiss in a shared rhythm of breath and longing.

For a moment, the passage of time inside the ancient castle seems to slow, granting them a pocket of space to share uninterrupted. Their kiss morphs into short, sweet pecks that travel across their faces, punctuated by hearty giggles. After a while, they break apart, catching their breaths and gazing into each other’s eyes as though seeing the other for the first time. They linger in their embrace, reluctant to let go.

“Kind of ironic that a curse brought us together.” Jungkook chuckles softly, pressing one last kiss to Jimin’s forehead as he pulls him into a hug.

“Maybe it was Cupid’s arrow, after all.” Jimin replies with a playful smile, his voice carrying a quiet warmth. Their heartbeats merge into a single, steady rhythm as they hold each other close.

The path to happiness won’t be easy—Jungkook’s mischievousness and Jimin’s stubbornness promise that—but neither of them has ever been one to choose the easy way.