Chapter Text
“All I can do, in the garden, in this world,
is to bloom a pretty flower that resembles you,
and to breathe as the me that you know.”
i.
There was a moment, a heartbeat, in which we all held our breath, awaiting a beam of heavenly light or chiming bells, I don’t know. There were none. The door opened to reveal nothing but the treeline behind it and the flutter of tiny wings as the butterflies perched on the encroaching rose’s blood-red petals were disturbed.
I watched as Yoongi stepped through the door, fingers still clasped tightly around the handle. His eyes darted around, but found nothing.
Something felt odd, though. It was a disappointment, I knew—a sharp fall into icy depths. My heart, however, was warm and full and glowing. Jimin squeezed my hand and I turned to him, turned back to the treeline where we’d come from.
Between the trees, stood a man, covered in robes of a glorious spring lilac that shimmered in the morning sun, as if starlight had been woven through them instead of silver thread. Long, dark hair fell beyond his shoulders and his eyes, dark as the midnight sky, lay directly on Yoongi.
Kim Taehyung, just as Yoongi had described him: a songbird in a nest of thorns.
It had worked.
“Yoongi,” Seokjin breathed, to the man still gazing at the empty door.
Yoongi looked up, mouth open as if to let out a cry of despair, and froze.
In the long silence that followed the world seemed to pause, as if the mountain and the forest and the sky were waiting just as the rest of us did. Taehyung held out an arm, reaching towards Yoongi and, when he spoke, it felt like the clouds breaking. “My love,” he said softly, sweetly. Yoongi went to him then, like he was falling, and Taehyung stepped out of the shadow of the trees into the sun. With a carpet of flowers beneath their feet, they collided, dragging each other into their orbit.
How could they touch, I thought? Like the sun and the moon, surely they could never reach each other. But, they did. Tears were already running down Yoongi’s face as he clasped his fingers to the fabric of Taehyung’s robes, his arms, his chest, up to his neck and cradling his face.
“It worked,” he gasped, as Taehyung pulled him close and wiped his cheeks dry. “It really worked, you’re here, you’re - Taehyung.” Yoongi seemed almost overwhelmed, of course he was—I was simply a bystander and I could barely catch my breath. “I love you, I never stopped. I love you, Taehyung, you look just the same.” He sucked in a giggling breath—a sound I hadn’t heard from him before—before his voice cracked. “I - I - You’re here.”
A wide smile painted Taehyung’s face as he brought Yoongi closer still. He rested his forehead against the other man’s, noses almost touching.
“I’m here,” he whispered. “You don’t look the same at all.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I couldn’t find you for so long.”
“Shush, Yoongi,” Taehyung hummed, sliding a hand down Yoongi’s arm to take his palm in his own. “I didn’t mean that. I know, I’m sorry I was so hard to find.”
Yoongi shook his head, the action causing the silver adorning Taehyung’s ears to sway. “Hiding amongst the flowers,” he said. “Should have been the first place I looked.”
The words had me smiling. ‘The Princess of the Flower Kingdom’. It hadn’t been so very wrong, in the end.
“They remind me of you,” Taehyung replied. “I never stopped either. I’ve missed you, my love.” He frowned and I could see his gaze travelling across the ranges of Yoongi’s face. “For so many years, all I wanted was to hold you again. Just for a moment.”
Their lips met and I watched for the briefest moment as Yoongi’s eyes fluttered shut, his fingers threading through Taehyung’s long hair, before I averted my gaze.
At my side, Jimin let out a suppressed sob, the hand not entwined with my own coming up to cover his mouth. His eyes were glassy and red, and he attempted to wave me off with a small smile as I lay my arm around his shoulder.
The movement seemed to catch Taehyung’s attention, as he pulled away from Yoongi’s embrace.
“Sorry,” Jimin squeaked.
Taehyung inclined his head. “Park Jimin,” he said and wrapped his arm around Yoongi’s waist. When he stepped closer Yoongi came with him, like two seahorses curled together against the tide. “You have no need to apologise. You helped him, you all helped him. Kim Seokjin, Jung Hoseok.” He bowed to each of them in turn. “Thank you. Kim Namjoon, it’s an honour to finally meet you all.”
“You know us?” I blurted out as he turned towards me. Up close, he was a little less intimidating. Less ethereal, otherworldly, and more … human. A man just like me, who had happened to live long ago and fall in love with somebody he was not supposed to.
“Jeon Jeongguk,” Taehyung replied. “Yes, I know you. I am in your debt.”
He smiled at me and I felt—rather uncomfortably—as if he had heard every stray thought that had ever passed through my head. “It’s nothing,” I shrugged.
“No, Jeongguk. It was everything. Thank you.”
Before I could work myself up about that—because it had been everything, how could he know that?—Yoongi interrupted.
“You saw them?” he asked.
“I was watching.” Taehyung pressed his lips to Yoongi’s temple. “Always.”
Heat burned behind my eyes and I felt the weight of Jiyeong’s locket above my heart. Was she watching too? Stupidly, I cast my eye across the meadow, suddenly certain I would see her there, standing in the distance just as Taehyung had, ready to bemoan every ridiculous choice I’d made over the past three years.
“My suh-sister -”
“Jiyeong,” Taehyung finished when I stumbled to a stop.
Oh, God, he knew her. “Did you see her? Is she okay?”
“I didn’t see her. It’s difficult to explain. There’s no time, or space, or any sense of physical self. I’m everywhere. I believe I felt her with you, though,” he said. I sucked in a steadying breath. He was right, I could feel it. She was here. She had been here the whole time. Taehyung turned to Namjoon. “And you. There’s someone with you, as well.”
Namjoon raised his eyebrows and suddenly his face went very blank. He opened his mouth to speak, though no words came out. Instead, he gave Taehyung a solemn nod.
“I’m sorry you got murdered,” Hobi offered, with half a smile and a shrug. He bit his lip. “You seem nice.”
A laugh escaped Taehyung lips and, how bizarre, to hear the laugh of someone who had lived hundreds of years ago. “It’s no one's fault,” he said, before pouting and cocking his head. “Well, the king’s fault, perhaps, but it is difficult to stand against a king.”
Yoongi made a strangled noise, leaning into Taehyung’s shoulder. “I left,” he said, blinking up at the other man. “I didn’t stay with him, I escaped.”
“Yes, you were brave.” We watched as Taehyung lifted a hand to trace his finger gently along the ridge of Yoongi’s scar.
“Not as brave as you. Not as brave as I should have been,” Yoongi demurred. His face crumpled. “Taehyung, I’m so sorry. Every day I regretted it. I should’ve fought harder, I should have stood up to my father more.”
“No, my love,” Taehyung rushed. He pushed Yoongi’s hair away from his face, shaking his head. “I didn’t want either of us to die, let alone both of us.”
Yoongi’s lip trembled. “I missed you so much. I’ve been so alone.”
“You were never alone.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Namjoon nudge Seokjin’s shoulder, gently, the other man sending him a fond smile. My mind replayed the conversation I’d overheard between the two of them, all those months ago. He needs our support. Whatever this is, we’ll help him through it. Men of their word, I thought, dimly.
When I turned back, Yoongi was crouched down, plucking a chrysanthemum, a daffodil and a rose from the meadow earth. He held them in his palms in front of Taehyung’s face.
“I learnt magic for you,” he said, softly. Cradled in his hands, the air around the flowers swirled and stirred and the three stems floated upwards, weaving and entwining. When they came to land once more they had formed a small crown. “Here. It’s not quite my heart, but it’s the best I can do.”
Taehyung took it, an irrepressible smile on his lips. “Do I look the part?” he asked, placing the crown on his head almost reverently.
“You know the story?” Yoongi asked. He sounded equal parts amused and embarrassed.
The other man hummed and Yoongi pulled him down into another soft kiss. “I liked it,” Taehyung said against Yoongi’s lips.
“You just wait,” Yoongi replied. “There’s so much you’ll love, Taehyung.”
And with that, Yoongi began his speech, one I wondered whether he had rehearsed, in the lonely hours back at his house. He entwined his fingers with Taehyung’s and dragged him through the flowers, the rest of us following in their wake. It was the most talkative I had ever heard him, describing all about his most recent doctorate, how he’d ended up in the city (“the first time a tried to drive a car, Taehyung, you wouldn’t believe it”), all the things he’d planted in his garden that Taehyung would love; the music he’d heard (“symphonies, Taehyung. Wait until you hear Vivaldi”), the books he’d read, and the art he’d seen; how he’d planted a willow tree in the ground where Taehyung had been buried, how he’d visited the river every year for Taehyung’s birthday, how he’d kept track of Taehyung’s family for him (“one of your sister’s … eighteenth? I think we’re up to eighteenth now - eighteenth great granddaughter’s lives in Paris. Owns a fromagerie. I went there once, it was delicious”).
They walked slowly, all the while Taehyung nodding and smiling and never taking his eyes off Yoongi.
Just as we approached the treeline, however—where creeping fingers of the woodland shade reached out towards us—Taehyung called Yoongi’s name. It was quiet; tender, almost, like a parent speaking to their child. Caught at the edges, though, was an unnerving sharpness. A warning, I thought, and dread plunged down my spine. Yoongi, however, pretended as if he hadn’t heard it. It was a pretence, I knew it, from the way he fell silent for a beat—just a moment, the flapping of a bird’s wing—before picking up his monologue once more.
“Yoongi,” Taehyung repeated.
“... but, you know, you’ll adore Klimt. ‘The Three Ages of Woman’ is outstanding. It really made me think about things from a fresh perspective. No mean feat these days with me -”
Taehyung pulled his arm free. By this time, the rest of us had come to a halt, only Yoongi marching on for several lone steps into the trees. He only stopped when Taehyung called, “I can’t leave the meadow.”
Can’t. What did that mean? I baulked and my gaze flickered between Taehyung’s forlorn expression and Yoongi’s still back.
Eventually, Yoongi turned. “What?” he said, his voice remarkably steady. He curled his lip. “Don’t be ridiculous, of course you can. I brought you back.”
“You did,” Taehyung agreed. “But the meadow -”
“Taehyung, it’s just through the forest, that’s all,” Yoongi rushed, closing the gap between them. He was smiling. A mistake. Taehyung just didn’t understand. “Not far, then we’ll go home, I’ll take you home. There’s - Everything’s there for you.”
“Yoongi.” I saw the twist of something in Taehyung’s face as he spoke.
Can’t.
That’s what he meant. He was building up to a fatal blow. He knew it, and it hurt him to be the one to deliver it. I glanced back to the wooden door, smaller now on the other side of the meadow, still open and illuminated in the bright sunshine.
A cruel lie.
“You’ll love it, I promise,” Yoongi was babbling, still, as if that was the problem, as if Taehyung hadn’t died to save him, hadn’t dragged himself up from the afterlife to see him one more time, wouldn’t live in a cardboard box with Yoongi if he had to. “I promise you will.”
Stepping forward, to where the ocean of flowers lapped at the forest floor, Taehyung took Yoongi’s hand. “I know,” he said, softly. “I know, I would love it, but I can’t.”
“Why not?” Yoongi’s voice cracked now, shoulder’s slumping. He knew—he must have done—but just refused to believe it.
“I don’t belong here.”
“You do,” Yoongi insisted. “You belong with me. We belong together.” He bit his lip, wide eyes fixed on Taehyung. “Don’t you - Don’t you want to come?”
Up until this point, Taehyung had been so calm, so poised, and serene; the very epitome of what one would expect from an ancient and omniscient oracle. At Yoongi’s words, all that fell away: his face crumpled and he leant forward, digging his fingers into the back of Yoongi’s neck.
“I love you,” he said, wrenching the words from his throat. “To be with you was all I ever wanted. But magic doesn’t work like that, my love, you know that.”
Heat flickered behind Yoongi’s eyes. Fear. Anger. Despair. “I don’t,” he snarled. “I don’t know that. I don’t care.”
“The door, it’s - I got to see you again,” Taehyung sighed, tracing the outline of Yoongi’s jaw. “Speak to you again, feel the sun on my skin.” He hovered with his fingertip at the corner of Yoongi’s mouth. “It’s only for a moment, though.”
He sounded so sad. I glanced towards the others, all of them with eyes locked on to the scene, matching expressions of muted horror painting their features.
Not Yoongi, though. There was no dampening the fire growing within him. “No,” he growled.
“My pri-”
“No.” Behind me somewhere Hobi gasped as Yoongi pushed Taehyung away, hands colliding with his shoulders almost violently. “No, Taehyung, that’s not right! It’s the door, I opened the door, and - All the stories said! I opened it, I got you back.”
Who was he arguing with? He paced as he shouted, seemingly at a loss as to where to direct his rage.
“I’m dead,” Taehyung replied, voice empty. He was watching Yoongi with sorrowful eyes.
The other man stopped his pacing, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. “No.”
It fell to the ground like a lead weight.
“Seokjin?”
The request took us all by surprise and Seokjin’s response was rough when he stumbled forward at Taehyung’s call. “Yes?”
“Will you make sure he’s alright?” Taehyung asked him, his head tilted just slightly in Seokjin’s direction, eyes still fixed on Yoongi.
“No!” Yoongi cried, ignoring entirely the way Seokjin’s lips narrowed as he nodded. Yoongi rushed to Taehyung, winding his fingers into the soft fabric of his robes. “He doesn’t - You can’t go, not again.” Yoongi’s eyes were glassy, his pleas coming through in heavy sobs. “You can’t - Don’t - Taehyung, please don’t leave me.”
And, oh, God—this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This was like somebody pulling out a knife after you’d already been stabbed. This was—This was— This was wrong. This was wrong, and I had helped it along.
I cast my eyes around, needing reassurance, but there was none. Everybody was staring, just as defeated as me.
Curling his hands over Yoongi’s where they grabbed at him, Taehyung pressed his lips to the crown of Yoongi’s head. The other man breathed heavily against his neck. “Look at me,” Taehyung murmured, lifting Yoongi’s chin with a curled finger. Yoongi drank him in, as if memorising every detail. “I will never leave you. Never,” he said. His voice was low and heavy and I watched the trail of a tear spill down Yoongi’s cheek as he spoke.
“But, I want you,” Yoongi whimpered.
This was it, this moment, was all they had left. I blinked my eyes clear and tried to ground myself. The sound of the tall meadow grasses rustling in the breeze, our shadows stretched out along the ground, the flicker of the sun’s beams as the leaves danced overhead. None of it was enough, none of it could stop it from happening.
Instead, I watched, as Taehyung sucked in a breath, his lip trembling even as he smiled, holding Yoongi to him, like a priceless treasure. “I am the melody of your favourite song and the flowers on your bedside table,” he said softly, slowly. “I am the summer breeze that cools your skin and the fire that warms it. I am every time that you feel joy or despair.” Yoongi suppressed a sob and Taehyung reached out, pushing a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “I am always there,” he whispered. “Tucked away. Just out of sight.”
“‘In the next room,’” Yoongi said, thick and wet.
Taehyung hummed. “‘Only slipped away,’ that’s right.”
The two held each other’s gaze and, for a moment, everything was still. Then, as if I was just noticing it, the light from the sun seemed to shine brighter, reflecting off Taehyung’s robes, through the flyaway threads of his hair. Even his skin looked brighter—less solid, somehow.
I swallowed.
He was going, leaving again. Being taken back behind the veil.
When Yoongi let out a desperate, animalistic cry, Jimin jerked as if he meant to reach out. Taehyung just held him tighter.
“I’m sorry for my father,” Yoongi wept, barely able to get the words out.
Taehyung grunted, drawing his eyebrows together. “I’ve told you, that wasn’t your fault, my love. Besides, you have suffered enough,” he said, and raised his palm to rest it against Yoongi’s forehead. “Let me be your balm.”
There was a second where I thought Taehyung was going to do something drastic—pull Yoongi along with him, wherever it was he was going. Nothing happened immediately, however. Yoongi closed his eyes, leaning into Taehyung’s touch, like he was fighting off sleep. The moment his lashes met his cheeks, the skin beneath Taehyung’s palm began to glow. Brighter and brighter, warmer and warmer, until I had to look away—it was too much, too vivid, too dazzling, too—
The light vanished, leaving Yoongi panting in its stead.
“What did you -?” he gasped, but Taehyung shook his head.
“Don’t rush to the end,” he said. He looked tired now, the golden glow he had arrived with faded to a dull grey. It was time. “I will be there to meet you whenever you arrive.”
A gasp came from somewhere to my left. Hobi, I thought.
It dawned on me, then—Yoongi’s curse. Taehyung had lifted it.
He could pass over.
“Taehyung, no,” Yoongi moaned. He was reaching out, Taehyung taking a step backwards, away from him, more grey and wilted than ever.
“Yoongi, my love,” he said, the smile on his face not masking the tears that welled in his eyes. “My only love.”
“No, please.” He sounded more broken than I had ever heard. Taehyung sucked in a breath, like it caused him physical pain to carry on.
“My handsome, brave, honourable prince.”
“Please,” Yoongi cried, and Seokjin rushed forward, catching him before he fell to the ground.
Taehyung was fading truly, now, the outline of the trees and the flowers clear through his body. “Will you leave this place? Go with your friends. For me, Yoongi.” He lifted his hand, as if reaching for Yoongi one last time. “Leave this forest and live the rest of your life, and know that I am right beside you.”
“I don’t know how.”
“You do. I promise, you do.” The flowers were getting clearer, the edges of him vanishing into the breeze. “Go, now, my love.”
“Taehyung.” Yoongi lurched forward, but it was too late. It was all too late.
“I’ll be there,” I heard Taehyung say, but he was gone, into the air and the vast planes of the unknowable.
ii.
The quiet that followed Taehyung’s departure was endless; a ravenous pit that swallowed up the sun and the birdsong and the sweetness of the day, leaving it barren and arid and unyielding. I wondered if the others were thinking the same thing as I was—that if any one of us spoke, if we started a new moment, then it really would be over.
With my ribs aching from holding up my heavy heart, I recalled the moment my mother called to tell me that Jiyeong had passed. In her sleep, she’d said, voice in my ear and a million miles away. Painless, the doctor said. She wouldn’t have felt a thing. I hadn’t rushed out. It was the moment I had dreaded but when it arrived, I could do nothing but sit and stare out of my window at the bare cherry blossoms, and prey that they would never bloom.
I looked around now at the colours of the meadow. Time was unforgiving; it cared not for your sorrow or your bargains. We could turn to stone here on the mountaintop, and still the sun would set and rise, and Taehyung would not return.
It was Seokjin who eventually spoke.
“Yoongi?” he said, treading softly over the dew-damp grass.
Collapsed to the ground, Yoongi didn’t move. He stayed crouched on his knees, as if his body was too heavy to lift, his shoulders buckled and head bowed. Like someone who had clawed his way to shore after getting caught in the tide, his soul sodden with grief.
Jimin sent me a desperate look. Did he think that I could solve this?
Gloomily, Hobi said, “We should go. It’s not doing anybody any good lingering here.”
Seokjin nodded. “Come on,” he said gently as he reached out and curled his hands around Yoongi’s arms. He pulled him up, Yoongi docile and pliant to his touch. “On your feet. Lean on me, it’s okay.”
My eyes were glued to where Yoongi let himself slide listlessly against Seokjin’s side, plodding, almost, as Seokjin urged him forward.
“The key,” Jimin started. “Should we -?” he trailed off and I followed his gaze back over the meadow.
The door was shut, roses clambering around the broken brick and ironwork as if it had never been open. I didn’t need to say it, but it felt cathartic when I croaked out, “It’s gone. It’s shut.”
Nearer to the woods, Namjoon clenched his jaw, expression dark. “Let’s go home,” he prompted, leaving no room for argument.
Perhaps we should have noticed sooner, but we were drained; weak and listless. Our eyes sunk to the forest floor, too focused on the enormous task of placing one foot in front of the other. It was much too long later, then, when Hobi finally stopped in the middle of what I had taken to be the woodland path, but perhaps not, and said, “Guys, we’re lost.”
I peered up at the canopy of leaves above us. Beyond the fluttering leaves, the sun was high in the sky, providing no hint of which direction we were travelling in. “What?” Seokjin scoffed, lightly, arm still curled around Yoongi’s waist. “No we’re not.”
“No? Which way is it then?” Hobi snapped and Jimin, standing further behind him, raised his eyebrows. Seokjin narrowed his lips.
Ignoring Hobi’s frayed nerves, Namjoon ran a hand across his forehead, pushing his sweaty hair from his face. He looked more tired than I had ever seen him. “We’ll just keep going down,” he said. “We have to hit the path eventually.”
His words did not inspire any of us with confidence, particularly not when they were followed up with a strained grimace, his eyes flicking towards Yoongi half prone form.
We marched on.
I was dimly aware, now, of the anonymity of the forest. Was this the path we had followed earlier? I was less and less convinced with every step we took.
It came as no surprise to me when Jimin stretched out his arm, blocking my path. “Guk,” he said, voice tight as he nodded to the side. “Does that tree look familiar to you?”
It did. Sticky with sap and with tendrils of ivy covering the lower branches, it was one of the trees we’d passed after Hobi had declared we were lost—just when I had really started to pay attention to our surroundings once more. I slumped. “Shit, it does.” I let out a heavy sigh. “We’re guh-going in circles.”
Namjoon frowned, the others having paused to witness my verdict. “But how?” he said, exasperated, his hands on his hips. “We would have felt it if we’d been climbing.”
I nodded, grimly, when Hobi piped up, “Magic. It’s magic, it must be.”
How could it be anything else? But, why now? We’d made it back through the forest twice before without issue—what was different?
Just as I thought it, my eyes landed on Yoongi.
With dried tear tracks staining his face, eyes downcast and expression lax, he was nothing like the stoic man I had first met him as. Nor did he feel familiar to the friend I had made. He was different. He was magic. It must be him.
“What?” Seokjin asked, nonplussed, as we all turned to watch the man clinging to his side. “What?”
“Yoongi,” Jimin started, side-stepping the question. “Yoongi, can you help us?”
“Just for a minute,” Namjoon tried, when it became clear that Yoongi would not be responding to Jimin. He crouched down against the leaves. “Just a bit, and then we can take you home,” he said, softly. “Back to your plants, right? To your music? Yoongi, please.”
Hobi, dropping to his knees next to Namjoon, reached out and curled his fingers around Yoongi’s wrist. The other man blinked, but otherwise didn’t register the contact. Gently, Seokjin lowered him to the ground, his legs curled beneath him.
How to get through to him? Without Taehyung here, it seemed an impossible task. Over Yoongi’s head, Seokjin nodded at me. I raised a finger to my own chest. Me? What was I to do? But Seokjin just nodded again, his eyes warm and encouraging.
As I crouched down, Namjoon and Hobi shifted, and I settled directly in front of Yoongi.
“Yoongi?” I said, wincing at the loudness of my voice in the quiet of the forest. “It’s Jeongguk.”
Nothing. What did the others expect? I didn’t know anything about magic, all I knew was—
I ran my finger along the ridges of Jiyeong’s locket, as familiar to me now as the pain in my chest whenever I thought of her. To Yoongi, that pain must feel like a phantom limb, so long he’d had to live with it. I inched closer and reached up to rest my hand to Yoongi’s jaw. His stubble was coarse against my palm and, this close, I could see the redness around his eyes more clearly than ever. I leant my head forward, so that our foreheads almost touched and closed my eyes.
Then, for a moment, I just breathed. If Yoongi needed to remain in the forest, then I wouldn’t try to drag him out. I could sit by him, still and quiet, if that’s what he needed.
Around us, the trees swayed and the birds sang and the forest took a deep breath.
“Jeongguk?” came Yoongi’s hoarse voice. I opened my eyes to find him blinking at me, unfocused and slow. “What are you doing here?” he asked, words like sandpaper. He sounded utterly confused. “You should be home. With the others. With Jimin.”
“Not without you,” I said as softly as I could.
Yoongi frowned. “I can’t leave,” he said, simply.
I nodded. “Then I’ll stay here with you.”
“No. No, you go with the others.” Yoongi pouted then, shaking his head, voice sounding steadier, but still thick and heavy. “If you stay here, you’ll end up lonely for all of eternity, just like me.”
I bit my lip, not letting my gaze fall away. “Tell me how, then. How do I go home again? I thought it cuh-could never be done.”
Yoongi blinked sluggishly again. A line formed between his eyebrows. “You can. That’s just a thing people say, Jeongguk, when they don’t understand.” He pushed himself forward, further into my grip. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
My chest ached. Out of the corner of my eye, one of the others moved. “Jiyeong won't be there,” I replied.
“She’s not gone. She’s here,” Yoongi replied, raising his palm to press it against my chest. That’s right, Yoongi. She’s right there. “The same way Tehyung’s here, like he said.” I watched, hardly breathing, as he ground his jaw and said, almost fiercely, “The same way I’ll always be there.”
“You’ll make sure I don’t get lost?” I said, the hint of a smile in my voice.
Yoongi’s lip trembled. “I don’t know if I know the way.”
“That’s okay. As long as you keep me company.” I placed my hand on top of his, squeezing gently. “I don’t think home’s really a destination,” I whispered. “And, you know, my sister always loved when a story ended. You know why?” Yoongi shook his head. “Because it meant a new one was about to start.” I fought against the heat behind my eyes as I said, as steadily as I could, “Walk with us, Yoongi?”
At my shoulder, I felt someone kneel down.
“We’re all here,” Seokjin said, his voice as warm as the summer sun.
Hobi, clear and bright, said, “We’ll all stay, as long you need us.”
With a smile, Namjoon added, “And even after you don’t.”
I watched the tiny flicker of something across Yoongi’s face. Almost, I thought. We were almost there.
“Here, Yoongi,” Jimin implored, a melody that danced between the shadow and the light. “Take my hand.”
Yoongi led us out of the forest, the earth hard beneath our feet and the sun warming our skin. Emerging from the trees, I squinted up into the sky. I felt odd, as if I was entirely too old in my body, but, at the same time, like I’d shed a layer of dead skin and here I was—raw and red and wailing.
Seokjin came up beside me, his hairline damp from the midday heat. He smiled at me and I could see a thousand words behind his eyes—words that he didn’t have to say. Flinging an arm around my neck he pulled me close and buried his nose against my hair. Instead of fighting him off like I might usually have done—that was what Jeongguk would do, that was how to keep up the pretence—I sighed into the embrace.
Further along the path, Yoongi’s hand was still clasped tightly in Jimin’s as they made their way down the trail. I watched and breathed in the air. Time to go home.
iii.
Kiki purred loudly in my lap as heavy drops of rain pattered against the courtyard steps. Just under the surface of the pond, the fish wriggled in blurs of orange and gold.
The rain had begun just as we left Mirisan and had followed us all the way back to Yoongi’s house. It had surprised me when, on pulling up into his driveway, the sky remained grey over his small patch of earth.
The best answer that I could find for it, as I had watched Yoongi pull his keys from his pocket and walk wearily towards his front door, was that he was simply content to let it be.
Through the open doors of the house I could hear Seokjin and Hobi gently bickering over the meal they were preparing. As I listened, the faint buzz of Yoongi’s record player joined their chorus, the start of the song that followed familiar to me, though I couldn’t quite place it.
“Hi,” Yoongi's croaking voice came a moment later. He shuffled into the room looking cosy and warm, his lids still heavy with sleep. Kiki untangled herself from my clutches and stretched out by Yoongi’s feet.
“Feeling better?” Jimin asked.
He and Namjoon had fallen onto the downy sofa the moment we had arrived and neither of them appeared to have moved an inch since. During all that time Yoongi had vanished to his bedroom—to sleep, I hoped. Nothing seemed quite so insurmountable after a good sleep.
“A little,” he said, crouching down to pull the grey cat into his arms. She purred gently as he scratched under her chin. “Some food’ll be good.”
In the quiet, the song from Yoongi’s study seemed louder. ‘Honey, I know, I know, I know times are changing,’ the voice sang, impassioned. ‘It’s time we all reach out, for something new.’
“Prince,” I said.
“Huh?” Namjoon raised his eyebrows at me.
“The music.”
Yoongi let out a soft laugh. “Oh, yeah,” he nodded. “One of my top ten songs of all time, this one.”
Namjoon whistled, smiling lazily. He was exhausted, I could tell, his movements slow like honey. “That’s quite a statement, coming from you.”
The other man opened his mouth and paused for a moment before he said, “Taehyung loved music.”
My ears perked up. “Did he?” I didn’t think he would want to speak about Taehyung at all, but this was clearly an opening, right? My gaze flicked to Namjoon and Jimin. “Tell us about him.”
Yoongi wrinkled his nose. “You don’t want to hear me go on,” he dismissed.
Namjoon leant forward on the sofa. “We do. We really do.”
“Don’t leave out the embarrassing stuff, though,” Jimin chimed in. “I want to know everything about him, even when he was being an idiot.”
I grinned, turning back to Yoongi. “Was he an idiot sometimes?”
He licked his lower lip, squinting out towards the courtyard, to the flowers that spilled across every corner, and closed his eyes. He was still for long enough that I thought perhaps we had pushed him too far, too soon. A moment later, however, he lowered himself to the floor, Kiki shifting to settle in the cradle of his folded legs, and smiled.
“Oh, yeah,” he started. “Yeah, he had a real talent for - He wasn’t an idiot, it was more like obliviousness.”
“Ah,” Namjoon sighed. “The downfall of many.”
Yoongi leant forward. “There was this one time, when the market was particularly busy, and Taehyung had been on all week about how he wanted to buy some new canvases for his sister …”
We all stayed at Yoongi’s that night. After Seokjin and Hobi joined us, along with bowlfuls of the warmest, most delicious-smelling foods my mind could imagine, we traded stories for the longest time. The sun made its way across the sky and we learnt more about Taehyung than I thought we ever would. In turn, I found myself sharing memories of Jiyeong, only to find that the others had memories of her, too—ones that I had never heard before.
My heart ached as it grew, full of longing, yes, but with love, too. I was overflowing with it. How could I have ever thought that this was closed off to me?
By the time night had truly fallen and none of us could keep our eyes open any more, Yoongi led Seokjin somewhat bashfully to the sofa-bed in his study. I wasn’t entirely certain where Namjoon and Hobi ended up, but I didn’t worry—there was no need. When Jimin came into the spare bedroom we were sharing, I could only see the top of his head over the bedding he carried in his arms.
“Thanks,” he said, breathlessly, as I took a stack of blankets from him.
“No problem. Here,” I pointed to the space near the folding glass doors, “we can lay it out near the window.”
The smallest of frowns appeared on Jimin’s face. “You’ll get woken up at dawn like that.”
“I know, but, I want to see the sky.”
Jimin smiled, letting out a soft breath. “Okay,” he said, grabbing one of the yos to unfurl.
The night was warm and full of the sweet scent of Yoongi’s flowers. They kept me company, just as my friends did; just as the gentle knocking of the wind chimes did, the soft thudding of cat paws against the floor, and the twinkling of the stars above.
iv.
The crowd was busier than I had expected it to be so close to the Lunar New Year, but then I always had underestimated the draw of a public lecture.
“How long until it starts?” Jimin asked. He’d edged his way down the row of seats with a tray of hot drinks in his hands, smiling and nodding at the people he squeezed past.
Taking a steaming cup from him, Hobi whispered, “Are we allowed drinks in here?”
In the next seat along, Seokjin scoffed. “Of course, we’re V.I.P.s aren’t we?”
“I’m not sure V.I.P.s exist in academia,” I mumbled. Around us the rest of the audience were settling in, the rumble of chatter vibrating under the seats and into my chest. Jimin flicked my wrist and smirked at me.
The expected outrage arrived right on schedule. “Excuse me?” Seokjin squawked. “Who do you think I am? I have a PhD, I have a master’s degree in Modern Foreign Languages, I have worked for one of the most sought after universities in the country for over five -”
“Yeah, alright, okay, I surrender,” I laughed, throwing up my free hand, the other clasped around my drink. “You are the most ‘very important person’ in all of academia.”
Seokjin nodded, eyes twinkling. “Yes, I am.”
An old couple worked their way to the seats directly in front of us. As he took off his coat to lay across the cushion, I watched the man’s eyes drop to where Jimin’s fingers had found mine, interlaced upon the armrest. On flicking his gaze up to meet mine, however, he smiled and nodded, and I let my shoulders relax where I hadn’t even realised I’d tensed them.
“What are they going to do, anyway?” Jimin was saying, staring a little wide-eyed up at the empty stage. “Glare at us from behind the podium?”
“Maybe Yoongi will wiggle his fingers and make you pour hot chocolate all over your shirt,” Hobi suggested, sending me an evil grin.
I pouted. “This is a new shirt, he wuh-wouldn’t.”
“Oh, it’s starting, shush,” Seokjin interjected, as Hobi looked about to respond.
The lights over the audience descended while Yoongi and Namjoon made their way onto the stage. Namjoon smiled, wide, towards the rows of people and approached the microphone.
“Welcome, everyone. Thank you so much for coming on this particularly rainy evening. I can only spot a few washed-out souls out there - hopefully listening to us talk for several hours will be worth it. I’m Kim Namjoon, I’m a professor of Korean Literature here at the university. This is my colleague, Min Yoongi.”
Yoongi stepped up to the podium. He looked a little grey and I wondered if he was going to faint. When he spoke, however, his voice was steady and easy. “Good evening. As Professor Kim said, my name is Min Yoongi, and for the last decade or so I have been studying the history behind a number of Korea’s most widely-known folktales. This is my first lecture on the subject, though. You are my test audience, please brace yourself accordingly.”
There was a smattering of laughter, including myself.
“Okay, to start things off, we want to talk about a well loved tale: Mistress Sudeok and her fountain of youth …”
v.
In my later years I found myself often thinking back to when I met Min Yoongi.
What would my life have been, if I had not met him? I would not have found Jimin, the love of my life. I would not have learnt to accept the love of my friends, the truest friends that I could ever want. I would never have let Jiyeong’s memory rest.
I thought, perhaps, that it would have destroyed me.
Yoongi saved me, just as I saved him, and together we managed to live the lives that we’d always believed unobtainable.
Life, however—I had come to understand—was only part of the story.
Hobi was the first of us to go. He passed away in his sleep after a short but fierce battle with illness. He was only sixty-four, an age I used to believe was so old that those who reached it were surely just waiting for death to claim them. When Hobi was gone, however, it felt like he had so much left to give.
Not young—not at all—but not old, either.
His death affected Yoongi more greatly than any of us expected. The two of them had become close in the years after their meeting. Neither of them ever married or started families of their own (apart from the family they found with us, of course, who was with Hobi until the very end) and I believed they found great comfort in each other’s company and confidence.
Yoongi had held on for several long years after Hobi, but, in the end, he grew tired of waiting. I could not blame him. Over seven-hundred years was more than could be expected of anybody. He had kept his promise to Taehyung—he hadn’t rushed to the end. When he finally stepped through the door, he was surrounded by his flowers and his music, in his own home, with his family by his side.
Taehyung had been there, too, to guide him on his journey, I was certain of that.
Perhaps Hobi was, as well.
Seokjin died on Christmas Eve, having just celebrated his eightieth birthday. His wife had thrown a huge party, with all three of his children, as well as his eight grandchildren and two great-grandchildren in attendance. He had spoken about it for days afterwards. It was lucky, I supposed, that he got the chance to see everyone one more time.
He died at Namjoon’s house, with Jimin and I visiting before the holiday. From a fall. It felt so mundane.
Jimin—
Jimin passed away almost a year ago, now. It had been pneumonia that had got him in the end. I had always thought he would outlive me, but perhaps I was just willfully ignorant. Our eldest, Hayoon, was constantly worried about him. He’s too thin, dad, she’d say. It looks like he’s wasting away. I’d always reassured her that it was fine. He was a dancer, that was how he was built.
Anyway.
It doesn’t matter any more.
I’m next, I am sure of it.
Namjoon will be okay without me, I know. I think he suspects that I’m not going to be around much longer. In the past few weeks he has been visiting more often, bringing food and talking about the old days.
When he was here yesterday, he said to me that he kept feeling Seokjin’s presence with him, when he went for his evening walks.
When he goes into town to visit his son, he catches glimpses of Hobi and Jimin on the street.
He hears Yoongi’s voice when he waters the flowers in his garden.
They’re getting closer. The door is creeping open.
I miss Jimin. I miss the others, I miss my family. I long to see them once more. Though Taehyung’s words hadn’t been directed at me all those years ago, I took them to heart. I haven't rushed, I’ve savoured the time I’ve had with those that loved me and those that I loved.
Now, though, I’m tired. My body is weak, I can feel it every day. I am ready to close my eyes.
Tonight, when I go upstairs to bed, I know that I will see them once more. Seokjin and Hobi, smiling at me from the middle of the sundrenched, wildflower meadow. Yoongi, with his Taehyung, reunited for eternity. Jimin and Jiyeong, waiting, hands outstretched, to take me into their arms again.
Just like I had always dreamt.