Chapter Text
The weight of Hayate in his hands pulls at his every tendon, his muscles fighting to keep him up. It’s almost as if he doesn’t want Yoongi anymore, as if what they just did isn’t settling well with the shinki despite him being the very reason why Yoongi is drenched in blood. Red drip-drops from his arms onto the snow, dyeing it all carmine—more, if possible. Staring back at him, the corpses stretched out on the ground make him feel judged for what he’s become, despite having prayed and begged for him to take part in this war not long ago.
Obviously, they lost the bet against their rival.
Yoongi’s a God; and a covetous one at that. He has imposed his presence on humanity, and has worked hard to give them what they crave most— victory . Triumphs that are stained with the stench of calamity. He’s never been afraid or disgusted by the things he’s been asked to do by humans, who seem to only be getting greedier than him; besides, he’s always spurred to hop on every and any project by his shinki.
Hayate; Taehyung . The boy to whom he had given a name despite the crazed glint in his eyes—or perhaps that was the very reason why he called him that one fateful day. Day after day, year after year, the essence of the spirit became more and more mad , impossible to read. Yoongi knows him well, but sometimes he wonders up to what point. And lately, that’s been a recurring thought.
His shinki is distant whenever they’re not slitting throats, yet he eats Yoongi’s mind away with ease whenever he’s close, talking about glory , and power . All of it has become easier to believe as humans keep offering all their goods to him to get their prayers heard.
And who would Yoongi be, if he didn’t just wait for the highest bidder before conceding?
Yet now, as he walks amongst the hundreds of piled corpses on his geta, the hem of his hakama obscenely clean for the horrors that surround him, the God feels like nothing . The long katana blade engraved with cranes shimmers under the winter sun, that hides shyly from his presence behind the clouds, and weighs —weighs as it has never done so. Yoongi would dare say that not even in his normal, human shape, Taehyung is this heavy.
But lately, something’s wrong with the shinki, and Yoongi has no clue to decipher what it is. If this whole thing, the sight before his eyes—the fruit of his own actions—disgusts him , how must the shinki feel? For a long time now, Yoongi has wondered if Taehyung can feel any remorse at all, or if, perhaps, this is what it took for the deranged soul to brew the emotion within.
Scared to find out, Yoongi shakes his head, releasing a few drops of crimson from his messy fringe and the hair that has escaped his bun, and allows himself not to call Taehyung’s name out loud just yet. First, he wants to see . Let his eyes take in the aftermath of his greed.
It’s not long before he has a view of the expanse of it. The mountains, which should all be covered in snow, are now amorphous waves of red and grey, as the deceased freeze with the cutting-cold wind. And it makes something in Yoongi twitch, something so far from the usual pride that follows a battle. He grips Taehyung’s hilt tightly, until his fingers feel numb; until his vision blurs altogether except for the hundreds upon hundreds of eyes staring back at him, dead .
He killed them all for pride and glory that never came.
Not for the first time in his life, Yoongi needs a hug. Something to ground him. But it’s been so long, perhaps hundreds of years since, as children, Taehyung held his body flush against his unearthly one, and right now he doubts the other will concede it if he asks.
As if reading his mind, the shinki glistens and tugs something in his mind, that connection binding them together. It’s been years since Yoongi was last able to hear Hayate through their bond. So Yoongi squares his shoulders, breathes deeply and calls his name in a soft breath.
“ Taehyung .”
Just like that, the straining weight in his hand disappears, shifting into a bright flash before appearing in his human form, who stares back at him with a deranged expression for a long second before crouching next to a nearby cadaver. Taehyung inspects it curiously from a small distance, careful to keep his hakama away from the snow, swiftly tucked between his thighs and calves, tilting his head to each side slowly. His expression is unreadable to Yoongi. Nothing new.
Suddenly the spirit chuckles, startling Yoongi slightly. The wicked smile on his mouth never reaches his eyes. “You’re going to be the greatest God that has ever set foot on Sigangwaedo, Yoongi-ssi.”
That’s all the spirit has to say. A grimace forms on Yoongi’s face for a brief moment, and he wonders why —as if that isn’t what he was born to do. To take over the world. To sow misfortune and pain wherever he sets foot. To see the world covered in crimson, enjoy this view like a child enjoying a cup of shaved ice covered in red sugar syrup.
Somehow, it feels terribly wrong.
~
Lately, Yoongi has had many firsts.
The first time he’s refused an offering. First time to ignore Taehyung’s nagging, asking him to get to work. First time to contemplate his mission, the reason why he was born, and if his path can be changed. It’s probably been months in the eyes of humanity, perhaps even years, but to Yoongi it all happens in the blink of an eye.
And, for the first time, Yoongi has a nightmare. It comes in the shape of thousands of eyes supported in a dark, shapeless mass, observing him for long moments, keeping him immobile despite his efforts to break free. The strange thing surrounds him, floats as if its size didn’t weigh a single feather.
He recognizes an ayakashi when he sees one.
Yoongi’s eyes roam around, searching for Taehyung, but the shinki is nowhere to be seen. And somehow, as if the ayakashi knew what was going through Yoongi’s mind, it scoffs . The God’s blood boils in his veins, threatening to break through the skin as his desire to cut through the phantom a thousand times grows impossibly uncontainable. But he can’t move, and the ayakashi is getting too close , threatening to touch, to burn, to slip through his pores and consume him whole.
Yoongi’s breath is ragged as he watches the eyes zero in on him, a breath away, as an unbearable pain seethes through his skin, spreading like wildfire, making him squirm, scream, cry—and then he’s awake .
Chest heaving with short, arrhythmic breaths, Yoongi fists onto the sheets around him and opens his eyes wide. A silent gasp is painted on his lips for what seems like too long. Blue irises roam the room searching for any sign of danger, anything that could have triggered such a sequence in his mind. Yoongi finds nothing.
Nothing, except for Taehyung.
The shinki smiles wickedly from a corner where he’s squatting, head tilted to the side in the darkness of the room. His green and white eyes glow bright despite the lack of light, and his teeth, sharp and perfectly aligned, glint with the almost nonexistent moonlight. There’s a mask held to the side of his head, almost covering his silvery eye, seemingly all white if not for a dark mark that Yoongi’s unable to clearly see from this angle.
Despite the rage of his heartbeat pounding and pushing, begging him to move, to do something , Yoongi holds his breath. Taehyung kneels on the wooden floor and crawls slowly towards him, holding his gaze. The smile is gone, but its wickedness remains in Taehyung’s eyes, as his lips shape something akin to a pout.
“Yoongi-ssi,” the spirit breaks the sharp silence, “It was fun playing family together, wasn’t it?”
The words cut through his insides like the sharp blade Taehyung has been for him for centuries, uncaring and painful. As a giggle escapes the shinki’s lips, a cord snaps between them—the trust Yoongi had felt, which had wavered so imperceptibly ever since their last job, is suddenly gone. It’s not fear he feels, for he’s a God after all, but it’s similar enough. Times when Taehyung would hold him, play with him, practise to perfection how to move in battle, flash before his eyes as the words hang in the air, heavy.
Taehyung opens his hand, which Yoongi hadn’t even noticed was holding a writing brush, and reaches out to the God. “Release me. You no longer serve me, Yoongi-ssi.” His voice is unwavering, serious as ever, and Yoongi struggles to believe what he’s heard.
“Serve you? ” Yoongi scoffs. “You’re sick, Taehyung.”
At that, Taehyung smiles once again. He tuts his tongue, looking almost disappointed, yet way too amused for Yoongi’s liking.
“Aish, Yoongi-ssi. We don’t work together anymore… I’m tired of waiting. You had it all at your feet, yet you let it slip away and replaced it with your pity and regret.” It stings more than it should, but Yoongi refuses to let it show. His lips purse in a thin line, hands fisting on his sides as if to stop himself from doing something he’ll later regret. “All I do is see you mope around because what? You killed a few thousand? That’s your mission , that’s what Mother created you for. But you’ve become too weak to even follow your instincts.”
It’s the way he speaks, so softly and almost well-mannered, as if Yoongi was still a child to whom Taehyung had to explain things carefully, that drives his hand up with force. It stops an inch away from Taehyung’s face, whose smile only widens.
“Give me that brush,” Yoongi spits instead of acting upon his rage. Tahyung complies, delicate hands offering the wooden handle of the tool as if it were a dagger to pierce his skin, rather than paint it. The shinki sits high on his calves and rolls up his sleeve, revealing a path of uncountable marks— names —hidden from Yoongi’s eyes all this time.
“Who are you?” Yoongi softly breathes, eyes wide with confusion as they observe every stroke of paint on the other’s arm.
“I guess that’s for my next master to decide,” Taehyung giggles. None of this is funny or amusing. Not to Yoongi.
The God swallows the tight lump growing in his throat and nods, feigning nonchalance. Memories of their battles swarm his brain, clouds that prompt rage, sadness, regret—too many things to let out now . Behind his electric blue eyes, there’s a stubborn sting from the tears he’s fighting not to let out as he feels all the world around him become a pile of lies. It hurts . It hurts, but it doesn’t matter anymore.
Instead, Yoongi scoffs. He grips Tahyung’s forearm with anger, feeling the shinki’s muscles tense as he traces the kanji of his vessel name over the fair skin.
“ Hayate ,” the God calls, “I release you.”
Usually, the dark letters would disappear. But they don’t, and Yoongi holds his breath as the truth of Taehyung’s nature dawns on him. His eyes travel up to the mask on the shinki’s head, a white face with a black eye painted across it. The spirit grins with mirth, slipping out of Yoongi’s hold and stepping away, leaving a crushed Yoongi behind.
“ Ayakashi ,” in a small voice, Yoongi hears himself say the word, which feels heavy on his tongue, too dark to describe Taehyung. “You are… you are an ayakashi.”
“Not really…” Taehyung hesitates as he steps away, past the entrance of the abandoned-looking temple, “I was just named the wrong way.”
And with that, he leaves.
Yoongi gapes at the square arch leading outside, too confused and stunned to form any coherent words, too broken to search for an answer.
—
“ Choi Hyunmi receives a hook on her left, but she’s quick to recover as Hee Jungshim loses her balance slightly… ”
“Jeongguk! Jeongguk, oh my god, are you watching?!” Yugyeom exclaims, slamming his body against Jeongguk’s side with excitement. “She’s winning, Hyunmi’s going to win again!”
“I see it! I’m watching- Shh!” he hushes, “I can’t hear the commentator!”
As he blindly dodges yet another passerby, Jeongguk fixes his earphones back in place, feeling the ecstatic adrenaline flowing from his body to Yugyeom’s and back. It’s the last of the Female Featherweight Boxing Championship, and his idol is fighting for her rightful title with well-calculated hits.
“ ... she slips out of Jungshim reach, rolls, and… and… LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, A SIMPLE UPPERCUT! ” Jeongguk’s eyes blow open as he looks at Yugyeom and back to the screen a few times. “ A simple but very effective uppercut that leaves Hee Jungshim with the taste of the trophy on her lips, and gives Choi Hyunmi yet another Featherweight Championship number one title! ”
Screeching without care, Jeongguk locks his phone and swiftly shoves it into his pocket, hugging Yugyeom and jumping together with utter glee among the crowds of Shihan'i. They high-five, slam their chests, punch the air a few times and laugh, cheering loudly for the boxer and turning a blind eye to the weirded-out looks thrown their way.
~
“She did that !”Jeongguk sighs, happiness keeping his smile wide like two wicked ribbons holding his lips stretched open. “This is the best start to summer I’ve ever had,” he states seriously.
Yugyeom laughs, playfully swatting his arm as he tuts, “You idiot, how can you say that?! Remember our first year of uni? That was a good summer.” His best friend smiles with mirth written all over his face, eyebrows wiggling atop his eyes, and Jeongguk feels his cheeks heating at the memories.
“Oh. Y-yeah, that summer,” he squirms in his seat. The gleeful smile has been replaced with a soft, embarrassed grin now, which he does his best to hide behind the beer glass they just clinked together.
“Honest to God, man, I never thought I’d see you kiss someone with that much passion . Who would have known you were just unaware of how gay you actually were?” Yugyeom giggles, throwing Jeongguk a knowing glance and offering a comforting hand on his shoulder, to which the latter just shrugs.
“I have to admit, he wasn’t a good kisser, but I probably wasn’t any better.” He lets his giggles mingle with Yugyeom’s before letting his eyes land on the fried chicken on the table. “Hey Yu, let’s finish up. I still have some notes to go through for my last exam…”
“Dammit, really? Jeongguk-ah, you’re not fun!”
“It’s not my fault you just ace everything you set your eyes on on the first try,” Jeongguk scoffs, feigning offence.
“That- that sounds about right, actually.” Laughing, Yugyeom pulls Jeongguk for a side hug and fluffs his black hair playfully before whispering, “Don’t tell anyone, but I actually have a secret weapon. I pray to the Goddess of Wisdom Amirang, and eomma and I often bring her offerings. Maybe you should try it too!” he laughs nonchalantly.
“Nah, thanks,” Jeongguk scoffs, taking a chicken wing between his fingers. “I’ll stick to the traditional way.”
~
By the time Jeongguk makes it out of the restaurant, it’s almost midnight. It’s Friday night and people are buzzing around, coming and going to their respective destinations with their eyes fixed on their phones or engrossed in mundane conversations with each other.
And Jeongguk is no different.
He walks, vision slightly blurred with alcohol, eyes glued to the phone as he scrolls through his social media reading all the articles about Choi Hyunmi and her career predictions after today’s match. Legs working on autopilot, he walks back home avoiding the bodies that surround him. The heavy traffic that usually fills Shihan'i’s roads has boiled down to a few buses and taxis, and the occasional food delivery bike. Everything is quiet compared to the loudness of daytime, and deep down, behind his numerous thoughts about his favourite boxer, Jeongguk relishes it, enjoying the rare calmness of the city.
From the corner of his eye, he notices a blur of fast movements that catch his attention. A medium-sized dog—big enough to reach over his knee, despite looking like a young puppy—struggles with a man over some food package. The sight makes Jeongguk’s heart ache, wondering if the animal is lost and hungry, or worse, a stray. For a brief second, he thinks of who could do such a thing to an innocent baby, but his thoughts are quickly short-circuited when he sees the puppy strut towards the road.
“Jeongguk-ah! You forgot your- Jeongguk?!”
Yugyeom’s voice echoes somewhere behind him as Jeongguk sprints with all his might to meet the dog, as a late-night bus approaches the animal with no intention of doing anything besides honking. The dog suddenly stops, cowering under the bright lights that approach him at a quick speed. Hearing the gasps and loud calling of his name under the ringing of his ears and the loud beating of his heart, Jeongguk pushes his legs at the fastest speed they can go, holding his hand up in hopes the driver will see him and stop before the bus hits both him and the dog.
“ JEONGGUK, NO!”
When he wraps his body around the animal, he feels the heat of the bus’s motor warning him of the inevitable. And then, everything is black for a moment.
~
A loud grunt leaves his throat as Jeongguk attempts to open his eyes and move. He can still hear Yugyeom’s voice calling in the distance as if filtered through a thick wall, but it’s so far he wonders if he’s fallen asleep in his bed and the other is calling from the street. But somehow, his body doesn’t feel as heavy as it normally does upon waking up—rather lighter than ever.
Jeongguk’s eyes open ever so slightly.
He’s on the street, lying on the road, and there’s a brown puppy looking at him with wide eyes that somehow resemble his own. With another grunt, Jeongguk blinks forcefully and wiggles his fingers and toes, before opening his eyes completely and pushing himself off the ground. A herd of people whose faces frown with concern surrounds him, their murmurs getting louder each second he stands there trying to make sense of his utter confusion. When he follows their eyes, his brown orbs settle on a scene Jeongguk is sure he must be dreaming.
Yugyeom holds his limp body tight against his and his eyes are filled with unshed tears as he murmurs something against Jeongguk’s forehead, while a team of medics work quickly to administer him medication and move his body onto a stretcher. More confused than ever, Jeongguk watches the whole scene unveiling before him, unable to say a word—to express that he’s, in fact, well and standing.
Jeongguk is here, he’s right here . That’s not his body, this is. Unconsciously, he rocks himself forward and back, sitting on the curb, watching the medics work—taking the body’s vitals, applying oxygen, moving him onto a stretcher.
It cannot be. He has to be dreaming.
“Name?” one of the medics asks Yugyeom. His friend kneels there, completely shocked, snot covering his face without a care.
“J-Jeongguk. Jeon Jeongguk,” Yugyeom informs with a whine, out of breath and completely broken. Jeongguk doesn’t get closer—he pinches his body time and time again instead hoping to wake up, looking around wishing this was a sick joke.
It’s not.
“His- his father owns the Orn Shore Hospital near Rammto’s shopping centre,” Yugyeom supplies. The medics nod in acknowledgement and push him further aside, continuing their work.
“No… please, no…” he murmurs on repeat, face wet with tears. This is the worst nightmare he’s ever had. Yugyeom wails hysterically, probably thinking he’s dead, and Jeongguk sobs with him. “Please…”
Because maybe he is . Everything is way too real.
He dares not think about whether heaven and hell exist, whether he’s stuck here forever just like this. Jeongguk does though—he thinks about it. He wonders if he’s done something so bad in his life to just be left in the limbo, not belonging here nor there. ‘Ghost’ is everything that comes to mind as his heart constricts until it shrinks to the size of a pea inside his chest. Terrified is an understatement of how he really feels right now.
When the medics move his—other—body into the ambulance, Jeongguk’s eyes finally acknowledge the rest of the picture: the broken headlights of the bus lighting up the ground, the tiny puddle of blood smeared on the road, the dog looking straight up at him next to his leg.
The world stops spinning.
“Wait…” Jeongguk mumbles to himself, sniffling, blinking a few times as if to make sure the animal is in fact really looking at him and not at something behind him, because he sure feels invisible right now. “You… you can see me?”
The question comes out a little high-pitched, filled with hope amidst the tears, but the dog doesn’t seem to mind—the puppy barks in response and wags his tail happily, nosing Jeongguk’s leg with his snout. He quickly kneels down to meet the animal, petting him with joy as his emotions brew new tears that never fall from his eyes. Around them, the crowd dissipates as soon as the ambulance drives away with Yugyeom in the back with him.
Like nothing ever happened, like he never passed out. Or away.
“I felt like no one knew I was here for a moment there,” Jeongguk confesses in a soft, pained whisper. His fingers then sneak under the dog’s collar, where he finds a bone-shaped name tag. “ Bam… but there’s no number to call? Nothing to find your owner… Aish! I’ll have to take care of you, hm?”
Looking rather happy at the prospect of staying with Jeongguk, Bam paws at his knees and reaches up to lick his face a little, making Jeongguk giggle. He would have never imagined he’d laugh in a moment like this. Not like he would have imagined any of it happening whatsoever though.
“Gosh, I feel so weird… What am I supposed to do, hm? I can’t live as a ghost. It’s too soon for that, isn’t it?” Before he can open his mouth again, Bam is quickly leaving his lap to tug at… “Bam?! What— what are you— Oh. My. God.” Jeongguk screeches, horrified, “I HAVE A TAIL?!”
Relentless in his mission, Bam whines and yanks the see-through purplish tail that resembles a lion’s, until Jeongguk is standing before a light post. On its surface, a printed ad reads:
—
Jimin can’t hear it anymore. “No. No . It’s impossible,” he thinks to himself, but even that little voice seems different now than it used to be. It’s abstract, a mix of femininity and masculinity mingling in a way that sounds pretty distorted, unfamiliar . He lifts his hand to his heart, although the weight it usually carries doesn’t accompany it—there’s no thumping, nothing. Nothing.
He wants to scream—he’s so scared, so, so, so afraid of the meaning of what he can’t feel. But he doesn’t. Suddenly, it’s like his mind has been swept clean, almost as if he has been reborn, yet he feels the weight of maturity and wisdom within him. Probably the only weight he can sense. All there’s left is his name—Jimin.
Everything is colourless around him; bright white, and deafeningly silent. Jimin lifts his hands in front of himself, but he can’t see them. Frantically, his eyes snap around, searching for the rest of him, the body he can somewhat feel, but is not there. It’s not there. His breath quickens yet doesn’t get trapped in his lungs—rather, it flows freely around his body, all the way to his toes and away. It escapes him.
There was never a moment in his life when Jimin wanted to cry more. Or so he thinks—he can’t remember. And he can’t cry, either. It’s so frustrating, so infuriating, so belittling.
“Why me, out of all people?” he wants to shout, to no avail.
Jimin wills himself to blink, hoping to be surrounded by darkness for a split second. And it works—if only for that long, for when he opens his eyes again, there’s no whiteness anymore. He’s suddenly being pulled by an unmatching strong force, down, down , and all kinds of colours surround him. Reds, blues, greens, and even some shades he doesn’t recall ever seeing shift before his eyes at the speed of light, all while he tries to take air in. But he’s falling too fast, his chest leading the way to wherever he’s supposed to end up. He hopes there is an end to this trip.
It goes on for what feels like hours. Not once has he been able to close his eyes again. But suddenly, he’s hit with that exact force that was pulling him down seconds ago as he stops abruptly. Logically, it should have hurt. It should have shattered his bones, crushed his body. But it doesn’t. Instead, Jimin feels something familiar under his fingertips, which brush over the unique material seeking comfort.
Finally, he sees , blinks a few times to make sure what’s in front of his eyes is real. It sure feels like it. Blue, expanding over him, contaminated by a few white fluffy clouds, on some of which the setting sun reflects its light in orange hues. A soft breeze makes his skin react, although it’s not as strong as he thinks it should have been. Somehow, everything feels a little too diluted, almost like it’s not completely real.
Deciding that he wants to take this moment in for a while, Jimin lays still on the spot, caressing what he now identifies as grass—the sound of the wind rustling it and the scent of the green leaves giving it up. But he’s aware that, at some point, he must sit up and face whatever has happened. So, after a few minutes of complete silence in which he allows the rushing thoughts to just pass by, Jimin pulls his body up to a seated position.
Before him, the Orn River flows as if nothing has changed. As if Jimin’s heart was beating in his chest and his blood was still flowing through his veins. But he knows it’s not. There are so many things wrong in this moment, yet everything seems so calm, so at peace, just the way it must have been when whatever took him to a colourless world happened.
The hues of the sunset mingle over the water, on the windows of the high buildings in the distance, and the wind plays with the cherry blossoms, detaching them from the trees around him and creating a pink petal rain.
Jimin wishes he could stay in this moment forever. But leaning against one of the cherry trees, right in front of him, there are a pair of electric blue eyes piercing through him from under an ebony fringe. He observes for a moment the small nose and plump lips that compose the man’s face, prettily framed by strands of dark hair that flutter free with the wind from a small bun. A black and white scarf hides his neck and contrasts with the dark clothes covering his lean body.
It’s strange, but it feels like fate.
“I’m Yoongi,” the stranger breaks the silence after what feels like years, “Sorry. For what’s happened.”
The words echo in Jimin’s mind as he tries to make sense of them—he shakes his head, hoping to get them to stop. “ What happened?”
Yoongi’s lips twitch in a pitiful smirk, “I guess that’s something we’ll figure out with time. Maybe.”
At that, Jimin hums and looks away, as if he understands the meaning behind Yoongi’s cryptic words. Everything looks so beautiful, so peaceful, and suddenly he wonders…
“Am I dead?”