Chapter Text
If there is anything profound to say about war, Jimin is not the one with words to say it.
War is war. It feels like war. It sounds like war—ears ringing with the remnants of explosions, the rattle of a concrete building as it’s shelled. It smells like war, with its stench of burnt truck tires and the sting of blood on the air, so thick you can taste its metallic bite on your tongue.
It’s war. What else is there to say about it?
War means loss, it means you don’t get attached. Never hold too tight to the bonds you form with the men around you. They never last long. Lean on them when you need—that’s what they’re there for, you’re meant to watch each other's backs—but don’t become dependent.
You keep them alive so they can keep you alive. That’s all. Most likely, whatever friends you make won’t be on that train or boat or plane back home with you. Either they won’t. Or you won’t.
War is war.
There’s nothing else to say.
Sitting on examination tables on base almost makes Jimin miss curling up in muddy foxholes with another Marine pressed too close to him, unwashed for days, bladder on the verge of exploding but unable to leave without getting your ass shot off.
That, truly, is more pleasant than this sorry excuse for medical furniture. How are they supposed to treat anyone on these things? He wouldn’t be surprised if Marines left these rooms with more injuries than they came in with.
“Physically, you’re in perfect condition,” Doctor Lee says as he turns to Jimin, leaning back on the counter. He flips through the papers from the exam, lips twisted thoughtfully to one side. This is the hard part—Doctor Lee prying into his fucking head. The psychoanalyzing. He hates this shit. “That’s good. Considering everything you’ve been through.”
Jimin shrugs, fingers tapping against the edge of the table. “Nothing different than what everyone else here has been through.”
“It’s very different, Park,” Lee says, arms crossed. “You answered yes to having trouble sleeping recently?”
“Everyone does.”
“What’s causing issue with your sleep?”
Jimin rolls his eyes, glancing toward a chart on the wall. He fixes his eyes on it. “Maybe my fucking roommate snoring all night, what do you think?”
“You’ve learned to sleep through cities being bombed. I think your barracks neighbor snoring a bit would be easy enough to ignore.” Lee pulls a stool over with his foot and sits down. “Are you having dreams about it?”
Jimin lifts a brow at him. “Dreams? About what happened? No. I hardly dream about anything.” He bites his tongue. That shouldn’t be a problem, but who knows with these fucking psychologists? They pick apart everything a person says, blow it out of proportion. They’re ridiculous.
“Do you have any trouble recalling memories of what happened?”
The slice of barbed wire through his skin, the scent of his own seared flesh, hours upon hours of Hell until he was the only one left—How would he forget that? It was the worst pain he had ever felt in his life, and he’s been shot, stabbed, beaten, and has fallen off a fucking cliff. But how do you forget something like that day?
“No,” he finally says.
“Do you try not to remember certain parts of the event?”
The event. What a clinical way to talk about it. Jimin has to hold back a scoff.
“Like the people?”
“The people?” Jimin asks.
“The men that died that day. Men you knew. Do you try not to think about them?”
Jimin forces his gaze to meet the doctor’s. This is the big question. There are two main answers he’ll be expecting from Jimin. One, that Jimin never thinks of them anymore. But that’s too detached. They’ll think he’s trying to forget in order to cope. And two, that he struggles to remember them, which would tell Lee that his mind is doing its own work on trying to block them out, coping with the guilt when he doesn’t even mean to.
Either way, it’s not going to make him pass the assessment, so he squares his shoulders and faces the doctor, jaw working as he does his best not to show a flicker of hesitation or a shadow of doubt in his answer.
“I think about them everyday,” he says, scanning for any reaction from the doctor—anything at all. He begs whatever God there may be that Lee won’t pry further. He can hardly recall their faces anymore. “They deserve to be remembered.”
Doctor Lee nods along with his words, eyes never leaving Jimin. He’ll stare a fucking hole in his head at this rate.
“Why are you asking me all this when I already answered the questions on paper?” Jimin asks, gesturing at the man’s clipboard. “Do I really have to repeat myself?”
“Paper only tells me so much. You can mark down any answer you want, but I have to assess where I actually think you are, mentally, for myself,” Lee shifts in his seat, crossing one leg over the other. “What you experienced, Park, was an extremely traumatic event. One that isn’t easily overlooked. And now you’re potentially being assigned to a team that is very highly skilled, I’m told. You’ll be handling sensitive missions. They need men who are not only physically able to handle this, but mentally capable.”
Jimin almost rolls his eyes, biting down another scoff. “That’s what I’m telling you. I am.”
“You understand the risks associated with taking on this assignment if you’re not mentally sound—”
“Are you suggesting that I’m lying?” Jimin asks. Instinctively, his arms cross over his chest, but he stops himself. Defensive isn’t how he needs to sound right now. That will just make the doctor question what he has to be defensive about. “I am perfectly capable of joining this team. I’ve been through, like, six assessments since I came back. No one has said I shouldn’t be cleared.”
“And I’m not saying you won’t be, but it’s best if we’re absolutely sure.”
Jimin takes a deep breath, tapping his fingers against the side of his leg. He stares at the chart on the wall, memorizing the pointless information on it before his eyes flicker back to the doctor.
He can do this. Whatever he asks, Jimin knows how to answer. He’s been through a million of these before, he was raised to know exactly what these little fucking tests are looking for. If he keeps a clear head, he can give them the answers they want and be done with it. He knows he’s fit to do this. Just because their assessments don’t fucking think he is, doesn’t mean he isn’t.
“Fine,” he exhales. “What other questions do you have?”
Jimin sighs, arms stretching above his head as he heads for the rec facility. He replays his evaluation over and over in his head, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the empty corridor walls. Occasionally, another Marine will pass by, giving him a nod and a curt “Park” as they pass—or a salute if propriety calls for it. He doesn’t feel much like socializing.
Which is why he drags his feet to reach the rec hall. Today isn’t a talking day. And Taehyung likes to talk. Add that hybrid, Seokjin, to the mix, and Jimin’s ears might fucking fall off by the end of the day.
He doesn’t know why Seokjin even wants to meet up with him. He’s friends with Taehyung—as much as their kind and humans can be friends—but he doesn’t know Jimin.
Jimin hopes he’s not trying to become friends. He doesn’t need friends.
He passes through the quiet halls mostly unnoticed, only bothering to acknowledge senior officers with a brief salute as he goes. Everyone else, he ignores. Socializing isn’t his specialty nor something he particularly cares for anymore. It’s the same thing everyday here—half-baked jokes, dick-measuring contests, bragging about their marksmanship badges or even, for the more questionable individuals, bragging about their confirmed kills.
He hasn’t counted his kills since passing the sixth one years ago. Back then, it was the guilt that made him keep track. After the sixth time watching a body fall and knowing he caused it, Jimin accepted this as his new reality. There’s no need to count or track his supposed achievements, especially not kills. He just goes through the motions. It’s his job. It’s this war. It’s just what happens.
The door to the rec area sits open, the chatter from inside making Jimin hesitant to enter. He remembers when he used to be the Marine sitting on the edge of the pool table, talking with everyone, bragging about being the top marksman or knocking someone else out in hand-to-hand combat. He remembers being the center of every social event here.
Now all he wants is to keep his head down, avoid the stares of the others. They all watch him walk by, everywhere he goes, either in admiration for surviving what happened to him or in contempt for being the only one to make it out alive. He never asked to be the center of attention—not like this, anyway—but now he’s the focus of everyone’s lunchtime debates.
His mere presence has broken up friendships on the base. He appreciates the people who believe him, but mostly he wishes none of them cared so much, even his defenders.
Eyes follow him until Marines start nudging each other and whispering to stop staring at him, as if it’s not already obvious what they had been doing. It’s a little late to pretend, but Jimin ignores it. He’ll let them live in ignorant bliss, thinking he hadn’t noticed their attention. If he’s learned anything, it’s that fighting with their preconceived ideas of him only makes it worse, makes them believe he has something to prove.
Best to keep his head down, move on, and hope he gets cleared for this new assignment sooner rather than later. At least wherever he goes, everyone will be too busy surviving to care about who he is or what’s happened in his past. It’s hard to gossip when you’re under threat of being shot every goddamn day.
The base allows these guys way too much time to dwell in the reality TV drama they make up in their heads. They’re bored.
He passes by a table as the Marines there all turn back to the board game they had been playing and heads for the pool table. It’s always pool with him and Taehyung. They’ve gotten shamefully good at playing by now.
Seokjin leans on the table, watching Taehyung as he lines up the pool cue and shoots. The orange-brown ears atop his head twitch slightly as Taehyung shouts, hand hitting the table when the balls don’t roll where he wants them to. Seokjin grins, circling around to shove Taehyung out of his way, but he notices Jimin before he can shoot.
Jimin gives him a wave, trying to ignore the flick of Seokjin’s tail behind him or the way he seems to smell Jimin approaching. Seokjin is the only hybrid Jimin has met and, though they’re becoming somewhat the norm in certain branches of the military, the Marines have been slow to adopt them. He’s been thankful for that so far. They’re unstable, so he hears.
And they freak him out.
Seokjin doesn’t need to know that, though. It’s not his fault he was created in some weird fucking lab, quite literally made to be the perfect weapon. Though, “perfect” is a subjective term. Jimin wouldn’t consider half-animals who have been known to lose control and go feral in battle to be perfect.
“Been awhile, Park,” Seokjin calls out to him as he comes to a stop beside the table.
Out of habit, Jimin salutes, and Seokjin waves him off with a chuckle.
“You don’t have to do that with me. Especially not here.” Seokjin gestures around the room. “We’re all here to just relax for once.”
Jimin nods, leaning against the table as Seokjin lines up his shot and takes it. The precision, Jimin admits, is impressive. He supposes the strength and reflexes and other heightened senses do make hybrids useful in some ways. And Seokjin’s not terrible. He’s friendly. Jimin has to remind himself every time they see each other to judge him by his character, not his fucking ears and tail.
“I thought you were on assignment up north?” Jimin asks as Taehyung takes his turn, frowning at the pool table. Seokjin’s got him cornered in this game. He just hasn’t accepted that he needs to give up yet.
“I was. Got called back for an evaluation,” says Seokjin, grinning when Taehyung huffs, circling around and around for the best angle.
“For what?”
“A new assignment.”
Jimin nods, backing up as Taehyung squeezes in front of him to lean over the table. He tries not to laugh at his friend as he takes an egregious amount of time to line up the cue.
He glances at Seokjin, who watches Taehyung amusedly, then looks to his feet. Anything to distract himself. He knows what Seokjin’s short answers mean—it’s classified and you’re not high enough rank to know yet—so he won’t bother pushing for more information. He’s mostly interested in the reactions of the other Marines to seeing Seokjin. It’s not often he or any other hybrids are on base. As a matter fact, Jimin doesn’t think he’s seen any others here before.
But in order to satisfy his curiosity, he’ll have to brave meeting the eyes of everyone who stares at him too. What a trio they must make. The hybrid, the pariah, and the outspoken engineer who won’t hesitate to come to Jimin’s defense, even if it means risking the punishment of a bit of latrine cleaning, or worse. At this point, Jimin is surprised Taehyung hasn’t gotten himself court-martialed for some of the stunts he’s pulled.
“Fuck,” Taehyung hisses, throwing the pool cue down on the table. He grumbles as he walks away, grabbing his drink from the corner of the table. He leans against the back of a nearby sofa and glares at Seokjin. “It’s not fair when you’ve got fucking Spidey senses.”
Seokjin shrugs. “You’re the one who challenged me.” He tosses his cue onto the table before sitting halfway on the edge, facing Jimin. “I heard about what happened.”
Jimin goes stiff, jaw set as he looks Seokjin in the eye. He can’t seriously think it’s a good idea to ask Jimin about this, right?
“If you wanna talk about it, we can go for a walk. Away from everyone else.”
“I don’t,” Jimin says. “I just spent an hour and a half getting my head shrunk by some fucking doctor trying to prove I’m not fit to serve anymore. I’d rather just move on now.”
Seokjin nods, gnawing at his lower lip. Jimin can see a hint of his sharp teeth poking out, “Right. Well,” he hops off the table and claps Jimin on the shoulder. “If you do ever need someone to talk to, I’ve been through some shit myself. And I think you’ll find I’ll be around a lot more from now on.” He gives Jimin a light shake. “See you around. Tae.”
Taehyung gives him a rather playful salute before he turns to leave. Other Marines stop and salute him as he passes, looking nervous until he returns the gesture and moves on. A calm seems to fall over the room once Seokjin is gone, and Jimin could almost laugh.
He remembers when Seokjin first showed up and no one believes he was a First Lieutenant. Wet dog jokes were commonplace and Marines often asked the cooks in the mess hall if they would start serving kibble.
Part of Jimin can’t really blame them—Seokjin never wore any type of insignia when he first arrived and, frankly, making jokes about hybrids is one way to cope with the discomfort they bring—but it got annoying after awhile. The looks on their faces, though, were worth it when he started wearing proper military attire and they realized his rank was no joke.
To this day, there’s not much real respect for him, only what the Marines feel they need to show in order to avoid any punishments. Seokjin may dress like one of them, talk like one of them, salute like one of them, but he’ll never be accepted as one of them.
To the Marines, hybrids are no better than the mercenaries out there, protecting the interest of private companies who profit off the war. Their missions are always top secret, they’re given exceptions other Marines aren’t, they’re not only allowed but encouraged to break the rules everyone else has had drilled into their heads. Why would anyone trust them?
“Hey, Earth to Jimin,” Taehyung says, snapping his fingers in front of Jimin’s face. “You having a moment again?”
Jimin huffs, barely smiling as he moves to sit beside his friend on the table. He does have a habit of zoning out as he thinks. “Just thinking about when we first met him.”
“Jin?” Taehyung asks.
Jimin forces himself not to comment on the use of that nickname. He doesn’t know when Taehyung and Seokjin became so close, but he tries to remind himself that it shouldn’t matter. He’s sure Seokjin is just like them, craves human connection just like them. Wants friends just like them.
“Yeah, and how afraid everyone got of him after they found out he actually is their superior and not just some mercenary.”
Taehyung chuckles as he polishes off the last of his soda, crumpling up the can and shooting it into the trash. “Was pretty funny,” he says as he hops off the table. “Let’s go. They’re clearing us to go out to the lake today.”
“It’s fucking cold out,” Jimin says, but he follows Taehyung out of the rec anyway.
“So? We don’t have to swim. It’s just nice to get out once in awhile. Besides, you,” he gives Jimin a playful shove as they walk, “could probably use some time off this fucking base. I know you’ll just sit and stew about the assignment if you don’t.”
Jimin scoffs, but Taehyung’s right. He hasn’t stopped thinking about that assessment since he left. He had been thinking of it days before it happened. And he knows he won’t stop thinking about it until he hears whether or not he’s cleared.
“It’ll be fine,” Taehyung says as he gives Jimin’s arm a pinch. He shoves open the doors to the yard, breathing in the fresh air. It does feel nice being out here. Maybe the lake would be nice today.
Taehyung is always right. Getting out of those halls, that yard, away from everything, feels good. The cool breeze calms Jimin’s nerves. Being able to fade into the background for once is nice. Even in the chill, the other Marines spend their time down at the water’s edge, some actually brave enough to dive beneath the icy cold surface. Idiots will catch cold like that, but it’s not Jimin’s job to tell them not to when they’re on leave.
He and Taehyung stick to the grass just above the beach, sitting side by side as they watch the others dunk each other or splash around like kids. This is one of the few places they can all take a step back from the war. No orders, no firefights, no tanks except for the ones that pass by on the road behind them. Usually, Jimin can drown out the noise as they pass.
Taehyung stretches his legs out in front of himself, arms reaching above his head as he yawns. There’s a shout from the beach as one man pushes another into the water, those around them laughing as he falls in, fully clothed. Jimin directs his attention to the undisturbed waters further out, only slightly rippling from the movement at the shore.
“Fucking crazy bastards,” Taehyung says as he shakes his head at the other men. “Gonna freeze their balls off.”
Jimin chuckles. “Well, that’ll be their problem. Not yours.”
There’s a quiet laugh from Taehyung before they both fall silent. This happens a lot these days. Jimin supposes, like anyone else, Taehyung doesn’t really know what to say to him. What can he possibly say to Jimin?
That he understands? He doesn’t.
That he’s here to listen? He knows Jimin won’t talk about it.
But Jimin appreciates the company, even if they don’t speak. It’s nice to have someone next to him. Being alone reminds him of those nights more than anything. The loneliness, the isolation, the fear of dying without anyone ever finding his body to return it to his family.
He sucks in a deep breath, pulling at the grass between his feet, knees bent almost to his chest. When he feels Taehyung’s eyes on him, he looks out at the lake. Anything to keep Taehyung from getting suspicious that he’s losing himself in those thoughts again.
He’s afraid to trust even his best friend with the truth of how much it haunts him. He knows Taehyung cares about him, but sometimes he thinks that might make him even more likely to report to someone if he thinks Jimin isn’t fit to serve. He just can’t afford to have that happen.
Across the lake, movement catches his eye. The black-clad figure of Seokjin almost blends in with the shadows of the forest behind him, but the orange of his tail makes him stand out. Jimin briefly wonders if he does anything to hide that when he’s in the field. It has to be a liability out there, right?
“What do you think Kim is here for?” Jimin asks, pulling Taehyung’s gaze away from the others in the lake.
He looks at Jimin, then follows his eyes to where Seokjin walks. “To prepare for an assignment. Like he said.”
“What assignment would he need to be reevaluated for?” Jimin asks. He looks at Taehyung again, who suddenly won’t look at him, head turned completely away from Jimin. “Aside from the one we’re being evaluated for.”
Taehyung takes a deep breath, then starts pulling at the grass, just like Jimin.
“Are they sending hybrids on this mission?” Jimin asks, balking at the thought. He blinks away his shock, looking across the lake again. As he does, he sees someone else emerge from the forest as if to answer his question.
Another man with a long, green-black tail approaches Seokjin, catching his hand and pulling him into a one-armed hug. Behind him, two others, one with a shock of white hair, steps out toward the lake. Jimin doesn’t pay much attention to the last one, twisting around to face Taehyung instead.
“Why would they trust hybrids with something like this? Isn’t this considered a highly sensitive mission—”
“That’s why they need them. They have special skills the rest of us don’t have.”
Jimin grabs Taehyung’s shoulder, giving him a shake until he looks at him. “Is that why Kim was acting so weird around me? He knew I was being evaluated for it too?” Jimin asks, but Taehyung just sighs, looking out at the lake again. “He could have said that, at least. That shouldn’t be classified.”
“We’re not supposed to talk to anyone about anything—”
“We?” Jimin asks, hand retreating from Taehyung as if it burns him. He leans away as Taehyung turns to him, guilt etched onto his face. “You’ve been cleared for the mission? Has— has the whole squad been picked? Was my evaluation just for them to decide if they wanna discharge me or something? Was I never even being considered—”
“I don’t know the details,” Taehyung says, reaching out to him, but Jimin stands before he can touch him. He turns his back to Taehyung, taking in deep breaths, his heart in his throat. He feels sick as he listens to Taehyung scrambling to his feet behind him. “I don’t know who they’re still considering. But this is why I didn’t wanna tell you. On top of not being allowed to, I knew it would fuck with your head. I know what this means to you.”
Jimin waves his hand as Taehyung reaches for him, stepping away. He’s not angry with Taehyung. It’s not his fault for following orders. But this was his last hope. This mission. He could prove himself to everyone. He could get away from this fucking base. He could prove he’s not a disgrace to the family name. And now that chance has been squashed, all because someone else deems him unfit. He knows he’s capable. But here, everyone’s opinion matters except for his. It’s not his choice.
“They probably haven’t chosen everyone yet. They wouldn’t have evaluated you for it if they weren’t considering you—”
“It’s fine.” Jimin waves him off again. He doesn’t need to be comforted or coddled. Whatever decision they make, he has to accept it. He just wishes that if they truly were never considering him, they had been honest with him.
He would have just let them discharge him the first time they evaluated him. He could have returned home a war hero, been viewed as a brave man who had survived something awful and been given a happy, early retirement from the military for it. Instead, he’ll return as the man who barely managed to hang on just long enough to be denied the one assignment he wants, failing to live up to the those before him, a stain on the family legacy.
Jimin pulls away from Taehyung as he reaches for him again, a quiet “Jimin, I’m sorry” reaching his ears before he walks away. He moves to the edge of the lake, arms wrapped around himself, water lapping at the toes of his boots. Across the water, he still sees Seokjin and the other hybrids, talking and laughing. They seem not to have a care in the world. Just like Seokjin every time he sees him. Unfazed as this war rages on around them.
He wonders what it’s like to be them, to feel practically invincible both in the war and to their superiors. Everything he’s heard about hybrids is that rules are optional for them. They get the job done however they need to, and while they come away unscathed, their human counterparts typically aren’t so lucky.
And now Taehyung will be running off to God-knows-where with a whole crew of them. How many of them will come back? How many of the humans in the team will? He can guess he won’t like the numbers when that day finally comes. The part that irks him the most is that people like Taehyung have a family waiting for him to return, and he might not be able to.
What do these hybrids have to come back to? A lab they were designed in? They don’t have homes or families. He’ll be damned if he watches his friend offered up on a silver platter as these experiments are touted as the real heroes. He’ll be damned if he ever sees the day he works side by side with one of them. Maybe it’s best he’s not part of this mission. He would rather not rely on something that barely seems to have any humanity about it, despite how much they may look like men.
Jimin nearly turns back to Taehyung, to apologize and make up before his friend is shipped off, likely to his death, until he notices one man on the other side of the lake. It’s the last man that exited the forest, the one he hadn’t paid attention to before, squatting down at the edge of the lake, clad in a black leather jacket, his hair equally as dark.
There are no signs of a tail or ears. Just a man. A human, it seems. Jimin can’t help but wonder what he’s doing with the hybrids, who he is, why he wouldn’t be with the other Marines if he’s one of them. Jimin has never seen him before. He dresses so casually, he has to wonder if he’s a civilian. But again, that makes him question why he would be with these hybrids.
From this distance, he can’t see too many details, but the rips in his jeans are enough to make Jimin doubt his status as any sort of Marine. Even on leave, when they’re this close to base, most of the men try to keep up appearances for fear of being spotted by a superior officer. This man, however, seems as carefree as the hybrids, drawing circles over the surface of the water with his finger.
Jimin watches him, head cocking to the side. The water splashes over his boots again, waves created by the men near him as they crash and tumble into the lake. He hardly notices, mesmerized, for some reason, by this stranger across the water.
He doesn’t expect the man’s head to snap up suddenly, as if he sensed Jimin watching him. And he certainly doesn’t expect to see, as the man stands, a pair of furry black ears perk up curiously atop his head.
Jimin instantly recoils, his jaw clenching, body going taut. The man—the hybrid—whoever he is, watches Jimin, almost seeming to move with him as he shifts uncomfortably from side to side. Those black ears twitch in interest and his head slowly tilts to one side. His eyes never leave Jimin and, even at this distance, he swears he can see a slight smile on the hybrid’s lips. He can imagine the same sharp teeth as Seokjin’s. It makes him shudder.
The hybrid slips his hands into his pockets, shoulders back and chin cocked up, the tilt of his head allowing just enough shadow to outline the sharp angle of his jaw. Standing up straight like this, Jimin can see just how much of his jeans are actually torn away, exposing most of his thighs. He stands partially in the water, just like Jimin, combat boots breaking tiny waves.
Jimin can’t decide if it’s curiosity that forces him to keep his eyes on this man, or instinct. He feels like prey, moments away from being pounced upon, his every move scrutinized and mimicked to give the hybrid the perfect chance to strike. If they weren’t separated by a lake, Jimin would search for the nearest potential weapon, just in case.
As he watches, the hybrid glances down at his feet, kicking at the ground slightly. He knocks a rock into the water, watches the ripples expand outward from it, and then he looks to Jimin again. This time Jimin is certain he’s smiling as he raises one hand and gives Jimin a little wave.
Jimin spins away from him, not bothering to return the gesture, and makes his way back up the beach to Taehyung. He doesn’t spare the hybrid another glance as he approaches his friend, Taehyung’s eyes filled with worry.
They don’t speak as Taehyung holds his arms out to his side, and Jimin doesn’t hesitate to lean into his hold, wrapping him up tight. All he can do is hope that this isn’t his last chance to do this. If he isn’t chosen for the squad, he’ll be saying goodbye to Taehyung one way or another.
If he believed in God anymore, he would pray it’s not for forever.
☽♠☾
Shouts from the other trainers fill the yard as Jimin watches his group, arms crossed, a frown on his face. Most of them aren’t half bad today. The others, he can tell, suffer from hangovers. He knew as soon as some of them sneaked off to a different part of the lake that someone had likely brought a pack or two of beer for their leave.
It’s not uncommon and technically not against the rules. Hell, back in the day, even Jimin went out drinking away from wherever he was posted. As long as he was on leave, he figured it shouldn’t matter. After a few poorly timed attacks from enemy forces, Jimin decided it was best to stay on guard at all times.
And he’s about to teach these men what happens when they aren’t.
It’s his job to keep them in shape here on the base. Whenever they’re not deployed, they get into the habit of goofing off. You get in the habit of goofing off here, you get in the habit out there too, and then you get your ass shot.
As the Marines finish up their push-ups, hopping to their feet and dusting off the dirt and rocks from the pavement, one in particular catches Jimin’s eye. A Corporal. Choi, his name tag reads. Jimin has seen him around a number of times, watched him harass some girl in town while they were on leave once. He only stopped when Captain Kim happened to pass by.
Choi leans over to his friend, Moon Sungmin, if Jimin remembers correctly. He says something to him under his breath, clearly unaware of Jimin’s eyes on him, and then cackles. His friend starts to laugh but falters when he notices Jimin watching. His smile drops and his eyes go wide. Jimin briefly wonders which side of the Great Park Jimin Debate these two land on.
“Something funny, Moon?” Jimin asks, arms still crossed as he approaches them. Choi looks less scared than Moon, stubborn. That’s enough to tell Jimin what his opinion of him is. There’s no respect in his eyes. “Choi must have an impeccable fucking sense of humor to make you laugh during a drill.”
“Yessir— No, sir. No— He—”
“Spit it out, Moon,” Jimin says. “If you were in the field, stumbling over your words could get you or another man killed.”
“No, sir. Nothing funny. He simply said he was tired of doing push-ups.”
A bold-faced lie, Jimin knows, but Moon isn’t the real problem here. He turns to Choi. “Sick of push-ups? Maybe if I make you do them for the rest of the day you’ll learn to love them again. Is that what you want? To be here until the moon comes up, doing push-ups on the fucking pavement? Maybe I’ll even make some popcorn for the other guys while they watch.”
“No, sir, that’s not what I want, sir,” Choi says, and Jimin can see him fighting not to say anymore. He fails. “I just don’t see the point in exercises like this when we could be out in the field, fighting—”
“Is that what this is about?” Jimin asks, the other man snapping his jaw shut, clearly annoyed by the interruption. “You wanna be out there, acting like a hero?” He presses right into Choi’s space, almost nose to nose. “Is it not fun enough for you here? Is that what this war is for you? A fucking playground?”
“No, sir—”
“Then stop treating it like one,” Jimin snaps. “You think you can just sit around here, fucking off and circle-jerking all your little buddies until they deploy you, and you’ll be just fine out in the field?”
“No, sir.”
Jimin grabs him by the front of his shirt, dragging him forward. He can feel the sweat soaked into the material, dampening his hand as it twists around his fist. Hot breath ghosts over his face as a slightly frightened huff leaves Choi.
“You thought you escaped this kind of shit when you left basic? Think again,” he growls, quiet enough that only Choi hears. As he lets go of him, causing the man to stumble back, he raises his voice to address everyone. “Keeping your sorry asses in shape so you don’t fucking die out in the field is my goddamn job. You wanna go out there and watch your buddies die face down in the dirt, be my guest. You can leave right now.”
No one moves. Good.
“Until then, if we have to, we will be here every hour, on the hour until you learn some basic fucking respect!” he snaps that last word at Choi and Moon. “So I suggest you shut the fuck up and eat some pavement if you ever want that sweat and those tears to dry up again. Back on the ground! A hundred more!”
There are shouts of acknowledgment and “sir” across the yard as they all drop back into another set of push-ups. Jimin continues to pace in front of them, barely bothering to keep track as they count. They won’t dare to cheat the numbers now.
He glances over the rows of men, eyes drifting to the trucks in the distance. He can feel eyes on him, and he understands why as soon he spots that same hybrid from before sitting atop one of the trucks.
The hybrid sits with his legs dangling off the edge, his chin propped on his hand as he grins at Jimin. Those black ears on top of his head twitch slightly when Jimin looks at him, perked as if in interest. At this distance, Jimin can definitely see his sharp teeth, as well as golden eyes as they stare at him, and what looks like a collar around his neck.
Jimin forces his gaze away, back to his men as one of them falters slightly. With a single shout from Jimin, he’s back to pace, and Jimin continues walking the perimeter around them.
He can feel those golden eyes on him no matter where he goes. When he risks another glance several minutes later—the drills finally finished and the men wandering off, sore and grumbling—the hybrid is long gone.
By the time they’re done, Jimin is sweating, but in no way near as much as the men he had been working today. They look like wet rats, dejected and disgruntled. If they didn’t act like a bunch of unruly brats, Jimin wouldn’t treat them that way.
But when they’re out there in the field, they’ll thank him. They clearly didn’t learn their lessons in basic, so he’ll drill it into their heads now. When it comes down to them versus the enemy, they’ll be glad to remember the lessons they’ve been taught. If even one man fails to do his part, every other man on the field with him suffers for it.
Jimin tosses a towel around his neck, rubbing through the damp ends of his hair. He glances back toward the trucks where that hybrid had sat before. Part of Jimin expects to see him again, but he’s nowhere in sight. He can’t help but wonder why he seems so fascinated with Jimin. The lake had been a coincidence, but this was intentional. He was trying to watch Jimin.
“Sergeant Park!”
The shout has Jimin spinning around just in time to see a jeep slam to a stop beside him. A Private steps out, saluting and holding his position until Jimin returns the gesture.
“Sir, Captain Kim is requesting your presence. He asked that I take you straight to him.”
Jimin’s heart accelerates as he tosses the towel aside, grabbing his uniform jacket instead. He tugs it on, giving the Private a nod to get back in the car as he climbs into the passenger seat. Zipping up his jacket, Jimin braces himself as the car lurches forward, zooming past the firing range, around the west wing.
What could the Captain possibly want with Jimin? He hasn’t done anything wrong. Unless Kim is meant to be the one to tell he didn’t pass his assessment. He can’t imagine he would be. There have been rumors that Kim will be leading the squad, but Jimin isn’t foolish enough to hope he’s been cleared to join. He would have been told beforehand, not called straight to the Captain to accept the position.
Why would Namjoon want to talk to him now of all times? Did Taehyung say something to him? Voice his concerns about Jimin? If there’s anyone Taehyung would go to about worries over Jimin, it’s Namjoon. And if there’s anyone who would have the guts to tell Jimin to his face that maybe he needs to consider not lying in an assessment, it’s Namjoon.
He’s not sure he’s ready to face that yet. Not sure how he’ll talk his way out of it.
Namjoon never loses an argument—at least, not with Jimin—and they don’t even need to be in uniform when it happens. It’s harder to face each other as friends than as colleagues, Jimin thinks. So, to some degree, he hopes this is official business. It’ll be easier to look him in the eye as Jimin’s superior than as his friend.
By the time the Private drops Jimin off, he feels like passing out. This could be the end of everything. If this is the end, where does Jimin go from here? This has been his everything since he was 18. His whole life plan since as long as he can remember. He always figured he would die on the battlefield someday. Not in some suburban house, white picket fence, old, retired and alone.
On the field. With his men. Nowhere else.
He pauses outside the building, taking a deep breath as he reaches for the door, hand resting on the knob as he calms himself. Maybe Namjoon just wants to check in on him. Maybe he doesn’t know anything about what Jimin’s going through.
He yanks the door open and heads for the briefing room, just where the Private told him to go. The doors sit open, and Jimin hesitates to get near them. Maybe he could come up with an excuse. Make himself sick and get sent to the med bay. It’s a coward’s move, but one he might consider. If he can have one more day of being blissfully ignorant of his future, he’ll take it.
Unfortunately, before he can make that choice, Namjoon steps into the hallway, eyes landing on Jimin. He must have heard the door. Jimin tries his best not to show his nerves, saluting when Namjoon sees him and holding until his friend returns it.
“Come on in,” Namjoon says. “It’ll just be us.”
That doesn’t bode well for this being official business, but Jimin has no choice. He follows Namjoon instead, heart skipping as the doors shut.
“Sit down,” Namjoon says as he heads around the opposite side of the table in the middle of the room. He gestures at a chair for Jimin, then sits.
Jimin slowly pulls the chair out, his eyes darting over the folders on the table, as if he might see through the covers to know what’s inside. It could be briefings for the mission. Or it could be packets on how to reintegrate into civilian life if he’s discharged.
“Don’t look so scared,” Namjoon says as Jimin drops into the seat. Jimin’s eyes flicker up to him. “I asked for the honor of telling you this myself.” He pushes one folder toward Jimin, then the other. “You’ll need to read up on these. This one, you’ll need to read here, now, and then I’ll take it back. This one, you can keep and study over the next week or so.”
Jimin pulls the folder he’s allowed to keep closer, flipping it open with a glance at Namjoon. He feels his heart in his throat, beating excitedly as he reads the cover—a file explaining everything there is to know about hybrids. He tries to tell himself this doesn’t mean he’s on he squad, that maybe there’s some other job involving hybrids, but it’s hard not to assume that.
He closes it, then grabs the other, Namjoon grinning at how eagerly he flips it open. It feels as though every little piece falls together as his eyes land on the first page. He tries not to smile, but he knows it breaks through by the chuckle from Namjoon.
“You’ve been cleared for the squad,” Namjoon says as Jimin looks up at him, eyes wide and excited. “I asked that they prioritize their decision because I specifically wanted you for this, and we’re pushing the mission up. We’ll be deploying in five days. So you better read up.”
Jimin can hardly breathe, eyes locked with Namjoon’s. All that fear and worry he had built up, all of that desperation to make the team, convincing himself that maybe he’s better off not joining—it all vanishes in an instant. It feels as though a million weights have been lifted from his shoulders.
He doesn’t have to stay here anymore, but he doesn’t have to go home. He’s been away so long, he’s not even sure home would actually feel like home anymore, or if it would feel almost wrong to not be at a base or an outpost.
Whatever the case, he doesn’t have to worry about it now.
“Thank you, Joon,” he says, earning another chuckle. No need for formalities when it’s just them. And he knows this is at least in part because they’re friends. He knows he’s a damn good Marine too, and Namjoon knows that, but he didn’t go out of his way just for that.
“I’m glad to have you on board. So,” Namjoon leans forward, “you know the basic idea what we’re doing here, right?”
Jimin nods. “Special ops. I know what that means. I know we’ll mostly be working behind the scenes.”
“We’ll be carrying out missions that most men aren’t trusted with,” Namjoon says. “And sometimes—most of the time—we won’t be able to ask why. We just need to do it. If they say it’s for the best, it’s for the best. And you have to trust the team completely. We need to all agree to work together. That includes the hybrids.”
Jimin nods. Of course he knows. And of course he’s not thrilled to be working with them, but at least he’s not staying here anymore. That’s all that matters. “Understood. That won’t be a problem. I’m just glad to take part in something this important.”
Namjoon smiles. “I know. You’re reliable. That’s why I wanted you. Plus,” Namjoon leans back in his seat, kicking his feet up on his desk, “I think it might be considered a crime to split you and Tae up.”
With a laugh, Jimin flips open the folder. “That, and you’d get bored without the two of us,” he says, shooting his friend a grin as he leans over the briefing.
☽♠☾
Jimin doesn’t see that hybrid again for the next couple of days as he awaits deployment. He continues his usual duties, whipping everyone into shape until it comes time for him to pack up what he needs and meet with the rest of his team.
He hadn’t felt nervous until today. Suddenly, reality sets in. In a couple of days, he’ll be off on dangerous missions that could potentially shift this war in their favor, with a team he doesn’t know and bunch of experimental hybrid soldiers. It shouldn’t matter what they are, he tells himself, as long as they can do their jobs. He can do this. They can do this.
Whatever or whoever the team is, he needs this assignment. He can survive a few months with some hybrids.
That doesn’t mean he isn’t still dreading meeting them. Especially the one with no tail who keeps watching him. That one, he both never wants to see again and simply can’t wait to meet. He would like to see him face to face, see how bold he is when Jimin stares right back. He also isn’t looking forward to being in such close quarters with something that makes him feel so much like prey.
“So, this is it, huh?” Taehyung asks as he kicks his locker shut. “Any idea who the other hybrids are? Or what they are?”
Jimin huffs, adjusting the pockets on the front of his jacket, eyes rolling. “No idea. Don’t really care. This whole hybrid thing freaks me out,” he says, then kicks his own locker shut as well. “I’m just gonna grin and bear it. If they really think we need them for the mission, fine. I’m just glad to be here.”
“Doesn’t sound fine.” Taehyung chuckles as they head for the hall, his arm thrown haphazardly around Jimin’s shoulders. “Unclench, Jimin. It won’t be that bad. It’s not the first time we’ve had to work with another team.”
“It’s the first time working with hybrids,” Jimin says. He fidgets with the front of his jacket again. Everything feels too tight, he feels strangled, choked by the air around him. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. “Plus, they’re not used to working with teams. Don’t most of them work alone?”
“Usually. So?” Taehyung shrugs. “And do I have to remind you that we’ve worked with Seokjin before?”
“Hardly. We did recon with him once. And I barely talked to him. It was mostly you who worked with him.”
Taehyung squeezes his shoulders slightly before letting go. “It’ll be just like working with anyone else, with some extra ears and tails. Stop working yourself up about it.”
Jimin sighs, eyes on the door as it swings open. Namjoon steps out, mumbling something to himself as he does. He glances up when he notices them, then shuts the door and leans back against it. He looks agitated, tired, and Jimin doesn’t think that bodes well for this whole hybrid thing. He can tell when Namjoon’s patience wears thin, and if he’s already irritated with these rookies, Jimin definitely won’t keep his cool around them.
“There you are,” Namjoon says as he pushes away from the door. “They’re waiting inside.
With a sigh and a glance at an amused Taehyung, Jimin says, “Let’s get this over with.”
“Wait.” Namjoon holds up a hand, halting them before they can enter. Chewing on his lower lip, he glances between the two of them and then to the door. “They’re a little… different. Alright? They’re not typical military, they haven’t followed all the same rules as us. Just be patient until we all figure out how to work together.”
“Great,” Jimin grumbles, crossing his arms. This is exactly what he didn’t want—a bunch of fucking unruly, untrained mercenaries masquerading as Marines. Add their supposed animal instincts on top of that and they’ve got a recipe for disaster. What the fuck are they thinking, adding hybrids into this mess of a war? Do they really think this will help them?
“Okay,” Namjoon says, hand on the door. “Play nice.”
Taehyung chuckles, and Jimin has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. All of the usual protocol can be ignored when it’s just the three of them around, but even Namjoon might not take so kindly to that sort of attitude.
With a nod, Namjoon pushes the door open and they follow him inside. Unpleasant, fluorescent lights fill the old briefing room, one of them in the far back flickering. Chairs line the walls, maps hanging above them. In the center sits a long table, four people hovering around it, all seeming either impatient or nervous. They’re not in uniform—not in military uniform, at least—all wearing combat boots, jackets, and utility pants, completely in black.
Jimin recognizes Seokjin with his big, orange-brown ears, leaning at the farthest end of the table. But the white-haired man ghosting his finger along a map is new, spotted ears flattening against his head and tail flicking, clearly surprised by their sudden entrance. Also new is the man with the tiny green-grey scales haloing his rather human-looking face, fiery orange eyes drifting over Jimin and Taehyung. Jimin hadn’t gotten a great look at them across the lake, but they’re clearly the same hybrids.
It makes Jimin’s skin crawl as they stare at him, their eyes not quite human enough, off-putting. It makes him feel hunted, though he supposes he’s meant to feel that way. They don’t make hybrids out of prey species, after all. Not the ones used in war, at least.
The fourth hybrid is the one that really holds Jimin’s attention, sitting atop the table with his feet propped on two chairs, legs spread wide and chin resting on his hand. He looks bored as he stares at the wall in front of him. His furry, black ears droop on top of his head, covered in silver hoops and chain earrings, with a notch cut out of the left ear.
The hybrid from before. The one that keeps watching him.
Jimin feels frozen in place as the hybrid looks at him, golden eyes narrowing, brows furrowing, like he’s curious. His ears perk up a bit and there’s a look in his eyes that Jimin can’t quite place. Intrigue, maybe? Excitement? He doesn’t know why this hybrid is so interested in him. Jimin is just a human. Just like everyone else he’s probably met since arriving at the base.
The hybrid rises up to his full height, shoulders squared as he watches Jimin, hands coming to rest on the table. He takes in a deep breath, like he smells something on the air. Jimin supposes he does, being a hybrid, but what exactly does he smell and why does Jimin feel like it might be him?
“Jimin, Tae,” Namjoon says as he leads them to the table, the door falling shut behind them. The hybrids gather around as well, the white-haired one—whatever type of hybrid he is, exactly—seems less startled now, his ears twitching slightly when Namjoon speaks. Seokjin stays where he is, still leaning nonchalantly on the table. “You know Seokjin.”
He waves from the end of the table before Namjoon turns to the scaled hybrid.
“Jung Hoseok.”
Hoseok gives them a slight smirk and a nod, showing two rows of razor sharp teeth. Jimin has to suppress a shudder. He promised himself he wouldn’t get freaked out when meeting them, but it’s just too strange. Too different.
“Min Yoongi,” Namjoon says as he gestures at the white-haired man.
Yoongi bows his head slightly, but he says nothing. He’s not quite timid, but certainly more reserved than Hoseok. Jimin gives him a hesitant smile when he meets his eyes, icy blue and piercing. Jimin can’t look at him for long without feeling like Yoongi is staring through him, so he turns his attention to the last hybrid.
Those golden eyes still mesmerize him, and Jimin can’t help but follow them as the hybrid hops off the table and faces him. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, long hair pushed back and the sides shaved short, and there’s not a hint of thought or emotion on his face. He just stares at Jimin.
“Jeon Jungkook,” Namjoon says, gesturing at the golden-eyed man. He waves his hand toward Jimin again. “Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung.”
Jungkook just nods at them, hands in his pockets. The way he raises his chin and cocks his hip to one side makes Jimin want to roll his eyes. He looks arrogant, cocky, but at least the others don’t seem so terrible. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all. If they can do their jobs, Jimin can put up with them for at least a few months. Or however long this takes.
That is, it seems like it might not be so bad until Jungkook approaches Jimin. He reaches out, like he wants to shake his hand, so Jimin reaches for him too. He doesn’t know why he can’t look away from those eyes as Jungkook’s hand grips his. He feels captivated, and Jungkook won’t look away from him either.
Before Jimin can speak, before he can even think, he feels a tug forward. He stumbles, crashing against Jungkook’s chest before he manages to stand upright again. Jungkook’s hand slides up to hold tight around his forearm and he leans in, almost nose to nose with Jimin. His eyes search Jimin’s, a smirk crossing his lips. That’s when Jimin notices his teeth—his canines, sharp and dangerous—and just how close they are to him.
He could bite into Jimin any second now. And what the fuck would Jimin do? Does Jungkook even have any control over that side of himself? He doesn’t know how hybrids work, what they’re capable of, how much they can control themselves.
Fuck, he really wishes he hadn’t skipped reading that file Namjoon had given him now.
He tries to pull away from Jungkook, but the hybrid holds tighter, keeping him in place. He glances at the patch on Jimin’s arm, signifying his rank, and his grin grows. “Sergeant?” he asks, his voice low, hissing through those teeth in an almost whisper.
“Yeah,” Jimin says, surprising himself with the waver in his voice. Jimin never fears anything. If he’s honest, he’s not even sure if he’s afraid or just bewildered. He glances around for any sign of Jungkook’s rank, but he doubts there’s even a chance he’s above Jimin. “So that makes me Sergeant Park to you, or Sir, if you prefer.”
Jungkook laughs, a deep rumble from somewhere in his throat. It’s almost more of a growl, and it makes Jimin shudder. Jungkook doesn’t miss that, no matter how subtle it is, his eyes darting over Jimin.
“Sure thing, Boss,” he says instead. It irks Jimin enough to erase the slight panic coursing through him. There’s another chuckle from Jungkook, followed by a deep inhale as he leans far too close to Jimin for comfort. “You’re small.”
Jimin blinks, then looks toward Namjoon. He doesn’t know if it’s a plea for help or if he’s just hoping that everyone else is seeing this too, that he’s not imagining it. Namjoon seems just as caught off guard, mouth hanging open. He forces his eyes back onto Jungkook, and he’s instantly lost in that ocean of gold again.
“I’m barely shorter than you,” he growls back, but Jungkook just looks amused.
“It’s not that. You’re just…” Jungkook looks him up and down again, that wolfish grin widening. He almost looks like a cartoon like this. It would be funny if Jimin didn’t feel like he’s about to have his throat ripped out.
“I’m your superior,” is all Jimin can think to say, forcing himself to stay steady no matter how close those teeth get to him.
“So?”
“So act like it.”
Jungkook doesn’t flinch a bit, eyes darting over the length of Jimin’s body. “I could eat you up in one bite.”
That is enough to snap Jimin out of his trance and yank his wrist from Jungkook’s grip. He steps back, brows knitted together, mouth turned down in a deep frown. He can feel the other’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t dare look away from Jungkook now. This guy is fucking with him. He has to be.
“I just said I’m your superior,” Jimin snaps, raising his voice, but Jungkook doesn’t back down the way most Marines would.
“Lucky me,” Jungkook says through another chuckle, and then he glances around at the rest of Jimin’s team. “So,” he shoves his hands into his pockets and takes a step back, hip cocked to one side again, “what’s the game plan here?”
It takes a moment for everyone to recover from the scene unfolding before them. Namjoon sort of wedges himself between Jungkook and Jimin on his way to the table, forcing Jungkook to step back even as he continues his staring contest with Jimin.
Seokjin slides a folder into the middle of the table, Hoseok’s hand lashing out to catch it just before it reaches the edge. He flips it open as Seokjin begins. Jimin can’t help but wonder why he’s doing the briefing rather than Namjoon. Last he knew, Namjoon was Captain.
“The first picture you see there is Hwa Yongsun, co-founder of Hwa-Ban Industries.”
“The weapons manufacturer?” Taehyung asks as Hoseok slides the picture to him.
Jimin steps forward, leaning across the table to look at it. As he does, Jungkook leans in from the other side, farther than necessary and too close for Jimin’s comfort again. He tries to keep his eyes on the folder, but he spares a few glances at Jungkook as he does. He feels as though he needs to watch him, like he might launch across the table and attack at any second. The other hybrids are strange enough, but this one makes Jimin feel on edge.
“The other founder, Ban Chinsun is in hiding, currently. We don’t know where he is but there have been no reports of him being seen behind enemy lines, so we have no reason to believe he’s in danger right now.” Seokjin points at the next picture as Hoseok slides it to Jimin. “Hwa Yongsun, however, was seen being escorted into the Samnan Sector by that individual. Identity unknown, as of yet.”
Jimin pulls the photo closer. A masked woman stares into the distance, red eyes, with slitted pupils. She wears a hat and a mask, but the eyes are enough for Jimin to know what she is.
“That’s a hybrid,” says Jungkook, and Jimin looks up to find him staring at Jimin. He should be looking at Seokjin as he addresses him. Doesn’t he understand how any of this works? Instead, he just stares at Jimin for too long, then finally turns his attention to the others as he slides the picture to Yoongi. “I didn’t think the enemy had any of our kind.”
“We didn’t either,” Seokjin says. “That woman, whoever she is, has been a fucking menace, sabotaging missions, assassinating commanding officers in their sleep, kidnapping Hwa Yongsun for God knows what reason. This is the first time anyone’s managed to get a picture of her without her eyes covered. But it explains how she’s been able to carry out these missions.”
“And it means there could be others like her,” Namjoon adds as Jimin and Jungkook lean over the next set of photos—buildings and city streets, and what looks like the entrance to some sort of facility. “That’s where we think he’s being held.”
Jungkook picks up the image of the of the chain link fence surrounding the facility, glancing over it at Jimin before looking to Namjoon. “And it’s our job to go in and get him?”
Namjoon nods as the file makes its way to him. He tugs a map out from under the other photos and unfolds it across the table. “This is the most complete map we’ll have to go on when we strike. Our recon teams have scoped out and marked all the barricades and guards they could see. Even the cameras. It’s just outside this town, so we’ll have to circle around. We don’t want to involve any of the civilians there in this operation.”
Jimin pulls the map close as everyone gathers around it, and as he leans in he swears he feels the tip of one of Jungkook’s ears brush the top of his head. He holds his breath, trying to remain casual as he leans back slightly, but of course the hybrid notices. Damn heightened senses.
“Rescuing some rich dick who profits off of war?” Jungkook asks. “Sounds easy enough.”
“I’d rather him profit off the war a little longer than hand it to our enemies, frankly,” Yoongi says, voice quiet and low. For a moment, Jimin was starting to wonder if he even could talk. He glances around at the others, icy blue eyes meeting theirs, and then shrugs. “Lesser of two evils and all that. He’ll get what’s coming to him eventually.”
“Can’t be a coincidence they kidnapped the biggest weapons manufacturer this side of the border,” Jungkook grumbles.
Across from Jimin, Hoseok sighs, pulling his attention to him. He can see that scaly, green-black tail flicking back and forth behind him. He suppresses a shudder. They’re a team now. The last thing he needs is a group of hybrids hating him for being just a little sketched out by them.
“Rescuing half the cause of this war just so he doesn’t make it worse for our side,” Hoseok says, shoving a picture of Hwa Yongsun away. “Sounds about right.”
He steps away from the table, moving to look at one of the old, worn down maps on the wall instead. Jimin can’t say he doesn’t understand. It feels like all one does in this line of work is pick the least worst option. But that’s war. He accepted that a long time ago. They will have to as well.
“Alright, let’s go over the plan,” Namjoon says.
Jimin feels Jungkook pull away and looks up to find him staring again. Jungkook sits down, ears perked, eyes scanning Jimin. He doesn’t understand what his fascination with him is, but as they sit down to listen to Namjoon’s briefing, Jimin wishes he would just stop.
He’s a fucking distraction.
Jimin feels the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he and Taehyung leave, backs turned to the briefing room. He can feel the eyes of the hybrids on them—or at least Jungkook’s—and it’s like being stalked by an animal in the woods. Is this how it will be the whole time they work together? Feeling hunted? Stalked?
He fucking hopes that at least Jungkook will lay off the creep factor a bit. That guy seriously has some lessons to learn if he’s going to work on a team like this.
“See? Not so bad,” Taehyung says, with a glance back toward the hybrids. He lowers his voice. “Do you think they create them to be that hot, or is that just a coincidence?”
Jimin shoots him a disgusted frown, nose wrinkling. “I don’t know and I don’t really care,” he says, then immediately goes silent when he hears footsteps behind them. The hybrids pile out of the room, one in particular seeming to gain on them a little faster until Jimin feels someone bump into his shoulder.
He stumbles slightly, catching himself on Taehyung as he looks to see who it was. He doesn’t know why he bothers to check. Of course it would be Jungkook with his cocky little smirk, hands in his pockets as he struts past Jimin. He barely spares Jimin a glance, lifting a brow at him as he does, before continuing ahead of them.
Jimin grits his teeth, Taehyung’s hand on his arm trying to stop him, but it’s too late. Jimin puffs up his chest, chin up, the same posture he takes on when chastising anyone else beneath his rank.
“Hey, Jeon!” Jimin calls out, and he hears Taehyung sigh beside him.
Jungkook spins on his heel to face him, that smirk never faltering. Jimin takes a moment as he approaches to look over the numerous earrings pierced into both his human ears and wolf ears. And then he wonders why they would make hybrids with both sets. Of course he had noticed with Seokjin’s too. At least he thinks he has.
He is not paying special attention to Jungkook, he swears.
“Yeah, Boss?”
“Don’t call me that,” Jimin says a he comes to a stop in front of Jungkook, arms crossed. “I told you, it’s sir or Sergeant to you.”
“Master Gunnery Sergeant, right?” Jungkook asks, and Jimin nods. “Your men ever call you Gunny, then?”
“No. I don’t do those bullshit pet names,” Jimin says, and Jungkook actually chuckles at that. “This is the Marine Corps, not a fucking frat. It’s sir to you, and you’ll figure that out in due time.”
Jungkook’s grin grows larger, wolfish, those sharp teeth gleaming. The other hybrids gather around—Hoseok and Yoongi, at least. Seokjin had left in the opposite direction with Namjoon—and everyone waits as Jimin and Jungkook stare each other down. This fucking kid has some nerve, talking to a superior like this. It’s gotta be some kind of sick joke, right? Jimin can’t possibly have to work with this guy.
Maybe this is just a nightmare he needs to wake up from.
“Do you think this is some kind of joke?” Jimin asks. “What we’re doing here, do you think it’s not something to be taken seriously?”
Jungkook’s face scrunches slightly, brows knitting in disbelief. “You think you can’t take something seriously and still have a little fun at the same time?”
“This isn’t the place for fun.” Jimin almost wants to laugh, this is so unbelievable. “This is fucking war.”
What the fuck did they do? Find the single most irresponsible little brat in the lab and toss him into the first team they could find? Namjoon has to have been wrong when he mentioned their ranks during the briefing—there’s no way this little shit has lasted long enough or worked hard enough to make it to the rank of Sergeant, just a few ranks below Jimin’s. He acts like a Private, so Jimin will treat him like one.
“Do you even have the experience and discipline to be in a team like this?”
Jungkook leans in slightly, making Jimin want to lean back, get away, but he holds his ground. “Would I be here if I didn’t?” Jungkook asks. He quirks his brow at Jimin again. “I can show you what I’m capable of. I heard about this thing around here you guys call the Gauntlet? I also heard you hold the fastest time for completing it. For now.”
Jimin snorts at him. “You think running a fucking obstacle course proves you can rescue a high profile target from behind enemy lines?”
“I already know I can do that part.” Jungkook shrugs. “Beating your record on the Gauntlet is just a bonus. Care to show me the way, Boss?”
Jimin bristles at that nickname again. One more time and he’ll knock this kid on his ass.
“Follow me,” he says instead. The others follow him through the corridors, Hoseok and Yoongi murmuring to each other about something. He doesn’t care what they have to say. He just wants to put Jungkook in his place, make sure he knows who’s in charge, and ship out for this damn mission.
Eyes follow them everywhere they go, Marines practically stumbling away from them as they head outside and straight for the course. Jimin is used to the whispers that follow him around by now, but the wide-eyed panic from the men who see the hybrids is almost entertaining. At least Jungkook’s presence is good for something. All eyes are on him instead of Jimin for once.
“Looks easy enough,” Jungkook says as they stop at the beginning of the obstacle course, hip cocked again. Jimin is already learning to hate that stance. He shoots Jimin a smirk, then lifts a brow. “What’s your record?
“One minute and two seconds,” Jimin tells him as Jungkook sheds his jacket. He tosses it at Jimin, who snatches it midair. Reflex. He should have let it fall. He tosses it onto a nearby bench instead, and he hates the way Jungkook’s grin only grows at that.
“I’ll do it under a minute.” Jungkook stretches his arms above his head, popping his neck as his eyes scan the course.
Jimin tries to keep his eyes anywhere but on Jungkook’s body, but the strip of skin under his shirt as it lifts distracts him, pulls his gaze right to it. His pants are slung way too low to fit regulation. As a matter of fact, nothing about him is regulation. Not even his fucking attitude.
“No one has finished this course in under a minute,” Jimin scoffs, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to pay attention. He studies the obstacles, like he’s mapping them out before he even starts.
Finally, he looks at Jimin again. “We could turn this into a race,” he says, “if you’re not too scared.”
Jimin points at the course, his face blank and unamused as Jungkook just grins right back. “Run the fucking Gauntlet. Or you’re not joining my team.”
“I don’t think that’s your choice to make.”
“Run. The fucking. Gauntlet.”
Jungkook chuckles. He cracks his knuckles as a pair of Marines pass by, eying him curiously, staring at his ears. He gives them a nod. “You two, give me that,” he says, gesturing at the weighted vest one of them holds.
Hesitantly, one of them approaches and hands it over to him. The hint of horror on his face as he looks over Jungkook from head to toe is impossible to miss. Jungkook either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
As Jungkook straps it on, he nods at the other Marine. “Those too,” he says, then holds out his wrists. The Marine glances at Jimin as if seeking permission—it isn’t until then that Jimin realizes they’ve all been so distracted, no one has bothered to salute anyone. At this point, he doesn’t care. He’s seething, teeth gritted.
This fucking show off is seriously going to try to beat his record even weighted down? Jimin doesn’t care what kind of a hybrid he is, there’s no way he can actually do this.
Jimin watches with his arms crossed tight over his chest, a frown on his face. One of the Marines from before carefully approaches him, handing over a stopwatch. He looks terrified, like Jimin might bite his head off for daring to acknowledge him. Honestly, he might.
“Sir,” he says as Jimin snatches the watch from him, and then he darts away like Jimin is a ticking time bomb.
“Ready?” Jimin asks, and Jungkook gets into position, ready to run as he gives Jimin a nod.
“Born ready,” he says, and Jimin has to refrain from gagging.
Jimin lifts the stopwatch, finger on the start button as he stares Jungkook down. There’s something in the hybrid’s eyes that he can’t read. As Jungkook’s smile slowly fades, Jimin almost places it, but he convinces himself it’s just Jungkook being expectant, waiting for the timer to start.
“Go.”
The button clicks and Jungkook sprints toward the first obstacle. He barely seems slowed by the extra weights strapped to him, leaping far higher than any human could. He practically flies over the log, barely having to lift himself, using the momentum to jump to the next pole. Everyone seems to stop and watch as he pulls himself up, twisting around to swing himself to the other side.
Jimin nearly gives himself a headache, clenching his jaw so tight. Once more, he tries not to focus on the flex of Jungkook’s muscles, the definition along his arms, every line on them seeming almost drawn on they cut so deep. Even through his shirt, Jimin can see each curve of muscle as he climbs the wall, then the ropes.
At this point, he’s almost forgotten the timer in his hand, transfixed on the way Jungkook moves through the course like it’s as easy as breathing. He seems to know what’s coming before he even reaches it, calculating his next ten moves with every section he completes. He may be a pain in the ass, but maybe he will be of some use to the team if he can move like this.
Jimin can’t even feel annoyed anymore. He’s captivated.
By the time Jungkook circles back around, launching himself over the last obstacle, Jimin has almost forgotten where he even is. He feels someone take the stopwatch from his hand as Jungkook slows down in front of him, barely winded from the course.
Those sharp teeth flash as he smirks. “So?” he asks, gesturing at the obstacles around them. His skin glistens slightly, black shirt clinging to his chest, and Jimin has to pretend like he doesn’t notice. “Good enough for you?”
Jimin blinks himself out of his trance and looks to whoever took the stopwatch—Taehyung, looking amused as he watches Jimin. He lifts the watch.
“56 seconds,” he says, and Jimin’s gaze snaps back to Jungkook.
“Decent, I guess,” he says, keeping his voice flat, hands on his hips. “But anyone can run an obstacle course. Doesn’t mean you won’t get your ass shot off in the field.”
“Your concern for the safety of my ass is appreciated,” Jungkook says as he takes a few steps closer.
Jimin silently curses at himself as he steps back. He hates the way Jungkook’s smirk grows when he does, so he pushes forward. His hope was that Jungkook would stand down, back off, considering Jimin outranks him and he’s obviously pushing his luck here.
Instead, Jungkook stands his ground, crooked smirk decorating his lips as he leans in slightly. His face hovers so close to Jimin’s, anyone at a distance would assume they were already kissing.
“Proving grounds, tomorrow,” Jimin orders, taking another step forward until they’re chest to chest. He can feel Jungkook’s breath on his face when he chuckles. “Let’s see how well you actually handle yourself in the field before I decide if you’re worth keeping around.”
“Sure thing, Boss,” Jungkook says, and then he leans in. Jimin’s brain stops for a moment, thinking he actually is about to kiss him, but he just presses in close for the briefest moment, then moves back. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Jimin stares at him, frozen, unable to tear his perplexed gaze away.
Was Jungkook…
…smelling him?
“Don’t think I’ll take it easy on you,” Jimin manages to croak out, slowly turning away from Jungkook, brows still furrowed and nose still scrunched. He’s not sure how he should feel about that. At all. So he just walks away, trying not to seem too disarmed.
He can feel Jungkook’s eyes on him as he leaves.
Sometimes, after dark and out of uniform feels like the only time Jimin can actually breathe easily. When no one else can see him, tucked away on the rooftop, he can actually relax for a second. Out here, rank means nothing, and as Namjoon sits down beside him it’s as his friend, not his superior.
“Here,” Namjoon says, setting a can of soda in Jimin’s lap. “Wish it was booze, but… make do with what you can on base, I suppose.”
Jimin pops the can open, tapping it against Namjoon’s before taking a drink. “Better than nothing,” he says, earning only a nod in response. They’ve never cared much for words. Their friendship has mostly consisted of nights like this—just the two of them sitting together, not talking. Sometimes it’s nice just to not be alone.
His feet dangle off the roof, fingers tapping against the side of the can. They’re technically not supposed to be up here, but as long as they’re not causing any trouble, no one will bother to tell them off, especially not with Namjoon here.
Far below them, Jimin can see a group of four heading for the barracks. The hybrids. Yoongi and Hoseok linger slightly behind while Jungkook and Seokjin lead the way, a bounce to Jungkook’s step that Jimin hadn’t noticed before. Cocky, stupid little shit. What’s there to be cheerful about when they’re about to rejoin the war?
Of course Jimin wanted this assignment because it gets him away from this place, gives him another chance, but he’s not excited to be in the thick of battle. Not again.
“Relax, Jimin,” Namjoon says, reaching over to give his knee a squeeze. “If you let them get you this worked up in a day, you’ll end up having a fucking heart attack before the mission is through.”
Jimin’s hand clenches around the can so tight he can hear it starting to pop as it bends inward. He forces himself to ease up and take a drink instead.
“The dog gets on my fucking nerves,” he says with a lazy gesture toward Jungkook.
“Jeon?” Namjoon asks. “He’s a kid. He’ll find his place eventually. Just be patient with him.”
With a sigh, Jimin says, “Tell him to back the fuck off of me and it’ll be fine.”
“He’s just trying to fit in, Jimin, to prove himself—”
“He proved he’s a hothead and a jackass, that’s for sure.” As soon as those words leave Jimin’s mouth, Jungkook’s head whips around to look right at him. “Fuck,” Jimin hisses. He can feel Namjoon’s eyes on him as Jungkook watches them for a moment, then follows Seokjin inside the barracks.
“Yeah, they can hear you,” Namjoon says, and Jimin rolls his eyes. “Honestly, Jimin, can’t you just be happy you even got this assignment? I know it’s weird and different to work with hybrids, but it’ll just take a small adjustment. It’s not that hard and you’re lucky they even—”
“I’m lucky?” Jimin snaps, whipping around to face Namjoon.
With a sigh, Namjoon says, “That’s not what I meant—”
“Lucky, what?” Jimin pushes, but he doesn’t give Namjoon a chance to answer. “Lucky they even agreed to put me on another team, considering the rumors? Lucky the higher ups don’t believe I abandoned my team to save my own life?”
“I just—”
“Fuck this.” Jimin slams the can down beside him, swinging his legs over the wall to stand up. Namjoon won’t look at him. “Getting away from this place was my only hope to leave that shit behind. It was the only hope I had to forget about it all and move on. And now you—of all fucking people, Namjoon, you?”
Namjoon spins around to face him, sitting with his back to the edge of the roof. “You know I don’t believe that gossip.”
Jimin crosses his arms, afraid to face Namjoon, afraid he’ll see right through him, see how much it still haunts him. What if Namjoon requests to have him removed from the team? But as he turns, Namjoon still won’t look at him, head down, shoulders slouching. He looks tired, defeated.
“I’m just saying that most people that have gone through something like that wouldn’t have been reassigned so quickly. Especially not—” Namjoon interrupts himself with a sigh.
“Especially not what?”
Slowly, with his lips pursed, Namjoon raises his eyes to meet Jimin’s. “Especially not when it’s still fucking with your head so much.”
Jimin swallows down his fear and shakes his head. “It’s not.”
“It is—”
“Joon,” Jimin snaps, but his voice wavers. He curses at himself mentally. “It’s not.”
Namjoon sighs again, staring down at the can in his hands. After a long silence, he nods. “Okay,” he says. “It’s not.” He licks his lips, glances back toward the barracks. “Get some rest. We’re working with the hybrids tomorrow to make sure they all understand how we’re meant to function in a group like this. Each of us will be paired up with one of them, just as a way to… observe them a little closer.”
“And who have I been assigned?” Jimin asks. He already dreads the answer.
“Jeon.”
Jimin scoffs. “Of course,” he says as he heads for the door. He doesn’t have the energy for this. He doesn’t have the energy to see Namjoon looking so disappointed in him. He pauses in the doorway, looking back at his friend as Namjoon looks out over the base again. “Thanks for the drink.”
Namjoon glances back. “Yeah. No problem.”
“And, Joon.” Jimin waits until Namjoon looks at him again. “Thanks for vouching for me. To get me on the squad.”
Namjoon gives him a nod. “What are friends for, right?”
“Yeah.” Jimin nods. “Well. Goodnight.”
“‘Night, Jimin.”
And with that, Jimin turns on his heel and heads for the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reaches the bottom. Clunks and scrapes sound from the mess hall as he passes it—unfortunate Privates left to clean until the wee hours of the night before they inevitably have to wake up at the crack of dawn to work some more. Jimin doesn’t miss those days at all. Moving up the ranks comes with its own challenges, but nothing will ever make him want to go back to cleaning the drains.
He crosses the yard, heading for the barracks. Trucks pass by in the background, off to the gates to go God knows where. Probably into the middle of a battlefield. It’ll be mortared within a day and who knows what will happen to the men inside it. Jimin tries not to imagine it as he heads for his room.
He only gets halfway there when he hears someone call out, “Hey, Boss.”
Jimin stops in his tracks, eyes closed as he takes a deep breath. He swears this guy was put here just to test his patience. Whatever he did to deserve this, he wishes there was another way to repent than dealing with Jeon Jungkook.
“What do you want?” he asks as he walks again, Jungkook’s footsteps following him.
“Nothing. I was just looking around.”
“At everyone’s fucking rooms?” Jimin asks. He only spares Jungkook a glance as he stops outside his and Taehyung’s room. “Careful, Jeon. Some of the guys around here won’t be as tolerant as I am if you run around sniffing them too.”
Jungkook leans against the wall beside his door, that wolfish grin returning. Jimin wants to knock it right off his face. “This one’s yours then?” he asks with a nod toward the door.
“Don’t get any ideas.”
“I think you’re the one getting ideas.”
“Alright, clearly telling you to fuck off doesn’t work, so what does?” Jimin asks, leaning against the other side of the doorway to face Jungkook. “Do I have to scold you? Is there a timeout kennel I’m supposed to put you in when you misbehave?”
Jungkook’s smirk grows. Everything about him, even the way he stands with his hands in his pockets, ankles crossed, makes Jimin furious.
“You can tell me I’ve been a bad boy,” he says, “but I can’t promise I’ll actually dislike that.”
Jimin rolls his eyes as he reaches for the door. “Alright, have a good night, Jeon,” he says, not a hint of sincerity in his voice. Before he can open it, however, Jungkook’s hand shoots out to hold it closed.
“Listen,” he says, keeping a grip on the door until Jimin lets go. “I know you don’t have a lot of faith in us, but we know how to do our jobs.”
“Good,” Jimin says with a shrug. “Then do your job instead of showing off all the time.”
“Showing off is my job,” Jungkook says as he pushes away from the wall.
Jimin tenses as he approaches him. He doesn’t mean to, it’s automatic. There’s something about the predator in Jungkook that sets him off. And Jungkook notices—he always seems to notice—but he doesn’t mention it.
“Being the weapons sergeant in a team like this doesn’t mean I sit around and take inventory of our guns,” Jungkook says. “It means I go behind enemy lines. I recruit them, I turn them to our side. I’ve convinced people to risk their lives in guerrilla warfare for my cause.”
Jimin steadies himself as Jungkook steps into his space, nearly chest to chest. He doesn’t think Jungkook is trying to be intimidating, but he is. He doesn’t think Jungkook is ever trying to be intimidating—just unaware, ignorant of the fact that this kind of closeness isn’t typical for humans, not in a conversation like this, at least.
He wonders what makes Jungkook feel the need to be so goddamn close all the time.
“You think I do all that by being quiet and meek?” Jungkook asks, and Jimin can feel him as he crosses his arms, his hand brushing against his. Too close. It sets his skin on fire. “No, Park, I impress people. I make them think I’m their best bet, even if I’m not. I convince people to sacrifice themselves and tell them they’ll be remembered for it. That’s my job.”
Jimin’s teeth grind together as he stares back at Jungkook, his impulse telling him to demand that Jungkook stand down while everything else in his mind rings of pity. He knows what it’s like, fighting in this war, and can imagine the things Jungkook has seen. If his attitude is how he copes with it, Jimin can at least try to understand that.
That doesn’t make it any less annoying.
“Well.” Jimin swallows down his pride, his need to be in charge, everything he’s been trained to be his entire life, and gives Jungkook a nod. The tiniest gesture of understanding. “You’re not trying to recruit me. You don’t need to impress me. So just… do the job without making a fucking display of it, will you?”
A slight smirk slips onto Jungkook’s face as he steps back. Jimin can’t even imagine what he could be fucking grinning about, but he hopes Jungkook just keeps his mouth shut.
Of course, he doesn’t.
“Maybe I just wanna impress you for my own sake.”
Jimin rolls his eyes and shoves his door open. “Goodnight, Jeon,” he says, earning a chuckle in response before he steps inside his room. He thinks he hears a quiet “night, Boss” before he slams his door shut.
Taehyung is sound asleep in his own bed, thankfully undisturbed by his and Jungkook’s conversation. Jimin strips out of his clothes, pulling on a pair of pajama pants before he collapses on his bed. His mind races with the events of the past few days—the psych evaluation, meeting his new team, the fight with Namjoon, if it can even be called that.
And then there’s Jungkook.
Every time he tries to think of something else, he finds his mind drifting back to Jeon fucking Jungkook and those stupid fuzzy ears, all his damn earrings, that cocky grin. He’s pissed he beat his record too. As if that kid needs anything else that’ll make his head even bigger. An ego like his is good for one thing in the field—getting yourself killed.
Jimin will train it out of him soon enough. He may be a brat, but if Jimin can keep at least half the team alive this time, he’ll consider it successful enough. He tries not to raise his standards too high in this war anymore. That’s what got him into trouble last time—being a fucking idealist.
Now he’s here, haunted by the mistakes he made before. Every time he closes his eyes and tries to sleep, he sees it all over again. He swears the images of those days must be burned into his eyelids. He can’t escape them.
So he thinks of the only thing that has managed to distract him since then. He thinks of how satisfying it will be to whip Jungkook into shape tomorrow. He thinks of the look on Jungkook’s face when Jimin finally puts him in his place, finally shuts him up and gets in the last word. Somehow, it actually works.
He falls asleep not with the image of blood and smoke and fire dancing in front of his eyes or the sound of gunfire and explosions in his ears, but of those stupid, fucking, furry, black ears, and that stupid, fucking, toothy grin, and that stupid, fucking, cocky laugh.