Chapter Text
The studies show that pain is relative, and Taehyung agrees. Because when he makes his first cut of the day, it hardly even registers. People with a low threshold for pain would most definitely feel it.
He drags the thin piece of a razor across the middle part of his back for the fourth time today, arm twisted behind him as he presses the sharp corner of the blade into the skin and incises past the epidermis to draw a hot gush of blood. After pain, there's the next best thing; he loves how the blood trickles from the fresh wound to the curve of his ass, soaking into the waistband of his white sweatpants on its way. He pulls a bunch of toilet paper off the flimsy holder and presses the handful against his lower back to avoid getting his clothes too bloody. Taehyung looks over his shoulder at the new small matchbox-sized cuts in the dirty mirror of this gas station bathroom, watching the blood run down his scarred skin and seep into the cheap paper, turning the white of it red. The wounds tingle, almost to the point of pain, but not quite. It’s frustrating if anything.
Perhaps he should start cutting other areas of his body. He’s been slicing wings into his back for a few years now, so it's not unreasonable to think that he’s become immune. His back has become immune. Perhaps it has nothing to do with tolerance.
Letting out a frustrated grunt, Taehyung pivots and tosses the blade into the stained sink.
Clatter. Whirring of the overhead air-conditioner.
Everything circumambient is old and rusty and fucking rickety. It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if he were to catch a disease or two. But he doesn’t care. Not really. He grips the edge of the yellowing sink with his bloodied hands, neck bent forward as his head hangs between his slouched shoulders. Taehyung stares at his beat white boots that have long ago lost the right to be considered white—more like gray; wrinkly and completely worn-in—before he squeezes his eyes shut and wills away the creeping stress over not achieving what he rushed into this claustrophobically tiny restroom for in the first place.
Seconds pass, maybe minutes, before he raises his head and stares at himself in the mirror. Pitch-black eyes bore into his reflection, his bitten red lips thinning when he realizes that his shoulder-length hair has gotten even whiter than he remembers it being when he arrived at this rural gas station about half an hour ago.
Fuck.
Taehyung doesn’t understand what the hell has been going on, but ever since he turned twenty-one in winter, his naturally golden blond hair has gradually turned lighter and lighter. That’s right, gradually. In the recent weeks of this obnoxiously hot month of May, though, the process has sped up remarkably. Taehyung’s hair is as white as snow or paper or—whatever. The point is that it’s white and no longer qualifies as blond. It’s bad enough that Taehyung was born with light hair. Him, an East Asian-looking person, an abominable atrocity in the small community of Massachusetts where he grew up. Now he has to deal with getting twice as many scrutinizing looks as he did when he was a kid.
“They don’t look at you 'cause your hair’s white,” says a voice as smooth as butter, interrupting Taehyung’s train of thought. “Or maybe they do and wonder how come you got such a pristine color by dyeing.” Taehyung huffs. “I’m serious… They'd probably want to make your acquaintance, but you intimidate the hell out of them.”
“Good,” is what he says. “I don’t need people talking to me.”
“Yeah. That’s your problem. You should be more sociable.”
“Shut up.”
Taehyung picks up the razor blade and cleans it of dried blood under the water from the faucet. Then he reaches into the pocket of his baggy sweatpants and pulls out a mini dropper bottle of clean alcohol, squirting a few drops onto the steel blade to kill bacteria. He places the bottle on the edge of the sink, and twirls his body, twisting his neck to look at his naked upper half in the mirror again.
With the tiny sharp object between his thumb and index finger, Taehyung moves his hand to his lower back where he presses it into the skin and drags, slicing a line to the new feather he is about to create. He bites into his bottom lip at the feeling of flesh opening up and cold air hitting the exposed wound, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he fights the urge to moan. However, it’s still not good enough, so he retrieves the dropper bottle and squirts some of the alcoholic liquid into the small gash. It burns deliciously, almost hurting, but not quite. Still, Taehyung lets his head dip backward as he sighs with pleasure.
He cuts a few short lines more, followed by a couple of drops dribbled into them. Taehyung’s cock plumps up in his pants, causing him to abandon the blade by discarding it into the sink, and he slides his hand past his waistband to pull it out.
“Sh-shit,” he hisses when he gives himself some tight strokes, supporting his suddenly wobbly self with his other hand gripping the cracked porcelain of the sink. “Fuck.”
Head hanging forward, eyes squeezed shut, he quickens his pace, pumping his cock with more purpose. Taehyung focuses on the mixed sensation of the lingering sting of the fresh cuts in his lower back and the promise of a good nut growing in his sack. He works his hand over the sensitive head and collects the precum at the slit that eases his fingers massaging over the ridges of the head and the pulsating veins on the underside on his slide to the base. Over and over and over again, he repeats his technique. A gush of chilly air from the AC passes over his open wounds, tickling the disturbed fibers and sliced blood vessels and causing Taehyung to go faster, the muscles in his arm straining as he chases that sweet release. Ah, Jesus Christ. He cums all over the floor at his feet with a groan barely audible.
He slaps both of his hands onto the edge of the sink, still stooped over like that, and lets the aftershocks wash over him, the buzz of climax surging through his body, cum leaking out of him in thin strings that stretch and break off to meet the floor. His cock jerks as it hangs just over the waistband of his sweatpants.
“That’s fucked up, Tae.”
Taehyung doesn’t react much, only mutters a nonchalant “Oh, yeah?” because it’s nothing he hasn’t heard before, especially from Voicey.
“Yeah.”
“You should ignore me, then, like I ignore you… if it bothers you so much.”
Voicey keeps quiet.
Raising his head, Taehyung looks at his relatively debauched reflection in the mirror, tapping a finger against his temple. “See? I bother you, but you still can’t help being at the forefront of every single thing I do.”
A sigh. “Just… fix yourself up and let’s get the hell out of this place.”
Taehyung chuckles, standing upright and cleaning up his cock before tucking it into his pants. He wipes away the dried and wet blood on his back, dabbing at the fresh cuts with a dampened ball of toilet paper. Then he splashes some water onto his face and slips into his large white hoodie, covering up his nudity. He cleans up the mess of blood and cum and the razor blade, too, disposing of all of it into the trash bin, leaving behind no trace of him even being here.
Before exiting the restroom, Taehyung conceals the majority of his face by twisting his silky hair into a bun, and pulling a cap and then the oversized hood over his head. He also adjusts the white backpack he’s carrying. When he’s finally ready, he steps out and strides through the few shelves of snacks, grabbing a bag of spicy chips on his way to the cashier counter.
“Sorry for taking so long in there,” he murmurs, placing the chips onto the lacquered surface. “I’ll take a pack of Newport, too.”
The clerk is an older woman, probably in her fifties, and she once-overs Taehyung in a way that makes him uncomfortable. She seems to take a step closer to the counter, almost pressing her belly into it, curiosity apparent in her inquisitive gaze. Her nostrils flare as she sniffs the air between them. And instinctively, Taehyung backs half a meter away from the counter, putting more distance between them.
He tilts his head a little backward to narrow his eyes at her from beneath the floppy hood. “Are you out of Newport?”
“Are you bleeding?” she counters.
Something jolts in Taehyung, alarm bells sounding off in his brain. “No. Why would I be bleeding.” He scans the shelves behind her, zeroing in on his favorite smokes. “You do have Newport. I want two, actually,” he decides impulsively. “I’m also kind of in a hurry, so…?”
She continues to stare at him with a gleam in her dull green eyes, and he tries to not let the odd vibes freak him out. Surely, she could be just a regular person and not one of those that are trying to get into his head, those that are constantly watching his every move, anticipating the best moment to strike and—
“No one’s watching you,” Voicey says in a bored tone. “Stop being so paranoid.”
But she’s being weird, isn’t she? Why is she staring at me like that, then?
“A lot of people stare at you. Who wouldn’t? You don’t look like—“ He stops abruptly, going on a second later with a “You look unique and that’s intriguing. Literally everyone we meet is enthralled and automatically drawn to you”.
Taehyung grits his teeth. Yeah, and that’s why I don’t socialize.
The woman keeps studying Taehyung and not making a single move to scan his bag of chips and get him his damn nicotine. The immobility of the moment is really preying on Taehyung’s anxiety and—like Voicey said—paranoia, because Taehyung can admit that he might have some issues with both of those.
Doesn’t she look frozen to you? Taehyung asks Voicey. I mean, it looks like she’s staring at me, but I’m pretty sure she hasn’t blinked in two whole minutes. Or breathed. Is her chest even moving?
“I dunno. She’s kinda weird, you’re right.” He searches through Taehyung’s memories for similar instances. “Ah, probably the weirdest one we’ve met.“ Voicey clears his throat, suddenly. “Can we leave?”
Raising his hand, Taehyung reaches carefully toward the woman and waves it in front of her face. She doesn’t move a muscle. Taehyung swipes his gaze over the dingy little shop, specifically looking for objects of surveillance. When he finds none, he breathes with less tension. He replaces his chips with some crumpled cash as he grabs the small bag and, while keeping his eyes on the dazed clerk, rounds the counter and takes two packs of Newport off the shelf.
“Keep the change!” he calls over his shoulder as he makes a beeline for the exit.
Taehyung exhales a big breath when the warm pre-summer air hits him, the sun beaming down on his bundled-up body. He rushes toward his baby blue 2005 Micra that’s a bit too rusty and in need of the maintenance Taehyung has pushed off for years. As he's crossing the short distance to his car by one of the two pumps, he pulls the hood lower over his face. “I hope none of them hear about this exchange.”
“Who?” asks Voicey.
“Them!”
“Oh, come on now. I told you there’s no them.”
“You don’t know anything,” Taehyung grumbles as he opens the driver’s side door and throws himself onto the seat.
“Are you forgetting the fact that I’m literally in your head, so everything you know, I do, too?”
Taehyung flings his backpack and the bag of chips onto the passenger seat. “If that were true“—he yanks the door shut and revs the ignition—“you’d believe that there are people after me.”
“Well, I’m your subconscious, which is pretty self-explanatory, I think.”
“What? That deep down I’m not actually paranoid?”
“See, you’re starting to get it.”
“Oh, fuck off. If you really were my subconscious, then I wouldn't even know about you and stuff like that.”
Two (or less) days later, Taehyung happens to find his way back to Boston. Not that he was lost or anything, but he’s been about everywhere but the damn city for the past ten months or so. It’s really an accomplishment that he’s managed to drive his shitty fucking car across the country to settle back down in this city he abandoned to satisfy his wanderlust without the thing breaking down or Taehyung completely losing his mind in the process. Because regardless of being back feeling kind of good on its own, the fact that he’s homeless is a majorly deteriorating element that does not fail to screw with him.
He can almost hear Voicey wanting to remind him that he’s dumb for giving up the room he previously rented.
Voicey laughs. “You’re right. But I’m not gonna.”
“Perfect.”
“But ya gotta find us a place to stay,” he adds. “I’m tired of sleeping in the car.”
Taehyung scoffs. “It’s not your muscles that are sore. What the fuck are you complaining about?”
“My health is suffering 'cause of it.”
“You don’t have health.”
“I have everything you have.”
“Well, I don’t have health either,” he says tonelessly as he stops at a red light. “So I guess we’re doomed, huh.”
“Yep,” Voicey pops, and Taehyung thinks that he’s finally gonna have some peace and quiet (in the most literal sense because the stereo is busted), but this voice in his head feels the need to continue yapping. “Actually! You’re not as messed up as you think you are. I mean, you are a little coo-coo, but that’s everybody. You need to be more optimistic.”
“Ha. Thanks. Every day I stray further from the belief that you’re my subconscious 'cause I really can’t see myself even subconsciously thinking the way you do,” Taehyung speaks, turning left from the intersection. “Also, we’ve been together for like, a couple of years, but if you truly were my subconscious, you should’ve been with me since I was born, so...”
“So?”
“Yeah, so you’re just a weird type of positive yet not-so-positive, annoying and parent-y little bitch of a voice that sprung in my head when I turned eighteen and my mental health started plummeting.”
“Thought you said you didn’t have health.”
With a roll of his eyes, Taehyung puffs out a dismissive breath of air. He switches lanes and navigates his Micra through the streets of Boston, soon driving into the neighborhood Namjoon lives in.
“What?” Voicey squeaks. “Namjoon doesn’t live—oh no, no, no. Turn around. Wrong direction, wrong direction!” Taehyung doesn’t listen, just keeps driving. “Tae! This is literally not where Namjoon lives. This is an entirely wrong neighborhood. Oh, my God. You’re literally gonna get yourself killed.”
“The fuck are you even talking about?” Taehyung grumbles as he pulls the car into park by the curb in front of the three-story Victorian-style house with white vinyl sidings, a wide front porch, and tall green columns. He points his finger toward the building. “See? This is Namjoon’s house.”
“No, no, no. No, it’s not.”
A lighthearted chuckle escapes Taehyung. “Why are you sooo panicky?”
“'Cause we’re in the wrong part of the city! This neighborhood is literally everyone’s worst nightmare; how the heck can you remember Namjoon living here, of all places?”
“It’s literally his house,” he swears, cutting the ignition and getting out of the car. Taehyung adjusts the hood over his head, trying to keep a low profile, as he strolls up the small walkway to the porch. “And stop saying literally. It’s literally annoying.”
Ascending the few steps, Taehyung nears the white wooden front door… which is only a bit odd because he’s sure the last time he was visiting Namjoon, the door had been navy blue. Actually, the whole house has been recently remodeled, it seems, 'cause Taehyung doesn’t recall it looking so well-maintained. He’s almost considering Voicey’s claims. Perhaps his infallible memory is playing tricks on him. It could be that Namjoon has moved places as it’s remarkably difficult to believe he’s taken the time to fix up his house.
“No, it’s just that it has never been his place to begin with. He would never fucking live here, trust me.”
“Trust the voice in my head? Yeah, I’ll do that once I’ve gone completely nuts.”
“Tae—“
Taehyung raps his knuckles against the wood a few times. When there’s no answer, he rings the doorbell. And when there’s still no answer, he presses his ear against the door and listens for any kind of activity.
None. It’s quiet.
“Yeah, 'cause he doesn’t live here.”
“Maybe he’s not home.”
“Yeah. Probably. 'Cause this is not his home.” Pivoting, Taehyung walks down the three steps of the porch and toward his car, plopping his ass onto the curb right in front of it. “Wait. Why are we sitting?”
“I’m thinking,” Taehyung says, picking at a piece of rust near the headlights.
“You can think while you’re in the car driving the fuck away from here!”
Taehyung frowns. “What’s your problem?”
He takes a look around the peaceful neighborhood of a dozen dwellings, all from the Victorian era, noticing a for-sale house at the end of the narrow street. He discerns that it’s rather secluded from its neighboring buildings as all the others line the street and have barely any space between them, but this particular one has at least fifty meters separating it from its first neighbor. It’s also nearly identical to the one Taehyung still thinks belongs to Namjoon, except the exterior looks much worse. The white has worn off, leaving the sidings patchy and cracked, the emerald green appears more like that of dead grass, and the porch flooring has a hole in it under one of the two front bay windows. Ah, yes, the windows that are covered up from the inside. Not to mention that the whole crooked-to-one-side house looks like the perfect visual of those from scary movies.
If anything, Taehyung isn’t necessarily surprised that no one’s bought the house yet as it’s eligible for demolition only. The shittiest one on this beautifully historic street, which is one of its kind where suburban Boston is concerned. Nonetheless, Taehyung is intrigued. He feels compelled to go and check it out, so he stands and starts off toward the vibrant sign on the unmaintained lawn.
“Do you think we should move here?” he wonders airily when he’s stepped onto the property, reaching out to graze his long slender fingers over the phone number of the faceless proprietor on the sign.
Voicey splutters in disbelief. “Here? Absolutely not! This house is the reason why we should get the fuck away from this godforsaken neighborhood.”
“Huh. I thought you had a problem with Namjoon’s house.”
As Voicey goes on to ramble about stuff that totally flies over Taehyung's head, he sweeps his gaze over the sign and the nearly collapsible house, and then the street for anyone who could borrow him a phone. When he spots no one, unsurprisingly so as it’s early in the morning and most of the residents are most likely at work or school or wherever, he hurries to the Micra and hops behind the wheel, spurring the engine and drifting off, causing Voicey to stop blabbering mid-sentence, soon breathing out a sigh of obvious relief.
“Thank God. I feared you’d lost your mind for a second there.”
Ignoring him, Taehyung drives attentively, checking every meter of the area he crosses, until finding what he’s looking for—a payphone. He stops the car by the sidewalk where parking is clearly prohibited, storms out, and rushes toward the phone. Voicey groans loudly in his head, murmuring something about it being weird that there still even are payphones to count on, while Taehyung feeds a few of his coins to the machine and balances the standard handset between his cheek and shoulder. He punches in the house proprietor’s number from memory, and waits a couple of rings until the call is picked up with a statement of a name.
The line is crackling terribly, and Taehyung blames it on the payphone. Or a phone in general, as he is not a fan of these trackable (!) devices.
“Um, yes. Hi, hello,” he stammers. “I’m interested in that house in Roslindale.” Taehyung murmurs the full address, too. “Is it still available?”
“Oh, how wonderful,” says a man slowly, voice low and sultry. “The whole property is very much available. Are you looking to buy?”
Taehyung doesn’t think he is. At least not if the entire thing is gonna cost him a fortune. These days, he barely has money for gas, so he’d just figured he would like to go into the house and snoop around.
But he's saying “Yes. I’d like to buy immediately” before he can even register what he's agreeing to, his voice coming out of him monotonously.
He's told that the property has been on the market ever since it got done being built, with only a handful of people showing interest, but dropping out as soon as things start to get serious. And Taehyung closes in on the purchase as he buys the house for one dollar.
He never meets the proprietor whose energy makes his skin prickle with goosebumps. Or maybe that's the phone's fault as well.
On the way back to the house—his house, Taehyung gets a wild headache because of Voicey’s incessant reprimanding as he cannot believe that Taehyung bought the house. When Taehyung asks a “What about the house could possibly throw you so off?”, he is ignored and given a continued onslaught of chastisement on how much of a bad idea this is. No explanations, just some bullying. Voicey also insists that it’s so alarming that the key and documentation are being sent with a courier later, something that should sound off every single paranoia bell in Taehyung’s head. But Taehyung doesn’t see any of it as sketchy and argues that they should be grateful for the opportunity as it is. After all, a house is a house whether it's in good condition or not, and Taehyung needs that proper roof over his head for the foreseeable nights that worrying about the objectively simplified logistics of this deed is not something he wants to be doing.
He does suddenly remember that Namjoon never did indeed live in Roslindale, though. So, as he’s halfway home, Taehyung U-turns his car and drives to Dorchester, the part of Boston where Namjoon actually resides.
And Namjoon’s house is far from white with green columns and a big porch. It’s red-bricked and has totally been built in the twenty-first century, probably even in the 2010s. Thus, Taehyung is admittedly confused. Why did he remember his friend’s house being one way when in reality it is much more the other way? Voicey is quick to jump to conclusions and insist that Taehyung’s recollections were somehow manipulated so that he’d buy the house. Because how else is it conceivably explainable that he began to remember the real facts after the deed was done? But Voicey’s always been a little dramatic, so this theory of his isn’t something Taehyung is keen to take into consideration. It simply makes no fucking sense.
Whatever the actual explanation, Taehyung is glad that they make it to Namjoon’s real place in the end.
Namjoon opens the front door just as Taehyung is about to knock on the wood of it, hand paused midway. “Taehyung,” he breathes, as if in awe, eyes wide as he’s staring at Taehyung like he’s the last person he expected to see on his doorstep. “What—? How are you here right now?”
“How?” Taehyung echoes dumbly. “I dunno. I just am.”
Mouth opening and closing like he’s a fish above water, Namjoon seems to be rendered speechless, only eyeing Taehyung and making him anxious.
“Um...”
Then, “Oh! Right-right,” Namjoon snaps out of it, stepping aside to invite Taehyung in. “Please.”
Taehyung skips past Namjoon, stopping in the entryway for a moment to toe off his shoes, and into the lounge area where his gaze catches onto the coffee table that’s littered with odd sketches, crumpled-up paper, and a thick notebook. Stooping to inspect, he identifies the lopsided scribbles on the parted pages to be of Latin, some of the unknown words longer than others, accompanied by numbers and drawings of bottles and leaves and all that kinda nonsense. He huffs, and throws himself on one of the frayed armchairs, tapping his fingers on the armrests on either side of him.
When Namjoon appears in the doorway with two glasses of… something, Taehyung speaks up: “You into some ancient medicine bullshit these days?”
“What?” Taehyung jerks his chin toward the table. Namjoon's face pales as he scrambles to collect everything into a huge pile and shove it under the couch. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting you.”
Taehyung nods absentmindedly. “You didn’t answer, though.”
“About ancient medicine bullshit?” He lets out an awkward-ish chuckle. “No, I'm not into it.”
“Okay.”
He's always been into some botany-related stuff, though, that interests Taehyung exactly zero percent, so he doesn't ask more.
Dipping his head backward, Taehyung closes his eyes as he rests his nape against the back support of the armchair, enjoying the short moment of reprieve from having his guard up. He just relaxes; thinks he deserves that much.
He can hear the springs in the couch groan as Namjoon sits down. “You’re still the same,” comes in an assessing tone.
That prompts Taehyung to look at Namjoon. “Don’t insult me.”
"How is that insulting?"
"It's been almost a year. I've changed!"
Namjoon studies him. "Alright. Perhaps. But you're still very indifferent towards the things that are happening around you."
The things that are happening? "Nothing's happening. It's all so boring."
Silence.
“He’s so hot,” emphasizes Voicey. “Especially when he’s not exactly happy with you.”
Scoffing, Taehyung burrows further into the armchair and crosses his arms over his chest. So this is what you choose to say after being gone for a long-ass time? He inhales deeply through his nose. Pathetic. Stop thirsting over him. He’s a friend, and he’s taken anyway… At least I think he still is.
“Friend, huh?” Voicey coughs, the noise reverberating through Taehyung’s whole body, making him cringe. “Joonie is right, you know. You are indifferent towards a lot of shit. Basically everything that doesn’t concern your… idiosyncrasies.”
Am I supposed to care about everything and everyone?
“Not saying you have to, but would it really hurt to show a little empathy towards Namjoon, at least?” Voicey pauses, probably for effect. “I mean… He is your friend. Your only one at that, too. So wouldn’t you want to take care of this friendship before Joon decides you’re not worthy of his company?”
What's with this couns—
"Is that why you decided to come back?” Namjoon inquiries. “Boredom?"
Taehyung shrugs a shoulder. "Fuck should I know—“
Voicey clicks his tongue. “Don’t cuss at him.”
“I was just driving when I suddenly realized that I was halfway across the country," Taehyung continues. "Didn't even plan to come to Boston, but since I was already in Massachusetts and pretty much headed this way... Well. Thought why the heck not."
Namjoon's brows rise, and he looks hopeful. "So you're staying?"
"I am." He purses his lips in thought, then adds: "For a while anyway."
"Where? You sold your flat."
"Yeah, but I already bought a house today. For one dollar.” Taehyung grins. (“That’s not a grin,” Voicey notes lazily.) “Can you believe?"
"What!” Namjoon nearly jumps off the couch. “Where?" Taehyung reveals the address. "...No."
“What d'you mean no? Yes.”
“No,” he says again with more pressure on the word. Namjoon looks quite shocked, to be honest. "You can't live there."
Taehyung rolls his eyes, not even surprised that Namjoon knows which house he's talking about. Namjoon seems to know everything that’s going on in Boston. "Yeah, yeah. I know it's shitty, but it has a charm to it, I think."
"That’s not what I’m talking about. You can't live there. For one dollar?" He shakes his head in disbelief. "Gosh. Don't you think it was sold for that kind of money on purpose?"
“Obviously. He—the proprietor wanted to get rid of the house. No one's shown much interest in it since it was established. Why he sold it to me immediately."
Namjoon leans forward, supporting his upper body with his forearms on his thighs. "And you don't think that's suspicious? That there's a reason it's abandoned like that?"
Taehyung sighs. "Joon. I don't really care."
"No shit,” leaves him in a huff. “That's your whole problem. You don't care about anything." He pauses, thinking. "Actually—are you still afraid of phones?"
"I'm not afraid of them, the fuck. Have never been afraid. I just don't appreciate them attempting to track my every move."
"See? That's what you care about. Someone tracking you. Who, though? Who does your paranoia make you believe is trying to track you?"
"I dunno.” Voicey snorts. “Anyone."
"That's right. You don't know anyone, so why would a rando want to track you? This makes no sense, Tae."
"To you! Makes hella sense to me." Taehyung chews on the inside of his cheek in mild annoyance, brows furrowed. "Quit interrogating me. This isn't what I came to you for."
"Figured as much. What did you come here for, then?"
Taehyung ponders whether he should say right now or wait until a bit later, but decides that he doesn’t wanna stay here for longer than absolutely necessary, especially because of how Namjoon is treating him. And also, he has a house now, one he has not yet even been inside of. So, "I need a mattress,” he says, knowing the place is probably super empty. “You have one to spare? Or can you get me one? 'Cause I remember you used to be pretty loaded in this area..."
As expected, Namjoon measures Taehyung with a long look, even narrows his eyes as he seems to be contemplating something. “A mattress? That’s what you want?”
“Oh, do you not believe? Yes, I want a mattress.”
“God.” Sighing, Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine, I’ll get you a mattress.” He gets to his feet. “Come on.”
Hopping upright, Taehyung follows Namjoon out of the lounge and into a dark windowless room a few doors over. When Namjoon flicks the switch and the lights flash on, the room is just as crazy as Taehyung has always found it being—echo-y and filled with nothing other than a variety of dozens of mattresses. Namjoon has his own tiny company and tends to have the examples of his newest pieces or the ones that don't get sold stored in this exact room for people like Taehyung to show them to. Taehyung loves coming in here 'cause it smells fresh and linen-y, the whole concept never failing to make him feel all sorts of happy feelings.
“Ah, now this is what I associate with Boston,” Taehyung shares. “Every time I happened to think about Boston while I was away, I always pictured a room with some mattresses.”
Namjoon turns to him. “For real?”
With a nod, Taehyung says a “Yeah”, and shuffles forward to touch the fabric of the first standing mattress to his right. “They’re antibacterial, right?”
“Yep.”
“Mm.” He splays his fingers on the surface and adds pressure with his whole hand, testing the firmness. “Nah. Too soft.” Taehyung looks around the room, then at Namjoon. “Which’s the firmest? I’m old and my back hurts, so I can’t be sleeping on something that dips like a marshmallow under my weight.”
“You turned twenty-one only half a year ago,” Namjoon deadpans.
“Yeah, and I’m half a year away from twenty-two. You can basically smell the dirt on me.”
“The dirt?”
“Duh. From being buried.”
Namjoon blinks and shakes his head, mumbling under his breath about Taehyung really not having changed at all as he goes to fetch the best motherfucking mattress for the one he’s insulting again. They proceed to struggle with shoving Taehyung’s only piece of “furniture” into his car, but since that thing is so itty-bitty, they give up rather quickly and stay frowning at their failed attempt.
“I can drive it over myself?” Namjoon offers after a short while.
“Right now, then,” is Taehyung zippy to insist. “Not tomorrow or whenever you think I can continue sleeping in my car until.”
His eyes widen comically. “You’ve lived in your car this whole time?!” Taehyung opens his mouth to make a correction, but a flash of something that looks a lot like resignation schools Namjoon’s expression before he can. “Why am I even asking? Of course you have. I shouldn’t be surprised.” He sighs heavily. “Okay, Tae-Tae. Let’s load it into my truck.”
Arriving to Roslindale takes a good twenty minutes, with Taehyung leading the way in his Micra and Namjoon tailing closely behind in his fancy black truck. He inches into the driveway until the nose of his car is mere centimeters away from coming into contact with the big(ish) tree that most likely should not be as nestled beside the house as it is; Namjoon parks his vehicle in front of Taehyung’s nearest neighbor’s lot, climbs out, and waits for Taehyung to jog the distance to him (which, apparently, is the funniest thing in the world 'cause Voicey can’t stop laughing—and when he finally does, it’s to sympathize with Namjoon for his reasonable behavior as he wouldn’t want to go anywhere near Taehyung’s house either. Taehyung has to remind Voicey that he’s gonna have to live in said house, too, and that’s the worst it’s gonna get, so he better suck it up).
Together, he and Namjoon lift the transparent plastic-covered mattress and carry it to the house—or so Taehyung naturally expects, not the reality where Namjoon pretty much screeches to a halt just by the curb as if crossing the invisible borders of the property is a matter of life or death… and judging by the badly concealed look of panicked terror on his face, Taehyung feels confident to say that that’s exactly what it is.
He rolls his eyes, holding onto one end of the mattress and arching a brow at Namjoon on the other. The middle part of the mattress is hovering about a meter off the ground right at the point where the curb acts as a divider between Taehyung’s recently acquired property and the road of the street that belongs to… the city of Boston, perhaps. “Are you kidding me?” Taehyung demands. “This is ridiculous.”
Yanking on his end until Namjoon releases the mattress, Taehyung huffs and drags the heavy fucking thing up the cemented path and the short flight of groaning stairs to the porch, struggling but somehow managing to balance it upright against the house. He puffs out a breath of relief, grateful that the rest of his chores are easy peasy lemon squeezy, and cracks his neck, glancing around for clues from the proprietor.
“I’m sorry,” Namjoon calls out in a tone that should probably be a little louder, but Taehyung hears him perfectly all the same. “Just being cautious. Don’t wanna mess with—“ He lowers his head and sighs. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”
As Taehyung continues to stick his fingers into every crack of the house—under the windowsills, in-between the sidings, above and around the frame of the door, Namjoon fills in the silence with an “Isn’t it weird that there is no sign?”, prompting Taehyung to glimpse at him. He's fidgeting, not really knowing what to do with his hands, or his legs as he keeps shifting from one foot to another. “There’s usually a sign.”
“There was one,” Taehyung says. He sees that the one that had been mounted into the lawn is no longer there. “The proprietor must’ve gotten rid of it.” Continuing his scavenger hunt, he adds a “He was supposed to leave me a—“
“—key,” Namjoon finishes for him as he watches Taehyung pull a combo of three out of the hole in the porch. They’re looped through a key-chain of a silver ball of fluff. “Are those the keys?” He sounds confused, almost scandalized. “Who the hell leaves important keys like that?!”
“I dunno. Him.” Taehyung sticks his hand back into the hole and retrieves a thin binder of documents as well. “Oh, lookie. This, too.”
“This is not right, Tae.”
He places the set of keys on the railing. “Whatever. It’s easier this way, and I’m so glad he chose to do it like this. Saves me from having to interact with anyone face-to-face,” he mutters as he leans his hip against the column by the staircase, rolling up the binder and sticking it under his arm.
“Wait...” Namjoon is realizing something. “You haven’t seen the guy who sold you the house?”
“Nah.” He shakes his head. “We spoke through the phone.”
“...But you don’t have one.”
“Well, I called him from a payphone.”
Namjoon squints. “Okay…?”
Voicey snorts.
“What’s the name of the guy?”
“Akaikos Franczak,” Taehyung pronounces without an issue.
With a scoff, Namjoon stops shifting. “That’s no one’s name.”
Taehyung shrugs nonchalantly. "Is what was on the sign and what he told me."
"Sounds fake, don't you think?"
"Yeah, well.” He notices that Namjoon is wearing orange thigh-length shorts. Namjoon used to hate orange. “Whatever.” He jerks his head toward the house. “Come in now."
"No. And I don’t think you should go either! This is dangerous."
"Is it now."
Namjoon palms his face. “Oh, my god. I can’t believe you wholeheartedly think you’re being tracked by some theys, but fail to see the glaring red flag in this deal you made."
Rolling his eyes again, Taehyung fingers at a peeling piece of paint on the column. "What red flag?” He grabs the binder from under his arm and waves it at Namjoon like one would a stick at a dog who’s about to go fetch. “Here’s the fucking document. Can’t get more legit than this, in my opinion."
“Your opinion is invalid at this point,” grumbles Namjoon, annoying Taehyung enough that he stomps down the steps and toward him, near-aggressively flipping open the binder and bringing the papers close to their faces for Namjoon to be able to read, too, even though he doesn’t have his glasses on. But he guides the binder to a reasonable distance, explaining: “I’m wearing lenses.”
As they read the documents in the binder, they realize swiftly that everything seems more than legitimate. The first page is filled with some boringly official bullshit while the second one is more substantial and concrete, complete with Taehyung’s full name and date of birth, dotted lines, and local government stamps to prove authenticity. However, Namjoon isn’t particularly impressed as he singles one sentence out of the whole bunch.
Upon entering the place of residence, you consent to becoming privy to its anomalous quintessence.
Voicey gasps, and Namjoon curses. "I knew it,” he says as though this is the only proof he needed to back up the stuff he’s been all but trying to feed to Taehyung. “You cannot fucking enter this fucking house, Kim Taehyung!"
“I agree.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Taehyung drawls exasperatedly.
Namjoon blanches, glaring at him like he’s grown two more heads. “Excuse me? I’m tryna look out for you here and you’re telling me to shut up?”
A cackle nearly escapes Taehyung, but he huffs instead. “Wasn’t meant for you.”
“Huh?”
“Hey, stop looking at me like I’m some eccentricity.”
He hums. “I’m starting to think you might be.”
"Chill, man,” is how Taehyung handles a pang of insecurity. “Remember what you said to me earlier: I dunno anyone, so why would anyone wanna hurt me? Makes no sense. And the same goes for this shit you’re projecting here. I don’t know anyone, so why would anyone want to cause harm or whatever to me? Makes no sense."
Shaking his head vehemently, Namjoon’s eyes are like daggers, and the way he’s stabbing holes into Taehyung with them makes him take a step to the side to ensure some distance between them. "No, Tae. You don’t understand,” he stresses, “but I think I am starting to get it.” A visible gulp. “Do you remember when you came to me a couple of years ago asking if you were normal 'cause you didn’t feel normal? I didn’t think much of it and brushed it off… But this"—he gesticulates around them—"is all too crazy for it to be a mere coincidence. And I’m starting to think that you had a right to think you weren’t exactly normal—“
Taehyung’s gaze hardens.
Namjoon notices. “So to speak,” he supplies as a sweetener. “In fact, I actually think you’re really-really special. Otherwise this shit wouldn’t be happening."
"What the hell are you talking about now,” Taehyung says slowly. Not a question. “I’m special?" He tilts his head backward and lets out a mirthless chuckle at the cloudy sky. "Yeah, right. In what fucking way do you reckon?"
"I’m not sure yet, but they obviously are."
Taehyung sobers immediately. Like a harsh slap across the face, paranoia bells ringing in his head again. "They? You mean you believe me now that they’re trying to get to me?"
"Oh, no. Not your they. But—" He stops himself. "Fuck. Come with me. You can’t go inside. Come stay with me until we think of some alternatives for you."
The binder snaps shut. Taehyung takes a few more steps until he's standing tall in front of Namjoon. "No. The fuck. I don’t need any alternatives,” he asserts. “I have a home now and—"
"Tae, listen to me.” He goes to make a grab for Taehyung to, perhaps, forcefully remove him from the territory, but seems to realize at the last second that that would mean his arms crossing the whole-ass invisible border between them. He settles for adding emphasis to his words instead. “I’m being serious! You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into and I-I can’t explain these things to you. I’m trying to keep you safe here. Please. You gotta trust me, Tae. You don’t wanna know about these things. Please come with me."
But Taehyung doesn’t go with him. All he does before skipping his way toward the front door is watch a disappointed and very apprehensive Namjoon slouch his shoulders as if he’s failed at a fundamental task and march to his truck. Soon, he’s driving down the street, leaving Taehyung alone.
Snatching the silver fluff of keys off the top of the railing, Taehyung is prepared to jam all three of them into the slot one by one, but aces in unlocking the door with the biggest one of the trio on the first try. Giddy, he presses down the handle and pushes against the heavy wood until the door creaks open, the hinges whining just as should be expected from something that hasn’t been opened for fuck-knows-how-many centuries. It makes the fact that the process of actually turning the key happened to be easy seem odd in comparison.
The daylight from behind him streams in and illuminates the darkened space ahead. The interior is nowhere near as frozen in time and unmaintained and just collapsible as how the house presents itself to the outside world. Taehyung wonders if someone's been squatting here.
The front area is cramped and a part of a hallway stretching ahead, a narrow carpeted staircase taking up space on the right and leading to the second floor. The ground beneath Taehyung’s booted feet is carpeted, too; a little dusty and tattered, giving the maroon hue of it a gray coat. There’s no paper on the walls, just piss-yellow plaster, and there are two curved archways built parallel to each other on either side of him. One leads to a bigger room with a fireplace and nothing else, the other is meant to be a kitchen, but it lacks the elementary essentials such as cabinets and a table and chairs. The only reason Taehyung knows it's a kitchen is because of the fridge. It’s remarkably white and well-preserved for something that’s vintage and presumably from the 1950s—yeah, it’s gotta be. They made cute shit back then, and apparently, this is the only thing one needs as it is the lone sign of life in these hollow rooms.
At least Taehyung had been right about the house being empty.
It’s so quiet. His ears kinda ring in a buzzing type of way, making him blissfully dizzy.
Having heard that old houses have souls and their own energy, Taehyung disagrees now that he’s in one. He can’t feel anything; there is no energy. It is just silence and stale air and a lot of dust everywhere. He’d find it comforting to know that there was something going on in here to provide some sensations, but since there is none, Taehyung feels weirdly exhausted and disappointed.
He spins on his heel and strolls back outside to haul his mattress in. He also goes to collect his bedding and a few other necessities from the car. After returning inside the house, locking the door, and sucking in a deep breath, he manages to drag the mattress and all of his other shit into the living room at the same time. He lets the mattress flop onto the carpeted floor in front of the large white marble fireplace with a muffled thump that echoes throughout the house. He dumps his backpack and duffel bag onto the mattress and fishes his multipurpose knife out of the pocket of his sweatpants, pulling out the slimmest blade and crouching down to cut into the plastic wrapped around the mattress, proceeding to slide the sharp edge smoothly through around the entire king-size of it. Taehyung removes the top half of the now-two parts of transparent plastic, leaving the bottom one in place as protection from the dirt on the ground.
He uprights to his full height, squaring his shoulders. His back is sore from unnatural positions of sleeping, every muscle feeling too tight for movement.
He just needs some rest.
So, he yanks his white cotton sheet out of the carelessly thrown-together bunch and lays it on the mattress, noting how it fits almost perfectly. Almost. But he doesn't care. A couple of centimeters of uncovered space is nothing when there's dust in his nostrils. Taehyung is scarcely thankful for the darkness the thin slabs of plywood mounted in front of the windows are accountable for as he toes off his boots and crawls onto his bed. He grabs his plain duvet and pillow, takes off his cap, and lets his white hair fan out on the plushness he lays his head onto while swathing his fully clothed body with the thick cover.
Wow, he really is so tired. He closes his eyes and sighs heavily, allowing his body to relax as he’s finally in a place that’s his own, a place where no one can disturb him, where he can enjoy the quiet and not—
Ohfffuck.
He springs to sit, and digs his fingers into the pocket of his sweats again, retrieving his black pager. Taehyung squints to see as he inspects his only piece of technology from every possible angle. Not satisfied, he places the pager on his duvet-covered thighs and takes the thing apart, scrutinizing the two halves of the case from the inside, too, along with the chip and tiny radio receiver and processor.
Nothing.
Though he breathes a little easier now that he’s assured himself that no one’s managed to plant a tracker to spy on his location, to listen to him, he is still wary that they might have used alternative places to put it. True, it’s the only thing Taehyung always has with him, but it wouldn’t be unheard of if they resorted to hiding their nasty little trackers elsewhere. Thus far, they haven’t planted any 'cause otherwise Taehyung would have found it, but it’s only a matter of time til they catch him distracted enough to succeed one day. He’s already been so recklessly inattentive today that he forgot to check the pager before. He should’ve checked it before! Who knows what could’ve happened if he’d gone to sleep and there had been a tracker counting his puffs of breath.
Quickly, Taehyung rummages through his small duffel bag and backpack as well as the soles of his boots and every article of clothing on him.
Nothing.
Okay. Maybe they didn’t consider him distracted enough. Good thing he isn’t going to be as careless anymore.
Maximum self-control.
Yes, he can do it.
And harsher punishments.
Should he punish himself right now?
No.
Taehyung lies back down and settles into his new mattress. Thank you, Namjoon. Taehyung can sleep like a normal person now, something he can’t recall ever doing off the top of his head.
Sleep does not come easy. He lies there for quite a long time, eyes shut and breathing evened out, but his mind and body are not losing consciousness no matter how hard he tries, no matter how tired he is. There comes a point, though, that makes him feel all warm and fuzzy and so damn comfortable that he thinks he’s gonna pass out any second now—but then he hears Voicey speak with a tremble in his voice. “Taehyung. You feel that?” He’s about to croak out an answer when Voicey goes on quickly: “No, don’t reply aloud. Pretend you’re dead.”
What—
“It doesn’t quite work like that, boo-boo,” says an unfamiliar voice, sweet and melodic, resonating clearly in the empty room.
Room…
Fear creeps up Taehyung’s spine, and that is just stupid. It must carry over from Voicey 'cause Taehyung has never cared enough to fear anything. He’s fallen quiet, too. Perhaps in alarm, to avoid having himself be heard or something like that.
...Wait.
In mere seconds, Taehyung is sitting up and staring at the stranger who’s leaning against the doorjamb, light blue leather-clad arms crossed, his sharp gaze slightly narrowed as it’s directed at—
Taehyung narrows his eyes back. He should’ve been smarter to check the rest of the house for any potential creeps lurking around before thinking about shutting down for a few hours. For security purposes, Taehyung reaches into the inner side pocket of his duffel bag for the SP101 he keeps around for these exact reasons, raising his arm and pointing the revolver toward the threshold. “If you’re one of them—or if they sent you in hopes I wouldn’t catch on, then just know that I am not afraid to shoot your fucking brains out. I won’t regret it either, so you better leave me alone. And tell them to leave me alone, too. Stop watching me. Stop having me followed. I know you want something from me, but I’m not gonna give y’all anything, understood? Leave me the fuck alone or I’ll kill you and every one of your kind.”
The stranger has the audacity to smirk, arching a brow while doing so. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, baby, but keep going. I love your voice. Gets my soul excited.”
Baby.
He’s not having it. “Who the fuck are you and how’d you get into my house?” Taehyung asks evenly, pulling back the safety of his gun to add some truth to his promise.
“Your house?” The smirk turns into a closed smile, and he tilts his head to the side, almost as though he’s trying to pierce through Taehyung with his dark gaze. “You see, I could ask you the same thing as it is actually very much mine. You’re trespassing on my territory.”
“No, I’m not. I bought this house earlier today.”
“Oh, did you now.”
He doesn’t understand why he feels the need to explain himself when he wouldn’t normally bear a single thought. Then again, this doesn’t exactly feel like a normal situation, otherwise Taehyung would’ve heard someone basically sneak up on him, so how come he didn’t? And how come did this man hear what Voicey had said to him? Makes so little sense that Taehyung’s almost intrigued.
“Why don’t you read my mind to see that I’m not lying or whatever.”
The stranger’s plump lips twitch. “Can’t. That’s why I’m suddenly very curious about you,” he murmurs. “A pretty boy like you having the audacity to waltz into my house when no one’s been stupid enough to try for centuries. Begs the question of whether you’re that, or just incredibly brave.”
Wait, so he can actually read minds? Who the hell is this dude?
“Did you miss the part where I said I bought this property today?” Taehyung fights the urge to roll his eyes, ignoring the comment about him being pretty when the stranger himself looks like… Fuck. Like a rebellious wet dream, sexy in a way that’s otherworldly and dangerous as he’s sheathed in a pastel-colored biker’s outfit, his hair shortish and coiffed and a silvery gray. “'Cause I did. I even have the papers.”
He hums. “Papers, huh?” Why does he look somewhat amused? Definitely not a good person. “Can I see?”
Abruptly, Taehyung remembers that he’s exposed, so he secures the floppy hood over half of his face. Then he gets up and retrieves the binder from the floor beside the mattress, putting the SP101 down instead. He strolls over to the stranger to hand over the papers.
The chunky heels of the man’s boots bring him up to Taehyung's height. For some reason, that makes Taehyung feel slightly less inferior. “The proof,” he says as he extends his arm. “Eat up.”
The stranger's eyes are intense as they zero in on Taehyung’s long fingers gripping the binder. He licks his fat lips and slithers his gaze upward Taehyung’s body until their eyes meet. Oh, hell. He looks unreal up close! How is it even possible to look this good? Taehyung wants to get rid of him; he's not gonna let himself obsess over this one. A babe unlike any other, yes, but still a stranger no matter the unadulterated interest he's showing in Taehyung as his depthless eyes are eating up Taehyung and not the proof Taehyung has made available.
Taehyung nods toward the binder between them.
He unfolds his arms and takes it, flipping it open and lowering his gaze to skim the text written inside. A second later, he huffs a light chuckle. “Oh, baby. These are so fake.”
“What.”
“They’re fake,” he repeats, “and I have a pretty great idea who’s responsible.”
Snatching the binder back, Taehyung pivots and walks those few steps to his bed, dropping it onto his pillow before plopping himself down as well. He crosses his legs as he sits like that, studying the stranger with a casual look from under the hem of his white hood. “Who are you?” he tries again.
And that seems to please the stunning man. “So you’re interested in me,” comes smoother than cream cheese on a bagel. “Good, 'cause I’m very interested in you.”
Taehyung waits and even raises a brow to prompt him to continue.
“I’m a vampire,” he says, extending his arm toward Taehyung in a silent invitation for a handshake. “My name’s Jimin. And according to that little bastard trapped in you, yours is Taehyung.”
"Huh." Jimin... "Is that a real one, or did you just make it up?"
"A real one, baby. Why would I make it up?"
“Stop calling me baby,” Taehyung grumbles quietly. "I'm just curious 'cause you said you’re a vampire, but I’m not sure what that is. Sounds stupid and made-up, though, so why wouldn't you make your name up as well?”
Jimin hums, a would-be chuckle if the sound of it wasn’t so suppressed. "Ah, well… Only because I like you," he begins, pushing off the jamb and sauntering over to the fireplace, suddenly so close to Taehyung again. "I acquired Jimin a few millennia ago. My birth name, as you humans call it, is a bit of a tongue twister and too recherché for everyday use on Earth. Thus, I suppose it could be considered made-up."
"Did you just say recherché?" Taehyung grins, finding it oddly funny.
"Oh, baby. You have a pretty smile," Jimin comments—and grins, too, when Taehyung sobers and glares. "But yes, recherché. It comes from a language my family speaks, therefore it's a real headache for mortals to pronounce. It got obnoxious to have to repeat myself again and again."
"Aw. And then you killed those who mispronounced it, huh."
The grin widens. "What makes you think I’d ever kill anyone?"
"Psh, just your vibe.” Taehyung clicks his tongue. “Gotta work on that."
"Really? I thought I came across as super chill and everything."
"I dunno. Maybe you do to others, but I have great intuition," Taehyung says.
"Oh, do you?" Jimin bites into his lip, once-overing Taehyung, who dips his head back to return the intrusion. His hood slips off his head in the process, showing off his insecurities for the second time in front of this stranger, and he scrambles to pull it back over. But Jimin has already— “You have white hair.”
Taehyung knits his brows. “Yes. So what? You're talking about millennia and centuries and calling me a human as if you’re somehow above that. You don’t get to judge me when you’re just as weird.”
“I’m not judging; I’m just realizing things,” leaves his pretty mouth, the tone soft and careful, making him sound... reverent. “And I’m not merely talking about anything. It’s the truth. I've seen many millennia as I happen to be quite old. Although… about me calling you human. Well, I’m beginning to question myself.”
“Huh? You expect me to believe you’re more than twenty-something years old? And a few millennia, no less?” He lets out an incredulous chuckle. “Turns out you’re just as crazy as me.”
“Crazy or not, I mean it.” He pauses, still very much intrusive with the way he’s boring holes into Taehyung. “Look at me and tell me if you see a man who’s prone to lying.”
He is already looking at him, and no, he does not. All he sees is a man who’s oxymoronically lovely and seductive and ostensibly interested in Taehyung on one part while the other is full of murderous energy, simmering just beneath the surface in this way that’s so very familiar to him. Jimin could probably snap Taehyung’s neck before Taehyung can make a grab for his gun to kill him first. He could probably sweet-talk Taehyung into spilling his life story, too. So, it’s embarrassing no matter which angle you look at it from. Taehyung gravitates toward both of the sides as if Jimin’s got magnets under his skin—or his soul, 'cause that’s what’s somehow the most attractive anyway.
How can Taehyung even sense so much? No one should be able to tell so much about a person upon first interaction. It’s just not possible even if you were the most perceptive and observant.
“Well?”
Taehyung fills his lungs with a bunch of air. There’s Jimin mixed in with the dusty stillness of it. “Nah. Don’t think you’re lying,” he says finally.
“But?”
“But I think you should go now. It’s still my house and—wait, how did you know I was here anyway? And don’t tell me you simply came home and found me here 'cause there’s no way anyone’s been living in here in many-many years.”
“I felt someone enter the house,” he says. “And like I said earlier: no one’s tried for a very long time. It usually doesn’t end well for those who do.”
“Ah, so you have killed.”
Jimin grins, showing a row of perfect teeth, although one of the front ones is a bit crooked. Hah, cute. Wait, no. No, no, no. Not cute. Definitely don’t use cute in the same sentence with this Jimin. “I didn’t say that,” Jimin murmurs, running his fingers over the top of the fireplace, collecting dust, and then clapping, brushing his hands against one another to restore some semblance of cleanliness. Such a normal thing to do, but Taehyung is mesmerized.
“Implied, though,” argues Taehyung. “Are you gonna kill me?”
“No.”
“Okay, cool.” He bounces upright and heads toward the front door. “Come on, then. Leave my house.” He looks over his shoulder to make sure Jimin is following after him. “Please?” He isn’t. “I wanna sleep and you’re compromising that.”
“Can I watch?”
Taehyung comes to a halt by the threshold of the living room, turning toward Jimin. “No?”
Jimin feigns a(n actually) cute pout. It’s completely at odds with the fiery look in his sharp eyes. Taehyung purses his lips to show his annoyance. “I could make you agree,” Jimin says oh-so-casually.
“Shut the fuck up,” Voicey barks out of nowhere. Taehyung doesn’t even have time to properly realize that he did the same thing to Namjoon—and that Namjoon labeled the binder of documents fake in the first place!—
Apart from his eyebrows shooting up, Jimin’s expression turns unreadable. “Did you just tell me to shut up?”
“I didn’t—“
“I know you didn’t,” Jimin assures Taehyung. “But Yoongi did. You feel safe inside him, hm?”
"Who's—?"
“I’m not afraid of you, Jimin,” comes from Voicey (...Yoongi?).
“Oh, really?”
How does he know your name?
“Er,” Taehyung begins, feeling so caught in the middle. “You said you couldn’t read my mind...”
Jimin’s features soften. “And I meant it, baby. But I can hear him.”
“What—? That makes no sense. He’s a part of my mind.”
A curt shake of the head. “He’s not.” Jimin doesn’t sound thrilled at all. “I’ll take a wild guess and say he got stuck in you while trying to possess you. I mean, it worked, though, right? Too bad you didn’t think this through and now can’t get your way out. Huh, Yoongi?”
Yoongi stays mute.
“Aw,” Jimin coos as he goes on. He’s suddenly difficult to look at. He's so poised and carefree while his voice is cruel in such a laid-back sort of way that Taehyung doesn’t know how to react. “Cat got your tongue? Wait… Do you even have a tongue in there? Should I find your body and cut it out, so you won’t be able to disrespect your elders again? Mm? No tongue in your body means no tongue for your soul. You know I’ll have no trouble locating it.”
“Don’t,” Yoongi says. “I swear to God I’ll have you—“
“You’ll have me what? I highly doubt you’ll even be able to give me a scratch if a little possession spell manages to overpower you.” Jimin sneers. “Top student my ass.”
“You fucking—“
“Hey, hey. What the fuck is going on?” Taehyung interferes. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, you don’t know?”
“What? That he’s my subconscious?” He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’ve known about him for two years.”
Jimin throws his head back and laughs, the sound pleasant to Taehyung’s ears, a tiny squeak at the end making him want to smile like an idiot. Jeez. Is everything a paradox about Jimin?
“Is that what he told you?” Jimin queries, still looking amused. Taehyung nods. “Damn. Yoongi, you’re many things, but I never pegged you as a liar, too. A shame, really. Don’t you think Taehyung should know the truth about someone who’s been living in him for two years?” It’s weird how Jimin is looking at Taehyung, but almost not at the same time. Almost like he is actually looking at the person—Yoongi—in Taehyung’s body. But then... Jimin shifts his gaze and now it seems like he is looking at Taehyung after all. “Has he been paying rent, baby?”
“Uh, no. He—“
“Deserves to be punished,” is finished for Taehyung. Jimin smirks. “I know, baby. We’ll punish him; don’t worry.”
“Can you explain to me what is going on? How can a person be inside of me, for fuck’s sake?!”
“Well, it’s rather simple, actually,” states Jimin. “It’s just not public knowledge. But essentially, Yoongi’s a warlock. Nowadays a witch, too, but it used to be considered a more feminine term. If you ask me—”
“No one is asking you,” Yoongi grouses.
Taehyung palms his face, exasperated. “And what the fuck’s a warlock or a witch? Or a vampire? Are those some new terms for gender or sexual orientation that I don’t know about?”
“You think vampire’s a sexual orientation?” Jimin asks flatly.
“I assumed, yeah. But how the fuck should I know, really? That’s why I’m asking,” Taehyung snips. “You said it so casually earlier, so I didn’t think much of it. There are so many new ways to call things these days. I’m sorry that I have enough shit going on in my head that I end up too drained to care about whatever new is going on in the world.”
“Hmm,” he hums. He seems to do that a lot. “Is that why you’re not afraid of me? 'Cause you don’t know what vampire means?”
“Of course he doesn’t know. It’s your daddy’s fault humans don’t know shit,” Yoongi puts in. “Stop acting so surprised.”
Jimin clicks his tongue, proceeding to say in a sing-songy tone: “Ai, ai, ai. Yoongiiiiiii. You’re really pushing it.”
“Why would I be afraid of you?” Taehyung demands to know. He stuffs his hands into the front pouch of his white hoodie, rocking back on his socked feet as he’s staring at Jimin, who’s leaning all gracefully against the white marble of the fireplace. “You’re not very scary,” he enunciates. “I’m more afraid of myself than you.”
“Interesting,” he says it like he actually does find it interesting. “Most would disagree. Yoongi can attest to that.”
“Fuck you,” spits Yoongi.
Taehyung is undeterred. “Well, I’m not like most.”
“That I know by now.” He smiles. “You’re special. You have my attention.”
“Wow. What an honor,” Taehyung replies dryly. “Too bad I’m so sick of you.” Yoongi snickers. “And you, too.” Sick of them making him feel like a dumbass for not being already aware of what they’re talking about. He leaves it unsaid, though. Except Yoongi knows now anyway. “I want answers, like, yesterday. Or else get the fuck out of my house.”
“Okay,” Jimin starts. “The sooner you know the better anyway.”
Oh? Taehyung wasn’t expecting that.
“Essentially what we are is not human." Huh...? Just like that? "Yoongi was born with the ability to do magic. Not the performing art kind you humans have created, with the illusions and tricks. Although real magic can create certain illusions. Of distinction, of course, that play with your senses, influence the way you see solid objects or mundane events. The world of magic is incredibly intricate, though, so I couldn’t possibly put it all into words even if I felt generous enough to waste my time on trying. It’s scientifically and religiously inexplicable as it’s driven by invisible forces that witchy creatures send out by using their powers,” he explains easily. “For example, when someone of a magically impacted bloodline, who’s chosen to practice the craft, snaps their fingers and a chair appears, it probably means that they’ve manifested what they pictured in their head with the help of their innate supernatural abilities. Another example could be that they speak some gibberish—“
“It’s Latin,” Yoongi cuts in.
Latin!
“—to cast spells and curses, either out loud or, again, in their heads. What that means is that they can punish people, alter their behavior and beliefs and state of mind. Control the people and world around them, basically. Can intervene with the nature of things and make stuff work for them,” Jimin says. “Whatever they want, really. But not every witch can access every aspect of witchcraft. You’d have to be very advanced and dedicated to be able to snap your fingers and make a chair appear. Or if you fuck up a word by pronouncing that Latin incorrectly or by forgetting to cite it altogether, you might get stuck when doing a possession spell. Meaning you might want to hop into a vessel for a quick second, but end up spending two years in another person 'cause something didn’t go according to plan and now you can’t get out.” He nibbles at his lush bottom lip with his fingers, gaze full of mirth. “How do you expect to get out of Taehyung, by the way? Mm, Yoongi?”
“None of your business.”
“Aw, don’t be like that. Just say you have no idea and go.”
Yoongi sighs. “Anyway, Tae. Curses are the dominantly more diabolical part of the spell-casting. Mostly meant to keep unwanted things at bay—or individuals, for that matter. It’s evil, so to speak. Like Jimin.”
Jimin flashes Taehyung a grin.
“See? Not right in the head.”
“Mm, and what are you, Yoongi? Doing a possession spell does not paint you as a saint, boo-boo.”
“I was just curious.”
Jimin snorts. “And that’s why you shouldn’t play with the things you don’t understand or know how to handle. It’s as simple as that. Next time know your limits.”
“Next time?”
“Yeah. I’m gonna get you out of him.” Jimin looks at Taehyung when he says: “I can’t be around Taehyung knowing you can hear and see everything he does.”
“You don’t have to be around him at all, you damned spawn.”
“Oh, so you don’t want to get back into your body? I mean, I’m offering so nicely.”
With a scoff, Yoongi mutters out a “Nicely my ass. You’ll make my life a living hell” before adding a second later: “I’d rather stay in here. Taehyung is really comfortable.”
“Maybe I’ll send you to Hell instead,” Jimin says with a subtle smirk. “Serves you for being a nuisance.”
Taehyung clears his throat loudly. “Excuse me, but this is my body.” He waves his hand around wildly. “And I want Yoongi out of me. Now that it makes so much sense that he’s a real person and has been living inside of me for years, I want nothing more than to be singular and free of this voice he’s driven me insane with. So, if Jimin can help, then he’s gonna fucking help. Capisce, Yoongi?”
“Whatever,” comes in a grouch. “Don’t you wanna hear what kind of a vamp Jimin is, though? I’m sure you won’t be as enchanted by him as you are right now...”
“Taehyung is enchanted by me?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Shut up,” Taehyung mumbles, feeling hot all of a sudden. “Tell me about yourself, Jimin. How can you hear Yoongi and how could you feel me move in?”
“I love my name on your tongue,” says he.
“Stop stalling.” Taehyung checks the watch on his wrist. It’s already four o’clock. “I don’t have all day. I wanna take a nap.”
“Well—“ Jimin pauses. “Vampires eat humans, baby.”
Disgust scrunches up Taehyung’s features. “Oh, this is revolting. You’re a cannibal.”
“Nooo.” He huffs out a laugh. “No, no. I said we're not humans.”
“Um, technically...” Yoongi drawls.
Jimin looks like he wants to grin again, but instead, he tongues his cheek and rolls his eyes. “There’s no technically about me, you twit,” he says calmly. “I’ve never been human. Technically, if you wanna do it this way, it could be said about the rest. 'Cause they were humans once, you know. But I am so far from even being in the same category as them. Do not insult me like that.”
Yoongi lets out a snort. “Oh, right-right. Forgive me, your highness.”
With a shake of his head, Jimin continues: “What I mean is that—vampires drink human blood.”
“Among other things...”
“Would you shut up for one second?” Jimin groans.
Taehyung feels even more exhausted than he has by far. “So, it’s a kink. You could’ve led with that. I would’ve understood. There are—“ He stops himself. “No, wait. You’re ancient and can read minds… Are vampires another form of that supernatural thing you mentioned?”
“Yes, baby,” comes softly, patiently. “Vampires are fresh human corpses who’ve gone through the ritual of becoming into the species with vampire blood in their system. Now they’re immortal and with great powers that exceed anything a human can do. Their senses are heightened and looks improved. With their immortality to thrive and their impeccable looks to stay intact, though, they need mortal blood to sustain themselves. It keeps them strong and energetic and—“
“Oh, stop sugarcoating. You make it seem so dreamy when in reality it’s literally anything but,” Yoongi chimes in. “Tae. Listen to me. Vamps are the bad guys. The worst of the worst. They literally descend from Satan himself. They kill humans without remorse, drain them of blood to feed—selfish fucking bastards. There’s nothing good about them. All they do is wreak havoc on Earth that the witches have to clean up. They just get everything they want.” He sighs deeply. “Oh, and you might recognize them by, uh… Like Jimin said—they have impeccable looks, meaning they’re really pretty and otherworldly and… really everything else imposing like that. And in order to maintain those looks, they need blood. Human blood. Any type of blood from a mortal being will suffice, to be honest. And if they don’t get it, they look as worn-out and maniacal as that woman in the gas station.” She wasn’t maniacal, Yoongi. “Remember?”
“Yeah…?” Taehyung hesitates. That’s a lot of information to digest. How can people be not human? “And you supernaturals are everywhere, right?”
Jimin nods, inspecting his nails apathetically, still allowing the fireplace to support his elegant body. “One’s even inside of you.”
“And the way I see it is that you really have no real weaknesses. Vampires need blood, and if they don’t get it, they get mad and ugly. And witches… What’s the deal with witches? They have to clean up other people’s messes and are pissy about that?” Taehyung pinches the bridge of his nose. “You supernatural shits are so fucking dramatic, for fuck’s sake. Not much different from humans, then.” He adds with a tired groan: “Get out, Jimin. I’m so done.”
“But I haven’t gotten to the good part yet,” Yoongi says. “I gotta tell you about the kind of vamp Jimin is.”
“Look,” Taehyung begins. “I honestly don’t even fucking care. I’ve just learned that there is more to the world than I’ve ever known, okay? Instead of the world being super fucking boring, it’s also full of dramatic blood-drinking, magic-doing bitches. So, I’ve learned enough. I don’t need to know more.”
“Actually—“
“No, Voicey,” he mutters gently. “I’m tired.” Taehyung looks at the beautiful and annoyingly charismatic creature by the fireplace. “Please go, Jimin.”
He straightens and walks toward Taehyung. “Fine. I have places to be anyway.” Jimin hands Taehyung a slip of pristine paper—no, a minimalist business card—with his name (just Jimin, though) and phone number on it. “Call me,” comes in a spine-tingling murmur. “You have my attention.”
Again with that statement. Who the fuck cares?
“Yeah. Whatever.”
"I'll go into the basement. Is that okay with you?"
“What?” Taehyung croaks out. “My basement?”
“Mm. Just for a quick minute.”
“Uh… Okay?”
Jimin strolls past him as if he’s walking down the runway and not simply toward the hazy hallway splitting the dimly illuminated house in two. Taehyung stares after him despite himself, gaze pinned to Jimin’s ass, admiring the way it flexes in his stylishly faded black jeans as he moves. He swallows, and brings one of his hands behind his back to press a finger into a healing cut to re-center his focus.
A taunting hum comes from Yoongi. “You going to see daddy now?”
Twirling on his heel at the other end of the hallway, standing near the door of the basement, Jimin bites into his bottom lip slyly. “Yeah,” he breathes. “A few questions need answers.”
“I thought you knew everything.”
“I do,” says Jimin.
“Makes sense.”
“Mm-hmm.”
And then he’s gone. Super fast. Faster than a blink of an eye. One microsecond he’s standing there, stupidly gorgeous and, frankly, infuriating, and the other he has vanished. Taehyung doesn’t even know which direction he went in, if he went into the basement to begin with, 'cause it all happened faster than his mind could comprehend.
“Yoongi…?” he gets out carefully. “What the fuck?”
“What?”
“Didn’t he say he was gonna go into my basement?”
“Yeah. He did.”
Taehyung goes and drops himself onto his mattress. “Okay, I don’t understand anything. You didn’t seem to like him much, didn’t want us to come to this house—Namjoon either…” He thinks about it. “I take it the reason y'all didn't want me to move here is Jimin. He knows about Jimin too then, huh?”
“Everybody knows about Jimin.”
“So, why did you make it seem like you were scared of this house before? And why is Jimin convinced that you’re scared of him, too? Nothing makes much sense. Only you, I guess. The way you always knew the things I never did. No subconscious knows shit you don’t know yourself.” He growls quietly and lies down, snuggling under the duvet. “I don’t understand why you made the house seem like such a bad idea when it’s just a house that lets its true owner—who’s supernatural, by the way. Whatever that means, I still don’t completely understand.” A deep intake of breath. “So it lets its owner know when someone is trespassing... or something like that. So what? There’s nothing bad about it. I wish I had a security system like that.”
“Oh, Tae. I am petrified, and I absolutely don’t want to be here right now. And I am scared of Jimin. Anyone in their right mind would be. I just know how to mask those feelings,” Yoongi says. “It’s like when they say that animals can smell fear. Jimin is the same way. He knows everyone’s afraid of him—feeds off of it. Or gets off of it. Whichever fits his mood. I bet he’s really disappointed you’re an exception. Honestly, you should run while you’re ahead. It seems he likes you, and that’s your key. The reason he went so easy on me is because I’m in you. That’s also why I didn’t feel that threatened. I knew he wouldn’t do anything to your physical body.”
“You have some beef with him?” Taehyung asks. “You bickered like an old married couple, though.”
“God… It’s just fun to mess with him when you know he’s not gonna snap. Not that he ever does anyway. That man is the embodiment of tranquility. It’s a real challenge to get him to raise his voice even a decibel. But quiet menace is deadlier than—anyway.” Yoongi releases a dry laugh, then sighs. “We go way back. And you’ll learn everything soon enough. You’ll come to understand everything, I promise.”
“He won’t leave me alone, will he.”
“Oh, no. You have his attention.”
When Taehyung wakes up, it’s a quarter past eight in the evening and the light inside the living room has dimmed even more, leaving a sort of lazy aura in the air. And Taehyung feels lazy, too. Feels like he could sleep for days with how tired he is. Nonetheless, he remembers quickly that there’s a vampire in his house that could’ve drained him of blood while he was sleeping (an amateur mistake on his part for falling asleep without caring about the risks), so he hops up and pads down the main hallway to the two doors at the end to investigate in case any other supernatural creeps (or human creeps) decide to crawl out of the woodwork and interrupt his peaceful living conditions.
He discovers a room with only the metal frame of a bed gathering dust near the covered-up window of it. He thinks that he might be able to use the leftovers to his advantage if he’s lucky enough to get a matching bottom to lay his mattress on. It looks to be the size of his mattress, so finding a bottom shouldn’t be a massive ordeal. The room is adjacent to a bathroom with cracked blushy pink tiles and an equally pink ceramic sink. There’s no mirror or a toilet, though, thus hopefully there’s another bathroom to be found in the house somewhere.
And there is. On the second floor in between two separate empty rooms, there’s a white-tiled one, with small bluish patterns adorning each of the squares running horizontally in the middle of the walls. They look like merged runes. The bathroom is more spacious than the downstairs one. It has a white tub and a toilet, and is missing a bulb in the caged ceiling lantern. Taehyung likes the old-world charm it has… until he checks the faucet and no water drips out.
How is he gonna get the blood off his skin?
After taking a piss, he continues onward, peeking into the last two rooms that are, unsurprisingly, also echo-y in their emptiness. Then he climbs into the relatively sprawling attic where he finds tons of spiderwebs—and a dozen carton boxes stacked on top of each other. A useless “Huh” leaves Taehyung’s mouth. He had been hoping to find something juicy… or eerie as attics don’t have the best reputation, but comes across nothing out of the ordinary.
Discouraged, Taehyung shuffles his way back to the first floor. He opens the basement door under the staircase and descends those steps into the darkness that swallows up every centimeter, making it impossible to see anything, so Taehyung doesn’t move any further from the bottom.
“There’s a switch by the door,” Yoongi mumbles.
Taehyung huffs. “How do you know?”
“I saw it.”
He grunts in displeasure, but skips up the stairs anyway. When he sees it, he bitches a rhetorical “Couldn’t’ve told me earlier?” with a shake of his head before he flicks the switch and goes back down.
Now that the cramped area is illuminated, Taehyung realizes that there still isn’t much to see. This time, it means that apart from no furniture or basic clutter or anything unnecessary people tend to store away in basements, there is also no Jimin. Not a single sign of him ever being here. It’s all just concrete and mice holes and dust. And spiderwebs. But absolutely no sign of human… er, vampire activity detectable.
“Huh,” he breathes again with an obvious touch of disappointment to it. “Where’d he go?”
“How should I know. He’s kind of busy tryna fight off everyone who wants to get rid of him.”
“What do you mean?”
“The dude’s lived for way too long, Tae,” is Yoongi’s only explanation.
“Maybe, but he said he’d get you out of me. He can’t die before he does that.”
“He can’t die, period.”
Taehyung ascends the staircase and switches off the light, closing the door behind him. “Yeah, 'cause he’s immortal or whatever,” he mutters. “I get it… I think. But if he’s got hunters on his ass, then there’s gotta be a way to end him, right?” He steps into the living room to go through his duffel bag, rummaging for wet baby wipes and a change of clothes. “Otherwise, why would they try?”
“Look,” Yoongi starts with a sigh. “Regular vamps are immortal in the sense that if you don’t decapitate them, rip out their heart, or drive a stake made of birch through that heart, they’ll live as long as eternity.” Taehyung’s brows rise while peeling off his hoodie and stepping out of his sweats. “But Jimin’s not a regular vamp, you see. He’s the ancestor of all the other vampires. The very first one of that damned species.”
“Heh, okay. Um.” Taehyung does fast work on cleaning his body with the wipes. “You said the vampires are everywhere. Does that mean that Jimin created them all or...?”
“He and his two siblings turned the first few dozen and those guys turned others and so on and on. He didn’t turn the whole bunch that populates the Earth now. Just gave the evolution a tiny push.” Yoongi lets out a snort, while Taehyung rolls deodorant under his armpits. “His specific biology doesn’t run in many, though. Actually, I doubt he’s gone through the process with more than ten in his lifetime. And even if he has, only one of his progenies is still alive, so that’s a plus… in some sense. Wouldn’t really call anything about her a plus, but...”
Taehyung’s movements halt, his fingers curled into the plain white shirt he’s chosen. “Wait. Jimin has siblings?” he asks in disbelief, somehow not managing to get his head around the possibility of there being—
“Had,” Yoongi corrects. “A brother and a sister. But Hoseok killed Yumi at the beginning of the 1900s, and then went on to die under mysterious circumstances, uh, a decade later, although Jimin would’ve ended him anyway even if he hadn’t.”
“What the fuck. Why did he kill his own sister?”
“That’s what power-hungry bitches do.”
He pulls his shirt over his head, and steps into a pair of loose white linen pants. “Is Jimin power-hungry, too?”
“Don’t think so. And it’s not like he has a reason to be since he’s already the most powerful among the overpopulated supernatural community. That’s part of why everyone wants to get rid of him, too.”
“Yeah, but you said he wanted to kill Hoseok.”
“To avenge Yumi,” Yoongi elaborates. “They were super close.”
Scooping up the bloody clothes he’s changed out of, Taehyung throws them into the fireplace. “Gotta light this thing somehow—“ he says under his breath. “Uh, how do you know so much about his history?”
“It’s not just his history, it’s every—“ Yoongi cuts himself off. He clicks his tongue with patent disdain. “Hello, Jimin.”
Taehyung whips his body around, putting himself in an awkward position on his mattress, as he turns to face the doorway, locking eyes with Jimin, who’s succeeded in appearing without a sound yet again. “Jimin,” gushes out of Taehyung with an exhale. “Where the fuck did you come from? I literally checked the entire house.”
Literally. Fuck. Taehyung hates that word. Yoongi is such a bad influence.
“You took so long to call,” says Jimin, a ghost of a smile evident on his lips, his features otherwise shrouded in the shadows dominating the space.
“I have nothing to call with.”
“Why?”
“'Cause I don’t like those devices.”
Jimin tilts his head. “We gotta think of something else, then. I have to be able to get in touch with you.”
“Why not just show up uninvited at random times, huh? How do you do that, by the way? No one’s been able to sneak up on me before...”
“I’m differently wired, baby.” Oh. Taehyung refuses to admit that he’s missed being called that in the short span of time he’s not been around Jimin. “Which is why you should ask what you want directly from me. The witches have done their research, but I swear I can give you much better answers than those approximated ones that thing in your head has fed you.”
“You would tell me everything?”
“Of course.” He lets his smile show, baring his teeth, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “After all, it’s only fair.”