Archive of Our Own

Hoseok stares up at the Grade II leader-board in disbelief.

His name is on it. JUNG, H. picked out in shiny gold letters burned into mahogany, hung in pride of place at the top of the main staircase in the great hall, where every hunter passing through the Guild headquarters will see it. The display holds for thirty seconds before going dark, erasing the scores of the top ten of Grade II to automatically roll onto the grade below, but that gleaming number two remains etched into his brain, an after-image dancing before his eyes like it’s mocking him.

Anyone else would be proud of his position, right at the top of the second highest echelon of the Guild at only twenty-six, when most hunters would never make it this far in the span of their entire careers, but not Hoseok, not with his family, not when Jeon has beaten him again.

The leader-board has made a full circuit now, so he can check his score, the sum of all the dark energy he has removed from this realm in the past week, demons slain and shades destroyed, dead things, things that used-to-be or never-were, returned to the earth where they belong. He keeps hoping that somehow the result will be different, that the spell that keeps track of the hunts will have missed something and any moment now it will refresh and give him that number one he so deserves. That he needs.

It’s a narrow margin, that’s for sure, only a couple of souls in it. This is probably the closest Hoseok has come to ousting the golden boy from the top spot in all the months that they’ve been competing for it – it probably means a few more records broken between them. But it doesn’t matter; all anybody cares about in the Guild is relatives. His family won’t see what he has achieved, only that he has lost.

“So what’s your excuse going to be this time?” Dawon asks, appearing beside him just when he least wants to see her.

“What’s yours?” Hoseok snaps, lips twisting into a scowl. He wishes this whole thing wasn’t so horrifically public, but that’s the way it is with the Guild, it’s all about status and prestige. “Still not in the top fifty, I see.”

She smiles, pleased at her little victory over him – he makes it too easy for her, he’s always been bad at hiding his emotions, at keeping up the front. Yet another reason why he’s such a disappointment – his own barb has no effect. Once you’ve reached Grade I there’s nowhere left to go, not unless you manage to fuck up so badly as to drop down a tier, and that rarely happens, certainly not to hunters from the old blood. A family like theirs would never let that happen. A few decades into the game, the absolute best of the best might get promoted out of the grade system altogether, but at their age, it’s just a constant scrabble for the best spots.

“Neither are Minjae or Chanwoo,” Dawon points out, mentioning their closest cousins. “And I’m higher than the Min kid this week, so that’s good enough for mum and dad. You, however, are running out of time.”

 “I’ve got til September,” Hoseok reminds her, stony-faced. “That’s plenty of time.”

All he needs is to get that number one position once, just once, and he’ll progress into Grade I in time for the winter season as is expected of him. Every other member of his family has taken no more than a year to pass between the grades, rising through the ranks with the easy entitlement of people who can afford the best tuition, the best weapons and wards, who don’t need to waste time on earning a living outside the blood bounties that the Guild pays out. He doesn’t think about the shame that would come from failing, because it simply isn’t an option.

“Not if you keep letting things go.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hoseok says, feeling slightly sick and hoping it doesn’t show on his face. Of course she knows; Dawon has a way of find things out no matter how hard he tries to keep them hidden, no matter how careful he thinks he is being.

Dawon rolls her eyes, unimpressed with his attempt at denial. “There’s no use lying to me about it. I know how many hunts you’ve been on, and it doesn’t add up. That last mission, the farmhouse outside the city, that was the one right? I could see it all over your face when you got back – you know it too. What was it? A possessed baby deer?”

Hoseok says nothing, knowing she’ll see through anything that isn’t the truth, and that the truth isn’t anything she’d want to hear. As it happens, it was a kitsune, a young mother with only two tails, killing new-born lambs and dragging them back to her den to feed her brood of nine, probably only taking the weak ones that wouldn’t survive long anyway. It would be another hundred years at least before she even came close to posing a threat to humans, as it was, her presence was probably more of a boon to the farmer than a curse, acting as a deterrence to any other opportunistic predators that might otherwise come through, ordinary foxes and crows included.

She was only causing trouble because she was hungry, and Hoseok hadn’t the stomach to kill her for it, so he let her know he was on the hunt as gently as he could, just making enough noise and disturbance to encourage her to move on of her own accord. He followed her out into the woods at the edge of the farm, where there’d be plenty of rabbits and other non-commercially valuable prey for her to hunt. It was the right thing to do, and Hoseok doesn’t want to argue about it.

“Whatever, you can deny all you like but you’re only scuppering your own chances,” Dawon says, clearly irritated at his unresponsiveness. “You’d have made the top spot if you’d had the guts to do what needed to be done.”

But it didn’t need to be done, that’s the point, Hoseok thinks bitterly, knowing better than to voice these thoughts aloud. A Good Demon Is A Dead Demon, that was their family motto, and he hasn’t tried to question it since he was a kid. All it earned him then was disapproval, doing it now would be tantamount to betrayal in his parents’ eyes, like he wants to undermine everything his family, and by extension the Guild stands for, like he wants the demons to win.

Hoseok just thinks that not everything has to be about winning or losing.

He looks at the numbers again. No, the kitsune wouldn’t have been enough, not unless he’d killed all of her kits too, and that just wouldn’t have been worth it. If he’s sure of anything, he’s sure of that.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Hoseok says instead, impressed with how calm he sounds. His left hand is balled into a fist in his pocket where she can’t see, nails digging into the skin of his palm.

“Jeon wouldn’t hesitate,” Dawon goads him, spoiling for a fight. Hoseok wonders if maybe she does have something to hide from their parents – it’s not like he’s competition for her, she doesn’t have to bring him down to succeed, not for a few years yet anyway, but maybe she’s trying to make his failure worse so that they won’t look too closely at her. Not for the first time, he finds himself wishing their relationship didn’t have to be so strained, that she could just take his side for once, that he could forgive her for the way their parents have pitted them against one another.

“I don’t give a fuck about what Jeon would do,” he snaps, rising to the bait just to giver her what she wants, tired of her needling. “Maybe you should focus on your own shit instead of obsessing over mine. They’ll find out, whatever it is.”

“And maybe you should focus more on fixing yours,” she hisses, eyes narrowing dangerously. Ah, so he was right, there is something – Dawon is normally so hard to read, so he allows himself his little moment of satisfaction, however fleeting, at having hit back somewhere that hurts. “Mum and Dad can tell you’re not trying hard enough, you know. They probably think you’re being careless, whilst Jeon is working for it, but they could change your minds, and you won’t like it when you do.”

She won’t tell them – maybe its some small scrap of solidarity that holds her back, maybe she just enjoys holding it over him, who knows – she’s had plenty of chances to do so over the years, and she never has. Still, she’s right. Their parents just can’t accept that he’s letting someone be better than him, no matter that Jeon is just that good, they’ll always see it as his weakness, his failure.

It was alright when it was Seokjin at the top of the leader-boards – nobody else ever took top spot back then, and the old blood all competed over second place instead and treated it like first – being beaten by him week in, week out, wasn’t considered a disgrace. Plenty of hunters stayed in lower grades longer than they expected to because they had to wait for him to progress, and so those younger than them had to be content with waiting too. But Seokjin was just an upstart, an outsider who didn’t follow the rules, so he didn’t matter.

Hoseok had always liked Seokjin, had admired him even, for his I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude and his healthy disrespect for the elite, liked that he let things go when killing them helped no one. It had given him the courage to do the same, that one time he caught him freeing a river demon tangled in fishing nets down at the docks, breaking into a boat to get close enough to cut it loose. They’d spoken only a handful of times, and despite the elder’s slightly hostile attitude, he’d thought they might even be friends given time. But Seokjin had disappeared two and a half years ago, and with him any chance of things changing in the Guild.

“I am focussed – all I have to do is beat him once, and I’m going to, you’ll see,” Hoseok insists, mostly to convince himself and they both know it. “I’ll do what it takes.”

“Just don’t do something stupid,” Dawon warns him, her usually perfect mask slipping just a little to let a surprising amount of concern seep through into her tone. It seems to take her by surprise too, for she’s quick to cover it up. “You’ll only succeed in dragging the family name through the mud along with yours.”

“See you at dinner, Dawon,” he says icily, effectively dismissing her. She takes offence, as intended, stalking away in a huff and leaving him to stare at the leader-board and search for solutions a while longer.

The problem is, Jeon Jungkook really is just too good to beat. It’s to be expected, given the family he was born into, the richest and most powerful of the dozen or so old houses who run the Guild – both parents are already rated X, the elite classification handed out to only a few, along with his grandparents before them and their parents before that. The youngest of the lot, he’s the only one who’s yet to reach Grade I, and at twenty-three, that’s only because the Guild won’t let him in yet. Rumour has it he’s already taken on an S-class demon, brought along to a hunt by his parents when he was just nineteen, to face a monster only hunters in the top fifty are even allowed to fight. He’s held the top spot for thirty-nine weeks in a row now, a feat previously only achieved by the great Kim Seokjin himself (though the Jeons are pretending he’s the first, and the rest of the Guild are happy to let them).

“Excuse me,” someone says to his left, another hunter arriving on the landing to check his scores, soft voice only just catching Hoseok’s attention. He must be a novice; no one else would be that polite. “Do you have the time?”

Hoseok tears his eyes away from the board to check his phone. There is no use looking at it any longer, anyway. “Quarter past eleven.”

“Thank you,” he replies, though something in his tone suggests that wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear.

“No problem,” Hoseok looks up to offer him a friendly smile and some encouragement, mistaking what he will later realise was irritation for nerves, only for it to sour into a scowl when he sees who he’s been talking to.

Jeon Jungkook looks every part the hunter. He holds himself with the easy confidence of a man who knows exactly what he’s worth and is firm in the belief that others should know it too. He’s standing to attention with his hands folded neatly behind his back, steel toecap boots planted firmly hip-width apart, alert for whatever dangers may be lurking, but he’s also relaxed, self-assured in the knowledge that he’s ready to handle them. It’s a stance that brooks no question, that says I’m meant to be here, but doesn’t even need to say it, because it’s just so obvious.

There’s something almost severe about him. In his sharp jawbone, hard set, the way his long hair is scraped back into a workman-like bun, the subtle glow about his outline, the mark of a powerful aura, tall and striking in the customary hunter blacks, biceps straining at the material of his shirt. Hoseok doesn’t doubt that he could take him out with one punch, and he looks like he wouldn’t waste energy on magic where brute strength would do the job just as well. It’s intimidating.

He’s pretty up close, Hoseok thinks bitterly, and finds that this only succeeds in worsening his mood. It seems like an extra layer of insult that Jungkook should have this on top of everything else. Even the one miniscule flaw in his otherwise perfect skin, a tiny scar on his cheek, is something to be envious of.  Real fucking pretty.

Jungkook is staring up at the leader-board with a barely imperceptible frown, like what he sees troubles him somehow. What the fuck does he have to be worried about? The perfect golden boy that nobody can shut up about, who’s had everything he’s ever wanted handed to him on a plate?

Hoseok expects him to say something, to acknowledge him in some way, but he merely bows politely (though it feels like he’s mocking him, barely meeting his gaze like he’s so utterly beneath his notice) and sweeps past him without a word.

In truth, beyond his many accolades, Hoseok doesn’t know a thing about him. Jeon is rarely seen at headquarters, turning up only briefly between his endless missions, too busy earning a little extra glory for his already inflated ego. He never attends social events, even the ones the rest of the family deem worthy of their presence (i.e. the ones only the top grades are invited to, where there’s no risk of mixing with those they consider beneath them). But fundamentally, Hoseok doesn’t have to know him, to know exactly what kind of person he is.

All the old families are exactly the same: self-centred, entitled, greedy, scheming and manipulative, arrogant bastards who think they’re better than everyone else. Jeon Jungkook is no different.

And in that moment, Hoseok hates him more than anything.

~

JK:

How was dinner with your parents?

Me:

Hell

JK:

Shit, I’m sorry :(

Can I call you?

Me:

Please

Hoseok picks up the call on the second ring, not trying very hard to hide how eager he is to hear JK’s voice. “Hey.”

“Are you ok?”

“Been worse,” Hoseok replies, the most positive he can manage to be about it. He double-checks the lock on his door, casts a quick silencing charm for some privacy – Dawon has a habit of barging in uninvited, and an even less welcome habit of eavesdropping – and flops down on his bed with a groan.

JK makes a sympathetic sound. “We can talk about it if you like.”

“It’s just the same old,” he says, staring up at the ceiling. Talking to JK always has this magical effect of making everything else seem a little more bearable, more distant. Already, dinner feels like it happened days ago, like he can almost pretend it will have all blown over by the morning, that the awful tension between them has already started to lessen and fade away. “My sister found out about the kitsune. Well, she guessed.”

“Will she tell your parents?”

“No,” Hoseok shakes his head. “I doubt it. Don’t think it would play well for her right now, anyway.”

“Why? Did you find out what was up with her?” JK sounds worried on her behalf, which is sweet of him and more than she deserves – well, no, he’s being disloyal, she does deserve sympathy, Hoseok just finds it hard when she won’t extend him the same courtesy – but that’s typical of him. He’s got far too big of a heart.

“Yeah, I did,” Hoseok winces. He’d found out alright, and it had destroyed any hope of enjoying his food, every mouthful after that outburst had been taken on autopilot, barely registering the taste. His parents’ anger always felt like damnation, even when it was directed at someone else. “Turns out she’s got a secret girlfriend – a cousin saw them together and passed it along.”

“Oh. I thought your parents were ok with… with having girlfriends.” He means being gay, something his own parents are decidedly not ok with, which is why he can’t even bring himself to say it.

“No, they are. That’s not the problem. Thing is, the girlfriend’s a –” he cuts himself off before he says the slur hunters use for those not born into it, the rare (but not as rare as the Guild elite would have you believe) few who have the gift regardless of the lack of magical blood. He doesn’t mean to use it, doesn’t want to either, but he’s heard it so often growing up that it’s an ingrained part of his vocabulary, slipping out as easy as any other word. “Her father’s side of the family are all Ordinaries, don’t think he’s even a hunter. The mother’s a minor Kim, apparently, but that doesn’t make much of a difference as far as my parents are concerned. My dad told my sister to break up with her.”

There didn’t need to be an or; his parents didn’t threaten, they just expected. And god forbid either of their children failed to meet their expectations.

“Do you think she will?” JK asks, subdued. Hoseok regrets bringing it up – he knows this is a touchy subject for him – but he’s the only person he can confide in about these things. Kind of sad really, considering in many ways he’s basically a complete stranger.

“God knows. She’s been keeping it a secret all this time – this might just make her more careful… it’s not like she’ll talk to me about it either way,” he sighs, casting around for a suitable change of subject. He’s had enough of this conversation, of his messed up family, and JK is probably sick of hearing it too, not that he’d ever admit it. “In nicer news, my new bag arrived today without anyone noticing.”

The thing is, Hoseok hates the colour black. It doesn’t suit him at all, makes him look all washed out and exhausted – which, to be fair, he is, but he’d rather not wear things that highlight the bags under his eyes. If he had his way, he’d only wear bright, sunny things, develop a style that could only be described as loud, all garish patterned shirts and colourful accessories. But his family have always been a stickler for tradition, for doing things properly (whatever that means), and admittedly when it comes to clothes, they might have a point. Eye-catching is hardly a desirable property for a hunting outfit.

“Ooh, really? I bet it’s super cute!” JK exclaims, and Hoseok can almost see him grinning on the other end of the line – or does his best to imagine it, anyway, since he’s never actually seen his face.

He smiles, chest doing that funny tight thing it so often does when he’s talking to JK, like he’s bursting at the seams with happiness. “Hang on, I’ll send you a photo.”

This is how they’d first met, bonding over their secret lives. Though JK’s aesthetic is the polar opposite to his, tattoos and piercings and anything black, they’ve both got passions that their families would never approve of, both found an outlet through the anonymity of social media. Hoseok was the one who was brave enough to message first, after months of following one another, recognising the symbols tattooed across JK’s knuckles as hunter magic, sigils for each of the four elements, and desperate to find someone who would understand.

“Oh wow, I love it!” JK tells him after he texts him a picture.

“I know right, it’s so nice,” Hoseok whines, knowing that he’ll never get a chance to wear it. It’s a shoulder bag, waxed canvas in white with a rainbow trim and a yellow smiley face in the centre surrounded by multicoloured petals. Since they’ve both deleted their accounts, fearful of family members finding out and linking it back to them, no matter how careful they are to hide their identities, he can’t even show it off on there. “How’s that sleeve of yours coming along?”

“It’s finished!” He says proudly.

“Christ, you have a high pain tolerance,” he whistles, impressed. It’s been less than a year since JK got his first tattoo. “Thought about what you’re gonna do next? The other arm?”

“Maybe. I kinda want to have something on my ribs, but I’m worried that’s just asking for trouble, you know? If I get injured, the healers will see.”

“Ok, but when do you ever get injured? You’re too good,” Hoseok teases him, hoping it will cheer him up. Sometimes – alright, most of the time – he thinks he would do anything to make JK happy, to make him laugh, even just for a second.

“Well you say that, but the other day I almost had my finger bitten off by a demonic pansy,” JK giggles, music to Hoseok’s ears. “And I still let the little bugger go. My aunt called me over to get rid of it for her – can you believe that? The easiest hunt in the world!”

Hoseok can believe it. JK’s whole family treat him like a dog, like he’s just there to run errands for them and take care of all the things they don’t want to get their hands dirty dealing with.

“But I’m glad she did,” JK continues, and for once Hoseok is glad that they only ever talk over the phone, so that he can’t see how angry he gets on his behalf. He deserves to know that it’s shitty, the things they do to him, but sometimes when it comes to family, it’s too painful to face, easier to deny that it hurts you than hear that you have a right to be hurt. Hoseok understands that better than anyone. “I dug it out and brought it over to our neighbour’s garden. I’ve heard him arguing with my mother about plant demons before – apparently they keep the slugs down! – so I figured it would be welcome there. Of course, half the reason she disapproves is that he does his own gardening instead of paying someone to do it for him.”

“What about your aunt? She won’t notice?”

“Oh, no, that was easy,” he reassures him. “Little demons like that don’t count in our scores – mum says that if you’re relying on weak things to earn your position, then you don’t deserve it.”

“Wow, ok,” Hoseok says, not sure how else to reply. Every new bit of information he learns about JK’s family only succeeds in making him hate them more – they’re even worse than his own.

JK yawns – he sounds exhausted. Even more than usual that is – turning over in search of a more comfortable position. “Yeah, I know.”

“You’re tired, why aren’t you asleep yet?” He admonishes him gently, unable to keep the fondness from seeping into his voice. He worries that he’s too obvious sometimes, that he’s coming on too strong, but then again JK is clearly clueless – either that or he’s a very good actor.

“I’m fine,” he protests, voice slightly muffled where his face must be pressed into a pillow. At least, Hoseok hopes it’s a pillow – he’s been known to fall asleep at his desk.

“Uh-huh,” he tuts disapprovingly, unconvinced. “And how much sleep did you get last night, then?”

“Um, none, technically,” JK admits sheepishly. “Pulled an all-nighter at the train tracks. Last hours before the scores come in, you know?”

Unfortunately, Hoseok does. Not only has he done the same, far, far too many times, but JK has told him all about what his parents do if his score isn’t high enough. He’s only in the lower grades (or so Hoseok assumes, judging by his age – they don’t discuss their work in detail, since it would be all too easy to figure out their real identities), so it shouldn’t matter, but they see his position as an extension of his own. He’s a trophy to them and nothing more.

He wants to tell him that he doesn’t have to do this, to push himself so hard, but he’d be a hypocrite if he did. “Just try and get some rest now, ok?”

“I’m alright. I’d rather talk to you a little longer anyway,” JK says, completely oblivious to how his words make Hoseok’s heart flutter.

The thing is, Hoseok likes JK, really likes him. Yes, they’ve never met in person, never seen each other’s faces, don’t even know each other’s real names, but it doesn’t matter. JK is sweet and kind, he always puts other people before himself even though he never gets any thanks for it, despite everything in his upbringing that would mitigate against it. Hoseok is willing to admit that his own family has made him judgemental and competitive, that he’s full of prejudices and snobbery, quick to anger and slow to forgive; he doesn’t like who he is, doesn’t pretend he’s any better than the rest, no matter how much he wishes he didn’t have to be like them. But JK has no such flaws, he’s just pure, unadulterated good, and Hoseok loves him for it.

Personality is what matters for him, being able to just click with someone, to understand each other perfectly, and more than anything, JK has been there for Hoseok in ways no one else ever has. He’s pretty certain JK is gorgeous anyway, with his lovely voice and that laugh of his that just fills him with joy every time he hears it. Besides, he once told him that people say he looks like a bunny – they didn’t mean it as a compliment, something about his front teeth apparently, his big eyes – and Hoseok thinks that sounds pretty damn adorable.

He’s never told him how he feels, partly because he hasn’t got the guts, and partly because he knows it will never work. JK is gay, yes, but he’s terrified of his parents ever finding out, terrified of anyone ever seeing all the parts of himself he’s been told are undesirable, so he’d never agree to meet in person and Hoseok would never ask him to. He’d rather throw himself on the mercy of a shade than do anything to make the thing they have anything less than a safe space for him, to make him feel like what he gives isn’t good enough. And, in truth, he’s not sure how he feels about JK knowing the ‘real’ him either, sometimes feels like the person he is around him is the fake version of himself, just an act, and he deserves someone genuine.

There’s also the small issue of JK being in love with someone else.

“I saw my crush today!”

“Oh, yeah?” Hoseok says, trying to keep his tone light and enthusiastic, to fake some happiness for him. He deserves some friendly support with the way everyone else in his life treats him.

“I even spoke to him!” JK enthuses, tamping it down with a little self-deprecating laugh. “Well, it was just small talk, I asked him some dumb question.”

Unbidden, Hoseok’s thoughts return to his exchange with Jungkook on the landing earlier that day and he scowls, pushing it out of his mind. He doesn’t want to think about that bastard right now.

“Hey, I’m proud of you, though!” he tells him, and there’s no lie in that. Every tiny rebellion that JK makes is a win in his book, even if it’s not the one he wants. “That counts!”

“Thanks, Hope,” JK smiles (he can always hear it in his voice, just another thing he loves about him). “I wanted to say something more, but I was going to be late meeting my parents, so I –” he yawns again, no longer able to hide his exhaustion, “I had to go.”

“Come on, you need to sleep,” Hoseok orders, knowing ending the call himself will be the only way to get him to take care of himself. “We can talk tomorrow, yeah?”

“Alright, fine, if you promise,” JK concedes. “But listen, do you know what you’re going to do about your score yet?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a plan. It’ll be fine,” he lies, not wanting him to worry. JK doesn’t know who he’s up against – they never share specifics – doesn’t know how hopeless it is, but he doesn’t need to.

JK hums contentedly, now more asleep than awake. “’S good. Night, Hope.”

“Night JK,” Hoseok whispers, staying on the call just a while longer to listen as his breathing evens out, just to be sure he’ll actually sleep. “Sleep well.”

~

In the end, desperation pushes Hoseok to do exactly what he was warned not to: something stupid.

His parents make it very clear to him that he doesn’t have until September; if he doesn’t make it to the top of the leader-board by next week there will be consequences. They don’t spell out exactly what this means for him, but they don’t have to. He’ll be put back on the leash he has only just managed to escape. Gone will be the freedom to buy himself nice things and pretty clothes; they’ll monitor his spending and channel the Guild bounties he earns through his hard work into their own accounts where they won’t ‘distract’ him. Gone will be the freedom to go where he likes and decide how and when he wants to hunt, what kind of hunter he wants to be; they’ll track his every more, schedule every hour of his day to ensure not a minute is being wasted. Gone will be any hope of privacy; he won’t have the luxury of a lock on his bedroom door anymore, and anything they find in there that they deem responsible for his lax behaviour will be removed and disposed of.

The thought of going back to the way things were before is utterly unbearable. But worse than that, worse than having his wings clipped and being forced back into a cage that will seem ten times smaller than before, so much worse, he would lose the one truly good part of his life, the one thing left untouched by his family and their crushing expectations, by the Guild and its poison of endless competition. He would lose JK.

Hoseok can’t even imagine his life without him in it now, can’t imagine getting through a day without his messages, without calling him every night before he goes to sleep, without his kindness and support. Even if his parents somehow allowed it to continue, which they undoubtedly wouldn’t, not when they’re apportioning blame for his failures, not with everything that’s going on with Dawon, they would want to know who he was, and Hoseok couldn’t risk JK’s own parents finding about them, couldn’t put him in danger like that.

But he can’t face losing him either. He can’t.

So Hoseok follows rumours of an S-class demon, the only hunt that can guarantee him a win over Jeon, that would satisfy his parents – hell, if he could take down an S-class, they’d probably even be proud of him, and the giddy excitement of that mirage fools him into thinking it’s somehow something he can do. It’s a vast and ancient shade, the kind powerful enough to possess entire buildings, and he tracks it down to an abandoned warehouse on the river front the day before the leader-board updates.

It’s a swelteringly hot day in June, temperatures high enough to bake the exposed mud of the river at low tide dry, and he’s sweating in his heavy, black clothes, fingers so swollen in the heat that his gold rings are too tight to remove. But as soon as he enters the dilapidated building, climbing over fences and ducking under caution tape that denote a building condemned, forcing his way in through a broken side door hanging half off its hinges, rotten wood caving in under his fingers, the temperature drops by ten degrees or more and the sweat turns to ice running down his spine.

Hoseok wants to leave as soon as he takes the first step inside, knowing he’s made a terrible, terrible mistake, but when he turns back, the entrance is gone, and there’s no way out but forward into the belly of the beast. Strangely calm in the face of his inevitable death, his body moves like a puppet jerked about on its strings by some invisible master. It’s eerily silent, nothing from the outside world allowed in, and everything on the inside dampened down as if none of it is real, not even the drum of his own heartbeat, each footfall soft and soundless. The way ahead is nothing but shadows in pitch black, but he can see clearly nonetheless, following the escape route lit up by the spectral glow of Death’s Gills, fronds of fungi big as dinner plates sprouted from the walls and ceiling, liver-spotted and sweet smelling, waving gently like seaweed caught in current, a sure sign of a haunted place.

He walks for what feels like hours, just one foot in front of the other, over and over again, until suddenly he’s turning a corner and coming face-to-face with another hunter. That’s when the shock sets in, the paralysing fear – it’s the chance of being caught, of someone knowing just how recklessly, fatally, unbelievably stupid he has been.

For an eternal second they stand frozen, staring at one another, and then the whole building seems to cave in on them all at once, swallowing them up, and the last thing Hoseok sees before everything goes dark is Jeon Jungkook’s pale face, full of terror, a perfect mirror of his own.

~

When Hoseok comes to, the first thing he is aware of is the sound of someone struggling to breathe, dragging short, sharp gasps of air into their lungs like each one might be the last. Then comes the pain, lancing hot and white into his side, an ankle – broken maybe? – pounding headache raging behind his temples, bruised and scratched all over. And the relief that this must mean he’s not dead yet.

He coughs, lungs full of dust, tongue thick in a dry mouth, and struggles his way to full consciousness, fighting up towards the surface like he’s drowning in shadows. There’s a layer of dark magic hanging overhead, weighing him down, and when he pushes out against it with an exploratory tendril of thought, it pushes back twice as hard. He’s trapped.

Awareness of his limbs and the ability the move them returns in fits and starts, and for a terrible long, few seconds he thinks he’s been blinded, until his eyes adjust to the unnatural way of seeing without light. He looks about groggily, head spinning with the effort, taking in the tiny space, just a pocket of air between chunks of concrete and timber frame, held apart (together?) by the shade who in its anger at being disturbed had crushed its vessel like a paper ball in a closed fist. Once he’s seen all there is to see of his cage, his attention turns to the person he is sharing it with – Jeon? – and the memories of where he is and what he’s done piece themselves back together one by one.

Jungkook is injured – though probably in no worse a state than Hoseok – blook trickling from a cut in his hairline, eyes slightly unfocussed, dark hair come loose from his bun and framing his face (and if Hoseok could think at all, he’d probably think he was even prettier before). He’s shaking with exhaustion and – and panic. He’s hyperventilating, hands balled into tight fists at his sides, knees pulled up against his chest.

“Jeon. Hey, Jeon, look at me!” Hoseok has to say his name several times to get his attention. Jungkook looks at him with eyes wide with terror, and god, he’s just a kid, isn’t he? What the fuck would drive you to this? He has the sickening suspicion that it’s not ego, not pride, that the answer is just the same as his: the alternative was worse. He was the bitter, self-centred fool who assumed he was the only one who had it bad, that Jungkook’s parents wouldn’t be just as awful as his own, never satisfied no matter how much they sacrifice for them.

“Are you hurt?” Hoseok asks him, and then realising the stupidity of this question – of course he is, but getting a little hurt is part of the gig. There’s this sense that if you don’t come out of a hunt with a few battle scars to show just how tough you are, you’re doing something wrong – amends it. “Are you badly hurt?”

He doesn’t really know why he’s asking – it’s not like he can do anything if the answer’s yes. He’s always wanted to learn healing spells, knows the worth of being able to patch himself up or help others, but his parents think they’re a waste of time, that healing is a lesser profession than hunting – but thankfully Jungkook shakes his head.

It galls him to ask, to admit (both to himself and to Jungkook) that he’s not powerful enough, that he’s relying on Jungkook, even though he should have three years of experience and learning over him. But now is not the time for pride, so he swallows it down. “Can you get us out of here?”

“No, I can’t,” Jungkook says, voice hitching halfway through, and Hoseok is horrified to realise that he’s crying. “I’m sorry, I tried but it’s just too – there’s some kinda barrier and I just can’t get a hold of it, I can’t – fuck.”

“Hey,” Hoseok says, ignoring the pain in his ankle – definitely broken, if the sickening way the joints slide together is any indication – and the burning in his side – definitely magical, definitely something he doesn’t want to think about – to crawl closer to him, choking down the hiss of pain on instinct. Though he doesn’t know if this is for his benefit, to protect his pride (too many years of being told letting hurt show is a weakness), or for Jungkook. After a moment’s hesitation, he reaches out for Jungkook’s hand as well, and the younger grips it tightly, clinging to him like a lifeline.

“Just stay calm,” Hoseok tells him, feeling utterly helpless. No one knows he’s here, and he doubts Jungkook has told anyone either, no one is coming to rescue them. If they can’t find a way out… there’s only so much air in a space this small, there’s only so much time until the shade realises they’re still alive, there’s – “Breathe, ok? Just breathe with me. We’ll be alright, we’ll figure something out, just rest for a moment.”

He continues murmuring meaningless reassurances, whatever lies he can think of to tell, wrapping an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders and pulling him close when he doesn’t resist. The heat of another body is welcome in the sinister cold, even that of a stranger (because that is who Jungkook is, for all that he thought he knew him), the comforting beat of another human heart against his own chest, and he is infinitely grateful that he is not stuck in here alone.

Eventually, Jungkook’s breath starts to even out, the deathlike grip on his hand starts to loosen, as the panic fades just a little, replaced by numbness – or at least, that’s how Hoseok feels – and then he lets go all together. He shifts back to put some distance between them, turning his face away to wipe away the tears where Hoseok cannot see them – he understands, of course he does, but still he misses his warmth as soon as it’s gone.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook says, voice still a little wet and shaky, humiliation just enough to outweigh the terror.

“It’s not your fault,” Hoseok tells him, confused as to why he could possibly think it was. Maybe if it had just been him, the shade wouldn’t have come down on him with such force, maybe only the combined energy of two hunters was enough to catch its attention. But maybe if it was just him, he’d be wandering through shadowy halls for the rest of his life, slowly wasting away into nothingness. He wanders if that is what happened to Seokjin, if he bit off more than he could chew and was swallowed alive. Hoseok doesn’t want to die, but dying like this is preferable to that, anything is.

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “I mean for panicking, for – it’s embarrassing, I’m sorry. You must think I’m a coward.”

“That’s the last thing I would ever think,” he frowns, recognising the sound of words heard a hundred times and repeated, of someone else’s fucked up opinion. “It’s a perfectly normal reaction. We’re not… this is not a good place to be.”

“I’m just really bad with small spaces,” Jungkook confesses quietly, staring at his hands in his lap. Hoseok wanders if he wants to be held again, and he wants to offer, but he can’t face being turned down.

“Believe me, I’m fucking terrified too. I’m just emotionally constipated and bad at showing things,” Hoseok forces a laugh, desperate to cheer him up, to make their hopeless situation a little lighter. He racks his brain for something to distract him, distract both of them, the crushing weight of a thousand tonnes of rubble bearing down on him, a hand around his throat forbidding him to breathe – anything. “Just… let’s keep talking, ok? Tell me something. Tell me what you’ll do when we get out of here?”

If we get out of here. We’re never getting out. We’re never –

“What do you mean?” Jungkook asks, frowning at him in confusion. “Like if I’m going to tell anyone?”

“No, no, that’s not – I mean, what will you do to, ah, to celebrate? It’s like a promise, you know? Something we’ll do when we get out of here, so that we have to get out of here,” he explains, feeling stupid but pressing on regardless. “I’m gonna… fuck it, I’m going to take a week off, no hunting. I’ll ignore the leader-boards and I’ll just have fun and do things for me. Like eat at a nice restaurant, and go shopping, and – and I’m going to dye my hair orange!”

Hoseok laughs, giddy at the thought – what would the Guild say about a hunter going on holiday this close to the winter season? What would his parents say? It all just seems so funny, now that he’s here, that these things once terrified him. Utterly laughable, and so he laughs.

“Orange would suit you,” Jungkook says, and the compliment is genuine. There’s something about the way he says it that makes Hoseok wonder if he’s been looking at him before this. Something about his voice when he smiles that sounds… oddly familiar.

Slightly breathless, he smiles back, “go on, tell me yours. Make it big though, it’s got to be something that counts.”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. “That’s easy. I’m going to get more tattoos.”

“More?” Hoseok asks, curiosity peaked. Tattoos are fairly taboo amongst the old families, seen as highly improper by most and practically an admission of criminality to some; he can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen a hunter with them in his whole life. In fact, the only person he knows for sure has them is – what are the odds…? “You already have some?”

“Yeah, I um, I’ve got a whole sleeve actually,” he admits, shyly. “Do you want to see?”

He peals the glove off his right hand, rolls up his sleeve, and Hoseok knows before he even sees them. The four sigils across his knuckles, the Guild crest on the back of his hand, 0613 just below his thumb, the date of his first official hunt, the incantations crisscrossing his forearm and framing the red eye, a ward against evil, the nautilus shell and the tiger flower, his birth flower that means please love me. And Hoseok does, he does, because he knows him.

“JK,” the name forms on his tongue and slips past his lips before he can close them, before he can even think to stop himself – but what does it matter really? What’s the point of hiding now?

Jungkook freezes, smile fading into horror. “Hope? Oh. Oh no.”

And its not because he doesn’t want it to be him, not disappointment at finally meeting – it all makes sense, all fitting into place, all that time they’d been talking about one another, Hoseok’s rival and Jungkook’s crush, all that time and he’d been jealous of himself – it’s because he doesn’t want it to be here. Here at the end. It’s a cruel gift the shade has given them

“There’s probably something to laugh about in there somewhere,” Hoseok says weakly, tries to conjure up a smile even as he feels his whole world shattering. Fear for another person is a different beast all together, numbness replaced by agony.

This time Hoseok doesn’t hold himself back from reaching out, and Jungkook doesn’t try to push him away, throwing himself into his embrace, burying his face against his chest and wrapping his arms around his shoulders so, so tightly, like he’ll never let go. He holds him just as tight. He can’t say for sure how long they remain like this, – and maybe time doesn’t move the same down there in the dark, anyway – tangled up in one another’s arms in reverent silence, intensely aware of each precious moment, grains of sand slipping through an hourglass.

Jungkook breaks the silence first, the urgency of too many things left unsaid. “I’m so sorry, Hope. I was causing you so much hurt and I had no idea. I wish it wasn’t me.”

“You apologise too much,” Hoseok murmurs, gently stroking his hair, just as he has wished he could a hundred times before. It makes him so very angry to hear Jungkook blame himself for things that were out of his control, for all the wounds their parents have inflicted on them in the pursuit of more power and status. He’s heard him twist the knife in his own back and claim he deserved the pain before, and he felt sorrow at how powerless he was to help him then, but now that he knows just how brilliant he truly is, just how utterly unjust that his family should fail to see his worth, now all he feels is rage.

I’m not going back to that, he thinks, if we get out of here, I’m getting us out altogether.

“But still I –”

Hoseok hushes him. “You didn’t know. And even if you did, you didn’t have a choice. I only blamed you because I thought the only alternative was blaming myself; I was too much of a coward to face the fact that the Guild and our families are the ones failing us and not the other way around, because that hurt too much.”

“Why does it have to be like this?” Jungkook asks – though the question isn’t directed at him, but at the shade, his parents, at the whole world, screaming why, why, why? He’s inconsolable, fisting a hand in the front of Hoseok’s shirt, knuckles turning white, shoulders gently shaking. “We’ve only just met and now we’re both going to die and –”

“We’re not going to die,” he interrupts him, sounding far more confident than he feels. The shade is coiling tighter around them, the dreadful claustrophobic sense of the walls closing in growing stronger and stronger, as it turns up the pressure, and he’s fearful of even trying to fight back in case he only provokes it further. But this can’t be it. It can’t be. “Don’t say that. Someone will come, they’ll have seen the building collapse. We’ll get out of here.”

“But if we do,” he insists, “if we do. There’s so much I’ve never had the chance to –” he cuts himself off, shaking his head in distress.

“What is it?” Hoseok asks, running a hand up and down his back, hoping the touch can express everything he is unable to put into words, desperately hoping that he can be a comfort, however small. “You can tell me anything.”

Jungkook laughs, bitterly. “It’s stupid, it shouldn’t matter.”

“Whatever you want, it matters,”

“Can I…” he wavers, reluctant to acknowledge his own wants even now. “Can I kiss you? Please? I’ve… I’ve never been kissed.”

“Yes,” Hoseok releases a breath, a sigh. “I want that.”

Jungkook meets his gaze, his encouraging smile, still hesitant, curls a hand round the back of his neck, warm fingers tangling in his hair and then caressing his cheek, slowly, softly, every movement cautious. It’s like they have all the time in the world in that moment, everything else fades away, and it’s important that they don’t rush, that they savour every detail, the way Jungkook’s tongue flicks out to wet his lips, the solid weight of him half in Hoseok’s lap, draped along his body, the way his free hand finds his own like it’s meant to be there, fingers intertwining. And then Jungkook is surging forward to meet him, noses bumping almost painfully in his eagerness, retreating with a shy, breathy laugh, mere centimetres apart and pulled back together by gravity.

It’s awkward and it’s messy, no coordination as their mouths move against one another – and it’s not like Hoseok really knows what he’s doing either, not enough to take control, but Jungkook’s lips are soft and they part with the sweetest of sounds, eyes slipping closed as he sinks into the kiss, and he wouldn’t change the slightest thing.

If he dies here, he is sure he will die happy.

And then the world is rent in two with a harrowing, unearthly scream, as spokes of white bone pierce the bubble of dark magic surrounding them, skewering the shade in place. It writhes in agony and rage, squeezing tight around them with such crushing pressure that Hoseok is sure he will suffocate, vision blacking out, blood roaring in his ears whole body sparking as his own magic struggles to stay alive – but then there is light – real, natural light! – flooding in to burn away the darkness, and sweet, fresh air flowing into his lungs.

There’s a cacophony of sound all about them as the concrete and wood and tonnes of debris trapping them are torn away by industrious bone, and then human voices yelling in excitement, calling out to them.

“Good boy, Jjangu! That’s it, dig them out!”

“Hey! You still alive in there! Hold on, we’re coming down!”

A figure appears at the whole above them, blocking out the light, before climbing down a ladder made of bone to reach them, “I’ve got them, darling! Over here!”

“Come on sweetheart, on your feet,” the hunter says, crouching down beside them to sling an arm round Jungkook’s shoulders and pull him up. He goes easily, body limp and pliant, knocked half unconscious by the psychic blast of the dying shade, and Hoseok is too weak to stop him, to hold on, and then the hunter’s partner is helping him bundle Jungkook up into the light and out of sight.

Hoseok tries to stand, to go after him, but his limbs just won’t respond to him, pain in his side amplified to a sharp, pulsing stab that leaves him breathless. It takes him a while to realise that the person holding him down is a healer, that he’s trying to help him, and he fights against him, disorientated and determined to get to Jungkook.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. Stay still for a moment and let me work and then you can climb out of here on your own,” the healer tells him sternly, pressing firm hands against his rib cage and muttering charms that send a cool, numbing sensation spreading through his torso. “There, that’s better.”

Pain no longer clouding his thoughts, the panic starts to subside – they’re here to rescue them, they’re getting out, Jungkook is safe – and Hoseok finally calms down enough to actually look at the healer and realise that he recognises him.

“Seokjin?” He asks, bewildered. How is this possible? Is he hallucinating?

“The one and only,” he grins, and the sudden burst of pain as he snaps his ankle back into place is confirmation that, no, this is real. “It’s Hoseok right?”

“You’re alive,” he says dumbly.

“Don’t sound too surprised. I’m the best of the best!” Jin exclaims, puffing out his chest proudly.

“Darling, stop showing off and carry him out, would you?” His partner calls down to them, reappearing at the hole. “Poor sod looks like he’s gonna keel over any minute.”

“Stop fussing, Jimin, they’ll be fine,” Jin rolls his eyes, but he offers Hoseok a hand to get to his feet. “Are you ok to walk? It’s best we get out of here, any longer and this place will be crawling with hunters.”

“What do you mean?” Hoseok asks, the questions accumulating much more rapidly than the answers. “You’re a hunter. And what – what is that?”

Jin follows his gaze to the mass of bone that is slowly coalescing into the shape of a dog, “oh don’t worry about him, he’s with us, and he’s a very good boy! Aren’t you, Jjangu?”

Hoseok is unable to question him any further (though the only coherent thought he can produce right now, anyway, is what the fuck?) because he is interrupted by the sound of an engine revving as a very expensive looking car pulls up beside him, Jimin at the wheel.

“Get in,” he orders, smirking at Hoseok’s dumbfounded expression. “Hope you like travelling in style.”

Jin offers him an apologetic smile. “Unfortunately money doesn’t buy taste.”

Hoseok just nods, his brain having stopped processing new information five minutes ago, and slides into the backseat besides Jungkook. He’s passed out cold, but he’s breathing steadily, and when Hoseok wraps a hand around his wrist, his pulse is strong.

“Your magic’s still intact, I take it?” Jin yells over the roar of the engine, twisting round to look at him from the passenger seat. The bone dog is sitting on his lap, wagging its tail furiously. “Don’t forget your seatbelt. Jimin’s driving is erratic at best.”

“At least I can drive!” Jimin protests, demonstrating his ability by immediately stalling the car.

They continue to bicker furiously, but Hoseok tunes them out. He clicks his fingers, focussing hard on summoning up the simplest charm he can think of, suddenly terrified that the shade may have drained them dry, that he has been left powerless, but through the thick fog of exhaustion, his magic responds.

Just a distant flicker, but there.

~

“Eat up, healing takes energy!” Jin orders cheerily, pressing a bowl of noodles and broth into Hoseok’s hands.

“This smells delicious,” Jungkook thanks him quietly with a grateful smile. It’s the first thing he’s said since he woke up from a magically induced nap fifteen minutes ago, and whilst Jin has healed all of his physical ailments, he is withdrawn, the kind of tired no amount of sleep can fix. He’s sitting at the other end of the sofa, close enough for Hoseok to reach out and touch, but all of his earlier certainty has faded away, confidence borne of desperate circumstances replaced by doubt.

Jin beams at him, reaching out a hand to ruffle up his hair. “There’s plenty more where that came from!”

“I’m starting to think feeding people is a kink for you, darling,” Jimin says, leaning against the kitchen door with his arms folded. Despite not seeming to have had any hand in the cooking process, he’s wearing an apron that says, ‘kiss the cook’ and keeps giving Jin meaningful looks that the elder is determinedly ignoring.

Hoseok is still trying to figure out exactly what the relationship is between the two of them; Jimin is a relentless flirt, alternating between making bedroom eyes at Jin like they’ve just met in a bar and he’s doing an exaggerated charade of checking him out, and gazing at him with such unadulterated fondness and adulation that Hoseok feels vaguely uncomfortable, like he’s imposing. Meanwhile, Jin begrudgingly tolerates him like he’s an irritating work colleague, but also seems to genuinely enjoy their bickering like they’re actually an old, married couple. It’s confusing.

“Not in front of the guests, you heathen,” Jin scolds him, dealing him a vicious flick with a well-aimed tea-towel. He glances at Hoseok, who is trying to work up the courage to shift a little closer to Jungkook, and gives him a shrewd look. “Hmm. Why don’t you come and be useful for once, Jimin? Let’s leave these two in peace.”

“Are you ok?” Hoseok asks hesitantly, once Jin has successfully hustled Jimin out of the living room and closed the door to give them some privacy.

“Yeah,” Jungkook sighs, subdued. He doesn’t sound all that convinced. “I mean, I will be.”

He frowns, disappointed that he has closed himself up again, and reluctant to push him too hard in case he makes things worse. JK would talk to him – but Hoseok is still struggling to square that person with the reality in front of him, and maybe Jungkook feels the same about him, isn’t ready for that degree of trust. “Sounds like something’s worrying you though. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Jin says I need at least a day to rest,” he says after a moment, shooting a little nervous glance at him, waiting for disapproval. “But if I do that… I’m not even sure if my scores this week will be good enough and my parents –”

“Fuck your parents!” Hoseok snaps, surprising even himself with the force with which he speaks. Jungkook flinches at the words, and he immediately regrets letting his anger out, but he’s done trying to hide it, to pretend that it’s all ok. “And fuck mine too! We almost died today because of them.”

“That’s not – I chose to go!” Jungkook protests, grimacing with guilt at even hearing the criticism, let alone levelling it himself.

“It’s not a choice if they give you no alternative! They forced you to go out there, and for what? Their glory? Because let’s face it, if we’d succeeded they would have made it all about them, a win for the family not for us. They’re worse than leeches, they take everything we have to give and make us feel like shit for it,” he takes a breath, wavering at the pain in Jungkook’s face. He’d promised he’d never be the one to inflict it, but this needs to be said, he can’t let him go back to them – he can already feel him slipping through his fingers. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to hurt you, but tell me, would they honestly have stopped if you’d succeeded? Would it have been enough? Or would they just have demanded even more from you?”

Jungkook says nothing, staring down at his bowl, hunched in on himself as he struggles not to cry. Without thinking, Hoseok reaches out to wipe away a tear, cupping his cheek in his hand to tilt his head up to look at him.

“Jungkook,” he says softly. “It’s ok. You don’t have to do this anymore.”

“How?” he demands, hopeless. “I don’t – my parents control everything! The Guild won’t help, they just care about the hunts, and I’ll never be allowed to stop doing that. I mean, I… Where would I even go?”

“Wherever you want. We can leave together, rent a flat, just the two of us – I have savings my family don’t have access to, enough to get us started somewhere, and then we could keep earning bounties – like you said, the Guild don’t care as long as we’re hunting, right? Or, hell, I could find a human job, work retail or whatever, just so we don’t have to go back. I promise you we can do this, you have to trust me, ok?” Hoseok pleads with him, desperate to make him see what he does, to give him hope. “Please, Jungkook, please give it a chance. I can’t watch you go back to them.”

“Not to interrupt this touching moment –”

“Park Jimin!” Jin hisses, marching in from the kitchen wielding a tea-towel in one hand and an even more threatening saucepan lid in the other. “What did I say about eaves-dropping you nosey bastard! I swear I take my eye off you for one second…”

“Hey, I’m about to make a grand gesture,” Jimin protests with a pout that doesn’t match any of the notions Hoseok has built up about his character so far. “Let me have my moment, dollface.”

“Every moment is your moment,” Jin mutters darkly, but lowers the saucepan lid just a little.

“Anyway, what I was going to say before my gorgeous boyfriend interrupted me,” Jimin grins, throwing a wink into the conversation that very much didn’t need to be there. “Is that if you need money, I’m more than happy to give you some.”

“He’s a trust-fund baby,” Jin explains with a beleaguered smile. “Human rich, don’t worry, no old blood here – no offence, but they all suck.”

“And I’ve been trying to talk sweet cheeks here into moving in with me –”

“The chances of which decrease every time you call me that!”

“So you could even have this apartment. If you’re willing to feed the soot demon by the dumpsters,” Jimin finishes, gesturing to Jin and muttering a fond, “he’s kinda attached.”

“Why would you help us?” Jungkook asks warily. Hoseok understands – it just sounds too good to be true, hard to believe that anyone would be so generous without strings attached – but he trusts that the offer is genuine. “You don’t even know us.”

“It’s a big fuck you to the Guild and the old blood,” Jimin shrugs. “It’s kinda our thing.”

“My parents will try to stop me…” Jungkook argues, looking to Hoseok for reassurance. He raises a hand to cover Hoseok’s own, and for a moment he’s afraid he’s going to remove it, push him away, but instead he interlinks their fingers.

“What will they say?” Jin scoffs. “You’re the youngest hunter to ever slay an S-class demon. They can’t touch you.”

“But you killed it! We didn’t do anything!” Hoseok protests.

“Technically, I just very politely told it to shove off elsewhere, and it had the good sense to interpret that as another realm where I can’t kick the shit out of it,” Jin laughs, shrugging like this isn’t a big deal. There’s a story there, one that Hoseok will have to ask him about another time, when the thought of casting spells doesn’t make him want to lie down in a dark room and never get up – if he’s going to start afresh, break from tradition, why not learn new ways of doing magic too, new ways of hunting? Better ways.

“What matters is that the leader-board will think you did it,” Jimin explains. “You were the only Guild registered hunters in the area, after all, now that I’ve officially handed in my notice. So expect to see your names tied for first place when the scores update tomorrow.”

“And if you don’t want to even walk back into the building, you are more than welcome to stay here for a couple of days until you can figure out a plan,” Jin adds with an understanding smile. “You don’t have to decide anything now, just think on it.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” Hoseok thanks him, overcome by their kindness.

“We can’t thank you enough,” Jungkook agrees, wiping at his face with his sleeve as he starts to cry again. “Sorry, I’m just very tired. You have no idea what this means to me.”

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Jimin reassures him, looking at him with an expression that reads you are the most precious thing I’ve ever seen, and I would definitely kill for you, oh, and I have a few people in mind. Hoseok understands the sentiment, he’s gazing at Jungkook with just the same strength of feeling.

“I can hear a timer going off! Must be pudding. Better go sort that out, right Jimin?” Jin announces suddenly, even though no such sound has occurred, and backs out the room, dragging Jimin with him.

“So,” Hoseok says after a few moments of stilted silence, the reality of the chance they’ve been given finally sinking in, and the panic of all that freedom along with it. Suddenly seized with the terrible doubt that maybe Jungkook doesn’t feel the same way he does, that if the choice is presented as ‘be with me or go back to your parents’ he’ll feel forced into it, exchanging one trap for another. The very thought makes him feel sick with guilt. “What do you think? Do you… I know I said we’d do it together, but… but if that’s not what you want – being together, together, I mean. Then we don’t – don’t feel pressured or –”

“Hope,” Jungkook interrupts him, gazing at him with red-rimmed eyes, still holding his hand in place against his cheek, smiling with such happy relief. “Hoseok. Don’t be stupid.”

“Oh, right,” he breathes out, laughs a little with nervous embarrassment.

Jungkook squeezes his hand, looks away to confess shyly, pretty pink blush high in his cheeks. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I couldn’t do this without you. And I want you in my life more than anything, together, together. So… kiss me again?”

And Hoseok does, because he will never be able to deny him a single thing he wants, because he’s just a moon caught in the orbit of his sun, only shining because he reflects the light he gives off, because there’s nothing standing in their way anymore, and they’re free to be who they are, free to do it together.

Because he loves him.