Chapter Text
When the year passed, on the eve of the last day, Jeongguk braced himself. He knew it was his last day, said goodbye to his loved ones and prepared himself.
But nothing happened.
He woke up the next day, and nothing happened. He had to lie, said that it was just a shitty prank, ask for forgiveness. Nothing happened.
Jimin’s tear stained face appeared then, his painful sobs ringing loudly in his ears. He asked for forgiveness too, and Jeongguk left him, again.
Jeongguk always left. Left him alone, crying and scared, and he left. Jimin trusted him, told him his story, gifted him time, kissed him so softly, so gently - and Jeongguk abandoned him.
A part of him tried to convince himself that Jimin lied, didn’t told him the truth, toyed with him for years , took their game of push and pull far enough to kiss him.
But Jeongguk was a hypocrite.
He knew he was the one that asked to kiss him, drank in the shocked, timid expression of his and enjoyed the smooth slide of their kiss, the soft, airy gasps Jimin made. He ignored the gazes too, tender and fragile, like Jeongguk held his heart in the palm of his hands.
He was a hypocrite, and guilty.
Jimin had asked for one thing, only that. Told him his story, told him the truth , after he spent so much time demanding him and when he told him, Jeongguk ran away.
Deep down, he always knew the truth wouldn’t be pretty, would probably disturbing. But instead it was just - sad. It was so fucking, made Jimin so fucking miserable for so long. He brought his hands to his face, buried it there as he cried silently.
The next year, Jeongguk waited, waited, waited, but no matter the night, he never woke up in the tundra. He waited, one year more, then another, and another, another, another, and yet he never - Jimin never came back.
Jeongguk tried to call for him. In the morning, the first hours of the night, in the middle of it, even in his dreams and nightmares. He never saw the carousel again.
Once, in a desperate attempt, he cut his palm, bled upon an apple and smeared his blood across the fruit. Nothing happened, and he curled on himself and cried to sleep.
When he was almost sixty, he visited the beach. It didn’t occur to him, the grey sky and calm sea screaming at him. At night, he decided to go for a walk, and as he dug his feet in the sand, he halted. His breath caught on his throat and he trembled. How - how didn’t he think of this?
He glanced quickly and in all directions, something heavy pressing down on his chest. The beach was submerged in darkness, and still, he called.
“Jimin, please.” Falling to his knees, he cried. And even then, he felt like a hypocrite. How bold of him to dare cry. “Please, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jimin, please.”
There was a focus then, bright and weak, and he snapped his neck to look at the waters, searching for a lighthouse. There was nothing - just a simple, rusty turquoise carousel on the shore.
He gasped, froze for a second before standing on wobbly feet and sprinted towards it, afraid it was going to disappear all of sudden.
Jeongguk touched it, rough and cold beneath his fingertips and closed his eyes, waking up in the tundra. He looked at his hands, smooth and young, one of them covered in tattoos, his hair longer.
The sky was overcast, dark and with somber clouds threatening to dump on him all the rain. He wished they did, left him soaked and clean, cold and hopeless like he deserved.
He couldn’t stop crying, shaking as he held on the carousel desperately, as if he let go the view would transform again and take him to a desert beach. Wondered, what he would say to him, how he would apologise for it to sound genuine - wondered if he could kiss him one last time.
How greedy, what a hypocrite.
“You have been calling for me.”
It felt like a bullet, hearing his voice loud and clear, more hostile and airy than he remembered. He was dressed in the stupid red suit, and too fucking far. Jeongguk hated it, didn’t bother to stop or wipe the tears. He had no dignity left, anyways.
“I, I - I’m suh- sorry.” His sobs turned uncontrollable, the impassive and impersonal stare of his boring his soul, if he had any. It hurt. He deserved it. “I’m so- I’m so sorry, Jimin.”
Jimin grimaced, like it hurt for him too, and looked away, gulped. “There is nothing to apologise for.” He said, so somenly, like he actually believed so. He pocketed his hands, looked down.
“Of course there is.” He murmured, his voice cracking, tone laced with disbelief. “I have so much to - to apologise for, Jimin -”
“Stop.” And even in the whispers, he heard the ache, the sadness and the anger. He shut his mouth. Jimin cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair to push it back. “Why are you here? There is no need for you to. You will die when it’s due, not before.”
“Nuh- no, I - I didn’t come for that.”
“Then?”
“I wanted, wanted to see you.” He said it in such a small voice, the way Jimin sucked in a breath, surprised, perfectly audible. It hurt, hurt how he could easily tell that he thought he was lying.
“I already told you everything. There’s nothing more.”
“I know. I know, I’m sorry.”
A pause. “Then?” Jeongguk looked at him, saw his beautiful face crumbling. “What else do you want, Jeongguk?”
How cruel, he thought. How cruel of him to ask for forgiveness, to want more than just seeing him. How entitled.
“I’m sorry.”
Jimin huffed, rubbed at his face roughly to wipe the stray tears, and span, looking away from him. Jeongguk stumbled as he tried to follow him, his strides slow but firm, proper of someone who had roamed the ground for so long, the carousel small on the near distance, as if it didn’t have the strength to stand proud.
Stopping abruptly, Jimin glanced at him sharply, and even in his indifference, he still found a hit of tenderness he didn’t deserve. There, by their feet, enormous roots travelled deep in the soil and forwards, leading to a big tree that Jeongguk immediately recognised.
He stared at Jimin, puzzled, and waited.
“It contains all the memories from everyone who has made the contract.” He said, “Yours, too. As well as mine. It will show you the accident, if that is what you want. There is nothing more I can offer you, nothing more.”
Jeongguk gaped, an ugly feeling rushing through him, hot and tingling, the anger slowly settling in his lungs. He bit his tongue before speaking, breathed through his nose for a long time to try and calm himself. He didn’t deserve it.
“I just wanted to apologise, Jimin -”
“Stop. Stop saying that, stop. There is nothing to apologise for.”
“I left -”
“Enough!” He screamed, scales popping out suddenly, bright and hazardous, his iris turning yellow. “You already said it, and if there is nothing more that you desire here, then leave.” Gasping, his knees trembled, the sky darkening until it was submerged in pitch black, a gelid air blast wrapping around him and constricting. “Your time is not due yet,” He declared, “you will not come back until then.”
Jimin rose a hand, grabbed him by the neck of his sweater and janked him closer to himself, the other hand twirling and bringing with a snap the carousel by their side. It seemed to double, the structure not so simple and the paint not patched, a lively blue on the top and poles piercing the loin of plastic horses, the bulbs glowing powerfully.
His eyes widened painfully, grasped Jimin’s forearm with all the strength he could muster, a silent plea on the tip of his tongue. His arm did not move in the slightest, his grip immovable like iron, instead lifting the other and bringing it to Jeongguk’s face. He caressed his temples, mapping the shape of his face, the line of his jaw and then the curve of his nose. Jeongguk heaved a sob, a tear being caught by his thumb, and locked eyes with him, watching mesmerized and so fucking scared as his expression softened a little.
Jimin touched the shell of his ear then, pinching the lobe and smiling weakly, tucking a strand of hair behind it. Jeongguk’s eyes fluttered, finally closing when Jimin leaned in a kissed his bottom lip delicately, slowly, like a reverence, kissing the mole underneath it and breathing softly, the touch of their lips growing salty with his tears, whispering a cry there and imprinting it there with his kiss.
“I’m sorry.” He murmured, smiling with watery eyes before pushing him onto the carousel, the ride already spinning quickly and transforming Jimin’s face in a blurry image.
He is almost ninety when he finally reaches his deathbed, and all he can remember is a red suit.
And when he wakes up, he does so on a cliff, with big, heavy clouds cloaking the sky with grey shades and pouring on him small drops of gentle water. Something wraps protectively around him, and it takes him a moment to realise they are wings, and that they do, in fact, emerge from his back.
They are covered in a royal blue, tiny flickers of silver shining, soft, sharp feathers making him warm and keeping him dry. The plumes are smooth under his fingertips, and he stares at his hands, long claws instead of nails and a black tint dying them and hiding his tattoos, up to his forearms in patched patterns.
He feels taller, bulkier, strong in a sense he has never felt before, a dormant force pulsating slowly in his system. He sucks his teeth, hissing when they poke his tongue with pointed tips, and glances around.
Nothing appears, even when he expects the carousel at least. The ground gives in as he walks, his steps making dents on it, lifting the soil and breaking some minuscule rocks, and he looks down when he reaches the end of the cliff, sand and violent waves underneath it.
He feels something shift, like there is a breach somewhere and finds a splash of orange in the middle of the field.
Jimin looks at him, two big, dangling earrings hanging from his ears and black hair pushed back completely. His brows are furrowed and his instance is alert, watches him with fierce eyes, like he’s expecting some kind of fight.
His wings take flight before he can process it, takes him close, close, close to Jimin until they are merely inches apart, can hear the way his breath hitches. Jimin observes him, racks his eyes through his body, his wings, sadly, like it pains him, and ducks his head down.
“I am sorry.” He says, like it is his fault. He hates it, hurts.
Jeongguk brings a hand to his cheek, relishes in the way Jimin nuzzles on his palm, circling his wrist with trembling fingers, and kisses them, glossy tears dying on his fingers. He is cold, he realises, cold and shaking, and so Jeongguk hugs him, buries him in his arms as his wings wrap around both of them, warm and so soft Jimin whimpers, clings on him as he lets himself be held.
He already decided long ago, but watching him forms an uncomfortable lump on his throat, makes it difficult to breath, his heart racing painfully. He owns him this much, he knows, and yet it still hurts.
“You are here.” There is a hopeful glint in his brown iris, and Jeongguk can’t deny him even when he desperately wants to. It’s not fair.
“I am.”
Jimin hums, gives another kiss to his chest, and pulls back with a shudder. He falls to his knees, like he cannot stand anymore, like his weight is too much for him, all the battle escaping his frame, and cries.
“Please.”
Jeongguk wonders, wonders why is it not possible for him to continue, now that he is here, that he isn’t alone anymore.
“Please.” He begs again, more quietly, “I love you.” He whispers, like he is not meant to hear it. Jeongguk hears it, curses through his veins like liquid gold and settles on his heart. He wonders, asks himself why it is not fair, why he can’t breath. “Please, Jeonggukie. Please.”
He wonders, as he kneels in front of him, how it would have been if they had met some other time - wonders why his hushed cries resonate so loud, wonders why it hurts so much.
Jimin looks relieved when he places both hands on his neck, stops sobbing and looks at him, his eyes serene and thankful, the grasp on his wrist gentle, loving, grateful. He smiles, so wide, so beautifully, and his body relaxes when Jeongguk squeezes, keeps smiling when he leans in and kisses him, softly, delicate and slow as their lips slot together in a tender kiss.
“I love you.” He breathes on his lips, and squeezes harder.
Jimin smiles.