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The stairs creak under heavy footfalls.
He knows what's coming; he's used to it now. So used to it he couldn't say when it all started.
The bedroom door opens, and a silhouette stands there, backlit and ominous. Threatening. He scoots back even more under the bed, hidden in the shadows. No breath, no sound. The man in the doorway has taken off his belt already; it hangs, folded in half, both ends securely held in a tight fist.
Above him, on the mattress, the child is shivering, curled into the smallest, most vulnerable little ball of fear. He can feel the bed shake with terror, rattling his very bones. Anger floods him like every night; that man in the doorway- it's the child's father. He takes a step forward, belt dangling menacingly.
Like every night, the smell of stale alcohol makes him choke. Like every night, he creeps closer to the edge of the bed, ready to snap- ready to spring out of the shadows and reveal himself, do his fucking job for once, only not on the right target. (Well. He would do his job on the right target, really, but the kid is scared enough as it is, and he might be a monster but he has a heart, thank you very much. He'd rather not be responsible for more trauma.)
"Ji...min…" the father grunts, slurs, mumbles in a drunken tone.
He clenches his teeth. Guilt rolls around with fury inside his gut, duty fighting morals. Well, monster morals, if that's a thing. When the man raises his arm, he snaps.
Enough.
He crawls out from under the bed, take his most terrifying form- the one with black tattered feather wings, claws and fur and scales and teeth and eyes, too many eyes, red and glinting in the dark-
"Step back," he orders, voice gravelly and deep, forked tongue slithering between sharp fangs.
The father stumbles back, screams, drops the belt- he was going to say so much more, promises of pain and vengeance, but the man just turns on his heels and runs and slams the door, tumbling all the way down the stairs. Well. At least that was efficient. He squints at the door, red too-many eyes filled with rage and satisfaction. No more.
He turns to the bed; Jimin is still hiding under his blanket, shaking like a leaf. He stays silent. He grows smaller, loses the scary appearance, and goes back to being a shadow under the bed.
The next nights go exactly the same. He remembers with a bit of annoyance that humans tend to forget the terrible things they face, out of sheer self-preservation (or drunken stupor, in some cases). Which means he has to scare off Jimin's father every night. It's not all that troublesome, really, it even is a little satisfying to come up with new ways of terrorising the man. But Jimin keeps shaking and fearing and silently weeping under his blanket, and that he has trouble dealing with. He's just a monster, he doesn't know how to comfort a terrified child. That's the exact opposite of his job description.
Still, he feels bad, hiding in the shadows under the bed while sleep eludes Jimin. A few weeks after the first time he appears, instead of slipping back where he belongs, he stays there next to the bed and crouches down. He tries to take the least threatening form he can. He makes himself small and human-like and even gives himself fluffy, faded pink hair, like the boy on Jimin's latest drawing. There. His clawy, furry, scaly paws turn into gentle palms and soft fingers, and he extends them to where Jimin's head is pressed into the pillow. As delicately as he can, he strokes the dark hair peeking out of the blanket, once, twice, trying not to think he's making a mistake. Jimin has stopped shaking (but he has stopped breathing, too, so maybe it's not all that good).
"He's gone, Jimin," he whispers. His voice is still a bit raspy, he probably can't help it, but at least it's not sounding like an avalanche of rocks and steel. "You can go to sleep, I'm standing guard. I won't let him hurt you."
No reaction. Jimin's breathing again. He softly pats his head once more and slips back under the bed.
***
"Hey, um. Uh… I don't know how to call you," a small voice whispers.
He stirs in his sleep, turning on his other side between the shadows serving him as a bed. It's still broad daylight, too early for him to come out.
"Okay, I guess you're not here for now. Or maybe you're asleep if you stay up all night. Do monsters under our beds need sleep? I don't know," the little voice continues. "Anyway. I uh… I wanted to thank you. For… you know. So I brought you a cookie."
There's some rustling of fabric, creaking of thin plastic, and then a small small thud on the floor. He cracks one eye open. Jimin is crouching down with his head craned to the side so he's looking under his bed. Not that there's anything to see right now.
"I hope you like cookies. It's a chocolate chip one. Everyone likes chocolate chip cookies, right? I bet you like them too."
He grins with too many teeth when he sees the biscuit lying on the floor, halfway under the bed. Jimin is frowning, face focused like he's doing a Very Important Thing. It's cute, despite the bluish bruise on his right cheek.
"Kay," Jimin whispers. "I gotta go do my homework. Don't forget to brush your teeth after you eat that. Bye, mister monster."
That night, after Jimin's father has run downstairs screeching, he pets the kid's hair until he falls asleep. Then he has a nice, congratulatory cookie. Four arms and a vulture beak were a nice touch. He's getting really good at this job.
***
He has time to slip back under the bed and get comfortable before Jimin's voice floats through the darkness of the room. It's just a whisper, barely more than a breath, but he hears it all the same.
"Hey, mister monster."
This time he has no reason not to answer.
"Hello, Jimin."
He hears the kid's smile. A soft exhale. A relaxed sound. Like a drunk man didn't just come and leave screaming. Still, there are no more words coming, so he creeps to the edge of the mattress, not quite daring to appear, but wanting to come closer.
"Did you just want to say hello?" he asks, making sure not to sound threatening.
He wishes his voice was softer. Even when he tries his best, it's a little hoarse. With a little lisp.
"I don't know," Jimin breathes. "I wasn't sure you'd answer. You liked the cookie?"
"I did."
"I'm glad. I'll try to bring you more. What do you eat when I don't give you cookies?"
He chuckles, low in his throat. Trust the kid to ask technical questions about monsters.
"Nothing. Shadows. I don't need to eat."
"But you ate my cookie."
"I wanted to try. It was the first cookie I ever ate. The first food, in fact."
Jimin hums, like he's trying to get his head around it. He lets him.
"Are you really the monster under my bed?" Jimin eventually asks. "I didn't think those were real."
"We're real. I'm real."
"Okay. I guess you are, you scared off my dad. You must be pretty scary. I never look, so I don't know."
He grins. Too many teeth on display, but no one can see them. He's still hidden.
"I'm terrifying," he brags to make Jimin laugh (it works). "But I don't want to scare you. I promise I never will."
"That's a weird promise for a monster, but okay. Pinky promise?"
A small hand with chubby fingers suddenly hangs down and extends a pinky in the vague direction of his face. He shuffles back, confused.
"What's a pinky promise?"
"Oh, don't monsters have those? We have to hold pinkies. And then the promise is sealed and you can't break it."
"Oh. Okay."
He reaches out, human hand and all, but Jimin stops him.
"Wait, wait wait wait! Can't do that yet. I don't even know your name. What’s your name, mister monster?"
He hesitates.
"I… don’t have one. I'm just the monster under your bed."
"Oh," Jimin sighs, sounding disappointed. "D'you want one?"
"Will you give me one?"
Jimin hums again, focused. He stays silent for a few beats, then exhales, aha, and waves his pinky around.
"Yoongi," he declares. "Cause monster or not, nocturnal or not, you're still the brightest moment of my day."
That's- that’s even kinder than the cookie thing. It makes something warm and happy and purring unfurl inside his stomach. He- Yoongi- smiles and grabs Jimin's pinky with his own.
"Yoongi," he repeats, just to get a feel of the word. "I pinky promise never to scare you."
"Cool," Jimin says. "Nice to meet you, Yoongi."
It sounds good to have a name. Yoongi feels like he exists a bit more, somehow.
***
Jimin is so nervous it wakes Yoongi up way before nightfall. The whole bedroom is trembling with him; Yoongi can't fall back asleep. He slithers to the very edge of the bed, shadow among shadows, and watches as the boy fumbles with notebooks and pencils. Tears are streaking his face. Yoongi's stomach churns. He can't do anything as long as night hasn't fallen. He can't. His body is physically bound to the shadows, incapable of taking any consistency before sundown. Sometimes Yoongi hates being the monster under Jimin's bed.
He hates it even more when Jimin's father stumbles through the door and starts yelling incomprehensible, slurred words. Stuff about grades and dishes and whatever else Yoongi doesn't understand. When insults turn to blows, Yoongi keeps watching, wishing for the sun to set already. His blood boils with the need to tear that man's throat open. To feast on his gut.
Yoongi isn't a demon. He's not a vampire, he's not cursed, he's not even evil, per se. He's just the monster under Jimin's bed. He was just meant to frighten him with silly grimaces and weird dreams.
Right now he feels the urge to kill.
Jimin's dad is long gone when night finally comes. Jimin is still curled tight on the floor, sobbing into the carpet, school books and courses spread around like fallen snow.
Yoongi slips out from underneath the bed, immediately taking his human form. He crawls on all fours until he can touch Jimin, but he hesitates, hovering near him.
"Jimin," he murmurs.
Jimin squeaks and burrows even deeper into the ground. Yoongi's heart clenches. Scaring Jimin is the last thing he wants to do. He promised, didn't he?
"It's me, Jimin, he's gone. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you."
Tentatively, Yoongi lays his hand on the back of Jimin's head and slowly, slowly strokes him. Gently. Just as slowly, Jimin stops shivering and whimpering. Yoongi tries to hum, a quiet gentle song, a nonsensical soothing melody, random notes weaving into the silence. Jimin leans into his touch, barely, just enough that Yoongi feels it.
"Yoongi…" he whispers, voice painfully broken, hardly even audible.
"Do you… want a hug, or something? I'm not sure I know how to do that but I can try. I have… arms. Normal arms. You can look at me, I'm not scary right now."
He's rambling, he knows he's rambling but what can he do, what can he say to make everything better? Jimin painstakingly sits up on his heels, bracing his hands on the floor, but he doesn't turn his head toward Yoongi yet.
"I… need…" he grunts. "Water…"
"Don't move," Yoongi urges, getting up to retrieve the bottle on Jimin's nightstand.
He fumbles a bit- sue him, he's not used to actually holding stuff, he spends most of his time in the non-existence plane between the shadows, there's no stuff to hold there- and brings it back to Jimin, absolutely unable to decipher the way to open it.
Jimin unscrews the cap with febrile hands (aah, Yoongi thinks, so that's how), and drinks long gulps until the bottle is empty.
Only then does his gaze fall upon Yoongi, and surprise overtakes his features.
"Oh," he says, staring at him in the moonlit room, confused and hurt and tired, little sound of puzzlement.
Yoongi feels Jimin's emotions like they're his own. He smiles, small and with his mouth closed (not quite sure how many teeth he has right now).
"Hey."
"I… didn't think you'd look like that. You… you look normal."
Yoongi smiles a little more.
"I didn't think you'd want to see fangs and fur."
Jimin tries to smile, but his lower lip is bleeding and he winces instead.
"Ouch," he grumbles, licking the blood off his lip. "Kept his rings on…"
Yoongi scowls, glaring at the closed door like his searing eyes can reach the man all the way downstairs. He's probably passed out by now anyway.
"That bastard," he snarls. "I hate that I can only come out at night. I wish I could always protect you…"
"S'not your fault," Jimin sighs, scooting closer on his knees. He reaches out to Yoongi, grabbing his hand gingerly and openly studying it. "You really do look like a normal guy."
Drinking water made the cut on Jimin's lip bleed more, leaving a red trail down his chin despite the repeated licks he gives it.
"You… should maybe treat that," Yoongi hesitates, torn between his fascination for Jimin's hand holding his, and the mild disgust and heavy concern for the wound.
Jimin shrugs.
"I just have to wait till it stops bleeding, then I'll go wash up. I'm gonna have so many bruises… I hope the teacher isn't gonna ask questions again."
Yoongi doesn't know what to say to that. He's not exactly sure how the human world works. He's pretty much convinced Jimin's father isn't supposed to act the way he does, but he has no idea if anyone can actually come and tell him to stop. Like it'd change anything. Even a monster isn't enough to keep him at bay.
That night, Jimin goes to wash up and comes back in pyjamas and sits on the floor to do his homework, while Yoongi hovers next to him and keeps an ear out to make sure they won't be disturbed.
That night, after Jimin packs his backpack for the next day and slips under his blanket, Yoongi sits next to him on the mattress and lets Jimin hold his hand.
That night, only the first rays of sunlight force Yoongi back under the bed.
***
"How old are you?"
Yoongi doesn't move from his spot under the bed. They've taken to chatting, after Jimin's father disappears down the stairs to drink his fear away. Sometimes Jimin lets his hand hang from the mattress, and sometimes Yoongi holds it.
"I don't know," he answers truthfully. "How old are you?"
"I'm twelve."
"Then I'm probably twelve, too."
"You don't seem like a child though. You sound like a grown-up."
Yoongi emits the audible equivalent of a shrug. A little 'meh' that doesn't even leave the space under the bed.
"I'm not a child. I'm a bed monster. I don't… I don't think I grow older. I've been the way I am since I appeared."
"Huh," Jimin says.
He stays silent after that, and Yoongi just listens to his slow, even breaths. The hold on his hand loosens, little by little, and only when Jimin's fingers slip from his own does Yoongi crawl out from his spot.
Gently, he places Jimin's arm back onto the bed, and tucks the boy in. He watches him sleep peacefully for a while, smiling when Jimin frowns and burrows further into the covers, letting out a little comfortable sigh.
It's not ideal. Far from it. Jimin's father is still a violent, alcoholic cunt. Jimin still sports bruises from the times he gets beaten up before sundown. Yoongi still has to dry tears and hug tremors away some nights. But at least now Jimin spends his nights peacefully sleeping, dreaming sweet dreams until morning comes and Yoongi slides back in the non-existence plane between the shadows.
At least now Jimin has a friend, if only at night. Someone to look after him a little. Yoongi knows it's not enough, but what can he do? He's just the monster under the bed.
***
Time curls and rushes and crawls, fast and slow and dripping like overcooked jam, sticky like fresh tar, flowing like wind on a winter day. It passes by, ignoring Yoongi but closely dancing with Jimin. Yoongi just follows, watching as Jimin grows but his life doesn't change. Like time only touches the boy but doesn't disturb the dust around him.
They're snuggled together on Jimin's bed, gentle moonlight leaking through the window, liquid light gleaming in the remnants of the day's rain. It's a tight fit, one teenager and one sort-of-grown-up bed monster, but they make do, legs tangled and Jimin's head resting on Yoongi's chest.
"It's weird that you don't have a heartbeat," Jimin mumbles into Yoongi's shirt.
Yoongi frowns, focuses for a moment, purses his lips.
"Better now?" he asks, making sure the steady thud-thud in his chest is at an appropriate hearing level. "I still haven't got the hang of this human form. S'not like I really have internal organs."
Jimin hums.
"I like hearing your heart."
"Even if it's fake?"
"It's not fake," Jimin smiles (Yoongi can always hear it when he smiles).
"How can you know?"
"I don't. But I can feel it."
Yoongi tightens his hold on Jimin, slightly. Maybe he doesn't have a biological, blood-pumping heart. But he definitely has a metaphorical one, if the quickening of the beat and the warmth in his body are anything to go by.
***
"What do you wanna be when you grow up?" Yoongi asks one night.
He's getting curious about the human world, now that he has gotten close to Jimin. Now he knows people have purposes in life, things to do, jobs- he's not quite sure what it entails, but maybe Jimin can explain.
"I'd like to be a doctor," the boy answers after a moment. "I'd like to help people heal."
"That's a nice idea."
"What do you want to be, then?"
Yoongi chuckles, the sound barely audible, just a rumble through his chest.
"I'll be what I already am. I'll just be the monster under your bed."
Jimin props himself up on an elbow, staring at Yoongi's face in the gentle dark, his youthful features pulled into a thoughtful expression.
"Y'know, I really don't think you're a monster."
Yoongi frowns, but he feels his own eyes twinkle, amused by his friend's words. (It's nice, referring to Jimin as his friend. Yoongi didn't know monsters could have those, and yet).
"I am, though," he says, because what else can he be- barely more than a shadow, in the end, a shadow with feelings and a metaphorical heart that thud-thud-thuds inside his chest.
But Jimin shakes his head, eyes still intent on Yoongi's face.
"I don't know. Monsters are supposed to be bad. You're not bad. You're all kind and caring and soft. And you have pink hair, I'm not sure monsters can have pink hair."
"I can be bad. Just not to you."
"You're not bad," Jimin repeats firmly. "You protect me."
"I'm bad to your father."
Jimin emits a low growl, like a feral cat sensing an enemy.
"My dad is a monster. A real one."
Yoongi cannot deny this, so he stays silent. After a few seconds, Jimin lifts a hand and cards it through Yoongi's hair, delicate fingers brushing and curling around strands.
"You're so soft. Maybe you're not human, but I don't want to call you a monster. You're way better than that."
Yoongi's metaphorical heart thuds faster.
***
The small light is mesmerising. A teeny, tiny sun hovering a wax stick. Yoongi might know a thing or two about magic (well, at least shapeshifting) but this? He didn't know he'd ever witness this. Fire. Such a simple, regular thing to Jimin, but to Yoongi it tastes like a little bit of a forbidden gift.
"What is this?" he asks, fingers dancing near the flame.
It's hot, and yet he yearns to touch it. Can he get burned? He lets a dark feather grow from the tip of his finger and slices the flame with its edge. It barely smokes, comes out unscathed. Jimin grabs Yoongi's wrist before he can try with fingers next.
"Don't. Please. Just because your feather didn't burn… I don't want you to get hurt."
"It's really beautiful."
"It's just a candle."
"I had never seen one. Why did you bring this?"
Jimin smiles.
"It's my birthday. A friend of mine at school gave it to me, because he knows I won't get one at home."
Yoongi tries, and fails, to link that information to the candle. Jimin must sense his confusion, because he chuckles and gestures to the dancing flame.
"You know humans celebrate their birthdays, right? We've done that for mine a few times, you remember?"
"Yeah. You're sixteen today."
"Yup," Jimin says. "I'm sixteen. And I never had the chance since I met you but usually, humans light a candle on their birthday and make a wish before blowing it."
Yoongi slowly nods. It makes sense, in a way. Give this little flicker the chance to carry a wish. He approaches his fingers once more, enjoying the heat on his skin. Jimin's hand is still holding his wrist; another source of heat on his skin. Yoongi likes it. It makes everything metaphorical inside him dance.
"So," Jimin talks again, whispering in the night, face waveringly lit up by the fire. "Since it's my birthday, I suppose it's sort of yours, too? Even if you don't age. You still existed for one more year. So you're allowed to make a wish, too."
"I don't know how to do that."
"Just think about it real hard," Jimin smiles. "And don't tell me. If you tell someone, it can't come true. Tell me when you're ready. I'll count to three so we can blow it together."
Yoongi nods. It's easy, really.
He dearly hopes monsters are allowed to make wishes. He dearly hopes it won't be a curse instead.
One.
Two.
Three.
I wish you a happy life, Jimin.
The flame goes out.
***
Winter is a harsh time for Jimin. It's too cold for him to stay out much after school, which means he has to bear with his drunken father more. The only upside is that sundown comes earlier. Yoongi knows this- it's not the first winter he has gone through with Jimin.
But this time… this time his friend doesn't exude the usual despair. There's a fire in his eyes, a clench in his jaw as he (literally) rolls with the punches. A determination. Yoongi doesn't know why. He's a little scared of this tough version of Jimin. He doesn't know what it means.
He finds out when spring is still just a whisper underneath the snow, a promise in the freezing air. Dusk comes later and later, but the trees are still naked and the sky still has this silvery hue only the cold can give. Like the atmosphere is frozen over even when the sun shines.
Still, spring whispers and promises and comes nearer, and the glint in Jimin's eyes turns from fire to steel.
They're still the same, though. Yoongi and Jimin. They still talk at night, never-ending back and forth of quiet questions and answers, sweet nothings to warm their hearts; they still touch, gentle fleeting brushes of fingers against skin and hair, snuggly cuddles on the coldest nights, shadows of kisses against temples on the hardest ones. Yoongi likes to touch Jimin, to have him touch him. It makes his skin tingle, his heart beat faster, his breath hitch; it makes him forget the hard, metallic look in Jimin's eyes. He doesn't dare ask about that. He's not even sure Jimin is conscious of it.
It's a normal night when it happens. Well. Yoongi doesn't know what normal means exactly, but it's a normal night for them. Daylight fades away, and when Yoongi is finally able to slip out of the shadows, Jimin is one-handedly filling a backpack with seemingly random stuff. His other hand is busy holding his cuff pressed under his nose. Blood already stains the fabric, mingling with tears, seeping through in hues of pinks and reds.
"Dammit," Yoongi swears, walking up to him and taking a look at his face.
No bruises for now, and Jimin's nose doesn't seem to be broken. It'll probably be swollen by morning, still.
"M'okay," Jimin mumbles through his sleeve, voice warped by his blood-clogged nose.
Yoongi clenches his teeth. They want to grow into fangs. They tend to do that when he's angry, and he tends to be angry rather often. Jimin eventually raises his gaze from his bag and wipes his nose one final time, leaving a reddish trail on his philtrum and upper lip.
"I'm okay, Yoongi," he repeats. "Seriously. And anyway, that was the last time. I can handle a bloody nose."
The metallic glint is back in his eyes. Yoongi finally registers that what Jimin has been stuffing into his backpack isn't school supplies. It's… clothes. Jeans and t-shirts and underwear and-
"What… wait, what do you mean, the last time? What are you doing?"
Jimin raises a brow.
"Isn't it obvious?"
"Not to me," Yoongi hesitates. "What's happening, Jimin?"
The boy checks his bag, closes it firmly and straightens up to look Yoongi in the eyes. They're almost the same height now. Jimin has grown so much since the first time they talked. He's grown taller and tougher. He stands right next to Yoongi now, when Yoongi scares his father away with teeth and scales and too many eyes. He holds Yoongi's clawy hand. He smiles- that soft soft soft smile, sharp like a razor blade, lopsided like glass shards, that smile that scares Yoongi way more than fangs and fur and scales and too many fucking eyes ever could scare his father.
But right now he's not smiling. He looks straight at Yoongi, determined. Yoongi waits.
"We're leaving," Jimin states simply.
Yoongi stares.
"What?"
"We're leaving," Jimin says again. "Today was my last day of school. I'm eighteen, which means I'm old enough to get a job and a place of my own, and I have enough savings from my part-time gig at the store to pay for a few nights in a youth hostel until I find something. Nothing's holding me back here, I'm done. We're leaving. Do you need to pack anything?"
Yoongi stares. He stares and stares and stares and feels his stomach churns and his heart clench and fuck, why, why are those metaphorical organs so painful?
"Jimin," he rasps. "Do you… I…"
He doesn't know how to say it. He chokes on his breath, the breath he doesn't fucking need, he's just a shadow, just a shadow, he doesn't need to breathe and yet here he is, coughing and sputtering like he's just been hit in the solar plexus. Might as well have been.
Jimin is watching him with growing confusion and concern.
"Are you okay, Yoongi?"
"Y-yeah. No. You're leaving. You're… leaving," he says, desperately, wanting to scream.
"We are. You're coming, right? You're not gonna stay here on your own with the bastard, are you?"
Yoongi's voice gets tangled inside his throat, fear and sorrow and he wants to cry, he wants to cry, he wants to but the tears don't come because he's just a fucking shadow, he's just a shadow and shadows don't cry.
Still. His eyes burn.
"Yoongi?"
"I- Jimin, I," he stammers, guilt slow-dancing with the pain at the thought he's going to break Jimin's heart (and his own) (metaphorically) (shit). "I'm the monster under your bed," he whispers. "I'm just that, Jimin. A flicker of consciousness in the night. A shadow with too many eyes. I… I can't leave," he chokes, "and I want to, I swear to you, I want to but-"
He stops talking when Jimin's expression gets so crestfallen it looks like he's gonna faint.
"What do you mean, you can't?" Jimin breathes. "Why not? There are plenty of shadows everywhere for you to hide. And I'll have another bed somewhere, you can still be the monster under that, can't you?"
Yoongi slowly shakes his head despite the pleading in Jimin's voice ripping him apart.
"No. I… I'm sort of… bound. I'm the monster under this bed. I'm not even sure I can go far enough to leave your bedroom."
Maybe his metaphorical heart can't get physically broken, but the pain is definitely real.
"What if I take part of the bed? Like the screws or something? Would you be able to cling to that?"
The hope in Jimin's tone is so faint it's almost begging to be shoved down and trampled.
"Don't do that. Please. I think I'm linked to… to the bed's integrity. I think I'll disappear if you dismantle it."
"You're not sure?"
"I don't know, Jimin. I appeared when this bed was made. I don't know- I just am, but no one was ever there to explain to me how bed monsters work! But I can feel it- I know, somehow, I know I'm bound to it."
Jimin lets his bag fall back onto the floor and walks right into Yoongi, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and burying his face in the crook of his neck. He's shaking. Yoongi ties his own arms around Jimin's waist, squeezing, but he feels like he's going to disintegrate if the pain gets any sharper.
"I'm sorry," he whispers.
"I can't leave without you, Yoongi. I can't live without you, you're the only one I trust, I need you, I need-"
"Jimin-"
Jimin leans back to look at him, face damp with tears and messy with blood and so, so desperate, like the slightest breeze would tear him to shreds. Yoongi can't speak. They just look at each other for what feels like eternity. Yoongi doesn't know. Time has always eluded him.
Then Jimin leans back in, presses his forehead against Yoongi's, closes his eyes. His mouth is a tight, trembling line.
"You have to go, Jimin," Yoongi whispers. The words taste like broken glass in his mouth, but he pushes through. "I'm just a shadow. You can't sacrifice your freedom for a shadow."
Jimin's eyes open. They're filled with fire (sad, sad fire, tearful fire, fire that drips like rain). Wordlessly, Jimin cups Yoongi's face in his hands and kisses him. He kisses his forehead and his eyelids and his cheeks and his nose and his mouth, so soft Yoongi just feels the brush of his lips like wings of a moth on his skin. He still tastes the salt of Jimin's tears and blood.
"I'll come back," Jimin says. "I'll come back someday, when I have enough money to rent a truck or something. I'll take the whole goddamn bed with me. I'll come back, Yoongi, I promise."
Yoongi can't bite back the hoarse sob escaping his throat. He smiles in between his own tears, or are those Jimin's, he has no idea-
"Pinky promise?" he asks, trembling, ready to collapse, only held together by Jimin's arms around him.
"Pinky promise," Jimin nods, his voice just as raspy as Yoongi's now.
They hook their fingers, but instead of repeating his promise Jimin kisses him again, right on the corner of his mouth where Yoongi is still half-smiling.
"Wait for me," he breathes against his skin.
Yoongi just hugs him tighter.
"I'll wait for you," he says, right there against Jimin's lips, feeding him the words and his soul.
I'll wait for you till the end of days, he doesn't say out loud. I'll wait for you till the dying sun plunges the world into an eternal night. I'll wait for you, Jimin.
***
II
"JIMIN! WHERE ARE YOU, YOU LITTLE-"
The words are slurred together so badly they're barely intelligible.
Yoongi doesn't try to listen to them. He stays under the bed, hidden in between the shadows.
***
Jimin's father still comes to his son's room every single night. He screams for a while. Cries sometimes. Yoongi lets him, until-
"You took him away! Show yourself, you monster! You killed him, give me my son back!"
Yoongi knows there's no point in trying to reason with a drunk man, but the accusation stings. Something like pride shoves him out of the shadows.
He stands before the man, tall and scary- wait, no, he's just Yoongi. Small and human-looking and pink-haired. Jimin's father stumbles back.
"You were the one who drove Jimin away," Yoongi declares glumly. "But you know that already, don't you?"
The man spits on him. It goes right through Yoongi. Can't spit on a shadow, can you?
"I lost my friend, and you lost your son. Only one of us deserved that fate."
Jimin's father throws him his empty bottle. It crashes on the ground, shattering into a million pieces. A million little shiny reflections of the moonlight and the way Yoongi changes.
He's no longer human-looking. Gone is the pink hair. He slips back into the fur and scales and claws, lets all of his eyes open, bares his hundreds of teeth. Tattered wings spread, torn feathers and scraped hide.
"You can't hurt me, but I can hurt you," Yoongi threatens. His voice sounds like he's chewing on rocks.
The man facing him staggers back, but stays in the room.
"You're a monster."
"Yeah," Yoongi shrugs. "I'm a monster. What does that make you?"
***
It's almost dusk when Yoongi feels the first stab of pain. Hears the first crack of wood torn apart. He screams, silent silent silent, silent in the non-existence plane between the shadows, trapped outside of the world while Jimin's father methodically (drunkenly) dismantles (destroys) Jimin's bed.
When night falls, the room is chaos and Jimin's father is passed out on the littered floor.
***
III
Driving along this street sends a weird, unpleasant taste in Jimin's mouth. Something akin to guilt and nostalgia and fear, mingled together in an indecipherable, nasty brew. Hope tries to float on this sea of negative emotions.
The place has changed. It doesn't seem so bruised and battered as he remembers. Maybe his memories are skewed. Tainted by the trauma. Maybe this neighbourhood has always looked like that, bright and warm on a late summer afternoon. Maybe it only looked dull and grey and cracked at the edges because Jimin was dull and grey and cracked at the edges.
He isn't now, though. No bruises on his body (okay, his right knee is scraped but that's because it's too hot to wear trousers and kneeling in the dirt in shorts isn't exactly gentle on the skin) (It's a good scrape though, a sign of hard work and well-earned satisfaction).
The flat-bed truck rumbles and creaks as he pulls over in front of the house, gardening tools rattling. Jimin likes his truck. It's ancient but trustworthy. The engine might be a thousand years old but it's still roaring like on the first day.
Only when he cuts the contact and jumps from the driver's seat does Jimin allow himself to look at the house.
Oh, he thinks.
The gruff patch of wild, dry grass has been replaced by a well-maintained lawn and pretty, colourful flower beds. The house itself has been refurbished, walls painted a gentle cream colour and the blinds and door a muted almond green. It's… pretty. Welcoming. There's a pair of yellow Wellington boots on the side of the door.
The mailbox says Kim.
Jimin stands there, rooted to the ground, hand still on the door of his truck. He… didn't expect that. Not that he really expected the house to still be the same after so much time away but… but he did. Somewhat. Why would it change?
What should he do now? His mind is blank, whirring helplessly, no thoughts to grind. He stays frozen on the spot for so long that the door opens and a lady appears, curious smile on her face.
"Hello, do you need something maybe? You've been here for a while," she greets him kindly.
She's young. Possibly in her early thirties or something. Pretty in a discreet kind of way, sheer happiness making her brighter than any makeup could. Her skin is porcelain-like, features delicate, teeth white and neat as she grins. She is Very Obviously Not Jimin's father. She couldn't possibly be further away from him.
Jimin opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. The lady just waits, patiently, until the words clogging Jimin's throat decide to come out all at once, creating a jumbled mess neither of them can decipher.
"Sorry, come again?"
Jimin rubs his palm onto his face.
"I'm sorry," he says. "I… I uh… I get that I shouldn't be the one asking that but… who are you? What are you doing here? I… I live here. Well I used to, but- shit. I'm rambling, I'm sorry, I just- I just-"
He chokes on the words. He knows his eyes are filling up with tears. He feels his lips trembling, so he presses them together to stop himself from downright sobbing in front of that charming woman.
"Oh, oh no, what's wrong?" she exclaims as he utterly fails.
Jimin tries to stop, he really does, but the arrival of a tall man behind the lady just sends him into overdrive. He takes a staggering step back, already raising his arm to protect himself.
But the blow never comes. The man isn't his father, he isn't his father, gods, Jimin need to relax but how can he-
"What's the matter, honey?" the man asks (tall, broad shoulders, early thirties, quiet kind of handsome).
The woman turns to him, just as puzzled, "I don't know, he was standing there so I opened the door and he started crying," she says, before she reaches a tentative hand toward Jimin. "Hey, do you wanna come inside and have a drink?"
He's such a mess. The man nods and smiles, "yeah, you look like you could use a nice cool glass of water. Come on, it's gonna be alright."
A nice cool glass of water indeed helps. By the time it's empty, Jimin has stopped crying, sniffling every now and then while his eyes bore holes into the flowery tablecloth. The woman is sitting across the table from him, while the man who probably is her husband has leaned against the counter with his arms casually crossed over his chest. Jimin can't bring himself to look at them. Can't bring himself to look at this kitchen he can't recognise; it's all new and bright and lived in, a few dishes in the sink, pictures on the fridge-
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to break down like that, this is embarrassing."
"No worries," the man smiles (Jimin hears him smile in the way his voice curls upwards, gentle and deep). "It happens. Wanna tell us what's wrong? Can we help you maybe?"
Jimin bites his lower lip. Can they help him? Probably not. He has all the answers he came to find, really- or rather, he knows he won't find them. Find him. He doesn't give a shit that his father's gone, but- Yoongi.
"I don't know," he murmurs. "I don't… I don't know. I've been gone six years and… and now this isn't my house anymore… I don't understand. What happened? Did he leave? Did he just- leave?"
He's barely making sense, talking to himself more than the couple facing him. The woman gets up and places a tin of biscuits on the table, pushing it toward Jimin.
"Did you… oh, this is probably none of our business but did you happen to know the previous owner?" she tentatively asks.
"I used to live here," Jimin says. "This… this is my childhood home. House. I… I had no idea the owner had changed."
"We bought this house almost two years ago," the man says. "From an estate agency. They told us nothing about the previous owner, but the house was in a terrible state when we got it. Pretty much had to build it all back up, it must have been abandoned for quite a while."
"Abandoned?" Jimin repeats, incapable of letting the news sink in. "But… but he… where would he go?"
He drowns his face in his hands, forces himself to breathe as deeply and slowly as his lungs allow him. He's about to apologise and announce he's leaving when a cry interrupts him. A- a baby cry. The woman starts to stand but her husband smiles and pats her shoulder and goes,"don't move, honey, I'll take care of it." Jimin raises panicked eyes toward the lady the second the man is out of earshot.
"What's he gonna do?"
She frowns, visibly puzzled by the fear in Jimin's voice.
"Bring her back here, I think. She must have woken up hungry," she says like it's no big deal, casually standing and puttering about the kitchen to prepare a bottle.
Jimin can't breathe. Can't breathe until the man returns with a little bundle of blankets in his arms and the most gorgeous, happy smile on his face.
"Ooh, who's the hungry little bun?" he coos, tickling the baby's chin. "Mummy's preparing your food, hmm? Gotta fill that little tummy?"
The baby squeals and makes noises that might be attempted syllables but mostly sound like gargling drool.
"You're the cutest little bun, yes you are," the father chuckles.
Jimin deflates like a poorly tied balloon. He can only watch as the woman gives her husband the warm bottle of milk and they both sit down at the table, the man feeding the baby.
"Sorry about that, babies don't like to wait," the woman says warmly.
"It's okay," Jimin whispers. "I should- I should leave." He fidgets with his fingers for a few, then clenches his teeth. "Just- look, this might sound weird but- were there any pieces of furniture when you got here? A- a bed, maybe, upstairs?"
The man frowns.
"No. The house had been emptied before we moved in, there was nothing left."
All Jimin wants to do right now is curl in a tight little ball on the floor and weep. He took too long. He tried his hardest but he was still too slow, too late, too late to come back and get Yoongi- tears roll down his cheeks again, but he barely feels them. His whole body has gone numb.
"I'm really sorry," the man grimaces. "I don't… I don't know what to tell you."
"S'not your fault. Not your fault," Jimin chokes. "It's… It's mine. Maybe I should never have left. Now I… now I… I don't know what to do."
The woman reaches over the table and softly pats Jimin's hand, grabs it, squeezes it gently. Jimin only cries harder.
"I'm so, so sorry," she breathes. "Maybe we could call the agency, Jinnie, what do you think? Maybe they know what the former owner became?"
The man slowly nods.
"We could do that, absolutely. I'll go look for the number as soon as she's done eating."
Jimin shakes his head no, surprising the couple.
"I don't care about him," he spits. "God, he could have died in a ditch somewhere and I wouldn't give the smallest shit. He's the reason I left. But he had no right to- to what, just up and abandon the house and get rid of the one thing I cared about? Fuck him."
Anger has replaced the tears, clearly shocking the couple. Jimin stands and bows, deep and stiff and desperate.
"I'm sorry," he apologises once more. "I shouldn't have barged in like that and unloaded my tragic life story on you. You seem to be a nice family. I'll just… I'll just go, I suppose."
The man stands as well and delicately gives the baby to his wife.
"Wait," he calls firmly before Jimin can turn away. "Wait, kid- you're in shock. You can't leave like that, I'm not letting you drive in this state. We don't- we don't even know your name, damn, we did it all wrong. I'm Seokjin, this is my wife Seulgi and my daughter Rina."
"Park Jimin," Jimin answers mechanically.
The man is taller than him. Broader. Jimin backs down carefully, complying when he gets offered a seat again. He keeps his eyes set on the man's hands, flinches when he extends one toward him.
"Jinnie, I think he's scared of you," Seulgi whispers.
Seokjin opens wide, surprised eyes.
"What? Scared of me? No one's ever been scared of me. Kid- Jimin, are you- oh god, you look like you're gonna faint, do you need to lie down?"
Lie down, maybe not. But Jimin's gonna need a whole lot of tissues if he keeps bursting into tears like that.
He thought he'd been doing better. Steadier. He thought he'd grown more self-confident. But everything is crumbling down. The one thing that kept him going- coming back for Yoongi, holding that promise… it's gone now. Disappeared. Vanished in between the shadows.
He doesn't really focus on what happens next. Seokjin helps him up and brings him to lie down on the couch in the living room. He talks, little reassuring nothings, words that don't exactly reach Jimin's mind but wrap him in a comforting blanket. He leaves at some point. Jimin might have fallen asleep, or at least into some kind of slumber. It's evening by the time he wakes up, summer sky almost purple above the bright, flowery garden. Jimin gets up, feeling like he's been run over by his own truck.
Whispering voices in the kitchen. He walks there, knocks on the door, numb and empty but somehow feeling a little calmer.
"Ah, you woke up," Seokjin smiles. "Right in time for dinner. You scared us, that was one bad panic attack… how do you feel?"
"Hollow," Jimin shrugs.
"Food will help with that," Seulgi declares. "Come on, sit down, it's ready."
And Jimin would have protested, really, tried to tell them they didn't have to feed him on top of dealing with his turmoil, but right now all the energy he has is hardly enough to sit down and grasp the chopsticks, so he does that and keeps his mouth shut.
Food is simple noodle stir-fry with vegetables and chicken, but Jimin realises he has probably never eaten a home-cooked meal in his entire life and oh, yup, those are tears again. He wipes his eyes on his sleeve and keeps eating, determined not to make a scene again.
It helps, though, companionable silence and a healthy dinner, a warm cup of tea despite the still vivid heat; the sun is gently going down, slow slow slow, brushing the street with golden rays.
Eventually, after Seokjin finishes washing the dishes and they all settle back around the table, Jimin manages to talk without tearing apart. Seulgi and Seokjin don't pry. They just… lend a compassionate ear, and honestly Jimin could use a little compassion. Also, he feels like he owes them his story, what with how utterly kind they were to him, despite how strange it must have been to see a weird kid barge in and claim their house is his house and have at least three consecutive meltdowns. Yeah.
So he tells them, not in great detail but enough that they understand; he tells them about his life with his father, about the alcohol and the fights and the bruises; he tells them of the fear and the anger; he tells them of the day he escaped, never imagining back then that it would be the last time he'd see his own father. That the last thing the man would give him would be a bloody nose and a lifetime of regrets.
"May I ask-" Seulgi hesitates. "May I ask why you wanted to come back? Clearly you didn't want to see him again."
Jimin bites his lower lip.
"You're gonna think I'm crazy."
Seokjin chuckles, squeaky and kind. He pats Jimin's hand, and oh, how interesting it is to receive affectionate touch from anyone without fearing the next blow.
"Don't worry about that. You're safe here, and we're ready to listen to whatever you want to tell us. You don't have to, though."
Jimin lets him squeeze his hand once before letting go. He ponders- should he tell the truth? Risk being considered mad? Oh well. Can it really be worse, honestly?
"I… look, I know you're not going to believe me, and I have no way to prove anything, so that's that. I had… I had a friend. Here. I couldn't take him with me when I left, and I promised him I'd come back for him someday. And here I am, but…" Jimin trails off. The pain flares in his gut as he realises once more he failed Yoongi. He broke his promise. "Sorry, it's just… it's just so painful to realise I came back too late."
"I can imagine why your father would leave after you went away," Seulgi frowns. "But why wouldn't your friend follow you? He must be somewhere, right? Did he live in the neighbourhood?"
The sun goes down, the last rays brushing the street one last time with tenderness before the sky turns velvety and dark. Jimin smiles, forlorn, as he remembers how dusk used to be the best part of his day.
"He lives in the non-existence plane between the shadows," he says. "He was the monster under my bed."
Silence.
"The… the what?"
Jimin lets out a helpless giggle.
"I know! I know. But Yoongi wasn't an imaginary friend. He protected me for years, scaring off my dad when he came to beat me up at night. Yoongi would take the most terrifying appearances to make him leave, and then he'd turn all soft and cuddly to comfort me. I promise I'm not lying."
Both Seokjin and Seulgi look… perplexed, to put it mildly. Jimin grins at them with tears in his eyes.
"But Yoongi was tied to my bed. Like some kind of curse. So when I left, I couldn't take him with me, but I promised him I'd come back with a truck so I'd take the whole bed. Well. Obviously my bed isn't there anymore. It's probably broken somewhere in a landfill, I guess." The tears spill out, rolling down his cheeks. "I'm never gonna see him again. I won't ever be able to tell him how much I missed him…"
His voice breaks, and he drowns his face into his hands. It's not panic anymore. It's just sorrow, deep as the sea, wide as the moon. Sorrow like vines smothering his heart. Strangling his lungs.
Upstairs, the baby cries; Seulgi stands up, followed by Seokjin. They briefly exchange a glance, you go or I go, and Jimin stands, too.
"Can I… can I come? I mean… I'm sorry if it's weird. I just…"
"Want to see your old room?" Seokjin suggests. "Sure."
***
IV
Yoongi leans against the crib, waving his colourful feathers around.
"Shh, you're fine, little one. He's coming, I can feel it. I'm gonna miss you, you know? But you don't need me."
The baby squeals happily. Yoongi grins, too many teeth and too many eyes. Then the door opens, not quite as violently as Yoongi expected, and here he is.
Jimin chokes, trips on his feet, catches himself on the wall. Yoongi turns toward the door, arms open wide.
"Y-"
The name gets stuck inside his throat as Yoongi grins to him, gummy and wide, pink hair a mess atop his head. He doesn't need to be scary right now. He can be the one Jimin is looking for.
"Hey, Jimin."
Jimin looks on the verge of running to him when Seokjin steps behind him.
"Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my daughter's room?!"
Ah, yes. It had to happen at some point. Yoongi just raises a brow, steps away from the crib, and tilts his head to the side. His edges ripple. He feels the wings grow and the fur cover his skin and the red eyes appear all over.
"Can't you guess?" he asks, gravelly and deep.
"Oh god," Seulgi breathes.
Jimin runs to Yoongi. He crashes into the furry scaly clawy arms, hugs the broad monster body against him. Yoongi squeezes him tight. It's him. It's him. It's been so long, even for a shadow who doesn't feel time.
"Yoongiyoongiyoongiyoongi-" Jimin mumbles into Yoongi's chest.
Yoongi gently cards his claws through his hair, soft soft soft despite the sharpness. Slowly, his form fades back into the human-looking one.
"Don't be scared," he says.
"Easier said than done," Seokjin squeaks.
A raspy laugh. Yoongi doesn't stop hugging Jimin. It's not like Jimin is letting go anyway.
"So uh… you're… you're Jimin's friend?" Seulgi tentatively asks. "Didn't he say you were…"
"Bound to the bed, yes," Yoongi shrugs. "But Jimin's father destroyed the bed. A few weeks after Jimin left. And I thought it would… kill me, in a way. Close the passage between your world and my non-existence plane between the shadows."
"And it didn't," Jimin says, asks, leaning back to look at his face.
Yoongi smiles. He smiles so wide his cheeks hurt.
"It didn't. It freed me from the binding. I would have looked for you, Jimin, but I didn't know how. And you'd promised, right? So I waited for you."
"I came back," Jimin whispers. "I have a truck and everything."
"I could fit inside your pocket now," Yoongi chuckles.
Seokjin finally seems to regain his senses, walking into the room and tentatively tugging his wife along, going to have a look at their daughter. Yoongi glances at the crib. Rina is still happily munching on her own hand, gargling around it.
"I've been looking after that one," he says fondly. "I thought… I thought she'd be my duty, until Jimin came back. I would have protected her tooth, beak and claw." He turns to Seokjin and Seulgi, fixes them with a hard stare. "I would have done anything to keep her safe, but turns out you do that already. She doesn't need me. So if it's alright with you, little Rina won't have a monster under her bed anymore. I'll leave with Jimin."
Seulgi chuckles a little nervously.
"I didn't realise you'd give us a choice."
"I'm not. I'm just polite," Yoongi deadpans.
Jimin giggles in his arms. Yoongi detaches himself from him, just to get a good look at him.
"You've grown so much."
"I'm twenty-four now."
"I know. I kept your candle. I made a wish every year for your birthday." Yoongi fishes the candle out of a fold in the shadows. It's all melted and tiny now. "Every year I wished for you to come back."
Jimin takes his hand, holds it tight tight tight, smiles so bright it erases the tear trails and the tiredness. Yoongi gently brushes his cheek, forgetting they're not alone.
"I missed you so much."
Seokjin delicately clears his throat.
"I hate to interrupt your moment, you're both adorable, but might you want to have this discussion elsewhere so my baby can sleep?"
Jimin startles, Yoongi just grins. They follow Rina's parents downstairs, hand in hand, and Yoongi relishes in the way the shadows curl around him without impeding him.
Jimin declines Seokjin's and Seulgi's offer to stay for the night.
"It's really kind of you," he says, "But the drive is only two hours long or so, it'll be fine. And I need to get home before sunrise so Yoongi's still there, I can't… I can't take the risk of leaving during the day and wondering all along if he's gonna be here when the night comes."
Seokjin purses his lips.
"If you're sure… you've had a lot of emotion today, I'm a little worried about letting you drive."
"Nothing will happen to Jimin as long as I'm with him," Yoongi says.
"I… okay," Seokjin relents. "Still. Would you mind giving us a call tomorrow though? Just to tell us you made it home safely?"
Jimin nods.
"That I can do."
Seokjin scribbles his number on a slip of paper and extends it to Jimin. Seulgi hugs the boy tightly. (She hovers hesitantly near Yoongi, tentatively pats his shoulder.) (He doesn’t mind, he did have fur and scales and claws and too many eyes just a few minutes prior; it takes some getting used to.)
"Well, it's been a wild ride," she says. "I'm so happy for you."
Jimin takes Yoongi's hand again, like he can't get enough. Yoongi squeezes back. He can't get enough either.
The couple walk them to Jimin's truck; Yoongi marvels at the way his steps feel on the grass, at the way he receives moonlight on his skin for the first time, at the gentle prickle of the stars above.
"I'm free," he breathes, just for himself, just to greet the sky and the night and the air, just to feel the infinity of passages between the world and the non-existence plane between the shadows.
He turns to Seokjin and Seulgi right when Jimin makes the engine roar to life.
"Oh, by the way," he smiles. "Your daughter's notion of fear might be a little skewed because of me. She kept laughing every time I showed her my true form."
"Wait, what?"
Yoongi shrugs.
"Rejoice," he says. "She's not gonna be scared of much. That's a good thing."
Jimin smiles next to him, waving at the couple.
"She doesn't need to be scared. Thank you again, so much."
"Come back some time, Jimin!" Seulgi shouts as they drive down the street.
Yoongi looks at him. Jimin is smiling, serene and quiet and focused.
"Will you come back to them some day?"
"I don't know," Jimin says. "Maybe. Will you be by my side?"
Yoongi reaches over to lay his hand on Jimin's thigh. He says it out loud this time.
"I'll be with you till the end of days. I'll be with you till the dying sun plunges the world into an eternal night. I'll be with you, Jimin."