Jungkook wipes theblood off his phone screen. It’s cracked but he still can see thetime. 4 am and he’s feeling like he’s possessed. It might be a badomen because the bodyguards that have found him are just standing inthe middle of the mess he made without saying a word.

As an heir, heshould keep his pretty hands clean, free of blood, and yet here he is– sitting among dismembered bodies of what used to be a gang ofpetty criminals owing money to his family.

“Sir,” one ofthe bodyguards finally dares to say. “Your father is worried. Wewere sent to escort you back home.”

Jungkook gets upfrom a wobbly chair with a smile on his face. The old man is worried,huh? He thinks his youngest son is ruining the empire he built onhigh cocaine prices and underage prostitutes, huh? Well, he isn’t far wrong. Except Jungkook’s plans are a bit different.

“Okay,” he says.

He picks up hisblazer from the dirty floor. It’s soaked in blood, ruined completely.It’s a such a pity since Jungkook had liked it. As he walks to the door,he wonders if the stains could be removed. There has to existsomething that takes off blood stains. He stops in front of thebodyguards and says, “Scorch the place.”

- - -

They have beenplaying the game of cat and mouse for the longest time.

Park Jimin is tooelegant and beautiful to be a hitman and the first time Jungkook hadseen him, he was wearing designer clothes and flirting with every manand woman at the reception. A high glass of champagne was sittingprettily on his palm, bubbly liquid sliding down his throat in a waythat was rather distracting. Jungkook found himself staring,returning smiles that weren’t for him. And ultimately, just like inlove novels, they ended up together. The only good thing was howpliant Jimin was under Jungkook’s touches and how spacious bathroomsin Hilton were. That and the feeling of Jimin’s lips pressed to hisskin.

Jungkook remembersit – the blowjob that barely lasted a few minutes because Jimin wasskilled with his tongue the same way he was with weapons, butJungkook would found that out much later when he’s face to face withthe end of the barrel of Jimin’s gun.

Another thingJungkook remembers from their first encounter is that Jimin hadtasted like apple juice and not alcohol. For a second, it caught himoff guard, but Jimin had laughed and said that wine made him sick.

The second encounterwas a little less pleasant. Jungkook had walked in the warehouse,inhaled the stench of death and burnt flesh. All that was left of hissubordinates were white bones. He found a pastel business card thatsaid “Your turn now” and that’s how the game began.

- - -

“I hate you,”Jimin gasps as Jungkook bites down hard on his neck, sucking at hispulse.

There are angry redmarks scattered across Jimin’s skin. They look more like bruises thanhickeys, but that’s just because they’re in a hurry and as always,time is a precious thing that mustn’t be wasted.

Jungkook smilesagainst Jimin’s skin, inhales his scent. Hugo Boss. Not a bad choice.Too bad that it doesn’t go well with the smell of decay around them.A rundown motel by the side of road can’t be compared to MarriottHotel, but it’s the best option they have.

“Same, honey,”he says, rolling his hips down and pulling a moan out of Jimin’sthroat. Jungkook has always thought that Jimin sounded pretty whenhe’s wrecked. Even prettier when Jungkook is the one pulling thestrings, reducing Jimin to a whimpering mess with every touch andthrust.

Jimin throws hishead back, exposing his neck even more. His skin is flushed, a prettyblush spreading from his cheeks down to his collarbones. Jungkookcould love him if the situation was different.

He comes too fast,topples over the edge of pleasure. Jimin follows suit, painting theirstomachs white. It’s messy, like it was all the times before. Jiminis a good fuck and Jungkook has never really learnt how to controlhimself. That’s why the bliss doesn’t last long. Never does.

- - -

The worst mistakesare the ones that go unnoticed. Jungkook was careless, his confidenceruling over him. It’s no wonder that Jimin is holding him at gunpointnow.

“It’s justbusiness. Nothing personal, baby,” Jimin says, his voice sugarysweet. The sunlight filtering through the window catches in his blondehair. It’s a false halo. Angels of death don’t wear them.

Jungkook doesn’tflinch, not even when Jimin lowers the gun, aiming for his heart. Tominimize the pain, Jungkook guesses.

“I know,”Jungkook counters. “Do what you have to.”

“I’m glad youunderstand. It was good while it lasted, Jungkook.”

Jungkook nods. Itwas good. Wonderful even. That’s why he doesn’t blink when Jiminpulls the trigger.

namjoon looks upfrom his cup of tea, the seventh one this morning, and sighs when hesees hoseok standing in the doorway and holding a black guinea pig inhis hands.

“again?”he says.

hoseok nods, abashful smile blooming on his face. “kinda. yeah. you’re right.”

“what did he dothis time?” namjoon asks.

he is yoongi. quitepossibly the only witch on this forsaken continent that is a medium,but currently a teeny tiny guinea pig sitting on hoseok’s palm. andjust by the look on his small face, namjoon can tell that yoongiisn’t happy about the current situation. just like he wasn’t happyall the other times when hoseok accidentally on-purpose turned himinto a small fluffy animal.

hoseok shifts hisweight from foot to foot, disturbing yoongi in his hands. when he hashad enough of hoseok beating around the bush, yoongi bites his fingerand hoseok yelps. stupid little rodent!

“for fuck’ssake, yoongi. don’t bite him. i can’t force him to turn you back ifyou’re being a menace,” namjoon grumbles before turning hisattention to hoseok. again. “so?” he prompts.

“yoongi saidthat dead people are pissed because i keep bringing their pets backto life and not them to which i said that’s nonsense. nobody wantsthe old geezers back. and then yoongi said that i’m just being meanand petty. and i am not mean, namjoon. i am not!” hoseok says,stomps his foot on the floor for good measure.

namjoon sighs.

they might beimmortal and have all the time in this world to mature, but hoseokshould really drop the act of an innocent child already. it’s beenfive centuries. namjoon is tired, but apparently yoongi isn’t becausehe is always mocking hoseok until the younger snaps and turns himinto something awful.

thank deities he’snot a house mouse this time because the last time, namjoon nearlystepped on him. needless to say, things weren’t very pretty onceyoongi was back in his human form.

“say that i’mnot being mean, namjoon,” hoseok says when he gets tired ofnamjoon looking through him like he isn’t there.

“you’re notmean, hoseok. you’re immature.”

“what?”

okay, the thing withbeing a witch and having dark powers at your disposal is thatsometimes it’s hard to control your emotions. certainly namjoon hadnailed that part too, just like he did everything else. lucky fucker!

but hoseok isn’tlike that because hoseok likes feeling things unlike some otherpeople so the only logical thing to do at this situation is to glareat namjoon and turn him into a frog. except that doesn’t really worksince namjoon is the leader of their coven and no matter how muchhoseok wants to turn him into a bug or something worse and step on him, hoseok can’t doit.

“you heard meright. now turn him back,” namjoon orders. he hates using hisleader voice, but he has to from time to time. usually in situationslike this.

hoseok murmurssomething under his breath before sighing. “okay, fine. but ifhe says something else, i—”

namjoon cuts him offwith a “you can turn him into a butterfly for all i care.”

- - -

the door of hisstudy room comes crushing down and namjoon looks up from his cup ofcoffee, black long with no sugar. he gave up on tea some time ago.

he’s mentallypreparing himself to see hoseok standing on his doorstep, a bashfulsmile on his face and an animal with black fur in his hands. also,he’s ready to give him the usual “it’s not okay to turn yoongiinto an animal every time he says something you don’t like”speech.

but sadly, nothingcan prepare him for the sight of yoongi dressed in all black standingon the door.

“come on,”yoongi motions him to stand up.

“where to?”

“dimensionnumber 13,” yoongi says. “now come on.”

namjoon slowly getsup and takes his jacket from the hanger. “and why are we goingthere?”

“because i might have exiled hoseok there when hesaid that i’m a lazy ass bitch who does nothing but talk to ghosts.”

“Mama.” It’sbarely a whisper because Jimin doesn’t trust his voice not to crackjust like he has no faith in himself at this moment. “Mama,” hetries again.

Candles around himburn brighter, filling the cathedral with a scent of redemption. It’snot sweet. It stings his eyes or maybe those are tears. There’snobody here except him and the ghosts haunting the place. Oddlypeaceful, almost sinister, the church is in the late evening hours.

Jimin clasps hishands together, inhales memories of happier times and his motherbeing alive and taking him here and exhales “Mama, I’m in love witha criminal.”

- - -

All Jungkook reallyknows is the feeling on holding the AK-47 in his hands, the weightfamiliar and aim precise, metal pressing against his palms, areminder that nobody would be able to take him down easily. He also knowshow the M9 feels like, all sleek lines and shiny metal that matchessilver rings adorning his fingers that are there to increase thedamage of his punches and not because he has a soft spot for prettyjewellery.

But nothing – nota single weapon, no matter how powerful it is – will ever compareto the feeling of Jimin’s skin under Jungkook’s fingertips. Smoothlike porcelain, soft like silk and warm like life itself. Jimin mustbe his personal angel. Fallen from grace just to save him, to lightup Jungkook’s dull days.

It’s funny, really,how they came to be, how everything just happened at once. But thething is, Jungkook isn’t the fucked up one. He’s nothing but a bum, afew ranks higher than a petty criminal. Sure he has money andmansions on both coasts of the Atlantic, a pretty villa hidden in theFrench Riviera. He owns the streets, cities even, but all of thatmeans nothing compared to Jimin.

If Jimin were to askhim to burn a city down, he’d do it in a blink of an eye. If Jiminasked him to set the whole world on fire, Jungkook would do it too.

Except, all Jiminever asks of him is to be safe and to come back home.

- - -

A bloody mess is allhe sees. Bodies all around him, cut off limbs on a pile and headsrolling around like gravitation can’t hold them in place. His shoesare no longer white but scarlet red. The shade is pretty, about thathe can’t lie.

Jungkook looks upfrom the mess in front of him. Jimin is standing a few feet away.Equally bloody, yet equally dazzling as the first time Jungkook hadseen him. His fingers curl and uncurl around the handle of a metalbaseball bat. He dropped his knives a few minutes ago. There’s bloodin his pretty blond hair. On his soft cheeks too.

“Baby,” Jungkooksays and Jimin lifts his head to look at him. From where he’sstanding, Jungkook can’t see the tears welling up in Jimin’s eyes,but from his posture, he can tell what Jimin is thinking. And it’salways the exact same thing – that he is a monster.

“Baby,” herepeats as if coaxing a scared animal out of its shelter. He takes atentative step closer and Jimin takes one back, stepping on a hand,bones cracking under his shoe. He winces at the sound, biting his lipand Jungkook comes even closer.

“Jimin—”

“I’m sorry. Ididn’t mean to, I swear. Jungkook, I’m so sorry,” he’s rambling,words spilling from his mouth without thinking. “I heard them,okay? I heard them saying how they’re gonna overturn you and howyou’ve lost your mind and how—I couldn’t let them.”

Jimin shakes hishead, hot tears spilling down his cheeks and before he can wipe themoff with the sleeve of his bloody sweater, there are hands cuppinghis face and lips kissing his forehead. He exhales a breath ofrelief.

“It’s okay” isall Jungkook says before enveloping Jimin in a hug, shielding himfrom the battlefield that’s all around them.

The bat falls fromJimin’s hand, metal hitting the concrete floor with a dull thud.Jimin fists his hands in Jungkook’s jacket, fingers digging intofabric, desperately trying to pull Jungkook even closer. He burieshis head in crook of Jungkook’s shoulder and says “You are all Ihave left. I can’t lose you.”

Jungkook stayssilent, just holds Jimin tighter.

They’ll clean thismess later. Jungkook will wash the blood out of Jimin’s hair, curlbeside him on their bed, kiss him goodnight because this, too, shallpass.

- - -

“Mama,” Jiminsays and his voice is stronger than it was months ago, it echoesinside the empty church. Jungkook squeezes his hand for support andJimin smiles at him.

“Mama, I want youto meet somebody.”

Just because Jimincan’t see colours, doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel them.

Blue is crisp winterair when the words turn to fog and night pulls city in its embrace inthe early evening hours, white street lights like sparkling starsagainst the indigo backdrop. Blue is cold creeping up his fingertipswhen he forgets gloves at home and only warmth he can find comes fromNamjoon when he takes Jimin’s hand in his or the cup of tea, alwaysapple and cinnamon flavoured, that Namjoon makes them after a longday. Blue is the first snow and frost on windows panes, intricatepatterns that melt under his fingertips before he can map them out.And above all, blue is Namjoon’s big scarves that smell like home andthe hugs he envelopes Jimin in when he thinks Jimin might be cold.

Red comes in amillion different shades, in the heat rising in his cheeks every timeNamjoon says something overly cheesy and Jimin doesn’t know how toreturn the words so he presses his lips to the corner of Namjoon’smouth hoping that proximity can say everything he can’t, in thatfirst kiss of theirs in the middle of an empty bookshop Jimin used towork in, knowing every book by the way the cover felt under hisfingertips. Red is unapologetic just like they are. Red is boilingblood and broken plates and fights because honesty is the basis ofevery relationship, theirs included. But no matter how ugly it gets,how much Jimin’s throat hurts from repeating “You deserve somebodybetter” and how choked up Namjoon gets every time Jimin says thoseexact words, somehow they always end up gravitating towards eachother because love prevails all, or so they say. In the end, red isbold like “Will you marry me?” and silver wedding rings.

Out of all colours,yellow might be Jimin’s favourite one. He read that it symbolizesjealousy, cowardice and deceit, but Jimin has grown up to associateit with happiness. With long summer days when the sun is high in thesky and ice-cream is melting down his fingers, making them stickywith sweetness. Yellow is sand between his toes when they go to thebeach, their interlaced hands swinging between them, and the taste ofNamjoon’s skin when Jimin kisses him fiercely, sometimes under water,sometimes high on adrenaline. Yellow is bright and warm and feelslike butterflies in his stomach, fluttery and anxious at the sametime. Yellow is anticipation and hands searching, hands everywhere, amillion promises bottled in a single kiss, the way their bodies matchtogether like puzzle pieces and their souls melt into one entity.Yellow is the morning after and messy hair and sloppy kisses andplaying with Namjoon’s fingers, testing the way they fit betweenJimin’s.

The colours inbetween, too many different shades, are life. Dull days and happydays side by side. Burnt dishes and dinner eaten on the balcony withthe city noise as background music. The sound of Namjoon’s voice thatcomes and goes like the waves, lulling Jimin to sleep. The feeling ofstability and safety wrapped into something bigger than them.

Jimin can’t seecolours, but that doesn’t stop him from dreaming of Namjoon and himin the shades of happiness.

In retrospectNamjoon should have seen this one coming the second he steppedthrough the front door and Hoseok gave him the once over and scoffedbefore he disappeared into the kitchen.

But like many thingsin the past twenty-something years that Namjoon’s been alive, this,too, passed without him giving it the deserved attention so hereNamjoon is sitting leisurely on the sofa with the banging of pots andpans as background music. He offered Hoseok the help, but again,Hoseok just scoffed (or sneezed, Namjoon can’t really tell thedifference sometimes) and shooed him away.

When a plate comescrushing down, Namjoon winces and turns his head in the direction ofthe kitchen. The sound of porcelain against ceramic tiles is followedby Hoseok cursing and Namjoon lowers the volume on the TV.

“Babe, you okay inthere?” he calls but all he gets in return are more muffled cursesas Hoseok shuffles around the kitchen. He marches in the living roomnot even sparing Namjoon a glance and proceeds to the hallway. IfNamjoon were tentative enough, he’d notice Hoseok stomping a little,like a petulant child does before throwing a tantrum.

Taking a deepbreath, Hoseok opens the front door and says, “Namjoon, you need togo. It’s over.”

It seems like Hoseokhas more to say, but he sneezes before any other words get out.

“What?”

“Out!” Hoseokrepeats, sniffling, and this is bad!

This is very bad.This is Hoseok being done with everything and breaking up withNamjoon’s sorry ass and throwing him out in the cold. This is Hoseokrealizing that Namjoon has nothing to offer him other than emptypromises and sweet kisses and that he did, in fact, eat those redvelvet cupcakes Hoseok bought for the time his relatives weresupposed to come over. This is Hoseok admitting to himself thatNamjoon is the actual worst.

This is Namjoon’sgreatest fear biting him in the ass.

“Babe,” Namjoonsays, almost pleading, as he slowly gets up and takes a tentativestep closer to Hoseok.

“Don’t you babeme, Kim Namjoon. Didn’t you hear what I said?” Hoseok retorts andhis words should be acidic and cruel, but that’s hard to accomplishwhen he’s rubbing at his cheeks with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.His cheeks are pink and all Namjoon can think about is how cute hisboyfriend looks. Well, that and the impending doom that awaits himonce he steps out the front door.

“Hobi—”

“I said out,Namjoon,” Hoseok says with the determination of a thousand men,voice firm and unwavering despite everything. Namjoon is ready tofall on his knees and beg when Hoseok adds, “And don’t you dare returnbefore you tell Jimin to keep his cat away from you when you go to visit.”

Wait, what? Namjoonisn’t being dumped in a situation worthy of a Hollywood romanticdrama? He can return?

“You know damnwell that I’m allergic and you’re covered in cat fur,” Hoseoksniffles. He looks downright pitiful as he points at Namjoon’s pantsand sneezes again.

It takes a fewmoments for Namjoon’s brain to process everything Hoseok has justsaid, but once it registers, Namjoon has no alternative but to biteback a grin as he ducks his head. His black sweatpants are covered ina fine white cat fur. Jimin’s Persian cat is as social as her owner,but sheds too much.

“So you’re notbreaking up with me?” Namjoon asks, looking at Hoseok who’s stillstanding by the open door.

Hoseok rolls hiseyes. “No, dumbass, but I will if you don’t get moving. Out. Now.”

“Yes, sir,”Namjoon grins as he shuffles past Hoseok who doesn’t miss theopportunity to smack him upside the head.

Once Namjoon’s readyto leave, Hoseok shuts the door in his face. There are no goodbyekisses, but there might be welcome home ones.

The thing about talent that nobody ever tells you is that it’s moreerotic when it’s wasted. People are more beautiful when there’s lessleft of them, when their bones are jutting out, sharp and hard, whentheir eyes have lost their shine and all that’s left is a gaping holein their chest where the heart was supposed to be.

Suffering is poetic, self-destruction even more so when Namjoon findsHoseok chugging alcohol in combination with ecstasy pills, he doesn’t lookaway.

Yoongisnorts when his eyes land on the black letters written on the frontside of one of the buildings belonging to the University of Arts.Some pretentious asshole must have written them, thinking that theywere deep and profound, or some bullshit along the lines of “Dreambut don’t sleep”.

Richkids never really understood life and Yoongi wants to nudge them inthe right direction so he drops his duffel bag by his feet, paintcans clank against each other and Yoongi covers his face with a maskbefore he starts working.

Thestreet lamps shielded by trees provide barely enough light for Yoongito see what he’s doing, but he’ll manage somehow.