Chapter Text
Jungkook had been at the Seoul Finishing School for the Blessed and Elite just over three days, and he was starting to suspect that there was more to being a dragon than he’d initially thought.
In fairness, he hadn’t thought much about it in the past, because he hadn’t known that he was one.
~❀~❀~❀~
Most Blessed were born with their characteristics already showing — scales on rosy cheeks and spewing flames instead of wailing. They would get a state-funded naming ceremony, a free education worthy of the gentry, and a hand-signed card from the Crown promising royal favour for a lifetime.
Jungkook, though...
Jungkook was born looking perfectly human. No claws on his tiny fingers, no wing-stubs on his shoulder blades. Not so much as a growl in amongst his giggles and baby talk.
He grew up in the damp basement of the townhouse where his parents worked as servants, and counted himself lucky to have a roof over his head at all. He attended the local schoolroom two streets over, and the cook allowed him first choice of the kitchen scraps. Jungkook lived out his early childhood blissfully unaware that he and his family were a finger away from poverty.
It took until he was waist-high to his father before his parents spotted the flecks of gold in his eyes, but that wasn't enough to think of a late diagnosis. He didn't show any hint of scales (which he hid anyway, confused and embarrassed) until he was old enough to leave the schoolroom, taking up a job at the docks. By the time his wings started to poke at the skin of his back, itchy like wisdom teeth, he was already two years into his eight-year indentured service.
The State had put an end to him working pretty fast once his parents reported his symptoms, and within days, an ox-drawn carriage had appeared in front of the townhouse. He’d been whisked to the capital.
Still. He might be new to it, but he thought he was fairly good at being a dragon. He even had a hoard. The Master of the townhouse had offered him the choice of his own riches before he’d left, and he was now the proud owner of a full set of silverware. A full set. Not just the knives, forks and spoons that he used to polish daily, but the sauce tureens too. The delicate little teaspoons used to serve compôte. Two ashtrays, and a strange sort of wide knife that his mother told him was for serving fish. The townhouse master had seemed a little confused by his request, but Jungkook had known exactly what he’d wanted.
So he had the hoard sorted.
He was also making good progress with the fire-breathing, despite the State official telling him that it might take several weeks before he was able to do it. True, his first (and only) time breathing fire had been an accident during the carriage journey, but it had been well-received. His mother had given him a knot of dried herbs to ward away the evil spirits who preyed on those moving between homes, and the musty smell tickled his nose. The flames that accompanied his sneeze had been unexpected, but the oxman driving the carriage had been delighted with the scorch mark. He had even asked if he was allowed to keep it – for his future passengers to admire.
So the fire-breathing was coming along just fine.
The problems only arose when his classes at the finishing school started. The other students at the finishing school were… elite, to say the least. They swanned through the halls of the school like they owned them, sat perfectly poised through each class as if they already knew the material, and exuded such cold confidence that he hadn’t actually worked up the nerve to talk to one yet.
These young men and women were to be the future of the country. They would grow up to be State officials, diplomats for the Crown, prominent figures — landowners each and every one.
(Jungkook, too, had been gifted some land. He was pretty sure. The documents he’d been presented with were written in Hanzi, not Hangul, and he couldn’t read them.)
He supposed he’d also grow up to be somebody now, too. He wondered if he asked, somebody would invent a small sort of job for him. A low-stress sort of thing, where people didn’t ask him what to do all the time. He hadn’t been raised with that sort of ambition, and it showed. The other students seemed to smell it on him, and skirted away from him like it was infectious.
It was on his fourth day that disaster struck. It had rained during the morning’s classes, and the lunch room was packed. Every seat at his normal table — which he occupied very well all by himself, thanks — was taken. So was… almost every other seat.
Ah.
This could be a problem.
Jungkook hesitated, tray in hand, before spying a single table on the far side of the room with seats left. Six students occupied an eight-seater, leaving two spaces free. One was at the edge of the table, and he made for it with a faint air of desperation.
The students were all Blessed, he realised as he got closer. It was sometimes hard to tell wings apart from the elaborate, colourful cloaks that the human students wore, but no cloak could match the colour of these wings. Gold, electrum, or silver, each and every one of them. He slowed before sitting, and waited for them to notice him.
They didn’t. He paused, then sat anyway.
The food at the school was fantastic, and Jungkook tried to eat as quickly as possible without looking like he was stuffing his face.
He thought he recognised the boy directly on his right from his Politics class. There were only two other Blessed in that class, and those gleaming metallic wings, halfway between gold and silver, were impossible to forget. More importantly, the boy had a teaspoon. Just a normal teaspoon, that he was using to stir a sugar cube into his tea — and if Jungkook was being honest, he’d seen nicer teaspoons. In his own hoard, for instance. Those were very nice, and had a pattern of serpents on the handle. This one just had some unimaginative curlicues. But the way it glinted in the boy’s fingers kept catching his eye.
He wanted it.
No, Jungkook realised as his heart rate sped up and his eyes turned to slits, focusing in on the spoon.
He needed it.
Jungkook swallowed heavily, and tried to turn his attention back to his food. It wasn’t a meat that he’d had before, but it was tender, and the rice on the side was fluffy. It was so delicious that he had to make a conscious effort not to growl.
But the spoon–
He couldn't tear his eyes off of it. Jungkook felt his stomach start to gurgle just like it had before he’d sneezed last, and he just knew that he was going to let out a lick of distressed flames, so he just–
–waited for the moment when the boy next to him put the spoon down to sip their tea, and made his move.
He was sneaky about it, didn't lunge. Steady hands. His dragon side might still be developing, but he knew, instinctively, exactly how to pull off the theft. He had his own glass of water on his tray, and picked it up with one hand, reaching for the spoon casually with the other. He lifted it from the saucer without a clink, and the spoon was in his pocket before the other boy had finished his own drink.
Jungkook watched him place the teacup down on the saucer gently, and hesitate there for a minute. Jungkook froze. Then the boy lifted the cup for a second sip, and resumed his conversation after.
Jungkook rose from the table with his food only half-eaten, intent on placing the teaspoon with the rest of his hoard before the afternoon’s classes began.
He didn’t spot the narrowed pair of silver-gold eyes watching him leave.
~❀~❀~❀~
It was at dinner that same day that Jungkook realised he was in trouble. The dining room wasn’t nearly as full for dinner — the students were free to take their evening meals in their rooms if they wished, and most did. Jungkook hadn’t worked out how to order to his room, or he would have done it too.
He’d not seen the group of Blessed with shining wings at dinner before, but here they were again.
Dinner was soup.
And with soup, came soup spoons.
Jungkook felt his stomach clench.
Oh no.
Jungkook felt his feet lead him towards their table, even though there were plenty of other seats available. Once more, the group of six didn’t acknowledge him. Too polite to tell him to move, but too privileged to consider including him in their own conversations.
He sat, and poked miserably at his own soup. He didn’t even want to eat it with his own spoon. It just wasn’t the same.
He spent some time listening in to the group’s conversations while he moped.
“—And they caught him on the edge of the woods, rifle in one hand, and a brace of ducks in the other.” The Blessed at the far end of the table was holding court, twirling their fingers idly in the air as they recounted a story with an air of practiced boredom.
Jungkook had no idea what a rifle even was.
“Really, hyung? I shouldn’t have thought that of him.”
“He’ll have to be let go, I suppose? Such a shame. He was a terrific shot.”
“A shame.”
The Blessed sat next to him – the last to speak – had the largest wings he’d seen so far. They were solid, unblemished gold, and glinted dully in the lamps of the dining hall. Jungkook’s own wing-stubs itched, and he scowled.
Jungkook was too impatient to wait long this time. He waited until the table was distracted with the next story, and gently reached out to collect the spoon.
The boy reached for his spoon a second later, and Jungkook saw a flash of… something… flit across his face when he didn’t find it. He didn’t even bother checking the floor to see if he’d dropped it. Jungkook watched him confidently lift a hand, and one of the serving staff was at his side in an instant.
He managed to swallow down the pleased sound that bubbled in his chest, but he couldn’t stop the rough patch of scales on his neck from lifting in a smug little display. It felt nice.
Next to him, the staff delivered another soup spoon to the table. Jungkook could sense the boy's bemusement. He'd be confused too, if one moment he'd had a spoon, and the next he had none. He could sense, more than see, the boy mentally shrugging it off. The spoon was just a spoon, to him.
But to Jungkook, it was treasure.
He left the table dazedly, not even noticing that he’d left his own soup behind, uneaten.
This time, six faces turned to watch him go.
~❀~❀~❀~
It only got worse from the next day. He saw the six Blessed with shining wings everywhere. They were beside him in class, next to him in the corridors, behind him in the queue for lunch, loitering near the staircase leading to the dormitory wing when he went up to bed.
Jungkook needed to be strict with himself. He clearly couldn’t hold back when he was near them. And if he couldn’t hold back, he needed to avoid them entirely.
That was just… proving harder than he thought, when they were always around.
It didn’t take long for him to make a mistake. It was the end of his first full week, and he had so much work to finish over the weekend. He didn't even know where to start. His wingstubs were aching, his stomach was upset about something or other, and he was just about ready to collapse face-first into his ridiculously soft satin sheets in his ridiculously large chambers, and mope for the rest of the evening.
He didn’t register what food was served for dinner, just collected a tray and moved to an empty table. Almost there. Maybe he would spend some time this evening with his hoard. He could polish the biggest tureen.
Then, the six Blessed sat at his table.
They came and sat with him. At his table.
“You’re Jungkook, right?” Asked one with broad silver wings. Their voice was smooth, and confident. One of said wings curled round the back of Jungkook's chair, and he kept very still.
Fish bollocks.
“Yes?” He tried.
“You don’t seem sure about that. When did you arrive?”
Jungkook was frozen in his seat, not daring to make eye contact. “The start of this week."
"What day?"
What did he mean, what day? What kind of days were there? "The day after market day..."
"You mean Sunday?"
Jungkook felt small, and stupid. He nodded, no idea if that was the right day or not.
"Well, it's nice to meet you, Jungkook," said the Blessed smoothly. "My name is Seokjin."
"Nice to meet you, Seokjin... hyung?" Jungkook tried. He was definitely meant to say something fancy and polite instead of hyung, oh no. This wasn't the docks. What was it–
One of the others started in. "You should call him–"
"–Hyung." Interrupted Seokjin. "Hyung is fine. How old are you?"
Jungkook hesitated. He was pretty sure he was in his fourteenth year. But he'd been fourteen a while. Maybe he was fifteen now? His master's serving girl was seventeen, and he was as tall as she was...
He was pulled out of his thoughts by Seokjin gripping his shoulder, and leaning in gracefully to brush their cheeks together.
Jungkook's brain stopped working. What was that all about?
"You're younger than all of us," declared Seokjin, a strange look on his face. "Call us all hyung."
"Thanks, hyung!" Jungkook had no idea why all these people had sat by him, but maybe he was finally making friends. Maybe. (Or maybe they were onto him, and were going to take his spoons from him. Maybe he should leave. Leave right now and make sure his hoard was safe–)
Jungkook looked down when Seokjin's hand gripped his wrist. He hadn't realised that he'd stood up from the table. He blinked.
Seokjin gazed up at him with a carefully blank expression. "Aren't you going to eat dinner? It's not good to skip meals."
...They were so onto him, weren't they.
He sat.
The starter was some sort of melon, cut into spheres and drizzled in a sweet red sauce. Jungkook had never eaten melon before, but he'd always wanted to try it.
Not as much as he wanted to leave, though. He should really make sure his hoard hadn't been stolen. That's what a proper dragon would do–
Seokjin gripped his wrist again, and placed Jungkook's spoon back in his hand.
"Eat," he purred.
Fine. Jungkook would eat.
But not with this spoon.
No.
He needed a better one.
Jungkook wasn't sure what possessed him. Seokjin was actively eating with his own spoon (his spoon). But he just reached over and... took it. Right out of the Seokjin's hands.
Seokjin froze. Jungkook clutched the utensil to his chest. His eyes watered as a stressed little trickle of smoke escaped out of his nostrils.
Then, ever so slowly, Seokjin turned to him. Jungkook met slitted eyes that were a lot more silver than iris.
Then, Seokjin smirked. He plucked a second spoon from beside his plate – he'd been hiding one there the whole time? – and dangled it in front of Jungkook's nose.
"Want this, too?" He prodded, eyebrow raised.
"It's yours?" Jungkook checked.
"Mmn."
Jungkook scowled. It wasn't the same. It was only precious if Seokjin wanted it, and he didn't seem to.
No, he decided. He didn't want it at all.
He sniffed disinterestedly, and poked at his own plate with his new spoon. Out of the corner of his eye, he could sense Seokjin slump, and start eating again.
Wait.
Seokjin was eating again. With the third spoon.
Panic curdled in his stomach. As much as he'd not cared about that spoon before, now it made him sick not to have it.
He reached out a hand, urgently gripping Seokjin's sleeve, and the older Blessed raised an eyebrow.
"What's wrong, Jungkook-ah?"
Jungkook was past using words. His chest was heaving in distress, and his eyes were fixed on the spoon in Seokjin's hands. Seokjin waved it slowly back and forth, and his eyes tracked the movement.
"Look at that," murmured Seokjin, and Jungkook got the sense that he wasn't talking to him. "Oh, you can't help it, can you?"
Jungkook was locked on to the spoon, waiting impatiently for it to stop moving so he could pounce. But Seokjin kept wiggling it about in front of his nose, keeping his attention, and Jungkook realised too late that they'd stood up. There was a large, glittering wing in the corner of his vision, blocking out his surroundings.
He growled. A soft, pathetic sound.
"It's ok, see? Come get it." Seokjin teased the spoon in front of him, and Jungkook was powerless to stop himself following.
He let himself be led – past dining room tables, along plush carpets, gently-curved wings hovering ready to catch him when he stumbled on the stairs.
And then he was blinking–
Blinking slowly, at the two gleaming spoons cradled in his hands.
Finally.
Finally, he had them both. He needed to put them somewhere safe–
Had someone changed the furniture around in his room? No matter, he needed to–
Under the pillows.
He was on his bed, and there was a mound of pillows that he didn't recognise, but no matter. It didn't matter, they were perfect, still perfect.
A strange churring sound echoed in his lungs as he tugged soft, squishy pillows around himself and... someone else? Not important, he had what was important, he needed to hide it. He tucked the spoons underneath the largest cushion and flopped on top, chest vibrating and vision tinged with yellow. He'd done such a good job. He was so good at being a dragon, so good at looking after his hoard.
(Was it himself who was telling him that? Or was it– not important, it was true, he was doing great)
There was a faint breeze fanning away the smoke that trickled from his nose, and warmth all around.
His hoard was safe.
He was safe.
He really was good at being a dragon.
~❀~❀~❀~