Chapter Text
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They’re calling him V. The new superhero. He flies and bends light and is a symbol of hope for the people. He debuts on TV like some kind of hot shot idol, wearing a tacky gold costume with a cape that flutters in the wind as he smiles for the cameras. When he introduces himself, his deep voice reverberates through the speakers.
He has a nice voice.
Jimin immediately hates him.
But then, he hates all heroes, with their self righteous senses of justice and optimistic attitudes. He wouldn’t spend time getting to know each and every one of them if he didn’t have to in order to survive in this god forsaken world.
“I am prepared to keep this city safe for all you folk. Thank you for trusting me,” V finishes up, and the reporters in the room he’s in burst into applause. Jimin grits his teeth, something ugly churning in his belly.
The way ordinary people put so much faith in the Supers pumped out by their corrupt government makes him sick. He will never respect them, no matter their promises to save lives. If they really wanted to save lives, they would climb off their pedestals and take a look at the world around them.
Instead they live like kings in the hills around the city, looking down their noses at the lesser folk below them.
Jimin wishes they all would burn.
With an angry huff, he grabs the remote and hits the OFF button. V. He’ll learn more about him later. Right now, he has bigger fish to fry, like one Stealo, who he found when sniffing around the city’s black market for high-grade fire-proof equipment. Apparently, Stealo is Luna’s right-hand man. Luna runs this city’s underground, so Jimin knows he’s found the right person.
That doesn’t mean he isn’t extremely wary about associating himself with him. The most he knows about Stealo is that he, well, steals. Even his power is a mystery to Jimin. Whatever his crimes are, they’ve been well covered up.
Jimin reckons that’s because of Luna’s influence, both in the underground and with official authorities.
Even the villains in this city live privileged lives.
What a joke.
Whatever. As long as Stealo has what he needs, he doesn’t give a damn. He checks his watch. T-minus two hours until their scheduled meetup. Jimin has his disguise ready at the foot of the bed, but that should only take him half an hour to put on. So he turns on the TV again, switching the channel until he comes upon something a little spicier than V’s get up.
As in, the actors on TV don’t have a get up.
Jimin finds himself unzipping his pants, palming himself until he’s breathing hard. The actors on TV are not his type—too fake, too performative—but it’s the most release he’s going to get, so he lets himself drown in their moans until he’s moaning himself, sullying his palm in the process.
An hour later, he’s donning a dark haired wig full of soft curls that fall just beneath his shoulders. He wears fake lashes and bold lipstick and a tight black dress hugs his ass. Black stockings come up to the middle of his thigh, and he slips on a pair of shoes with block heels. Jewellery on his ears, neck and fingers complete the look.
He looks like he’s only after one thing with the get up, but that’s exactly what he’s going for. Let people remember someone looking for some action on their streets. It’s better than anyone knowing the feared Phantom Arsonist might be lurking around. There’s a bounty on his head, after all, and he’s sure heroes and villains alike wouldn’t hesitate to turn him in if they knew who he was.
The underground ironically enough exists above ground in the heart of Itaewon, as long as you know where to look. And though Jimin hasn’t been here in years, he finds that not much has changed since he first stumbled upon this place at age fifteen, searching for tools much like the ones he needs right now.
Back then he didn’t have the money to acquire them though. Back then, he moved in the shadows and took what he needed from right under their noses, leaving not a single trace behind. He could do the same now, but he doesn’t want to start a hunt for missing weapons. He already exists as one kind of phantom; better to keep his real powers a secret, if he can help it.
That’s the only reason they haven’t found him.
Stealo is exactly where he said he would be, wearing exactly what he said he would. He overlooks a dance floor from the second floor balcony, his casual fit of flannel and jeans sticking out like a sore thumb amongst its well dressed patrons. But then Luna owns this club, so Stealo can wear whatever he wants.
He doesn’t spot Jimin right away. Jimin knows because Stealo’s dark eyes go right over him. He looks like just another customer here. After all, he’s not the only man dressed like a woman in this place. If Jimin ever found time to have fun, he thinks he could find it here.
The thought is a fleeting one.
He goes right up to the bouncer at the bottom of the staircase leading up, hand on his hip as he nods in Stealo’s direction. “I’m here to meet with Stealo. Tell him Mini is here to see him.”
The bouncer narrows his eyes, but he puts a finger to his ear, radioing someone upstairs with the information. Jimin turns to look up at Stealo just as Stealo looks at him, his curiosity turning into surprise before he schools his face into a mask of indifference.
Someone stands behind him, relaying the information Jimin just gave. A few seconds later, he’s being let up the stairs. He doesn’t bother thanking the bouncer, just straightens his back as he climbs the stairs, head high.
Stealo waits for him in the same spot, but now he no longer faces the dance floor. Instead he leans against the railing, twirling his drink in his hand. His cropped brown hair and bare face give him a boyish look, but his stance exudes confidence, almost like he’s the real owner of this place.
As it is, Luna isn’t around, so effectively, he is.
“Well at least your name sort of does you justice,” Stealo says as Jimin approaches. “Though compared to some of the people here, I wouldn’t exactly call you small. I’m guessing ‘Mini’ isn’t your real name.”
“And ‘Stealo’ isn’t yours,” Jimin retorts. “Let’s skip the pleasantries. Where’s my stuff?”
Stealo huffs, obviously amused, but he pushes off the railing. “Follow me.”
Jimin keeps his eyes peeled as he follows Stealo down a hallway away from the club. There are a bunch of doorways on either side, all covered by velvet curtains. It doesn’t take a genius to know what’s going on behind those curtains, even if the loud music pumping through the club covers most of the moans.
They reach the end of the hallway, and Stealo opens a door to what looks like an office. There’s no one inside, though it looks well used, decked out in ostentatious furniture and trinkets on the shelves. A photo sits on the desk depicting Stealo and a handsome man. Both are smiling, hands around each other’s shoulders. It’s odd to see it in the darkened room, brings a light to it that is just… unusual.
Jimin turns away when he notices Stealo staring, the corner of his lip tilted up. “So?” he says, impatient.
“You sure you want it right away?” Stealo asks, eyeing him up and down. “If you want, I can take you on a tour around the club, let you try our signature cocktail. Luna came up with the recipe himself.”
“No thanks,” Jimin responds dryly. He has no interest in letting this stranger butter him up and get him drunk to learn all his secrets.
“Right.” Stealo chuckles, turning to reach behind his desk. Jimin tenses until he sees the man pull up a black duffel bag. He sets this on the coffee table and unzips it while Jimin watches on. And then he begins unpacking it, laying it all out for Jimin to see—fireproof suit, matches, flame thrower, gloves, smoke bombs, mask…
Jimin inspects all of it carefully, touching each item and making sure there are no defects. Afterwards, he reaches into his purse for several wads of cash, laying them out on the desk where there’s space.
He could have acquired all of this officially, but that would put him on the radar of people who can’t know who he is. This way, he remains a ghost—a phantom, if you will—who hides beneath a thick mask of beauty. Stealo likely thinks he’s buying all this for a client, not himself.
Stealo cocks an eyebrow. “All good?”
“All good,” Jimin says, and watches while the man carefully packs everything away again. He hands the bag to Jimin only after inspecting one of the notes on the table, making sure the money he’s getting is real.
Stealo whistles. “Very nice. Though why you’d come to me for something so simple, I don’t really get. There are plenty of other merchants who might have been able to get you these items for half the price.”
“You work for Luna. Luna has an eye for quality. I wanted the best.”
Stealo lets out an amused hum, a dimple appearing in his cheek. “Luna does have a good eye, I’ll give you that. Are you from around here?”
Jimin hauls the duffel bag on his shoulder, pointedly ignoring the question, then grabs a few more hundreds from his purse, tossing it onto Stealo’s desk. “Bring me out the back entrance. You have one from here, don’t you?”
He knows he does. He spent hours staking out this place over the last few days. He’s seen the people going in and out of an alleyway, figuring it must be for special employees to come and go undetected—or run from the authorities should they need to.
“Do you think throwing money around is going to get me to do whatever you want?” Stealo asks, gaze hardening.
“I think you’d rather not find out what I can do with the equipment I just purchased from you.”
Stealo snorts. “A fire enthusiast, are you?”
Jimin cocks a hip. “Something like that.”
Stealo doesn’t seem at all perturbed by the thinly veiled threat. In fact, he seems to have no qualms letting Jimin out the back entrance. He opens the closet door and knocks on it in a pattern. The wall behind it caves inward and slides to the left. A dark passageway is revealed.
“Follow this to the end. The door’s got a password on the outside, so I’d recommend against trying to use it as an entrance if you ever want to come back,” Stealo says.
Jimin refrains from rolling his eyes. “I won’t be coming back.”
He doesn’t spare Stealo one more glance, instead begins down the pathway. He thinks Stealo has already forgotten about him, but ten steps in, he hears him call out for him. “Hey Mini!”
Jimin turns around, glaring back at Stealo, only for his eyes to widen when he sees something hurtling his way. Jimin reaches out to catch it between his thumb and forefinger—it’s a business card, one that has an unfamiliar name on it, followed by a phone number.
Kim Namjoon.
With a sharp glance up, Jimin catches Stealo’s eye. “What is this?”
Stealo grins. “It’s my personal business card, only available to the customers I like.”
Jimin has no idea what he’s done to make Stealo—no, Namjoon—like him, and he thinks about crushing it in his fingers and throwing it back. He’s not in the business of making friends.
But Namjoon adds, “Call me if you need something, okay? And I mean anything.”
The wide grin on Namjoon’s face, followed by another appraisal of Jimin’s body, is what finally tells Jimin what Namjoon is interested in. His body. Maybe he dressed a little too skimpy, a little too hot. He hadn’t anticipated that his seller might be into men.
A blush creeps up his cheeks, and he’s annoyed about the show of interest, but he pockets the card anyway.
Because Namjoon’s preferences aside, Jimin has just learned another vital piece of information from watching the business card fly through the air so smoothly there was no way it was natural—Namjoon is just like him: a Super.
🔥
Jimin spent the first ten years of his life in and out of small towns south of the country. He didn’t stay in one place for more than a few months. His education consisted of six-hour lessons daily delivered by his father—and not just in what they could find in textbooks. When he was old enough to walk, he was fighting, punching, kicking, defending.
Father didn’t leave a single stone unturned. The only thing they hadn’t anticipated was his untimely death.
Jimin shakes the thought as he punches his frustrations out at a gym, not stopping even when his arms burn. He doesn’t usually come to Seoul, preferring to stay on its outskirts, or in cities like Busan or Gwangju, but he received a tip that there might be information he needs in the capital, hence his reluctant visit.
After the gym, he walks back to the motel he’s staying in, covered from head to toe in sweat. While he enjoys his fair share of crossdressing, he prefers gym wear over everything else. It’s comfortable and lets him breathe a little. As a so-called villain, he’s lucky no one knows his face, so he doesn’t have to worry about walking around in the daylight.
Once in his room, he turns on the TV, letting the news channel play while he strips out of his sweaty clothes. Pale light seeps into the room through the drawn thin curtains, bathing it in gold evening colours.
Jimin sits on the foot of the bed once he’s stripped down to his boxers, still cooling down from his intense workout. He digs a granola bar out of his bag, eating it as he half pays attention and half mentally goes over the plan he’s going to put into action tomorrow. It’s the reason he’s in Seoul. After that… After that, perhaps, he’ll finally get what he’s been looking for.
“... breaking news. We’re at the scene of the fire now. As you can see, the building is still being salvaged as much as it can be, with police only just now making it on scene. The fire began exactly one hour ago. It is still unclear if there have been any casualties or injuries.”
Jimin frowns, hand dropping to his lap as he takes in the scene on TV. For some reason, the burning building looks familiar. His eyes drop to read the text on the screen as the camera pans to a view from the sky, and—
He snaps to his feet, mouth ajar as it hits him just why he knows this building.
Because he’s spent the last month researching it, studying it, staking it out, learning all of its ins and outs, the number of staff who work there, the people who visit—all for a plan he was going to carry out tomorrow. Tomorrow.
But today the building is burning.
“We’ve just received an update. It turns out everyone evacuated the building safely,” the reporter on screen says. The wind sends the fire blowing up into the air behind her, a symbol of Jimin’s failures. “What did not survive, however, were all the records inside. Every single sheet of paper has been burnt to a crisp.”
Jimin’s world tilts.
Burnt to a crisp.
Whatever the reporter says next fades into the background. His ears are ringing. On the bedside table, the lamp flickers.
All the records…
He needed this. As soon as he learned about the existing record, he knew he needed to get his hands on it. He knew it was the only way he could get evidence of what happened, to hurt them, to hurt her, where it would hurt most.
Every single sheet…
And now it’s gone. Someone has burnt it down, stolen his chance at some form of redemption. He should have known it was just a pipe dream. Everything slips from his grasp eventually. His father, his mother, the boy he met at the beach… Any hope of connecting with someone he wanted to understand was ripped away, one by one.
Until he was left with nothing.
The world plunges into darkness. The gold light bleeding in through the window, the lamp on the bedside table, the light emanating from the TV—it all winks out of existence for one second. Jimin’s world becomes malleable, his mind connecting with the darkness—a fearsome foe, a familiar friend, ready to drag him in.
And then it all returns, rushing back in a flash. He crouches, eyes shut as his power bites back without mercy. His eyes burn with the leftovers of the absorbed light. Once taken, it has to be returned, has to go somewhere. So it blinds him for a second, bright and brilliant, and it’s a few moments before his vision goes back to normal.
He stumbles onto his backside, head hitting the edge of the mattress. His heart races as it usually does when his power activates on its own. It does that sometimes, when panic grips him. After all these years, it still does that.
He supposes it's a consequence of having so many demons.
“... claw marks on the walls. Whoever did this, it wasn’t an ordinary human. I think we have an unknown Super on our hands,” the reporter drones on TV. Jimin looks at the images being shown now, claws having ripped into the plaster on the walls.
It might look scary to the average viewer, but to Jimin it’s a clue.
He picks up his fallen granola as his heart returns to a normal pace. His knowledge of Seoul’s villains is limited, but he now knows one person who might be able to help him—and his number sits idle and waiting in the pocket of his dress.
🔥
Namjoon says Beast frequents a rooftop bar in Hongdae. Not a lot of Supers go there, and people need help sometimes, you know? Jimin doesn’t know. Hongdae is a hodge podge collection of college students, foreigners and creepy old men looking for a good time. Not exactly high on his bucket list—or even on his bucket list at all.
“He fancies himself a vigilante,” Namjoon told him over the phone, tone fond. “If you see him, give him a kiss from me, will you?”
It’s an odd request, so Jimin chooses to ignore it. He enters the district dressed in black head to toe. He leaves the top three buttons of his shirt undone and rolls his sleeves up. His hair, he leaves just a little unruly, a crafted mess that hangs just a little over his eyes.
There’s an anger simmering inside him as he stalks across the street, eyes everywhere while also honed in on his destination, a nondescript door between two large clubs. It’s a secret bar, but Jimin thinks Namjoon told him about it because Jimin said he wanted to commend this Beast for a job well done on the fire.
He goes up the short set of steps to the door, then hauls it open and steps inside. A bouncer stands there in a short hallway, eyeing him warily.
“Password,” he says sternly. Behind him is a drawn curtain. Jimin can’t hear a single noise beyond it. If not for the knowledge Namjoon provided, he might not have known this place had anything of value at all.
Jimin leans forward, hands in pockets. “Bulletproof,” he says, the English word foreign on his tongue.
The bouncer pulls the curtain aside. “Through the door in the back. Take the lift up to the fifth floor.”
Jimin straightens, face impassive. “Thanks.”
The lift creaks when he enters. It’s old. The mirrors have been drawn on with markers and there’s graffiti above his head. He reserves his opinions. Right now, he doesn’t give a damn. He just wants to find Beast, kill him and move on. It’s a simple job. He’ll be in and out of here within the hour.
When the lift doors open, he’s greeted with the low thump of a bass, reverberating seemingly through the entire floor. This is not the roof, but he spots a set of stairs at the other end of the room. The bar itself is lavish, long fake crystals hanging overhead reflecting the light. His eyes dart left and right as he steps out of the lift, searching for his target.
“How will I know it’s him?”
“Oh, that’s easy. He likes the colour red. You definitely won’t miss him.”
Jimin’s head snaps towards the stairs when he catches sight of a flash of red. A pair of long legs in bright red disappear from sight, but not for long. Jimin waltzes across the floor with ease, narrowly avoiding bumping into shoulders and arms. He doesn’t hesitate to climb the stairs, which lead to an open rooftop.
The first thing he notices is a wind chill. He doesn’t get cold easily but this one whips across his face and makes him shiver from his neck down to his lower back. It’s a minor inconvenience right now. His mind is focused, taking in his surroundings—the potted plants along the edge, the people and how they move, the view of Hongdae district.
Jimin’s eyes find red. He now knows why Namjoon said he would recognise Beast, because it’s not just the red suit, complete with a long red overshirt, that gives him away. Not just the red hair, and the flame tattoo snaking up his neck. It’s the familiar face—because he’s the same man Namjoon posed with in that picture on his desk.
Namjoon’s request to pass Beast kisses now makes more sense.
The young man is handsome, Jimin notes, eyes almost innocent, like he’s playing dress up, hanging out with a bunch of villains from the underground. They may be six stories above ground, but Jimin recognises a few faces. He’s seen them during his forays into the underbelly of society, whether that was attending a fight ring for Supers or when he needed weapons from the black market. These people are bad news.
But then again, so is Jimin.
He finds a place to stand where he has a clear view of Beast. He watches him swirl the drink in his hand much like Namjoon did when Jimin first saw him. He watches him talk animatedly, nose scrunching every time someone says something funny. His companions are a woman and a man, but they stand a little distant from him, like they’re tolerating him.
Beast doesn’t seem to care. He goes on and on until his drink is finished, at which point he finally looks away from the people with him.
Looks away—
And sees Jimin staring.
It must catch him off guard, because his smile drops and surprise flickers across his face. To his credit, he does compose himself quickly, saying something to his companions before making a beeline in Jimin’s direction. There’s a confidence to his stance that Jimin doesn’t like.
This is the man who ruined his plans. He’s back to square zero because of him.
Jimin waits until Beast is halfway towards him before he turns away. He walks past a row of potted plants, removing a hand from a pocket as he flicks, flicks, flicks, until every single one is sizzling, so quietly, it would take a Super with enhanced hearing to catch it.
He’s halfway down the stairs when the noise breaks out. Someone shouts “fire!”, but Jimin pays it no mind. He has Beast’s attention, and that was what he wanted. Dodging drunk patrons, he makes it to the lift, then takes a sharp turn to a set of stairs leading down. He might not be able to see him, but he knows Beast is following.
Jimin leads him out of the bar, through the throngs of people on the street, away from Hongdae’s main club area, and to an empty alleyway. He keeps walking even when the footsteps become audible, keeps walking until he hears him call out.
“Hey.”
Jimin slows down, belly churning red hot like Beast’s clothes.
“They had to bring out a fire extinguisher. People were panicking. Hello?”
He’s nearing the end of the alley. They’re far enough away from stray or lingering eyes that deign to see.
“No one got hurt. If that was your plan, you failed pretty spectacularly.”
Jimin stops walking, sighing. He hears Beast’s nervous chuckle. He’s definitely a novice—loud, obnoxious, red. He isn’t subtle at all.
If Jimin had gotten the chance to look at that hidden record, he would be one step closer to closing the door on the years he lost as a kid. He would be closer to understanding why it had to happen, closer to banishing the nightmares that plague him, and closer to avenging his father. Beast ruined it.
Before the young man can say another word, the world blinks.
News anchors call him the Phantom Arsonist, but the truth is, only the first part of the name fits. He creates fire with tools he gets from people like Namjoon. But he moves like a phantom because of his power.
When the light winks out, he can use the darkness to travel. His other senses heighten, aware of every molecule inside what the scientists used to call a ‘phantom dome’. Within this dome, he can move at the speed of light, going from ten feet away to inches in a split second.
That’s how his knife pierces a nanometre of skin less than a second later, the light returning to their surroundings and lingering in the glowing orbs in Jimin’s eyes. It’s a sight only the dead get to see.
Up close, Beast smells like flowers. He wears red and has innocence in his eyes and he smells like flowers.
“Oh fuck,” Beast whispers harshly, trying to back away but unable to budge an inch with the way Jimin holds him. “You’re him, aren’t you? The Phantom Arsonist.”
Jimin is going to kill him. He’s going to slice his throat and leave him to bleed out in this alley. He doesn’t give a fuck that he might be severing a short lived connection with Luna’s right hand man. Beast deserves to die.
“For burning those records,” Jimin snarls, letting him know the reason behind his death even though it won’t matter in a second.
Beast lets out a choked sound. “I—”
Jimin never gets to hear the end of that sentence, but it’s not because of his own doing. Suddenly, the ground is dropping beneath him, and he’s so startled by it that he drops his knife. It clatters to the ground at Beast’s feet, and that’s the last Jimin sees of it before the Super holding him flies them over a rooftop and the alley disappears from view.
Jimin acts on instinct. He plunges the world into darkness, about to escape along the shadows when the arms around his body start to glow. It’s impossible—to counter his powers like that. This shouldn’t be possible. It’s like Jimin’s power means nothing.
He’s only ever met one person who could light up the darkness in his phantom dome.
With a twist of his head, Jimin lets the excess light in his body pool in his eyes just like before, until they glow so bright, his assailant goes blind.
They crash onto a rooftop, tumbling over one another until Jimin’s ribs ache and his limbs feel bruised.
The hold on him loosens, and Jimin uses the momentum from the fall to pin the enemy beneath him, hands to his throat.
In the same way, rage pins Jimin down. All he can feel is the boiling blood in his veins and the burning in his fingertips and a sudden uncontrollable desire to kill this Super who can counter his abilities.
As he increases pressure on that neck, it registers in his mind that he knows this face, even without the tacky gold costume. Because it’s V, the new hero, the one who was just on TV. The one who flies and glows. The one who promised to keep this city safe. Perhaps he shouldn’t have made such a bold promise, Jimin thinks. Now he’ll die before he can keep it.
And then, though his voice is strained, the hero speaks. “Jimin.”
Rage whittles away, cowers behind a boulder big enough to be a mountain, over which Jimin doesn’t have time or strength to conquer. His mind whirs. This V knows his name. He knows him. How? How?
“J- Jimin,” he says again, wheezing. Jimin’s grip tightens as panic fills him. The world seems to flicker around him, his powers about to activate without his bidding. When it happens like that, he’s always left exhausted. It takes him back to the first time he discovered his power, the way darkness surrounded him and he didn’t know up from down.
V blinks. His face turns red. “Jim…”
A bright light catches Jimin’s attention, and he turns to V’s hand, which glows like a beacon in the darkness. It’s then that the memory comes rushing back—the glowing hand, his fear of the dark, the boy on the beach.
Beneath him is someone he could have been friends with, in another lifetime.
“Taehyung.”
“You’re a Super,” Jimin remarked, a little in awe. It was rare he ever met other Supers his age. Most of them attended gifted schools, kept away from normal people in order to hone their skills and become the heroes they were meant to be.
“How could you tell?” Taehyung asked. The question was facetious, lighthearted and accompanied by a warm smile that instantly put Jimin at ease.
“Hard to say, but I’m pretty sure it’s the glowing hand.”
Taehyung held up his hand, and it burned brighter. “This one?”
“Yeah,” Jimin laughed. “Yeah exactly.”
Jimin’s hesitance costs him a kill. A moment later, Taehyung grabs his wrists and tugs them across each other, bringing their faces only inches apart. The hero breathes in several deep, shaky breaths as Jimin watches on, too bewildered—too shocked—to move.
“You’re the boy who could glow just like me,” Taehyung says, voice reedier than how he sounded on TV, though Jimin attributes that to the fact he almost had the life squeezed out of him. His dark eyes threaten to pull Jimin down an abyss with no end.
There’s a denial on Jimin’s lips, but it would be a lie. Because they both know. They were both there. Jimin saw Taehyung, and Taehyung saw him—he saw everything. Once upon a time, Jimin would have trusted him with anything.
Now he runs. In a rush of desperation, he sucks the light out of Taehyung’s hand and out of all his surroundings until his body burns with it. He doesn’t linger to see Taehyung break through it again. He escapes into the alleyway below, then over to the next block, and the next, his body catapulted through the darkness where up and down and left and right doesn’t exist.
He should be used to it. It’s not the first time he’s had to spread his powers out over such a large distance to get away.
But the thing is—
The thing is, he hates when the darkness lasts this long, when it surrounds him and pulses in his veins until he’s not sure where he ends, much less where he begins. The worst of it is that all the light absorbed needs somewhere to go when he’s done.
You’re the boy who could glow just like me.
No.
As Jimin holes himself up in a dingy club bathroom, every particle on his skin burning bright like the sun, he’s thinking how Taehyung couldn’t be more wrong.
🔥
They were ten years old when they first met, under shadow and moonlight as Jimin searched the sand for what he had lost. If he had been older and less naïve, perhaps he would have understood Taehyung’s nature right away. But as it was, he was lacking in friends, and Taehyung arrived just when he needed him.
“What are you looking for?” a young Taehyung asked, bouncing from heels to balls to heels from where he was perched on the pavement next to the beach.
“Um…” Jimin knew not to talk to strangers, but this was a boy. His defences remained dropped. “My iPod. I don’t know where it went.”
“Maybe I can help.”
It was the first time Jimin met a Super his age. That’s probably why he trusted him right away, and why they agreed to keep meeting up at the beach, even though Jimin never found his iPod and his dad had to get him a new one. Taehyung was Jimin’s first friend. He was a light in the darkness, warmth in the loneliness, laughter in the silence.
He was everything until the night everything was ripped away. Jimin believed he would never see him again.
Now he’s a hero. Of course he’s a hero. That boy tried so hard to find his lost item. He would search the beach even when Jimin wasn’t there, squinting at every inch of sand in the blazing sun, continuing to look with the glow of his hand as his flashlight.
He used to wonder during his first few years at the facility what might have happened to his friend Taehyung. If he, as a Super, might have been taken to a place just like this too. He drew comfort by imagining them finding each other again and coming up with plans to escape. Maybe Taehyung had been a Super in hiding too—that’s why he wasn’t at a school for Supers. Maybe Taehyung had lost his parents too.
But it turned out that Jimin’s whirlwind fantasies had been completely wrong. To become a city hero, one had to be educated at a school, had to pass morality tests and power tests and who knows what else. Taehyung is a part of that. He’s led a different, more privileged life while Jimin was poked and prodded at until his body turned limp and his brain felt like mush.
He shouldn’t have dreamed.
Now that dream is shattered.
Jimin cracks open a bottle of whiskey he acquired from a nearby liquor store, filling a paper cup with the stuff before settling onto the bed. He leaves the TV on at a high enough volume to get the occasional thump against the wall from next door telling him to keep it down. Jimin ignores it.
It doesn’t take long for the liquor to settle in, giving his body a nice, pleasant buzz. Usually he refrains from habits like these, preferring to stay in control of his actions, but he thinks tonight he deserves this. It’s better than focusing on the ugly memories that followed his separation from Taehyung.
It’s better than the bitter knowledge that he never got to say goodbye.
“V,” Jimin says out loud to an empty room. “Why the fuck are you a hero?”
The bottle is halfway done when the room starts to flicker. Jimin looks up at the ceiling light when it does, frowning in concentration. The bulb regains its normal glow, creating an afterimage in Jimin’s eyes the longer he stares.
He lifts his hand palm up, still staring, remembering an exercise the scientists taught him when he was still learning to control this power. Hand open meant lights on. Hand closed—
Jimin balls his hand into a fist, and all light disappears, blinding his eyes but doing nothing to stop him from sensing where everything is.
He opens his hand again, and light returns to his surroundings. He lets what he absorbed flow out along his arms, watching as light seems to sizzle off of him.
They wanted to push his limits back then. This was a rare ability, they said. He was special. There was so much he could do, more than probably anyone knew. But to conquer the power, he had to test it, push it and push some more.
Hand closed. Open. Closed. Open. Closed. Open. Closed—
A yelp, and then something falling to the ground in his neighbour’s room. A voice speaks in the dome, Jimin senses, but it’s warped, this indecipherable thing. Nothing can penetrate the darkness completely. Nothing except Taehyung.
Open.
Jimin stares at his palm as he sends the absorbed light there. The way it glows is not much different than the way Taehyung glows, except to Jimin it burns. When concentrated in one place, it becomes almost unbearable. He should spread it out. That’s what he was taught to do.
But he’s drunk and upset and rebellious. He doesn’t want to do what they taught him. He wants his nerves to burn. After all, he deserves it. Maybe he didn’t deserve to be taken to that facility. Maybe he didn’t deserve to watch his father die.
But hurting? He deserves that.
The shame and guilt? He deserves that.
He wishes he had never run into Taehyung, not because of what they could have been, but simply because he doesn’t want Taehyung to know the things he’s done. He wishes they could have lived forever without meeting, if just to upkeep a fantasy.
🔥
Rather than regular sleep, Jimin passes out, his whiskey almost depleted completely. It’s a deep sleep without dreams, which is probably why it takes a while for him to stir despite the incessant pounding on his door.
When he comes to, the room spins around him. His stomach twists uneasily, and he only has time to aim at the floor instead of the bed before he’s throwing up all over the carpet. He wipes his mouth with the corner of the bedsheet, his head pounding so loudly, it’s like he can hear it.
That’s when he realises that the pounding exists outside his head too.
“We are ordering all guests to vacate these rooms for a random search authorised by the Super Society for Law and Order. Come outside or we will break down this door.”
The SSLO? They’re a faction of the government that deals in all Super business. They have the authority to arrest Supers acting outside the law, to bind them with special equipment that makes them powerless.
Shit.
This is bad.
Jimin sobers up immediately. Tossing aside the blanket, he jumps to his feet, shouting “Coming!” just to placate whoever’s outside. The pounding on the door stops. With some bought time, Jimin tosses everything he owns into two duffel bags, then takes a quick peek out the window.
An officer waits right outside his door, and there are others along the hallway, some talking to guests who have opened their doors to the inspection, and others in the courtyard below. It’s trawling with law enforcement.
Random searches like this don’t happen often, not unless there’s a well known criminal on the loose.
But they can’t be here for him. No one knows the Phantom Arsonist is in Seoul. No one knows who the Phantom Arsonist is, or what he looks like.
Unless—
You’re him, aren’t you? The Phantom Arsonist.
Somehow Beast knew who he was. The look in his eyes had been certain. He picked Jimin out immediately. How? How could anyone know? Jimin’s been careful. He never leaves traces of himself behind—not a single hair or fingerprint. He wears a mask on jobs. He escapes using his phantom dome.
No one could’ve known. So how?
As far as criminals go, the Phantom Arsonist is not the worst of the worst, but he targets official government buildings and powerful people, which has put him high on the wanted list. If Beast has revealed that he’s in the city, if he’s given them a sketch, then they could have found him.
Jimin might sometimes travel via darkness, but he hasn’t escaped every camera in the city, not to mention every person.
They’re here for him.
That’s the only logical explanation.
Jimin takes a deep breath, anger simmering. And then he metaphorically closes a palm, and the world goes dark.
🔥
Itaewon looks different during the day. Jimin wears jeans and a sweater over his fire-proof suit as he walks along a length of bars and clubs that aren’t yet open. A hat shields his face and sunglasses shield his eyes. His mind has settled on what he’s going to do.
His plan is simple, if reckless. It’ll piss off Luna, and it will probably make Jimin a lot of enemies with people who are enemies of society just like him, but he doesn’t care. Let them turn him into a target. Beast has to die.
Jimin finds the back entrance easily. Namjoon warned him it was password protected, but that doesn’t stop Jimin from sticking what he likes to call fire gum on the mechanism. It turns the password machine to cinders, unlocking the door just like that.
Luckily, it doesn’t trigger any alarms, though Jimin figured even if it had, he could complete his mission in the dark. This way, though, he can take his time. Savour the walk down the hallway leading to Namjoon’s office. At its end, he performs the same knocking pattern he watched Namjoon do, and the secret door opens into the closet. Jimin removes his sunglasses once he’s in.
It’s early enough that no one is at work yet. That means Jimin can work in peace. He opens his bag and removes a baggie filled with flammable powder. This secret entrance will be his escape route, so he decides to begin on the main floor. It doesn’t take long to sprinkle powder along the bar, the floors, the chairs and tables.
The great thing about this powder is that it doesn’t leave a trace. Since he created it, it’s been his villain disguise. No one knows that the Phantom Arsonist doesn’t use superpowers to make things burn. It keeps his real powers a secret, and keeps the people who hurt him from finding out he’s still alive.
When Jimin finishes with the first floor, he moves onto the second. He enters every private room, sprinkling powder over surfaces, enough that when the fire catches, it’ll burn everything around it.
In the second to last room, though, Jimin freezes. Because stretched out on the bed is a man. He’s shirtless, and his shoes are propped up near the curtain entrance. It doesn’t look like he works here, which means he must be a guest.
But that’s strange. As far as Jimin knows, this is not an overnight club. If a guest is still here, it must be by accident.
Jimin approaches quietly, spotting a collection of stuff on a table. There’s a wallet there, keys, a lanyard with an ID. Picking the last item up, Jimin reads: Min Yoongi, Producer, Genius Lab. Jimin isn’t exactly up to date with pop culture, but he has heard of Genius Lab, a music studio that does production for some of the biggest names in the country.
If he’s a Super, his powers must be low level, but more likely, he’s an ordinary citizen.
An ordinary citizen who’s about to burn.
Jimin drops the lanyard back where he found it, then walks right up to the sleeping figure, nudging his shoulder. Yoongi groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “Go away, Jin,” he mumbles. “Not everyone is on the same schedule as…”
He trails off, falling back asleep. Annoyed, Jimin grabs an unfinished drink from the table and tosses it in the guy’s face. Yoongi startles into awakeness, sitting up in the bed as he touches his eyes and hisses.
“What the fuck!”
Jimin takes the opportunity to manhandle Yoongi to his feet, grabbing his wrists to hold at his back. Jimin stands behind him so he can’t see his face, but even if he does, would it matter anymore? Beast has already told the authorities what he looks like.
Yoongi struggles against him, but he’s not strong enough to get out of Jimin’s iron grip. “Hey, what’s going on? Who are you?”
“You’ve overstayed your welcome,” Jimin says, shoving Yoongi towards the curtain door. He walks him to Namjoon’s office, kicking the door open with a foot. Once at the closet, he says, “Use this to get out of here. You better run if you don’t want to die.”
“D- Die? Are you kidding me? Who the hell are you?”
“Go,” Jimin says, pushing Yoongi forward a few steps. The man just slows to a stop, beginning to turn around. Immediately, Jimin tugs his hat lower, turning aside. “I’ve given you a warning. If you die, it’s not on me.”
“What are you planning to do?” Yoongi sounds sharp when he says that, not at all scared of Jimin’s threats, and definitely not hungover like Jimin expected. He stalks right up to Jimin, unafraid. “Who are you?”
Jimin catches sight of his eyes, and suddenly all he can feel is a sense of trust for this stranger he’s never met. His anger burns down to nothing, and like his special fire powder, it doesn’t seem to leave a trace. Calmness rolls through him in its place, soft and soothing.
“I’m—” Jimin cuts himself off abruptly. That can’t be right. He wasn’t really about to respond to Yoongi’s question… was he?
With a hand to Yoongi’s chest, Jimin shoves him into the hallway leading outside, and then he sucks the light out of the air, giving him enough time to hit a panel on the wall to shut the door in the closet.
So much for having an exit route.
Whatever. Jimin couldn’t care less when he has plenty of other ways out of here. He empties his baggie in the office, then picks up the photo frame on the desk.
Beast doesn’t have red hair in the photo, but he does wear a red t-shirt. He looks a few years younger, his hair clean cut and his eyes shining in the sunlight. His smile reminds Jimin of a bunny. He stands next to a flannel-clad Namjoon, who looks fondly at the camera, dimples on full display.
They look happy.
Jimin’s anger returns in full force as he slams the frame against the desk. The glass shatters, but his gloves mean he doesn’t get cut from it. Carefully, he pries the photo out of there, and then he takes a marker out of his bag and draws a bright red cross on Beast’s body. This, he sticks to the wall in the closet using fireproof tape.
It’s a warning.
He’s coming for Beast, and no one can stop him.
🔥
Jimin decides to watch the building burn on the roof across the street. He finds a shaded spot where he can remain hidden while still watching the way orange flames flicker beyond the windows of the club. He doesn’t usually stick around, but he’s in a foul mood and he thinks this is the remedy to lift it.
He sits back, breathing in the scent of burnt materials as it floats over towards him. It burns slowly, flickering across furniture and carpet and cement. If Jimin listens closely, he can make out the crackle of it, can hear the panels in the roof come crashing down.
Fire has always fascinated him. Maybe because it’s so close to light, an element he works with, except it’s tangible. It can hurt him. He once was forced to douse a fire with his powers, plunge the world into darkness by absorbing fire. The result left him with a burn mark on the back of his hand for weeks. Even now there’s a faint scar.
He touches this absentmindedly, mind finally calming. Soon, Beast will come looking for him. How can he not, when Jimin has just burnt down his boyfriend’s club? Maybe Luna will come after him too. As Stealo’s boss, Jimin wouldn’t put it past him.
Jimin isn’t afraid. He can handle himself against criminals.
A few minutes of silence pass. Jimin gets lost in his thoughts until he remembers why he’s there. For some reason, there’s something odd about this fire. It just… isn’t spreading as fast as it usually does. He hasn’t seen a single lick of flame flicker through the window for several minutes.
Did he mess up the formula for his powder? It usually catches immediately, turning everything into cinders within half an hour.
Now… Now there’s no movement.
Just a chill in the air.
An errant wind.
And footsteps.
Footsteps?
Jimin jumps to his feet just as a figure rounds a corner. His stomach plunges when he sees Taehyung there, gold costume hugging him from head to toe. He looks at ease, like he expected to find Jimin here.
“The view’s not what you expected, is it?” he says.
And that’s how Jimin knows that someone stopped the fire. He doesn’t know how, or who could have done it, but he does know that Taehyung, a hero who works for the government, is here. Which means Jimin needs to run. He’s not safe here. Taehyung knows his name—his real name. It’s only a matter of time before they find him.
Jimin activates his dome in an instant, but it’s like Taehyung expected it, because he glows instantly, countering the darkness in such a way that Jimin can’t even move within it. Never mind. Jimin can just absorb Taehyung’s light. Take it fast enough and run as soon as it’s pitch black.
His only thought is: get away get away get away.
But when Jimin goes to take Taehyung’s light, the hero just reignites, stronger. It becomes a cycle, because Jimin can’t absorb the light faster than Taehyung can light up again, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to try.
Of all the people who could have become a hero, Taehyung was the worst one. He’s Jimin’s match—his ultimate rival.
Is this where Jimin falls? Right here, on this dirty rooftop in a city he doesn’t like, by the hand of the only friend he’s ever had?
“Give it up,” Taehyung says. “You’re no match for me.”
The words make Jimin try harder, sucking in the light until his head starts to hurt from overuse of his power. It hits him that the limits he worked to stretch as a kid were nothing compared to this. Because Taehyung is a constant source of power. Jimin could never bleed him dry.
He can’t.
It’s over.
Taehyung has him beat.
Jimin collapses to his knees as the world goes back to normal. He hunches in on himself, barely hearing Taehyung’s words because he’s bleeding light. It coats every inch of his skin and pools in his eyes, glowing so bright that even Taehyung has to shield his eyes. The burn is like nothing he’s ever felt before. It’s like his skin is peeling from his body, slow and never ending.
There’s a noise from somewhere far away.
It sounds like someone crying.
He thinks someone calls for him, but the world wavers before his eyes, bright light filling the edges of his vision.
The last thing he sees is Taehyung’s face crouched over him, brows pinched in concern, and behind him, a figure approaching, red hair bright and unmistakable: Beast.