Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

☾

His days start the same.

He wakes up to a morning gloom still clinging to the small nooks of his bedroom. The darkness cocoons. And for a moment, he's tempted to believe that he is still dreaming, but then, a crow croons outside and the illusion is broken.

Crows never croon in his dreams. They speak, like people do.

He splashes water from a bedside basin on his face and chooses something indiscreet to wear. His attire is simple, the fabric is coarse and itchy, but he makes up for it with jewelry - his only true passion. Lavish rings, long necklaces and earrings caressing his neck. So what if people give him side glances, disproving of such indulgence? Here, in his hometown, a forgotten hamlet by the edge of the woods, people are simple, and their tastes are simple too. They wouldn't understand.

Jimin sighs and picks the most precious earrings he has, but not in monetary value. The earrings themselves are quite simple - two whispery feathers hanging on a thread, a wedding gift from his Pa. Ever since his passing away, Jimin refuses to wear anything else.

They tinkle ever so gentle.

He spirals down the wethered and loud staircase into the kitchen where a servant, an unwed omega from their hamlet, is stoking the fireplace to life. Another quiet day at the inn. They don't have guests staying over at this time, allowing for a lazy morning, but who knows what a new day will bring.

The cook hobbles in through the backdoor before long. Jimin makes both of them tea as they discuss their stocks for winter. In truth, Jimin wants to deal with it as quickly as possible - the cook has a talent for grating on his nerves. Once he's out of the kitchen, he won't show up here until late in the evening, after a long day of manning the main hall, pouring wine and chatting with the regulars.

One might say Jimin was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. For an omega, that is.

For an omega, his life looks accomplished. He owns an inn. Or his spouse owns the inn, technically, for no omega can own a property, but to Jimin, it's all the same. His spouse doesn't meddle with his affairs as long as Jimin comes to his bed willingly - they have a pact of sorts.

So he owns an inn, his Pa’s old inn, who willed it to Jimin (his future spouse) on a single condition - he settles. His Pa knew Jimin was airy and he worried, because airheaded omegas in small hamlets like theirs never end well.

It took some time and many, many tears for Jimin to come to terms with his Pa’s decision; before he’d calmed the storm raging in his heart and accepted his fate. He might not have married for love, but at least he has the inn now and respect and some sort of freedom over his life.

(And his feathery earrings that whisper all sort of things into his ears).

If only the rest of his kind fared better.

All too often, there are knocks on his door in the middle of the night - omegas asking for shelter, a safe place from their abusive homes. And Jimin does what he can, tends to their bruises and listens to their sorrows. Only the very next day to see them being dragged out, clawing and screaming at their abusers, pleading for help. Their pleas fall on deaf ears, and even if they didn't, there would be no helping it - omega is a property of their alpha spouse. It says so in the law.

Days like that, Jimin feels bile rising up to his mouth, nails digging into the meat of his palms. The storm is still there, in his heart, faint now, but never gone. It demands justice.

(Some people deserve to die).

It's a slow day at the inn.

Jimin goes through the entries in the ledger book while keeping an eye on the two omegas serving a couple of early regulars. One can't be too vigilant with them, the regulars and the omegas. His inn is one of a few places where unwed omegas can work, earn some keep and avoid harassment. Well, most of the time. An inn is still an inn, and it attracts all sorts. Jimin has learned to brush off that sort of behavior, besides everyone knows who his spouse is - the man looks like a brute, big and brooding and, like most alphas are, possessive as hell.

(He never beats him, though. And that's the nicest thing Jimin can say about him).

The entrance door opens, ushering in a gust of the autumn wind, chilly, with a nasty bite to it. It's been raining for days, drabby and wet. Jimin shivers, eyeing a newcomer.

Not one of the regulars, a brief inspection says as much. Not a local either - Jimin has never seen him around. But it’s not just that. The person, wrapped tightly into his travelling cloak, has an aura about him. One of those people then, Jimin surmises and gives a furtive sign to the other servers to stay put.

He fetches a tankard to pour the guest some ale; puts it on a tray together with appetizers and teeters to the furthest seat, tucked into the corner. People like that always choose that one. In his head, Jimin calls it the lurker’s nest. They slink in, they lurk and, before anyone knows, they vanish without a trace as the morning mist in the afternoon sun.

“Are you staying the night?” Jimin asks, putting down the drink and the food.

The stranger's eyes flit up to his face, gaze flickering from one earring to another - Jimin sways his head slightly and they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle.

“How much for a room?” He asks, his voice surprisingly soft for his looks, a bit on the ragged side.

“Ten coins for one night. But if you’re low on money, I can skim off a few.”

He never does it and his sudden generosity surprises even him. He stares into the stranger's eyes for a moment. Dark and inquisitive, like a raven's. Strangers like him always have something inherently animalistic about them, somehow.

“Why do you think I’m low on money?”

“You’re a traveler, aren't you?” Jimin says with confidence. “All travelers could use a discount.”

“Thank you,” the other nods. “You’re very kind.”

Jimin giggles.

He never giggles. Not with regulars or clients. Not even with his spouse. But there is something warmingly genuine about the stranger, his voice so soft, his eyes dark, and he might be the most attractive alpha Jimin’s seen in his life. So -

He giggles.

And it brings a sheepish smile to the stranger's lips in response, his front teeth protruding in an adorable way, so that Jimin can't help but wonder - what's it like having a lover as attractive as he is. Would it be different? Or too troublesome?

“Please let me know if you need anything.”

Swirling on his heels, Jimin flits back to his station, wondering if the stranger watches him go, gaze unwittingly slipping to the sway of his hips. He'd like that, not that he’d ever admit it out loud.

(He'd like that a lot).

☾

The earliest memory Jeongguk has is that of an elder from their clan, sitting under a pinetree; the moon, a giant milky circle in the sky, seemed to caress its top branches.

The elder was his grand-grand-grand-grand-something-dad. He was a raven. He was also dead, having departed from the land of the living ages before Jeongguk was born. And yet, in Jeongguk’s dreams, he was still alive. Puffing up his long pipe and burying deeper into his long dark cloak that just stretched and stretched and stretched out like a river, flowing languidly through Jeongguk’s splayed fingers.

And this was his world. The world of dreams and nights and moons merging seamlessly with the world of the wake and days and warmth.

Jeongguk is a raven too, Jeonhee, his birth parent, would explain to him. Ravens are smart, their memories reaching across generations. And Jeongguk kind of knows that already - there is this connection, brilliant threads suspended in the air.

(The gooping pots, dry herbal musk, eyes glowing in the night, the mountain heavy sighs, bird cries and - )

Him.

Him.

Him.

The one who talks to the birds

with giant wings that cover

the whole sky.

“You must choose a mate soon,” says Jeonhee on the day of his maturity.

His hands are carding through Jeongguk’s hair, unraveling the tangled strands. It’s a quiet, intimate moment between them. Soon Jeongguk will leave in search of his own place in the world - a mate, too. It might be as close as the house next door or as far as a settlement months of travel away, but the result is the same. It won’t be Jeonhee’s place to smooth out knots in his hair, or his soul, anymore.

Good or bad, all things are subject to change and this is how it is.

“Must I?” He muses aloud, more to himself than to his parent.

Jeonhee’s hands cease their motion, settling back to rest on his lap.

“Don’t you want to? There are many omegas in our clan who would be pleased to have you, all of them strong and beautiful and very knowledgeable. It would be an honor for you to accept any of them.”

Jeongguk thinks about it. It’s true that suitable companions are abound here in their own clan. And his own adeptness in magic makes him desirable to many. It’s also no secret that Jeonhee is rooting for Heojin, his childhood friend. After all, they would make an exemplary couple, both of them equally gifted. They have been attached at the hip ever since they were old enough to walk. There is no one else better for him, skin as creamy milk and hair as dark silk and yet -

The one from his dreams has hair as red as fire. And it burns for him, inviting - a moth to the flame, he is. There won’t be any rest for him until he finds the bird whisperer - if he finds him.

There won’t be any rest for him if he doesn’t, at least, try.

“I don’t think I want to settle now,” Jeongguk says with resolve. “I wish to travel first.”

“Very well,” sighs Jeonhee, his body curling onto itself in resignation. He knows all too well the reason behind Jeongguk’s reluctance - his son’s been talking about him ever since he was able to put words together.

“You can’t keep a raven in a cage.”

Years pass.

He's learned a lot. He's learned how to traverse the woods that are as capricious as the ancestor spirits. He's met creatures in his travels that are mad beyond any definition of madness and he's learned from them, too.

He understands now why witches choose to live in seclusion - the most empowering journey is the one you undertake alone. His clan, or any clan, is a comfort pillow and he has no need for one, not as he used to - he builds himself a cabin next to a sacred place and calls it his place of rest.

He makes friends with the witches, running errands in exchange for their secrets. As self-sufficient as they are, there is always a need for people like him, to do the footwork for them. Go-and-fetch type of deal. It takes him to places he'd never be able to discover himself or have a mind to visit on his own accord.

The Barrenland is one of such places.

By all accounts, he has no business there. But Yoongi seems to disagree.

He met Yoongi a few years back, passing on an errant from a fellow witch. It's ironic, their belated introductions, given how close Yoongi's gloomy abode is to his settlement of origin. They might even come from the same clan, for all he knows, but they don't bring up their pasts. Knowledge is power. While Jeongguk might accept the tea the witch pours him, he is wary - the witches are always prodding for weaknesses. It's who they are. The creatures of great curiosity.

Jeongguk knows he’ll never talk about him with Yoongi. The one tie he hasn't been able to let go of. And maybe that's okay. The last thin thread tying him back to his sanity; the only place he feels at home - his whisper saturating the dreamspace.

When he visits the Barrenland for the first time, it's an experience unlike any. The sky exists here in all of its vast glory, the widest stretch of clouds, hanging low over the fields, as if plunging upwards from under the horizon.

To be able to see the horizon is, in itself, an otherworldly experience. First time, he just stares at it, mesmerized and in awe. Second time, he lets himself get lost among the fields - to little success. For a wood dweller, it's almost impossible to get lost in an open space. Third time, he ventures into his first settlement - a town, as they call it here.

The town is a loud busy creature. Jeongguk was worried he'd stick out as a sore thumb here, but to his amazement, no one seems to be paying attention to anything other than themselves, or someone in their close proximity. And he keeps to himself, observing.

Their language doesn't seem to differ that much from his own, albeit overflowing with words and concepts he has no grasp of. Like, money.

What on earth is money.

He asks Yoongi the next time he sees him, who seems to be very knowledgeable about the Barrenland people. He asks about other things too.

“They are quite ignorant, those barrens, their world small and hidden behind a wall. They don't realize that what protects you, also imprisons you - it's a matter of perspective, really, and they don't have any, too preoccupied with their little meaningless lives.”

“And yet, you’re curious about them.”

“Even a little mouse can grow big sharp teeth. That's why I want you out there, once in a while, keeping an ear out for trouble. There is a man there...”

Yoongi trails off then, lips thinning into a line - an oath of silence.

“Perhaps, another time.”

Witches and their secrets. Their only true love.

Jeongguk thinks about it - love, not witches - while he’s observing the inn’s host from his spot in the corner. It could be the hair, a shade of the setting sun. And the omega won't stop messing with them - hands carding the long strands away from his gentle face. He is pretty, in a way that Jeongguk is not accustomed. Where his clan’s omegas are lean and toned, he is soft and plump, not used to hard grueling work.

Jeongguk wouldn't care either way - as long as he's the one.

He wants to talk to the omega more, but his conversation skills are poor. He's used to keeping his head low around places like this, where any kind of attention can potentially bring him no end of trouble. He's just a stranger here. But the omega is -

Intriguing.

On his own behind the counter, he keeps muttering to himself while throwing occasional glances outside, at the noisy crows crowding the three lean birches by the inn. Jeongguk can't pick up on what the crows are clamouring on about, he needs to be in a different state of mind for that, but -

“Yes, yes,” the omega mumbles under his breath, Jeongguk’s ears straining to hear more. “It’s… one of those...the raven...it can’t...but...would you...think...”

Could he be actually talking to them? An omega who whispers to the birds. Out here, in the Barrenland?

Their eyes meet accidently and the omega is the first one to look away, the faintest blush dusting his cheeks. Is he embarrassed about having been caught? None of the people present seem to be paying any attention to the omega’s peculiar antics, perhaps too used to it to care. Or -

His whisper doesn’t reach them. It's the birds: the crows and... Jeongguk, who is a raven.

He wasn't meant to be here, having stumbled upon this little settlement by chance - just letting his legs take him places, a mindless meander on his way back to Yoongi. And what a lucky find.

It's getting late and more people keep walking in, more idle gazes lingering on his lonely corner. As much as he wishes to stay and talk more to the omega, it’s better to move on before someone draws up a chair to his table and start asking questions.

He leaves a few coins on the table and ghosts past the other visitors like a shadow, stepping out into the muddy autumn night. The crows are still squawking up above, but Jeongguk heeds them no mind.

With the last look at the little inn, tucked at the edge of the hamlet - from this point onwards there is nothing but open fields - he sets off on his track back to the woods.

☾

Feet stomping up the stairs stir Jimin awake. It won’t be the first time. His spouse is back. He is always back at an ungodly hour, maybe on purpose. To invade the bedroom in the middle of the night, thumping and kicking his boots around, disturbing everybody in the building awake, before collapsing on the bed, like a dead weight.

Jimin doesn't hate him, or particularly dislikes him. He just wishes he was somewhere else when his spouse slithers a hand around his waist, his body, all bulk and fat muscle, cornering Jimin against the walled edge of the bed - there is nowhere else to escape. He accepts the hands that bind him.

His sleep is fitful, wary, as that of a prey animal, ready to bolt at any sign of danger.

When the dawn comes, Jimin welcomes it with a relief. He attempts to worm out of the stifling embrace, his breath caught in his throat when he hears a groan.

“Stay.”

“I can’t. I have things to do,” Jimin huffs, pulling out with intent, now that he's been discovered.

“Stay,” the alpha grips his wrist. “Please.”

He'll never stop until he gets what he wants, Jimin knows. He’ll follow him everywhere, grumbling and pestering him for intimacy, embarrassing him in front of everyone else, too. Jimin sighs - better to get it over with now.

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

He lets himself be dragged down onto the bed, onto his back, hands splayed helplessly by his sides. The alpha rolls on top of him, sucking messy kisses onto his neck. Jimin never kisses him back. He tries to stay as uninvolved as possible, but he never can. His body always betrays him, and when the alpha settles between his legs, mouth sucking hungrily around his sex, Jimin bodily quivers, hips canting and searching and trembling.

He knows how it must look like. That underneath the standoffish demeanor, he secretly loves it. It’s what his spouse must believe. And his body does love it - the pleasure, the sex, the worship - anyone would do as long as they know how to make use of their mouth or hands or cock. And it sickens him, because his body loves it, but he doesn't.

He doesn't love his spouse.

And he is stuck with him for the rest of his days, destined to die without knowing what it's like to make love, to desire someone, to devote oneself to them, body and soul.

He takes a long bath to wash off the feeling of the alpha’s greedy touch, crawling over his skin. With pine and cedar leaves to bring out the comforting smell of the woods. To many, the woods are a scary place, but to him, they speak of freedom, and mystery, and strangers. Very attractive strangers.

Jimin couldn't help the disappointment he felt when he found him gone that day. Didn't stay the night, didn't even say goodbye - which is not unusual, but this time also regretful. Jimin might never see him again and it saddens him for reasons he doesn’t want to think about. It’s dangerous to think about ‘if’s and ‘could have been’s. It brings him to very dark places, throwing him into despair all over again.

Soon he might have to go out into the fields again. Very, very soon.

A loud squawk snaps his attention back to the present. Jimin gasps as he discovers a big crow, no, a raven perched on the windowsill - he likes to leave the window open, while he is having a bath, to hear the birds outside, but to think that one of them would be so cheeky as to invite itself in -

Jimin feels naked and wet and rather exposed under the intruder’s unblinking stare. He doesn't expect the bird to attack, although ravens can be assholes when they want to. Apparently perverts, too, if the way the raven is leering at him with its beady eyes is anything to go by.

Jimin throws his head back in exasperation. He really doesn't want to call for his spouse who'd ask for more intimacy in return for help. And Jimin's had enough for today.

“Can you please leave?” He asks sweetly. “Or turn around? I’m quite indecent, you cheeky bird.”

The raven croons smugly as it hops around and takes off, wings swooshing cold air into the room.

Well, at least it appears to be somewhat of a gentle-bird, Jimin smiles to himself weakly as he pushes himself up and out of the tub, picking up his robe and tying the sash.

When he walks to the window to peek outside, he is surprised to find that the raven’s not gone, but has found a new vantage point at an old birch, driving away its usual occupants - the raven is freakishly huge in comparison, majestic and slick-feathered. Still gawking.

Where did it come from, Jimin wonders as he shuts and locks the window this time.

There is something odd about it. Not in a sinister way, just -

Bizarre.

☾

“Do you think there could be witches among the barren?” Jeongguk asks, cradling a cup of tea between his palms.

It's a quiet magical night, perfect for tea.

Yoongi shrugs as he lights a few candles, taking his time to answer.

“No one is born a witch. You can only become one through training. But who would teach them, out there? In the land of ignorance.”

“They could pick up some things intuitively?”

Yoongi regards him curiously, shadows dancing around his sitted form. He crushes dried flower petals into his cup and they dance too, embraced by the hot tea.

“That’s not... impossible,” he admits. “But you’d need to observe them very closely, to know for certain. So…”

Yoongi pauses to take a sip of his tea, holding the cup delicately with his both hands.

“Who is he?”

Jeongguk contemplates for a moment if it would be wise to tell the witch about the omega. Perhaps, there won't be any harm in that, but one piece of truth always strings another after itself. His intimate thoughts are his own.

“I don’t know yet,” he says vaguely. And it's not a lie.

Yoongi's eyes glint dangerously, like cat's in the twilight - he doesn't like being kept in the dark, and yet, he does that to others all the time. The taste of his own medicine is a bitter one.

Something hisses out there, between the trees massive shapes, and Jeongguk takes it as his cue to leave.

There are special places of power, tucked about the woods, that have been used by his people since the dawn of time.

They are nothing too conspicuous. A wide crack, splintering a cliff; a neat spot in-between a collection of boulders, a dugout under a tree’s bulky roots. To an unsuspecting eye, they are just part of the scenery, but for his people, these are sacred places, the passageways between the realms.

His austere cabin is located near one of such places - a tiny ravine cradling a shallow brook in its bed. One of the ravine walls has a natural cavity, a burrow, with just enough room to fit his body.

Jeongguk gathers tinder to start a fire in a small fire pit; tosses a pinch of dusky powder into the flames that flare up indigo blue. Soon the smoke from the flames starts spreading out like mist.

Jeongguk takes a deep breath, allowing his eyelids to droop close.

The edges of the transition are always blurry. Like falling into a slumber.

He is an alpha, but he is also a spirit, soaring free, unshackled and unbound from the contrivances of his human mind. There is wind under his wings and it fills his heart with pure joy.

(The joy of being).

Occupying the mindset of an animal spirit is not the same as having the mindset of a human. He is not a human in an animal form, he is an animal, free of the agenda and sensibilities. Still, there is an innate intention present. He spreads his wings and lets his instincts take him where they must, riding on the winds - who pass by, taking no notice, high or low, woods or open fields, it's all the same to them.

They whisper their farewells, lowering him gently where a field ends before whooshing past, continuing on their journey, never stopping for anything.

He croaks, his senses finely tuned like crystal bowls, vibrating off the tiniest of sounds. Among the din of men and vermin, a soft whispery humming stands out to him. It takes him higher, by an open window - he squawks in excitement and the humming stops. The bird whisperer is looking at him with big wide eyes, like a doe rising startled in the tall grass.

Then, he speaks.

His words are honey dripping down a honeycomb.

His words are midnight fingers, brushing feathers in a gentle caress.

His words are home.

☾

An old oak at a crossroads, among the fields. A dead, leafless thing, an eyesore by anyone's standards.

Jimin discovered the place when he was just a child roaming the fields, free of any care in the world. Oh happy ignorant days.

The oak was dead even then, craggy burnt chunks of bark peeling off its blackened trunk. And yet, it whispered to Jimin the day he first discovered it. Or something did. Not in a language of people - something eternally more ancient than that. It lured him in and ensnared him, held captive for hours until his Pa found him, wrapped his arms around him and took him home.

A cursed place, his Pa told him then. He didn't explain further, but he didn't have to, for Jimin had gleaned onto the past.

The putrid smell of burning flesh still haunts the place.

For many years, he's been visiting the oak in secret, letting it whisper to him. Jimin had learned to regard it as his friend and his teacher. It had taught him how to whisper to birds. And the birds would come when he called, gathering on the crooked branches like knotted old fingers.

His happiest moments. He feels all-powerful here, in the middle of these forgotten roads. His sanctuary.

Today -

He has a visitor.

Jimin sees him approaching from afar, emerging from the tall grass, shifting from a murky shadow into a solid tangible presence.

The birds cry him welcome.

Still very much handsome, he is, just like Jimin remembers - his attraction is a palpable thing, swelling at the pit of his lower belly. It’s a truly bizarre thing, omega's affection.

He wonders if their first words out here will be laced with awkwardness.

“This is a place unlike any other,” the alpha says in lieu of greeting. “But it's only fitting I’d find you here.”

He’s been watching him for days, Jimin knows, from that birch by the inn. It makes sense in his head, especially out here. He talks to the birds while others turn into them. Perhaps they could be friends.

(Perhaps more).

“Do you know what happened here?” Jimin asks, eyeing the oak as if he hadn't seen it countless times before, its contorted lines forever etched onto his memory.

The alpha walks up to the oak, reaching out to gently trace the knots on its bark. Jimin finds himself watching his fingers with rapt attention, wistful.

“No, it won't tell me its secrets. But death had visited here. Many times.”

Jimin nods.

“They used to hang and burn the witches here.”

He’s never talked about it with anyone. Who would he even tell. People find him strange as it is, and strange never means anything good around here. Back at the day, he could even join them at the bonfire, become one of those unfortunate souls.

“And now?”

“We are a small community that doesn’t have the luxury of hanging omegas, not anymore.”

Not like the City, which is in havoc nowadays, last Jimin heard. The Governor Jung has been sniffing out witches (“devil’s servants among us”) like a rabid dog. Bonfires are lit up every day. The City smells like fear and smoke and madness. If one listens closely, one can hear the echoing outcry even here, in their godforsaken hamlet.

He shakes those morbid thoughts out of his head. A thunderstorm crackles in a distance. It might rain something awful soon. He just knows.

“I’ll walk you,” the alpha offers, voice raw with eagerness.

“That would be unwise,” Jimin says but doesn't protest further as he gets onto his feet, dusting his clothes off.

“Why so?”

“We might be seen and people here are small-minded.”

“I’ve noticed that,” the alpha agrees, striding after him nevertheless.

They walk together for a while in silence, cutting through the fields teeming with tall vegetation. They’ve been abandoned for a long time, no hands to work the soil anymore. Their hamlet is simply dying out. Maybe their whole world is dying out, starting from the edges where it's least noticeable.

For some reason, Jimin feels morbid excitement at the possibility. Death enthralls him like little else does.

Breaking the silence of their walk, the alpha introduces himself as Jeongguk. He says that he is a traveller, hailing from a place far away. Jimin could tell that much from his thick accent that doesn’t resemble anything he’s heard before. He finds it attractive, too.

They are inching closer to each other as they walk until there is hardly any distance left. Their hands brush occasionally and it excites Jimin, too.

Death and love, then. His two favourite subjects that lose meaning without one another.

“We can’t walk together into the inn.” The sane, responsible part of Jimin's brain nags at him, saying it’s for the best. “We can’t talk for long inside either.”

Jeongguk stares at him in ponder, a little dejected, too. He has no idea about the ways around here.

“People will see and tell my spouse,” Jimin explains, lips curving distastefully. “I don’t want him to know.”

“What is there to know?” Jeongguk asks confused.

“Nothing.”

Not yet, at least. But it won't matter. Not to his spouse, who loves Jimin with all his heart, only his heart is small and dark. It will ruin all of them.

And yet, he tells Jeongguk to wait and sneak through the backdoor. He can stay the night, in the attic, free of charge. He prays that Jeongguk doesn't ask one of his ‘why’s again, because Jimin truly has no answer to give.

The trickiest part is to distract the cook for Jeongguk to sneak in safely. The cook, an omega twice his age and his weight, doesn't listen to him well, or at all. Always insists on having the last word. But he is a good cook, Jimin will give him that much. Used to be an old friend of his Pa.

Jimin knocks over a pan with tomato stew and suffers the wrath. While they are bickering over it, Jimin’s eyes skirt over the cook’s shoulder to make sure Jeongguk makes it. And thankfully, he does. Light as a feather, his step, across the kitchen and up the spiral staircase.

Jimin’s heartbeat goes through hurried paces even after both of them reach a small door, tucked away safely from any prying eyes. This is his real room, the attic.

Jimin turns in the key, pushing the door open, and Jeongguk has to lower his head to step inside. He is tall, although not as tall as his spouse, but, for what it’s worth, his spouse rarely steps into the attic. There is an unspoken agreement between them that the attic is Jimin’s space and therefore, is off-limits to anyone else.

If there is a place they can spend time undisturbed, it’s here.

Jeongguk’s eyes sweep over the room: tiny, filled to the brim with old weathered things; a bathtub on stocky legs and a fireplace; a littering of throw pillows on a giant bear hide; bird cages hanging off the ceiling.

“They are empty,” he mentions, noncommittal.

Jimin sighs, flitting around the room in a moot attempt to tidy up. He reshuffles a few books and then, his hands fall by his sides, defeated.

“My spouse is a hunter. He used to trap birds for collection. Before we married, I demanded he let them go.”

And he did. The birds’ freedom for his own. Jimin keeps the cages as a reminder of that.

Later that night, after Jimin is done appeasing the regulars downstairs, he sneaks in some food and ale from the kitchen. By the time he returns, Jeongguk's made himself comfortable on the bear hide by the fireplace. The light from the fire is throwing shadows onto his defined back muscles, accentuating them in such tantalizing way that Jimin almost trips over himself.

It seems that Jeongguk did take up on his offer and made use of the vats with clean water to wash himself. Jimin wishes now he didn't. Jimin procures a throw blanket from a wicker basket and hands it to Jeongguk.

“You can use, eh, this,” he says, looking everywhere but at the alpha. He doesn't remember ever seeing his own spouse shirtless, let alone naked - it's not common for them to undress unless it’s to wash up and even then it's done privately. Even their bedtime activities involve as little undressing as possible - that's how everyone is doing it, or it's what Jimin has believed.

The thought of making love naked, their bodies equally bared to touch and to gaze at, makes Jimin flush, a warm tingle shooting straight to his groin. He hopes it's not his heat enchroaching, making him too lustful for his own good.

Jeongguk wordlessly accepts the blanket, throwing it over his shoulders.

“You spend a lot of time here,” he says with quiet confidence, as if he knows Jimin's most intimate thoughts.

Maybe he does. Jimin is not oblivious, he feels the connection between them - the easiness with which he opens up to Jeongguk, a stranger, but is he really? Whoever he is, Jimin knows that he won't hurt him or hold him down against his will.

And then, there is that bird.

“Are you really a raven?” he asks. It has been on his mind for a while. And everything else too. Is it real, the whispers, the glimmers of the world beyond all comprehension. Is it real or has he gone mad?

“Do I look like a bird to you?” Jeongguk teases with a smile, sincere and precious. “Sometimes I am, though.”

“So you were peeping at me,” Jimin teases him back, stretching his legs in front of the fire. He pokes Jeongguk's ankle with his bare toe; doesn't move away after that.

Jeongguk splutters, flushing deeply.

“No! Well, yes, but no, it’s not like that. Animals do not see the world as we do. It wouldn't even matter if… they don't have a sense of propriety. I wasn't… p-peeping.”

Jimin bursts into a laugh, too bright and loud for his own good. He could tease and prod some more. Maybe it didn't matter to a bird if Jimin was naked or not, but as a human, Jeongguk did retain those memories, his burning cheeks and guilt-ish look say as much.

Jeongguk finds him attractive, that much is obvious to Jimin, and he preens at the thought, teeth biting into his plush bottom lip unconsciously.

Why hadn't they met before his life became poisoned by his unwanted marriage.

“What would happen if your alpha saw me here?” Jeongguk asks, unprompted. And it sombers Jimin's expression, the lightness of his laugh leaving without a trace.

He gives this scenario an honest thought.

“He’d try to kill you,” he says with sadness. “And as for me. He’d rape me over and over to teach me a lesson.”

Jeongguk frowns at that.

“And still you invited me in, knowing this.”

Jimin nods. He did. He would again. The warmth he feels from this, the company and the fireplace and toes digging into the coarse fur, the sincerity of his earlier laugh - some things are worth the risk.

“He’s on a hunt now. Won’t be back for days,” he says to ease the mood. It does little to placate Jeongguk's tensed expression, to smoothen creases between his eyebrows.

“I won't let him harm you,” he says eventually. “I’m strong. I never lost a fight to Namjoon and he is big. As big as a bear. He is a bear, just like I’m a raven. But ravens are smart.”

And Namjoon is too kind-hearted to put his everything into a friendly sparring, but Jeongguk keeps that to himself. He wants to impress Jimin, give him the assurance that, if push comes to shove, he will be protected.

Jimin’s gaze fills with awe. He appreciates the sentiment, but more so, his mind is bewitched by possibilities, the images of the world unknown.

“Tell me more,” he pleads, carefully placing a hand on Jeongguk's shoulder, leaning close. “What is out there?”

“It’s not all that different. Just people, surviving. And…” Jeongguk cracks a smile. “Being awesome, I guess.”

Even having cut ties with them, he can't help but feel pride swelling inside his chest, pride for his people.

“Especially the witches.”

Jimin's jaw goes slack.

“They actually exist?” His voice drops to a shaky whisper. “Among us, too?”

“It’s not what you think. Among our people, the witches are selected and trained. They are very much respected and… feared, too. You never want to make an enemy of a witch. But you can always ask them for help, especially when you're at the end of your tether.”

Jimin hums, thinking how convenient it must be, to have someone to solve all of your problems for you. For a right price, of course.

“It sounds so different,” he sighs. “And what about omegas? What are they like?”

Jeongguk thinks about Yoongi and Jeonhee and Heojin.

“Ferocious and beautiful, like they should be. I wish you could meet Heojin - the best shot in our clan, been handling the bow since he was a toddler,” Jeongguk says with a fond smile. “I’m not very good with bows.”

Jimin doesn't miss the warmth in Jeongguk's gaze as he talks about his friend - or more than a friend? He knows it's not his place to be jealous, but he is. A little bit. How couldn't he? He's never handled anything more dangerous than a kitchen knife. And he is clumsy. And chubby. And unhappily married.

“Is he your omega?” He asks before he can stop himself. He just needs to know.

Jeongguk smiles at him knowingly which makes Jimin want to puff his cheeks out in exasperation. There is nothing pretty about being mocked for one’s curiosity.

“No. I've always had my sights set on someone else.”

Jimin's face falls. Oh, his lips form. A circle of perfect sadness.

(He just knew it).

(Of course. Why wouldn't he already have someone).

(Jimin, too, has someone. Someone he doesn't even love).

Jeongguk covers his hand with his own.

“Someone from my dreams. With hair like fiery sunsets and laugh like singling of a brook. He talks to birds. He is bewitching. I've searched for him, high and low, desperate to answer his call. And I think I've found him at last.”

They are close now, Jimin's thigh brushing against his own. His heartbeat is a living thing, existing in the dwindling space between their bodies. He is the sweetest, hair swept back and lips parted.

“I am going to kiss you now,” Jeongguk says.

It’s only after their first kiss that Jimin realizes how aroused he has been the whole time, his senses sharpened, his body taut with longing.

It’s a simple kiss but one Jimin has craved with his whole being and it made all the difference. They kiss, but Jimin can only yearn for more. He wants Jeongguk’s mouth on him, his body, his cock and his slit, oozing gushes of slick - he can feel it wettening his quivering thighs.

He is going mad with desire, all that from a simple kiss. He takes Jeongguk’s hand in his own, once they part, gazing at him from under his eyelashes, seductive. It’s all instincts stirred onto the surface. Body electrified and his lips, his mouth, sinking onto his fingers, taking them in down to the base - to think that all this time he’s had this maddening thirst in him.

Jeongguk’s irises are blown wide from his display, breathing laboured. It pleases Jimin. He suckles, good and deep and wet, before releasing his fingers and guiding them down his chest and between his thighs - the whispering silence around them is alive with something unknown.

A moment later, Jeongguk doesn’t need any guidance, his fingers prod at Jimin’s entrance, teasing around the sensitive rim. He swallows Jimin’s moans, kissing him over and over until his mouth blooms red.

Their first lovemaking is rushed and messy. Jimin comes too quick, and he comes hard, his body a strange foreign thing that can’t stop shaking. He is happy and tired and boneless. He wants to cry. But also, sleep.

He'd never felt so worn out after sex before, but in a toe-curling, satisfying way - he could purr from bliss. He is looking at Jeongguk through heavy eyelids; lets the alpha scoop him into his arms, take care of him, whisper things to him, fondle his thighs.

And before long, everything becomes a blur.

It's still early when he wakes up, to smoldering embers in the fireplace, the chill of autumn dawn burrowing under his skin - but the hands, the hands around him, keep him warm.

For a moment Jimin is scared that it all had been a dream and he is in his bed with his spouse, the hands that bind him, if not for the coarse texture of the bear hide under them. Jimin lets out a small sigh of relief; wiggles around to face Jeongguk, plastered against his side, and marvel at his sleeping form, fingers skimming lightly the contour of his cheekbone, tracing a faded scar there.

He's handsome and mysterious and his touch is electrifying. Jimin feels so much for this alpha already. They could be good for each other - he just knows. And now that he’s seen a glimpse of true passion, how it could be between them when he wants it -

How on earth could he possibly let go of it?

He thinks of days ahead, of his routine, of the pretense, of his spouse. His spouse is the real problem. If only he wasn't there, Jimin would be free. He'd have his inn and his keep and the freedom to see Jeongguk in his bedroom without the constant dread of being exposed.

(Without those disgusting hands binding him).

(If only he'd disappear).

He would be free.

“What are we to do now?”

The question pulls Jeongguk out of a wistful haze. The morning has been wonderful so far. He woke up, wrapped around Jimin's warmth, nose tucked into his dreamy scent. All omegas smell nice, to an alpha at least, but Jimin smells heavenly.

It's distracting. It makes him want to do something silly, like ask Jimin to run with him for the woods. Jeongguk swallows around a nervous clump in his throat. Maybe not now, maybe later, when he works up the courage to do it.

“We’ll think of something.” Jeongguk presses a kiss behind his ear. “Before he is back. I promise.”

Jimin can't imagine a way for them that won't result in violence. Unless they take off together, meaning Jimin will have to leave everything behind. His Pa’s inn. As much as he's infatuated with Jeongguk, he doesn't think he can do that now. They don't know each other that well. What if their feelings don’t survive the hardships of a runaway life? And where would they even go?

“I won’t let him touch me,” he says forlornly. “Not anymore. But he’ll get suspicious. And angry.”

“Don’t worry about that. I told you I won’t let him harm you.”

Jeongguk sits up, guiding Jimin to slip onto his lap, skin sliding against bare skin - Jimin is perfectly naked in his arms and doesn't mind one bit, finding comfort in such closeness. He wouldn't mind doing it every single day, just cuddling naked, limbs tangled and hearts beating in unison.

“I just wish he never came back,” he says simply, sighing and nuzzling into Jeongguk's neck. He also wishes he never had to deal with any of that. Can't he have his inn and his Jeongguk? Just that would be enough.

(It’s not too much to ask, is it?)

Having a witch nearby sure would have been nice. He’d ask them and, even if it's too much, he'd pay the price.

“Do you think-” Jimin swallows, his mouth a little dry. “We could ask a witch to help us?”

He can bodily feel Jeongguk’s tensing up at the question, his hands stopping for a moment before resuming their motion, tracing patterns over his back.

“It wouldn’t be necessary,” he says. “Please understand that asking a witch for help should always be the last option. They are feared for a reason.”

“Why are they feared?”

“There is never a clean bargain with them. Once they get a hold of you, they’ll never let go. They’ll lure you in and seduce you with possibilities and… Before you know it, there is less of you than there was before”.

“I see. I’m sorry.” Jimin lowers his head in apology. “Now I feel stupid for asking.”

“Don’t be. It’s not a general knowledge. Even my people don’t realize that. And I wouldn’t blame them. The witches are natural seducers and they thrive on deception.”

Jeongguk presses a kiss onto the crown of his head.

“We don’t need their help, love.”

☾

After Jeongguk leaves that day - just for two days, at most, he promises, to settle down some matters - Jimin is all alone. The loneliness is creeping onto him insidiously, and where there is loneliness, there is fear.

Doubt.

Uncertainty.

Two days pass. And Jimin is going through the motions, his hands winding up around his elbows, hugging himself protectively. He is a nervous wreck, fighting the urge to sprint up the stairs and lock himself in the attic.

It’s been two days, hasn't it.

Tomorrow will be the third. What if his spouse returns tomorrow, earlier than anticipated. The alpha has been known to be unpredictable.

(And once he is back, he'd go straight for Jimin).

What if Jeongguk doesn't return? It could all have been sweet spoken lies. He got what he wanted - why would he be back? Isn't it what all alphas want - why would Jeongguk be any different. And Jimin wasn’t even that good of a lay - why would Jeongguk leave so soon otherwise.

Those thoughts hurt, cutting deep, down to his very core. All of his insecurities, and he has many, drifting up to the forefront of his mind to antagonize him.

He works himself up to a point where he snaps at one of the serving omegas, slapping him across the face for a backtalk - it scares him more than anything.

He's never raised a hand on anyone in his life.

(What is wrong with him?)

He feels sick in the stomach as he hurls himself out of the inn, heading for the rainy fields.

It's overcast today. A perfect day for tears.

It's a dark place he finds himself in, surrounded by the trees as tall as the sky itself. He looks up and sees them disappearing into the dark. There are no stars and barely any light. The shadows are alive, drifting around him - through him.

A few shadows hurry past, heeding him no mind, but one does linger. Jimin gulps, unsure what to expect from this attention. What a strange place, he finds himself wondering. The world of moving shapes. Moving among the trees.

It seems weirdly familiar too, familiarity itching under his skin.

The curious shadow approaches him in a few gliding steps. A murky form of a human, out of focus. Jimin knows instantly who it is.

“And now we meet,” the witch says, his voice vibrating through the world as a subtle disturbance in the air. It's vaguely pleasant. It's also vaguely anything at all. A whisper in Jimin's scattered mind.

He wants to form words, to explain his predicament and ask for a solution. This is the last option. What else can he do. The witch watches him struggle, move his lips but not a sound comes out. Jimin wraps his fingers around his throat as it dawns on him.

(He has no voice here).

The witch sneers.

“Well now, little fish,” he says. “Don’t fret. I know why you’re here. Our Gukkie has gotten you to drip like a leaky bucket, and all of a sudden, you have a murder on your mind.”

The witch chuckles, ripples traveling through the air, skittering along Jimin's skin. He shudders. No. It's not what he wants. He is not a murderer.

He is not.

“Not yet. But this is why you’re here. And being the good neighbourly witch that I am, I'll give it to you, little fish. Look at your palm.”

Jimin looks down to his side, at his fist, gripping something tightly. He opens it, bringing closer to his eyes. He sees a rolled ball with matted surface, smooth and dark, but too small and light to be a bullet. He stares at it pensively, having no idea as to what it is.

“A little candy made of the crushed roots of a swamp lily,” the witch explains. “Our omega ancestors were funny that way.”

The look of continuous bafflement on Jimin’s face makes the witch huff out one big ripple, shaking up his whole form.

“What an ignorant creature you are. But of course, what else can you expect from someone who was taught by a dead tree,” the witch says snidely. “Listen well, little fish. When the time comes, insert it into your slit. And the alpha you mate right after…well, let just say, it will leave him utterly breathless. Do you understand?”

Jimin nods, slow and drowsy.

His mind, on the other hand, is racing. This is not what he wants.

Not yet.

Not yet.

He wakes up curled against the rough bark, freezing and wet, hair plastered to his face. He's slept through the downpour and then, there is that strange dream.

There is something in his palm, fingers balled tightly around the witch's gift - the crushed roots of a swamp lily. Their omega ancestors. The heat.

(When the time comes).

Dreams are supposed to stay dreams, but here it is, the proof of its transgression into his reality. How would the witch even know about him?

“Minie.”

Jimin hides his fist behind his back instinctively, head whipping towards the voice.

Jeongguk reaches him in a few brisque strides, shrugging off his cloak and wrapping it around Jimin’s shoulders. It's raining still, and with no shelter around, Jeongguk is bound to end up just as drenched as he is in a matter of minutes.

Jeongguk shushes his complaints, wrapping his arms around him too, as Jimin buries his nose into his chest, sniffling quietly.

“We should leave. The weather is rubbish anyway,” is what Jeongguk says. No questions, no scolding. Only quiet understanding.

Jimin, senses overflowing with adoration, thinks he doesn't deserve it, such care. It took him barely a day to start doubting Jeongguk and he can't be certain it won't happen again. When left alone with his insecurities, he can be disgusting.

Whatever awaits them, Jeongguk doesn't deserve to die, or be harmed, because of him. This is not his fight. His spouse is something Jimin needs to face on his own and now he has the means to do it.

He pockets the swamp lily surreptitiously, following the alpha back to the inn. And even if his lips burn to tell him the truth, he doesn't speak a word.

(Some people deserve to die).

His spouse returns in a week.

The trickiest part was to convince Jeongguk to stay away, give him space until it’s done, without making it look like Jimin is hiding something, or worse yet, pushing him away.

And lies trickle off his tongue with ease that leaves even him impressed. It occurs to him that it's what he's been doing for most of his life. Spouting lies to others and to himself, barely aware of it because it's just so natural. Lies have kept him out of harm and this time, they are going to keep Jeongguk out of harm.

When his spouse returns, it's afternoon, the busiest time for their little inn, and Jimin uses it as an excuse, barely sparing him a glance as he shoves him away with a push of his elbow.

"Later", he mutters, eyes downcast.

His hands are shaking as he putters around, which earns him a concerned look from a serving omega, his doe eyes split between worry and fear. None of them have forgotten what had transpired a week ago. They are giving him a wide berth now, heads lowered submissively when Jimin calls out their names, a shrillness to his voice that hadn't been there before.

This is what it has come to now. He is feared, the very person who is supposed to be looking out for them, at the very place that is supposed to be safe. Just another lie he spawned into existence, for there is no safe place, not for him, not for them.

At least he has some control. They have nothing. He could slap them around as much as he wants and no one would do a thing because this is how things are around here.

“What are you looking at?” He hisses, shooting a murderous look at the helper.

The omega disperses in a blink of an eye, the rest of them following suit, leaving Jimin alone in his misery. His snappiness scares him, but -

There is something wickedly satisfying underneath it - the ruthlessness, the control. For once, he has all the cards in his hands. For once, he is not a victim here.

He may be just going mad.

The thought keeps circling through his mind as he is getting ready - scoldingly hot bath, lavender and sage nourishing skin - he needs to feel nourished for the occasion. It’s not every day one commits a murder.

Unless the witch has played a trick on him. Maybe there is no witch and what he saw was nothing but a figment of his wretched mind. Maybe he has made up Jeongguk too in a desperate need for real affection.

He takes a deep breath and pushes the tiny bead inside his slit, retracting his hand as soon as he is done.

He waits, listening in for the smallest changes in his body, fingers gripping, white-knuckled, around the edges of his wooden tub. He's not sure what is supposed to happen - the witch has barely left any instructions. He waits until the water goes lukewarm, then reaches for his robe, lifting his body on the shaking legs.

Heart thudding in his chest, he flounders towards the stairs, his vision going blurry for a second. Jimin grits his teeth and starts on his way down to the bedroom. He doesn’t feel good, heat clinging to his cheeks like hot coals.

If he’s in heat, that’s not one of his usual heats - there is fire in him and it only grows stronger with every passing moment.

He knows he shouldn’t have trusted a witch - he’ll go down in flames and maybe this is what he deserves.

(He deserves every bit of this pain).

He doesn't remember reaching the bedroom. But he remembers, faintly, lying on a bed. Their bed. He remembers someone else being there with him, hovering over his form like a big shadow. His skin is melting off his bones and he wants to scream but all that comes out are whimpers and whines - it’s all him, reduced to a shuddering mess of limbs.

His body is pain.

And when he comes to, next morning, he’s fucked so ruthlessly he can’t move a muscle without sharp pain shooting through his body. But he can't be resentful - he'd asked for it. He'd asked to be used. Not one of his usual heats. What the witch gave him was evil. Eyes glowing in the dark evil. Nails clawing at the walls evil. And it was inside Jimin last night.

He is hurting, every muscle in his body aching in agony. The least what he wants now is to move, but -

His bed is empty.

He needs to find his spouse. He needs to make sure that bastard is dead. That it hadn’t been for nothing. If it was, Jimin doesn’t know what he’d do to himself. The humiliation, the torture...

It can’t be for nothing. He won’t have it.

Jimin catches a glimpse of the grey sky outside. It’s a quiet morning. Blanketed by a thick coat of fog, rolling in from the fields, muffling out even the usual murder of crows outside.

He calls for his spouse, out of desperation, throat parched and raw like an open wound. No one answers. Not a sound, not even his footsteps over the creaky stairs. Fog swallows it all.

Jimin sees red as he lifts himself up, swallowing down a wave of nauseousness. He doesn’t feel like himself anymore, a stranger in his own body as he’s climbing his way up to the attic.

It takes him forever. It wrings him out of strength, what little he had to begin with, and leaves him broken by the very door which is -

Open.

(It’s never open).

The first thing that hits him is the smell. The pungent smell of rotting blood.

(His spouse…)

Birds with twisted necks and little crooked feet, littering the floor.

(His spouse is…)

Birds in the cages, beady eyes glowing. Glaring. At. Him.

(His…)

Jimin doesn't scream, and even if he does, it doesn't sound like a scream. A dark cackle is more like it, dark and twisted - twisted little necks - and self-destructive. It's not him, but it is him, here, laughing his heart out.

His spouse is ghostly skin and void gaze and hands -

They bind him no more.

☾

Jeongguk knows that something is wrong even before he steps out of the gloom of the woods.

Jimin's distress is scratching at his temples, causing him to sprint all the way across the fields, hugged by the mist, viscous and carmine red in the morning glow. Once he reaches the hamlet, the fog only grows in tangibility. It's not an ordinary hamlet anymore.

The veil of reality has been torn. Ghosts are roaming these streets now. It's a dangerous place to be, even for him. And especially for Jimin.

“Minie!” He hollers, entering the inn, devoid of life, if not for the whispering voices of the ghosts. They graze his skin with their cold touch and Jeongguk shivers - the cold is penetrating. He shouldn’t be here.

He ventures on, into the attic - if there is a place Jimin would hide, it’s there. If he is alive, that is. Jeongguk is praying to spirits that this is the case.

“Minie,” he calls, quieter now, relieved to see a figure curled in the corner.

The air is thick with death here.

“We should leave. Now. Let me help you,” Jeongguk whispers, prying Jimin's hands from his face to look into his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to do it,” Jimin shakes his head, looking at Jeongguk, past him. His grasp on reality is dwindling.

“Do what?”

Jimin's lips barely move. He is not talking to Jeongguk, probably not even aware of him.

“Kill them. Him,” Jimin says. “I didn’t mean to kill him. But he didn't want to let me go, so I had to. I had to.”

Shadows scatter along the walls, conflating in the corner, deeper and thicker. They take the shape of a person, a giant, reaching out towards them. Jimin is looking at him, eyes bloodshot and skin devoid of any color.

“Shit”, Jeongguk mutters.

“We are leaving now.”

He heaves Jimin up to hoist him over his shoulder, his body going limp - unconscious. Jeongguk will worry about that later, his hands already grasping at the amulet around his neck, hot metal burning scars into his palm.

He prays they leave unscathed, because the hamlet -

It's gone now, buried under the little crooked corpses of thousands of dead birds.

☾

Jimin wakes up from an endless nightmare in a place he doesn’t recognize. It's not his inn. It doesn’t smell like their hamlet - spices, sweat and liquor. Strange smells and sounds pour into him, filling him up until it’s almost too much - Jimin jerks awake with a gasp, tears prickling the corners of his eyes.

“Now, now.”

A voice - he’s heard it before - and then, a sturdy hand pushing him back onto the pillows.

“Take it slow.”

Jimin swallows a dry clot in his throat, rubbing at his stinging eyelids. He knows it would hurt a lot to open his eyes right now.

“Water,” he rasps and presses his lips to the offered cup, gulping down hungrily.

Once his thirst is quenched, he wonders where Jeongguk is, blinking as he tries to take in his surroundings. Luckily the room is dim enough for his eyes to adjust quickly.

Candles flicker, scattering shadows into the corners.

“He is fine,” the witch says knowingly. “Worried himself sick, but he can wait.”

The witch looks so much more mellow than Jimin imagined. Small and compact, cheeks soft as rice cakes. But looks cannot be trusted. He, himself, has killed, has desecrated the entire hamlet - him, a lowlife omega who trips on air easy as you please.

“Thank you,” Jimin says. “For taking me in.”

His mind connects the dots easily enough. His homeplace is gone. There is no place for him to go back to. If not for Jeongguk's arrival, he'd be dead and buried with the rest - it would have been better that way, he doesn't deserve this, second chances or Jeongguk’s worrying over his well being.

He is not a good person. Maybe never was.

The witch - Yoongi, he introduces himself - lights a few more candles. They burn purple. Something stirs in the corner.

“Now, let’s talk, little fish.”

Jimin hugs himself, running hands over his shoulders. He doesn't want to be snappy but the witch’s - Yoongi's - attitude just ticks him off something terrible.

“I’d rather you call me by my name, Jimin.”

Yoongi looks unperturbed. Smiles even. He has a nice smile, gummy, but it’s far from kind.

“What a pretty name. I used to know a witch by this name before he migrated far north, decades ago. I wonder sometimes what happened to him - he was quite a character, you know. A few moments spent in his company and he’d piss you off beyond belief. People hated him, but it didn't matter because he was strong. Feared and respected. He held all the strings in his hands and made sure everyone knew that well.”

Yoongi pauses to light the remaining candles.

“People around here still remember his name. Who do you think will remember yours? Who would even care? Your people are gone. And Jeongguk’s clan will never accept you - you, a barren omega who talks to dead trees and birds. Our people know how to protect themselves from silly tricks like that. You’re a nobody here and I don't care what your name is - welcome to our reality, little fish.”

Every word, like a sharp tiny blade, slashes through his psyche. Jimin keeps his mouth shut, fuming silently. Yoongi is exceptionally good at digging his fingers into his wounds, his insecurities, the inane sense of worthlessness that his omega status had ingrained into him.

He glares at the witch.

“If I’m a nobody, why bother with me now? Let me be on my way then, I won't trouble you ever again.”

“You still owe me,” Yoongi says simply. “I helped you, remember?”

“Yes, you did. And now my home is a ghostland.”

Yoongi shrugs, nonplussed. There is not a sliver of remorse in the witch.

“Sometimes it happens, things get out of control. Who knew you’d be so bloodthirsty.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Who else was it, then?”

Jimin does a double take at the witch’s words. It wasn't him, but something in him - the swamp lily or whatever it was. If only he had known, he would have resisted. He is not a murderer.

(He wasn’t a murderer).

“It was you. All you,” Yoongi states matter-of-factly. “You think I put evil into you? There is nothing evil about swamp lilies. They make us go into heats, that's all. Of course, they are also poisonous to alphas, but the settlement? That's all on you, you little bloodthirsty thing, calling onto the birds to do your dirty work for you.”

No.

(But death excites him like little else does).

No.

(Death and love).

He killed his spouse for Jeongguk, but he didn't stop there. His spouse wouldn't have been enough. The hamlet, their laws, their stupid ways - they'd force him to remarry. They'd never leave him in peace.

(Some people deserve to die).

“I guess it was,” he utters, his voice losing all life. What had he done?

“And you’d do it again, wouldn’t you?” Yoongi sneers at him, something akin to amusement glowing in his eyes.

Jimin lowers his head, eyes trained at his lap. He feels deep shame at the truth, uncomfortable under the witches gaze that just takes him apart, all of his lies turned inside out, exposed.

(He would).

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” Yoongi cuts through the silence. “I admit I’ve been curious about you. The omega who stole Guk’s heart. And I see now that there is nothing special about you. It's just him being a bird. A stupid one, but troublesome nevertheless. You can have your loverboy, both of you deserve each other anyway. But before you go, there is one more thing, little fish.”

Yoongi's eyes flicker behind Jimin, towards the corner with the deepest shadows yet. Something lies restless in the center of it. Something is reaching out to him, never quite reaching. Jimin curls into himself protectively. He knows what it is.

“Is it his soul?” Jimin speaks out.

“I don’t think such a thing exists.” Yoongi lets out a rumbling laugh. “Think of it as a mark that says, death has been here - a violent, unnatural death. Also, think of it as bones. People die and rot, but bones stay. We can bury them or throw them away or... repurpose them.”

“H-how?” Jimin’s breath hitches in his throat.

Yoongi claps his hands and the darkness grows eyes. It murmurs.

“Can you see it?” The witch drawls out.

A creature sprouts from the air, its silhouette slightly shimmering under the dim light, as if not fully corporal. Jimin can see a resemblance though, with that thing, crawling in the corner - an uncanny resemblance.

“Give it to me, as payment, and you can go. You have no use for it anyway.” Yoongi’s tone is blithe, but his eyes are greedy. Jimin doesn't know if he should agree - has no idea of what he is agreeing to anyway. If only Jeongguk was here, he’d -

“It’s yours.”

The witch nods and claps his hands again - the creature squeals, being dragged away by a crawling tendril, emerging from the dark.

Jimin feels sick in the stomach when he notices another tendril creeping along the floor towards him, ready to snag at his ankle and drag him away, too. He panics, backing away with a whimper. Its chilly touch cuts right through him and Jimin knows he'll remember it for the rest of his life -

“Farewell, little fish.”

And then, he wakes up. Again. No candles or witches or shadows crawling with ghosts. He wakes up to the soothing crackle of a fire, warm and cheerful. He sees Jeongguk, his broad back shielding him from the outside chill.

He is not at the witch’s house anymore, Jimin realizes as he peers around, making sense of his surroundings. They are in a ramshackle hut of some kind that might just tumble down any moment under the winds howling up above, snagging at the flimsy boardwork. He also realizes that Yoongi had intruded on his mind, while he was unconscious, and Jimin couldn't even tell, reality and dream all tangled together like a bunch of snakes.

He groans, ashamed and helpless. And it catches Jeongguk's attention. Immediately, he's kneeling by his side, cradling his neck as Jimin lifts his body up to drink from a flask, coughing and spilling some onto his chest.

“Gukkie,” he rasps, voice cracking with an unspoken emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” Jeongguk shakes his head. “I was worried. You- Do you remember anything?”

Jimin nods. He remembers all too vividly, the horror of what he had done.

“I killed all of them,” he confesses bitterly. “You should have left me there, to be eaten alive by the ghosts. They deserve peace and as long as I'm alive, they'd have none.”

“No, no, don’t say that.” Jeongguk pulls him into a hug, hands running over his shaking form. As much as Jimin wants to break away, he allows himself the indulgence of being comforted.

“What am I supposed to say, then?” His words are dripping with self-deprecation. “That it wasn’t my fault? That they had it coming with their stupid ways? Maybe they did, but… What I did has no excuse.”

“It’s never as simple as that,” Jeongguk says calmly. “You acted out of fear and selfishness. And I should have anticipated it and prevented it, but I didn’t.”

“Why didn’t you?” Jimin asks weakly, voice muffled as he buries his face in the alpha’s chest.

“I don’t know,” Jeongguk says honestly. “Sometimes it’s better to allow others to make their own mistakes. I warned you about the danger of dealing with witches and yet, you didn’t listen, did you? But now you’ll think twice before making the same mistake again.”

“Will I?” Jimin questions, pulling away to look up at Jeongguk. “He visited me again while I was unconscious, you know. He said that I’m nothing special and you’re just a stupid bird.”

Jeongguk chuckles at that, good-naturedly, and Jimin envies his light disposition. If only he could be like that too.

“You’re very much special to me, Minie.”

“I’m scared, Gukkie.”

“You shouldn't be. There are way to protect yourself from witches. I’ll teach you, love. I’ll do anything to keep you safe.”

“Will you keep me safe from me?” Jimin asks. “It’s not him I’m afraid of, but myself. It was me who accepted his gift. It was me who wanted to kill my spouse. All because I was too weak to face him and leave him. Evil festers in the weak mind, and that’s what I am - weak.”

“You can become stronger.”

“Become like him, you mean. So people would respect me and fear me, but I don't want to be feared. I don’t want you to fear me.”

Jimin cups Jeongguk's face with his hands.

“He said your clan would never accept me.”

“If my clan doesn’t accept you, we’ll leave them together. We’ll travel and learn from the world - it holds magic everywhere if only you’re willing to see it - we’ll go and find people like us, who don’t fit anywhere, we’ll make a clan of our own. We’ll live good lives, become strong and own up to our mistakes. I love you, Minie, my dawn, my sunrise, my sun.”

“Wow,” Jimin laughs through the tears licking down his cheeks. “You really are a silly bird, after all.”

☾

(Epilogue: The Bare Wedding)

On the day of their wedding, Jimin arranges wild flowers into his hair. Jeongguk picked them for him earlier that day, a humble wedding gift, perhaps.

Jimin recalls his first wedding, the ugly excessiveness of it - the food, the people, the clamour. Today it’s quiet, it will be just the two of them. Jimin dons the simplest attire, and flowers are his only embellishments, but he loves it. It's a sincere gift from his mate - nothing could ever be more precious than that.

And after that, Jeongguk kissed along the curve of his spine, ever so gently - they made love, fingers tangled, on top of the straw mats on the floor. Their lovenest has been coming together, feeling more like home with each day - it’s a long way to go, but at least the roof is not leaking anymore and they have a proper door now.

Jeongguk’s clanmates were kind enough to supply them with necessities. And that’s more than Jimin could have asked for - if only he could thank them personally, one day.

Jeongguk’s been out awhile. And just a couple of weeks ago, Jimin would have hated the idea of staying all by himself. He trusts his mate - of course, he does - but the fear of abandonment had been a real pest to overcome.

(What if Jeongguk finally came to his senses and saw him for what he was - a conceited needy parasite).

He’s gotten better at it. He really trusts Jeongguk now. At least, not to vanish on him without so much as a farewell. They are so much closer now than Jimin had ever been with anyone in his life - even his poor old Pa, all thanks to the leaky roof and the cold windy nights and the tears, so many tears - Jimin has mourned his past in full.

There are a lot of hardships living out here all by themselves, albeit with the clan’s occasional help. More so for Jimin, used to the comforts of his sheltered life which he’d always taken for granted. Here he has no luxury to lean back and let the alpha provide for him. They do it together. Jimin has learned to hunt and skin animals and be grateful for what the woods give them.

It gets easier, he’s noticed. He’s been learning to listen. To the woods, to the winds, birds and trees - there is magic in the world everywhere he steps. There is bliss. Bliss in the way the leaves fall and the owl hoots - the way Jeongguk drags his fingers over his skin as they curl into each other, lazy and sated. His past life had so much comfort and yet, he can’t find it in himself to miss it anymore. He has love and his mate, and today -

Is their wedding. The ritual that takes place at midnight.

“It’s just a gimmick, really,” Jeongguk says one day. “There is not much to it - sit by the fire, tell stories, ask spirits for blessings. Then, the most important part... Listen closely.”

Jeongguk leans in, lowering his voice for dramatic effect and Jimin holds his breath, enthralled.

“We have sex. Filthy, unbridled sex for days.”

Jimin swats at him, embarrassed on his mate’s behalf, pressing palms to his burning cheeks.

“Good thing, we’ve practiced that part plenty of times,” Jeongguk guffaws as Jimin huffs and runs a hand through his hair in exasperation. “But it won’t hurt to practice some more, just in case.”

Smack.

The moment Jeongguk is back, Jimin knows, alerted by the whisper of the protective charms around their cabin - bird skulls glowing in the dark. Jimin’s placed them himself, taught by a giant snowy owl he's met in his dreams.

It's all about how to listen. Closely.

And Jeongguk couldn't have been more proud of him, his eyes swimming in awe every time Jimin catches him watching.

“Minie,” he steps into their cabin, carrying so many scents on his person Jimin's mind goes into a twirl for a moment. “It’s almost time.”

Jeongguk helps him to his feet. They smile and share a chaste kiss, Jeongguk's hand running softly over his hair, tracing the flower crowns, before venturing out, hand in hand.

They sit by the bonfire outside, rising up high, as if trying to reach the stars. Jimin wonders if it's sensible to attract so much attention to themselves - who knows who roams out there at night and the charms might not be enough to protect them.

“What do we do?” Jimin asks, feeling a little awkward about this whole affair. It's just the two of them. And Jeongguk has been unfairly secretive about the whole thing. Jimin doesn't like it too much. They've promised not to keep any secrets between them, after all.

“Usually, it’s the oldest omega who has the first word, but since you, my love, are the only omega here, the honor befalls you.”

Jimin finds it ironic, in a way, because at his first wedding, he didn't utter a single word. During the most important moments of his life, the good omega always keeps his mouth shut.

“Okay,” he says, gathering his thoughts.

“Honestly, we have next to nothing, Gukkie, not even wedding guests, only each other's company and yet, I've been feeling my happiest here. Sometimes I feel bad about it - why should I feel happy while I have so many sins to atone for? But I don’t think I’ll be able to do that if I don't let it go and forgive myself. For both of us. You don’t deserve a person who beats himself every step of the way. And I haven't been that person for a while now, I think. Remember when I told you that I couldn't possibly meet your clan, your family, too ashamed to look them in the eyes? Well, I think I am willing to try now. If they’d have me, of course. And if they don’t, there are no ill thoughts on my part. As long as I’m yours and you’re mine, it’s good enough for me.”

“I think they are more than willing, Minie.”

Jimin scrambles to his feet. To say that he hasn’t been expecting it would be a lie. The abundance of scents on Jeongguk did give it away. Still, watching people emerge from the trees makes Jimin's skin crawl - the urge to bolt and hide is itching under his skin. Worse yet, he hasn't seen another soul, apart from his mate, for months now. How does one not crumble in front of so many people - Jimin can count two dozen of them, at least.

Jeongguk takes a place by his side, silently providing comfort and support.

A person, an omega who has Jeongguk's eyes, approaches them first. Jimin keeps his head lowered as the omega embraces his son with a warm smile on his still youthful face. Jimin feels uneasy, as if he’s intruding. He hardly expects to be acknowledged - surely they were kind enough to come for Jeongguk, only him.

“Jimin,” the omega calls. “Look at you, how sweet and pretty you are.”

Jimin's eyes find his. Where he’d expected to see scorn or contempt, he sees care and curiosity. Tongue tied, he gapes like a fool, wringing his clothes between his fingers. Jeongguk chuckles by his side - a traitor. Before he can shoot him a nasty look, Jeonhee smothers him in his arms.

“It’s okay, darling. I know we came uninvited, but everyone wanted to meet you - our Jeongguk’s magical mate.”

“Let Jimin breathe, please,” Jeongguk groans. “And I better not see anyone else groping him - I’ve found him first, he's mine. See? He's crying now.”

“No, no,” Jimin quickly wipes the wetness off the corners of his eyes. “I’ve wanted to meet you for so long. I thought you hated me for-”

“Taking him away?”

Jimin nods meekly.

“Oh darling, you shouldn't have. You can leave the clan, but the clan will never leave you, you know? Besides, it was his choice. As long as he is happy. As long as both of you are happy. Here, I’ve brought a little something for you.”

Jeonhee procures a tiny pouch, handing it to Jimin. He gasps as he looks inside.

“Let me put them in for you.”

A pair of feathery earrings, finely crafted, with almost gauzy texture. They are beautiful, and even if it can't replace the loss of his Pa’s precious gift, it feels like a new beginning. He'll wear them sacredly. He'll never let them become lost to a tragedy - himself, too.

“Thank you,” he says, breathless, as Jeonhee leaves a kiss on his forehead.

“There is something special about you, sweet child. My wayward son has done well looking for you all this time. Perhaps, you give him what none of us could - a place to call home.”

(A while later).

“Do you think it’s time to get on with the most important part now?”

Jimin sighs.