Chapter Text
The country of Aramore sits nestled within the idyllic confines of a series of valleys and low rolling hills, verdant green and growing, all meadows and fields and sparkling cities and little villages with curling smoke and brightly tiled roofs. It is beautiful, it is charming, but even here, there is danger to be had.
Jeongguk runs.
A streak of black fur, fast as his long legs can carry him through the mist-laden morning, the woods vibrant with the growth of a lush summer.
He runs.
Behind him three foxes give chase, hybrids like himself, laughing and jeering because they can smell his terror, taste it on their tongues. His heart hammers in his chest, a rapid fire beat of terror and desperation, fear and the instinctual need to survive.
He runs, though it feels like his heart is going to burst from his chest. He runs, though every breath is agony. He runs, because he has no other choice.
He must be fleet-footed and sure, his mother told him, he must run fast, because he is prey, and prey will always be hunted.
He’s in a part of the forest he doesn’t recognize, running still, though his lungs feel like they’re going to burst and his body is shaking from more than just fear. Still he hears the foxes, still he knows they’re coming, high-pitched yips and jeering growls and the click-clack-clatter of snapping jaws.
Then he sees it, a fence in the distance, tall though, he’s not sure if he can clear it, he’s not sure if the foxes can either, but he has to risk it, has to make it, if he wants to not get caught, if he wants to live. He can’t get caught, his mother had told him to run, his mother had told him to survive.
Jeongguk leaps and…
Lands on the other side.
He’s in a garden, hedges and flowers flash by as he keeps running, not convinced he is safe, not yet.
The sound of pursuit fades, and not a moment too soon as he comes stumbling to a halt beneath a bush; he is exhausted, hungry, thirsty, and as his vision goes dark, he still feels the fear, like a brand upon his heart, burning and fierce and slow to fade.
Only when he is unconscious does it stop.
🌱
BigRicePiano- Heart of the Wind
Jeongguk blinks awake to violet gloaming and cricket song and a dark figure looming above him.
He backs away, legs weak and body shaking with fatigue; he’s so tired, he had just wanted to rest, he backs further under the bush, in too much pain to move any further, eyes wide as he looks up at the silhouette of what appears to be a man
“Hello, little trespasser,” the man says, his voice surprisingly gentle, “Do you care to explain yourself?”
Jeongguk’s nose twitches as he catches the stranger's scent; it’s strange, like nothing he’s ever smelled before, like woodsmoke and copper, bright and comforting at the same time, with an underlying tone of something akin to warm spice, cardamom, he thinks. There’s some part of him that is soothed by it, but not enough to ease the terror he feels as the man kneels and peers down under the bush.
His eyes are gold and his skin is tanned and from his black hair two thick, curling horns emerge. Jeongguk squeaks in fright, presses himself back against the narrow trunk, and considers running, but he is trapped, cornered with no escape, and what if the man is a hybrid that is faster than him, what if he shifts and catches Jeongguk and what if—
The man does shift, but into a sitting position, cross legged in front of him with his elbows resting on his knees. He sighs and leans forward, “It is very nearly dinner, and although you are an uninvited guest, it has been some time since I had the chance to entertain, perhaps you would like to come up to the house instead of hiding under the boxwood…” he trails off and his tone turns kind, “I can assure you that whoever forced you over my walls will not bother you here.”
“My name is Park Jimin,” he continues, “And this, for better or for worse, is my home,” he gives Jeongguk a lopsided smile and gestures towards the path, “If you’d like, you can follow me and I will let you rest, feed you, and offer you clothing if you desire to shift. If not, we will pass by the gate that leads to the main road on our way to the house, and you are welcome to leave when we do.”
He doesn’t wait for a response, he just pushes himself to his feet and starts to walk, but he keeps his pace slow and measured, like he knows he’ll startle Jeongguk if he moves too fast.
There must be a catch, this must be a trap, for surely this man isn’t being kind for no reason, that’s not how things worked, that wasn’t the world that Jeongguk lives in. But as he looks around at the velvet eventide and sees himself surrounded by blooming flowers and the scent of freshly turned earth, he wonders if maybe he's leaped that fence and found himself in an entirely different world.
Still, he’s afraid, he lingers under the brush and watches the other hybrid until he’s halfway to the house, where he glances over his shoulder and smiles at Jeongguk, “It’s fine if you’d rather stay out here, as well. The garden is as safe as my home.”
Then he turns and continues to walk, steps still slow and measured, a silhouette against the setting sun.
Jeongguk sniffs around the area under the hedge, but there’s nothing here aside from dirt and exposed roots and little rocks and there’s nothing at all here to quiet his rumbling stomach, he needs to find nourishment from somewhere, and he won’t if he keeps hidden below the boxwood.
He gathers his courage and emerges from his hiding place, nose twitching and ears back, on high alert as he scans his surroundings. But there’s nothing here except flowers and industrious insects, too intent on their work to bother with a little black rabbit and his fear, so he gathers his courage and roves further, trailing behind the strange man at a safe distance.
He finds a fountain near the back porch of the house, tall and stately, carved out of marble and granite, and ringed with a dense circle of forget-me-not and lily of the valley. He hops up onto the lip of the fountain and laps at the water greedily, it’s cold and clear and tastes sweeter than he expected, and he drinks until the sound of a door opening catches his attention.
Jeongguk jumps down instantly, tucking his small body away among the flowers and leaves and peering up at the house with wide eyes. Jimin has emerged, holding a wide, shallow bowl in one hand, “I made you something,” he calls into the gathering darkness, though Jeongguk is certain he is too well hidden to be seen, and his own scent of dew, clover, and daffodils would be hard to distinguish in a garden as verdant as this one, “It’s not much, just some things I grew— spinach and carrots and peas, but… if you are hungry and didn’t feel like foraging…” he trails off and descends the steps to place the bowl on the grass before backing away, “I’m going inside now, please feel free to eat that, if you’d like.”
And true to his word, he goes back inside and closes the door behind him.
Time creeps by as Jeongguk considers his choices, he can ignore the offer and forage, yes; by the sound of it there is a vegetable garden somewhere on the property that would offer him dinner, or he could make due with whatever clover and newly sprouted grass he could find, but the former feels like theft and the latter will not provide the best nourishment…
The bowls sit in the grass, wide and nearly overflowing with greens. It looks inviting, easy— things that Jeongguk is not used to, not after being alone for so long.
Slowly, carefully, he creeps from amidst the flowers, keeping low and glancing every other second at the door to the house until he is close enough to the bowl to smell it. There is nothing strange about the scent, it smells exactly like the things Jimin said it included, and after a moment's hesitation Jeongguk takes a single, cautionary nibble, chewing slowly and waiting for any ill effects.
But nothing happens, and it is amazing.
He’s forgotten what it was like having food that had been nurtured and grown for the specific purpose of eating. He’s been surviving off of whatever he can find or stealing for so long, that eating cultivated food that had been freely given was strange, but not in a bad way. He begins to eat in earnest, not a single bite going to waste as he fills his stomach, so intent on his meal that he doesn’t notice the flicker of curtains from the house as Jimin watches him with a little smile on his face.
🌱
He sleeps in the garden, too frightened to return to the woods.
He wakes in fits and bursts throughout the night, every little sound scaring him, even though he is safely tucked away under the hedge and there’s not enough room for anything larger than another rabbit to fit. Still, every sound has him on edge, every whisper of wind wakes him. He stays huddled and small, little nose tucked under his paws, eyes wide when he’s awake, ears twitching even as he sleeps, dreams full of running, running, running.
And sometimes of being caught.
He wakes to bright sunlight and birdsong, the whole garden alive in the early hours, before it will become too hot for anyone to do much outside of laying in the shade. Though autumn will be here soon, the warmth will linger even as the days grow shorter, but Jeongguk chooses not to dwell on the arrival of fall, because fall is followed by winter, and last year Jeongguk had very nearly succumbed to exposure and starvation.
He’ll cross that road when he comes to it, he tells himself.
His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of soft footsteps drawing near, and he presses back into the shadows beneath the hedge until he catches the scent of copper and woodsmoke and lets himself relax slightly.
It’s only Jimin.
A moment later and a face appears at the gap between the earth and the hedge, and despite knowing who it is, Jeongguk lets out a dismayed little squeak, scurrying backwards and making himself as small as possible.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Jimin says, and his face disappears immediately, “I just wasn’t sure if you were still here, though I saw you ate the salad I made, I hope you liked it,” he shuffles back a few steps, “You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like, and if you need anything just let me know. I promise I won’t bother you, but I do like to be out in my yard a lot during the day, so I’ll be nearby…” he trails off and Jeongguk hears the faintest of sighs followed by the sound of retreating footsteps.
It takes Jeongguk about a half an hour before he can work up the courage to emerge from under the boxwood.
Jimin is nowhere to be seen, but not far from Jeongguk’s hiding spot, in the shade of a laurel tree, are two bowls, one filled with water, the other with a salad like last night’s. He settles in, pausing every now and then to rear back on his hind legs and survey his surroundings, but Jimin is nowhere in sight, and other than him, the garden seems deserted.
By the time he’s done, the sun is well and truly risen and the summer heat is settling over the garden, he retreats back under the hedge and lies belly down on the dirt, but it does little to relieve him, and he can’t help but think about the fountain near the house, how cool the stones around it will be, how the flowers would offer him shade from the sun. It’s tempting, so tempting, so after some consideration he gathers his courage and hops out from beneath the boxwood and retraces last night's steps.
It’s quiet by the fountain, so he stretches out and lays with his back to the stone, surrounded by flowers and it’s not long before he’s fallen asleep, a real and restful one after the nervousness of last night.
After a while he hears the faint sound of someone moving around in the distance, and though logic tells him it’s Jimin, fear forces him upright to check. His assumption proves correct, as he catches sight of black horns and hair glinting from between magenta hollyhocks and sapphire delphinium. He’s humming to himself with a surprisingly sweet and delicate voice and despite himself, Jeongguk feels the urge to draw closer.
He doesn’t though.
He might be curious, but he knows that often a curious rabbit is a dead rabbit, so he hunkers down and watches from a distance and wants something that he can’t quite name.
🌱
The next few days pass much like the first; Jimin leaves him food and fresh water near his hedge, Jeongguk spends his day in the flowers around the fountain, and neither of them interact with the other.
But for the first time in a very, very long while, Jeongguk feels safe.
Jimin was right, nothing comes over the fence except wind and birds and squirrels and insects, and nothing digs under it except moles and mice. It’s peaceful here too, quiet and calm, and slowly but surely, Jeongguk begins to relax.
It’s hard at first, not jumping at every faint snap of a twig or diving into the nearest hiding spot when he hears a squirrel leaping through the foliage of a tree, but eventually he gets there, eventually he comes to accept that nothing is going to hurt him, and that includes Jimin.
He’s gotten more curious about his mysterious host with every passing day, and takes to following him (at a distance), which allows for observation, though Jimin does nothing except tend to his garden. He weeds and trims and plants and culls with meticulous care, and it reminds Jeongguk of the time before, when he spent most of his days in the form of a man, not a rabbit, when he had a family and a home and a garden they called their own.
He does his best to not dwell on that.
Instead he grooms his face and ears and paws and watches a pair of sparrows as they tend to their newly hatched children, the baby's shrill cries loud in the otherwise quiet garden. Jimin is within sight, for once not working, but stretched out on a blanket beneath an arbor that is covered in rose vines, their peppery-sweet scent so thick it nearly drowns out his smoky, copper one. His scent is bewildering to Jeongguk, who has never smelled anything like it before, and he tries idly to figure out what sort of hybrid he might be, but to no avail, nothing he can think of matches. The horns are common enough on rams and the like, the golden eyes are often seen in eagle and hawk hybrids, but he can think of nothing that would combine the two.
Then there’s his diet, Jeongguk has never once smelled meat cooking outside of the occasional fish, surely a predator would be more inclined to eat meat of other kinds, but Jimin doesn’t seem to share that inclination, and it leaves Jeongguk bewildered and curious.
He wants to know more about his mysterious host.
🌱
He gets his chance a week later.
He’s become more bold about tailing Jimin around the garden, never allowing them to get too close, but no longer trying to hide his presence, either. He is currently watching from the lawn as Jimin walks towards the only gate in the walls that surround his property, but before he opens it, he glances over his shoulder at Jeongguk.
“I’ll be gone for a few hours,” he says, “There are things I need to attend to…” he trails off and glances at the sky, “I should be back by dinner, but if for some reason I’m not, you are more than welcome to make use of the kitchen,” he gives Jeongguk a little smile and a wave, and this disappears through the gate and into the woods.
Jeongguk spends the rest of the afternoon lazing about beside the fountain, belly pressed to the cool stones, half asleep in the warm sunlight. But then afternoon slips into evening, and evening into dusk, and Jimin still hasn’t returned.
And Jeongguk is hungry.
He does his best to sate it with what he can find in the garden, but there’s not much in the way of ripe produce since Jimin had harvested most of it that morning, and the only patches of clover are small and a bit older than what he’d prefer, fibrous and tough and a little bitter. He stands in the lawn and glances from the yard to the house, which looms before him, imposing and dark without the usual warmly lit windows and inviting occupant.
Velvet and violet gloaming has settled as he creeps toward the house, though he knows his caution is unwarranted. Still, every bat squeak and wind whisper has him flinching, eyeing the slightly ajar door with trepidation. If he goes inside it will be the first time he’s set foot in a building since he left home, and he’s genuinely not sure if he’s ready for that.
One step, then the next, and he’s on the porch, nose wiggling, ears twitching, heart beating like birds wings in his chest. He pauses, waits, peers into shadows that his rabbit eyes can’t pierce, and then with a final glance towards the gate and the dark road beyond, he noses his way into the house.
Everything is dark of course, the shapes of furniture and cluttered cabinets surround him, all cloaked in shadow and eventide as he hops further into the hall, following his nose towards the kitchen only to be blocked by an insurmountable problem.
A door.
This time not left ajar.
He thumps his foot against the floor in frustration, hunger loud in his stomach as he glares up at the door and its knob, debating with himself as to what to do next. He could turn, leave, hope Jimin comes home soon and gives him his meal out on the grass, or he could take matters into his own hands, literally. He could shift and have hands instead of paws for the first time in seasons.
The thought alone is a terrifying one, he’s been a rabbit for so long, he doesn’t know what he’ll do with himself in human form, doesn’t know if he’ll be able to do things with his hands like he used to, so accustomed to the body he’s survived in for months.
He sits there in uncertainty until the silence is shattered by the chiming of a grandfather clock, announcing the seventh hour. He jumps and scurries underneath a table, but aside from the ominous ringing of the chimes, the house remains still.
It’s late, he wonders where Jimin is.
After his heart rate slows, he creeps to the edge of the table and peers around the room once more, just to reassure himself that he’s alone, and that’s when he sees it, a shirt and a pair of breeches, neatly folded and sitting on a shelf beside the kitchen door.
As if Jimin was hoping he’d come inside.
He swallows down his fear and slinks out of his hiding place, eyes wide and trained on the clothes. I can do this , he tells himself, I can shift and wear clothes and prepare myself a meal, and when I’m done I can shift again and disappear into the garden once more . So that’s exactly what he does. It takes all his concentration, and his bones ache in protest as he transforms, the process slow and painful because he hasn’t done it for so long.
But then it’s done , and instead of a small, black rabbit, he is a tall, pale skinned man. His hair is longer than he thought it would be, past his shoulder now, and his once broad and muscular frame is smaller due to lack of use, but he’s himself , he’s Jeongguk wearing his human skin for the first time in over a year. He stands up from his crouched position slowly, unsteady on two feet, and reaches for the clothes only to catch a glimpse of himself in a nearby mirror.
Eyes wide, face a little gaunt, he looks like he expects, yes, but also like a stranger, and it hits him that the last time he looked like this, he was surrounded by his family.
He shoves those thoughts aside and dresses himself slowly, glad that Jimin brought him simple clothes that don’t involve any buttons, because his hands feel clumsy and uncertain as he tugs on his breeches and fumbles with the corded waist. The shirt is loose fitting and long-sleeved, but the sleeves are a little too short on him, as are the breeches, which means that Jimin is actually shorter than him in stature.
Most predators are bigger than Jeongguk, so what exactly is Jimin?
It occurs to him that he could do more than just make dinner, he could investigate the house. But the thought alone makes him more nervous then he already is, so instead he slips into the kitchen and that’s where he stays, limiting his snooping to cupboards and cold boxes, noting a cellar door that leads down into a small, cool space that smells of earth and wood and root vegetables. Curiosity sated, he gets to work making himself a meal. He doesn’t bother with any lights, letting the faint glow from outside illuminate things for him and struggling a little because of it. But he barely trusts his shaking hands to use a knife, let alone strike a match and light one of the lanterns that hang overhead, so he makes do and in no small amount of time, he procures himself a dinner.
He decides then that he should make enough for two.
It’s the least I can do , he tells himself. After all, Jimin has been making him meals every day for a little over two weeks, certainly he can return the favor tonight. So he pulls a second bowl from the cupboard and begins to make another salad. When he is done he leaves one covered by a plate near an open window to keep it cool and takes the other for himself, devouring it quickly because of how hungry he is.
As he eats he thinks about how Jimin might miss the bowl and then the food would go to waste, so after a moment's hesitation, he slips into the entry hall and finds a quill, ink, and parchment tucked into a little writing desk.
With trembling hands and his tongue poking out in concentration, he dips the quill and carefully writes out in unsteady script, “For you” he stares at it for a long time, struggling with himself, and then decides to also add “thank you” underneath. He blows on the parchment gently until the ink dries, then takes it into the kitchen with him, propping it up against the bowl and nodding in satisfaction. The paper stands in stark contrast to the dark wood fixtures, and he’s certain that Jimin will notice it as soon as he walks in. Nodding to himself, he goes back to his meal, intent on finishing it and cleaning up his mess.
He’s almost done when he hears the sound of the gate opening.
Panic sets in immediately, and he shifts as quickly as possible, untangling himself from the pile of clothes and leaping onto a chair, the counter, then through the open window to land with scrabbling paws on the porch before racing out into the safety of the garden, where he hides himself among the flowers and stares up at the house as a light flickers on. He can see the kitchen window from here, which means he can see Jimin when he finds the bowl of salad and his little note.
It also means he can see the way Jimin looks out at the garden, and though there’s no way he can spot Jeongguk from where he’s hidden, he knows the smile on the others face is directed at him. It sates something in him, quiets the guilt that nags him softly, telling him he is not worthy of the gentle consideration the other has shown him. He slips away, back towards his hiding place below the hedge, and settles in for the night.
Jeongguk sleeps very well, for the first time in what feels like a long while.
🌱
Leon Chang- Winter Melon Valley
After that night, Jimin starts talking to him.
Not about anything in particular, just little things like the state of the garden, the weather, the books he is reading. Jeongguk finds his voice soothing, and since it is fairly obvious he isn’t expected to say anything in return, he will often let himself doze, half awake and listening to the gentle cadence of Jimin’s beautiful voice. Summer is beginning to wane, the days growing shorter and the nights cooler, and in the early hours of the morning Jeongguk can often hear geese flying overhead, traveling south for the winter.
It is on a morning such as this that the visitor arrives.
Jeongguk is grooming himself, perched on a stone where he can keep an eye on the garden and Jimin, who was currently watering his vegetable garden, “Look Bun,” he says as he crouches down and pushes aside a few leaves, “Our pumpkins are finally starting to ripen,” he has taken to referring to Jeongguk as Bun, as well as calling everything in the garden theirs, “They’re really good roasted, or I can make a soup out of them, oh! And bread!”
Jeongguk twitches his nose at Jimin, who laughs, “I suppose you prefer your vegetables raw in that form, yes?” He lets the leaves fall back into place, then inches to the side a little to examine another vine before glancing up at Jeongguk, “You could always go back to your human form, if you wanted, I promise that—”
He’s cut off by the sound of a ringing bell, and it takes Jeongguk a moment to place it as the one that hangs by the front gate. With a frown, Jimin rises from the soil and brushes the dirt from his hands, “Now who could that be? I wasn’t expecting visitors…” he murmurs, then glances at Jeongguk, who’s frozen in place, wide eyed and staring, nose twitching nervously, and offers him a reassuring smile, “Don’t worry Bun, I doubt it’s anything important.”
With that, he starts walking toward the gate, steps brisk, and though he’s nervous, Jeongguk feels compelled to follow, hopping along a good distance back from Jimin, but always within sight, before tucking himself beneath the scarlet limbs of a red twig bush and peering out from the foliage as Jimin unlocks the gate.
“What are you doing here?” Jeongguk huddles in on himself a little at the sound of Jimin’s voice. It is far removed from his usual, gentle tone. Now it’s tense and a little angry— whoever stands on the other side is not a welcome visitor.
Jeongguk’s sensitive ears pick up on another voice, but not their individual words, though it’s obvious that whatever they have to say doesn’t make Jimin happy, “I said no before, and I am going to keep saying no. I’m not coming back, and nothing you can say will make me change my mind,” he crosses his arms over his chest and glares at whoever is on the other side of the gate, who sighs loudly, as if exasperated.
“Jimin, be reasonable here,“ their voice is louder now, deep and obviously annoyed, “Just come home, we can talk this through—“
“There is nothing to talk through Uri, I wish you would listen to me,” Jimin sighs, the fight bleeding out of his voice to be replaced by what sounds like bone-deep exhaustion, “I’m not going back there, and nothing you can say will change my mind.”
“Can we at least sit down and talk about this like adults?” The person, Uri, apparently asks, but Jimin just shakes his head and laughs.
“That’s rich, now you want to talk about it, what a novel thought, imagine if we’d talked about your plans instead of just dropping them on me, fully-formed, without so much as a by-your-leave?” He scoffs, “But no, that’s not the family way, is it? We have a reputation to uphold, a name to maintain, seasons forbid something should happen to tarnish that !” He seems to cut himself off there, and Jeongguk picks up a faint growl, “Leave me be Uri, and tell your parents that I want nothing to do with them.”
Jeongguk thumps one foot against the ground, aggravated for Jimin, and wanting this odd, angry conversation to be over. He wants to go back to lazing about in the shade, listening to Jimin talk about the garden and the birds and the seasons, wants the peacefulness of just the two of them to return. Jimin seems to catch the sound, and looks over his shoulder to smile reassuringly at Jeongguk.
“Jimin, is there someone else here with you?” Uri asks.
Jimin scoffs, “That’s none of your business,” he replies, each word cut off sharply.
“You know as well as I do that these visits are much more civil then they could be, right? The fact that I’m even respecting your walls is—“
“Do not , threaten me,” Jimin interrupts, “You may be my elder, but we both know who would win in a fight, and no one gets to touch what is mine,” he adds, “I’m tired of this conversation, it’s time for you to go.”
Jeongguk thumps his foot again, this time in agreement.
He sees Jimin’s lips twitch just the slightest bit as the sound reaches his ears, but if Uri can hear it too, he makes no mention of it.
“Fine, but this won’t be the last you see of me,” Uri says, “You know our parents won’t give up on you.”
Jimin snorts, “They’re your parents, not mine, and they absolutely should give up on me,” he says, “Goodbye, Uri.”
A heavy sigh, “Jimin, you know we care… right?”
“I don’t believe you,” Jimin says flatly, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten what I fled from, don’t think I can’t remember what you were about to do.”
There’s a tense moment of silence, and he hears the other man mutter something, low and threatening, but all Jimin does is laugh, broken and weary, “I knew it was only a matter of time before you said something like that. Should I remind you that I wasn’t the one who broke any laws? The only thing I’m guilty of is having a conscience and doing the right thing.”
Without another word he closes the gate, latches it, and marches away without a backward glance. Jeongguk hesitates for a moment as he watches the gate, half expecting it to open once again, or for the bell to ring, but neither things happen, and so he turns and gives chase to Jimin, who has disappeared around the rear of the house.
Jeongguk follows, intent on picking up on where their afternoon had been before the interruption, only to see Jimin collapse beneath the rose arbor, a strangled sob leaving his lips as he falls to the ground and curls up on himself.
Jeongguk stares for a moment, taken off guard by the sight before him, then after a swift internal debate, he cautiously begins to hop forward. He’s still afraid, still uncertain, but he wants to offer some comfort to this stranger who has given Jeongguk a home without question, who has kept him safe and fed and never once asked for anything in return.
So slowly, carefully, Jeongguk gets closer to Jimin, who realizes after a moment that someone is approaching. His golden eyes fly open, all shining with tears, the tip of his delicate nose red and his cheeks flushed, and Jeongguk realizes that he is, in fact, very beautiful, even when he cries. The air is heavy with his scent, all copper and sadness, but Jeongguk does his best to cover it with his own, releasing waves of calming clover and narcissus, which mingles with the smell of roses and green grass till the air is saturated with it. He see’s Jimin’s nostrils flare and a shaking smile curves the edges of his lips, “Is that you, Bun?” he asks, one hand reaching out toward him, not actively seeking to touch, but looking for some form of connection nonetheless, “You smell like spring,” he whispers.
Still slow and careful, Jeongguk hops closer until his whiskers barely brush the tips of Jimin’s fingers, who watches with bated breath, eyes wide and unblinking, until Jeongguk gives in and rubs his chin and cheeks on Jimin’s hand, scenting him in an attempt to ease his sadness. He hears the faintest intake of breath from the other man, but aside from that he remains still and silent, watching as Jeongguk stretches out and rests his head on his open palm, eyes closing as he makes himself comfortable.
“Why haven’t I been able to catch them yet?” Jimin whispers, “Why do I still not have any proof?”
Jeongguk doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but he suddenly wishes he did, that he could help Jimin in some way, but he’s just a rabbit, and a scared one at that.
They lay like that for awhile, the air warm but the breeze cool with the promise of fall, the garden noisome with the sound of bee and bird song and late summer slipping into autumn, and eventually Jeongguk is nearly asleep, head still cradled in Jimin’s palm, when he hears him whisper, “When will you let me see who you truly are, Bun?”
Someday , Jeongguk thinks to himself, someday soon.
🌱
With the changing of the seasons came another change in the unlikely friendship that is growing between him and Jimin.
Autumn is fully upon them now, all the leaves cast in shades of scarlet and amber, the nights are longer and cold, leaving a touch of lacy frost on the garden and the roof of the stone house. Jeongguk makes a nest for himself with soft, dry grasses and maple leaves and rose petals, burrowing into it in the evenings and staying there throughout the night, but he knows it will soon be too cold even for that, and he would need to find a better place to sleep.
Right now though, he is stretched out in the grass, watching Jimin rake leaves, and having a mental debate with himself.
Is it time to shift back into his human form?
He isn’t sure. He had stayed as a rabbit not only as a way to survive, but as a way to help him deal with the horrible losses he had faced before finding himself alone in the woods. Things are muted in this form, emotions more of a distant abstract than something he has to process and live with every day. It would hurt to be human again, but after so long Jeongguk thinks that maybe he is ready.
There had been two more instances of Jimin leaving since the first time, and both times Jeongguk has shifted in order to make them a meal. Now the clothes were a permanent fixture, this time neatly folded and waiting on the porch for him if he so desired to be in human form. He hasn’t done so yet with Jimin around, but he thinks he’s nearly ready, he thinks it might be nice to talk to someone again.
As long as that someone is Jimin.
Because predator or not, Jeongguk has felt more at ease around him then he has yet to feel anywhere since the initial shift. He’s passed by other homes in his wanderings, but he’s never sought shelter at them, and he’s certainly never taken to trailing after someone, listening to them talk while relaxing nearby, but something about Jimin puts him at ease.
He shakes himself out of his thoughts to look up at Jimin, who has moved onto harvesting the last of the peaches from a fading tree, a basket at his feet as he works.
“What do you think, Bun, a peach pie or a cobbler?”
His voice is soft, the question gentle and unassuming, he’s not expecting an answer, he’s not expecting anything. Jeongguk cocks his head to the side and decides that soon, he’ll shift.
🌱
The first rain of the season hits hard and in the middle of the night.
Jeongguk is curled up in his usual spot beneath the boxwood, nestled securely in his little nest when it begins. The first few drops of rain go unnoticed, he’s too deeply asleep and the leaves are dense enough overhead to block a great deal of it, but then it begins to fall harder, fat drops coming down in sheets as the skies open up and within minutes little rivulets of runoff are carving their way through the hard packed soil beneath the hedge, and his little bed is saturated soon after.
He stays huddled in it for a while, sleep fogged brain trying to decide where the best place to seek shelter would be, eventually realizing that his best bet is probably the porch. So he gathers his bearing and makes a run for it, sprinting through the garden and getting soaked within seconds. The house looms dark and silent in front of him as he scurries up the porch steps and huddles beneath a chair, peering out at the rain with a twitching nose. His nest is ruined, and while he should have realized this was going to happen, he finds himself at a loss for what to do next. He could make himself a borrow, though he’s not certain Jimin would welcome more holes then the ones already made by the occasional unwelcome garden guests.
He could leave and try to find a new home, but the idea alone is enough to frighten him. He’s felt safe here for the first time in seasons, he doesn’t want to give that up. And then there’s the ever growing urge to shift back into his human form, and not just for the amount of time it takes to make a meal. No, he wants to be a man again, to be able to do things with his hands, to get to know Jimin, not only be spoken to but to speak with him; he can tell the other hybrid is lonely, and if Jeongguk is honest with himself, he’s lonely too.
He really does want to talk to Jimin, wants to ask him questions, wants to be able to respond when questions are asked of him. Here he feels seen, but for the first time in a long time, he wants to be heard, too.
A light comes on inside, its golden glow spilling out across the porch, and a few minutes later, Jimin emerges from the back door, a cloak on and a lantern held high as he peers out into the dark yard and curses the rain, “You’re going to be soaked,” Jeongguk hears him mutter, and it takes him a moment to realize that he’s the one Jimin is referring to. The other hybrid looks as though he’s about to descend the steps, so Jeongguk thumps his foot against the porch, effectively stopping him in his tracks.
Golden eyes turn to look at him, and a soft smile overtakes Jimin’s features, “Oh, found your way up here then?” he asks, “That’s good…” he sighs and pushes a lock of hair from his eyes, “It’s going to get a lot worse though, and cold… do you… do you want to come inside?”
Jeongguk eyes Jimin, then the still open door, uncertain until a gust of wind blows through, carrying with it wet leaves and bitterly cold droplets of rain, and it’s enough to make up his mind for him. He hops out from his place beneath the chair and after a moment's hesitation, into the house.
“I can leave the door cracked I th—“ Jimin’s offer is cut short by another gust of wind, one that yanks the door shut with a resounding bang that has Jeongguk flinching away from it in fear, “Or maybe I can’t,” Jimin finishes wryly, then he looks down at Jeongguk with a solemn frown, “Look at you, you’re soaked through, and probably freezing.” He disappears into the washroom and reemerges with a towel, but then hesitates, “You can’t really do this for yourself… Maybe you could shift? You could get dry, I can bring you some clothes…” he trails off, looking uncertain. “I don’t want to pressure you, but… it would be nice… if you could talk back.”
Jeongguk blinks up at him and thinks; he knows the time to shift has been drawing nearer with every passing day, so why not tonight? He’d been waiting for a sign, and what better one than mother nature herself chasing him indoors. This is the first time Jimin has so much as suggested he wants something from Jeongguk, and all it is is conversation. He waits until Jimin looks down at him again, and then nods.
The other hybrid’s eyes widen, “You’ll… you’ll do it?” He asks, and when Jeongguk nods again, a smile lights up his features, “Okay, okay, go ahead then, I’ll put some clothes just outside the door.” And then he disappears upstairs and leaves Jeongguk to head into the washroom and nudge the door closed.
He’s shifted in here a few times already, but it’s never felt quite like this. Tonight has a certain weight to it, and he realizes it’s because for the first time in a long while, he has no intention of shifting back into his rabbit form, instead he intends to reveal himself to Jimin, his true self, not the body he’s been hiding in.
His body unfurls into the shape of a man, slowly, painfully; the few times he’s done it these last handful of months not enough to make the transition easier, but then he’s standing at his full height and listening to Jimin place clothes on the floor outside, and he’s looking at himself in the mirror yet again.
Black hair, thick and slightly curled, nearly to his shoulders, wide dark eyes, long sable ears (as well as his human ears), and a scar on his cheek that he’s carried with him since that day.
He traces the tips of his fingers over it, feels the deep groove, thinks of the way the blade felt against his skin, the way his mother had screamed.
He closes his eyes against the pain.
The memories are going to be part of him now, more so than it was before. As a rabbit it was dull, distant, pushed to the back of his thoughts as he focused on survival, on finding food and shelter, then later focused on Jimin. He doesn’t know what to say when he leaves the bathroom a few minutes later, having grabbed the clothes and dressed himself with shaking hands, so he steps out into the golden-lit hall and looks at Jimin, who is leaning against the wall with his hands shoved into the pockets of soft cotton breeches and taking in the sight of him with wide eyes and softly parted lips.
“Hello,” Jeongguk says, his voice rough from disuse. “My name is Jeon Jeongguk,” the words feel clumsy and heavy on his tongue, and they sound even more so to his ears, but Jimin is looking at him like he’s crafting miracles with his voice, so he forges onward. “Thank you so much for letting me live here these last two seasons.” He bows, a little clumsy like his speech, but wanting to show Jimin just how grateful he is for all that the other has done, “I’m sorry I haven’t… been fully myself since I settled here, but I appreciate how much patience you’ve shown me… when it comes to that.”
Jimin blinks at him, then seems to manage to gather his thoughts after a moments struggle, “Of course, Bun— I mean, Jeongguk,” he smiles a little crookedly, “it might take me awhile to get used to calling you that, if I’m honest.”
Jeongguk swallows and ducks his head, “I don’t mind… if you want to keep calling me that,” he admits shyly, his cheeks lighting up with warmth, “so it’s okay… if it keeps happening.” He looks back up to meet Jimin’s eyes, and the look he gets back is so soft, so indescribably fond.
“I got a fire going in the hearth,” Jimin says as he waves toward the sitting room, “and a kettle warming for some tea, I’ll get one of the guest bedrooms ready and you can settle in for the night.”
Jeongguk nods, fiddling a little with the hem of his shirt, feeling odd and out of place in this grand house with its cluttered shelves and high ceilings. He digs his toes into the carpet at his feet, noticing how soft it feels after being outside for so long, and feels the sharp sting of tears beginning to form. He does his best to blink them away, not wanting to burden Jimin more than he already has, but from the look the other gives him, his attempts are futile.
“Here, come here,” Jimin says gently, and gestures for him to follow as he walks towards the sofa in front of a large fireplace, a copper kettle steams on a hook beside it, and Jimin reaches for a haphazard stack of mugs, measures out some lavender and chamomile blossoms, and then grabs the kettle. Jeongguk opens his mouth to say something, because Jimin doesn’t use a towel or mitt of any kind as he pours the water, though it must be incredibly hot, but he seems unbothered, pouring the water slowly and without a hint of pain. The smell of flowers fills the room, accompanied by the sweetening of Jimin’s own scent, the cardamom coming through strongly as he hands Jeongguk a cup with a murmured, “Careful.”
“Thank you,” Jeongguk whispers, hair falling in his eyes as he looks down at the other hybrid, who is still crouched by the hearth and looking up at him through sleep-tousled, dark hair.
“You are so very welcome, Jeon Jeongguk,” Jimin replies.
It’s strange , Jeongguk thinks as the rain lashes the windows and the wind howls outside, how far someone can come, without having realized they are moving at all.