Work Text:
it starts when the old lady on jungkook’s floor dies.
he doesn’t know that’s what happened until later, of course. just sees the ambulance outside the building and takes the stairs in case the paramedics need to use the elevator. he hauls his backpack and portfolio bag to the fourth floor, and then struggles to fish the keys out of his pocket without putting anything down. just a couple of flats down and across the hall, a door opens.
as soon as he steps out, jungkook can’t take his eyes off of him.
it’s not only because jungkook’s never seen him before and because he certainly doesn’t live in that apartment.
he thinks it’s not just because he’s, like, really attractive, either.
the man is dressed in black, head to toe. long black peacoat, black turtleneck, black hair. his skin looks like it’s glowing golden and his lips are red in a way jungkook can’t put his finger on. and there’s something - absolutely captivating about the air around him. he closes the door behind him, turns jungkook’s way. he walks with such… poise and authority jungkook would never ever try to talk to him or approach him but can’t stop looking at him, either.
jungkook didn’t think someone like him would glance twice at a nondescript dishevelled college kid such as himself - but then the man meets his eyes, and his step seems to lose its rhythm, for a second. as if jungkook’s someone worth stumbling for. the man stops briefly, just stands there looking back at jungkook, and jungkook’s heart thuds with something other than fear or unease. he distantly feels his face warming up.
then the man starts walking again. he’s slowly coming closer and jungkook snaps out of some kind of a trance, goes, fuck, fuck, fuck. he rips his eyes away, fumbles with the set of keys in his hand. he manages to unlock the door, and when he glances back over his shoulder one more time - the man is gone.
jungkook supposes he could’ve got to the stairs if he, like, dashed.
“weird,” he whispers to himself, and tries to forget about it.
it turns out to be a useless effort. the hall is restless all evening; jungkook sees paramedics, sees them go in and out of the same apartment the man came out of. the only thing jungkook can come up with is: maybe he was with a funeral home, although all the black seems like a stereotype and an overkill. then the funeral home actually comes to pick up the remains, and jungkook is slightly creeped out.
slightly changes to extremely later that night. he gets out of the shower and pulls on some pajama pants and clicks the lights on in the living room, only to find the man sitting in an armchair, legs crossed ankle-on-knee like he was waiting.
“so you really can see me,” he says after politely waiting for jungkook to stop screaming in falsetto. he gets up. jungkook assumes a defensive stance and puts his fists up.
“how did you get in,” he demands. the man doesn’t look remotely intimidated. he looks sort of baffled, actually.
“you can see me, why can you see me,” he frowns, tilting his head. he’s still wearing the all-black outfit.
and jungkook’s not wearing a shirt.
he’s going to die shirtless in ratty pajama bottoms that say babe in cursive font over and over again because he stole them from jimin and jimin wears the most horrible shit. he can’t fucking believe this. actually he’d rather die naked. should he take off his pants? no, that would be a weird course of action to take in this particular situation.
“you’re not exactly trying to hide, are you,” he snaps. “who are you? why are you here?” he lifts his fists a little bit higher. “did you kill that lady next door?”
unexpectedly, the man groans heartily, his broad shoulders deflating into a disappointed slump.
“that is such a common misconception,” he complains. fixes jungkook with an almost annoyed look. “i don’t decide who dies, okay? i have no say in the matter! i’m nice enough to be there to take you to the last stop so you don’t get stuck wandering the earth as a ghost for the rest of eternity like a fucking idiot. do i get any thanks? no, i get myself depicted as a horrendous skeletal figure with some moth-eaten robes and a scythe. a fucking scythe. what the fuck would i do with a scythe? do i look like a decomposed corpse? i’ve worked hard on this. yet no one ever respects what i do.”
“what… what you do,” jungkook repeats weakly. he heard skeletons and scythes and. there’s one word, one identity haunting the back of his mind, has been since he first saw him; he’s pushed it back because it’s not possible.
the man looks at jungkook, and suddenly regains some of the intensity he had in the hall.
“i am a psychopomp,” he says almost kindly, “known to you, perhaps, as a grim reaper. and you are not supposed to be able to see me right now.”
the last word of his sentence blends in with the first cheerful upbeat notes of a distinctly familiar video game tune. they stand there staring at each other as the man rings with the super mario theme song. he holds up a finger. “excuse me.” he digs a hand into his coat pocket, and pulls out a pastel pink cell phone. then he flips it open like it’s 2009.
jungkook is going to have an aneurysm.
he isn’t even freaked out anymore. he forgets to keep his fists up. this feels exactly like that moment in a dream when you start to realize how nonsensical it is and realize you’re dreaming.
the man looks at his outrageous phone for a brief moment and makes a displeased noise, before focusing back on jungkook.
“unfortunately i have to cut my visit short,” he says breezily, pocketing the phone. “my colleague is on my ass. but i will most definitely be back.” his eyes flit down to the pattern of jungkook’s pants, and then back up. “babe.”
then he, for lack of a better word, disappears. jungkook blinks, and he’s gone. the dissonant synthesizer of the super mario theme echos hellishly around in his head.
/
in the morning, everything is deceivingly normal for the two minutes he lies in bed staring at the ceiling and trying to decide whether last night was a stress-induced hallucination or a hyper-realistic dream.
but then he walks into the kitchen and the man is elbow deep in jungkook’s box of cinnamon toast crunch. it takes jungkook a while. to make the connection between this creature in his kitchen and the poised, intimidating figure in the hall.
he’s not wearing black, this time. he’s wearing a massive pink hoodie and he’s squatting in front of the pantry shoveling fistfuls of cereal into his mouth. jungkook sort of feels like he’s watching discovery channel.
“good, you’re awake,” the man says once he notices jungkook staring in the doorway. “did you know you’re out of milk? and there’s not a single healthy thing in this kitchen. how does your body look like that when all you eat is sugar and trash?”
“i work out,” jungkook says, dazed. then he shakes his head, violently, and strides into the kitchen, where the man straightens up, leans his hips casually back against the counter. he is still unrealistically good-looking, even in the hoodie and with crumbs stuck to his face - but there’s no terrifying aura to keep jungkook from stomping up to him. “stop breaking into my apartment.”
“you know what?” the man hums. “be right back.”
he disappears. jungkook barely catches the cereal box, now free falling.
oh, yeah. he does that.
jungkook stands around for a couple of minutes, wondering what the fuck he’s supposed to do about this. should he call the cops? tell his friends? he starts by putting on a shirt and sweatpants that don’t say babe, and basically going about his morning like it’s a normal saturday.
he searches grim reapers on his phone, and only gets the traditional skeletal personification of death. he tries to search the other word the man used, psycho-something, but can’t remember how he spelled it.
almost two hours later, there’s a knock on his door. he goes warily, thinking, it can’t be him. why would he knock.
it is him, and jungkook is quickly realizing it’s useless trying to apply any logic or constant behavior patterns to him. he’s carrying a full bag of groceries in each hand.
“aw, i liked the other pants, babe,” is the first thing out of his mouth. “i brought you some food. sorry for taking so long, i couldn’t get a damn uber.”
just when jungkook thinks he can’t possibly say anything more outlandish.
“you took an uber here,” he checks as he trails after him into the kitchen, apparently just sort of accepting that this guy is now in his apartment. he is taking some really expensive foods and ingredients out of the bags and that helps greatly.
“i can’t just zip around mindlessly, it’s not that simple,” the man says. “it requires a lot of precision and effort. i am, of course, highly skilled, but the slightest miscalculation can cause irreversible damage to spacetime. i have a wine bottle in here, i can’t risk it. do you have an apron? ah, why am i asking. you live on cereal and instant ramen. well, i’ll make do.”
he steps away from the counter, and swiftly pulls the hoodie over his head. jungkook manages to trip over a chair when he wasn’t really even walking. he fumbles around for a minute, trying to make it seem like he was just going to sit down, his face burning. underneath, the man is wearing a plain form-fitting white t-shirt. although jungkook is pretty sure there must be something special about it because plain white t-shirts don’t look that good on regular people. they don’t.
then again, this man is not a regular person.
“i was so saddened by the state of your kitchen that i’m making you a real meal,” he goes on, rummaging a knife out of a drawer and glancing at jungkook over his shoulder. “this is going to take about forty minutes. we can chat in the meantime.”
“what do you want from me?” jungkook asks on the edge of the chair, hands making fists on his thighs.
“that’s a bit abrasive. i was thinking of starting with names and ages and occupations.” the man casts another look at him - and smiles, in such a sweet, lovely manner it knocks jungkook completely off kilter. “my name is seokjin. i forget my exact age but i don’t look a day over twenty-seven. i am a grim reaper. your turn.”
jungkook swallows.
“you don’t know my name? you can’t, like, see my name and my lifespan above my head?”
“i’m pretty sure you’re thinking of death note,” seokjin says, amused. “no, i can’t see that. you haven’t been assigned to me, so i don’t know you.” he’s chopping up a red onion incredibly fast and professional with a rhythmic chak chak chak chak. “which is good, you know, because a grim reaper’s list is not where you want to be if you’re looking to live a long full life.”
jungkook wrestles with himself for a moment; the side that insists nothing about seokjin suggests he intends to hurt jungkook wins.
“i’m jungkook. uh. twenty-two. i’m a visual arts major.”
“nice to meet you, jungkook. now tell me. how were you able to see me last night?”
jungkook stares up at him.
“i just… i just did. you were… there.” he pauses. “maybe i touched a piece of your notebook or something.”
“again, you’re thinking of death note.” seokjin scrapes the onions onto the pan where pieces of chicken sizzle. “i don’t even use a notebook. who uses pen and paper in this day and age.” he turns to jungkook, and considers him with thoughtful, serious eyes. “people are not supposed to see us when we’re working. last night, no one was supposed to see me. yet you did. i find that interesting.”
“is that… a bad thing?” jungkook asks nervously. “that sounds like a bad thing. am i going to die soon?”
seokjin’s lips curl at the corners, but he doesn’t laugh at jungkook.
“no, seeing a psychopomp doesn’t mean you’re going to die. although sometimes i do turn into a flock of approximately thirty crows and just sit outside someone’s home to freak them out.” jungkook has no idea if he’s kidding. seokjin wipes his hands on his thighs and turns back to his cooking. “no… it’s not a bad thing. i don’t mind that you saw me, at all. not enough people see me. my work look is one of my sexiest ones. ah… it’s such a waste.”
“so you’re here to figure out why i could see you?” jungkook asks, choosing not to comment on that.
“well, that,” seokjin muses, “and i like cooking for someone who isn’t my colleague. yoongi never appreciates my cooking.” then, raising his voice: “you hear that, yoongi?”
“what the hell are you doing, hyung,” comes a whole new voice from the living room - deeper, raspier - and jungkook’s heart jumps into his throat. a moment later the owner of the voice steps into the kitchen, and jungkook stares, eyes wide - the man is pale, dark-haired, and also dressed casually, in a bomber jacket and torn jeans. he casts a glance down at jungkook, and jungkook almost puts his fists up again.
at first he thinks the guy is glaring at him with disdain, but then he says, not unkindly: “hello. sorry for invading your privacy.” he turns his gaze back to seokjin, and gestures with a nod of his head. “and sorry about him.”
“excuse me,” seokjin huffs. “my presence is wanted here.”
it’s not, well, strictly true, since it implies jungkook specifically requested this or had any say in this. but he would really rather not get involved in what looks like the beginning of an argument between two grim reapers.
“you’re breaking like a dozen regulations right now, you know that, right?” the one called yoongi raises his eyebrows. “what if the management finds out you’re playing house with a human?”
“fuck the management, yoongi,” seokjin says airily, causing yoongi to groan, oh, my god. seokjin jabs a spatula in jungkook’s direction. “he saw me. don’t you think, maybe, the regulations don’t apply here? and don’t you ever think -” his voice softens, just a little bit - “that it’s messed up how we’re supposed to seclude ourselves from people when we’re their only comfort in the scariest experience of their life? it’s our job to make them feel safe and understood, but how are we supposed to do that if we can’t get close? something doesn’t add up.”
“hyung,” yoongi sighs. there’s sympathy in it. “can you just - can we just talk, privately?”
“fine.” seokjin holds the spatula out to jungkook. “if i murder yoongi and go to prison and am therefore unable to return in under five minutes, please stir the vegetables.”
“we’re immortal,” yoongi grunts just before seokjin grabs his arm, and they both vanish in a blink.
jungkook just sort of sits there for a minute, holding the spatula, and it’s all silent save for the sizzling on the stovetop. he wonders who he’s supposed to turn to about his apartment’s grim reaper problem.
/
seokjin comes back exactly five minutes later, and picks up where he left off like nothing happened.
“yoongi - my colleague and terrible roommate - is not pleased, but he’ll keep my secret,” he says, and then he winks at jungkook, who’s leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed. “my secret being you. he’s just worried. because i am breaking some rules. most rules, actually. we’re really not supposed to engage with people until it’s relevant to our job.”
jungkook bites at his lips.
“tell me what’s your job again? the word you used… psycho… bomb?”
“psychopomp,” seokjin nods.
“is it…” jungkook hesitates. “an angel, sort of?”
it sounded like an angel, what seokjin said about making people feel safe.
“an angel, huh,” seokjin snorts softly. “you don’t hear that often.” he purses his lips, tilts his face up in thought. “i’m not an angel. but i guess you could say i’m sort of a god.”
jungkook gives him a disbelieving look.
“you had to take an uber here.”
“nobody’s perfect,” seokjin narrows his eyes at him. he takes the bottle of red wine, uncaps it. “psychopomp means the guide of souls. that is what i do. i don’t cause death. i don’t judge the deceased. i simply guide them to afterlife.” he pours the wine into the pan with a controlled flick of his wrist. “contrary to popular belief… i am not death itself. i just work here.”
he brings the bottle to his lips and tips his head back to take a swig. then he offers it to jungkook, who quirks an eyebrow.
“it’s noon.”
“i am a grim reaper, jungkook,” seokjin says, “and you’re a college student. what do we care?” after a beat, jungkook tilts his head and takes the bottle from him. seokjin smiles warmly. “i’m making coq au vin. i hope you like it.”
/
days go by and seokjin doesn’t return despite saying he would, and jungkook’s not sure why it frustrates him so much. seokjin broke into his apartment several times, bailed when it was time to do the dishes, and is generally infuriating. but still, somehow, jungkook finds himself… missing him. or missing his presence. he’s missing something and it’s weird. the fact that he’s a grim reaper should freak him out, probably. but it doesn’t.
seokjin didn’t tell him much about it, and jungkook thinks he doesn’t particularly want to know; but like he said, he doesn’t bring death. he just helps souls find their way. maybe there’s, like, a bus to afterlife. or a train. or a boat. maybe he makes people walk if they did heinous things in their lifetime. he said it’s not his job to judge, but he seems like he’d do that.
then seokjin pops into his bathroom when he’s brushing his teeth one night, and jungkook can’t believe he ever missed this even a little bit.
“i’m out of toothpaste,” seokjin says after jungkook is done nearly choking on foam. he’s holding his toothbrush and wearing dark silk pajamas with either sheep or clouds or alpacas on them. jungkook can’t see clearly because his eyes are watery from coughing.
“what the fuck,” he manages, “did you know i was brushing my teeth?”
“nope, this is a coincidence.” seokjin leans in to eye the toothpaste on the sink. “what brand do you use? is it antiplaque and whitening?”
“is this just, like, a thing that’s going to be happening now?” jungkook inquires flatly and watches as seokjin goes ahead and helps himself. “you’re just going to pop in at random times however you please?”
“pretty much,” seokjin shrugs, and sticks the toothbrush into his mouth. he looks jungkook dead in the eye. “we have something special, jungkook. you literally saw me when no one else did.”
“please leave my home,” jungkook says, pained. seokjin grins with his eyes, lips closed tightly around the brush.
“can i get a goodnight kiss?”
“you can get a goodnight roundhouse kick to the chest,” jungkook grumbles. seokjin laughs, closed-mouthed, and then he’s gone.
/
it becomes a thing. over the next few months, seokjin becomes a constant-inconstant presence.
he shows up at random, often inconvenient times. jungkook thought his agenda was to figure out why jungkook can see him when human eyes are not supposed to, but it doesn’t seem like he’s… doing much of anything, except for annoying jungkook endlessly and eating his cereal and sometimes cooking a really nice meal for him. sometimes he pops in to ask jungkook which shirt he should wear. sometimes he comes to borrow his toothpaste. he always asks for a goodnight kiss and then laughs when jungkook gets flustered. he tells jungkook to call him hyung, and still calls him babe as a joke.
jungkook forgets, too. that the reason he’s interesting to seokjin is because of his invisibility-piercing eyesight. and that when seokjin figures it out, he’ll probably leave.
he can’t be blamed for forgetting, because - it really feels like they’re just hanging out. like they’re friends. like, well. he cares. actually -
jungkook realizes, a few months in, that there’s a good armful of stuff that belongs to seokjin at his place. it occurs to him: he sort of unofficially lives with a grim reaper, without, like, actually living with him. jungkook really doesn’t know how to feel.
seokjin is a warm presence. contrary to his field of work, he’s full of life.
jungkook supposes he doesn’t mind.
(“pay rent,” he tells seokjin one time.
“i don’t sleep here,” seokjin counters, and then, because he never passes on an opportunity to be an asshole: “or is this your way of telling me you want me to sleep here?”
jungkook drops it, he drops it all the way to hell; but seokjin’s already planted several thoughts in his head and he hates him for that.)
/
“hold this.”
a flat rectangle gets tossed at his chest. jungkook ditches his own phone to catch seokjin’s ipad.
“who the fuck throws their ipad,” he grunts.
“trusted you to catch it, babe,” seokjin chirps from the direction of the bathroom. he’s teleporting all over the apartment and rummaging through piles of clothes looking for his things instead of simply walking, which means he’s in a hurry. jungkook straddles the arm of a chair in the living room and switches the screen on. it’s not password-protected, so he just, goes ahead.
what immediately opens on the screen is a list; names, first ones only, korean and foreign, in no specific order. byungchul, yeona, mia. yuki, janelle, gloria. mikhail, luka, amaia.
“what is this,” he asks, “baby name options?”
“that’s a list of the souls assigned to me,” he hears seokjin say. “that’s how i keep track of them.”
jungkook snaps his head up, and wildly looks for seokjin.
“are you serious?”
“whoops, be careful,” seokjin says, suddenly at his side, leaning down and pinching jungkook’s finger between two of his own to gingerly move it off the screen. “almost wiped out a name, there. mia almost lived.”
“why would - how - why would you think it’s a good idea to give this to me? ” jungkook screeches.
“i’m kidding,” seokjin snorts, and for a second jungkook thinks, oh, thank jesus, it’s not actually his list - “she would still die if you deleted her name. she just wouldn’t have anyone to guide her soul to afterlife.”
“i can’t fucking believe you,” jungkook huffs, suddenly feeling the immense need to not be holding the tablet. he holds it in his palms like it’s explosive and desperately looks around for somewhere safe to set it. seokjin merely snorts at his fidgeting.
“just hold it until i’ve changed. don’t be so stressed, i have them all memorized.” he turns his back to jungkook and unceremoniously pulls his hoodie over his head. jungkook still flushes every time he does that. he presses his lips together, turns his gaze back down at the list.
“you keep the names of the people who are going to die next on an ipad,” he continues, high-pitched, “on a notes app in comic sans.”
“i chose the layout myself,” seokjin says, deadpan, “what’s wrong with it?”
“oh my god,” jungkook breathes, “i would fucking hate to die knowing it’s because some dude read my name in size 18 comic sans on their cracked ipad screen.”
“we’ve been over this,” seokjin says, “that’s not why they die. i’m just -”
“you’re just nice enough to take them to the last stop, i know.” jungkook chews on his bottom lip. “just - change the font, at least. out of - respect for these people, jesus.”
“fine,” seokjin agrees, “you’re the art major. later, though. i have to go.”
he steps closer and holds out a hand. jungkook gives up the… fucking… death list, and glances up. he instantly feels his heart do something uncalled for.
he’s seen seokjin like this several times now. in all black, in work mode. it doesn’t intimidate him anymore, because he knows seokjin’s still the same - infuriating, annoying - still trying to make people laugh, kind, gentle - whatever - but it still has… an effect on him. jungkook always starts hearing a dramatic film score in his head. full orchestra with the strings and the piano and the brass. he’s so glad seokjin can’t read minds.
“right,” he mumbles, “have a good day at work. have… a fruitful… harvest?”
“not really what it is, but thanks,” seokjin says airily. “goodbye kiss?”
jungkook decides: fuck it. he’ll play along. see how seokjin likes it.
he gets up, and seokjin takes a surprised step back. despite his fast heart, jungkook looks him seriously in the eye. he goes for it. leans in, revelling in how caught off guard seokjin looks. he angles his face, and when he’s close enough for seokjin to feel his breath on his lips, the reaper lets out a little squeak. the next second, jungkook is leaning at empty air.
“huh,” he mumbles to himself. he should be feeling like he won. instead, he just feels kind of disappointed.
/
fall is turning into winter, and the weather is biting. seokjin’s been gone for a long time. it’s not uncommon for him to not show up for a couple of days; but it’s been weeks. jungkook is restless. he’s having trouble focusing in class and he keeps wondering if something is wrong. grim reapers are not supposed to get involved with humans and he wonders if seokjin got into trouble. his apartment feels cold and quiet and empty.
he should’ve said it out loud, he thinks. he’s not even sure if seokjin knows jungkook wants him there. they always joked around, jungkook always joked about finding him annoying and wanting to kick him out. he should’ve told him. he’s going to tell him, the next time he sees him.
tell him what? jungkook scribbles his options on his notes during an art history lecture he’s not paying attention to.
you’re not so bad
i don’t hate you
you’re cool
“fucking terrible,” he mumbles to himself, his leg bouncing up and down rapidly, the end of his pencil bitten.
i like it when you’re around
i like you
he stares down at it quietly. the lecture goes on around him. he brings the pencil back to the paper.
i want you here. i want you to stay. i want you to sleep here. i want to live with you, for as long as i can. i’m falling in love with you. can i do that? am i allowed to do that? can you love me too? will you?
that afternoon, seokjin is waiting in the hall when he gets off the elevator. jungkook feels purely, disgustingly happy at the sight of him. then he feels nervous, balling his hands up around the strap of his bag as he begins walking to him.
then he forgets all that because he realizes something is wrong.
it’s strange for him to be waiting outside, for starters. usually he has no qualms about breaking and entering. he’s wearing black. the air around him is heavy. it’s serious but not the way it is when he’s focused and professional. it’s serious because he’s unhappy. he watches jungkook come closer, and he looks soft and sad and like he’s about to break his heart.
jungkook slows down, halts with more than the door’s width between them, and refuses to come closer. seokjin doesn’t, either. he looks at jungkook for a moment like it’s the last time he’s ever going to see him.
“i came to say goodbye,” he says, speaks like it’s a struggle to get the words out. “i can’t come around anymore. this is the last time.”
jungkook just stares at him, unable to speak with his throat full of something prickly and uncomfortable, like roses growing inside his chest and sinking their thorns in.
“i figured out why you can see me,” seokjin continues.
ah.
oh, yeah.
that’s what this was, all along.
“i don’t want to hear it,” jungkook hears himself saying. he clutches at the bag strap, his vision blurring around the edges. he sounds fucking desperate to his own ears. “i don’t care why, or how, i just care that i do. please -”
“i’m glad that i met you,” seokjin cuts in, and jungkook swallows his words with a terrible half-sob. he presses the back of his hand to his mouth, blinking his stinging eyes, wet lashes against his cheeks. seokjin’s face falls, twitches like he’s in pain just for a second, and then he pulls his facade back together. “even though i can’t stay, i’m glad i got to know you.” he pauses, and jungkook tries to breathe behind his shaky hand. “i’ve known a lot of people, jungkook. after decades, centuries, i forget them. but i’m going to remember you. and after centuries, i’m still going to be glad that you were a part of my existence for a fleeting moment.”
jungkook squeezes his eyes shut. tears fall like heavy rain.
“i hope you live a happy life, jungkook,” seokjin says so softly it’s just a whisper, “and i hope we’ll meet again after many, many decades.”
“don’t go,” jungkook gasps, but when he blinks his eyes open, no one is there.
/
he tries to be angry at seokjin. and for a while, he thinks he is. the lines he draws certainly are angry. his figure drawing teacher says she likes where he’s going with his style because it’s raw. so there’s that.
but most of all he’s angry at himself. for forgetting seokjin’s interest in him wasn’t personal. for… fucking… falling in love with him. who the fuck falls in love with a grim reaper. they probably can’t even love. and if they could, why would they love a human.
he walks home the long way because he’s not eager to go back to his quiet empty apartment these days. he kicks at icy pebbles along the side of the river, birds crying and gliding over its frozen surface. the song he's listening to is something melancholy about the end of fall, not because he’s sad, but because it’s just what he always listens to. he jabs his toes into the ground so hard and sharp pebbles fly all the way to where the bridge starts.
“hello,” comes a distantly familiar voice over the music. jungkook stops to rip the earbuds out, and turns, nonplussed. well. it’s a grim reaper. just not the one he wants. he stares at yoongi with a blank expression. yoongi looks very small and very cold in the black coat and black scarf, hands dug into his pockets and blinking his feline eyes at jungkook. “you really showed those pebbles, huh.”
“what do you want?” jungkook asks bluntly. yoongi sighs a little bit.
“look, you don’t have to like me, but some basic respect wouldn’t hurt.” he hooks his fingers over his scarf to pull it down his face. “i just want to talk. can we do that?” when jungkook doesn’t respond, he raises his eyebrows, bites, “please?”
“fine,” jungkook says. yoongi gestures at the bench facing the riverbank. jungkook sits down uneagerly, and the grim reaper takes a seat next to him.
“others can’t see me,” yoongi says, “you might want to put your earphones in so it looks like you’re on the phone.” jungkook takes his advice, turns the music off, and waits for yoongi to talk. yoongi gets straight to the point. “i know you want seokjin to come back.”
“not really,” jungkook says tonelessly. it’s nothing but a practiced lie. “he only wanted to find out why i’m able to see you guys. he did, and he left. end of story. there’s no reason for him to come back.”
yoongi lets out such an expressive sigh jungkook has to glance at him.
“he figured that out ages ago,” yoongi says. “he knew, like, two weeks in. that’s not why he stuck around for all those months.”
“what?” jungkook can only say. yoongi gives him an unreadable look.
“it wasn’t that hard to figure out, in the end. the only reason one would be able to see grim reapers,” he says, “is if they’d already been visited by one in the past.” jungkook parts his lips, but no sound comes out. yoongi blinks his eyes in quick succession, then averts them and gazes over the river. “you were probably a kid, too young to remember. you probably didn’t even know it was a reaper. we tend to come to children in forms that won’t frighten them. dogs, cats, bunnies.”
“i never - i was never in a severe accident or anything like that -”
yoongi shakes his head.
“it doesn’t have to be a near-death experience. it’s what we call a deviation. it’s very rare, but it happens. everything in this universe is connected via - a string of a sort, if you will. everything flows in the same direction. when something, some tiny thing deviates from its intended path, it creates a ripple effect. it knocks things off course just enough that the car that was supposed to hit you misses you by half a meter - or you see something that wasn’t supposed to be there and stop running and never fall and hit your head - you get my point. it’s also known as the butterfly effect. it’s such a small change it doesn’t show in our lists, and a reaper shows up, anyway. nothing happens, obviously, we can’t guide a soul out of a living body. but that would be why you’re able to see us.”
jungkook is all kinds of lost.
“then - why -”
yoongi squints at the river, or maybe he glares at the birds.
“did he ever tell you why we have all those rules regulating and forbidding our involvement with people?”
“no,” jungkook whispers. yoongi is quiet, for a moment.
“someone got attached, once. a reaper, to a human. fell in love with them. and when their name showed up on his list, he couldn’t let them go. he tried to keep their soul for himself. that’s the worst thing… a reaper can do. once a soul gets stuck on this plane with nowhere to go, no one can help them. they become misguided souls… ghosts.” he speaks low and soft and with no much intonation, but jungkook is clinging to every word. yoongi licks his lips. “when you’re in love… you may think you want nothing but to stay with that person forever... but no one would choose that. believe me.”
jungkook swallows. he’s not sure whether this is an answer to why did seokjin stick around or why did he leave. probably both.
“why are you telling me all this? why are you - why are you even here?”
yoongi ducks his face into his scarf. jungkook realizes belatedly that he’s embarrassed.
“i do think… there are dangers to getting attached to people,” yoongi says, “but i don’t think… jin-hyung’s wrong. we’re not human but… we also exist. we also try to make it worthwhile. we also feel, deeply. we also make mistakes and learn from them. as to why i’m here… i feel a bit guilty. i kept telling him it’s a bad idea, and i think i may have affected his decision. i wanted you to understand his reasons. and maybe forgive him.” he sighs a little into his scarf, and turns to jungkook, looks at him the way seokjin sometimes gets, too; like he's looking straight into his soul. must be a reaper thing. “i’ve known him for a long time, jungkook. longer than you can imagine. and i’ve never seen him as happy as he was when he was with you.”
jungkook watches yoongi get up, brush snow off his clothes. he glances down at jungkook once more.
“i’m only telling you these things because i know… that when it’s time, seokjin will let you go. he will do that because he loves you. because he knows it’s kinder.”
then there’s only jungkook, the bench, the screaming birds. yoongi leaves not even footprints.
/
and so it happens. not immediately, not for a few more days. but he comes back from class one evening and there’s a low sizzle from the kitchen, there’s someone moving around and there’s the same wave of scents there was when seokjin cooked here the first time.
ah, jungkook thinks, when did it start feeling so much like home.
he takes off his jacket quietly and puts his bags down quietly, and quietly steps into the kitchen. seokjin is drowning in a baby blue sweatshirt and jungkook is in love with him. he’s had a lot of time to think and overthink. about who they both are, what this could mean, what comes at the end. it’s funny how he can’t recall any of those thoughts right now.
seokjin notices him quickly, turns his back to the stove.
“hello,” he says, soft and unsure.
“hi,” jungkook says. they stand in silence, seokjin’s fingers curling and uncurling around his oversized sleeves. then he parts his mouth.
“i wanted to tell you i’m sorry -”
“i want you to sleep here,” jungkook cuts in loudly. seokjin blinks, befuddled. jungkook digs his nails into his palms, blood rushing in his ears. “not - not just sleep - i want you to eat here and shower here and watch movies with me here and - ah - i have notes for this, wait -”
“jungkook,” seokjin starts.
“i have notes,” jungkook repeats insistently, and spins around, starts walking, to get his notes, apparently, can’t remember where he put his bag, can’t think clearly, his face burning and his vision blurring; he doesn’t get very far, only halfway across the living room, when a pair of arms wraps around him from behind, pulls him against a firm chest. a nose presses against his nape. jungkook drags his sleeve across his eyes, breathes out a soft, oh.
“i don’t think you need notes,” seokjin says gently, “just tell me what you want.”
“i want you to stay,” jungkook whispers. then he gathers himself, shoves back against seokjin as hard as he can. “how could you leave? why did you leave if you wanted to stay, i thought i’d never see you again -”
“sorry, i’m sorry,” seokjin mutters against his neck and holds him tighter. “i thought it was for the best, but it wasn’t, it felt like shit, and i made you cry, and you’re crying again now - hey, please stop crying, i’m making coq au vin, and we can talk about this, and i’ll stay.”
“you’ll stay,” jungkook murmurs, “okay… okay.”
then he twists around until seokjin’s grip gives, stares determinedly at his handsome flushed face, grabs his jaw with both hands, and kisses the fuck out of him. this time, seokjin doesn’t disappear. this time, seokjin leans into it immediately, closes hands around jungkook’s waist, and kisses him back as hard and harder.
/
morning light hits seokjin’s hair and the curve of his bare shoulder in such a manner jungkook can’t do it justice; tries, anyway, tentatively on the page of his sketchbook. seokjin says he’s not an angel but jungkook’s still not a hundred percent convinced. with what he does, and with the way he seems to be made of some kind of celestial light, jungkook thinks it’s not untrue.
“whatcha doing babe,” seokjin drawls sleepily. jungkook smiles down at the sketchbook.
“making history,” he says, “accurately portraying a grim reaper for the first time.”
“the first accurate portrayal,” seokjin marvels drowsily, “and it’s my nudes.”
“i think that’s fitting.”
“i think so too. make it tasteful.” seokjin closes his eyelids. reaches out to where jungkook is sitting up, brushes his knuckles against his hip. “thanks for portraying me accurately. fucking sick of… all the skeletons.”
jungkook chews on his bottom lip, his heart something like singing in his chest.
“i gave you a scythe, though,” he says softly, “i added a little scythe against the wall behind you, look -”
first he gets a pillow to the face, then seokjin tackles him to the bed, and jungkook doesn’t mind that at all.