Work Text:
─── ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
The shop had been quiet for well over an hour now; a kind of silence that always filled Jungkook with comfort. However, as he sorted through the shiny crystals and hardened rune stones stored on a shelf near the register, he found no such repose. Instead, he was exhausted. Beyond exhausted as he hadn’t slept in days. But there had been an energy building inside of him, buzzing just beneath his skin, for just as long as he had been awake. Maybe even longer. It had started with the rain, he was sure - a downpour that had kept everyone indoors. And it lingered still, as the rain dampened the darkened city outside.
Thankfully, there was plenty of work to keep him busy. To distract him. Crystals and dried flowers to sort. Salves and tinctures to be made. Inventory sheets to fill. Dusting that couldn’t be put off any longer.
Just as he had accepted the fact that he was looking forward to another sleepless night, a gust of wind swept through the shop. The bell hanging above the door made a tinkling sound and Jungkook spun around, despite the shiver working its way through him from the cold night air, ready to greet whoever had stumbled across his little shop this late.
The greeting died on his tongue the moment his eyes landed on the figure standing just inside the door, his heart tripping in his chest.
Jungkook realized three things in that moment, one after the other in quick succession.
The first and second - there was a shifter standing inside of his shop, despite the spells set in place to keep shifters from entering, from finding it to begin with, and he was bleeding. A big red splotch spread across the front of his shirt, vibrant even in the low ambient light.
The third - and probably the most shocking of all - was the arc of electricity that spanned the distance between them. The tug in his gut that urged him forward, feet stumbling against the concrete beneath him of their own volition. He had never felt it before, this current bridging the gap between him and the stranger in his shop, but Jungkook recognized it immediately. Had heard about the phenomenon his entire life, more than enough to have the signs drilled into his brain.
This man looking at him with raised brows - this shifter - was his fated mate.
A witch and a shifter. It was unheard of, a fated mate pairing that crossed supernatural boundaries. And it was impossible. The war had made sure of that. One hundred years of unending bloodshed and a rift in the supernatural community that grew and grew with each passing day made sure of that. And yet, there it was. The metaphorical red string of fate taut between them, the connection undeniable as it hummed beneath Jungkook’s skin like a livewire. As it settled in his chest, an unfamiliar weight that slotted into place as if it had always been there.
Jungkook’s lips parted, words building in his throat like a rising wave, but before he could unleash them, the shifter’s eyes rolled back in his head. He tottered, feet unsteady beneath him, and then he was collapsing on the floor.
─── ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Jungkook knew quite a few witches who would have kicked the shifter out. A handful that would have even left the shifter there to bleed out on the floor. Hell, he knew some vampires and humans who would have done the same, their anger about the on-going war clouding their judgement. Yet somehow, the shifter had ended up in Jungkook’s little shop. Maybe it was luck that had brought him here. Perhaps it was fate. Either way, Jungkook didn’t hesitate to check that he was still breathing before scooping him up from the floor and carrying him upstairs to the apartment above the shop.
Jungkook had lived there for years. Long before he had become the owner of the shop, the source of the magic fueling the protection spells around it. Before his mother had fallen ill. Despite the darkness and the extra weight in his arms, he navigated every corner with ease until he was in his bedroom, depositing the shifter on his clean but ruffled bedding.
Light from the lamp on the bedside table filled the room with a snap of Jungkook’s fingers, illuminating the prone figure on his mattress. And Jungkook was frozen, inches away from this stranger he could feel, a strange sort of reverberation along his lifeline that made it impossible to look away.
It didn’t make sense, Jungkook thought, that this man was a shifter. He looked nothing like what Jungkook had been taught. Vicious and brutal, people would say. Savage and harsh and ugly. This man was the furthest from ugly Jungkook had ever seen with his own two eyes. He was soft, skin pale as porcelain and hair like a dark halo around his head. Even the thin discoloured scar across his right eye did little to harden his features. And his lips. His lips were so very pink, shades of pearl and rouge and a delicate cupid’s bow that held Jungkook’s gaze far longer than it should have.
He was beautiful, even as his brow furrowed and a pained groan escaped him.
Beautiful and bleeding all over Jungkook’s duvet.
Jungkook really needed to do something to stop the bleeding.
He gave himself a single moment, the barest attempt at orienting himself, before he stepped closer. The edge of the bed frame pressed against his knee as he carefully reached for the hem of the shifter’s ruined t-shirt, fingers shaking as he eased it away from the wound across his abdomen until he could see exactly what he was dealing with.
Pale plains and shadowed valleys faded to angry red where ragged lines slashed through skin and Jungkook’s stomach sank at the sight of it.
Healing magic wasn’t his strongest suit. At least not the kind that this would certainly need. And healing shifters was another world to him. The blood flowing through their veins differed greatly from witches and humans and even vampires. Their bodies could change completely, bones breaking and skin stretching to fit whatever animal resided in their DNA. It was unlike anything Jungkook had ever felt, the way the cells within the shifter moved beneath the weight of his magic.
There was a pull there too, a tug in his gut that he knew stemmed from the connection that had snapped into place the moment their eyes met. It shifted the very earth beneath his feet, this star-crossed meeting. And it was a distraction he didn’t need right now.
Jungkook did his best to push it all to the back of his mind. Ignored every electric shock when skin met skin, refused to allow his eyes to wander from where the steady flow of blood was becoming a slow ooze. In the end, he was exhausted. The bone-deep kind of exhaustion that made his limbs, his eyelids heavy. The plush cushions of the couch were calling his name, a siren song that nearly lured him away.
Instead, he set the gauze and tape to the side and collapsed into the chair at his desk. He had turned it just enough that he could keep a watchful eye on the shifter, which he did then as he stretched his arms above his head, fingers interlocked and head lulling to the left. Even as his mind spun like a kaleidoscope, he didn’t look away.
And because he didn’t look away, he caught the exact moment the shifter became restless, delicate features twisting as a whimper escaped him.
Jungkook’s magic moved on its own, tendrils reaching for the man and checking for signs of pain or discomfort. It took a moment of searching and coming up empty for Jungkook to realize it was a nightmare that plagued the shifter. Perhaps he dreamed of whatever had given him such terrible wounds, Jungkook thought as he quietly shut the bedroom door behind him and hurried to the one that led to the rooftop greenhouse. His mind was full of claws and teeth as he gathered fresh passionflower, chamomile and lemon balm, plucking each with ease before moving on to the dried valerian root hanging from a clothesline.
Once he was back in the apartment, in the kitchen where the shelves were lined with jars and dried roots and herbs hung from the ceiling, Jungkook filled the electric kettle with water and started it. Then he got to work preparing the flowers and herbs for steeping.
Only when the sleep tonic was ready, sweetened with honey and cooled with ice, did Jungkook return to his bedroom.
Despite the sweat gathered on the man’s brow and the sheets twisted around his limbs, he was still sleeping. Jungkook managed to coax him into drinking the tonic, watching closely as the liquid passed between pink lips. Soon, the mug was empty and a sound rumbled from the man’s chest, reminiscent of a cat purring.
Still, Jungkook lingered, watching the rise and fall of his chest with each inhale and exhale. Just for a moment. Outside, the sky was slowly filling with faded light, pale blues and yellows visible through the thin crack in his curtains, but Jungkook knew he wasn’t going to be sleeping anytime soon.
─── ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Hours passed in a slow haze until Jungkook found himself sitting at the kitchen table, staring into the depths of his nearly empty mug. It was his second- no, his third since he’d left the shifter to rest and the caffeine had done little to ease his exhaustion.
Not that Jungkook was surprised.
On top of the exertion of using his magic, he had spent most of the night watching over the shifter, the tug in his chest making him wander back to his bedroom to check the man’s breathing. Even his mind had been too tired to continue its spinning and twirling, thoughts of war and soulmates and blood on the floor of his shop muffled by the heaviness of fatigue.
It had been over twenty minutes since the last time he had moved, and only then it had been to take a sip of the lukewarm coffee. He was sure he could have gone longer, was even prepared to honestly.
Until the sound of a throat clearing forced him from his stupor.
The apartment had been silent until then, the only sounds that of the building settling or the occasional car passing by on the street outside. Nobody could fault him for how thoroughly he startled at the sound, for how hard he flinched or the way his heart leapt into his throat as he turned in his seat.
The shifter stood in the threshold, between the kitchen and the living room, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. Jungkook had placed the clothing at the foot of the bed once he had realized that the clothes he’d arrived in were ruined, shredded and blood-stained as they were. These nearly swallowed him, making him look smaller than he had last night, and the sight of him settled something in Jungkook’s chest.
Something he was very decidedly going to ignore.
Instead, he focused on the shifter, on the way his arms were wrapped around himself like a shield. The tension in his shoulders as they peered at one another in the quiet of the early morning. The utter disarray of the dark curls atop his head. The dusting of pink on his cheeks and the guarded look in his eyes. When his lips parted and his tongue slipped out to wet his lips, Jungkook’s attention was drawn to his mouth. Captivated by the way his lips pursed as he cleared his throat again.
“Hi, uh…sorry, but where am I?” His voice was the kind of low and raspy that came from having just woken up, uncertainty clear in his words. He glanced around before his eyes found Jungkook again. “And how exactly did I get here?”
“You don’t remember?” Jungkook asked, placing his mug on the table. He frowned when the man shook his head briskly. “This is my apartment. I brought you here last night after you stumbled into my shop, and started bleeding out on my floor.”
As Jungkook spoke, one of the shifter’s hands had drifted to rest on his abdomen. He tipped his head down, eyes focused there as if he could see the healing wound through the thick fabric.
“I-I don’t remember,” he muttered. “I recognize the street outside but I don’t remember this building. I don’t remember how I found it or why I came inside after,” he cut himself off, shaking his head. “I can’t-I don’t remember.”
His frustration was palpable in the air between them even as he fell silent.
After a quiet moment, Jungkook sighed wearifully and picked up his mug, holding it aloft for the shifter to see. “I think I’m going to start a fresh pot. Do you want some?”
There was a small pause before the shifter was nodding. Before he finally stepped into the kitchen, making his way around the table to the seat furthest from Jungkook’s.
Some of the tension eased from Jungkook’s shoulders as the man folded himself into the chair, somehow making himself appear even smaller. He stood then, crossing to the counter where the coffee maker resided. It was easy to get lost in the mundane ritual of making a pot of coffee, body moving from muscle memory alone.
“I healed you as best as I could,” he explained, dumping the old grounds into the garbage. He grabbed a new filter as well as the freshly ground coffee from the day before and made quick work of measuring it out. “Honestly, I’m not the best healer. Not just in my coven but in general, despite the efforts of my best friend. Jimin likes to joke that it’s the one thing I’m not good at.”
A pause as Jungkook pushed the button to set the machine brewing.
“What I am good at is potion making,” he continued as he made his way across the kitchen to the cabinet next to the refrigerator where he kept the mugs. As he pulled out one for the shifter and then opened the fridge, he added, “Tonics and tinctures and elixirs- you name it, I can whip it up.”
He could feel the weight of the shifter’s gaze as he made his way back to the coffee maker, setting the cream and mug next to the sugar canister there. He glanced at him, their eyes meeting for the briefest of moments, and Jungkook cleared his throat.
“Would you like cream? Sugar?” he asked as he turned back to watch the coffee beginning to drip slowly into the carafe.
The shifter’s voice was quiet as he answered, “Both, please.”
Once he had made both mugs of coffee, Jungkook returned to the table and placed one in front of the shifter before making his way back to his own seat. He took a sip as soon as he’d settled, wincing at the temperature against his tongue, and watched as, across the table, the shifter did the same. Jungkook kept the mug near his lips, blowing to cool the sweetened coffee, but the shifter cradled his own in his hands. Long fingers around porcelain as if what he was holding was the most delicate, precious thing in the world.
“Thank you.”
Silence settled between them for only a moment before Jungkook was breaking it to ask, “What’s your name?”
The shifter’s eyes lifted from the depths of his mug to meet Jungkook’s and there was hesitation written in the parentheses around his frown. Hesitation that Jungkook understood. They were strangers in every meaning of the word. Sworn enemies, even.
Enemies who were sitting at the same table, sharing a pot of coffee as the sun rose above the city.
“I’m Jeon Jungkook,” he said, the words an olive branch of sorts.
One that the shifter accepted, to Jungkook’s surprise.
“Yoongi,” he told him, pink lips glossy from his tongue darting out to wet them again. “Min Yoongi.”
“Yoongi,” he repeated, letting his mouth test the shape of the name. Then, Jungkook smiled, teeth flashing and nose scrunching. “Since I don’t think last night really counts, it’s nice to meet you, Min Yoongi.”
For just a second, Jungkook could have sworn that Yoongi looked a little dazed. It was gone as quickly as it had come, a trick of the light, but Jungkook couldn’t shake the feeling that he had surprised Yoongi somehow. He shook his head and lifted his mug to his mouth again, letting the slightly cooler liquid flow between his lips and down his throat.
“Do you remember how you got hurt?”
Yoongi frowned, eyes dipping back to his mug, and Jungkook was sure he wasn’t going to answer. Wouldn’t have blamed him, really, if he didn’t. The universe might have decided without their consent that they were made for one another but that didn’t mean that Yoongi owed him an explanation. Or anything at all. But then, Yoongi nodded.
“I was attacked,” he started, twisting the mug in his hands. “Another shifter. Most likely from my- my clan because there wasn’t anyone else who could have known where to find me last night. I think-,” he stopped, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. “I think they meant to kill me.”
He stopped there, lips pursing as his thoughts swept him away.
But Jungkook already knew what happened next, didn’t he? The image of Yoongi collapsing on the floor of the shop was still vivid in his mind; the sight of blood smeared on hardwood was something he was sure he wouldn’t soon forget. Now, Yoongi’s words echoed in his mind. My clan. Meant to kill me. There were obviously things missing from the story Yoongi had told him, things he didn’t know about the man who was sipping his coffee with a far-off look in his eyes. So many questions unanswered. Jungkook didn’t know where to start.
The sun filtering into the kitchen was brighter as Jungkook filled his mug for the umpteenth time. Warmer as he hummed quietly in the silence, trying to decide if he should open the shop today. It was very rare that he closed at all but with a shifter in his apartment felt like a good enough reason to. He stirred in cream and sugar, the rich brown liquid like a miniscule vortex ready to pull him under, and resigned himself to a day stuck within the walls of his apartment.
“More coffee?” He asked, his voice sounding far too loud in the quiet of the kitchen.
“No, thank you.”
Nodding, he slid back into his chair. Steam rose over the rim of his mug as he met Yoongi’s eye. The distance in his gaze was gone now, replaced with a watchfulness that had Jungkook shifting in his seat. From here, his eyes were inky black pools, drawing Jungkook into their depths.
“You know what I am.” Yoongi didn’t wait for Jungkook to answer, to nod his head or acknowledge somehow that he had heard. No, he simply tipped his head at Jungkook and kept going. “I know what you are. So why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?”
The question surprised Jungkook, not at all where he’d thought this was going to go, but not enough that he didn’t answer immediately. Without hesitation, even as he shrugged a shoulder.
“Because you needed help,” he said as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
It wasn’t. Not really. He knew that and Yoongi knew that. But there was nothing else to say. Not right now, anyway, so they lapsed into silence yet again. Eventually, Jungkook noticed Yoongi’s head lolling to the side, his eyes fluttering closed, the mug forgotten on the table in front of him.
Exhaustion was far stronger than caffeine, it seemed.
Jungkook allowed himself a moment to look at Yoongi. (To look at him in the daylight, to take in the way his lashes fluttered against the swell of his cheeks and he curled in on himself in his seat. Just a moment to wonder what the man falling asleep at his table could shift into, what shape his skin and bones stretched and broke to transform into. He had always been told that shifters were predators; lions and bears, crocodiles and komodo dragons - a never ending list of sharp teeth and claws and savage instincts. He just couldn’t see how this soft and beautiful man could be any of those things.) And then, despite the sleepy murmurs of protest, he guided Yoongi back into bed.
─── ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
As the sun made its usual journey across the sky, Yoongi slept.
Jungkook spent a few hours on the roof, watering his plants and working out beneath the warmth of the spring sun. He made a fresh batch of elixirs, made something to eat, cleaned up the mess he’d made in the kitchen. He even read a book he had found on his coffee table, one he was sure Jimin had left behind.
Before long, the sun was disappearing beneath the horizon, the stars flickered to life in the night sky, and still, Yoongi slept.
It was weird having someone in his bed. Someone other than himself. Other than Jimin or Taehyung or Hoseok. Weirder still to have something unfamiliar and heavy settling in his stomach every single time he focused on the rise and fall of Yoongi’s chest in his sleep, the halo of dark hair on his pillows. To be unable to fight the gravitational pull of Yoongi’s very presence.
He could feel it as he collapsed on the couch, letting the cushions swallow him. As he tugged a knitted blanket over himself and closed his eyes. As sleep pulled him under like a tidal wave.
─── ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Jungkook dreamed of the moon, silvery and bright in the inky black sky.
Of moonlight on taupe fur, soft as silk beneath the tips of his fingers.
Of teeth and claws, sharp as knives rending flesh.
But Jungkook wasn’t afraid. He knew he was safe there, beneath the moonbeams.
─── ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
At first, Jungkook wasn’t exactly sure what had woken him. But, as consciousness forced itself upon him and he found himself in his apartment once more, he realized he could hear something rustling in the hallway. Jungkook blinked at the darkness surrounding him, the curtains blocking any signs of the city outside, and listened. Listened and strained his ears until he caught a single word, hissed between clenched teeth, as it echoed in the quiet of the apartment.
“Fuck.”
It had only been maybe ten hours since the first time Jungkook had heard it and already he knew Yoongi’s voice. He also knew the sound of the loose floorboard at the top of the stairs as it groaned beneath the weight of a person and the thud of something hitting the hardwood floor there.
As quietly as he could, Jungkook pulled himself from the depths of the cushions and crossed to the doorway. He was careful to veer around the end table and side-step the spot that always creaked when stepped on as he did so until finally he was standing in the doorway between the living room and the hallway, peering at a shadowy figure bent over.
Another soft curse escaped from Yoongi just before Jungkook lifted a hand and snapped his fingers.
Warm light filled the hallway, chasing shadows to the very edges of the space, and illuminating Yoongi where he stood at the top of the stairs, just as Jungkook had guessed. The well-worn dark shoes he’d been wearing when he arrived lay at his feet, one of them upside down, and his dark hair was mussed from sleep, strands falling across his forehead as he tilted his head up to blink at Jungkook.
“Is everything okay?” Jungkook asked, brow arched as their eyes met.
Yoongi swallowed slowly, nodded his head carefully, as he said, “Yes.”
After a beat of silence, he reached for his shoes again. And if Jungkook hadn’t been watching so closely, well aware that the shifter was still healing from his nearly fatal wounds, he might have missed the way Yoongi stopped abruptly. He might not have heard the hiss of pain, air whistling between teeth, as Yoongi tensed, as the shoes slid from the tips of his fingers and landed on the floor again.
“You’re still hurt.” Jungkook’s voice was matter-of-fact, leaving no room for argument.
And yet…
“I’m fine,” Yoongi insisted, gritting his teeth audibly as he tried again to pick his shoes up.
Tried and failed.
Jungkook was sure he was trying to hide exactly how much pain he was in but he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. At all. It was clear as day in the tense line of his shoulders, in the way his jaw clenched and his brow furrowed.
“Are you?”
Yoongi pursed his lips and nodded again.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” Yoongi told him. He still hadn’t moved from the slightly bent position he had been in when Jungkook had found him and now, his arm had risen to curl around his abdomen. “But I’m leaving now.”
Jungkook ignored him, stepping closer. Close enough that the insistent tug in his chest eased. Close enough that he could smell a hint of copper in the air.
“Did you reopen your wound? Are you bleeding?” He asked, reaching for Yoongi without thinking. Thankfully, he was able to stop himself before making contact. With his hand clenched into a fist at his side, he continued, “I have more bandages. And a salve I made today that will stop the scarring process. It’s mostly asiatic pennywort and everlasting flowers but-”
“It’s fine,” Yoongi snapped, interrupting him. “I’m fine.”
Jungkook stood straighter, the sharp tone of Yoongi’s voice giving him the answer he’d asked for. His eyes narrowed. “Let me see.”
“I said I’m fine, Jungkook.”
Crossing his arms, Jungkook dipped his head until he was eye to eye with Yoongi.
“And I said let me see, Yoongi.”
They stared at one another long enough that Jungkook began to think that Yoongi wasn’t going to back down. He wouldn’t have been surprised, really, if the shifter didn’t tell him to fuck right off before disappearing into the night.
Which was why he was surprised when Yoongi finally stood to his full height, wincing as he revealed the splotches staining the front of the t-shirt he was wearing. The one Jungkook had given him. The fabric was gray but not dark enough that Jungkook couldn’t see the red tinge of blood. And when Yoongi moved, flashing the pale skin of his forearm, Jungkook could see blood smeared there too. A stark contrast to the milky white of his skin.
“Follow me,” Jungkook ordered before turning on his heel.
This time, Yoongi didn’t fight him. He didn’t argue or try to play it off. Instead, he followed Jungkook all the way to the bathroom in silence, the only sound between them that of muffled footsteps. He waited in the doorway as Jungkook washed his hands, as he gathered gauze and bandages and the salve he’d made, as he set everything out for easy access. And when Jungkook gestured for him to come closer, he did, shifting on his feet as he watched Jungkook with wary eyes.
“Your shirt,” Jungkook said, waving his hand in a hurry up motion. When Yoongi didn’t move, Jungkook did it again. “Take it off.”
After a single moment of hesitation, Yoongi reached for the hem of his shirt and lifted it, tugging it up and over his head. He let it drop to the floor in a heap near their feet as Jungkook took all of him in. The light in the bathroom washed his pale skin in warmth, highlighting the jutting line of his collarbones and the softness of his stomach. The bandages across his abdomen were a stark contrast, angry red seeping through the layers of gauze and tape. A reminder of what Jungkook needed to do.
Quiet blanketed them as Jungkook worked at undoing the bandaging. Only it was different from the quiet of before, in the kitchen that morning as they’d sipped their coffees. Perhaps it had something to do with the lack of space between them, around them. The tight quarters certainly made everything feel more… intimate. Jungkook’s movements were careful as he peeled back the layers, gentle as he cleaned the wound and applied the salve. Practiced as if he’d done this a million times before.
The disconnection made it easier to ignore the tingling sensation in the tips of his fingers, the buzzing beneath his skin each time he made direct contact with Yoongi.
Once he was done, Jungkook turned to the sink, putting as much distance between them as was possible in the tiny space, and turned the water on. He lathered his hands with soap as his eyes flicked up to the mirror, over his shoulder until they were landing on Yoongi’s reflection. He had moved now that Jungkook was done with him, shirt still on the floor as he sat on the edge of the tub with his eyes closed. His lashes are stark black against the apple of his cheeks, long and beautiful and utterly distracting.
Jungkook looked down at his hands, watched as soap suds tinted pink with blood swirled down the drain.
“You should stay,” he said, words echoing against the tile.
He expected Yoongi to disagree immediately. Instead, silence stretched between them. Just for a moment before Yoongi spoke.
“Why?”
Jungkook turned the water off but he didn’t move, water still dripping from his hands where they rested on the edge of the sink as he carefully chose his words. “Your wound is nowhere near healed. You literally started bleeding again just from trying to put your shoes on. I can’t trust that you won’t push yourself too far and make it worse. It’s better if you’re here where I can keep an eye on you.” A pause before he tacked on, “Just until you’re better.”
“Until I’m better,” Yoongi echoed, the tone of his voice giving absolutely nothing away. Still, Jungkook didn’t allow himself to look up, to find Yoongi’s reflection again.
“Until you’re better,” he agreed, nodding his head. “Plus, you don’t know who tried to kill you, do you?” He didn’t wait for Yoongi to answer. “Laying low is probably a good idea until you can figure it out. Without bleeding out in the process. And this is the perfect place to do it. Nobody would ever expect you to be hiding away in the apartment of a witch.”
Yoongi didn’t say anything for a long time. So long that Jungkook was certain he was going to say no.
“Okay,” he said instead, the word shocking Jungkook enough that he finally lifted his head. Yoongi was frowning, pink lips curved with displeasure.
Clearly, he wasn’t happy about staying, despite the fact that Jungkook was right. But honestly, Jungkook didn’t care much how he felt about it. All he wanted was for Yoongi to be safe. To be here. Something he didn’t want to unpack at the moment, thanks. Or maybe ever.
Yoongi was going to be leaving soon anyway. He wants to leave now, Jungkook told himself as he put away the medical supplies and slipped out of the bathroom. He repeated it to himself as he found something clean for Yoongi to wear and laid it on the bed for him. As he made his way to the kitchen, stomach grumbling quietly at him. Leaving. He’s leaving.
Later, as the sky outside was awash with pale light, Jungkook sat across from Yoongi at the kitchen table, plates nearly emptied of the food he’d made for them.
“I’m tired,” Yoongi said, breaking the quiet that had settled between them.
Jungkook nodded, moving the remnants of his eggs around the plate with his fork. Yoongi stood, taking his plate to the sink before heading toward the door.
At the last second, just as his feet crossed the threshold, Yoongi stopped. He didn’t face Jungkook, didn’t even turn his head to look at him over his shoulder.
“Thank you,” he murmured quietly and then he was gone, Jungkook’s bedroom door clicking shut behind him.
Jungkook wasn’t sure what exactly Yoongi was thanking him for.
─── ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
The next time that Jungkook woke, it was to the sound of rain pattering against the windows and the scent of freshly brewed coffee permeating the air. He had no idea how long he had been sleeping and it was impossible to tell what time it was with the sky dark and dreary outside. For a long time, he laid there, snuggled into the cushions with his eyes closed as he listened to the rain falling down on the city as his mind worked through everything that had happened over the last two days with a fine-toothed comb.
Unless someone had broken in, Yoongi was in his kitchen. He was in his kitchen which meant he was still in the apartment which meant he hadn’t left like Jungkook had expected him to.
And he had made coffee.
Eventually, Jungkook managed to drag himself up and into the kitchen, enticed by the aroma. There, he found Yoongi at the kitchen table with a mug in front of him. On the counter, next to the nearly full carafe, another mug waited.
It had been in the cabinet right next to the one that Yoongi was currently lifting to sip from.
The sudden swell of emotions in his chest stole his breath straight from his lungs. He couldn’t name a single one of them. Or maybe he just didn’t want to. He certainly didn’t want to acknowledge the feeling that hooked into his chest at that moment.
Clearing his throat quietly, Jungkook crossed to the coffee pot and filled the mug.
“I have to open the shop tomorrow,” he said as he slid into a chair.
There were far too many who depended on him, witches and vampires and humans alike. Who depended on the shop and the safe haven it provided. There were spells to maintain, orders to fill, council to give. Jungkook couldn’t exactly do any of those things from the confines of his apartment.
“Does it belong to you?” Yoongi asked after a moment. “The shop, I mean.”
Jungkook nodded. “It’s been in my family for a long time.”
“And it’s always been here?” Yoongi blinked at him, the expression on his face inscrutable, as he asked, “On this street?”
Lifting his mug, Jungkook took a sip, letting the rich warmth of the coffee wash through him. He was giving himself to decide exactly what he wanted to tell Yoongi. Eventually, he settled on the truth.
Or, at least, part of the truth.
“Yes, on this street. Right here in this very spot. And it has always been concealed by magic.”
Yoongi stared at him over the rim of his mug, his gaze sharp and assessing. For a moment, Jungkook wondered if he had figured out that Jungkook hadn’t told him everything. If he somehow knew that the magic woven around the shop was meant to keep shifters from ever finding it. If he could read it in Jungkook’s eyes, his silence.
“I see,” Yoongi said, eventually before bringing the mug to his lips.
─── ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
The days came and went, the passage of time as slow and steady as ever. By the end of the first week, the two of them had fallen into a routine of sorts. Jungkook would work at the shop during the day, only coming upstairs for lunch or if he needed something from his personal inventory. After, Jungkook would check how Yoongi was healing and they would have dinner together. Rinse and repeat.
Eventually, Yoongi began to join Jungkook when he watered his plants on the roof, even the midnight trips to check on the evening primrose, moonflowers and night blooming jasmine Jungkook kept. He watched with an interested gleam in his eyes as Jungkook melted beeswax for salves, brewed herbs and water for tonics, cleansed the apartment with smoke from incense. And all the while, he asked questions. Questions about the herbs and flowers he didn’t recognize in Jungkook’s greenhouse. About each step of Jungkook’s process. And eventually, the spells that surrounded the building and how they worked.
“They pull from my magic,” Jungkook had explained as he stirred a bubbling pot of sleep tonic. “Just like they pulled from my mother’s magic before me.”
It had been years and still, his heart panged at the thought of his mother.
“Where is your mother now?” Yoongi asked, oblivious to the ache in Jungkook’s chest.
Jungkook didn’t look up as he answered.
“She died a few years ago.”
And he didn’t look up as Yoongi murmured, “I’m sorry, Jungkook.”
As Jungkook began to add the fresh passionflower he’d picked with Yoongi in tow, he wondered what she would think of Yoongi. How she would feel about the fact that he was harboring a shifter in his home. Jungkook couldn’t remember ever having in-depth conversations about the war with her; the furthest it had ever gone was his mother standing at the window in silence for a long, long while before she would whisper, quiet enough that Jungkook was sure she hadn’t meant for him to hear, “When will it end?”
Yoongi’s voice pulled him from his thoughts then.
“I lost someone too. My uncle.” When Jungkook turned to him, Yoongi was plucking leaves from a stem of lemon balm, head tilted down to watch his own work. From this angle, Jungkook could see the raised edge of the scar across Yoongi’s eye. “To this never-ending war.”
Later, when the apartment was quiet and dark as Yoongi slept, Jungkook found himself wishing he could ask his mother what she had meant.
─── ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Jungkook was awake, pulled from his sleep by the sounds of the storm that had rolled in. Darkness filled the apartment, broken only by flashes of lightning outside the window, and the building shook with the rumble of thunder in the sky. He could feel the floor beneath him vibrating, sense a current of electricity humming in the air, and beneath it, he could hear a whimpering sound.
He was on his feet between one flash of lightning and the next, making a beeline for the bedroom.
The duvet was tangled around Yoongi’s legs as he thrashed against the mattress. As he twisted and shook, sweat-dampened strands of hair clinging to his forehead and neck.
Quickly, Jungkook crossed the room, coming to stand at the side of the bed.
“Yoongi,” he whispered, a futile attempt to pull the shifter from the throes of his nightmare.
The bed dipped beneath his weight as he sat on the edge, reaching for Yoongi’s shoulders with outstretched fingers. He shook him gently, whispering his name again, and watched as fear furrowed Yoongi’s brow, twisted his lips into a deep frown. Watched as his chest heaved and sweat beaded down his temple. Still, Yoongi didn’t wake.
Another whimper escaped Yoongi, low and pitiful, and Jungkook was overwhelmed by the desire to do something, anything to protect the man in front of him. From whatever haunted him in his sleep. From the people who had hurt him, who wanted to kill him.
“It’s okay, Yoongi,” he said, voice low as his hand cupped Yoongi’s face, fingertips brushing the damp hair curling against his neck. “I’m here. I’m here.” The words were a solemn promise in the dark, one that Jungkook repeated again and again and again. “You aren’t alone, Yoongi. I’m right here.”
Eventually, Yoongi’s breathing returned to normal, chest rising and falling evenly with each inhale and exhale. Jungkook lingered for a moment, not wanting to leave but knowing that he should, before he stood.
Only for a hand to catch his, for fingers to curl around his wrist.
Jungkook could feel Yoongi shaking as he peered down at him. Could see tears seeping from the corners of his eyes as he blinked up at Jungkook.
“Don’t go yet,” he pleaded, voice raw like he was laying himself bare with those three words. Then, as if he thought that Jungkook would say no, “Please.”
Of course, there wasn’t even the slightest chance of Jungkook’s answer being anything other than a resounding yes. Jungkook didn’t tell him this, choosing instead to return to his seat on the edge of the bed. And when Yoongi’s fingers stayed firmly around his wrist until well after sleep had washed over him, pulling him into its depths, Jungkook knew without a doubt that he would always stay if Yoongi asked.
─── ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
By the time lunch rolled around a few days later, Jungkook was positively drained.
He had spent the morning with a vampire who had requested a Tonic of Forgetting. It wasn’t something that Jungkook made often and certainly never without consultation. After an hour of listening to the vampire’s story, Jungkook had agreed to mix the tonic for him. It had taken three and a half hours to do, as he carefully measured the nepenthe rootstock, crushed the dried bluebell by hand and mixed them with ginseng and mugwort.
Once he had given the vampire detailed instructions and sent them on their way, Jungkook had flipped the sign on the door to ‘closed’ and made his way to the stairs.
The apartment was quiet and warm, hazy sunlight filtering through the windows. He expected Yoongi to be in the kitchen waiting for him, as he had been for the last few days, but the room was empty. Frowning, Jungkook trudged down the hallway toward his bedroom, opening the door carefully.
The room was filled with golden light and there was a wolf in his bed.
Its fur was the colour of desert sands, soft and muted against the sheets, and it was massive. Jungkook had always heard that wolves were big but seeing it with his own eyes was completely different. Seeing it curled up in his bed was a whole other story.
Panic had already settled deep in his chest by the time his feet began to move, slow steps backward as he pulled the door with him. So deep that it took him a moment to feel it. The pull inside of him. The tug in his stomach.
It urged him in a different direction.
Forward. Toward the predator sleeping on his duvet.
A feeling that had been unfamiliar only a week ago now eased the terror he’d felt at seeing the wolf.
He had thought before that Yoongi didn’t seem like the type to shift into something so dangerous and yet, there he was. The seventh most deadly apex predator in the world.
In his wolf form, Yoongi opened an eye, the same inky black as his human self, and blinked sleepily at Jungkook.
And for the first time in days, Jungkook smiled.
─── ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Before Jungkook knew it, a month had come and gone. In that time, he had learned a lot about the shifter; like how he took his coffee- a splash of milk, a drizzle of honey, and a pinch of cinnamon or how he always paused before he spoke, like he was carefully choosing every single word. Each new thing filed away neatly inside his mind alongside the knowledge that shifters were nothing at all like what Jungkook had always been told.
See, Yoongi was soft where he should have been hard; considerate when he should have been vicious. He was different and it had nothing to do with the red string of fate that connected them. Maybe Jungkook would have reacted differently to the shifter stumbling into his shop but he was sure he would have found his way to this conclusion regardless.
Four weeks and his entire worldview had shifted.
─── ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
As the sun began to rise, Jungkook bustled around the empty shop, refilling empty spaces on shelves - the row of black candles that a young witch had purchased just before closing, runestones and crystals, bottles of sleep tonic and protection spell jars - before he flipped the sign on the door. His first customer of the day came an hour after, hurriedly purchasing one of the gilded athames Jungkook kept behind the counter before leaving Jungkook alone again.
It was going to be a slow day, it seemed. Not that Jungkook minded. He liked the quiet. Plus, it gave him time to take care of the things he’d been putting off.
Like the Lion’s Mane powder that needed to be measured out into jars and put on the shelves. The mushrooms had dried on the roof for one moon before he’d ground them into a fine yellowish powder. Then, as he’d worked the mushrooms beneath his pestle, and now, as he used a wooden spoon to scoop the powder up, their potency was tangible.
A good batch, Jungkook thought happily, humming under his breath as he tipped the spoon over the rim of the jar.
A chime sounded through the shop as the front door opened.
Jungkook lifted his head, his usual salutation poised on the tip of his tongue, only to find one of his closest friends stepping inside.
“Seok! Hi!” He called out, his excitement making the words lisp together.
Hoseok’s heart-shaped smile greeted him as he crossed to the counter. “Hi, Kook!”
“What brings you by?” Jungkook asked, gently pushing the half-filled jars to the side. “Jimin said your lithomancy gems were looking a little rough and I got some last week. Oh, and I have some fresh myrrh!”
Before Hoseok could answer, Jungkook was already moving, grabbing the gems he’d set aside for Hoseok to pick through and placing them on the counter between them. He watched as his friend reached for a chunk of tiger-eye that had images of soft fur and big paws flashing in Jungkook’s mind. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, focusing as Hoseok turned the gemstone over in his palm before placing it on the counter and moving on to the next gemstone.
At first, Jungkook thought Hoseok was just really intent on picking the perfect gemstone, a normal occurrence because these stones were what Hoseok used to augment his gift of locating. But then he realized that Hoseok was barely looking at the stones, glancing over his shoulder and peering around the shop as if looking for something.
“Is everything okay, hyung?” Jungkook asked, breaking out an honorific he rarely used.
With one last sweep around the shop, Hoseok turned to Jungkook with a frown tugging his lips downward. “I was tracking someone and the spell led me here. Right outside your shop.”
Dread filled Jungkook’s stomach instantly.
“I-I haven’t really seen anyone,” Jungkook managed to say with a shrug of his shoulders. “Just the usual patrons.”
“This person wouldn’t have been a regular here,” Hoseok explained and his eyes were narrowed, locking in on Jungkook in a way that was all too familiar.
He had known Hoseok for a few years now and unfortunately, he was really good at figuring out when Jungkook was hiding something. Jungkook had always wondered if it had something to do with his above average locating skills or if something on his face gave him away. Now didn’t seem like the best time to ask, though. Not when he was very decidedly hiding something.
Or rather, someone.
Right above Hoseok’s head.
“Who is it then?” Jungkook asked, hoping his expression was one of neutral curiosity. “How do you know they aren’t a customer here?”
“I just do.”
Jungkook shrugged again despite the way the dread sank like lead in his gut. “Well, the protection spell keeps out anyone with ill-intent.”
Hoseok parted his lips, closed them again. Then, he said, “I don't think they would have come here with ill-intent.”
The words came out strained as if Hoseok was telling Jungkook far more than he wanted with a single sentence. It felt like an opening, perfectly sized for Jungkook to press against.
“Then why were you tracking them?” He asked as he watched Hoseok shift from one foot to the other, pick up the same tiger-eye stone and rubbing his thumb across the swirls of sandy brown and black. “Do you know them?”
Hoseok nodded, eyes focused on the stone between his fingers. “I work with them. We’ve been looking for them for weeks and this was the first lead we had.”
Jungkook wanted to ask more. He wanted to know who exactly this ‘we’ was. What kind of work it was that Hoseok did. He had known him for years and wasn’t sure what exactly it was that he did for his coven. (“I’m the best tracker we have,” Hoseok had once told him.)
Before he could, Hoseok was lifting his head, eyes flashing white for the briefest of moments. Then, Hoseok lifted his head and peered at the ceiling above them. When he looked back down, his eyes were back to normal as they locked with Jungkook’s.
“But I guess they aren’t here.” Hoseok tapped the counter, drawing Jungkook’s attention to the small pile of gemstones he’d gathered. “I’ll take these.”
It was quiet as Jungkook packaged the gemstones for Hoseok, placing them in a velvet lined pouch and carefully depositing the pouch into a brown paper bag with Jeon Apothecary stamped on the side. Only when Hoseok had the bag in hand did he speak again.
“There are a lot of things I haven't told you, Kook. But it was just to keep you safe.”
With that, he was gone, the door closing behind him with a gust of wind and one final chime.
─── ⋅ ⋅ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
The night air was cool, a light breeze ruffling Jungkook’s hair, and the bowl of Kimchi-jjigae warming his hands as he peered up at the sky filled with stars like shining silver. Beside him, Yoongi sat cross-legged on the blanket he’d spread out for them, sipping the broth from his stew directly from the bowl. It had been quiet for a while now, both of them enjoying the food they’d prepared together.
But mostly because Jungkook was distracted.
Distracted by the things Hoseok had said, the things he hadn’t. By his mother’s words from years ago, echoing in his head as if she were here on the roof with them. It mixed with the words Yoongi had uttered softly, a handful of weeks ago. When will it end? This godforsaken war. And Jungkook felt like he was looking at a puzzle with a handful of pieces missing. Some of them were there, stored away in his mind but there were others he didn’t have. The ones needed to fill in the center, to complete the story.
“You’re quiet tonight.” Yoongi’s voice was soft as it pulled Jungkook from his thoughts. “Is something wrong?”
Jungkook shook his head. Then he paused.
Another opening.
“Not exactly,” he answered, stirring scallions and tofu around in his bowl with the wide wooden spoon. He kept his voice even as he added, “Someone came looking for you today.”
He could tell the exact moment Yoongi tensed without looking at him.
“It was someone I know. One of my best friends, actually.”
And the exact moment Yoongi turned to look at him.
“Jung Hoseok,” Jungkook said, answering the silent question in Yoongi’s gaze. “I wasn’t aware that his coven works with shifters.”
“Jungkook, you don’t-” Yoongi started but Jungkook interrupted him, their eyes meeting as he spoke.
“I want to know the truth.” He placed his bowl to the side, porcelain scraping on asphalt, before turning to Yoongi. “How do you know Hoseok?”
Yoongi looked at him, unblinking, before he answered. “We work together.” And when Jungkook started to speak, he clarified, “Outside of his coven.”
“You said someone in your clan was trying to kill you. Why?”
Yoongi shook his head. “You already know too much, Jungkook. Too many of us.”
“The truth, Yoongi.”
They were still so close, electricity arcing in the miniscule space that separated them. Even as Yoongi moved to put his own bowl aside, the distance growing by a planck length. He wondered if it would always be like this - their connection like a livewire, a current.
“I lead a resistance group, Jungkook.” Yoongi’s fingers curled around his knees, the fabric of his pants bunching beneath the pressure. “That’s why someone in my clan is trying to kill me. That’s why Hoseok and I know each other. We have been fighting for years to end the war. There were others before us and there will be others after we’re gone. Until the needless killing ends.”
Resistance. End the war. These were things Jungkook had never considered before and he realized that he was privileged in this. That he was one of few who hadn’t been affected by the war in any meaningful way, locked away behind the layers and layers of protective spells wrapped around the building he called home. He also knew that his mind should have been spinning. Twirling and oscillating as it worked to sort the information he’d been given.
Instead, he felt sure. More sure than he had ever been in his life.
“I want to help.”
Yoongi shook his head again. “Simply knowing about any of this puts you in danger, Jungkook.” His voice dipped low as he met Jungkook’s eye again. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“And I don’t want you to get hurt. Does that mean you’re going to stop doing what you do?” Jungkook already knew the answer. “I have lived a very sheltered life, Yoongi. Before you came along, I had never even thought something like this was possible. But now that I know, how can I just sit back and do nothing?”
Yoongi remained silent, the moon shifting in the sky shadowing his eyes from view. Jungkook knew he was still looking at him, could feel the weight of his gaze on the lines of his face.
“It’s the right thing to do,” he said, softer. “Isn’t it?”
Finally, Yoongi said, “You are nothing like what I thought you’d be.”
Jungkook frowned, confused.
“I’ve always known my mate was out there, somewhere.” Yoongi turned, tipping his head to the stars. In the pale light of the moon, Jungkook could see the edges of his scar. The mole on the tip of his nose. The curve of his cupid’s bow. “But I had no idea you’d be… A witch, for one.”
Impossible, Jungkook thought as a laugh escaped him. It should have been impossible.
“I didn’t know you would be this perfect.”
Jungkook’s chest was filled to bursting with a thousand wings fluttering.
A quiet washed over them, Yoongi’s revelation lingering. Jungkook wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed when he finally found his words.
“Maybe this is why the universe brought us together.” When Yoongi turned to him, Jungkook smiled. “To bring about a revolution.”
The first brush of Yoongi's lips against his own felt like a spark.