Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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The woman seated across from him, a governess by title, his mother upon birth, had just served him a wildflower tea. A sedative for omegas specifically. An unspoken inclination prompted a scoff on Jimin’s part.

“I know red is your signature but—” It must’ve insulted her because of what tone she used with; “It’s the year of the jade, should you pick your apparel for the festival, I suggest green. The one with the floral embroidery.”

Jimin’s eyes landed on the tea that his mother had given him. It was green in color too but it had tiny red petals sunken at the bottom.

The township outside the imperial settlement had a seer who would foretell the likens’ to wolven mates before they even met and with Jimin’s mother dabbling in arranged marriage talk, Jimin secretly had his fortune read to ease his nerves. Since then, everything with regards to the colors of emeralds and roses felt foreshadowed to what he could expect of a mate.

“Amidst the year of green;

to meet your mate.”

Jimin gently pushed the tea cup away from him but allowed his fingertips to linger on the porcelain, while still thinking about what the seer had said.

“He’ll have unmatched eyes,

as red as blood to snow,

and as bright as the moon to night.”

Wolves didn’t have red eyes, vampires did—and if it weren’t for the seers’ reviews, Jimin would have thought the prediction was a mess of riddles. Not only that, once the premonition was planted in his head, his imagination ran with it.

“So long as you are brave,

the cards will be in your favor.”

It kept him awake at night.

Why would I need to be brave?

The idea of mating a vampire—let alone meeting one. There was no reason to, it was impossible, unless Jimin partook in his family’s business which was unlikely. Jimin came from a lineage of alphas who sported themselves as vampire hunters—and he was an omega.

It did amuse himself though.

That fantasy.

He always dreamt of leaving the palace, should he ever come across what was beyond Priea, a vampire surely would scare him.

Is that what she meant by being brave?

Jimin toyed with the tea plate till he addressed how; “Every year, you introduce me to suitors but this year, you haven’t—did you give up?”

“Course’ I haven’t.”

Jimin sighed, bored of the talk on civility affairs and tea. Until his imagination of going on voyages throughout the mainlands of magic and vampires or crossing seas with ships as large as dragons became less interesting, nothing his mother could talk about would hold merit.

He wanted to be alone with himself.

It was when he looked out the window that he missed the lively air within the township. Aureum’s herbal markets, the incense made of enerian sleeper’s coal, echinacea blooms’ honey-like scent, or even the wild summer daisies. It made him wonder what this mainland—the Imperial Palace of Priea—had to offer other than restrained alphas and the small collective of subdued omegas.

His mother treated his absent minded behavior with a scornful eye before saying, “It would be better to face what concerns are brought to your residence for marriage, I want you to participate.”

Jimin’s hand on the tea plate paused.

No.

His mother continued with, “I’ll make sure to give you a briefing of who’s bidding—that way you’ve a choice but you’ll have to play the part. The villagers can’t know the court handpicks the lottery winners and bidders.” His mother paused. “It will be wise to accept this change as soon as possible.”

“Is that what this is?” Jimin finally asked with grace, unimpressed by the threat. “To scare me into submission?”

“You are unmarried and at the least unwarranted to be wed, your only ‘submission’ is reserved to the respects of me—because if it were not up to me, you would’ve been sold off against your will a long time ago—”

“—then what changed?”

“There are rebellions, uprisings and insurgencies toppling every chance they can get just for one omega—and the palace is facing too many uncertainties to disregard now and especially for the sake of your feelings. You’ve laid your twenties to rot and you still insist on love. Love is a fleeting high, an illusion for grasps that slip between our aging fingers—it is futile. And just who will love you?”

Jimin traded the knot in his chest for a deep breath; “Have you ever?”

His mother savored his sentiment with a bitter aftertaste.

Eventually, she leaned back into her chair and settled into the silence that followed after its wooded creek. She looked out the window and appeared to watch the seaside just as Jimin had, half-mindedly astray.

“The hosting will have its vampires surrendered for the commodities and you will attend that sacrifice. There will be hybrids, wildlife, riches and plunder, some royal assets. You may even enjoy it, you’ll finally get to see antiquities, heirlooms, relics. Everything ‘I once forbid you of exposure will be there. Two omegas will be auctioned at the time of festivals’ royal venue and you’ll be the third.” Jimin’s mother paused. “It’ll be an endeavor that will show you that your pup–like daydreams are nothing but a fairytale—so I suggest you find the best in it and tend to your duties for they’ve been abandoned long enough.”

· ·  · ᯽ ·  · ·

The days after this; elapsed.

Leading up to the hour before Jimin’s performance—thee’ day; and of events, felt conducive to madness.

To say he did not spiral because of what was to come was an understatement. And to imagine that he could possibly just set rooms on fire out of protest and still be forgiven meant that omegas truly were going extinct.

Jimin’s mother had an assemblage of written profiles based on alphas who were to take their bidding, some of which—and to Jimin’s dismay—had already discussed the matter with his mother.

Jimin could go on for hours about how he didn’t like any one of them, most to whom’ he knew little about and could care less for. It was the reality of it all that upset him. The sheer will to deny his existence as a performer for the Imperial Palace of Priea felt like a rope borne around his ankle. The only difference was that as he got older, it traveled higher and higher to his neck but Jimin wasn’t about to take his life.

He was going to run away from it.

At first, the thought of simply leaving without a word felt desperate—but reason found its way within him and he couldn’t deny that he was in fact; desperate.

Surely, there were places he could go but in no way—shape or form—did he own alphan apparel, let alone hiking attire. His best bet was to stash silver and gold for it. To buy stuff in a towns’ market was risky but he could always bribe a merchant to be quiet. Then there was the hassle of protecting his safety.

Jimin could compile wildflower sedatives for his heat and scent but there was no denying that he would face the issue of being a lone omega. If he had no pack or den to call home, he would be a walking target to hell knows’ what.

As for weaponry, that was when Jimin started to feel discouraged.

The closest to a yielding blade he managed to behold was an ornamental fan with daggers—and that was solely for decorative purposes.

Still, he wasn’t about to give up before trying.

And besides, he already had a plan. Tonight was the night.

Chapter Text

Jimin knew he must’ve looked picturesque, standing idle and unknowing—when in truth, he was looking beyond the festivities where the lanterns and torchlight cut off into darkness.

That was his ticket to freedom.

It took about an hours’ worth of carriage travel to get to the town hall, even more–so to reach the capital of Priea. His mother harped on about the alpha she had picked for him and threatened that if he didn’t wear the mans’ courting offer during the performance, she would threaten to make him acknowledge his omegan blood by discarding his tea sachets of suppressors. Till then, she kept hold of them, and that’s why he didn’t make a run for it.

In a way, he understood how the peril befallen unto omegas would make his life a rare commodity to pack–driven men and women but it was his life. The conditions of the mainland were not a consequence he should bear to fault and to hell with who said otherwise. All he needed was a chance to run away but he needed his suppressants.

When Jimin was but a pup and his first heat hit, he was recruited within the capital and taught to be a dancer rather than a knights’ guard. Even then, he was always hidden away from witnessing any ceremonial events involving the palaces’ traditions.

If–and–when he leaves, he needs to prioritize stealing the pouch of tea sachets. And to think nothing of supplies, food and shelter; to be in the woods and to fall into a heat because his routine being thrown into dysregulation would be not only recklessly dangerous but miserable.

Nonetheless, tonight would be the night he escapes.

The crowds bustled and stirred with the sounds of fretted lutes and psaltery. When a sharp blade colliding with metal hit a thud and the roar of cheers ensued, Jimin took that as his cue to return to the ballroom.

“You’re not wearing it.” She gritted the ‘t’ through her teeth.

The damn courting offer; it was a vampire tooth tied to a necklace.

Jimin looked down, assessing his jewelry and jade green dress. The show robe swayed while he did it—as if he forgot he had been wearing it. By the time she asked what he was doing, he said; “It doesn’t match.”

She caught herself from attracting attention to her urge to hit him.

Everyone was speaking in soundless mumbles now. Jimin tried to figure out what everyone was watching and once he realized it was an execution, he looked at his mother with eyes carrying horror.

“How else did you think the vampires were surrendered?” She asked in such a tone that made Jimin feel like a sick fool.

—and sick was an understatement.

“Sir Jaehwa,” she snapped her fingers and a knight approached her side. “Go to Jimin’s guestroom and—”

“—I’ll get it.” Jimin’s words were automatic; heartless but knowing what she was about to request. The damn vampiran necklace.

“Nonsense,” she hushed him. “Jaehwa can retrieve it.”

That swipe of metal was from the royal guillotine and wood–like thud was a severed head. The rest of the crowd was either making bids on it or awaiting for the next victim to be rolled in on a caged carrier.

Jimin’s didn’t have the stomach for this.

“Your mate–to–be is the one who seized the unorthodox rebellion from a reclamation mission. They were attempting to infiltrate the palace’s walls to rescue some of their peers and who knows what evil they could’ve caused the villagers.” She went on to say, quietly; “The tooth on your necklace is from their prized hellhound, a notorious creature to the militia—it took twelve knights to capture it. I believe he’s going to gift you his head but only if you accept and all the stars’ aligned you better.”

“I can’t watch this.”

“It’s time for you to stop acting like a pup, this is how things are—” she grabbed him when he turned away.

“—as’ it should not be.” Jimin jerked his arm back, caring less of anyone who saw.

It was when he left the grand doors leading to the ballroom that he came to terms with what needed to be done. Everyone looked at him, in awe, envy—lust—jealousy; didn’t matter.

Jimin started walking, where? No clue.

His nerves kicked and the sound of his own steps picking up the pace started to match his heartbeat. Taking one turn to the left, where a stairway possibly reaching the rooftop was a dud. There were too many guests huddled—and when they looked in his direction, he turned his heel.

Shit.

One painting after another, depicting of forests’ he wished to experience. It was so close, so far.

Most of the rooms were guest bedrooms, all guarded by watchmen in the courtyards’ garden so hopping a window was out of the question. He needed somewhere discreet, brief—somewhere they would not expect him to go.

If he rounded back to the ballroom but took the route leading to the showroom, he would be able to get past the theatres’ backstage. Then he heard Jaehwa’s voice; “Oh, Jimin we—!”

Jimin spun, making a run for it till his shoes slipped across the marble and he hit the ground hard. Sir Jaehwa and two more knights took off in a jog towards him. Jimin scrambled to rip off his dance shoes, socks—even tearing the foot of his stockings. When he managed to get up, he dashed for it. 

He sprung in between groups, cut around couples, took twists and turns till he was in the staffing wing. Somewhere along the way, he knocked over a spouted jar and shattered the clay into shards. The maids heard and in his rush to leave, he even stepped on a broken piece.

Jimin clasped his hand over his mouth.

He had no choice but to be discovered by the servants or hide in a crate. In its enclosure, he ripped a strip of his robe to use as gauze for his foot but stopped when two beta women acknowledged the destroyed jar and mess of fermented ingredients. When they dispersed to find someone who could manage the issue, he braced for pain.

On a count to three, he pulled the largest broken piece out.

Adrenaline became his confidant. There were smaller pieces shattered from within the flesh of his foot but he didn’t have time to play doctor. Jimin wrapped his limb with shaken but firm hands and took his leave in a limp.

The kitchens were too crowded and the sewing crew was busy. After he found the main halls, he was obliged to wait around corners for goers’ to pass and the sooner he reached the dancers’ showroom, the more commotion began to erupt. The speed in which people walked quickened, guards were no longer sauntering and word started to spread that an omega was missing. To make it worse, alphas give off a certain pheromone when they look for omegas—a hunting instinct that makes Jimin queasy.

By the time he found the backstages’ vanity room, he puked.

Shit, shit, shit; he started to cry—but it was only for a moment.

Jimin knew if he broke down now, it would be all over. He needed to collect himself, to think. Once he turned to the vanity mirror, alighting certain candles to better see his face, he gasped.

There was a cage in the room, much like the one from earliers’ execution but this one had a blanket on it. The door to the ballroom was open so Jimin set aside his curiosity to lock it. When he looked back, he froze.

Someone was inside it.

He felt cold, the kind that fear instills in the shape of needles. Had he not ran so much, the smell of his own lungs giving out would’ve alerted him of a vampire. And for some reason unknown to him, the matter of it being in a cage didn’t phase him, it was the mix-matched pair of eyes looking back at him. One was red and one was bright white—but not in a blinded manner, but as a crystal grey iris with dark scleras.

“ Amidst the year of jade;

to meet your mate. ”

Jimin took one step closer, limping with a muffled hiss–of–a–wince.

“ He’ll have unmatched eyes,

as red as blood to snow,

and as bright as the moon to night. ”

The vampire’s red and white eyes snapped downwards, then back up.

“ So long as you are brave,

the cards will be in your favor. ”

“It’s you, isn’t it.” Jimin gulped. “If you help me escape, I’ll let you go but I need your word; that you won’t kill me as soon as I do.”

In no shape or form did his voice come off stern, he was in pain and by all accounts; scared.

Jimin heard a subtle rustling of chains come from within the shadows of the cage. In a slow lean, the vampire moved forward and from what warm light illuminated the room was what allowed Jimin to see him.

There was no reply, simply a pause—like an estimated linger in thought.

The vampire was in a golden muzzle but his eyes were what had Jimin at a loss for words. The grey eye had dark scleras and a scar running vertically over it, while the red one was as vibrant as a glowing ruby. Both were encapsulated by sets of white lashes and a ruffled fringe of snowy cut–short hair.

The palace must’ve done it forcefully, chopping what was of the man’s hair and filing down his claws. Jimin could tell, he heard stories but to see it in person was brutal.

Even so, he needed an answer unless; “I can use my hairpin to unlock the cage, did—”

“—oh?”

For fucks’ sake.

It was Commissioner Alpha Hans Jiho, whom he might remember as the alpha picked by his mother and psycho responsible for all this. The fuckers’ voice was as loud as it was intrusive and completely unreliable to matching the atmosphere. And now was not the time, Jimin was not even in a convincing state to lie but he was going to try.

“Oh, Commissioner Hans.” Jimin turned around to force a smile. “It’s you.”

“By all the gods’ word, you look like you’ve see a vampire.” His own joke amused him more than Jimin cared to acknowledge. “Looks’ like you found this one too.”

“I did.”

“Your mother’s guard was looking for you, and said you forgot this.” Commissioner Hans held up the necklace, holding it with some semblance of unnerving care before reaching over to put it on Jimin. “Some lowly omega took the fun out of tonight by running off, I suppose you didn’t know anything about that?”

The vampire tooth felt unsightly and now cruel in the presence of their caged captive. In a way, Jimin could just take it off but he couldn’t take an alpha in a fight even if he tried. The bastard already saw Jimin as his awaiting property so he didn’t even bother to ask if it were okay to put on the damn thing.

“Jimin?”

Jimin snapped out of it.

Commissioner Hans scoffed, “I wanted to buy it. This one here, I know he’s a rarity but they’re only nice to look at when dead, right—”

“—I heard about the vampire,” Jimin interrupted. “I just took it as my chance to see him myself.”

“I never took you for the collective type—but I guess, we’ll have all the time in the world.”

Jimin faked another smile till it dropped. Commissioner Hans made way back around the cage to where he stood prior—and there were bloodied footprints. That prickly feeling hit Jimin full force when the alpha noticed.

“Huh,” was what he said. “Tell me, Jimin.”

Jimin took out his hair pin.

“I was told the omega that ran off could’ve been injured in the kitchen. For reassurance, could you lift your robe.” Commissioner Hans left the vampire’s cage to make for Jimin but when he demanded; “I said, lift—”

Jimin swung, his hand squeezing the pointed hair pin with an urgency to kill. So when Commissioner Hans caught him and saw to his intentions, he twisted Jimin’s arm and kneed him in the stomach. Instantly, Jimin was winded.

Commissioner Hans was in a disbelief and to see Jimin crawling for the pin pissed him off all that more. He swung a kick that landed Jimin’s side. And when Jimin’s grunted cry was met with the sound of the chains moving, Jimin took the opportunity to stab the Commissioners foot. The man yelled, unmoving for he was pinned to a carpet that now soaked up his blood.

Jimin crept up onto the vanity desk and grabbed a glass cup holding the makeup brushes. Commissioner Hans pulled his hair and flung him away from the desk in time for the brushes to fall but Jimin wielded the cup in way of the alphas head. It shattered, slicing Jimin’s palm open but he didn’t care. He grabbed a larger fragment and prepared himself to keep up the fight but then he saw what he had done.

The longest piece of the cup was wedged in the mans’ eye, he was dying.

Just like that.

Jimin swallowed his anxiety and felt tears issue his vision. Commissioner Hans was actually dying, right then and there and he was still alive. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, Jimin wasn’t supposed to hurt anybody, he was supposed to run away—that’s it.

The abandoned eyeshadow brushes were scattered, palettes were cracked and the beige carpet sparkled because of the pieces of glass reflected off the lanterns. Commissioner Hans’ blood turned the soft browns of the floor nearly black with red and the smell of iron began to loom. The coughing came to a halt and his final breaths were barren.

Jimin was horrified to see Commissioner Hans’ eyes emptied in his direction.

Finally, Jimin cried—he didn’t know what else to do. When they find Commissioner Hans like this, Jimin would be set to a hearing, he’ll be imprisoned as an omegan surrogate and—he hears steps.

People were coming.

Jimin dashed to door to lock it, shaking in his wake, he wiped his face but wept some more. Jimin’s own blood was beginning to get all over the place, so he tore another strip of jade cloth and messily wrapped his hand. To all hells’ know how Jimin dreaded the sight of the alpha but this was vicious and to die so slowly.

Whoever followed the sound of Commissioner Hans’ screams found the door and knocked. As the banging got louder, Jimin covered his ears—wanting to finally put an end to this nightmare. Howbeit the plan was for him to leave, Jimin’s original proposition presented itself in the form of a vampire.

Without second thought, Jimin managed to retrieve his hair pin and crawled on all fours to the door of the vampire’s cage.

In a hoarse warmth of a voice, the vampire said; “You’ve my word.”

Jimin stilled for a moment. He was a mess of hand prints and smudges of both the alpha and his blood. His cheeks were flushed and stained with tearful streaks, stuffy at the nose and quivered by the chin. Certain layers of his dress and robe were weathered and torn, his wounds were mended with such a haste—which were bound to bleed through or fester. And yet, he still managed to turn the pin till it clicked and the heavy lock fell.

In a soft whisper of a voice, the omega said; “You’ve mine.”

Chapter Text

The vampire slowly stretched as did he fixed his posture, ultimately to stand straight and evaluate the damage. Jimin could see he was almost in as bad of a state as he was too; but the creature had more of a fiery in his eyes—so when they snapped onto him, Jimin braced for the worst.

No harm came to him.

The vampire felt for the muzzle and how there were two keyholes. The cage-like bars were enclosed up-an-across his head while a metal collar was around his neck. Then he crouched. The keys on Commissioner Hans’ belt were put to use in unchaining the shackle on his ankle but not for the muzzle.

“They ke-keep the keys in the central’s quarter.” Jimin offered for a purpose that eluded him, he just knew that as the adrenaline wore off, fear started to set in.

“There’s no time, let’s go—can you run?”

Jimin thought about it, “Possibly—” was the best he could do.

The vampire led most of the way, fixing his attention on both keeping clear of knights and maintaining a close distance with Jimin. He smelled like burning vetiver and cassia flowers—assuming the stench of blood was from his ordeal leading up to here—it was bizarre.

Jimin heard vampires smelled more like perfumes than aromatic woodland smells found between wolves. It was but loose gossip akin to fables that bounce off of the palace walls, a tell-tale for pups to keep an eye out in the night in case they misbehave.

Jimin put all his weight in one step that shot the shredded chip of pottery further into his foot. To catch his balance, he grabbed onto a mantel—but knocked over a damned candle taper. In an adjoining swoop, the vampire turned around, pulled Jimin into the nearest room and hushed him from voicing so much as a breath.

Fuck.

They were about the same height.

Jimin hoped he could show through his eyes that he was sorry but his expression was guileless. Then he let go of his hold on Jimin’s shoulders to stand watch by the door. Jimin limped back.

The dull thuds that were part of the collective footsteps nearing their room softened. Once the threat was gone, the vampire hastened for the rooms’ window. And at some point, when he tried to undo the latches, he hissed.

It was his nails.

The palace’s mercenaries left his claws clipped with unmanaged open wounds. Jimin tasked himself with lifting the window but his courage evaded him when he saw how far the drop was.

They were just above the cloister, in view of the garden.

“One of the flanking towers is weathered from the outside.” Jimin pointed to a distant silhouette of a spire. “One of the windows for the archers collapsed. We can fi–fit through but we’ll have to cross through the bayou.”

The vampire looked away, it was a sensible proposal, but Jimin was hurt. In no way could he run at the pace appearing to be the capital’s guards and servantry.

“We have to take the roof—”

—of the cloister, like spies; like vampires.

Jimin watched the vampire climb out first, even dropping without a seconds’ count. It was when he landed ‘that Jimin looked outward, he made no sound—but looked up back at him. The man violently whispered for Jimin to; “ Come on! I got you.”

“This is madness, I’m going to break my leg.” Jimin took a deep breath but followed orders nonetheless and held himself up on the window sill. Then the watchtowers’ horns were blown. Jimin let go; catching himself as well as taking what help his co-escapee had to offer.

Jimin barely landed on his feet, cursing through gritted teeth; “To hell with clay, son of a bitch! That damn pot, I swear that fucking —”

Jimin stopped when he saw how he was being looked at, till the vampire huffed.

Jimin noticed something had reflected from within his mouth. It could’ve been a fang but it didn’t matter.

“Am I funny?” Jimin dared. He was annoyed enough to let go but too scared to keep off of him. The vampire was standing with such leisure. The steep slant in the roof did nothing to him. Whereas Jimin, he had to hold onto the man’s arms so as not to slide, slip or just straight up fall off the cloister’s roof. It must’ve been amusing, had to be. A wolf acting as a bat.

To evaluate the courtyard, they stood within the standing chamber next to one of the bell towers. Down below, knights of the royal guard were holding order at all the doors. Archers upkept their bows and strung their arrows out for their next directive. The guests and servants were also seen making hurdles bisecting the cloister’s corridors.

“C’mon.” The vampire looked away with a swift change of hold, taking Jimin’s good hand into his own.

When Jimin was pulled into a jog, he was fast enough to keep pace but slow enough to feel the vampire’s grip holding his weight when he limped. Jimin saw the tower but the blood soaked through the torn silk on his foot and made the roofs’ asphalt slippery—and while it got more and more difficult to run, the louder the bells rang. 

There was a spotted trail of red now; but after the vampire said, “Don’t look back.” Jimin took a deep breath and buried his need to cry for later. “I’m going to go in first, then I’ll pull you up.”

Jimin nodded, it was all he could do besides hold himself together.

The vampire jumped to catch a hold on the windows’ ledge. Once he hauled himself up and inside the spire, there was a pause but he quickly returned. The summer winds caught the vampire’s scent and every couple of seconds, in Jimin’s panicked breathlessness, the smell of incense-like vetiver and cassia flowers hit him. If it weren’t the blood, he would’ve been too in awe to take both his hands.

Jimin endured the pain that came with being heaved by the hand that took most of the broken glass but landing on his bare feet—specifically that foot—made him nearly collapse. Inside the flanking tower was but a giant cylinder of cold stone and echoing walls—so his wolven shriek took the vampire aback. But before Jimin could be asked about it, and he knew the vampire wanted to know what was wrong, he could hear a guard making a run up the stairway.

“Go.” Jimin finally offered. “I’ll only get you caught. There’s embrasures all around, just—”

The vampire turned around, hissing in the face of Jimin’s words and left him to address the guard. As soon as the imperial servant saw them, the vampire lunged without fear for the guards’ blade and forced his arm against his armor, snapping the alpha’s elbow inwards, and urging him to let go of his sword. It was after the steel fell–that’ the vampire grabbed the blade by the hilt and sprung upwards.

The sword skewered the alpha’s head from beneath his jaw out–through’ the top of his head. The vampire pulled it out and awaited for the guards’ body to fall limp before he was to speak. “You’re wearing no shoes. Take his boots—”

“—what.” Jimin looked at the corpse for only a second before saying; “You wear a dead mans’ shoes.”

“You’re hurt—”

“—so be it, I’m not stealing his shoes!”

“He’s dead—”

Silence assumed the walls with a rise in boot–like footsteps. There were more.

“We won’t make it down the stairs, here—” the vampire abandoned their bickering and the sword. He took both Jimin’s arms to drape them around his shoulders, in a hug; and before Jimin figured out what he was doing, he was hoisted up and out one of the arch windows.

Jimin’s swearing was something akin to “son of a bitch” and “I’m gonna die,” both muffled in the crook of the vampire’s neck. He was hanging them off the flanking tower like a pair of bats. It took one look out–and–below for Jimin to feel lightheaded.

Then the vampire let go. He caught their weight by grabbing the window below them, he let go—then did it again, and again; till they were on the grass.

Jimin was shaking but he made it on the ground, they made it outside the walls.

“There!” One knight yelled, far up from the top of the tower—pointing down.

The vampire mumbled, to himself but aloud; “The west of here leads to a cliff, dunno’ what’s east and south’ll just take us away from the homebound—”

“—uhm. ” Jimin could hear the battlements unyielding the wolf cages and carriages whipping in unison to the sound of horses trolloping.

“We’ll have to cut through the crowd.” The vampire faced him with an apprehensive look but he was already sure of what they had to do, Jimin simply had to trust him.

· ·  · ᯽ ·  · ·

The smells of algae, ferns and cloves followed most of the riverside. A parade of paper costumes and lanterns the size of carriages danced about the towns’ main roads. Jimin couldn’t help but remember how he watched this go on from one of the balconies. He tried not to make eye contact with anyone who looked at him but it was hard.

The place was bombarded with alphas and merchants. Any wrong move or glance and someone could stop them, maybe even alert attention to them and Jimin knew it wouldn’t take long before the palace sent a search party on his scent.

Then Jimin was pulled right.

The vampire guided him quickly, insisting he go into what appeared to be a sewing house. An empty one. And after the door was shut, locked and secured, Jimin allowed himself to breathe.

The adrenaline built up in their coup to escape came down from its own high and the sheer shock of what’s been done crashed into him in the form of tears. Everything was lost, a concept he never thought he would mourn. He really did it; this was happening.

In a lower voice, the vampire said, “We don’t have long.” Nevertheless, reserving his thoughts for when he saw Jimin fighting back tears.

Pitifully, Jimin agreed in a pitched; “Okay.” 

The mix-matched pair of eyes looking back at him weren’t as alert as they were before, neither curled brow or with a frown evident. It was like Jimin had become a spectacle—and in his defense—he knew he looked like he was worth some empathy but never was he one for basking in self-pity.

Jimin wiped his face and looked around, sniffling but determined. There were folded yards of linen, cotton and wool. The silks were pinned to mannequins and the sewing machines were further passed the aisles.

“You want me to change?” Jimin asked, “Is that it?”

“Yes, but the dogs will follow the blood—” the vampire added, “—you should’ve worn the boots.”

Dogs.

Does he mean the wolves?

Jimin had to clear his throat before explaining how; “I tripped over a pot, stepped on the pieces. I think most of its’ still in my foot—a dead mans’ shoes won’t help.”

“And you thought I will?”

Jimin flinched. At no point in within this ordeal had he imagined a cold remark from the man—and he wasn’t even sure why, but it offended him. Then it hurt him. In time, all Jimin could say was; “You did.”

And it was the vampire’s turn to flinch.

Jimin didn’t want to feel stupid for assuming he made a friend in all this but reality’s way of dimming the light in hopeful hearts started to get its way with him.

“I can’t help you with wherever you’re hurt.” The vampire said. “They kept me there for who knows’ how long, it’s probably for the best that I have this shit on but still—”

Jimin’s eyes followed him to one of the sample tables. Then he watched the man curl his fingers into the muzzle, groaning and growling in what turned out to be failed efforts to rip it off. And by not being able to help him with his injuries, was it because; “Is it blood you need?”

Jimin felt himself shrink the second the vampire’s eyes locked onto him. Only the red eye glowed, the grey one barely reflected light but when it did, it was unsettling.

Jimin kept breathing so as not to feel faint and if not for having committed murder, he would’ve been terrified, but he wasn’t. And instead of keeping his words to himself, he spoke; “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“You don’t know me.” The vampire yanked a hooded cloak off the mannequins’ stand and draped it over his arm to begin undressing. “Unless I’m mistaken. You said ‘It’s you, isn’t it,’ when you saw my face, do I know you.”

Jimin couldn’t just say ‘yes, a fortune teller described a man with your eyes to be my future mate,’ so he turned around—partially for embarrassment, secondly for the fact that the vampire had undone his robe.

“Just go change your clothes.”

Jimin bowed his head to the demand and limped off into the foyer. It was like the cold tone struck him and without a clue on what he was doing or where to go, he stopped at the stairway. His necklace swung, reminding him that he was still sporting the vampire’s severed tooth as an accessory. And how shamelessly gallant he must have been—and to be just as clueless—to say he wanted no harm to come to the man when he wore what he had.

He’s pissed hes’ stuck with me.

Fuck.

Jimin turned around, determined to leave no ill will in the air between them but paused when he returned to the dressing room. The vampire was shirtless and examining his—much recent—arrow wounds. There was one next to his heart and one in his abdomen. There were scars on his back, as would a soldier or knight and—the vampire sighed.

Jimin froze.

If the vampire could’ve ran his hands along his face, he would—but no, the damn muzzle had to have bladed interior plates. Even if he managed to cut through the collar, the muzzle itself dug into his skin whenever he pulled it. If need be he were to rip it off, he would destroy his face—if not bleed out. As a consequence, without the key or metal clippers, the vampire was stuck. So to see Jimin still standing there, again , took him aback. “I told you to go change your clothes.”

“I believe this is yours.” Jimin looked down, in his hands, carrying the necklace and his courage to walk up to the man. “I don’t want to know you by their rumors.”

Jimin didn’t want to cry but seeing how the arrow wounds were cauterized, how his claws were chopped off at the quick , or how his teeth were used and gifted to him as an offering. It hurt him in a way. And by all means, Jimin wanted nothing to do with those practices but; “And it’s not my place to throw it away.”

The silence between them tested Jimin’s ability to fend against his nerves.

Eventually, when the vampire finally moved, it was to close Jimin’s palm and say; “You can sell it, use the gold to go wherever you want.”

Jimin opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself from saying “I want to go with you,” and instead said, “I have nowhere.”

A crease deepened between the vampire’s eyebrows when he asked, “You left without a plan?”

Something about the look he received made Jimin feel ashamed, yet he reasoned with; “My plans’ to go with wherever kindness follows.”

The vampire huffed, again, obviously in a state of disbelief but he didn’t laugh. “And you saw that in me?”

“I could’ve left you and you could’ve killed me.” Jimin shrugged, “We got eachother this far.”

“We did.”

Settling on the same page made Jimin’s uncertainties disappear and for once since the start of this nightmare, he relaxed; “I don’t know your name.”

“Yoongi, my name’s Min Yoongi.”

Chapter Text

Jimin’s little smile finally showed some teeth but his joy was riddled with that same sense of guilt lying in his palm. Yoongi saw, and more for what he concerned himself with than out of assumptions; he didn’t want Jimin to frown.

“It’ll grow back.” Yoongi said, quietly. Assuringly.

Jimin didn’t know vampires could regrow fangs but he wasn’t about to question it. “I should get to changing then, huh.” Still; “It feels wrong to keep this.”

“We can sell it, I have no use for it now.”

Jimin was about to agree but then he realized Yoongi’s words went from; “You can sell it–” To “We can sell it–” And now he was biting down on his smile.

Yoongi left to one of the rooms in the back and returned to rummage through some of the drawerers. When he found a box of matches, he went back to the room and set a number of lanterns alight. It was a washroom.

Jimin had so many questions but he didn’t want to burden the man. The least Jimin could do was be useful as well as curious, so he started to collect himself an assortment of clothes. The floors were creaky, carpeted for a muffled step but the wood was old. The other rooms gave off a beaten cedar–sort of smell and the fabrics were unworn, so by the time Jimin had changed into his outfit, his scent was hidden. For now.

“Back when you said west leads to a cliff and that you didn’t know what was east.” Jimin sauntered on over to the washroom to peek his head inside. “You said it would take us away from the homebound? What’s that?”

Yoongi was using the wash basin to submerge his head. It wasn’t like he could wash his face with the muzzle anyways, so he dunked it—hoping it would rinse the blood.

“Oh–your nose is bleeding.”

“I know.” Yoongi sat down on the rim of the tub and used a hand towel to catch what blood dripped off his chin. “If I don’t feed anytime soon, I’ll pass out. If that happens, I don’t want you to wait for me.”

“Says’ who.” Jimin furrowed, offended. “I don’t suppose you’ve a death wish since you honored our agreement, so if its’ holding any merit, I don’t intend to turn back from it now—and I knew you were hungry. I can go check upstairs if there’s any clippers.”

Jimin didn’t wait for him to put up a debate and left around the corner to make way up the foyers’ stairway. This was a sewing house. To sew and mend fabric required scissors and sometimes actual metal clippers, but anything that could cut metal would do.

Jimin grabbed the closest match and lit one of the candles for some light. While he went through the drawerers, skimming through threads, needles, clips, all varieties of equipment; he thought about how even if they made it around the bayou, where he once saw freedom, he would feel hopeless if they got separated.

“Shears would work, right?” Mumbling to himself, Jimin picked up the tool and tested the weight of it. Surely, if it was used for copper wires and metal springs, if not for pruning garden stems, it could take apart the muzzle.

Then he heard glass shatter.

Slowly, he put the shears in his cloaks’ pocket and readied himself to hop on one leg, assuming Yoongi did ‘in fact pass out, but then he heard boots. Multiple boots.

No.

“Omega!” An alphas’ voice called from downstairs. “You’re making a mistake, and with what bravery to show for it, you’ve made your point!”

Jimin paced, scurrying for a place to hide.

“Commissioner Alpha Hans Jiho was a good man and by all means,” poison was seeping beneath the knights’ words. “Any soul who would’ve crossed his path as you have would’ve been hung for the townsmen’ to see but no! No, no—you were borne’ too valuable for the mainland to spoil on fickle justices, not even his family can lay a hand on your head—but I cannot promise you safety if you keep this up.”

The carpet, Jimin unraveled a standing rug and re–rolled him into it.

“And how exactly do you plan on making it out alive?” The knight was closer, now carefully climbing the stairs. “You’re wounded, there’s blood to see—scent to smell.”

Jimin held his breath.

Yoongi.

They were in the room; whoever was talking and the second pair of heavy steps. The first knight felt the wick of the candle, it was still warm and the air clung to the smoke. In a quick gesture, the subordinate was ordered to make a sweep throughout the room. And that started with the lower cabinets.

“And we can smell it, or are you that far of a fool?” The knight calmly asked, while cabinets were being thrown open. “Your mother said that you were due for a heat—and she was ‘utmost worried you would whore off out of spite but; maybe that’s what you wanted?”

Jimin tensed when the desk next to him was toppled but he didn’t budge.

“If I warranted my men half a clocks’ worth with an omega, I would be appreciated as their supervisor and we would receive fair justice for what you did, don’t you agree? Wouldn’t you agree?”

Jimin felt cold when he heard the second alphas’ laugh. There were quick sheathing sounds of a sword cutting fabric, it happened once and then twice; by the fourth time—he realized they were stabbing the rolls of carpets and rugs.

Jimin held his breath.

The sound got closer and closer till it struck his column. Something smacked his hand, hard—cleaving his fingers. All he could think now was; “My hands’ been cut, my hands’ been cut—”

The second guard turned around with a ghastly appointed look, to show for the blood that was on his sword but Yoongi had already slit the superior’s throat in time to lodge a pair of scissors into the second knights’ chest. Yoongi let the man fall into a gargling death and turned his attention onto the disarray that became the room and panic set in. Then Jimin unfolded himself from the rug in sniffles, muffling his need to scream when all he could say was a broken; “Yoongi?”

Yoongi’s mix-matched eyes were widened, his lips apart and his chest rising with a purpose to run. Jimin was holding onto his hand, where he indeed had been struck worse than he anticipated.

“I thought they got to you.” Jimin’s chin quivered.

That unspoken line drawn in the sand between them was kicked in Yoongi’s reach to hug him. And Jimin finally broke into a sob, nearly a scream that was to fault for the horror he held in his palm. After Yoongi let go, he pried Jimin’s hand open—to simply see how bad it was and stiffened.

“Oh—” Jimin finally saw it, “—oh’ oh–no.”

His pinky and ring finger were gone.

The agony collided and Jimin could only cry out, abandoning his need to keep on foot and ultimately breaking into a fit of gritted cries and agonizing groans. Yoongi tore strips of cloth and met him eye-to-eye on the floor with; “Okay–look at me.”

Jimin barely heard him. If anything, he felt like he was going to be the one to pass out till Yoongi grabbed the hand of now–three’ fingers.

“Just stay awake—hey.” Yoongi gripped Jimin’s chin with a bloody hand and said, “You’ll be alright—we can’t stay here, more will be back.”

Jimin’s face soured, the barbarity of what became of them stifling all strength–out–from within him to keep moving. Yoongi made rounds with the cloth set over his hand and wrist, layers upon layers that tightened as he went—and he only stopped when the bleeding seemed to slow down though Jimin’s blood was now everywhere.

“You never told me your name.” Yoongi tore a strip of tape to secure the bandaging. “How else am I to call out to you if I don’t know your name?”

Jimin was gritting throughout the whole ordeal but this—that—disrupted his state of dread. Words were at his best, per se inadequate for describing the boiling sensation crawling up his arm.

Yoongi tried to place a hand on his back but the sudden sensation of comfort frightened him. Anything as light as a feather and more scared him to bits. Yoongi drew back.

Jimin was shaking, it was uncontrollably so’ in his greatest sense of survival that this may be the closest to death he’d ever felt but he couldn’t let it all go in vain. Without using his arms, may the heavens’ forbid anything to touch his hand now, he used his skill to get up with only his legs. A dancers’ move that had once been perfected now gone rusty with his injured foot.

Nevertheless Jimin would wail and whimper, he managed to maneuver around the dead bodies and make way down the stairs. From there, he could see the mess of corpses that became of Yoongi’s doing.

Yoongi fixed a bag of supplies and threw it over his shoulder, keeping close but for good reason, keeping off of Jimin.

They went around back and through a small laundry room. The house had a yard and a mangled wooden fence that they used to get a bypass of the bayou. It was a longer walk, an hours’ best. Then as the village sounds and crowds’ full of commotion went dim, Jimin came to terms with the fact that they were actually leaving.

“Jimin.” He answered—in a soft and scratchy tone. “You call out to Jimin, next time.”

Yoongi kept quiet.

The grass was tall now, unkempt but healthy enough to offer a cushion effect beneath Jimin’s feet. And even if Jimin couldn’t feel his foot anymore, he somewhat wished that the old concept of pain would retake its spot before he had lost his fingers. All that he could manage now was focusing on walking with his hand in his grasp, otherwise it felt like his hand sizzled on a metal sheet that steadily burned him with every inch his limb made.

“Should there be a next time,” Yoongi said at his side. “Don’t spare yourself these kinds of injuries.”

Jimin didn’t want to cry anymore but by all the stars above, Yoongi was making it difficult. “I waited for you.”

“And I was too late.”

“I’m not your responsibility—”

“—as’ am I, Jimin.”

Jimin didn’t like being compensated with the delight of hearing his name spoken at the price of a cold approach by the vampire. Yoongi was trying to keep a division between them and it was fair but Jimin didn’t like it.

“In a way, I’m not more or less important than you are. Murder and theft, both under our belts; accomplices even. If we keep pushing and pulling on who gets what, when, where or how—we both will die.” Jimin wasn’t one for a pessimistic quarrel but he had to note; “I will bleed out and you may even starve to death.”

Yoongi’s gaze combed through Jimin’s appearance from head to toe before he realized his nose was bleeding again. “Shit–” was what he hissed before; “There’s a river up ahead. If we get there by–when’ I believe sun up, we can make camp in a cabin that’s already nearby, redress your hand and see what shoes I can find for you because this barefooting thing is—”

“—how do you know there’s a cabin nearby?”

Yoongi spoke only after a pause. “This is the same route my pack and I took to rescue my brother.”

“Your mate–to–be is the one who seized the unorthodox clan from a reclamation mission. They were attempting to infiltrate the palace’s walls to rescue some of their peers and who knows what evil they could’ve caused the villagers.”

Jimin remembered his mother’s words with an uneasy expression, knowing the outcome of the night’s event would mean; “You came here with—wait.” Wait–woah. “You’re part of a pack?”

Yoongi looked at him as if he couldn’t understand why that was so hard to believe.

Jimin mumbled, “I didn’t know there were vampire packs.”

And Yoongi huffed. “It’s a treaty between wolves and vampires.”

“Nonsense, that’s unheard of–” and not to be haughty, but; “–you’re insane, it’s impossible for wolves and vampires to live amongst one another without conflict.”

“Then what would that say of us?”

“That we are mad, wild–minded and unconventional. If you said you were a creature of the night and that I am as good as a disloyal bitch, I would believe that more than a pack of wolves and vampires.”

Yoongi arched his brow but proceeded to walk forward, unimpressed with what was said. “You—” he thought for a moment. “Truth be–it’ belief are rarely aligned, we’re alike to a degree that urged us here, no matter what you believe or what I say; changes anything.”

Jimin knew he had a point but his world as he knew it, was all but right. He figured it would be useful to note; “I was raised as an adornment, I’m sorry, forgive me if my words reflect theirs—” Jimin shook his head, “—I have to relearn things.”

Yoongi turned his head in a way that withstood his own instincts to speak up on the matter but he clenched his teeth and nodded.

“So…” In great need of amity, Jimin spoke up again. “You truly are in a pack? And an actual wolven pack.”

“Yes, with other vampires.”

“That is like trying to make a bird and fish neighbors.”

Yoongi’s lips curled upwards, a small smile. “Is that what we are? A fish broken out from its bowl and a bird free of its cage?”

“If you say it like that, then we’re just different sides of the same coin.”

“Exactly, that’s exactly how I see it.”

Jimin remembered what the overseer said and mumbled, “I hope to meet them then—your pack.”

“I’m not against it.” Yoongi sighed, “It’ll be a long way till any reunions though.”

“With your pack?”

Yoongi nodded again, “I’m far from home.”

“Tsk, an’ I’m leaving mine.” Jimin sulked. “If you came here with your packmates’ for your brother—” and he’s leaving alone, “—that would mean…”

Yoongi didn’t respond.

Did they not make it? Were they all captured and that man, the execution—did Yoongi know him? His brother—

Jimin regretted having brought it up, so he said, “To hell with the Imperial Palace of Priea.”

It was out of the blue, granted—but Yoongi knew what he meant.

After they reached the woods, Yoongi kept an eye out for certain trees. Jimin couldn’t tell which from what and the taller the forestry, the darker it got. They only had the moon and the stars to offer mercy against the shadows, yet Yoongi relished in it with a sense of direction.

Jimin trusted that he knew where they were, truly; but his hand really began to burn and his ankle started to give out.

“Yoongi.” Jimin’s voice was weak. “Yoongi, I need to stop for a moment, I—”

—he collapsed.

Just like that, Yoongi was walking steadily ahead; then he wasn’t.

Jimin froze.

For once within his years, of all difficulties and accomplishments, he was inured to their plight. The winds embarked on the trees in thrashing motions, serving as a beacon for nearing rain and that’s when Jimin realized something.

They’ve been out and about for quite some time, morning was due any hour now. 

“Hey,” Jimin got onto his knees and gently patted Yoongi’s muzzled cheek, slowly using more force as he tried not to get nervous. “Hey, hey–! Get up, c’mon—the suns’ to come up, you can’t bear sunlight, can you.”

Yoongi’s nose was pooling blood, it trickled down his cheeks and onto his ears. Jimin couldn’t even wipe his face because of the damn muzzle.

“Don’t do this to me, what do I do–” Jimin shakily nudged the muzzle, patting it, turning it, trying to make something of it when he fished his cloak for the shears but before he could pull it out; he heard carriages.

No, no, no–no.

The carriages’ holding post swung the palace’s banner.

“Okay, you’ll have to trust me now.” Jimin frantically scooped up mounds of dead leaves, sticks and woodland debris to bury Yoongi. Luckily, Jimin couldn’t see any search dogs deployed for their scents but there were horses and the knights were standing high. Jimin needed to hide and faced the dilemma of burying himself or going into the bayou as a whole. It was madness but it was better than risking an alpha catching an omegas’ scent.

Jimin bustled through the grass and crept in between a jumbled stack of rocks near the bayou’s creek. He took three deep breaths and held it on the forth, lastly submerging himself entirely. The water drowned out all the noise and chilled over his skin. Seconds’ ticked and his heart rapidly throbbed.

Looking above him, he could see morphed aurora-like lights made of embers as red and bright as flame. It was the nightly guard, holding their lanterns near the water but the late hour made it impossible to see beyond it.

Jimin’s chest tightened.

“If hes’ not dead by dawn, the animals will get him.” One guard said. “The vampire’s probably in need of a blood bag, the bastards’ clever.”

Jimin had to pinch his nose.

“We should round back after the rains’ subsided,” goes the other one. “If they don’t confirm a body, everyone’ll be tasked on this.”

Jimin needed to breathe.

The buzzing kick of adrenaline and cold shock from Jimin’s plunge kept him alert. In his straining gasp for air, the blood that rushed from his head washed over him in a heat flash. To keep him from being swayed by the current, he latched onto a giant rock and caught his breath.

The cloth that Yoongi used to tourniquet his hand was gone. It looked like his fingers were the midsection of a popped cork off an ale bottle of blood. He was—in truth—bleeding profusely and by getting out the water helped verily. It started to rain.

Jimin crawled back to Yoongi, searching for him in the grass as if he were a fallen key or marble. Soaked to the core and getting blood absolutely everywhere, he was relieved to still see the vampire where he left him.

Instead of feeling for a pulse, he placed his head on his chest to hear for a heartbeat. The relief continued to feed hope into him and upon the hours that ensued, Jimin dragged Yoongi’s slumbered body on a makeshift sheet made of their outer cloaks. Most of which were pulled using his shoulders in the absence of his hands’ strength and sore abdomen. 

“Commissioner Hans, he must’ve broken my rib.” Jimin spoke solemnly to Yoongi’s unconscious form, heaving his weight as he went. “I don’t even think an omegas’ supposed to bleed as much as I have.”

He felt awfully tired and he had no clue where he was going.

“I can’t stop the bleeding. It’ll stop eventually—won’t it?” If by resolute silence, knowing well it would make him fall asleep, Jimin kept talking as he heaved. “I don’t think I told you what I did before this? It’s something we could talk about, I want to know more about your pack and what you do, who you are.”

The rain had passed and the sky was softening into a pale-ish blue. It could’ve easily been taken as a warm morning, dewy and ideal for the summer springs but instead, Jimin let the cloaks go and staggered around back. He had to take off another layer of his clothes to use as a blanket to cover Yoongi. Amidst doing so, Jimin adjourned the journey to sit and admire the vampire.

“I wish I could clean your face.” Jimin muttered.

The nosebleed was washed away by the rain, for the most part, they both looked like they had been through battle and back, but to say Yoongi didn’t look ethereal in the light would be an insult. He was beautiful. The sharp eyes—surely to never be forgotten—mix-matched and filled with such life, Jimin felt compelled to grieve when he imagined Yoongi never opening his eyes again. It motivated him to get up and keep going. Had he been alone, Jimin would’ve accepted his glory in defeat and surrendered himself to the woods but never would he have gone back to the palace. That bridge was burned and left in ruin.

“Those bastards thought I would sell myself for anything short of a wolven life if it meant I could be compensated with luxury. Like a bird.” Jimin bitterly huffed, rambling to himself as if he were before them all; “A fish and a bird. I was in a golden cell, a diamond-made box. A beautiful cage, that was all—nothing more or less, to entertain and hang before empty eyes—I was one of those luxuries.”

Jimin gasped.

For about another twenty to thirty minute hike, they could make it to what appeared to be a small hut. The sunlight was against them but Jimin was sure the cloaks could suffice until then.

It was an abandoned shed with a broken water mill.

Perfect.

As soon as he got Yoongi’s body safely inside, locking the door and shutting all the windows; he let himself collapse.

They were safe, for now.

Chapter Text

Jimin dozed off when he shouldn’t have, having dreamt of a nightmare where the knights barging in the den to take him away with the last thing he saw being Yoongi’s lifeless body set on fire caused a swift sequence of last nights’ actual memories dropping on him like cold water—forcing him to gasp.

The vampire lying next to him. In a full tilt, Jimin sat up heedless of his dizziness and crawled to Yoongi.

Jimin set his head down on the vampire’s chest and held still. There was a heartbeat but it was weak.

Jimin sighed, resting there for a bit.

They were okay.

He sat up, refusing to fall back asleep, and left the cabin to take in the sun and drink some of the water that went down stream. He rinsed his hands and it wasn’t like he had calloused pads to protect his palms or shoulders so the top layer of skin had been torn raw from all the heaving. As for his missing fingers, he was going to have to cauterize or suture it. The thought gave him chills.

Fortunately, he had more layers to tear strips of cloth, however, before he addressed his injuries, he needed to set up a spot to handle the aftermath. The house was beginning to lean and to keep his eyes from snapping shut, he needed to—at least—make sure that if he passed out, Yoongi wouldn’t die in his sleep.

We need a fire.

He found a scythe in the back shed of tools and used that to cut some branches off the trees. Initially he felt like an idiot but when he got the fireplace going, he started to feel better.

Water.

Jimin collected basins from the sheds’ kitchen, rinsed those off as well and used the set as such for boiling the river water.

Food.

Jimin couldn’t hunt or scavenge but he wasn’t about to die of starvation, Yoongi was. The question at hand began to loom over his head though, in what regard would Jimin be able to feed him.

Jimin still had the shears from earlier. If Yoongi needed it; blood, it was better finally knocking out and waking up to his company than dying out here alone.

Back within the threshold and with better means of helping Yoongi, carefully, with his good hand, Jimin clipped at one of the cage wires on the muzzle and squeezed.

It snapped.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Okay, okay—I can do this.”

Jimin concentrated on evenly breaking the muzzle, that way it could come apart like peeling a mold or egg. It was tedious but the inner headpiece had thin blades that already left tiny lacerations around Yoongi’s cheeks. It was a barbaric device, and to think there were servants of the palace tasked to decorate it in a manner that made Yoongi look like a collectible beast only motivated Jimin more–to remove the mouthpiece.

Jimin got up one step too quickly and yelped. It was his foot, another procrastinated surgical project—ignored, to fetch the back pillow of the couch. It was dusty but it would do.

Jimin gently lifted Yoongi’s head and placed it on the cushion.

The collar part, it was like a black metal sheet. Jimin had to chip at it, unremittingly without a break otherwise, his body would give in. He ignored the vertigo and how the house warped every time he would look up. Then he got it—it snapped, but he wasn’t strong enough to just pry the collar in half as a whole.

Jimin sipped some warm water and used his robe to pat away the cold sweat. Crawling onto the other side, Jimin started the process all over again, thus getting the muzzles’ collar to break in half.

“He’ll have unmatched eyes,

as red as blood to snow,

and as bright as the moon to night.”

If this was him, Min Yoongi—a vampire from a pack of who knows what origin in a land of who knows where, but previously proclaimed to be his future lover; Jimin would be excited.

It made him warm inside, just the thought of it.

“So long as you are brave,

the cards will be in your favor.”

“I hope to see your eyes again,” Jimin spoke in an ill—hush of a voice. “I didn’t get to tell you that they were fascinating.”

At a time earlier than this, he would have probably pestered himself with questions about what kind of man Yoongi would be as a mate but he was too weak to amuse himself. His heart was on its last strings, held up by the mere hope of not dying alone. So once the final barbs were broken into pieces, he did his best to take off the remainder of the muzzle.

When it popped off Yoongi’s head, and when Jimin was able to pluck the pieces out from beneath his head, he sighed. Relieved. 

He could finally hold Yoongi’s cheek in his palm.

Jimin hung his left hand over Yoongi’s mouth, parting the vampire’s lips just enough to allow the dripping blood a way in. He needed to lie down. It felt like he was dying and that wasn’t far-fetched of an idea, knowing he’ll fall asleep soon

Jimin stacked the basins as a pillar to hold his arm up for him. He turned on his side, so that he could see Yoongi’s profile and hang his bleeding hand above the man’s face, similar to reaching over for a hug but instead of holding him, his missing fingers were set above the vampire’s face.

Jimin’s eyes closed, a reposed reward for his journey.

He was engulfed in sleep, and Jimin felt cold but in his dream, the warmth of spring kept him at peace. He could almost smell the flowers past the blood. Then a sharp stab shot into his hand, snapping him awake—disoriented but aware enough to know that Yoongi had bit him.

“Ack–” The weight of Jimin’s ailing state lulled his head back onto the floorboards but he could still flinch—except Yoongi’s three fangs were inside his hand, holding it in place. “Yoongi.”

Jimin was sure Yoongi had eaten whatever seal of dried blood his hand had to offer in effort to stop the bleeding and began to drink at the spout as a result. A chilling sensation spread outward from his arm and radiated into his shoulder. The pain in his foot, ribs, hand—dissipated. 

He closed his eyes.

   · · · ᯽ · · ·

Yoongi recovered from his faint state but amidst his awareness, he realized he was latched to Jimin’s hand. He returned to his senses similarly to that of drinking from a glass of mouth-watering blood after a dehydrated slumber—only to see that the glass was not a glass, but the omega.

Yoongi was mortified, he thought that somewhere along the way, he had blindly attacked him. In a trembling retracted draw of his jaw, he let go of Jimin’s hand. The blood spilled over the brim of open flesh, like a popped cork, urging Yoongi to fasten his mouth back onto the severance.

One conscious swallow of Jimin’s blood elevated him, energized him, it breathed life into him; to the brink of what felt euphoric. 

In no capacity could he have been prepared for the taste of it.

And his scent.

Jimin smelled delectable; like unparalleled blood.

Centrally, at intervals of seeing what Jimin had done, having carried and dragged him away to who knows where, protecting him from the sunlight and even injuring his hands further in the process, Yoongi convinced himself that Jimin’s scent was a consequence to his state.

There was no denying that the omega smelled of blood—but there was something more and Yoongi wanted to deny it. Denial carried more sense in contrast to what it was. And granted, their first impressions were of a disarray. Jimin’s citrus smell was acidic, sharp and as striking as the smell of a toxic plant. Nevertheless, bound by their mutual interests alike in escaping the palace, Yoongi apprehended Jimin’s scent as a result of his distress. So;

—why does he smell like blood?

And not the iron-like singe that came from corpses—but an unnatural, wildly prominent pull of it. As in a savory, enticing allurement.

Yoongi had to have lost it, he had to, that was the only explanation for why he couldn’t let go of Jimin’s hand. He was still drinking from the omega. He just needed to let go.

Yoongi shut his eyes tight and groaned, if he had his claws—he would have been ripping out the floorboards. In laps, he ran his tongue over the meat and bone, cleaning Jimin’s hand like a wolf would for a pup covered in blood.

Once the exposed flesh ceased to bleed, a fresh layer of cells clotted over the two holes because of Yoongi’s vampiran saliva. And he could have done this earlier, to help with the bleeding, but he wasn’t about to confess and offer himself up as the vampire that wanted to suck on his missing fingers.

Again, mortified.

Jimin saved his life twice already. It was dishonorable to know that and only think about how much he wanted to eat the omega.

Yoongi sat there, on a dusty floor, covered half–headed’ in blood and disbelief. After he stood up, stepping back from Jimin’s body, he lamented over himself and smacked both his own cheeks, hoping it would knock some civility into him. Then he felt his face. He felt his face.

The muzzle.

The muzzle was gone.

Wait–that’s right; how else was he supposed to drink blood. Yoongi’s attention hurtled across the room as a dart pinning to the shears that Jimin used.

He took it off.

Yoongi’s lack of conviction for Jimin’s borderline stupidity in trusting in him to this extent, with his life, took all sense from the vampire and left him dumbfounded.

Jimin trusted him.

And he wanted to eat him.

He could too—no.

No.

Yoongi shook his head, guilt overtook him.

Sungmin, Juwon, Seojun, Daejung, Jiah, Eunae and Geumjae were all gone. In what way, shape or form, could he face the rest of the pack as the lone survivor to a mission that he proposed. It’s why he accepted it, death at the hand of the palace. Till Jimin freed him.

Till Jimin fed him.

Fuck.

By sundown, Yoongi got a full measure of the shed and its tool hut. They were still within the patrols’ watch of the palaces’ knightly guard but fortunately for them, the shed was worn to rags and eroded by the wood. If—and by all hope that Jimin were to wake up, Yoongi knew he had a books’ worth of questions. Until then, he needed to get them to the Yeorin-re woodlands. It wasn’t his pack’s territory but it was their neighboring affiliates.

Having noted that objective, Jimin was still unconscious and Yoongi couldn’t tell if it was severe exhaustion or hypovolemic shock. One of two—neither specifically inclined, meant he had limited time to handle the matter and to figure out where they were before Jimin actually succumbed to his injuries—and before Yoongi succumbed to madness.

And yes; madness.

That smell was pulling tighter—and tighter at Yoongi’s teeth, his fangs started to ache, his head rang; he wanted to eat him or at least, taste his skin again. Hitherto, he could sacrifice another night to hunt, hoping that would ease his own desire to feed—but Jimin was in critical condition.

Yoongi wanted to scream.

Everything was manageable until he fed from him, until his scent strengthened, until this. It was like Jimin’s blood was laced—and Yoongi knew the taste of omegan blood; but Jimin, he took the crown.

Yoongi bit his own hand in a quick chomp. It tasted horrible, he knew that, but it was a punishment that forced him to snap out of it. A last resort.

“Jimin. You call out to Jimin, next time.”

Yoongi exhaled through his nose, paining against the next keen intake of air. Everything smelled like him.

“I could’ve left you and you could’ve killed me. We got eachother this far.”

“We did.”

Yoongi’s contrasting eyes frowned upon Jimin once more. He didn’t know what to do. In such a short time too, he thought. How well they got along, in fits of desperation or not, as much as he drove himself underneath Yoongi’s skin; Jimin really trusted him.

“I thought you left.”

Yoongi was worse than a typical wolf, yet;

“You’ve my word.”

He trusts me.

“You’ve mine.”

Yoongi couldn’t fail him too.

Chapter Text

The smell of the wind conveyed a lush petrichor interwoven with vetiver and cassia flowers. If his health would be so merciful as to allow him the liberty of opening his eyes, Jimin would be able to see what was going on. Instead, all he could manage was to listen to the crickets and brushing trees. His body was rocking mildly, as if we’re being driven through mounds of rock and debris.

The swaying sickened him, worsening his chills and prodded a strain of sheer pain into his leg and arm. He groaned, attempting to shift his weight in a way that relieved him but nothing worked.

The sound of a thunk hit a thicket or a hedge of sticks and leaves. The swaying stopped and Jimin opened his eyes to the sound of footsteps. In a fight or flight, Jimin’s body jerked. The sound reminded him of the knights’ boots—their unsheathing swords and what became of his hand. By the time he hit the back of the wagon, Yoongi was as wide–eyed ‘as can be, proceeding to insist; “—wait, it’s me!” His voice dimmed. “It’s me.”

That harsh blow of panic set off a sudden flush of blood to face, lest any tears threaten to fall, he wiped it quickly and stuttered, “Wh–where are we.”

Yoongi was standing outside the small wagon, leaning on the opposing wall across from him. Even in his own defense, Yoongi seemed taken by surprise with how Jimin sat up.

“Outside the township.” He answered, “I’m taking you to Aureum’s Market.”

That sense of fear returned, “Why–” was all Jimin could utter.

“–I’m not turning you in.” Yoongi said this because of the betrayal in Jimin’s voice. “You have a fever and have since we left.”

“It’s too dangerous. And I’m grown, no fevers’ to take me.”

“And if that gets infected.”

Jimin was holding his hand and making sure nothing touched his fingers otherwise he would actually wet himself. The pain was distressing and he could still feel his ring and pinky finger but even–by a twitch, his entire arm burned him as a reminder that both extremities were gone. His hand as a whole was soaked with blood, both tied and wrapped in poorly secured cloth.

He’s right.

Jimin looked around, shrinking to the sight of the woods for he never had to survive out in the wilderness, particularly in the dark. Yoongi leaned over to pick up an oil lantern, when he swiped a match and lit it aflame, Jimin gulped.

“I don’t reckon the fear of night,” Yoongi said. “If it helps, you can keep this on but I prefer not to have anyone see us.”

Jimin slowly took the lantern, he wanted it on—at least, for now.

The softness in Jimin’s heart returned for the man. They were alone and to his relief; “You’re okay.”

Yoongi huffed, “I wish I could say the same.”

Jimin’s gaze faltered, his injuries were at the mercy of his ability to tolerate and sustain pain. Yoongi returned to the two handles at the front and lifted the wagon. Jimin was quick to catch the lantern but just as fast to cry out when he had to move his arm.

“Just rest till we get there.” Yoongi said, having begun to walk. “There’s water in the satchel.”

Jimin wanted to resist the position he was in, he wanted to walk—not be carried, as a burden or task. The sickness wore on heavier than when he initially woke up and after his sense of shock wore off, the agony took hold of him. Not by any means could he walk, barely well enough to move, he blew out the lantern and lied down.

I’m in a wagon.

Jimin could barely see besides the stars cascading past the silhouettes of the trees. The smell of old wood collided with Yoongi’s scent and without his usual sleeping quarters’ bed and pillow, or stuffed blankets with feathered comforters, this made it all that more brutally real for him.

This is really happening.

No one knew where he was—he didn’t even know. 

All his efforts went into trying to stay awake, to bite down on his tongue and not cry out but his body could only take so much before falling back into a slumber. And by the time Jimin woke up—again, his perception of reality improved thus the opportunity to sit up being his immediate response.

Jimin could recall fragments of the smell and rustle of being carried in that wagon. The texture of clean clothes and the sensation of a warm cloth, wet and lathered in safflower and honey locust. There were spruce and pine trees in the passing, as well as the stars above. In a warped, low echo of a voice, Yoongi would say something along the lines of; “I got you, I have you. It’s okay.”

For a fraction of a moment, he could hear people talking, being rowdy or the gentle ambience of windchimes and bells being thrashed about. There were incense and candles, numerous standing lanterns and thuribles. Looking at a dimly lit set of hand-hewn logs, exposed beams and in finer sanded-down sections; it appeared to be a strange cabin.

“Your friends’ washing up.” An elderly man—startling Jimin—though too old to tell of alphan or omegan sub–sex, greeted him from behind a velvety book.

“Who are you–” Jimin eyed the room for an escape route.

“Ole’ Merchant Jeong and that’s my granddaughter—” he addressed a small pup peeking behind beads. She scurried off and he fixed his glasses to return to his book. “She prefers to be called Duri.”

Next to Jimin’s bed, on its nightstand was a dish laden with cotton balls spoiled with pus and his blood.

“I want to see Yoongi.” He only knew Yoongi and by all means, he wasn’t ashamed to admit the vampire had a hold on his sense of security. “I don’t know where I am.”

“Aureum’s Herbal Market, my apothecary for old wolven medicine—and if you go through those beads there, you’ll see to your left a hall, he’s there.” Ole’ Merchant Jeong plopped his book into his lap and said, “You’ve a good sort with ‘ye, tis’ the cabin he–and–his packmates took, like a cluster of fledglings or litter of pups, they cluttered back there in ‘ye living room there.”

Steadily, Jimin sat up. The ache in his foot, ribs and hand, was dull but by no means’ did he want to test his movements. Then he saw that he was in changed clothes and sat on the notion that Yoongi might’ve seen him bare. It looked like something that would suit Yoongi too. The black silks and loose cross-robes, it smelled like him.

“Tis’ his doing.” Merchant Jeong noticed.

Then the door creaked and Yoongi’s voice went; “What’s my doing–?” Prior to seeing Jimin awake, the scowl on his face wilted where relief bloomed. “Jimin.”

Ole’ Merchant Jeong rose from his seat with a low grunt, unhurriedly and as fast as aged bones granted. “There’s my cue,” he said. “Make sure to lock the doors after I’m gone—and remember not to venture out, your faces are on all the bounty prints. I’ll be back by sun–up, to check in by knocking but pulling the bell means trouble.”

Yoongi half-mindedly acknowledged him with a nod, focusing on making way to the bed and Jimin’s side.

“There’s a two–days’ old—dried catch in the cellar and rice noodles. Feel free to use the condiments and ingredients, personally I—” Merchant Jeong stopped rambling when he saw how Yoongi sat next to Jimin, doting on the omega for the fever and futile caresses to fix his hair. “—right.”

Jimin looked down and spread his fingers, seeing the two still gone—to his dismay—he noticed there were three circular incision scars. Two in his palm and one dead–center on the back, from when Yoongi had bit him.

“I wasn’t in my right mind.” Yoongi said. “I couldn’t heal it over, it—”

“—it’s okay.” Jimin was just happy to see him well. The warmth in his heart started to make its way to his face, he couldn’t hide it. In essence, he was grateful to have a companion in all this—and to imagine that Yoongi was capable of conveying himself with such gentleness made Jimin warm.

To clear his throat and do without embarrassment, Jimin smoothed his thighs over to the side and warily hung his legs off the bed. “I could really pee,” was what he said first, then; “I’m in new clothes too, bandages—”

Yoongi didn’t say anything but he did get up. He held out his hand, offering support for when Jimin needed to walk.

“I was wiped down—completely, I remember it, the safflower and honey locust.”

Yoongi’s lips parted, a muted ‘ah,’ sufficed. He was patient to guide Jimin out the room and through the beads but appeared to have been using that as his excuse to stall his words. Eventually, he said, “It was to mask your smell.”

“My—” Jimin sniffled himself; his heat.

Does he know about my heat?

Nonsense, vampires can’t tell—it’s the blood.

“I know its’ a vile thing to ask about an omegas’ smell when their heat neared, so I avoided it—” Yoongi opened the washrooms’ door for him, his voice quieter; “I know what you did in the shed was to help me, neither do I know if you knew but an omegas’ blood close to a heat can cause a vampire to go feral. Your scent as well resembles blood, I–I needed something to cover it till we got here.”

Jimin’s face, though morose, looked humiliated.

“Here,” Yoongi held the door open. “We can talk over some food. I can make those rice noodles Merchant Jeong mentioned, lock the door’ or whatever he said.”

Jimin only agreed to sustain his dignity.

After he handled his business and assessed the state he was in, Jimin made sure to avoid his missing fingers when washing his hands. His damn heat, and how shameful to be so vulnerable. On the bright side, he felt less feverish. He could tell an ointment of a minty–sort was lathered on his palm, missing fingers and foot; it was tingly and cool.

Still, he sighed.

Yoongi definitely changed his undergarments but the prospect of being hand washed like a lazy king at the expense of a vampire made Jimin feel like shrinking. Till his imagination could betray him, he saw that on the sinks’ counter had a couple of cups with multiple bamboo toothbrushes. If this was the cabin that Yoongi had mentioned, those must’ve belonged to his friends.

The friends that didn’t make it, for a brother that never returned.

Jimin had questions but considering how Yoongi must’ve been in mourning, he kept his demeanor polite despite wanting to bombard the vampire with questions.

Outside the door, in the hall, Yoongi was waiting against a doorframe. There was a pause between them. Jimin was comfortable taking his hand and he would have been dazzled to experience what freedom came about being in a reserved inn, in such a woodland setting, but catching on to certain details made him realize how depressing this must’ve been for Yoongi.

There were pairs of shoes and several coats hung by the door. Two isolated camping bags and an outlying collection of scents, like warmed milk, cut grass, cinnamon sticks and fresh soil. All wolven smells.

Why are their stuff still here?

Yoongi guided him to the kitchens’ island and helped him up onto the stool before leaving for the cabinets.

“I’m sorry about your brother.” Jimin offered firstly, squeezing his knee in anticipation for the worse—what worse—no idea, he just felt exposed and that of a freeloader. Yoongi paused, mid-grab’ of a bowl—but ultimately returned to his directive of preparing a meal. He offered a slight nod and went about the kitchen for the pots.

Ugh.

Jimin hated the silence, and not the kind of silence in which contentment resides; the kind where there were words to be spoken but the weight of the matter failed to describe everything properly.

He sat there with no use and to make it worse, he started to feel a sense of throbbing in his arm and leg. Fortunately, that reminded him to mention; “I—uhm, how long was I out?”

“Two nights.”

Jimin’s eyes widened, “You wheeled me around for two days?”

“Nights, an’ you say that like you can’t believe it. You’re the one who got the muzzle off.”

“That’s nothing compared to two days.” Jimin scoffed, “—it was barely a nights’ count and we could have gotten killed.”

Yoongi’s gaze turned into a frown, while he multitasked to get some water boiling, he didn’t know what Jimin was talking about.

“I had to cover you in leaves!” Jimin acted out the scene while he explained; “The guards sent out patrol but it was going to rain so they left. I went into the bayou, held my breath for a bit too. I thought we weren’t going to make it—oh, and then the sun started to come up, scary.”

Yoongi put a small sesame dispenser and vinegar cruet with a stopper on the counter. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, you could’ve made a run for it.”

“And what, be in the wilderness alone?”

“May I ask,” Yoongi worked an eyebrow, quirking it before looking through the pantry for the dried celery leaves. “You owe me no debt. It was a ‘word for word’ agreement as you said. If we hadn’t met the way we did, I would have died—I know that but what would you have done? Truly.”

Jimin watched him add chili oil and green onion paste to the bowl, allowing himself to think before admitting; “I just wouldn’t make it—or go where kindness follows.”

Yoongi blinked, both crimson and crystal irises locked on him. The rash decision making didn’t seem to please him either.

“I wanted to leave.” Jimin pinched the bandaging adhesive, too ashamed to look at the vampire. “It didn’t have to end that way, no one had to die—”

“—don’t blame yourself for that.”

Jimin remembered how Commissioner Hans’ body rattled and stretched before his last breath, gushing blood worth pints because of what Jimin did.

What I did.

Yoongi left a canister of dried kelp and a jar of peanuts to walk around the island. Jimin remembered what it felt like to hug him. When he stepped out from the rolled rug, clutching his hand—bleeding ‘near the point of shock, yet all he wanted was to be held. It was his pre-heat holding the wheel but Jimin didn’t care, so seeing Yoongi now, walking in his direction made Jimin anticipate it.

“You said that if we keep pushing and pulling on who gets what, when, where or how—we would both die.” Yoongi reminded, as well as; “Commissioner Hans Jiho killed hundreds of vampires, dozens of wolves—including a handful of fledglings and pups, and without any sense of culpability. The pretty ones got the cage.”

Jimin’s head dipped, dejected and Yoongi wasn’t having it. He tucked his fingers underneath the omegas’ chin and lifted his gaze. 

“It was either you or him, he would have killed you.” Yoongi stepped back, lingering for a bit till he had to return to the rice noodles.

Jimin took one long deep breath and accepted it. No hug—he really wanted that hug too. Somewhere along the way, he knew the guilt of killing a man—evil or not—would aid in his defense to cry but he didn’t want to cry now. His instincts were gnawing away at his need for an embrace and he was doing everything in his power to keep his mind off pre–heated sex.

When Yoongi served him a readied bowl of noodles that smelled and tasted devine; “It’s delicious.” Jimin’s voice cracked, “Thank you.”

Yoongi pulled himself a chair and sat across from him and slid a small cup of tea in Jimin’s direction. The squinting furrow he got from the vampire was what made Jimin check his face for smudges and with a mouth half-full, Jimin went on to ask, “What?”

“Were you a concubine?”

Jimin choked.

“No.” It was fair to assume that but looking ‘unto the countertop with a fuss to pick at the bandaging on his left hand, Jimin figured he was too hungry to fidget. “I was a dancer, just a performer for the auctions and omegan’ lotteries; till I had to be a ticket.”

“And Commissioner Hans was a bidder.”

Jimin nodded, “I had no choice.”

Yoongi leaned back, listening; “And your family?”

“My father died in a hunt and my mother is a courts’ woman for the palace, a governess in the omegan affairs. I thought I could just live through the books but—” Jimin smiled when he saw Yoongi react confusedly to that last part. “I was never allowed to travel even though my scent scared off suitors. I didn’t hate it, the suitors’ part. But I always wanted to see other lands. It got to me at times so I read a lot, sought paintings too, for the sake of seeing the outside. I thought I could just live my life out in my head but then she arranged a marriage. It was like everything stopped, the books closed, the paintings faded—and I woke up. I woke up. Half my life had gone and now, I was due for a mate. At first, I tried to map out an idea to escape. I needed my suppressants but she always held onto them as collateral. Next thing I knew, I was running. I didn’t think, I didn’t plan, I just knew that I would run and I would not stop. Death be–fallen’ to my name before I returned to that damned place.” Jimin pouted but he took another bite, refusing to lay the meal to waste.

As he chewed, Yoongi appeared to be in thought. Jimin held their peace before succumbing to his nervousness in their solitude and was about to fish for a change of topic till Yoongi found one. Jimin just wasn’t expecting to be asked about; “Your scent. What’s wrong with your scent, you smelled like clementines when we met but—”

“—it was just perfume. I smell like blood, naturally. Fresh blood.”

“You’re—” Yoongi strove for the more gallant approach but the facade cracked when a smirk slipped through, “—that’s strange.”

Jimin shrugged.

“You’ll drive me mad by the time we get out of here.”

“I’m sorry.”

Yoongi took no offence so there was no need to apologize, he just seemed relieved to have that confirmation. “The irony it is for you to be in this predicament—with me , of all people.”

“You mean an omega that smells like vampire food?” Jimin smiled a bit, holding his tea before saying; “It crossed my mind.”

Yoongi was forbearing within himself to resolve any conclusions under the circumstances where he got a second opinion, so he contemplated even bringing up how; “Your hand–” the one he bit, “–I didn’t let go of it. I regretted it, at first—but then I thought it was because of hunger, but on the same day, I perceived having fed from you as different.”

“Different how?” Jimin pouted. “Am I to worry about the taste of my blood now?”

Yoongi chuckled, “No—I just wanted to address it.”

“Well, then is it good–different or bad–different.”

Yoongi mulled over his answer, slightly agaped while he crossed his arms before admitting to a brief; “Good.” And Jimin could live with that. He just wasn’t anticipating to hear, “Then I figured it was your heat,” again.

Yoongi stopped, more it seemed he gathered his own warranted permission to say; “That’s what you mean by suppressants, it’s a flower, a herb, no?”

“It is.” Jimin sipped the tea, thinking; –just what exactly is he trying to figure out?

“I see.” Even in Yoongi’s contemplation, he carried himself and his words carefully. “The Homebound carries those, for the omegas, but it’ll be a seasons’ count before we get there. It’ll be here any day now, won’t it.”

Jimin gulped, abashed to answer, “Soon, yes.”

“We can stay till it passes, it’ll be safer that way.” Yoongi pointed out how; “Merchant Jeong put up all the incense and candles, said any wolven man or woman could smell it—”

“—you can’t?”

“Not like you do, no.”

“But you smell it.”

“You smell like food, not sex.”

Something about that lessened Jimin’s embarrassment. It made him smile, and he tried to wrap his head around what that might look like to spend his heat here but three more implications prompted a shock. “Your pack has omegas? As in plural? And a seasons’ worth? We would be traveling together till—? Autumn? And you’re saying we’ll stay here, you will stay here?”

“There’s six omegas in total, including my friend and his pup.” Yoongi’s ears moved. “And I told you, my home was quite far—and do you not want me to be here?”

“I’ve never spent that much time with anyone but myself and even that I tried to escape.” Jimin paused, “And it’s not that —I want you here, with me. But you’re saying you’ll be with me, throughout my heat, too.”

Jimin could see when it clicked in Yoongi’s head that it was an innuendo.

“I don’t think your natural instincts to mate will shock me, I know it’s beyond you to stop it and if by all means’ I want you to know that I meant to give you that room. I wasn’t going to aid you throughout it.”

Jimin deflated.

He wanted exactly that—somewhere, somehow, he hoped that the taboo of heat–aides’ served no issue to the vampire; and how exciting that would be, for Yoongi to be his first.

“Did you—” In two slow beats, Yoongi finished his question with; “—want that?”

Their privacy compressed, the silence raged and Jimin could hear his own pulse in his ears. Jimin’s mind hung on the question and in his head, he shrieked. The damn pause, the accursed hesitation . There was no point in answering or lying, Yoongi knows, he knows he fancied him and at the first sign of his heat, he thought of him.

Yoongi blinked a couple of times.

Jimin didn’t know what to do with himself.

Then Yoongi said, “You’re hurt.”

Huh?

“Wh–what?” Jimin managed.

In a more stern voice, Yoongi stated, “I didn’t think I would make it past the two days without killing you—so bedding you never crossed my mind, even if there was an exception, I wouldn’t be able to if you’re hurt.”

If he was not ‘hurt,’ then would he—begged to question; but Jimin was not that insane to dare ask. This whole conversation was going to be the death of him if they didn’t change the topic.

“I’ll keep you company.” Yoongi proposed. “If you’re to be in need of a presence, I’d rather be the one to be close to you for now.”

Oh.

All but a nod and weak clear of throat was established before Jimin could say; “I can’t tell if you’re burdened by me or if you’re here out of respite.”

“Both.”

Ouch.

Jimin’s chin bent upwards, a pout evident and his tsk’ of tongue conveying a moue. A drift of warmth flooded his stomach, having heard Yoongi speak with such quickness, and to fan the flame as if he wasn’t already skirming to cross his legs; Yoongi chuckled because of his bratty reaction.

Jimin saw his chance to swap the subject and timidly pointed out the glint, that small reflective light in Yoongi’s mouth. “Do you have a silver fang?”

“This?” Yoongi made a face, a slanted flare of his teeth, that allowed Jimin to see it clearly. The sudden visual of his fangs and lower canines made Jimin shudder. The missing one already started to grow in too. To be bitten on the neck by a vampire would surely be intense. Alphas have always had a notorious narrative of mated bite marks but a vampire; Jimin wondered if he could handle all that.

“The vampires of the Homebound are required to wear a cast over their teeth, only the unpaired ones.”

Jimin held his breath.

Do it.

Mention it!

Jimin squeezed his thighs together; “Unpaired?”

“It’s like how some omegas wear collars, vampires wear fanged crowns.”

Assuming the fiends of palace took the one with the fang they ripped out of his mouth, Jimin said, “So–only the prominent two.”

“Mhm, I can remove it.”

Jimin did a quick gasp, and mischievous; “Can you?”

Yoongi gave him a look neither of annoyances, nor of mockery, but an astounding sense of amusement. Jimin’s eyes were sparkling and wholly in awe, he was excited to see more even while he sipped the broth from his bowl.

Yoongi opened his mouth and pinched the silver tooth with slight force, particularly giving a short twist till it popped off. Jimin’s jaw fell as low as his skull had allowed it to. It was really just a cast, a legitimate cover for the fang—but it was a vampire’s fang.

When Yoongi handed it over, Jimin was quick to set the bowl down. It was the weight to it that made Jimin gasp–and–gasped again when he felt the downright sharpness of the tip.

“This was in my hand?” Jimin was baffled but he was bold to demonstrate where the tooth had punctured the back of his three–fingered’ hand.

“Spare me,” Yoongi cringed. “I felt horrible for that.”

“Why?” Surely, Jimin couldn’t understand why. “You fed when you needed it and I made it just in time to live to tell a tale of sustaining a vampire bite! If these three little scars serve as a reminder of the day I met you, then it’s an honorable mark. Are these difficult to come by?”

“Not really, no. Why?”

“I was going to ask if—if it’s not a lot to—but to keep it.” Immediately—nearly instantly, Jimin regretted talking. It was his heat talking. Why—just why—had he asked that and of all requests too. Then it clicked, the epiphany that took his own damn breath away.

I’m getting ready to nest.

So I asked for his fucking—

Yoongi blinked, his eyebrows twitched but his flinching reaction was replaced by a flattered grin.

“Wait.” Jimin wanted to curl up into a ball. “Wait, does it mean something to have a vampire’s fang? You said ‘unmated’ vampires have these, is it an insinuation? What, what–what— what no, no, no —what did I just do? Don’t laugh!”

Yoongi had to turn his head, covering his laughter with his hand before covering his mouth all together. As if he were in a delighted disbelief.

“Yoongi.” Jimin whined.

“You can keep it.”

“No–it’s weird!”

“You’re the one who asked.”

“That’s not my fault, I’m—” Jimin clasped his lips shut, in a tight line.

“You’re what?”

“It’s embarrassing, here—” Jimin slid the fanged cast.

Yoongi slid it back, “—try me.”

Oh, he’s stubborn.

“I just suggested something between us by asking to keep this, didn’t I.”

A slow—slithering—shit-eating grin worked its way to Yoongi’s ears and Jimin could just tell the color drained from his own face because never had he ever seen another man so smug.

“There’s a small slot behind my teeth, the actual tooth, one can barely see it but it allows the rune to pass.” Yoongi leaned back when he saw how Jimin’s eyebrows were pulled together. “The runes’ a word for the type of venom vampires use to make more vampires, now it’s an elden term but—it keeps me from turning you immortal or linking us together.”

“What’s linking.”

“It’s like mated marks between wolves.”

“Then wouldn’t it be dangerous for you not to have this?”

“In a way, yes, but I cannot under any circumstance bite you without it. Irregardless’ it shouldn’t be done, your blood scares me. And I have to get a new pair anyways, now that the other one was taken.”

“Wh–” Jimin felt offended, “I thought you said it was good?”

“Exactly–why’ I shouldn’t ever do something like that again; I could’ve killed you.”

Jimin sulked, “The discussion of biting each other is a wolven lead on, should you know.”

“I know.” Yoongi remarked without a beat of hesitation.

“Then don’t tease me, I don’t have suppressants.” Jimin snatched the fang casting with; “–and fine.”

Yoongi’s mouth settled openly, and while it lasted, Jimin could see he took the man off guard. It was a daring statement, one that would’ve gotten him slapped if he were back in Priea but Jimin wasn’t in Priea anymore, he was here—in a cabin, in the middle of Aureum’s Herbal Market with a vampire he supposed to be his future mate. He hoped for it now, and even if Yoongi was not, Jimin could not deny the likability of the man despite him being partially a brat. Yoongi was an enchanting creature, almost to a point where it felt unfair.

Once they concluded their conversation for the night, Yoongi took it upon himself to send Jimin off to bed first. Jimin wanted to dally further, audaciously ignoring Yoongi’s vampiran–blood’ warning at the same time of tempting himself with wanting the man to share the bed. That was when he realized his omegan instincts were leading him to a horny grave; and so he took the rational response and bid the vampire a restful night.

In his room, Jimin thought about how in the palace, if he were to come across another polite soul, even a handsome one or one that recognized him for him, the vision of being with Yoongi felt easier to see. It made more sense with the turn his life just took. Then again, on the occasion of his first heat without suppressants—since adolescence—was apparent, it could just be his body betraying him and what a misery that would’ve been if he met anyone else lesser than Yoongi.

Jimin curled up atop the sheets, clutching the silver cast as if it could give him comfort, smiling to himself like a fool. That certain sense of safety and fatigue drew him into a nap.

One moment—he was awake, in bed; another—he was tucked under the comforter and waking up to the sounds of rain.

It disoriented him and he would’ve remained asleep but something was squeezing his foot. Sharp stings trickled at his hand. Yoongi’s silver fang was still there, so to not misplace it, he sat up and put it on his nightstand. Then that familiar warmth remained stagnant. It wasn’t coming in fluctuations. It was just there.

Something was wrong, he felt horrible. As in ill.

The sheets felt cold, the air felt cold, the bedframe felt cold—for all that it accounted for, Jimin had a fever again. If it was an infection, he would need medicine. Jimin looked at his hand, spreading the three–working’ fingers with the intent of determining if it was a phantom pain. As soon as his knuckles itched and the lumbrical muscles tugged at what felt like an electric shock, Jimin relinquished his pride and got up to find Yoongi.

The singular moment where he hoisted himself up off the mattress, a wetness oozed out of him.

No.

Jimin closed his eyes, stiffening his muscles did him no good. The tensing made his— likely broken —ribs ache and he couldn’t even breathe quick enough to calm himself over without the same pain returning tenfold. He tried to hold a steady stance, evenly allowing his body to react as it would in the wild but something about his injuries colliding with his heat forced a wolven yowl to slip out. It sounded exactly as would a kicked pup or shot wolf.

Jimin remembered all the times he was beaten and battered into complying with the palace’s customary practice of subduing every chance he had to act out on wolven instincts. And every fiber in his body was clawing away at him, urging him to put up with his wounds and present.

Without a doubt, him falling into wolven submission wouldn’t be as troubling of a concept than it would be to sustain more injuries. Omegas—especially alphas—were known for prioritizing the act to mate amidst heats and ruts, so–much so’ that mishaps and calamity stories were too common. 

Jimin stayed still, hunched beside the bed, standing as would a ghost with his good hand on the bedframes’ footboard and his wounded one pressed up against his stomach.

Then he heard that same, familiar rasp–of–a tone call ever so cautiously; “Jimin?”

Chapter Text

“Is it–?” Your heat, Yoongi didn’t say it.

Jimin wanted to take a bath, to douse his skin, the words for this were made like cement and unable to work freely. All of his focus went into breathing manually and holding still, ‘so–much–so that Yoongi walked up to him, indulging within a single steps’ worth of space. And the vampire’s hand wavered, disinclined and reluctant to slip his fingers onto Jimin’s shoulder.

The physicality between them, at once, without exposition felt unchancy and dangerous.

This time, Yoongi didn’t have to say anything. His eyes veered back and forth, reading Jimin in like an enigma—and getting this close–of–attention was enough to make the omega shiver. It was a venereal reaction, slick escaped him, and Jimin could see when it sunk in for Yoongi.

The strings that tightly knitted Yoongi’s eyebrows together loosened and his head lured forward.

Jimin looked back with poignant eyes, aiming to find an unspoken answer to that but the vampire was unreadable.

“When you showered—” weird way to start, Jimin closed his eyes, “—can I?”

“You want a bath?”

Jimin perked.

Yoongi must’ve read it as an easy favor but something made the vampire wait. If this had happened a couple days sooner, without Jimin’s heat, the omega would’ve worried himself into a panic. Instead, he waited to ask, “What is it?”

“It’s not a good idea to get these wet.” Yoongi stepped back. “You’ll have to be quick.”

Jimin agreed, anything to sink himself in something hot would do.

The washroom was snug and had a leathery undertone to its smell. Yoongi’s shower left a touch of cassia flowers and vetiver smoke in the air but it was veiled because of the built–in shelves and paneled walls, all of which were made of teak and cypress.

Yoongi had another change of clothes, a folded stack, and an unused washcloth and bar of soap. In the palace, they had ‘needle showers,’ here it was a canopy shower and tub.

Jimin was in his right mind to undress himself but he really did wonder how much of him ‘did Yoongi get to see when he lathered him in the safflower and honey locust, or when his clothes were changed.

“Can I see your hand? I’ll have to re–wrap it when you’re done.” Yoongi sat on the tubs’ wall and got the water running before looking up to take Jimin’s hand. Gently, he unwrapped the cotton sheeting and examined where Jimin’s fingers used to be. 

Yoongi was grinding his jaw shut, not ever was he angry in their time together, maybe annoyed—but not solely to Jimin per se—so seeing the line of his jaw sharpen and protrude made Jimin worry; “I’m making you uncomfortable, aren’t I.”

Yoongi’s turn of attention snapped up and on to him, from his body to face; confused—but for only a couple of seconds.

“We’ve been making a mess of that line—” he made a gesture with his free hand, in light of it; “—the one keeping us as friends.”

Jimin’s heart flipped and kicked from within his chest, knocking but–only’ the air from his lungs and lying his words to dust. Jimin didn’t want to be mocked and by all means’ he preferred warmth over vise-versa—but this exchange of eyes was going to run his bones to pudding.

“If you’re going to say that, look less pissed while you’re at it.”

“I look upset?” It was like Yoongi already knew.

Jimin bit his lip, murmuring over the sound of the water, “–quite.”

It disposed of a bittersweet smile from the man, one that came with; “So I’m told.”

“–are you?” Jimin knew his voice was small.

Yoongi’s salient eyes fixated solemnly and with a critical hold to it but it was fleeting, for he got up with a huff and stood before Jimin with a more earnest view.

“Upset with you? No.”

“Then–?”

“It’s not you.” Yoongi’s pupils grew but when Jimin couldn’t pin exactly what he meant by ‘not you,’ they sharpened.

Painstakingly distant and a foot too far, Jimin wanted him closer—indifferently to however vague Yoongi wanted to be, when he took in an unsteady breath, Jimin asked, “What is it then?”

“I’ve been thinking of how I’ll face them; my pack.” Yoongi’s eyes fell to Jimin’s lips, then the details of his nose and eyes. “I don’t want you to feel inclined to be whats’ keeping me together, Jimin, and this—” Yoongi brought his hand up to address a spot underneath Jimin’s ear, where he handled the omegas’ neck in a stroke to caress over his scent gland.

The sensitive shock prompted a cut-shot moan, it was loud too. Jimin grabbed onto the arm that was kneading the spot that stimulated his pheromones but he didn’t pull away, he kept Yoongi’s hand there. Thus Jimin’s legs straightened and tip–toed to skirm shut, his muscles obscenely throbbing for friction and induced strings of slick; needful of more.

“—this is dangerous.” Yoongi rubbed Jimin’s scent gland in a delicate maneuver that allowed his hand the freedom to lull Jimin’s head back, bearing his neck.

The sensation of being watched had Jimin surrender to the touch and whine when he felt Yoongi watching him come undone.

Yoongi applied some more pressure, only working his pointer–an–middle finger on the gland.

Jimin could feel his body jut forward, his lips sundered for the tactile breaths escaping him, trembling as he leaked from the front.

Yoongi let go, glancing back for a moment to assess the tub and said, “I’ll get a towel—” in advance of tasting the fingers that stroked Jimin’s neck, in such a way no’ tale or love–stricken fable could’ve equipped Jimin for what just happened. He looked down, evaluated his semi-erected groin, and felt all grounds of maintaining a platonic relationship flutter out the window. He just came to his touch, he climaxed—to Yoongi’s touch.

If anymore blood left Jimin’s head, he would faint.

That stunned taste of humiliation gave him enough clarity to come to terms with what happened but not enough to be devoid of embarrassment. In a rush, he undressed—winced because of his hand and sticky clothes—and abandoned it all for the tub.

He tasted it.

Jimin sunk into the water, nose–deep and wholly in a ball.

He fucking tasted it.

The oils and sweat of an omega in heat. Jimin’s eyes were open. The transient–tranquility was an outcome of it. The release, it alleviated his restlessness, the agitation to mate, even if it was temporary; he felt a little better.

Did he ‘intentionally’ aim to—

—not even his inner voice had the nerve to say it.

Jimin submerged himself to douse his head, when he resurfaced, Yoongi was back in the washroom. His mannerisms were almost perfunctory while he placed the towel and clothes on the sink and crouched for Jimin’s soiled ones.

Jimin felt like a little alligator, watching Yoongi as a spectacle in his space.

To think that Jimin was thrilled simply to write them off as possible friends, the fantasy of being mates relied on a harmless crush and an old fortune told months prior to this; but that imaginary line keeping them as acquaintances wasn’t even scribbled out, it was crumpled as a whole and tossed along with Jimin’s sanity.

And his accursed body wanted more. Heat–or no heat; a slow rush of slick washed out of him and Jimin rolled his eyes. 

I want him.

“Yoongi.” Jimin called back, just before the vampire could leave the washroom. “Can you stay?”

A hushing moment settled between them but it was up to Yoongi to answer—and instead of words, he closed the door to amble over.

Jimin bent his legs and slowly tucked his chin beneath–an–behind his knees, looking forward to having him close. Yoongi kept an eye out for this as he sat on the floor, rolling a single sleeve up to sway his hand in the water.

“We’ve been making a mess of that line—the one keeping us as friends.”

“Did you mean to do that?” Jimin uttered, “To remedy my heat.”

“–and did it?”

“I asked first.” Jimin’s mouth was watering, an enacted gulp and curl of the toes made himself shift in his spot.

“I did, but–” Yoongi asked, “–did it help?”

“It did.”

Yoongi nodded, gently with half the mind to sway the surface of the tub’s water. Jimin wanted to ask about why he tasted that, or if it meant no meaning to him to do that as a whole. Alternatively, Jimin asked, “What did you mean by whats’ keeping you together?”

Yoongi straightened out his back. “Somewhere in the near future, I don’t want you to think I used you as a distraction.”

“Then what am I to you?” The golden question, Jimin was proud too—to find such a perfect time to ask that.

Jimin knew, by age and instinct, that if he were told something along the lines of becoming a single interest, it would probably sedate his unruly need to mate the man but Yoongi had to go ahead and say; “I want something that’s not in my place to ask.”

“You couldn’t have made that anymore confusing.”

Yoongi’s voice was low and leaden with care, despite the blunt choice of words; “You don’t want this–”

“–don’t tell me what I want, you don’t know me.”

“Likewise.”

As if to ascertain its meaning, Jimin knew where Yoongi was getting at. It’s been short of four days, two of which he lied unconscious. The turning world as he knew it stilled and for a moment time felt trivial. Aforementioned the desire to lay with the vampire of all things would be madness, yet it felt all but unnatural.

“Wolves and vampires, alike and unlike, share very different traditions.” Yoongi influenced a ripple in the water, his mix-matched eyes on the hazy rills and runnels of red coming off Jimin’s foot—bleeding into the bottom of the tub. Jimin’s hands were hanging off his knees, so his injured limb dripped blood from time to time. Steadily turning the water pink.

“I can adapt.” Jimin said.

Yoongi’s eyebrow shot up.

Wait,

Shit.

Jimin cleared his throat to say, “So far I think I’ve done well.”

“I wouldn’t deny it.” Yoongi lifted his chin, squinted, then continued; “If I were to say—you, as yourself, wholly—both known to me and unknown, would you actually see something in me? Is this not your heat toying with you?”

“If we met in a different circumstance. I think, at first, I would be fascinated.” Jimin carefully lowered his legs to cross them, excited to lean into this conversation. “Then—I would definitely defy orders to talk to you, I would want to know where you are from, what you do, what your family is like, what you like and dislike—uhm. If you want fledglings—or pups, what you want in a family or if you want one at all. Let’s see, like when you said an omegas’ blood close to a heat can cause a vampire to go feral, what did you mean by that? Is there anything else I should know about vampires? I know there’s different kinds and if you’re special—how. And why are you unmated? Are you recently turned? How old are you? Have you ever been with an omega? I would ask you all sorts of questions—that by the time you answered, I wouldn’t go as far as to say ‘fallen’ for you, but tripped, surely.”

Jimin’s delightful list of rambles and babbles, all of which made him excited to chatter, left the air light and warm. Yoongi had fallen into an attentive daze somewhere in the middle of all that–that if he didn’t reply, Jimin would’ve even thought he wasn’t listening. Then the vampire quoted; “Tripped.”

“Yes,” Jimin nodded—only to sink back down to admire him, still teasing. “Just a stumble.”

Yoongi smiled. “Then let’s stumble together.”

Jimin hardly moved, his mind and body interchangeable on what that—what it meant—and Jimin understood that falling in love was to run a match for its spark and ultimately, to actually set the candle alight. Since meeting Yoongi, Jimin’s been playing with the matches, wasting one every now an’ then to test if the spark caught. Now, to be accosted with a sense of possibly sharing that made Jimin still. It was like Yoongi gave him the candle.

Only one candle; one chance.

Jimin held back on his omegan instincts and quietly asked, “Where are you from?”

Yoongi’s endeared smile had stretched along his gumline, showing all his teeth and the missing fang till he said, “I’m from Northern Wihae, the arctic rifts.”

Jimin only recognized; “–arctic.”

“—mhm, it’s more northeast of the palace.”

“Like polar packs.” Jimin wasn’t comfortable with saying how he knew what those were. The palace prided itself on the hyperborean pack hunts because of their bright white furs, so he goes; “Your hair is white.”

Duh.

Yoongi nodded, “–it is.”

Jimin deliberately descended into the water, feeling like an idiot—but too stubborn to drop the conversation. A more coherent approach was to ask, “Were you part of a polar pack–?”

“Not sure.”

Yoongi’s eyes set on nothing in particular. Which was strange, nothing would’ve exceeded that answer, it was a concept hard to grasp with Yoongi’s vampiran appearance but even so, it didn’t outdo a particular question being; “Then you know what you’re doing.”

What we did.

This invited a pervasive air between them, one concerned of some implicit need to preserve favor, as such, Yoongi nodded. “You’re talking about your scent gland.”

Jimin tried to keep his head cool, otherwise the blood in his body would betray gravity and he didn’t need to be any more red than he already was.

Yoongi answered with an; “I do.”

“That’s no way to court a man.” Jimin opined.

“No, it’s not.” Yoongi said, “If I offended you, you can tell me.”

“If that were what I felt, I wouldn’t have asked you to stay.”

“Then what is it ‘you felt?”

Jimin tendered no ire for the man, only a fondness too quickened to catch control of. To keep himself from acting anymore of a crude omega—he changed the subject onward to another question, being; “I thought wolves died if bitten by vampiran blood.”

Jimin looked at his hand and coughed out an awkward laugh, the blindness of being lied to by Priea was acceptable and plainly laugh worthy. To him, the commonality of being deceived deserved no scornful look, however, Yoongi looked a bit disturbed.

“You set yourself up to feed me from your hand, in the shed, thinking you would die?” Yoongi asked.

Jimin didn’t think of it like that so he pointed out; “Technically I didn’t anticipate being bit, I just hung it over you—”

“—do you understand how naive that sounds?”

Jimin downcasted a pout. “I believed we could lean on each other to a degree, it was dire for the both of us, so long as you made it, I knew I would be okay.”

Yoongi pulled his hand out from the water and leaned on the wall of tub, that narrow disapproving look stayed. Jimin could tell he was being judged for his lack of self-preservation but he hoped Yoongi would understand he had no life worth preserving or prior teachings’ in that sense. And besides, Jimin uttered, “I trust you.”

Yoongi’s silent stride was torn from its stagnant furrow and replaced to a halt, whereas Jimin could see he even thought about leaving but remained at his side.

Jimin couldn’t understand why there was so much tension in the act of trust—or why he clenched his jaw whenever the word came up, and even in the face of the excuse for what happened with him to get here or Yoongi’s state as a vampire, Jimin didn’t want those differences be what cuts the red string tying them together. Upon this, Jimin said, “My old teachings as a pup. It was said such avarice made vampires demons of greed, to quickly be picked and pupped was the way of virtue as an omega—you can imagine my dilemma and shock.”

Yoongi looked askanced, enough’ to mumble; “That’s depressing.”

Jimin shrugged, “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“You are. In fact—I think you should get out soon, before the water gets cold.”

“Never have I ever been so at peace during a cycle, just a little longer, please—” Jimin blinked puppy eyes.

Yoongi huffed, defeated.

“Hm—” Jimin’s glint in his eyes returned, “—okay, then. How old are you?”

A quarter of a moment passed before Yoongi answered, “A hundred–an’ two.” Perceiving the ‘two’ as if that were the wild part, he made sure to narrow in on; “I’m on the younger side of my peers.”

“A hundred–an’ two.” Jimin agaped, “–and by younger, you mean the other vampires?”

Yoongi nodded.

“What do you do now?” As for work, Jimin guessed; “Fighter?”

“I look like a fighter?” Yoongi dryly snorted, his disbelief comical.

“You’ve got a scar for it–” Jimin nudged his own chin outwards, a gist for the vertical scar swathed over Yoongi’s silver eye, “–you didn’t hesitate to attack that man in the spire, you’re quick too. I’ve seen alphas fight, how they handle metal. Your wrists twirl the way one would with experience, like that knights’ weapon was an inept weapon—and killing didn’t phase you. I guess those aren’t grounds solely for a fighter but you infiltrated the palace of Priea—”

“—it’s complicated.” Yoongi gave him a joyless look, possessing sympathy but his words were disheartened.

It didn’t have to be, was Jimin’s first thought but he knew that was insensitive so he settled for; “I gave you a couple chances to spare yourself by leaving me but you didn’t. I don’t think I thanked you for that.” Yoongi still appeared disheartened, so Jimin added, “I still want to know what your position is within your pack.”

Yoongi smiled, “–s’ not a fighter.”

“Hunter?”

“No.”

“Scavenger.”

“No.”

“Voyager.”

“No.”

“Constable?”

“No.”

“Must I guess?” Jimin was smiling, the fun of it being contagious.

“Seeing how horrible you are reading a man, I must say—”

“—hey, unfair; I knew no one, how else am I to tell?”

Yoongi’s unanswered stretch of silence was pulled along with his change of position. “You know a lot of titles,” he said. “I’ll give you that.”

Jimin established an exchange of eye contact before looking down, to curl in on himself in effort to cover his modesties. Yoongi got up to sit on the rim of the tub and Jimin knew it was pupish but their current positions made it feel like he was about to be bathed by a mate.

Then Yoongi said, “Turn around—” to add; “—I’m going to scrub your back.”

Jimin couldn’t believe how he called it, nor his instinct to simply comply despite his diffidence.

Unstrung to their flip of topics, Jimin ducked his head and placed his cheek on the arms that sat atop his knees, sighing.

“I knew my end was closer–than’ not, when I was captured, if it’s to hold some merit, my own death would’ve been more honorable than to return as defeated as I am. I’m no fighter, if—”

Jimin quickly turned around, wild–eyed and absolutely alarmed, he splashed him.

“Idiot.” And as bullheaded he was, Jimin prided on Yoongi’s flinch before altering his insult with; “What’re you a poet? Should you take any idea of honor then you would know there’s no greater defeat than a fool giving up. Mourn however you need, set the palace aflame ‘for–all I give a damn—but me’ saving you shouldn’t go in vain.”

Yoongi bridged his speechlessness with an incredulous scoff. If he were insulted, then Jimin fought off the worry of it—more emotional over the fact that the vampire had a death wish.

“Saving you was–an–is as mindless as you making a run for it to nowhere.”

“Then do you regret it?”

Yoongi lathered some soap on a bristle brush while asking, “Regret what.”

“Having made it out alive.”

Yoongi spent a moment brushing a damp streak of hair from his brow, moderately soaked now but unaffected in his repeated statement being; “Turn around.”

Jimin huffed, heeding to the demand. In spite of his sudden reaction, careless to his injuries, Jimin was left to suffer in silence—squeezing his wrist—while his hand burned.

“I don’t.” Yoongi said, “I don’t regret it.”

When the bristle brush landed on his nape, Jimin hummed. It was tender there. And only after Yoongi started to make circles along his spine and scapulas did Jimin care to say, “Only omegas’ ever washed me, puplet years.” He felt Yoongi’s hand stutter. “Never anyone else.”

“Then we’re both steering this boat in the dark.” Yoongi made sure to reach over, getting his ribs.

Jimin contemplated on apologizing for his little outburst but if he did, he would be lying. It upset him to think that Yoongi had already given up when he saw him in that cage. So that they didn’t conclude this conversation on ice, he mumbled, “I’m happy you made it.”

Jimin heard a cork pop and froze when Yoongi took hold of his head. It was to apply shampoo and to allow the leeway he needed to massage it into his scalp. Eventually, Yoongi said, “Likewise.”

Jimin could feel his heat making beads of sweat along his skin, as if he were a cold glass of water or had just gone out for a run. If it weren’t for the gentle lathering going on behind his ears and atop his head, he would whine in lieu of it; “You’re a masseur.”

“No.” Yoongi tried not to smile.

“No?” Jimin closed his eyes and lulled his head back, allowing the weight to rest in Yoongi’s massaging hands. Unironically, Jimin’s words came out sarcastic. “You really have something going for you then, might’ve found a secret calling.”

“You’re silly.”

Jimin’s smile pulled across his face from ear to ear when he heard Yoongi’s laugh. The vampire’s words then felt like a familiar adversary when he asked, “Since you’re free of Priea, have you thought about what you wanted with your freedom? I think the village is short of jesters—”

“—idiot.”

They both laughed this time.

Jimin lifted his head and thought about it before saying, “I guess I’ll have enough time to think it over.”

Yoongi took a basin and lulled Jimin’s head back. “Close your eyes.”

Jimin obliged, trembling when the wash of warmth doused his head. Yoongi had his hand firmly placed underneath it, securing him in place as he rinsed out the shampoo from his crow-black hair. The care and attention was turning Jimin’s spine into an arched rod. Sneaking but only a peek, he saw how Yoongi’s mix-matched eyes were on his jugular, pinning every inch of his neck and collar.

Blood.

That’s what he wants—but the sheer thought of being bit gave Jimin a jolt that forced him to sit up. He was erect, again.

“I—” Jimin squirmed a bit, turning around and attempting to cover his penis with the hand of five fingers.

Fuck.

Did he see it?

“Here, let’s drain the water and run a new fill.” Yoongi unplugged the drain stopper before Jimin could protest. “I know you’ll probably sweat through the night but at least it’ll be a clean run.”

With his erection hardening to his own touch and his rear on the verge of dehydrating him, Jimin felt torn bare, chagrined and to the mercy of Yoongi’s pity. If only his heat hadn’t hit, Jimin swore under his tongue.

“Jimin.”

Discomfitted to even acknowledge him, Jimin looked up.

“Would you want for me to leave–”

“–no.” Anything but that. Jimin gently grabbed Yoongi’s robe with his injured hand, whispering; “I want your scent on me.”

In truth it was, that was Jimin’s request only amplified by his heat. Those words seemed to jostle before Yoongi, like a riddle or theory to be solved. When he sat back on the floor and when his arm slung over the tub’s wall, his hand took place on Jimin’s knee, flat and firm, warm.

In a slow dip of space, Yoongi leaned closer and made sure to watch Jimin’s expression carefully.

The vampire didn’t move, he was waiting for permission to touch him, though he said, “I can’t scent you.”

Jimin parted his knees, spreading his thighs just enough to allow room for Yoongi’s arm—but that wasn’t enough, Yoongi needed to hear it.

Jimin wanted to complain, to plead’ be–it to spare him the shame for he was already submitting himself to the man.

“Please,” was what Jimin winced; “Fuck the line, let me be more to you.”

Yoongi’s shoulders went rigid and he drew in a breath much–akin’ to a gasp, as if he wasn’t expecting Jimin to say that, and the glint in both his crimson and crystal eyes dimmed.

Something in Jimin’s gut told him that Yoongi was still convinced the omega held no desire for the vampire and that it was just the heat talking. Still, Jimin put the topic aside and pleaded, “Please—you can touch me.”

Yoongi used his free hand to cusp his craning neck.

Jimin mewled, pushing closer till he was up against the wall of the tub. The vampire tempted to knead his scent gland again but this time, his other hand slid along Jimin’s inner thigh.

Jimin gently closed his legs on Yoongi’s arm, plush and soft, and gasped when Yoongi wrapped both his fingers around the shaft of his erection. Yoongi gave him no friction the instant Jimin started to breathe wildly.

“Keep your breathing shallow, remember your ribs.” Yoongi instructed.

“You’re touching me–”

“–want me to stop?”

“No.” Jimin breathed out.

“Let me do everything, here—lean into me.”

And that’s exactly what Jimin did.

With Yoongi facing him, Jimin could only hunch in an effort to hold onto him. The water was beginning to run low and Jimin’s naked body was exposed to the air. His mind was on how Yoongi started to work his wrist up and down while steadily thrusting his other middle and pointer finger into the gland on his neck, rolling at the swollen nib relentlessly.

Jimin’s done this to himself before but never experienced it from another mans’ touch. The shocks of sensitive jolts both by gland and cock, he was never steady and accustomed to touching himself, for he would always pause or freeze when it got too much. But with Yoongi—the vampire didn’t slow down till Jimin climaxed. The release slowly ripped through him in escape of a cut–short cry that was interrupted by Yoongi’s second hand drawing the layer of his foreskin back to ply into his slit.

“Yoongi–! Yoo–ah, ah—” Jimin’s voice cracked against his high, succumbing to it as Yoongi rubbed the pad of his thumb over the hole, as if controlling how much seed Jimin could release. 

Somehow, Jimin’s mind unlatched itself from his body’s demands and drifted against his wishes to stay as they were. He didn’t want this to be a temporary entente or casual experiment—but his instincts to mate were demanding all sorts of instant obscenities that were unacceptable.

Yoongi’s hand withdrew from his groin and neck. When he brought his hand up to his mouth—just as he had with Jimin’s scent gland earlier, it was to taste Jimin’s seed from his thumb. The clouded substance glossed Yoongi’s lip, brazen with shameless leisure; Jimin was too taken aback to stop him.

Now lucid enough to know his demands—and Jimin credited his fearlessness to his heat—but Yoongi’s voice was low and leaden with such ease and care, that Jimin didn’t expect to hear; “Forgive me if this is my only request out of our arrangement. To taste where I touch.”

All the blood down south rose north, and if Jimin were anymore red, his head would pop.

When Yoongi worked the tubs’ handle to turn the water back on, Jimin blurted out; “This isn’t just an arrangement, I don’t want you to think I’m using you; either.”

Yoongi didn’t say anything besides; “Close your eyes.”

Jimin obliged, holding only his breath when Yoongi poured a basin of clean water over his head and shoulders. He repeated this till Jimin blindly felt for–and ultimately grabbed the vampire’s arm. Gently, Jimin used the back of his bad hand to clear his eyes of the water, to open them and see that Yoongi did not change the subject, he insisted; “I mean it, Yoongi. You can’t just—we can’t just—” Jimin’s eyes were kept low, he didn’t want to be lovers for a day but it was too soon to ask for forever. “Please, say something.”

Yoongi’s expression twisted and the bridge of his nose wrinkled, he averted his attention as if he were upset again, but his voice was soft. His adam’s apple bobbed and his eyes looked unsure but before he could speak—just outside the washroom—passed the living room, the doors’ front bell was pulled.

Chapter Text

“Wait here.” Yoongi rinsed and dried both his hands before he could leave the washroom.

“Make sure to lock the doors after I’m gone—and remember not to venture out, your faces are on all the bounty prints. I’ll be back by sun–up, to check in by knocking but pulling the bell means trouble.”

The night wasn’t even over, daybreak was hours away; whether the two coexisted, Jimin went against Yoongi’s say-so and finished rinsing himself with the basin. He helped himself to the towel and clothes, anxiously avoiding use of his bad hand—and arm—all together, while trying to maneuver closer to the door.

He anticipated the worst despite Yoongi’s restful demeanor. The vampire had a relaxed stance throughout it all–an’ while the old man went on and on, Yoongi said something that left Merchant Jeong aghast and in a reply, Yoongi shook his head, massaging his temple. It wasn’t good.

When it came to resolving the issue, Merchant Jeong left with some words and a nod. 

Jimin took that as his cue to exit the washroom and ask; “What happened?”

“Towns’ court granted the palace permission to issue a morning pursuit.” Yoongi took a double–take, one for acknowledgement and another for Jimin’s clothes. “How’re you feeling?”

Jimin’s heat was sedated for now, for a reason that made him unwieldy, and half-mindedly forgetful of his hand—wherefore he winced upon taking hold of it. Yoongi sighed, “Come, sit.” He meant for the couch. “I should at least wrap your foot.”

I’m fine.

He wasn’t but it was easier hopping on one leg or limping than it was navigating his hand. He held his own arm with such great fear of nicking it on something, Jimin practically collapsed into the couch once he made way around the furniture.

“Are we leaving then?” Jimin turned his upper body to peer back, catching sight of the vampire rummaging drawers. When it came to redressing his injuries, Yoongi returned with a wooden first aid box and a clothespin clipped on his nose.

“Wh–” Jimin couldn’t help but laugh.

Yoongi got on his knees and examined the bottom of Jimin’s foot with a careful lift. In a low but nasally voice, Yoongi went; “–not sexy enough for you?”

“You joke at the worst times.” With his good leg, Jimin nudged him, a light kick. “And I can do it myself if it’s so difficult for you.”

The cooling substance that tingled was revealed to be some form of green paste retrieved from the box. Yoongi ignored his offer and began to sponge it over the stitches. 

“You insist on caring for me, as would a lover but you won’t talk to me.” Jimin complained. “And fine, be–by it’ to avoid that conversation but at least tell me what’s to happen.”

“They’re mostly after you but if they find their things, my packs’ belongings, it’ll draw back to Merchant Jeong—so I’m going to pack everything into the back of a carriage and by the time I’m done, he’ll have a horse ready for us.”

“We’re leaving.” Jimin tried not to poke at the stuffy tone and note, “I don’t think I’m fit to travel.”

“You’ll be okay, we’ll be in the woods.”

“For at least, a days’ count—maybe two or even three, I won’t even be lucid.”

“No one will touch you, Jimin.”

Jimin knew it was rational to feel cold to the thought and he could convince himself, sure, to trust those words but that wasn’t what worried him. It was; “And if I ask you to?”

Yoongi’s eyes carried onto the couch, then gathered across the floor, all while he held Jimin’s ankle without enough distraction to let go of his thoughts. Eventually, he pushed back the warmth in his tone and coldly said, “I’ll be oblivious to you, till you come back to your senses.”

Jimin bit his lip, that was not what he wanted—nor to hear, so he didn’t hide his sour reaction.

“I told you, you’re hurt.”

“Fine,” Jimin won’t push—fine; “But it’s you, only you, I don’t want anyone near me.” Yoongi’s ears twitched and his eyebrows beckoned between knitted into a knot and sad frown. It was like he strained himself on Jimin’s words, so all Jimin could think now was; “Why were your things left here?”

“Wh–what do you mean?” Yoongi started wrapping his foot. “Do you mean my packmates’ bags and stuff?”

“Yes.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be longer than an nights’ count when we got to the palace.” His hand gently drew up Jimin’s ankle, taking notice of a scar. “Merchant Jeong just held on to it till we returned.”

“I see.” Jimin felt to fault for putting this man through more than what was necessary but it couldn’t be helped. “What is Merchant Jeong to you? To be helping fugitives of Aneira could have him hanged, Duri too—worse even.”

“–’s a long story.” Yoongi’s thumb was brushing along the scar on Jimin’s ankle.

Since this vampire was so adamant about keeping their conversations vague, Jimin caught his curiosity by answering, “–dancing accident.” The scar, it was caused one morning—in his adolescence—when he twisted his ankle during a dance recital. The days’ lesson just prior to that was on vampires and at the time, the topic was spoken in as much as the bane of wolven existence. His antiquities instructors pushed the narrative of evil–spirited creatures made to lure wolves from traditional customs. Jimin was probably six, maybe seven. “It was spring. I wanted to see the flowers from one of the foyers’ garden patches but missed a step, spun wrong and—” Jimin made a flipping motion with his good hand, “—bone came right out.”

Yoongi’s hand glided up along his calf, slithering dangerously underneath the loose fabric of his pants. “You’re really a dancer.”

Jimin smiled a little, coy to jest, “Did you think I lied?”

Yoongi got up to sit on the couch, at his side, while Jimin was still thinking about what he said to this man, he practically confessed as an omega—and got no reaction or comment. Maybe that’s all he was to the vampire, a sentiment worth the fling but nothing more. The idea made Jimin take a deep breath, he didn’t want it to be true. 

After Yoongi took his hand, he started to apply the paste, Jimin looked away. The sensation of the sponges’ surface patting against the severed bone and stitched tendons jerked a cry out of him. He didn’t care about his foot or rib, or even ripping the couches’ arm rest, it hurt.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Yoongi quickly finished with the damn paste and said, “I’ll wrap it now.”

Jimin could only grit his teeth, seeing stars as would beholding the room as a weak distraction from the pain. If anything, looking at Yoongi helped him more—and so he did just that. Holding down his groans and doing best not to sound like a pup, Jimin looked over.

Yoongi glanced up at him and mumbled; “–will you ever dance again?”

Jimin looked away, not wanting to see the barbarity that became of his fingers and managed an; “I—” He’s trying to distract me “—I don’t know.”

Yoongi ran one strip of cotton around Jimin’s wrist and resumed lapping his palm. It took him a moment but he managed a soft; “I don’t think you’re using me.” The candlelight outlined the shape of his nose and feline–like eyes, warm and dim. The vampire must’ve felt his eyes on him and looked up. 

Even Jimin’s thoughts went quiet.

Yoongi detached himself to get more cloth to wrap his hand. “For now–for you ‘or forever–for me, whenever—I don’t think you’re completely aware of what you’re insinuating. I think the best thing we can do right now, is make it out of Priea alive—and I can’t do that if you are what’s in my head.”

“That’s too bad, you’re stuck with me.” Jimin picked the clothespin off his nose, snapping it shut in the process and clipping it on the cross-flap of his robe.

The first thing Yoongi did was complain an; “–ow.”

“I’m keeping this—”

“—why?”

Jimin regarded his affinity for novelties and trinkets upon his heats, to decorate his nest if he were a bird instead of a wolf—and by the time he realized he was hesitating, he could see Yoongi caught onto the notion of it being something he was too embarrassed to mention.

Jimin settled on; “It’s an omegan thing.”

Yoongi’s tone fell carnivorously low when he hummed, as if he understood what he meant but curiously. His red and grey eyes so–conscious and deliberately contrived unto’ Jimin that the omega felt another wave of slick returning.

“In your pack.” Jimin tried not to show for the pain erupting in stomach and rear. “What will I do for work?”

“That’ll be up to you, no?” Yoongi answered lightly. “If you pick a new profession, you can just be taught–”

“–they’ll do that?”

“Course’ they would.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“What if–I picked to be an archer.”

“So be it.”

“A builder?”

“That would be fun.”

“How about a weaver or baker?”

“Why not both?”

“Or a blacksmith–”

Yoongi’s laugh cracked out of him, against his own contended impassivity. Jimin took it as a way to mock him and weakly snapped a “–what!”

“Nothing.” 

“Don’t mess with me, I’ll be thinking about it for days if you let me—”

“—good,” Yoongi prompted. “It’ll be easier for you to adjust once you know what you want.”

“Then will we still be friends?”

“Friends.” Yoongi quoted that word with a vibration to his tone, doubtful or not, it meant something. Jimin’s fingers curled into the sheet beneath him, clutching it with whitening knuckles. The air turned thick and insinuating, a shift that slowly progressed somewhere along the way unbeknownst to him; but he could see it. He could smell it.

Jimin dared to ask, “If I asked for more from you, would you?” And Yoongi took a breath but Jimin cut him off with a whispered; “—when I’ve healed.”

Yoongi leaned inwards. Jimin’s upper back and head was pressed into the cushion of the couch pillows, his chest swaying up and down—while his eyes dared to study the vampire’s lips.

Yoongi turned his head but instead of a kiss, he stooped lower and lingered within the crook of Jimin’s neck.

Static.

Sheer static.

The smell of vetiver and cassia flowers was strong in Yoongi’s hair—and it looked so soft.

Jimin could feel his breath fluctuating. That ferrous, acrid smell of fresh–kill was nothing else but a vampire’s fantasy and Yoongi’s lips were parted but his nose led him just as would a sniffing beast.

Jimin gulped, anticipating something—anything but nothing came and Yoongi withdrew. Because of the Commissioner, “You’re hurt–” Yoongi reminded; “Even if I wanted to, I—”

“—but you want to.”

Fuck desperation.

Jimin needed to know.

He didn’t want him to think he was acting out on the need for sexual favors but it was becoming strenuous on his body, waiting and listening, asking and looking. Felt like he was growing thorns where his ovaries were supposed to be and he had no control over the throbbing sensation coming from his muscles.

Jimin grimaced; and seeing that, Yoongi’s reaction conveyed no concern besides some sort of wordless understanding and pity.

“You know the answer to that—”

“—but I wanna hear you say it.” That he’d bed him, breed him—at any choosing of the vampire’s word, it didn’t matter. Jimin was aware that it would be reckless to mate, he just needed something to work with; “I need something to touch myself to.”

On an impulse, Yoongi’s eyes went wide, a new expression; and he looked so cute.

Jimin’s instincts to reinforce their signified bond by howling or touching nose–to–nose, maybe even flattening his ears or whimpering. “Would it feel good?” Jimin breathed out. “How would you do it? How would you want to take me? I—”

Yoongi stuffed a roll of gauze in Jimin’s mouth.

That lewd string of obscenities came to a halt.

Jimin retched to the taste, wanting to swear at the man till Yoongi stood up and started to untie his sash worn around his waist. His ears were red and he let out a breath, slowly—and through his nose.

Jimin’s back straightened, “–what’re you doing?”

“I have to pack, and this is—” Yoongi tossed the sash on his lap and undressed from his overcoat that served as a robe atop his shirt and pants. He tossed that too, the robe, and said, “—to touch yourself to.”

Then Yoongi left him.

He just gave me his—

Jimin plopped on his good side, groaning to the torment of the cracked rib and afflictions bounding his hand and foot. Yoongi tasked himself with collecting his packmates’ belongings while Jimin, indignantly exposed, was left to bury his face into the robe and sash Yoongi had to offer.

Jimin couldn’t even indulge in grinding against the clothes, not without bringing attention to himself—and Yoongi was already attentive as it is. Every cross and pass, carrying bags and boxes, the vampire would look at him, assessing him as if Jimin were an ailing pup. And he may as well be.

Yoongi must’ve thought that his scent was enough to calm him—and by staying as still as he had, it wasn’t helping.

Jimin was sensible enough to know that if he were to partake in the act of voyeurism, he would never live it down. It already drove him up the wall to think about how he’ll have to look back on this night and remember how he said; “I need something to touch myself to. Would it feel good? How would you do it? How would you want to take me?”

Jimin groaned again, thereby curling into the shape of a shrimp. He couldn’t even turn around without disclosing his backside having soaked through his clothes. Somewhere within his misery, Merchant Jeong returned but Jimin was too occupied with suppressing his need to moan and wail. His pains got so severe, his lower half started to feel cold—then hot, then cold again.

“Can you hear me?” Yoongi reappeared at his side, dipping some weight into the couch, and ultimately placed a hand on Jimin’s forehead.

Jimin wasn’t one to lose all rationality in his fits of early heat so he nodded into the ruffle that became the vampire’s robe. He knew if he moved freely, he would regret whatever mewl threatened to escape his mouth. And as a result, when Yoongi lifted him, it was like lifting a rock or better yet, a cub clinging to a pillow. Jimin didn’t want to move or let go of the robe and sash, he also didn’t expect Yoongi to heave his weight, simply to prop the omega up to sit.

Jimin traded his need to smell Yoongi’s clothes for covering his obvious erection and looked around in horror of being seen till Yoongi said, “I asked him to wait outside.”

Jimin gulped, “–thank you.”

“I’ll help you to the carriage, by sun–up then, we’ll be far from Aureum’s Market—but we have to go now.”

Jimin looked back, the door to the bedroom and back; “The cast for your fang, it’s on the nightstand, I don’t want to lose it.”

Yoongi’s head ducked and he plucked the silver accessory from his breast pocket, showing it off before putting it back; “Done.”

“Okay.” Jimin got up; I can do this.

Slick poured out of him—and legs felt tingly, as if both had fallen asleep. It stung to walk and even though Yoongi took his good arm as an anchor to hook over his shoulders, each step felt tortuous. The walk to the door and pause by the vestibule was harrowing.

Jimin didn’t have shoes to wear but Yoongi made sure to dress him in a fur from the coats’ hanger. It smelled like him, so Jimin tried to speak through the pain; “Is this one yours?” And Jimin was still clinging to Yoongi’s overcoat and sash, pressing the ball into his stomach. “A little romantic for someone on the run.”

Yoongi scoffed.

The back door led to a tight alley of cobblestone and low retaining walls. Jimin could hear the late–night townsmen going about their tasks and the close–sound of clobbering of the horse’s hooves against the stones.

The carriage was a transporting wagon, foreign under what he seen from the palace but well–made and built of oiled ipe wood, painted with a polish to resist rain and moisture. A spare wheel was tied to the top of the wagons’ roof, along with small wooden chests and crates. Where there could be a moonroof was’ braided bamboo sheath and rolled up curtain. Two wooden stakes with curved hooks held lanterns by–where’ Yoongi would be sitting and where the main door to the carriage lay.

“Her names’ Esmarie.” Merchant Jeong said, “Call it’ and she’ll be ready for yards at a time.”

“Thank you.” Yoongi told him; “The elders’ll receive your regard.”

Elders?

What elders?

Merchant Jeong handed him a small parcel dressed in a velvety sheet, tied and tucked to hide whatever glass clinks resided within it. “For the travel,” the old man said; “–for the both of you.”

Jimin wanted to ask about what he meant but Yoongi paused; assessing the item and putting it in one of his breast pockets, as if he already knew.

That was when he returned to Jimin’s side to help him up through the back of the carriage. Inside, had a twin–sized bench with cushion, for seating or rest. Jimin crawled atop it and lied down as Yoongi shut the door with him inside.

It wasn’t entirely soundproof but it was admittedly better for peace. Only one lantern hung from the corner and by the looks of the other side to the interiors, a table could be unfolded.

Yoongi took the side route and sat where he could maneuver Esmaries’ leads.

Merchant Jeong said something about “–effective for two hours–” and “–take the moss road.”

In no time, Jimin swayed and the carriage began to move. He could hear the pelts and flaps on the cotton drape over the wagon. He could cling to the back and peer over a small opening that allowed him to talk to Yoongi, like a window with a curtain, where he could open and draw the two small sheets apart.

“Don’t let anyone see you.” Yoongi said, his gaze forward.

Just like that.

They were leaving again.

Jimin closed the small curtain and laid himself into a ball, atop nothing but the cushioned wood and stuffed pillows of hay. He felt like he was a stowaway, or hidden loot stolen and taken from its chest. Again, in the pursuit for who knows’ where. 

Who knows’ where.

Chapter Text

The night was coming to an end and Jimin was beset, a foe to sleep—and that wasn’t his usual routine, he never struggled with sleep. That bliss would’ve been nice too, to actually sleep—but no.

He thought of his sedative teas, the green chemically flavor and sunken red petals and what ease it could give him if he just managed to get the damn sachet—but no.

As obscene as it was, regardless of the shift in hormones and his instinct to jump the vampire steering their carriage, he couldn’t get himself off to anything other than the vivid memory of being touched. And he couldn’t name a better lover. The forbidden aspect and all the coincidences, they managed not to kill each other thus far.

“Let me do everything, here—lean into me.”

Jimin could still feel the rumble in his voice, the steady breaths and the firm hold he had by wrapping his arm over Yoongi’s shoulders. The thought of what he would look like without said–shirt again—rose a prickly static out from underneath Jimin’s skin. It was decreed as a transgression to cross–breed and universally set out as a moral to refrain from it—so why; Why can’t I think of anything else?

Ugh.

And he was supposed to take up residence like this, assuming Yoongi as the stranger he was, it sickened Jimin to think that all this could be so meaningless.

As soon as he brought himself to sit up, he lurched forward and scrambled to open the carriage window. The past day and night, he barely ate and now his stomach was attempting to empty itself. Misery was to fault for the cold sweats, the tears and groan. When the carriage slowly stopped and bid him his moment of quiet mercy, Yoongi unhooked a small wooden latch that controlled the sliding door to the back of the carriage.

Pitifully, Jimin rolled over—to avoid the sight of Yoongi but then the vampire sat next to him, on the floor beside the stuffed pillows of hay.

“The suns’ coming up.” Yoongi said, words that didn’t meet the omega since they left. “We’ll rest here till sundown.”

Jimin trembled, his back was a wall between them. Waiting out hours for another trip made him nearly beg for another option, anything but that. Desperately, he turned around—quickly—and sat up in respite of his state and willed his voice back out through his chest and roughly said, “I can’t do this.” Forcing himself not to weep; “I can’t—”

“What do you need from me?” Yoongi’s hand sputtered back and forth, he hesitated but seeing as to how Jimin leaned into his palm, he was confident to—at least—caress his head.

“You—”

“—careful, Jimin.” Yoongi let his touch fall onto the pillow. His skin was damp because of the dewy air and his hair was tousled from the summer wind. Notes of the forestry clung to him—amidst the cassia flowers and hint of vetiver. “I’ve already touched you, seen you; it’ll make no difference to take you as is.”

Jimin’s attention wandered onto his neck, his collar bone and his clothes, till Jimin’s hand made hurdles to hold Yoongi’s face. Fearfully shaking to the touch but so determined to get a good look at the vampire up close, Jimin drew his short–silvery hair back and held his breath.

Yoongi couldn’t read his thoughts, so all he did was blink. His lips were relaxed but once tightened shut and his mixed–matched eyes favored a colder response, Jimin squeezed the cloth beneath him and looked down.

“I shouldn’t–I—this is madness.” Jimin managed; “I should’ve never left.”

“That’s not true.” Yoongi tucked his hand in one of his breast pockets. “I’ll second–the’ madness’ part but you made it too far to go back now.”

Jimin had to lie back down—deep breaths, a heavy chest—and a strained voice saying; “It hurts. Everything fucking hurts. And you—”

“—you what.” Yoongi planted those words with a distracted flick of attention, like he was thinking about something that needed a clear mind.

“You keep dodging what I’ve been asking of you.”

Yoongi looked back as would an aide to someone lying with a fever. Jimin knew about the tent in his pants and bent one leg to cover himself but even in that movement, he failed because of his foot. This vampire may just be the only man whose’ seen him in such a pathetic state—that alone his embarrassment may just kill him before his heat does.

“There’s nothing for omegas in the market but there’s contraceptives for–” Yoongi didn’t say vampire, but he did show Jimin the small parcel obtaining three cork jars. “It takes three sundowns’ to hold so if you were even well enough to mate, it would have to wait.”

Mate.

To mate–

“–with you.” Jimin wanted to sit up but the crunching in his abdomen caused the broken ribs to grind. “Is that what Merchant Jeong gave you? Contraceptives?”

“Two are, ones’ for me.” Said with no emotion, Yoongi downed one of the potions abd roughly added; “–for hunger.”

“Which ones’ that?”

“Three sundowns’ from now, if you still want to—” he paused.

“You’re saying I’ll have to wait three days to bed you.”

“Your heats lasts seven, yes?”

“You’ve already felt me, seen me; even said it yourself, it’ll make no difference.”

Yoongi’s eyes did a short jump into saying, “–that’s not what I meant.”

Jimin wanted to roll over into a ball if not’ to present, receive something—anything; not just words so’ he groaned.

“I already made my proposal.” The thin sheen of sweat throbbed as a tide would rise and Jimin felt more and more irritated by the minute. “You set your conditions.”

“Then–” Yoongi’s head turned and his attention bore into Jimin’s flesh, tracing downwards along his reclined body as if he were coming to assess a puzzle. “Tell me if–to’ stop, when for however far we go—that is my condition.”

Jimin’s thoughts skipped onto a blank slate but his heartbeat picked up once Yoongi started to undo his waist tie; Jimin’s waist tie, so when Jimin grabbed him, to hold that hand still—he realized Yoongi meant only to touch him, again. 

Jimin nodded.

Yoongi turned to his side to lie down. In a makeshift, he got comfortable as would he to sleep but while leaning his head on the inner–bent of his arm, his free hand slid beneath the outer cross–flap of Jimin’s robe. Knowing Yoongi must’ve felt the damp cloth and the lift’ of Jimin’s erection had Jimin covering both of his own eyes, swearing; “What was it–that you said–” he panted, “–we stumble together, right?”

“Yeah.”

“–can you stumble faster?”

Yoongi tsked, the unspoken demand granting Yoongi’s arm to run itself past Jimin’s groin, ignoring the omegas’ penis over his modesties, and into him by two fingers. Jimin jerked forward, a gasp that pulled him back down into a swift whimper. With Yoongi’s fingers pushing inwards, slickened to the knuckle, Jimin couldn’t believe what had happened till Yoongi started laboring his middle–an–ring finger in and out; in and out.

“Faster, hm?”

The moment passed in yonder bare, gasping and moaning till Jimin reached his limit and before he could curse out a warning, he felt his relief and Yoongi’s fingers rested within him. Maybe this too, was crossing Jimin’s need to maintain some dignity but in that moment, all he wanted—at the very least—was for Yoongi to; “–hold still, please.”

Jimin swallowed down what he could to smoothen out his voice and gently held Yoongi’s arm in place. “Not yet,” was what he said—turning on his side—and clasping his bare thighs to cushion the vampire’s wrist. It was the sensation of keeping what he could inside, a false knot, better than the hours prior and as regrettably vulnerable as this was, Jimin couldn’t find an excuse to lie. It felt good.

Every teaching based on honoring the ceremonial solemnity of an alphan and omegan matrimony dissipated.

They were breaking so many panels of old scripts and tearing every scroll written in ink, they knew; Jimin knew, Yoongi knew.

The tension in Jimin’s shoulders softened, his shoulders relaxed and gradually paced his breathing. Slowly, in a subtle pull, Yoongi dragged his hand out from underneath Jimin’s clothes and sat up. Jimin covered his face. Slick was everywhere—and his clothes were as good as gone.

Yoongi finally smiled, a breathy laugh as if the task took effort and teased; “How quick.”

“Fuck you.”

Yoongi wasn’t affected by the remark. Instead the vampire set out another chuckle before the hand that was just inside the omega reached his lips. Jimin snapped a quick warning and pointed out to “–don’t you dare.”

Yoongi tasted both fingers with a muffled mouth and “–stop what.” Be it’ too late to actually do something about it, Jimin still expressed his shock.

“That’s vile!”

“Is it?” Yoongi mused, “I beg to differ.”

Jimin had to use his forearm instead of his injured hand as a cover for his face. It was always one shock after another with this creature—and Jimin’s disbelief was the only thing that amused him in all this.

“When the sun sets, I’ll wash up.” Yoongi lied beside him, tugging at a leather bag for a pillow. “I’ll help you to do the same, so get some rest while you’re relieved.” And Jimin was.

In his short burst of disbelief, he didn’t even notice how his body relaxed. Just moments ago, he was nearing tears in a feat to wave the white flag—but now, now he was at peace. A messy, primal setting; but content nonetheless.

“That must be uncomfortable.” Jimin meant the bag, eying how’ and where Yoongi bit his own hand, while scooting back. “Share this with me.”

“The pillow?”

“What else?”

Yoongi scoffed, quizzically akin to a furrowing agreement, he left the bag for an awfully close position with Jimin and said, “You’re somewhat of a brat.” 

“As you are a perv.” Jimin wasn’t the court-trained omega he was before and he had to look forward to the version of himself he’d yet to meet, the fugitive in collusion with a vampire, whose yet to be determined per’ personal relationship. And as serious as it was, Yoongi’s lips twitched and curled, obviously beating down the need to laugh.

Jimin could see where the sun began to set its arrival and as bright as it was, the carriage sealed them away well–enough to protect Yoongi. Another taskly reminder that the man inches from his lips was no wolven blood but an accursed nightly creature. And what of it lay claim to Jimin’s heart, what of it to their difference when they suited each other so well, it meant something to him.

It means something to me.

Jimin could feel his long desired plea for sleep being granted, nor fear or displeasure met as a reaction—and all he could do was sigh.

He means something to me.

   · · · ᯽ · · ·

Yoongi put off marital duties in requital placement for his work, he knew that; everyone did.

The Homebound knew he was too important to waste on unavailing quarrels based on connubial traditions, knowing he would leave if they pushed their paltry narratives, so they gave up pestering him and he got to keep his peace. However, some of the Homebounds’ best were sacrificed to his cause, the elders will deem his retribution—hopefully not worthy of banishment—but perhaps that of an opportunity for profitable unifications. Finally, they would think. There’s our chance, they would think.

Yoongi’s grip on Esmarie’s lead tightened.

Maybe marrying himself off to some politically advantageous hand of some viceroy would be the corrective course of action in his redemption but he didn’t want that—and he hated how Jimin was his first thought.

   · · · ᯽ · · ·

The vetiver and cassia flowers blended well with the petrichor. Jimin’s fluctuated hormones and swoop of moods seesawing between tasks and events mannered him in a way that woke him in a fit of gasps.

“Yoongi–” was what he said as he turned; “Yoongi?”

An ache tore at the tendons just below his belly button, deeply within his intestines and somewhere in his back. At once, he curled like a shrimp and cried out—an example of his pain—but nothing worth giving in to. Jimin looked around, panting heavily.

Yoongi wasn’t in the carriage.

“Yoongi?” Why am I calling out to him, “Yoongi!”

Nothing.

Chapter Text

Jimin grabbed the sill of the carriages’ window and heaved himself up, wobbling to stand and lying flat against the wooden crates. One of them was already opened, the top lazily set and the cover pulled. Inside were clothes and furs, soap sachets and a collection of gardening sickles.

“Yoongi.” He said more sternly, holding off on formalities in trade of an answer but he heard nothing.

It was as silent as a rain could be—and his hearing was sensitive, everything on–an–within him was sensitive, but he could hear no one.

The vampire’s scent was fortunately present, blanketing him as well as the lingering vetiver leading outside the carriage. It led him to the back door but he was still in heat, his heart was rapid, his insides throbbed, and his sweat left uneven tides of blood and sex; an omega alone—a horror in and of its’ own.

Jimin took one of the sickles.

By a couple centimeters, he opened the carriage door where fear transgressed and set his symptoms out of order. It was still raining by a drizzle, muffling sound by a meter wide but that didn’t matter. The moon and starlight showed a body in a leather cloak and black tunic, lying bloodied by the grace of lightning—in an instant, Jimin shut the carriage door, still.

Where is he?

Yoongi, he—

The foul singe that excited Jimin’s body wasn’t fitting to the situation and he knew his heat was to blame so he ignored it and proceeded forward.

What if he needs help?

In a second attempt to open the carriage door, he did so within enough room to exit the carriage. The jump was tough on his foot and with the shift of his weight pulling downwards, he stumbled onto his knees, in the mud and debris—afflicted. He could only use one hand and that was to hold a gardening sickle, whereas his three–fingered limb begged for the same care he once received but now was not the time.

Jimin kept his bad hand tucked and pressed against himself as the other one was kept stretched out and firm. He had to keep blinking to shed clarity upon his vision, even shaking his head from time to time just to keep alert. It was easy to ignore the slick that shamed him, to pay no heed to the pain that limped him, to spurn his thoughts—wholly to focus on what mattered.

Jimin could smell blood; and not his.

The man behind him, back at the carriage, smelled of salt. Yoongi’s much more pleasant string was tied between the trees, anchored in the soil, leading onwards amid a stench that smelled like venison and crude bird–kill. If he had to read between those lines and somewhat tell what had happened, he would be sent astray. They could’ve been attacked while he slept, perhaps distracted and hopefully lost in battle against his vampire.

Where is he?

“Should I call out?” Jimin mumbled, knowing if this were an attack—calling out would be foolish.

In slow, carefully measured steps, he ventured away from the carriage and corpse—following Yoongi’s scent as would an omega to its’ mate—but then he stepped in water; warm water.

The puddle of blood guided his attention affront and worse than a carcass, it was a field-dressed human beta, hung by the feet for draining as if it were a caught deer.

Jimin’s articulated footing lost balance and he fell on his rear, ultimately hurting him more than it should’ve—the burn in his hand, foot and insides went numb. He started to crawl away, making it back to his feet—but; Where’s the carriage?

No.

Instead of taking off in a run and possibly panicking into the woods, he shut his eyes and tried to calm down. This couldn’t be happening and shouldn’t be happening.

The trees all look the same.

Yoongi’s scent was faint.

And the cramping was worse, more‐so the longer he stood.

Then lightning struck where he saw two more dead men sprawled in a slumped ditch. If he stepped too far back, he’d hit the hanging body or slip. The knights killed at the hands of Yoongi–an’ his escape and Commissioner Alpha Hans Jiho’s struggling death was but a reminder to this nightmare.

Did he do this?

Were we really attacked?

It took a couple of minutes to find the massacre, so it should take just the same to return to the carriage.

Jimin tried to make a straight walk back but when it felt too long of a journey. He swallowed his anxieties and attempted to retrace his steps back to the bodies. That way, he knew he was near—but now he couldn’t even find the dead men.

Shit.

“I should’ve never left.” Jimin took deep breaths. “I should’ve stayed–fucking–still!”

The trees smelled of spruce and pine, torn twigs and diluted sap. The vetiver was distinct but with it similar to scented soil or plucked grass, scoping that out in the rain would exceed his abilities as a wolf. He had to follow the cassia flowers.

Please, let me find you.

Jimin already knew he couldn’t do this on his own. If luck was on his side, he knew it was set on meeting Yoongi when he had—had he not, becoming a captive or worse would’ve already met his end.

Please.

It was impossible to see. Jimin was already aware that he possessed some sort of reflective layer behind his retinas, that way his wolven form could catch light better but it was impossible. Never had he ever needed to do this and helplessness was the only option, for he had no pack–training, no survival study or even a plan on how to manage his heat.

He didn’t leave me, did he?

To think of it, Jimin didn’t see Esmarie.

Wait.

A twig cracked and he turned around as fast as he stepped back, dropping backwards without ground to land on; a low precipice. The weight of gravity flipped and his back hit a steep glide, tumbling further and further down till he hit his head.

   · · · ᯽ · · ·

The sweeping leaves combed through daylight just atop Jimin’s eyelids.

He dreamt of the evening where he wore a loose lavender’ gray robe for a catering party that involved generals of a neighboring palace. The smell of the room was asarum and lemon woods. It was a day before a performance and he was catered to in a manner forth’ becoming an eyesight for the alphas in alliance.

At first, it felt crude but then he realized he was allowed in the meeting quarters to pour ale and ultimately allowed to watch as the other men went about business he–himself was forbidden as witness.

The only reason his mother was involved was because there were omegas being held on their enemy terrain. If the palace succeeded with their raids’ expedition, the knightly stead planned to take them as captives and leave the dozen in her care for implementing settlements. And he held this moment close to him because it was the very first in all his years’ had he felt excited to an idea of becoming part in battle—and not as a matrimonial sort—but using his dancing skills as a fighter.

“If you pick a new profession, you can just be taught–”

“–they’ll do that?”

“Course’ they would.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

   · · · ᯽ · · ·

A cup was held to his lips, allowing cold water to run through him. It felt nice but the desire to eat a feast prevailed, piercing a groan in Jimin’s belly as well as his face.

After he took another gulp, an even–colder hand sponged his forehead and neck.

“I know, I know.” Said Yoongi’s voice, “I know.”

Wait.

Jimin opened his eyes.

Yoongi?

The stars were brighter this time around, the crickets especially, and a new bonfire crackled. Yoongi turned his back to refresh the dampened cloth. Jimin couldn’t believe it.

I’m still dreaming, or I’ve died an—

He didn’t need anchorage, he needed familiarity and confirmation so he scratchily forced out a; “Yoongi?”

Yoongi looked back, startled—and Jimin never felt such a relief as to see those mixed-matched eyes, that button nose and short snowy hair. “You—” It brought him to tears, “—you’re here, I couldn’t find you.”

Yoongi’s eyes descended, conflicted, reveling in Jimin’s “return” but annoyed all the same. Eventually, he said, “Your leg was hurt in the fall, barely it—”

Jimin saw his torn robe and pants as a gateway to wrap his thigh but that didn’t mean anything to him right now.

“You left me with corpses.” Jimin sat up from the log behind him, cringing from the weight of his injuries, and finally feeling whatever happened to his thigh. “You left me with corpses, I was in the dark and you were gone, what happened?”

“Dogs–mercenaries of the palace, they followed your smell.” Yoongi got ready to stand up but held off whatever errand he had in mind for this conversation. “Your fever came back too but your foots fine, hands’ as much as it can be, I think it—”

“—s’ my heat.” Jimin’s answer nailed the silence beneath them but it wasn’t for Jimin’s next question being; “You strung one of them up. You’re feeding from them, aren’t you”

“They would’ve sold you and kill me.” Yoongi reasoned, “It’s not ideal but you know bloods’ what keeps me alive. As for food, you should eat. I—”

“—I told you to feed from me.”

“I thought you were dead and you’re arguing about that?”

“I thought you left me, as in left–left me.” Jimin’s temper settled once he read the frantic focus in the vampires’ eyes as disbelief.

He was worried about me.

“Of all acts, thats’ what you thought I would commit.” In Yoongi’s query, he sounded hurt.

“I apologize,” Jimin whispered. “If I think too highly of you, I might actually like you.”

Faster than light, Yoongi’s face of raised brows and round eyes made Jimin smile. It was a joke. An inappropriately timed one but worth the scoff coming from the vampire.

The tension in their angsty dispute was ironically for an equal sense of fear of being alone. Neither men wanted something bad to happen to each other so they almost fell into an argument as easy as that; and they saw it.

It took Jimin’s joke to see it.

I’m ‘someone’ to him.

With red ears, Yoongi fixed him a bowl of stew with air-dried deer. Jimin wasn’t going to mention the bodies again but he did notice white cotton wrapped beneath Yoongi’s robe, crossing his shoulder. As a matter of fact, Yoongi was in clean clothes, washed and refreshed but; “You’re hurt.” Jimin pointed out, “You didn’t have that last I saw you, you got hurt? And Esmarie, that horse–the carriage.”

“It’s nothing.” Yoongi said plainly, “Eat.”

“Yoongi.”

“No, eat–”

Jimin was too hungry to nit-pick the seasonings or what part of the deer he was eating. The stew was good and it replenished his need to finish that cup of water given to him earlier but he was finishing this meal with an attitude. And when Yoongi left to fetch something from his bag, returning with clothes and parcels of who–knows–what, Jimin finally said, “There—now tell me what happened.”

“Esmarie got spooked because of the attack.” Yoongi sighed, “So—I left to get her but after I saw that she was gone, I went back to you gone.”

“She ran off!”

“And you fell off a cliff—”

“—but the carriage!”

“You have such little worry for yourself.”

“Says’ you, you still didn’t show me what happened to your shoulder!”

“To hell with my shoulder, Jimin. That blade you took from the carriage nearly bled’ you to death by the leg and it’s only by the fates’ to question why you aren’t dead but you’re worried about everything else but—”

This is my fault.

“—fine.” Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose, “It’s okay. The route isn’t far and we can just take a detour.”

“Let me see.”

Yoongi put the clothes down on the log and rephased that with; “See what.”

“You’re wincing, your shoulder.”

“Are you serious.”

Jimin may as well have said no but how hard was it as someone his age to refrain from his upbringing to prioritize himself and not others, and in such an instant, he needed something to mask the pain. It pushed down on him with more force than all his wounds combined. The realization akin to his life being shaped to please rather than be pleased—so it hurt. And now Yoongi was hurt.

Because of me.

Yoongi’s glare turned to confusion but he answered nonetheless, more calm; “One of them nicked me with wolfsbane, it’ll heal.”

“Them, you mean the men?” Jimin awaited no answer and tried to stand but his legs weren’t up for it. The stretch to his muscles and tug in his calves felt constricting. If he’d try to go against it, he would fall and—

No.

Not now.

Yoongi watched the horror in Jimin’s face and sat in the dirt, crossing his legs like a pup for a story.

“I can’t—I don’t think I can walk right now,” Jimin tried to laugh it off but something about this scared him. “You’re saying our horse is gone and I can’t walk, I—ow. It’s so uncomfortable.” His voice cracking on; “I hate this. Places that shouldn’t be tender are swollen, my skins’ prickly, my bloods’ boiling and now this—”

“—three more days.” Yoongi reminded, holding no judgment. “Technically two, and I grabbed what we needed from the carriage and brought it down here. Esmarie will show up, if not—so what. There’s water nearby—a running river, maybe that’ll help. I remember how glad you were to take a bath, if you’d like, I can carry you.”

“–carry, carry who? Your shoulders’ hurt.”

“If this is an excuse for me to undress–” Yoongi sucked his teeth and undid the cross–flap that covered his collar bones. When the vampire showed his bandaged bicep and partially his bare chest, he planned to finish the playful joke but paused. Jimin’s hair was absorbed in sweat, his skin dewy and flushed from his little nose to swollen lips. In spite of Yoongi’s jest, Jimin still looked distraught at the notion of such afflictions.

“You were hurt when we met.” Jimin breathed out, “And you’re hurt again.”

“I’ll be alright, Jimin.” Yoongi said, slightly louder than his usual tone. “It’s you who keeps getting hurt.”

“It’s my fault–”

“–don’t do that.”

“It’s true.”

“If it is then it is—we’ll get nowhere and may as well live out our lives in these woods because I’m not leaving you.”

That swift ache in Jimin’s chest returned and he wanted to lie to himself, saying’ it was his heat making him cry, but it wasn’t. Yoongi’s his first companion, a friend without selfish intentions or advice on the palace. They were never meant to be and here they were, with no matter to the world; just them.

A plinth of ember light from the fire hit Yoongi’s grey and silver eye, baring a glow that made Jimin still with wonder—just what magic flowed through the blood of this creature—and what hardships did he carry to look so; sad?

Jimin spoke to deny himself of any deeper emotions that could possibly cling to the vampire but when he took that breath, Yoongi stole it with a kiss.

Chapter Text

No.

Yoongi pulled back.

Shit.

Jimin’s brown eyes looked stricken with what Yoongi couldn’t tell for’ what was obvious, was that Yoongi started breathing quicker, each gust of air filling his lungs with that same wash of blood and vague desire to feed—and from that hand—a memoir by scarring. His new fang grew in too, like a fledglings’ first set, it ached; his heart ached.

This is wrong.

Yoongi got ready to get up with the only fragment of strength he had but Jimin grabbed his hand.

Fuck.

“I shouldn’t have–” Yoongi gulped down the saliva that had been pooling in his mouth, “–I shouldn’t have done that.”

The years he spent mending a bond with his—now murdered—brother, a man who sacrificed everything for just a chance at dying for a new future hit Yoongi in the chest. And now, like a selfish fool, erratic as they were, he couldn’t believe how thoughtless he could be to kiss Jimin—and of all times he picked now?

Yoongi watched how Jimin looked down to his wrapped thigh and covered foot, swathed hand and his ribs—throbbing per breath, dizzying the omega in the head. Yoongi was almost just as torn up as he was but it was undeniable now, their injuries were not what was keeping him off the man, it was something else. It was not the fear of the contraceptives lacking the capacity to make him temporarily infertile for mating but heartbreak.

As–

Jimin used his knees to support his weight and slowly sprung up to catch a second kiss.

As long–

Yoongi held his breath, his mind sputtering; As long as I don’t taste his blood.

I’ll be okay.

As long as–

Jimin did it again, then again, till they were both closed by the eyes and at each other’s mouths; gently.

Don’t fall in love.

As though mind over body switched roles, Yoongi started imagining ways to take the omega with as little pain as possible. Positions that didn’t involve crunching the abdomen or lifting his legs. Jimin wanted more in his dilemma and slid his tongue on the curve of Yoongi’s mouth.

Don’t fall in love.

Yoongi slanted his head–but an inch to kiss the cupid’s bow of Jimin’s lips, gradually feeling for more with his hand cradling the back of Jimin’s neck.

Don’t fall…

Barely touching the scent glands and clasping over the nape compelled a gasp out of Jimin—lewd, stuttering of a breath.

Don’t fall…

Yoongi gave in and allowed their tongues to caper, melting into a friction that smelled of blood in Jimin’s sweat, an omegan pheromone, in heat, beguiling an addictive venom tasted on their lips. They were not supposed to mate. Vampires. Wolves. The night cradled them with such warmth and the forest mattered no more with the mainlands’ scaling kingdoms all but’ mattered no more.

Their worlds—like a stylus being pulled from its phonographs’ melody—stopped spinning; whereas they only existed.

Yoongi dipped his hands beneath the curve of Jimin’s waist and parted from their kiss to lie him down. Never did he understand the will to dive so far, blind and unwielding, breathless with nothing but desire and adrenaline surging the bones to catch but’ a mere moment of love till now.

Jimin panted, “What’re you thinking about?”

As if there were an existing sentence to summarize what just crossed Yoongi’s mind and heart, he shook his head and lied; “Nothing.”

Jimin felt himself falling in and out his heat. The madness that strips omegas of their lucidity if the act of sex was postponed for too long—and he didn’t want that. He wanted to stay conscious, aware.

“I want to feel you,” was the initial plea but then Yoongi bit down on his own hand. “Don’t do that, feed from me.”

Yoongi groaned, “Don’t tempt me.” Whereas withdrawing himself to tug the hem of Jimin’s shorts off from his legs. Shamelessly, he opened the cross-flap of Jimin’s robe where Jimin was bare beneath the satin and ruined silks.

Feeling both grey and red eyes drink him in with blood tinted lips had Jimin squeeze the patch of grass under his good hand. He ripped the roots from beneath the soil, knowing what to expect if–and–when Yoongi decided to take him, so when the vampire lowered himself for another kiss, Jimin reached out for him.

The kiss tasted primal and aromatic, a mess by the time he realized it was from Yoongi’s blood.

Jimin was already sucking for more when Yoongi was rummaging for something. The vampire’s shoulders shifted and his hand was busy but Jimin didn’t feel it on his body so he furrowed. It was Yoongi’s undoing of his own pants, bending the knees to slither out of his own clothes. The kiss was only broken for a couple of seconds, still close enough to be tied by stringed saliva, and a heave of the omega’s hip.

The sharp burn ensuing no hesitation for the tip of Yoongi’s erection to slide in–had’ Jimin’s voice cutting through the trees. With the lengthening stretch of this man inside him, Jimin squeezed at the back of Yoongi’s shoulders, curling his nails into the vampire’s scarred skin and whimpering when his thigh stung.

“I know, I know, I won’t move.” Yoongi breathed. “Keep your legs spread, or your thigh’ll rub on my side.”

“Just don’t pull out.” Jimin stubbornly—ignoring Yoongi’s advice—wrapped both his legs around Yoongi’s lower back, crossing them at the ankles and even giving the vampire a squeeze. “Please, you can move–”

Jimin winced with Yoongi’s thrust, unknowing ‘for what to do with the gradual pace till he could feel the head knead against his prostate. Jimin’s muscles tensed thus bursts of tender collisions within him, earning moans and muffled sounds he tried to grit down. They were really doing this.

“We’re really doing this.” Jimin’s little breathy comment sparked a raspy laugh out of the vampire, to a point Yoongi ducked his head in the crook of his neck.

Jimin hugged him, securing his hold and placement of his good hand unto the back of Yoongi’s head as though the vampire were too precious to let go.

Yoongi lifted himself to adjust his position and slowly rolled his hips. The brief sting went tender for Jimin, subsiding in place of pleasure ‘he felt too shy of voicing out—fortunately, Yoongi took Jimin’s mewls and moans as a chance to kiss.

Yoongi’s knees treaded in the soil, crawling forward for more and to maintain himself as deep as possible. Jimin’s tongue curled under his fang and latched on to the bladed tip, cutting it by a slight—but what blood spilled out pulled a guttural growl out of the vampire. A slip of cum escaped Jimin’s own cock, squished between his own abdomen and now–lover’ who picked up their pace—and hungrily kissed to feed. 

All while coherent and bound together in the utmost physical way; Jimin lost himself for a moment, his thoughts going starry, skin raising each hair, craning his neck in a desperate coo of sputtering moans. His release came without warning and something in Yoongi’s taste for blood kept the vampire going for seconds.

Jimin knew Yoongi could feel him tightening, muscles fluctuating, twitching all the same but when Yoongi’s climax hit—he broke their kiss agaped. 

“Don’t pull out.” Jimin quickly sounded; insanity—he thought.

We really–

Jimin started coming back to his senses but Yoongi—still very–much’ a creature prone to murder—looked otherworldly. The eye that had shaded scleras and a crystal iris looked luminescent whereas his red eye burned bright having done fucked by the bonefire. His short hair was in a ruffle, some dampened, most disheveled. His lips parted with both spit and their blood. His chest going up and down, up and down.

“You said you couldn’t do it if I were hurt.” Jimin teased, “You’re still hard—”

Yoongi swooped in to say, “—we’ll go slow.”

Jimin’s quiet “–fuck” stole away with his manners when Yoongi started working his hips again. The gentleness in this round pumped butterflies into Jimin’s stomach. And Yoongi let him pull his neck in for more, allowing him to taste the strange sensations in vampiran blood.

The sweat and oils, the salt and rain, none of it phased either of them in anything but a pleasant nudge to keep going.

Yoongi rolled his waist, finding a rhythm that sang for the both of them, chasing a feeling that felt good. Jimin’s orgasm stirred through him, dragging the longer he felt Yoongi thrust to his own accord—and once they were done, Jimin held him.

Jimin hummed to the feeling, his omega finally howling. The sensation of seed was what made it more real. Their frantic dance to capture their pleasure reaching its end and the high that ensued, the peace.

No matter what became of this, he wanted to hold him.

“Amidst the year of green;

to meet your mate.”

—and so Jimin hugged him as if he were his.

Yoongi lifted himself up and carefully pulled out. Leaves and sticks were stuck to his arms, knees and shins, while slick and cum dressed them messily. From a companions’ standpoint, this was fair but from his own circumstance; this was dangerous.

Jimin sat up eventually, slouching for an embrace that turned out to be a hug.

Something was off—just slightly, Yoongi thought.

Jimin started kissing his neck, tracing his lips down his collar bone, scenting him as would a wolf. And Jimin wasn’t saying anything either. Yoongi looked at him and realized somewhere in all that, the heat took over. Jimin wasn’t there. Or at least his critical thinking. He wanted more.

“You’ll be okay, we’ll be in the woods.”

“For at least, a days’ count—maybe two or even three, I won’t even be lucid.”

“No one will touch you, Jimin.”

 “And if I ask you to?”

Yoongi half–heartedly scoffed.

There was once an event for the vampires of Aewol’s Homebound, a floral ball set to dance beneath the stars and where Yoongi stood as a spectator to the lovers of centuries to count; he wondered for the first time in decades, will he ever adore someone so deeply that it transcended the words written in time? How could something so perfect, lead to such pain.

Yoongi now had the answer and it presented itself as a test called Jimin.

To which he lost.

   · · · ᯽ · · ·

Water.

Water was all his heard, crashing and consistent.

Jimin’s eyes tightened before actually opening, a slight blue hue made him wince and whine but he was back. Something was still inside him and—or rather someone—with his arm draped over the curve of his waist.

What is this?

Jimin had one of their bags set under his head as a pillow, a sheet leaden for a mattress, in what looked like a small indent for a cave. And just around the corner had to be a waterfall, it was loud and that blue hue crept out from the corner as would a warped sheath of late sunlight.

He remembered how they went at it more–on’ forth his heat, in vivid recollections of pleasures and pains, they lost themselves in a mating fit that landed them here. Jimin recalled the beginning of it and where he must’ve lost his mind—in Yoongi’s arms.

Yoongi carried him at one point, to a river, bathing him and dressing him. On these stoney plateaus, Yoongi had him lie on his good side and fucked him as such–in’ that position and shamefully, Jimin begged not to pull out, again and again for anything semblanceof a knot. So here they lay, an omega with his vampire cuddled up behind him, still inside him.

Then Yoongi moved. He slowly pulled his arm off Jimin’s waist and his flaccid modesty out from within Jimin’s body, leaving a warm string landing a lap on Jimin’s bare buttocks. It happened so swiftly, Jimin had no time to think besides how sore was an understatement and still, he tensed otherwise seed’ll pour out.

Of.

All.

Things.

This may be the farthest Jimin’s strayed to the pits of insanity—and he wasn’t ashamed, shame knew no place in his heart for the creature behind him but he–himself; so madly obscene and valiant.

Unbelievable.

Jimin didn’t move, otherwise he’d have to face who he just laid with and what was worse, was Jimin wasn’t afraid of the vulnerabilities, but rejection. And not the ‘I don’t love you’ kind—because that was a fair disposal—but the ‘we fucked, so be it’ kind. Let this not be temporary, he thought.

Please, let this not last so short.

Please.

Yoongi sat up, examining the state of Jimin’s rear and himself. He was quiet but Jimin figured that’s what he must’ve been doing. For Yoongi, the pause was due to the red ring on the base of his cock, it meant either he was too rough or he was Jimin’s first.

What is he doing?

Jimin’s eyes fluttered up, his body still motionless. Yoongi lit a couple of candles and the orange light accentuated the curves in the rocks. It wasn’t a big cave but it did well against the sun. The metallic clink of the oil lanterns’ door danced against the walls, hollow echoes with the water. Jimin could swear he felt at ease.

Till “How’re you feeling?” Yoongi asked.

His eyes widened and his head inclined, caught awake, he moved a bit and the slashing in his thigh was what he felt first. It wasn’t as bad as it presented itself now but he did feel if he had been burned, tended to—sure, but it was worth the hiss. And sitting up; his shoulders, back and ribs, by all hells’ did he hurt and something was on his head. Feeling for that too turned out to be another roll of cloth, maybe from after his fall.

Finally, he turned his upper body to face Yoongi, his posture was slanted to grant himself mercy to his butt.

“I asked how’re you feeling.” Yoongi repeated himself, this time standing up to cover himself. He was wearing a new robe, tunic and traveling belts but he needed undergarments. Jimin would’ve been over the moon and back if it weren’t for his tone.

“I’ll be okay,” Jimin furrowed. “I don’t remember how I fell asleep. How long have I…”

“Just a day, but—” Yoongi tied on the belt and string of his pants properly but pointed in a direction that required a full change of angle from the omega. “We can leave when you’re up for it.”

It was Esmarie, sleeping near the caves’ exit, still dressed in the saddlebags and voyage gear, tied to a boulder.

Jimin gasped, a mistake that stabbed him squicker than joy itself. It must’ve been his ribs but still, he quickly scrambled to stand, and the consequences of his legs prevented him. His heat may have passed but his injuries remained just the same, if not worse. However, to not tamper with the only good news as of recently, he asked, “Did you go out to get her?”

Yoongi’s eyebrows knitted tightly together, like the cross–string to a corset. And his words didn’t suit his expression, albeit he answered, “She was drinking from the river.”

In spite of this, Jimin didn’t like this cold air to him; “Is this not a good thing?”

“It is.”

“Then why do you look so—” upset.

So many decades older than he–to Yoongi, Jimin must’ve been easy to read. It was flustering to think about, to face a vampire with hopeful eyes. All Jimin could indulge by the means of being special was the crude fact of having seen the vampire naked—bedding him, in blind heat nonetheless. And despite Yoongi never imposing input or corrections on whatever Jimin said or did, what was left was judgement. Therefore, Jimin felt small; Stupid.

Then the indents in Yoongi’s frown weren’t so deep after that.

Great, he pities me.

Yoongi approached him, making a spot to sit.

Jimin covered himself, averting his earthy brown eyes from the pair of blood–to–snow set that studied him. In a softer octave, however lower Yoongi could go, spoke in an assuring query with; “Take a deep breath for me.”

What?

Jimin obliged because why not, but on the two–second mark’ of inhaling, a cough beat him into a sporadic cough that crumpled at his lungs and mental capacity to figure out anything but pain. Instantly, the extent made itself evident.

“Everything we did could’ve made some of these worse.”

“I don’t regret it.” Jimin shrunk, rasping his words painfully. “I’ll be fine.”

“You can power through this for you alone but do not lie to me.” Yoongi’s voice evinced a concern closer to desolence than threat. “Lying awake or asleep, I held you for hours—and I can hear you struggling. It takes weeks for nerves to mend, so I know you’re in pain. Why lie to me now?”

“Does the time make a difference?” It may be cold and contradictory but Jimin was well aware of Yoongi’s earliest impression on traveling with a burden–for–an omega. “If it’s not confusing enough, I don’t know how to talk to you, to look at you, to treat you, how to carry you as a friend, foe or—” Jimin stuttered, “—the least I can do is lie about being physically okay.”

“I wasn’t going to sleep with you.” Yoongi’s confession came off plainly. “It’s dangerous that we did and although, I as’ Min Yoongi do not regret it, either; I would’ve rathered we stayed distant.”

Jimin’s blood cooled over, prickling tears behind his eyes though the hit of that was too sudden to allow an actual cry.

“Would’ve, would have.” Yoongi recited, “It’s past tense, Jimin.”

Jimin looked away until Yoongi nudged his chin to face him, and in a quiet “–hey,” the vampire asked, “Have you any idea what you’re asking of me?”

“I want to leave Priea.” Jimin gulped, clearing his throat to second; “I want to be far away from here. I want a comfortable bed, so that I can sleep in and I want to have the means to figure out what it is that I’ll do for the rest of my life. Something that lets me see the world for what it is, not what the palace deems it to be. I want a garden to care for, a place to—a place I could call a home, and someone to come home to. I have ambitions too but as temporary as it may be to someone like you, an affair like this means so much more to an omega than a vampire regardless of all the—”

“—accordance’ to what.”

“What?”

“You said an affair such as ours means little to me, utmost to you, so according to what?”

“For one, you’re my first—”

“—I figured.”

“And not just that.” Jimin frowned, he wasn’t about to go on a tangent about how lonely he was so he explained how; “Our time spent these days, now may be a small part in your lifespan but it’ll be mine, wholly mine—from now onwards to the end and you couldn’t even bother to—at least pretend—to care.” There was a silence born tense. “So forgive me if it’s pathetic or sentimental, naively done at my measly wolves’ age, but a poet’s words on stumbling in–and–out of passion feels too fickle for me.”

“Wolves claim mates boldly, I get that but vampires live too long to make those decisions without consequences.”

“You make it sound like we take knots left and right, as if there aren’t ceremonies, courting rituals, offerings.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then what difference does it make if I wanted to know you? To know know you.”

“The difference is that in those ceremonies, courting rituals, offerings—are a vampire’s version of said ceremonies, courting rituals, offerings. Our lives will be very different, Jimin—enough to say that I don’t want to get hurt by seeing you go through that for me.”

Go through what?

Jimin couldn’t think of any traditional themes for vampires, as if that would be even taught. And he wanted to be stubborn by taking on the challenge but this was serious. Jimin had no idea who Yoongi was, where they were going, what that could entail—and to round it back full circle, just what could a vampire want from their mate that’ll make Yoongi worry about him getting hurt?

“You said it’ll take a seasons’ count to get to this Aewol, yes?” Jimin thought for a moment; “We’ll have more than enough time to learn about each other, where we are from and what I’m to expect. I can adapt but if it doesn’t work out well, then it doesn’t but promise me one thing.”

“What.”

“So long as I tell you the truth, you do just the same.”

“Fine, you’ve my word.”

And just like that, Jimin saw the same pair of mixed-matched eyes looking back at him from within that cage.

“As you’ve mine.” Jimin’s words coursed a subtlety to protect his likeness against being too clearly taken away by the creature. “Since you demand honesty, nows’ a good time to ask if it’s too late to rinse myself, I know there’s water, I hear it and I must pee and I’m quite uncomfortable.”

Yoongi blinked, dead-panning the statement upon a slipped chuckle.

Jimin’s ability to bring light upon the topic was enough to allow the tension to subside. “I’ll get you the soap sachets.” Yoongi got up, “Are you well enough to travel? We can return to the carriage.”

“Course I am but–” Jimin paused; “–can I sit up front then? With you.”

Yoongi didn’t say anything but Jimin knew he was smiling when he turned away, he saw the silhouette of those cheeks puff up and those ears turn pink. Something wasn’t being told, Jimin knew that much. Maybe that’s what made Yoongi so indifferent.

So complicated.

“Our lives will be very different, Jimin—enough to say that I don’t want to get hurt by seeing you go through that for me.”

What did he mean by that?

Chapter Text

Letter XII,

The last one.

It’s truly been a little over two years now.

I imagined love as a timeless concept that ran like sand in an hour glass but I’m beginning to believe it’s always been a notion that creeps up on you instead, like a conclusion or answer to an unsolved problem. Like an ‘ah’ moment. ‘Ah, I truly do love him.’

That night, I wished you wouldn’t have asked of me to die alone but I agreed so long as my life while lasting had you at my side.

The sands have run so far since then, my love.

I know what must be done.

   · · · ᯽ · · ·

A butterfly skimmed along the surface of the river, turning a short circle, retracting its route on the fall bed and back. The summer heat was settling dewy sheets of moisture that made droplets smack occasional leaves. Birds of sorts readied for their nests and the animals may have well done the same but the sky was still in an assortment of colors, making the scenic location colorful due the rayleigh scattering.

It was “–beautiful.”

Yoongi answered for him.

Jimin didn’t even realize he was smiling till the comment, juxtaposed with his vampire’s company, having caught Yoongi already looking back at him—in the state that he was in had him embarrassed.

“I must look like hell.” Jimin limped away, needing to pee. And he couldn’t even hit his forehead against the trunk of his chosen tree to complain to himself without wincing because of how the back of it throbbed.

It’s funny how the little things become so apparent once absent, without a doubt no issue would surprise him now. Already being a witness to slaughter and having laid with the slaughter’er—that alone was enough to keep his mind entertained.

A blush found a way to his face and while putting his modesty away to return to the water, Jimin would’ve touched his own lips if he had just held himself to piss.

That subtle vibration in Yoongi’s growl to get as much of a taste as possible was enough to have Jimin kicking the air. And to feel Yoongi’s entire body pressed into him, clawing into the soil to—

Food.

As would a pup, Jimin upturned his nose and followed the smell with each sniff.

It didn’t take long till he saw Yoongi sitting next to a mossy brook with a travel pot sitting atop a small fire. The stream was slower where he sat but the sounds were just as sonorous, the bugs, the animals, if it weren’t for the water, surely Yoongi would hear his heartbeat.

“These were in Areum, yes?” Jimin recognized the little ensemble of ingredients. “I didn’t think you’d bring spare rations.”

“The carriage is full of food.” Yoongi said, low and attentive to stirring. “I just put the extra tools and gardening stuff on top to keep it all safe.”

Jimin remembered the sickle and wanted to forget about his thigh. Yoongi wrapped it well but thinking back on how the sachet was tied to his wrist and how he wanted a bath, he mumbled, “I’m wasting bandages by constantly cleaning, aren’t I—I should just avoid rinsing off, huh.”

“There wouldn’t be a need for the–” Yoongi caught himself, revising his words to a more stoic; “It’s okay.”

Jimin made a face, “–rude.”

“Excusably.”

“Says’ who.”

“I.” Yoongi fixed his posture before saying, “Your life costs more than a crate of cloth.”

“You have a way with switching tones, y’know.” Jimin scoffed, pointing with his three-fingered hand nevertheless than criticizing. “One moment you’re calling the sky ‘beautiful’ and offering help, the next you’re all doom–an–gloom with snarky mumbling.”

“You did so much to run away, to live. An’ now you’re worried more about wasting bandaging equipment than how you could’ve died.” Yoongi stirred the noodles with a flustered huff, leaving Jimin to process what he just said before adding how; “And I wasn’t calling the sky beautiful.”

Jimin’s head reared back a little, like a slow flinch. One point he could make was not being in the utmost ideal condition to compliment his will to live but to say Yoongi wasn’t trying would be a lie. Even now, he—a vampire—was preparing him noodles.

“The sky was pretty.” Jimin bent his legs a bit, to close–in on himself.

“You’ll see a lot out here.” Yoongi responded, his tone still low. It was after he set the pot off the stand that he continued with; “I’ll help you wash up afterwards, it’ll be a long way till our next rest stop. You’ll appreciate that bath.”

Advice taken and given a polite “Thank you” before accepting the noodles, Jimin said, “–chef.”

“What?”

“Are you a chef?” Jimin took the chopsticks and a small smile crept up onto his lips. Yoongi squinted, the agaped reaction was comical. Jimin even huffed out a laugh. “Assistant in culinary.”

“I am not a cook, no.”

“That would be a sight.” Jimin took a bite, slurping a good sum. “A vampire’s expertise in human food, what about a carpenter?”

“No, that’s not even in similar fields.”

“It’s not but your palms are more calloused than they look, you have to do something with your hands.” Jimin took another bite, making sure to note; “Not that I don’t enjoy them.”

Yoongi couldn’t seem to process the flirting in time for Jimin to say, “Is it something of that sort? Creating things from scratch, like a swordsmith’ or–oo! A tanner, y’know the ones’ who clean and sew leathers, color em’ with designs, that would be pretty.”

Yoongi took well to Jimin’s change of atmosphere. It was playful and homely, a game in a way.

“I am neither a swordsmith’ or tanner, nor in anything involving leathers or furs.”

“Pity, omegas love that field.”

“Do you?”

Jimin was in the middle of taking another bite but paused, not anticipating a question back.

Smiling for a bit, he admitted to; “Furs or felts, belts and bolts—is all temporary.”

“Is that a saying?”

“An’ old maid of mine, in my pup years, used to tell me that when I received offerings. It’s to keep me on my toes about things, since I enjoy collecting. That reminds me. your fang, is it—”

“—you had a maid?” Yoongi asked this in disbelief, cutely expressing shock with a change of position. One where he could casually lean on a knee, closer—as though being told yet’ another story. “Oh–you’re spoiled spoiled. An’ the fangs’ in the carriage.”

Jimin put the chopsticks down to calculate his fingers, concluding the middle to be best flipped in a time like this. Yoongi could’ve cared less for the gesture and even rolled his mixed-matched eyes to skip on to the good part.

“All the omegas had one.” Jimin reasoned. “It’s not as it comes off, they’re more like teachers than servants. Are there no schools in your village–? Town—? What happens to the pups, are there more pups? You said your friend has one—and there’s six omegas, so… Four left?”

“There’s four left, yes. I don’t know them personally, I never had a reason to but word spreads when an omega is added to the pack.”

“Means’ I’ll be talk of town then.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Why Undoubtedly.”

“Like I said.” Yoongi waited to say; “You’re very pretty.”

Jimin returned to the rest of his meal, it being the only path away from blushing, he still took the compliment by mumbling a; “Likewise.”

Nothing once given a hundred times could possibly hold weight till it’s carried by someone out of the ordinary. Yoongi was the perfect example. Someone so extraordinary, a glance made Jimin hold his breath.

Then it was Yoongi’s turn to ‘pft,’ where he remarked, “An’ eye to eye’ difference as small as mine isn’t comparable to you. As for the others, two omegas are elderly, ones’ on a farmstead and the other one’s an overseer. Ones’ mated and another I believe doesn’t want to be bothered.”

“Your pack even has a seer?”

“Sure, yeah—that’s what they call her, for fortune telling, why?”

The township outside the imperial settlement’s seer warned Jimin about gossiping with others about his personal telling, as it could alter his reading and for once—if true—he wanted this one to be real.

“I visited one, once. It’s how I knew you.” Jimin worded carefully. “Kind of.”

Yoongi blinked, his eyes battering in a wander before catching on to;

“I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“You don’t know me. Unless I’m mistaken. You said ‘It’s you, isn’t it,’ when you saw my face, do I know you.”

“That’s why you said that?” Yoongi gave him a ‘you’re joking’ kind of look and nudged out his chin, “You’re superstitious.”

“No, not exactly.” Jimin cradled the bowl like he did when they were in Areum’s Market, his gaze not as confident and his voice just as quiet. “I was thinking about leaving the palace at the time. If there was something that could’ve helped me, a prediction or sign, I would’ve been grateful. And she described you very well, unless there’s more vampires with your eyes. I’ve only ever seen brown eyes, maybe hazels but never red, or crystal—and it’s not even the iris alone, the whites’ have gone dark so the silver stands out!”

“What was said?”

“I don’t know, it depends on what your occupation is.”

Yoongi sucked his teeth, “–brat.”

“It’s fair then, no?”

“To tell? It is but–” Yoongi got up to rinse the pot out with the water from the river, “–if ‘you not telling means there’s more than just having company in your escape, I’m going to assume it’s something to do with mates an’ marriages, wolves’ sort.”

“You say that like it’s some trite taboo or hackneyed clichè. No wrong in instincts—you even said it yourself unless you lied.”

“I didn’t lie.” Yoongi finished cleaning the cooking equipment. “It’s banal traditions that’re honored under no mind to how forceful beliefs can get, let’s say—” Yoongi crouched, invested in the conversation to make his point though Jimin just found it cute. “As a male omega, your instinct to mate overcomes whatever preferences you set out in front of you outside of heat—anyone knows this. Making a decision outside of your norm’ shouldn’t be a punishable offense so long as all sides’ affected are unharmed; but if you offend the side that takes honor in their belief that goes against their ruling, they’ll treat you worse than all hell solely because that’s their trite taboo or hackneyed clichè.”

To allow no misapprehension, Jimin agreed on; “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have needed’ to run away.”

“Exactly.” Yoongi turned around to organize the cooking supplies back into what appeared to be a crate with handles.

The carriage was around the corner, a curve of rising woodland, so seeing Yoongi jump ten meters into the summer air for a soft–an’ quick landing on the high ridge for a faster application in putting their things away, had Jimin freeze. It was a short gasp too. And he remembered how Yoongi jumped from the bell tower, holding him in his arms as would a bat—so this shouldn’t have been surprising but it was.

“I should…” Bathe, he thought. With Yoongi putting in this much effort, Jimin felt a bit restless now that he was fully awake.

Jimin looked down, his clothes mostly damaged with how much ground–time hes’ been getting but it wasn’t necessarily ruined. His underwear and pants were missing, given how he fell asleep, so untying the waist tie was easy. Though getting the robe to fall off his shoulders was hard.

When Yoongi returned, he returned with a hand on the matter and helped roll the fabric off his body. It was gentle and the skin of his vampire’s knuckles brushed against his back. Yoongi didn’t linger however, he folded the clothes and left Jimin to his task.

“The bandages.” Jimin barely walked, worried about his thigh and foot.

“We have more.” Was said with little concern on Yoongi’s part.

Jimin glanced back.

The medical briefcase was with Yoongi, sitting—both vampire and carrier—atop a boulder. When Yoongi looked up, Jimin looked away.

Jimin’s thoughts and memories worked in chaos to no conclusive order besides the fact he was naked in the midst of his first lover—and temporarily or not, this was new.

Their surroundings were also unusual compared to his old routine too. The palace had cold tiles for the public estates’ formal functions while the inner wards were grounded with marble. Jimin had his head down at all times’ and he knew that place so well, by which floor he stepped onto ‘he could tell what was to be planned for the day.

It’s all different.

He dug his good foot into the grass and slid it onto the gravel, then the river shale, ultimately taking his first steps into the water. And the water wasn’t too badly cold but cooler than the air and his skin.

A day more? Two, no–that’s not right.

It was so easy keeping track of his heat back “home” but Jimin had a feeling the days ahead would become obscured now that home was subjective. It was strange. That quiet swing in his heart, wanting assurance. It could just be instinct too.

“What’re you thinking about?” Yoongi had already set up next to the river bed with that wooden first aid box and—funnily enough—that clothespin clipped on his nose.

Jimin opened the soap sachet and put the bag in the grass, smiling because of how silly he looked. “I don’t know how to explain it,” was his initial statement prior to; “You know how omegas’ first predisposition to nest can cause mood swings? I don’t know how to explain it, I was glad to leave but now…”

Yoongi huffed, “To nest.”

“You asked.”

It was subtle but Yoongi’s little frown meant something between the lines of; “You mated–an’ now that’s probably triggered a response.”

Probably.

I wish he’d hold me.

Jimin dunked his head and body entirely to rinse off that feeling. Using only his good hand to pull his hair back, he emerged from the water’s surface and turned to find somewhere to sit.

That’s probably it.

A rock in the water did well and he was able to lean his back against a wall of roots and grass. Eventually, he kept a more casual tone with, “Aren’t you going to wash up?”

“I was thinking about it.”

“What’s there to think about?”

“You.” Yoongi looked off to Esmarie but his words were reserved for Jimin. “It wouldn’t be so awkward between us if I weren’t a–” he dodged the word, “–and I would probably be able to tell what you needed better. Other wolves are good at that.”

“Self–pitying isn’t attractive, y’know.”

Yoongi smiled, “No?”

Jimin smiled, “No.”

He never calls himself a vampire.

If I suggested it becoming of me a’ vampire instead of him, he might get upset.

And peace was found, Jimin wanted to protect that.

“You’re doing it again.” Yoongi reminded; “Thinking’ without a word.”

“Who could’ve thought you enjoyed rambling.” Jimin lathered himself to a degree and set the bar on the sachet. “I was just wondering what I could say to convince you to get in here with me.”

“We’re never going to leave at this rate.” Yoongi caved. The seconds’ he took to unclasp his belt had Jimin perk up, and while Yoongi kept going, Jimin’s mood lightened where they both fell into giggles. “This is how more accidents are made, Jimin–”

“–we don’t have to do anything.” Jimin clasped his ears once Yoongi was entirely unclothed, blushing—with his eyes batting all directions but his groin. The night prior made his heart swell so–much’ a sound burst from his grin, and this; it was too romantic.

“The clip stays.” Yoongi slowly cut through the stream, “Otherwise—no’ promises.”

“Ooo–”

–Yoongi swatted Jimin’s good hand from taking the clothespin but stood against Jimin’s knees. “Feel better?”

Jimin, reeling with smiling delight; nodded.

“Good, these can come off.” Yoongi took Jimin’s three-fingered palm, the one with soaked gauze, and gently unwrapped it. Jimin’s eyes went to his chest. “You handle these well, jokes aside.”

“My heats’ worse.”

Yoongi hummed, then went for Jimin’s head. The wrapping there also needed to be changed.

“Thank you for helping me through–” Jimin couldn’t say ‘heat’ whisper it being in a whisper. “–heat.”

Yoongi’s mixed-matched eyes landed on him and held firm as he unwrapped and whirled the drenched fabric. He must’ve not had anything to say to that because he tossed the soiled cotton in the grass and reached down—in the water—for Jimin’s thigh with a brief; “Lift your leg.”

Jimin did so on’ along with waiting patiently—for what—it didn’t matter, he only hoped his memory wouldn’t fail him by forgetting this moment.

“We were supposed to wait a little longer before doing that.” Yoongi said, his head still lowered to address where the sickle hurt Jimin’s thigh. “It’s not right as it is that we’re like this.”

“Then what is right, to you?”

Yoongi met his gaze with a pursed lip till he said, “You’ll outgrow me one day. I’ll live to see it and that’s a cruelty to myself while—I know what you’re about to say—so don’t. Turning you would be unimaginably cruel.”

“How?”

“You don’t know what costs you to be like this, do you.”

Jimin would’ve joked by calling him ominous but something in his eyes were somber. All Jimin could do was shake his head and make a proper half-hearted joke by saying, “If we were doomed from the start, does it make a difference?”

“No.” Yoongi smiled a little. “Still, I beg of you, don’t ask me to be one to end your life. I’ll—in the future, Jimin. I can take care of you, I can be there for you and I’m starting to think it’ll be very easy to love you. If it’s that sort of heartache, the kinds’ we see of our friends and beloveds’ turning grey, aching till death, then I think I can handle that but please—”

“—don’t ask to be turned. Fine—” Jimin finished his sentence, knowing it was a wish that hurt him to vow but Jimin did it anyway, telling apart his own thoughts and conditions in his head and heart aloud as, “—so long as my life while lasting has you at my side, Yoongi.”

Chapter Text

Gradually, their journey through the woodland paths assumed more remote conditions than a practiced route. It was peaceful to an extent and would–be evanescent if Jimin wasn’t still descending from his heat.

The impression of a cramp twisted in his stomach and strung the muscles in his backside for vulgar demands. Even if he thought about how Yoongi soothed him, the vividness wasn’t enough to convince his brain to calm down, sex was needed at a more present demand. And to ruin his thoughts further into a disagreement, he was sure the vampire’s seed was seeping out just was his slick, enough to make his seat uncomfortable.

Jimin covered his mouth, looked over at anything, anything that could hold a distraction.

“Are you alright.” Yoongi’s words were closer to a statement than a question.

Jimin closed his eyes, still feeling Yoongi’s words on his skin. He took a sharp breath and fixed his posture to match his own tone.

“I’ll be fine, I’m fighting off the last of my heat—an’ so far, I think I miss baths more than the suppressants.”

It was meant to be a joke but; he’s not laughing.

“I told you, you’d appreciate that river.”

“You did.” Jimin looked ahead. “I’ll be fine once this passes. Are you in a leaderships’ position? Like an admiral.”

Yoongi made a short double–take, assessing Jimin’s harmless poke at preoccupying his mind before going along with; “No, I own land but I don’t lead anyone.”

“That’s usually a good thing to bargain with in the courts’ gossip.” Jimin mumbled, feeling a cold sweat coming on. “I shouldn’t be surprised though. You’re a hundred years old, you should have something to show for that. Are you sure you’re not a farmer–? I guess not, a vampire has no use for vegetables and fruits, funny’ I forget you can’t even step out into the sun. Is it to raise animals? You’re good with Esmarie.”

“No.”

“No animals? Not even a pet?”

Yoongi huffed, smirking; “–no.”

“Let’s see.” Jimin sat in his thoughts, listing every career, job and even study to mind. “Are you a student?”

“I want to say ‘aren’t we all,’ but you’re not in the best condition for philosophical talk. I’m not a student, no, but I practice and read—to stay sharp on what I do.”

Jimin tried to breathe lightly. If he took too large of a breath, his ribs would ache and he would cough. If he took too small of a breath, the pressure on his omegan organs cursed him to hell. Fortunately, the conversation was interesting.

“In that case,” Jimin said. “Is it that you are an archivist?”

“No, not quite.”

“Not quite.” Jimin quoted. “I’m getting close then.”

“You are, actually.”

“What else is there to compare to an archivist? I don’t assume your pack has a library.”

“No, not exactly but there’s a towns’ bookstore.”

“Liar.”

“Why would I lie?” Yoongi smiled, “I visit it often. Sometimes I bring in new books or articles from when I travel.”

“It’s hard to imagine myself freely going about a town, with a pack.” Or mate. “And to a bookstore–? Omegas weren’t allowed to read anything but the laws.”

“That’s the palaces’ rules.”

“Then what’re your pack’s rules?”

“Hoseok will advise you on all that. The wolves have it differently than the vampires.”

“Wait, who?” Jimin’s mind for once, fleeting but imminent, numbed the pain in the trade for answers. “The more you describe this place, the more anxious I get. I don’t want to be sectioned off, y’know. I still want to see you.”

“And you will.” Yoongi glanced over at him and said, “I mean in ways’ like your own doctor, your own cabin, what to buy—like omega supplements and suppressants and where to get it. I never had business in any of that, ever. It wouldn’t be my place to show you around a wolven den, let alone making you a home.”

Jimin knew if he were in his wolves’ form, his ears would’ve sunk. That little imagery of staying with Yoongi felt further away now that he said that. It was pupish’ too. To think he would just be at the vampire’s side.

Then Yoongi said, “If you don’t like it—you can stay with me.”

Jimin gulped, baring no eye contact in asking; “What would your pack think of that?”

I didn’t even think of that.

That’s not ordinary, in no way that that could possibly be acceptable.

Yoongi’s short pause was met with a quiet; “Not sure, there’s a lot for them to know now that the others are gone.”

Right.

His brother.

The aftertaste of being needy came with the consequence of being selfish and at the moment, Jimin swallowed it down as if it were lemon. He was so caught up in his instinct to cling to his vampire companion, he kept forgetting the reality of it all.

Eventually, Jimin mustered the strength to reason. “I’ll do as you advise. I’ll try not to get in the way of your business and—you need time, we both do. But I promise you, if I hate it, I’ll hold you up on that proposal.”

“What–you’ mean staying with me?”

“Mhm.”

Yoongi had Esmarie turn a blustery pass whereof a grassland could be seen for acres. The moon turned the night sky a shade of dark purple that was sharply divided by the black silhouette of distant mountains.

Jimin closed his eyes to feel the wind. It was nicer than the trees shrouding in summer humidity.

“You’ sure you don’t want to rest?” Yoongi asked, “In the back, there’s food too.”

“And you?” Jimin looked back at him. “You barely eat.”

“There’s canteens of deer blood in one crate.” Said as though it were good reason to Jimin’s counter argument, Yoongi added; “I’ll drink from one of those when you have your lunch.”

“In a little bit then.” Jimin didn’t have the energy to question him and was adequate to lie down on the bench they both sat upon. It wasn’t planned or thought–out but settling for Yoongi’s lap instead of his shoulder felt more right.

Jimin carefully shifted in his seat and maneuvered in closer proximity to comfortably lay his head on the vampire’s thigh. Instead of facing Yoongi’s stomach or the plank of wood in front of them, Jimin laid flat on his back.

Yoongi’s hands were still holding onto Esmarie’s reins but his elbows were awkwardly lifted.

“You can relax.” Jimin coughed out a laugh. “I just need someone close to me, right now—if this is okay with you.”

Yoongi slowly lowered his arms and let go of the rope with his right hand. That limb rested on Jimin’s chest, while his left grip maintained control of Esmarie’s lead.

Jimin didn’t get an answer but he did get to hold Yoongi’s hand.

Is that a yes?

Yoongi rubbed Jimin’s palm just as tenderly, petting his knuckles and feeling the shape of his fingers.

That’s a yes.

Jimin watched the stars, the same stars he knew from the palace’s garden and his sleeping quarters’ window. It was nice to see the same patterns while his surroundings had changed. And they’ve changed quite a bit, to visualize himself lying head–flat on the legs of the creature who escaped with him, foregoing a voyage left to just blind trust.

Jimin smiled at the thought, happy with where he was thus far.

The clouds, wispy and barely feathering over the stars moved with the breeze worth a good sleep. The smell of more rain was in the wind, clear as night–now’ but foretelling another summer storm. Eventually, Jimin drew back to his line of sight and saw Yoongi peering down at him. The intrigued look on the vampire’s face had Jimin look away.

I must’ve looked so weird, just now.

However Jimin believed his own presumption and opinion, Yoongi simply averted his eyes.

Their silence was comforting. Different, than before. 

Jimin rubbed the calluses under Yoongi’s fingers and lingered on the faint bite marks from when Yoongi bit himself. It was nice because at times, while tracing the creases and curves of Yoongi’s hand, he held Jimin’s fingers just as so. The pulse under his wrist was interesting too. Jimin thought vampires didn’t have a heartbeat—which now, knowing of how Yoongi bleeds and breathes, how Yoongi tenses and thrusts, blood to a vampire as him would be no phenomenon.

Jimin even felt for his own pulse and tried to see if there was a match between their heartbeats.

Yoongi glanced down and huffed.

Jimin let it go and looked up with a; “What?”

“Nothing.” Yoongi said with a smile, “You’re very cute–sometimes.”

“I like to think I’m endearing most of the time.”

“Meh.”

Jimin’s sleepy eyes went wide and his small agaped gasp came with a pinch to the man’s arm. Yoongi just laughed, ignoring the drawback and offered to say; “See?”

“I’m as ‘meh’ as you are rude.”

“I can live with that.” 

Jimin rolled his eyes and tossed Yoongi’s hand as if it wasn’t connected to the man’s body.

To turn his bad side–up, Jimin changed positions to lie on his unbroken ribs. Now with his back facing the world, he nuzzled his face into the fabrics covering Yoongi’s stomach and sighed.

To the sound of crickets and frogs, to the smell of cassia flowers and vetiver, with Yoongi’s hand holding him as if to protect him from falling off the bench; Jimin closed his eyes and dreamt to no future that could suffice whereas he lay awake.

   · · · ᯽ · · ·

Jimin woke to the sound of Yoongi’s voice first.

Then the fall of blue in the days’ dawn, just before the sun could pour over the mountain line. There was no warmth to the sky yet, no yellow to cast on the grass field or light to bleed through the woodlands trees.

Jimin slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes in a feat to take in the scenery.

The air was warm and misted with a sweetness resembling cut grass and fresh rain but there was yet to be a storm, as thunder rolled in and the gray clouds overthrew any sign of morning.

“There’s a small creek up the hillside.” Yoongi unpacked the front bench and prepared to get off the carriage. “Esmarie has a little curve of rock to bear the storm and you’ll have your bath. I have to take some shelter though, before the sun’s up, rain or not.”

Jimin didn’t know how else to explain it.

Yoongi looked beautiful in the light, even if it were but only a hue. And Yoongi must’ve caught on to his sense of awareness or rather lack thereof, since he asked, “What is it?”

“I wish I had a camera.”

Yoongi chuckled, “–what?”

Jimin shook his head, preferably not attempting a poetic shot at the vampire’s beauty, but he did wish there was a way to save this point in time.

Yoongi was quick to offer support off the carriage by giving Jimin his hand, hoisting him off the boards—but like a pattern—he left him without a word, coldly to other tasks.

Pathetic, he thought of himself.

Jimin watched where Esmarie was stationed and tied.

This isn’t a love story.

Then he received his camping kit with his comb, soap sachet, tooth paste and toothbrush. Just up the hill showed a stream in the glide of grass. It was obvious that the carriage couldn’t cross it but Yoongi made sure it was close enough to not lose. This way Jimin could bask in the sun and bathe to his hearts’ content while Yoongi took shelter away from the morning light.

It was the only privacy they had away from each other too, so Jimin used this time to quietly express his disbelief.

I’m free of Priea.

It felt unreal.

And not alone.

Jimin did what he could in means of cleaning his slick–soiled clothes and submerged himself bare.

The stream was weak but enough to feel the pressure run between his fingertips, thrashing past his ankles and washing whatever debris clung to him. And his heat was nearing its last day where the pains of its passing still tried for sex.

If he wanted to runaway, I would.

Just them.

If solitude between Yoongi and him was like this, then Jimin would trade his life for such a vision; and that’s when their last conversation resurfaced.

“You’ll outgrow me one day. I’ll live to see it and that’s a cruelty to myself while—I know what you’re about to say—so don’t.”

Jimin wondered what his future could look like with this unknown pack, even without Yoongi—but that was an unparalleled madness he knew to find him if it were the case.

This experience as a whole has changed him, emotionally and physically, between love and hate, fear and peace. To sever the heartstrings that are already mended to Yoongi’s existence would feel like cutting off such an important connection to himself.

Jimin finished brushing his teeth, rinsed with river water and spat in the grass.

The concept of heartache and its history of such violence on the soul started to make sense to him now. In the past, tales of poets plunging to their deaths and mated wolves dying of despair upon being departed from one another all felt dramatic till now.

Jimin finished unwrapping his bandages and began lathering himself with the soap in his sachet.

Even if they left their story to an open page at the gate of this new beginning called Aewol, Jimin wouldn’t be able to rewrite the chapters without Yoongi’s name riddled in between the lines.

Jimin submerged himself once again, to rinse.

It almost made him laugh.

Am I falling in love?

How brutal that would be.

For genuine love to find him in a nightly creature. It made Jimin prickle with curiosity for the turning of one’s blood to be a vampire, so–much–as’ he started questioning his own morale. To be changed forever for moments of not joy—but to feel alive, hence the reason most fight to live. Hence his reason to escape. But what was Yoongi’s reason for his endeavors, who was he and will be?

There was so much to fill in the blanks, Jimin felt alive just imagining being a part of it.

When he was done cleaning himself, he picked the outer robe of his attire for a covering and left the rest folded over his arm. His clothes were wet, having been rung and washed, so he figured why not allow those to dry while he slept throughout the day. But when he finally returned to the carriage, a flash struck him.

It wasn’t lightning but; a camera.

“Oh?” Yoongi lowered his arms, opened both his eyes from his squint and bellowed. “Why aren’t you wearing the rest of your clothes?”

Dear,

Jimin laughed back.

How I’ve fallen for you.

“I needed to clean them!” Jimin closed the door behind him, soaked—and now particularly blinded. “Last day of heat, I’m grateful as it is—where in the world did you get that?”

“You asked for a camera,” Yoongi plucked the small polaroid shot and held the camera–itself out for grabs. “So here you go.”

“You expect me to believe this showed up out of thin air?” Jimin put his clothes on the small foldable table and accepted the camera. “That’s an awful photo I bet, lemme see.”

“No chance,” Yoongi got up. “It’s mine.”

“For what use?”

“What else?”

“Let me at least see it.”

Yoongi hummed, not necessarily convinced as he took to one of the crates for clothes and the first aid box. It was after he set up and offered Jimin some bread, that he showed the photo.

Yoongi jerked his hand when Jimin reached for it, then reared back in for a second chance—just without allowing the omega to touch it.

Jimin could see it develop into an image that depicted himself oddly provocatively. His clothes were on his arm instead of his body and the thinly silk of his outer robe was held by his bad hand, shielding his modesty but failing to cover his thigh and sensually bent knee. The frame was the interior opening of the carriage, Yoongi’s point of view, while Jimin’s backdrop revealed the forest.

Jimin leaned his back against the wooden legs of the carriages’ bench and brought the bread to his lips, impressed that it was toasted, and said in a muffled tone; “I’m comfortable like this.”

Yoongi drew back to keep the picture safe—and away from Jimin—before he turned to fetch articles of clothing.

Jimin settled for a lighter approach. It just began to rain and his previous outfit was left to dry, if and when it was, he did prefer only one layer of clothes. It wasn’t cold and he was still running a feverish state. Although, he could understand why Yoongi looked back at him the way that he did.

“If that’s your way of trying to seduce me, you’ll have to do better than pretty legs.”

Jimin bent his left one out for a better view, nipping the first aid box with his foot—and divulging the injury on his thigh.

“You’ve gone mad if you’re using your injuries to lure me to you.” Yoongi’s ears pitched back, like a wolf overhearing a snapped twig.

“You usually wrap them, no?” Jimin teased.

Yoongi’s mixed–matched eyes reread his own lines till he caught where Jimin tricked him into assuming an innuendo.

Jimin finished his toasted loaf in time to push it further with; “Lure you how, exactly?”

Yoongi took out a canteen of blood from one crate, plopped it in the middle of their supplies and held eye contact while taking his first gulp. Jimin’s confidence melted at the edges, to the details of Yoongi’s fangs being coated in crimson and his lips being tinted with the blood itself. Even his gaze glimmered, as if he just drank fuel to a flame behind his eyes.

“It’s a miracle you haven’t been killed, Jimin.”

To actually see him speak with longer blades for teeth was such a trial to Jimin’s bravery, he almost forgot what he was sitting across from right now—but that did make him chuckle.

Yoongi prepared the cooling substance that tingled upon contact. As soon as he scooted closer, apart from their back–an–forth banter, he held himself with more professionalism when applying the green paste.

“I told you already.” Jimin looked away, knowing the thought of being bitten was one thing, a fantasy at this point carried with no shame but the press of Yoongi’s fingers to his stitches made him look away. “I trust you.”

Yoongi hummed, akin to a groan, but his touch stayed light and deft. In no time, he was done wrapping Jimin’s thigh but something was on Yoongi’s mind.

Jimin could see it, a topic that creased between the vampire’s gray eyebrows.

What’s he thinking about?

Jimin manually counted his breaths, checked a mental note to relax—and returned his full attention to Yoongi’s eyes. In particularly routine to now, Jimin held out his three-fingered hand and waited for Yoongi to apply the disinfectant and pain killer to that one too.

Look at that.

Jimin enjoyed watching how Yoongi’s eyelashes fluttered whenever he looked away, fanning out bristles curled to the color of snow. Jimin also noticed Yoongi’s stubble was growing in, by the looks of their lantern reflecting off the tiny hairs. The little scabs from when Yoongi had the muzzle were gone too—but that scar over his eye remained. As if it were a part of him then, rather than now; which was cue for Jimin’s theories on where he was from.

“What were you like before this?” Jimin shook his head, could’ve worded that better. “I mean, when you were human—or part of the arctic.”

Yoongi clipped the fresh gauze on Jimin’s foot to bind that piece of wrapping with adhesive, neither he nor Jimin had words to exchange after the vampire himself simply ignored the question.

“It would be rude to ask how you were turned, wouldn’t it.” Jimin reached for Yoongi’s face, instinct if–not’ curiosity built on habit. “You feel warm.”

Warmer than usual.

Jimin furrowed, his timidness disappearing in place of concern. He felt Yoongi’s temple, then forehead and concluded; “You’ve a fever, vampires get fevers? Oh this can’t—this can’t be good, is there such a thing as medicine for you? Are you still hurt? I thought you healed, I–I mean it looks that way but–” Jimin’s slew of worries halted, “–what? Why’re you laughing? This isn’t funny.”

Yoongi sat back, a chuckle still hidden behind his hand. He let his fingers run along his face, through his hair and then his collar. “For two hours, I’ll be like this,” was what he said before; “It’s the contraceptive drink—I’ll be warmer, if you can say that. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you saying we were supposed to wait till now to–” Jimin felt a blush wash over his head as a whole. “Took its’ time, didn’t it.”

“That’s not funny.” Yoongi still smiled, “We should’ve been more careful. I should’ve–”

“–oh’ shut up, you owe me no exceptional treatment besides a decency you’ve already granted by saving my life as well as being kind.” Jimin crawled forward, carefully readjusting himself to be the one between Yoongi’s legs. “There’re countless ways to prevent pregnancy, my heat being corollary to falling pregnant would still have alternatives–”

And if it is?

“This—” Yoongi leaned forward, his hand extending underneath Jimin’s position whereas his face was kept upturned, making sure to evaluate Jimin’s reaction when he touched his leaking erection. “That’s the heat talking.”

Jimin’s hips buckled, his head plopped on Yoongi’s shoulder and the smell of cassia flowers inveigled him to hold still. Being on all fours felt easier in this state, being called to present and already claiming Yoongi’s smell as a comfort, all Jimin could do was hold off until Yoongi returned the intimacy.

“You are crazy for coming in here like this.” Yoongi slid his fingers off Jimin’s shaft to place his palm on the soft inner part of the omega’s thigh. “Be careful with this.”

Jimin nuzzled his hum into the crook of Yoongi’s neck, his gasps softening in tune with how Yoongi swept his hand up his hips to his waist, then his ribs.

“If it hurts here, you have to tell me.”

Jimin straddled him by taking what pleasure he could in rolling his hips into the vampire’s clothed abdomen. He cusped the back of Yoongi’s head and nape when the vampire lulled his neck. As if guiding him to pull in—to meet his gaze—to see him, Jimin carried himself as would a lover and entangled his fingers with Yoongi’s hair, hoisting himself up for a kiss that was met with a pull. An eagerness bled into Yoongi’s grip on Jimin’s ass wherein he’d perk it out, then in, then out again’ humping Yoongi’s lap.

The warmth of the morning’s sudden rainfall gathered itself around them, thickening what scent of blood, vetiver and cassia flowers clung to the oak of the carriage.

The rush was burnished and bathed in their breaths when they kissed—and so close, it was like they were exchanging a single ‘grasping of air, sharing that desire.

“How’d we end up like this–” Jimin panted.

Yoongi smiled, one that was too pure to hold off from smiling back.

“Do you want to stop?”

“No.” Jimin answered before he could think it through. It came with an emotion too raw to control—much like their first night spent like this—and maybe laying together was a mistake, at first, Jimin thought. But this, this was thought‐through, there were no mistakes to be made; Jimin wanted him.

“Then,” Yoongi reassessed Jimin’s naked front and asked—lightly, “Could you help me by getting out these clothes?”

Jimin swooped in for one more kiss, sucking for an ounce of air and releasing his vampire simply to agree.

Yoongi shimmied out of his robe by rowing his shoulders and then untying the cloth–buttons till he had one more tunic. Jimin rolled the cloth up and over Yoongi’s head, off his arms, and tossed the fabric at full tilt. Hastily taking for another taste at his lips, Jimin let Yoongi lift him in motion of lying him down—and Jimin didn’t care about the conditions of the floor boards or whether where he lied was soft enough—he needed to feel Yoongi want him just as venally.

Yoongi let his lips slide off unto’ his chin, then to kiss his cheek to his ear down to his neck. The gradual esurient need to let his lips explore was easy to endure but when Yoongi’s tongue lapped over his scent gland, Jimin’s hips bucked up—his cock hit Yoongi’s tented pants—and unmoved, with muscles’ of marble, Yoongi mounted him in place; Jimin trembled in place.

“I want them to know you’re mine.” Yoongi roughly grumpled, as if it were a threat—and sure, Jimin heard him but it didn’t make sense.

“What?” Jimin managed.

Yoongi drowned himself in Jimin’s smell, possessively taking it in with kisses that led to Jimin’s collar and bare chest. “The alphas will see you for your beauty.” He said in between kisses set lower and; “The vampires will want you for your smell.” Lower.

Jimin’s head whirled on the image in attempt of understanding Yoongi’s demand but “–to know you’re mine–” stuck long enough to distract him from the sudden shock of feeling a tongue on his cock.

“Yoongi! Yoo–!” Jimin coughed, trying to lunge up hurt his ribs. “Yoongi—Yoongi, Yoo–ah—”

Yoongi sunk his mouth onto his dick and steadily swallowed his length so Jimin could feel his lips on the base of his groin and balls. Jimin couldn’t squeal or plea, the sensation beat any hand or pillow—and with Yoongi slowly bobbing his head with a fervent tongue—the blood in his body divided between his nether regions and his head.

Jimin knew he was red, he felt the blood burn again his forearms—covering his face and mouth, failing miserably to stay quiet.

Then beneath him, two fingers pushed inside an’ and up against his prostate.

“You son of a bitch–” slipped, “Yoongi!”

Jimin cushioned Yoongi’s head between his thighs, twitching in time to worry about hurting the vampire’s throat but Yoongi only fastened both paces, heedless in leaving Jimin to his climax. It lasted seconds of an uncontrollable bliss, a moment that descended as a high.

The shame riddled itself with knowing how slick doused Yoongi’s hand or how cum was on the pad of Yoongi’s tongue. Simply imagining Yoongi swallowing that made’ him whine.

“You swallowed that, didn’t you.” Jimin dared to watch Yoongi rise back up from where he resided.

Yoongi’s lips curled, huffing a; “–madness if I didn’t.”

“Ugh–” Insanity, “–are all vampires like you?”

“You’re thinking of other vampires?”

“You’re the one saying ‘them’ and—” Jimin’s words were meant to tease but his voice cracked the moment Yoongi’s adjusted his legs.

“It’s a miracle you’re unmated.”

“I’m a brat–”

–Yoongi hummed, “Good.”

Say it.

There’s no better time.

Damn it, just say it!

“–you can do it.” Ugh, Jimin gulped; “Mark me—wolves’ll back off, they’ll—”

“—stop.” Yoongi worked his slick–covered hand to lather his own hard on, polishing Jimin’s thigh in a glide soon prior to aligning himself with Jimin’s hole. “That’s one risk too dangerous to break without casts to cover my fangs.”

Jimin took one gust of air into his lungs’ to speak but it was pushed out as a whimpered snivel when Yoongi thrusted. That shock caught Jimin’s lungs into a hold, seizing his breath with agaped lips, that if he spoke—

“Breathe.”

—he’d cry out, and so he obliged with “Yoongi, slowly—”

Yoongi drew his hips back to pull out and then push back in, moaning; “Slowly, right—don’t forget to breathe, Jimin.”

A wolven cry was sounded out as a response and Jimin couldn’t bear much more teasing. The intimacy was enough as it was alone, to feel such warmth in Yoongi’s flesh and voice, beating into him to match their pacing hearts was akin to seeing the stars under clutched eyes.

“There you go.” Yoongi slithered his arms under Jimin’s shoulder blades and held him, securing him in place while murmuring, “We’ll go slowly, breathe slowly.”

Jimin calmed himself to the sensation, accepting what pleasure built up but with his muscles relaxing, he felt Yoongi able to reach further. Their rhythm quickened and like piano keys added to a melody, more were introduced but muffled into a kiss.

Jimin’s furrow upturned and his nails dug into Yoongi’s back. When Yoongi’s pace juddered, he stopped whereas when he rebuilt their rhythm, he let go of Jimin to take hold of the floorboard.

The surface was hard and without the same comfort a bed of grass would give, Jimin was bearing the full force of being jounced and rocked. Jimin threw his head back, cumming with quivered his palms’ pushed up against Yoongi’s thighs. His vampire’s legs were at his sides, under Jimin’s lifted limbs like a mount. 

Yoongi lowered back down—without pulling out—to kiss Jimin’s exposed neck. And ever so gently, Yoongi licked Jimin’s scent glands as if he were another wolf.

As if I were his.

Oh’ how Jimin imagined it would feel to be his omega.

Not ‘an’ omega.

Jimin gave up his uncertainties, even if ‘for a day, he waited for the moment they parted to rest—and embraced Yoongi with the need to be held. It was once the feeling reciprocated with arms wrapped around him that he fell asleep; first.

All at once, the shadow of a dream in his ballet classes faded off to match what shadows blended into the carriage. Jimin woke up to the smell of settled blood–vetiver and cassia blooms, as well as a new note of torn vine.

Jimin meant to roll over faster than his body should’ve endured but fortunately, he stopped to a hand on his side and Yoongi’s voice assuring, “I’m here.”

Sometime ago Yoongi must’ve gotten up and put on his trousers to casually forgo the time, sitting just next to Jimin, near–enough to caress his hair. But Jimin was still naked, wearing their abandoned clothes as a blanket.

“What time is it?” Sleepily asked, Jimin sat up in a mermaids’ manner. “What’re you doing?”

Yoongi was braiding thin vines, casually seated with one leg bent as a support but it appeared as a light task—random, but he ignored the question to say, “Do you need anything? The sun’s still up, you can sleep some more.”

Jimin yawned with a frown and in a less interested manner to the matter, noting to ask later, he picked the latter.

While tying vine or whatever it was that Yoongi decided to do to pass the time, Jimin interrupted Yoongi’s position to flatten his legs. That way he can use his thighs as a more secure pillow.

As sundown came, they got ready to set out—quietly, but not exactly in avoidance to the day prior. Still, Jimin washed to the best of his ability and refilled his canteen after boiling the stream water, all while thinking about what to say. What came to mind, at best, was; “And we’re to travel like this all summer?”

Yoongi, who was securing Esmarie’s gear, nodded. “Day in, day out, night in, night out, why? You have somewhere to go?”

Jimin stood up, scoffing to the joke. “Do you?”

Yoongi smiled without much wit to; “Now I do.”

In any corner of which may be hope in Jimin’s mind left too much room to articulate what Yoongi meant by that, thus costing him the time to respond.

“I made this to hold the cast.” Yoongi left Esmarie’s reins to approach Jimin with an item retrieved from his breast pocket. It was a small macrame pouch sewn by vine—woven in as a necklace holding the fang.

It’s for you, never came out—but the way Yoongi held it, meant so.

“This feels–” Intimate, was the word; weirdly intimate. “Is this not a courting effort done by vampires?”

“It is.”

Jimin bore the countless imagery of furs colored every reach of dye ‘old suitors could find, lined and edged with courting gifts from ornaments to accessories, rarities to riches—and none sufficed—as simple as it was. To come to terms with his heart’s way of thrashing against his bones, he realized it wasn’t necessarily the gift itself but the hand that held it. This venture was more than enough to be crowned best in accordance to his idea of love, and to see it as a gift in physical form made him speechless.

Yoongi smiled when he tried by pulling it away. “Or do you prefer it without a carrier?”

Jimin grabbed him, hissing as he wanted it. When he ducked his head, Yoongi put it on with ease. It looked like something handmade by that–of’ a fairy.

Jimin loved it and he was ready to express it till Yoongi kissed him on the forehead; “Let’s make you something to eat, we have a lot of more land to cover.”

Chapter Text

“I could ‘so go for steak right now, the rarest ugh.” Jiah leaned on her elbows in a mulch of grass, which reminded Sungmin to readdress a matter he’s been driving Yoongi crazy with.

“Watch for the damn fire ants—an’ you! Oh you–! There’s no way you can’t make something to fix this, my ass is—”

“—can you not.” Yoongi cut him off with a grossed out look but resumed his task at hand. He was braiding a small vine–woven hair tie, whereas his hair was long and proven a hindrance in the summer.

“Daejung–iya will you ever respect the bounds of land or will I have to—” Jiah got up to rip Daejung’s blade out from his hand and dramatically waved to the obvious carving implemented by said–vampire. “These maple trees are tapped for our sugars and syrups, contributing to such beautiful craftsmanship in musical instruments and shelterings, even the colors in the autumn are just—” she took a deep breath.

“What’s it he wrote?” Juwon asked, more amused than concerned with her lecture.

“The Homebound was here.” Jiah answered, “–tried too anyway, stopped him at was.”

“Well, that’s stupid.” Eunae—who swung from one of the branches—commented. She was hanging from the tree by the back of her knees, upside-down like a bat.

“The bitch was just complaining about wanting steak but woes’ me there be–it’ such scratches in the trunk of a fucking tree!” Daejung tried to say, “It’s monumental anyways. Weren’t we like, the only ones crazy enough to make this trip? It’s fucking Priea!”

Yoongi agreed with Eunae; “She’s right.” Prior to explaining, “If they follow our scent, they’ll see that and you’ll be putting everyone back home in jeopardy.”

“And that’s exactly why I need to be in my best shape, how’re we supposed to be vigilant if my ass is swollen.” Sungmin waivered, “Please. What if one crawled—”

Juwon laughed, still napping on a rooted log cushioned by his saddle bag. Then he mumbled, “–bastard sits on an ant hill and suddenly the worlds are ending—” An arrow whistled through the trees and struck Sungmin in the heart, the fletching of silver with tied wolfsbane.

Sungmin evaporated into ash—a vampire’s death.

Yoongi sprung to his feet as fast as another arrow hit his own stomach. He hit the ground in a pain so merciless he couldn’t handle the shock in any other way but to crawl. Jiah tore two blades from her bun to strike down the silhouettes of two knights lurking the forest under the crest of the Imperial Palace of Priea.

Juwon was quick to roll off into the grass but in his cry of “–they followed us!” was cut short when an arrow lodged its way into his throat.

Yoongi rolled onto his back, adrenaline instructing his fear of what to do for he was yet to be killed but when he looked over—when he met the lifeless eyes of Juwon’s body turning to ash—Daejung rushed over to heave him up.

The chaos of being ambushed and surrounded by the enemy sent Yoongi’s senses into a blur. This can’t be happening, a question that answered itself amidst the wet spray of Daejung’s head being skewered by a stray arrow. In the ashes of his friend’s demise, another arrow struck–but missed Yoongi’s heart by centimeters.

“The court wants their teeth! Take the pretty ones!” One guard dragged Jiah’s motionless body. “The court damn it! Take who you can alive!”

Eunae was pulled from the tree but scratched a knights’ face, costing the man his eye. It’s what had them order; “Cut their nails!”

Yoongi’s blood pooled in the back of his throat, bursting for air once he coucoughed up the blood out through his mouth and nose.

The nameless knight with a clawed–out eye, forever scarred with a vampire’s touch, peered down at him with the last words; “The pretty ones, huh—”

Before “—Yoongi?” Jimin’s voice rippled unto' the memory like a pebble to still water. “Yoongi!”

Dragged back into the present, Yoongi snapped out of it to hum, realizing for a moment he’ forgot that he was sitting beside Jimin in the frontier’ of the carriage with Esmarie leading the way. A way he knew too well, even though it’s been a month at best. From the growth of the leaves and ryegrass, it couldn’t have been more than a month since he lost the others.

“Are you okay?” Jimin asked. “We can stop, if—”

“—no, no it’s okay. I just thought of something.”

Didn’t look like a ‘good’ something, Jimin thought—pouting; “Fine. Do you make jewelry? Y’know, a jeweler.”

“No, uhm–no. I do but not the kind of golds’ and crystals, that sort–no, it’s occasional.”

“Then it’s a hobby?” Jimin stopped swinging his legs off from the carriage’s bench and glanced over before diverting his attention to his necklace. “Do you make clothes?”

“No.” Yoongi finally back to the present as a whole—tried not to smile as wide as it felt natural to—when witnessing Jimin in awe over the accessory. “You asked that already.”

“Did I? Hm, does it really have something to do with your hands, truly—like is it hands’ on–hands’ on.”

“It is.”

Jimin let the necklace go and let his arms fall into his lap, sighing. “This is so strange, you don’t build—but you can, you don’t sew—but you can, you don’t fight—but you can. There’s only so many commissions one could take before you–yourself start to sound like a mercenary and I know you’re not but could I not have another clue then?”

“I’m really beginning to think you know very little about the mainlands.”

“You mentioned that, then tell me about them. These mainlands, what should I know? What do you know? And what else could there be for mystery occupational careers set for the woods?”

Yoongi chuckled, “–the woods?”

“Yes, where else?”

“I don’t work in the woods, I have my own shop.”

Jimin’s gaze veered off to the wild cypress trees and held on to Yoongi’s last comment before ultimately saying, “You have a store.”

“I do.”

“You said your work was similar to that of an archivist.”

“It is.”

He’s probably right.

Jimin may actually have no clue what in all hells’ this creature does as a contribution to his group and if this is common work, by all means’ Jimin has much to learn. It puzzled him. To a point, the questions reached their limit and made his head itch.

The resinous undertones left by the trees were overrun with crisp alpine flora and a stronger breeze that carried the smell of fresh soil and mist. Jimin was excited to see what change of scenery that had to offer however, by the looks of Yoongi, it wasn’t something worth excitement.

“Through the Crater Lakes is Mount Greoi, it’s not official but the path is–” Yoongi sucked his teeth.

Around the corners’ grounds transmuted from grass patches to thin gravel, whereas the scenery itself revealed a hairpin turn leading up to a steep drop in the mountain. When they began to take the byway on the mountain’s road, it became clear that straying off the path would end in casualty. It was thousands of metres down.

“There’s no way,” Jimin gasped, awe stricken; “Look—!” He rushed to ready the camera to snap a photo.

The unsaid fear of heights or peril wreathed itself onto Jimin in a way that had Yoongi pull at the omega’s shoulder, closer and until he was as stuck next to him as can be.

“Old fears and—” Yoongi skipped what he meant to say and mumbled, “—they stay with you after—” again, he avoided the term regarding being and or becoming a vampire.

“Right.” Jimin understood, kinda. “You died with a fear of heights, is what you’re saying.”

“I must’ve, or at least something to do with it. I–now–know no irrational fear for them. Sometimes it unsettles me. I figured it’s that, so could you please not go to the edge.”

And by edge, he meant the opposing side of the carriage—and Jimin wasn’t about to complain on the matter—but something did come off strange.

“We jumped from the bell tower.”

“If we go any higher, we’ll touch the clouds. This is nothing in comparison.”

How odd.

I was so scared then.

Yet now, Jimin was on top of the world—and he couldn’t help but scoot away, simply to lean over the carriage side and peer down. Yoongi cringed with the effort of pulling him back but when Jimin did, he turned with the camera pressed up against one side of his face and snapped another photo. This one was of Yoongi taken off guard, just like the one from earliers’ vise-versa.

“Is there a pen in the back?” Jimin asked.

Yoongi was in the middle of rubbing his eyes when he said, “There is in case of a deal–”

“–what?”

“I’ll get you the damn pen if you just sit still.”

“Oh.” Jimin slid across the bench to touch shoulder to shoulder, even beaming at the fact that Yoongi sighed in relief. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

Jimin rested his head on Yoongi’s shoulder and answered with; “Just thank you. I never thought I would live to see the mountains, always just seen’ them through paintings.”

Yoongi didn’t give much input to that besides; “–you’ll see plenty from now on.”

“Promise?”

Yoongi watched Jimin take his hand to tie their fingers into a hold and hummed, “–I promised.”

Jimin envisioned what his dream home would look like. If it were a den or shed, hut or cottage. All options included a well–built kitchen with a more humble and cozy living space. As a pup, winter entangled his days as best suited to the palace. The pale mornings on marble, the heated sheets for runny noses, the snowy field that blanketed the garden; so he always assumed that seasoned life lived well within him. If he didn’t have to adapt, he would pick a life that felt like early spring instead.

Jimin dozed off to the ideas that could become of his home and how he could decorate it, while sleeping off their travels that lead up to this. It was when they left the curve–side and settled for lunch on an upland that was nothing but grassland that’ he woke up.

Jimin rolled his head to crack his neck, groggily collecting himself to ask, “Where are we?”

“Setting camp to eat.”

Jimin half-mindedly took Yoongi’s hand to get off the carriage and was left to his own decisions while Yoongi secured the carriage’s wheels. Assuming it’s to keep it from rolling away or being hauled off by Esmarie, Yoongi retrieved a crate of hay for her and set off to get some blankets.

“I can help you, you know.” Jimin said, “Just tell me what to do.”

Yoongi whipped the blanket to set a picnic–spot before saying, “–lantern.”

Lantern?

“Lantern.” Jimin repeated, “–right.”

Jimin had to bend his good leg to lift himself up and into the back of the carriage. Yoongi walked past him to stack the medical kit on top of a wooden chest and surpassed him with ease.

Jimin looked back in time to see him take a step off the lift of the carriage and land as if it were nothing.

He could’ve easily taken this.

Jimin grabbed the lantern by its handle and the spare founts to replace the glass reservoir.

It’s so I feel useful, isn’t it.

Jimin carefully crawled off the edge of the open–carriage and limped to their new spot.

Yoongi set up a skinned pheasant on a spit and poured a drizzle of some fuel to a pile of sticks for a fire. Jimin then lit a match to ignite the wick, eying how Yoongi used a spare jug to wash his hands.

Think of something.

To say, think of something to say!

At once, despite it all, Yoongi seemed far and in his own collection of thoughts too.

Are you okay? No,

–too needy.

Jimin thought about lying with him and what was still an avid result of his sore muscles.

We really—

Jimin thought maybe their solitude was a good thing, for his sake. The blood in his head built up and surely painted him in a blush. They were healing and amidst most sorrows, while all the grit and grime, afflictions and woe, there was still a little light flickering at the end of this road. Jimin could swear Yoongi knew what he meant but there was no way to mention it or ask of it.

Maybe bring up the arrow injury.

Jimin had more than enough time to see it so it was a fair question but;

He must’ve gotten that from the palace.

And Jimin didn’t want to bring up his brother.

Maybe the pack?

No.

Yoongi said he didn’t even know how to face them because of what happened.

And that alone wasn’t Jimin’s business.

Business.

Jimin inhaled but stopped mid gasp.

No.

That’ll sound so materialistic and too shallow. To successfully bed him only to bring up such work was off putting.

Jimin exhaled.

This is hard.

Yoongi was rotating the pheasant when he finally looked at him with a face that expressed curiosity.

Jimin covered his smile and Yoongi’s lips curled a bit but the vampire didn’t know what it was so he actually asked, “What?”

Admit it, “I’m trying to find something else to talk about.” Jimin looked down. “None of the contenders were ideal.”

“You want to talk?”

Jimin nodded, eagerly.

Yoongi smiled.

“It’s not funny, I don’t want it to be uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable?”

“I am.” Jimin remarked, “Quite–actuality.”

“Then tell me, what were some of these contenders.”

“The–” Jimin pointed, “–the injuries you carry, if you are okay. I was going to ask you to tell me about your pack but if that’s too much, how they treat outsiders. So I went with what you could do for work but that—” Jimin shook his head. “I still don’t know what you do for a living.”

“Gave up?”

Jimin felt competitive now, “No.” He pouted, “I just have to think.”

Yoongi hummed, smiling. He got up after setting the pheasant to slowly roast, to retrieve a mortar and pestle, and sat back down with; “You pick what you want to do yet?”

“No.” Jimin felt his heart do a twirl. “I thought about how my home would like though, how that could turn out—but I don’t even know what your pack offers.”

“You’ll have your own house.” Yoongi sprinkled berries in the mortar and started working the pestle to squish them. “The cabins for the wolves are different from the vampire dens. It’s what you think of when you hear ‘cabin,’ an there’s a lot of them. The alphas love making them.”

“Are you separated from the wolves?”

“Not disallowed, so don’t look so worried, I told you—you can go anywhere. It’s just—granted—it makes more sense to build homes that avoid the sun, whereas the wolves need more accommodations. It’s divided by sections, but you can walk through town just fine.”

“Is it a big pack?”

“I would’ve said so.” Yoongi put the mortar aside and picked the pheasant off the spit, holding it like a skewer before handing it over. “I don’t know how you like these cooked.”

Jimin was hungry, so those “accommodations” mentioned would have to wait. As fresh as it was, it tasted as would any other simple chicken or turkey—and his wolven’ instincts were happy so he hummed in the middle of chewing.

Yoongi leaned back and picked the mortar and pestle back up into his lap. Eventually, he said, “You’ll be well liked—admired even. It’s not like we see men like you every day.”

“You already told me.” Jimin took to his canteen of water as a sparing pause. Once he washed down the meat and cleared his throat, he said, “You want them to know I’m—” yours “—not theirs.”

Yoongi clenched his jaw, his mixed-matched eyes clear and wide. It took him a couple of seconds to remember he was making some sort of jelly.

Jimin returned to the thigh of the bird and ate away his nerves, cooking it as they went.

“I’ll be criticized when we get there.” Yoongi admitted, out of the blue—heedful but devoid of any threatening tone. “It was my idea to rescue my brother and it’s to fault of that failed mission that the others’ families will suffer. I’m the only one left, as it is, so the elders will have questions and the town will whisper but until that pot cools, I don’t want them to know about us.”

Jimin’s face soured and knowing the reason, he still called Yoongi; “Once rude, always rude.”

“Jimin–”

“–I understand, s’ just mean way to put it.” Jimin bit one section of skin especially hard and muffled the words; “It’s dishonorable, I get it.” And uttered, “–soldiers shouldn’t return with a bitch at the arm.”

“Jimin.” Yoongi furrowed, “I never thought of you like that.”

“Didn’t say you did but I’m not an idiot to gossip, I grew up in the whispers of rumors and hearsays, you’re trying to avoid the ‘I’m worried about what they’ll think’ line.”

Yoongi took in a breath to hold it, sighing whilst going on to reply with; “If we were the same, it would be different.”

“And so what that we aren’t?”

“If it’s not for forever than what is.”

Jimin’s eyes wandered the foliage before landing back on Yoongi with more clarity on; “You’re the one who refuses to turn me.”

“As if I haven’t been thinking about that for this’ entire trip.”

“What good does thoughts do without the spoken word or—”

“—you still have no idea what you’re asking of me right now.”

“Then–” Jimin cut himself off from letting his voice disturb the night and whispered, “Tell me.”

Yoongi rose his chest, ready to spill it, but the matter beat it out of him—he looked away—hurt by whatever it was that he wasn’t saying. Instead, he asked, “If it weren’t for me—” he looked back at him. “If you never were to know me, would you still want to give up mortality? The sun, your spring. This food, drink and—”

“—it’s who we have that shape our lives, Yoongi.”

“Then no.” Yoongi finished crushing the berries. “You would have to want that without me—”

“—but why? That doesn’t make sense.”

“It will.”

Jimin saw the fire twinkle on the line that shaped Yoongi’s eyes. If relinquishing himself as a vampire meant losing this, then; “—I lose you either way.”

“It’s the other way around.”

Those words blended into the crackling wood. The winds rattled the pamas grass and brushed the rosewood stems into sways.

Jimin heard nothing but his own heart beating into his head, throbbing against his chest and running his blood for a sprint. 

“There’s this painting in the dining hall of the palace’s west corridor,” the thought and memory of where this was going made Jimin’s own words squeeze through the knot in his throat. “Up until the second generation of the Imperial Settlement’s creed, most of the omegas and alphas picked their mates during an event, it was every seasons’ passing to hold one, they called it the first star. It’s because they believed the stars counted the millenniums before us and per star, meant a new generation. So they celebrated it by allowing everyone to pick their mates for the generation ahead. It’s this grand ball, something I never got to see in person—that idea of pure freedom—as crazy as it seemed, it feels normal to pick a lover quickly. It still feels normal but—” Jimin took a deep breath. “I didn’t want an arranged future, a planned–out occupation, a detailed to–do list for my life. And I despised how I was wasting it on stalling against what everyone else wanted, it took everything to simply be alone and it wasn’t like I wanted to be lonely, but alone’ was all I had as a choice. Till they tried to take that too. I don’t want to force you into anything with me, Yoongi. But don’t decide for me, please.”

Yoongi nodded, as strained as it were, he nodded.

Jimin collected himself by pressing the water out of his eyes, preventing any tears to fall and even cursing how stupid he felt for getting emotional. Till Yoongi muttered something.

Jimin looked back up, “–what?”

“You lose your memories.” Yoongi repeated himself. “If I turn you, to keep you with me, forever—you’ll die and wake up without any memory of where you came from, who you knew and know, and you won’t know who I am.”

Jimin’s blood suddenly felt cold.

“To me, it would be like you actually died—and replaced with a shell of yourself.” Yoongi looked down, saying; “It would be like we never met.”

“Th–” Everything burnished with blooms wilted into a blue, pale still, as if something just died in Jimin’s heart. “Then, it—it that can’t be true! You’re just saying that so I can stop bothering you about—” No.

He’s telling the truth.

It all makes sense now.

“That would mean you don’t know who you were before.” Jimin sat up straight, ignoring the pains in his body. “But your brother—”

“—he looked for me, after I left our old pack. I don’t know what I was running away from but I wanted to forget, to forget something, and the only place I knew that would take me as I am and turn me into what I am now—was Aewol. Geumjae had himself turned as well, to stay with me—his little brother—but something in my fucking heart couldn’t forgive him—and I have no way of knowing why now that he’s gone. I got my wish, to forget. It wasn’t what peace I was promised and I don’t want to do that to you.”

Jimin was struck by too much of a disbelief to spare bravery where tears weren’t allowed. He cried but as would a sculpture, unmoved with emotions too violent to convey. Gently, he set his pheasant down and took in a shaky breath prior to whispering; “You said fears stay with you.” Jimin coughed, sniffled and wiped his nose and face with his sleeves like a pup. “Would my heart remember you?”

“Jimin.”

“Would it.”

Yoongi put the mortar next to the fire and changed positions to sit closer, more eye–to–eye when saying, “Your heart will still carry what weight you drag behind you today—but you would not know how to let it go because every sentiment in engraved into you when your heart stops.”

“But does it remember love.”

“It could.”

“Then you’re saying there’s a chance I could still—”

“—stop, even if you took that route, what about me? You’ll die and I would be left to just—”

“—my heart would remember you.”

“As if that’s enough.”

That was the final crack to bare the strength in Jimin’s chest, he needed to cry. To scream or run, even so’ if that were permitted, he didn’t want to simply give up on this; on them.

“Is this why you wanted to be distant?” Jimin wept, fearlessly close to Yoongi in his demand. “Is this why you were pushing and pulling, making a mess of that ‘line’ and ‘stumbling’ with what to say and do? I’m not—I am not one to go around on a whim, I picked you as would an omega and I’m pretty–fucking–sure I’ll even fall ill if you leave me alone for too damn long! If I don’t remember the palace, fine. If I don’t remember my mother, fine. If I don’t remember my dead brother, fine.” Jimin felt a rush of determination that disquieted his sorrow and while Yoongi reacted to that last part, having not known that commonality between them, Jimin continued. “If we ever come to terms with wanting a future under eternities’ conditions, then all I ask you now—is to know that if it’s true, that you say our hearts will remember while our minds don’t—then know I won’t desert you.”

“That’s simply on your word, Jimin.”

“Didn’t we already have that part down?”

“Look—”

“—I can write to myself, to you too.” Jimin already started to fix pieces to make this puzzle whole. “I already have a camera—”

“—do you hear yourself?”

“I do, I know myself quite well, actually. I’m all I’ve known in my life thus far—I know if I feel a certain way towards a matter, it will be life or death until it’s resolute. Look at where we are! It is and was life or death. I’m mad in that way, stubborn in that way and as you’ve said yourself, a brat.”

“Jimin.”

“I’ll need paper, a journal–maybe?”

Yoongi appeared to not believe what was being said right now and took a moment to think with his elbow on his knee and his knuckles to his lips.

Eventually the vampire returned to the conversation to say; “We’ll be as we are and when we arrive at the Homebound, learn to adapt and see how you settle. If that’s a life you want forever, then we can talk about our forever, and you so–as hesitate, it’s done, I—”

Jimin bit the small spot on his tongue—back when Yoongi’s fang clipped it—and waited to taste the salt before swooping in for a kiss. At first, Yoongi closed his eyes and felt his lips to savor even a peck till his tongue caught the iron.

Jimin let Yoongi grab the back of his head to pull him in, growling and gripping for more, cursing; “–s’ cheating.”

Jimin opened his mouth enough to tremble to the taste of Yoongi’s tongue, gripping the clothes on his chest to keep up, all while thinking of ways to keep this going.

“You can’t just do that.” Yoongi groaned, his head veering down for Jimin’s smell. “Don’t do this to me.”

“If not you, who?” Jimin was panting, his agaped lips still wet; “If not you, what am I supposed to do? Take some other alpha an—”

Yoongi hissed. The mere suggestion sparking something primal in his own right but as unthinkable as it was, Jimin could tell this was an unspoken proposal.

He’s already so jealous of the idea.

“You would have to feel so strongly about me that’ your mind wouldn’t second–guess your heart.” Yoongi’s grip on Jimin’s nape became as firm as the omega could bear. “I’ll kill as far as love goes, Jimin.”

That kind of force on such a sensitive spot had Jimin whispering out the words; “Then make me love you.”