Chapter Text
It turns out Inn of Eden is a ghost inn.
There are no records of it anywhere – no previous owners, no construction papers, no documents, no archives at all. No one even knew what year it was built in. It was almost like the Inn of Eden was there all along, came into existence overnight without anyone having any memories of when it ever came to be.
Jeongguk got his wishes.
He came home with the same fanfare as a hero returning from war.
After so many years, Jeongguk was the one to finally put an end to it. He solved the mystery. He saved the town. The criminal is dead.
Jeongguk mentioned nothing about Jimin. He pushed forward Taehyung’s name and reported Jimin as an unfortunate collateral damage. No one questioned it.
The only one who posed a problem was Kim Namjoon, but after a private heart-to-heart with him, Jeongguk managed to convince him that it was not worth it. No one would believe him anyway and Jimin was dead already. There was nothing more to do. It was not worth it. They had to move on with their lives and so, they did.
Namjoon ended up in therapy – same as Jeongguk did, at his own request – and these days, he hears the professor is regaining his native speech too.
As per Jimin’s last wishes, Jeongguk went on to take actions for the benefit of the town. He demanded for tourism to be off limits, but he also used his connections to procure the people with proper plumbing and electricity. It would be the last thing he did for that small town before moving on.
That is, the last before he did one final thing.
After everything that happened, Jeongguk couldn’t help himself. There wasn’t anything rational about it, but he couldn’t sleep at night before he saw the town one last time – like confirming an illusion, or simply, like saying goodbye.
And so it is, not a week later, on a grey Friday, that Jeongguk finds himself walking the same grim pathways of the town that would mark his life forever. His arm is hooked on a sling and his legs are heavy as they carry him down the streets.
He meets all the people he did before, but this time, they don’t sneer at him.
They don’t recognize him either, but they are no longer distrustful or mean. They simply exist, minding their own business, content to go on with their easy lives. No one remembers the Inn of Eden. Jeongguk doesn’t ask, but he knows no one remembers Jimin either.
In the week that followed the incident, Jeongguk had plenty sleepless night to contemplate about everything that had transpired. He fit the puzzle pieces together – with everything his mind managed to register in those critical moments in the kitchen and with everything that was said between Jimin and Taehyung. He came up with the following explanation, plausible only when accepting a supernatural variable:
Jimin must have found a safe haven in this town. He became a guardian figure for these people, who in turn, treated him with the respect and decency he never got to experience before. He protected them, but he was also always aware and conscious of his true nature. According to Taehyung, he needed to feed – whatever that may mean – and so, he most likely only preyed on the outsiders, forever holding them here and as an extension, holding their tongues tied, willing them to be wary of strangers in the process too.
All along, Jeongguk thinks it was Jimin who chased off the young souls of this town, as to not bear witness to the deviant tendencies of his nature. He only kept the ripe souls here, stirring them towards religion and molding their minds into something modest and kind. He gave them purpose and he kept himself safe. It would not be farfetched for one to say that the true god the town’s folk were worshipping all along was Jimin himself.
But –
He will never know for sure. After all, these are bound to remain nothing but theories, hypotheses and assumptions.
In the end however, the only certain truth Jeongguk can conclude is that there were indeed two killers: both Jimin and Taehyung.
Taehyung who, in his efforts to tantalize and convince Jimin to return to him, was killing locals; and Jimin who, merely trying to keep himself alive, was claiming every wondering soul.
It was in line with the murder reports too. With a clear head, Jeongguk could see the signs. There were two killing methods, both so vastly different that he could do nothing but call himself stupid and blind. Taehyung killed mercilessly, shredded through his victims. Jimin was far more subtle, diplomatic even, as he coerced his victims into submission. Interestingly enough, it seemed like Jimin had a notable preference for the liver and heart, and Jeongguk just wonders how he never saw it.
Which is why, he ended up diligently reading on all the mythology Namjoon had suggested.
Gumiho – as Namjoon labeled Jimin – is a fox spirit. Ridiculous. Stuff of the fairytales, nothing to be associated with Jimin.
However, the books do not lie. They say: ‘Kumiho is often depicted as a female spirit set out to seduce men. They are beautiful creatures, otherworldly in their appearance, but do not be fooled. Should an entity like this approach you in your weakest moments, turn your gaze away and mind your merry way. They are as rewarding in nature, as they are deadly in goal. A malicious spirit such as a Kumiho does not seek to love, but to offer momentarily gratification as to reap benefits from. Kumiho fox spirits feed on souls and they do so, not only through fornication, but especially trough the connection of lips. If a Kumiho kisses you –“
But Jeongguk never believed in any of that, because he only ever believed in Jimin. He doesn’t care about what he was or what he was not, because he only knew of the Jimin who existed with him. Everything else is dust in the wind.
As for Taehyung, Namjoon had mentioned something about succubi. Or incubi? Jeongguk doesn’t know, certainly doesn’t care, but he got the gist of it. Sex demons – that’s what both Jimin and Taehyung adhered to.
Today, it doesn’t matter anymore.
Jeongguk passes by The Happy Lamb. He has a drink with mad Suzy who, akin to the others, does not know one iota of who he is, but she treats him with the same outrageous lasciviousness as before.
“White-collar, are you? Did daddy know a guy or two? You talk to your mother with that mouth?”
Jeongguk drank a Glengoyne in her wretched name and left a hefty tip for her sorrows. Her limp is obvious now, especially when she mentions another lifetime of spotlights and applauses. Jimin caught her in his web too. Just another victim.
Later, this understanding eases Jeongguk’s shock when he catches sight of Ewan, Guillaume and petite Célestine milling around on the same haunting paths.
They are on the other side of the street and they do not see him.
Guillaume certainly doesn’t, because his eyesight is impaired.
He is a blind man now, clutching on a walking stick as he holds onto his husband and listens to their daughter sing a pretty song.
Jimin.
Jimin left his mark all around.
For a brief, very fleeting moment, Ewan’s eyes catch Jeongguk’s.
There is no recognition there, Jeongguk doesn’t do anything, but –
It’s there.
The ghost of memory the body recollects.
The family sinks further down the streets, and the town swallows them from sight.
At final, Jeongguk makes his way to what was once the magnificent glory of Inn of Eden.
There is nothing left now, not even debris.
Jeongguk doesn’t know who cleaned out its ruins, because not even the soil bears any reverences of its memory. There is green grass blessing the earth, flowers erupting and stealing away any signs of its existence.
Jeongguk feels hollow inside.
He never experienced grief in his whole life and he does not like it. He never shed another tear for Jimin after he was transported in an ambulance back to Busan, but he thinks –
He thinks that’s only because tears are not quite fitting for what he lost with Jimin.
Inexplicably, there is huge chunk of life missing from him, a bottomless hole that can never be filled again. Jeongguk can’t process it, can’t define it, because it’s overwhelming to accept that a person who spent no more than four days and nights with him would impact his life and heart so much. No. Jeongguk much prefers to wrestle his mind and body into wiping away all memories of Jimin.
It’s not easy, of course, but all that he must face is that Jimin – whatever they had, whatever he was to him and for him – will be forever gone in a cloud of things that don’t quite exist.
Maybe it really was all a dream.
But no matter the reality of life, Jeongguk can only choose to keep Jimin’s memory tucked away in those corners of his heart where light doesn’t quite reach – fitting, maybe – and have him locked under key like the secret he will forever be. His own safe haven, that perhaps was never real to begin with, but –
“Ahh, Jeongguk-ssi!!!”
Jeongguk doesn’t startle anymore. He can’t. When he turns towards that cheerful laughter, he can’t even begin to show surprise when he sees Hoseok strolling leisurely up to him with his hands in his pockets.
The man is wearing the same green overalls as a week ago, but his truck is nowhere in sight.
“Hello, Hoseok-ssi,” Jeongguk greets monotonously. He finds it curious that he even recognizes him, but Jeongguk supposes Hoseok wasn’t from around these parts to begin with. “What are you doing here?”
Hoseok stops in front of him and looks at where the inn once was with something nostalgic in his eyes, but there is not much regret there. “Had some things I needed to pick up. What are you doing here?”
“I… “ Jeongguk doesn’t know anymore. He lifts up his good shoulder. “I guess I needed to see it one last time.” He doesn’t offer more explanations, but it seems like Hoseok gets it.
Either way, he doesn’t question it. “It really was something, wasn’t it?”
Jeongguk searches his face. “Yeah. Pity.” His tongue itches to ask about Jimin – about the loss – but he’s too afraid to. He can’t voice it. Can’t face the truth. Still doesn’t want to.
“It will be missed greatly, but there is no use in wallowing over the things we’ve lost.”
Jeongguk frowns at how ridiculous it sounds. “What?”
Hoseok’s smile gives nothing away. “I know you’re sad, but remember only this, Jeongguk-ssi. Endings are only new beginnings. Most of the time, at any rate. Take care now.” He tips his head with that and then leaves, just like that, whistling a merry tune under his breath.
Jeongguk is left standing there, aimlessly watching him go, but then he notices something on the ground. “Hey, you dropped something –“
But when he sees what it actually is, his heart stops dead in his chest all over again.
“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” Hoseok swiftly returns and bends down to pick up the lighter like it’s no big deal. He chuckles to himself. “Imagine if I lost this. Came all the way here for nothing. I’ll see you around, but not too soon I hope –“
“Is that Min Yoongi’s lighter?” Jeongguk can’t blink, can’t breathe as he stares at the same lighter he entrusted to Jimin a lifetime ago.
“Hm? Yeah, it’s for him. Jimin asked me to pass it along. Why?”
Jeongguk’s throat runs dry. “Min Yoongi? You know where he is? You’re in contact with him?”
It’s the first time Hoseok expresses anything less than joy, but he is not alarmingly bothered. He is only closed off as he walks away. “I’m in with contact with everyone, Jeongguk-ssi. Bye now.”
“Goodbye,” he trails off at a loss. “You sure must know a lot of people.”
Hoseok’s shoulders jerk with laughter as he disappears between the fir trees. “Yeah. The afterlife is pretty big.”
Jeongguk pretends he doesn’t hear him.
This town as it is, can keep all its mysteries to itself.
⚜
On the way back home, Jeongguk takes the farthest seat on the train. He huddles in the corner next to the window, keeping to himself as much as possible, away from the other passengers, though there aren’t an awful lot of them. Jeongguk just needs an illusion of space.
He needs to make room for this thoughts, because his life right now continues being a constant battle with his own self, and his mind is crippled of any sense or rationale.
He is well aware it’s going to be a long time before he can feel human again, but alas, Jeongguk can only keep fighting. It’s the only aspect of what makes him that never went away.
It’s dark outside now. Jeongguk can’t focus on any of the picturesque landscapes. What’s worse, he can only see his own reflection staring back at him with lifeless eyes.
He looks severely worn out, cheeks sunken and skin paler than usual. He didn’t lose weight, but his body feels frail like he did – like wind could blow right through him.
He palms a rough hand over his face, chasing away wondering thoughts before he slips down slippery slopes again.
He has a book with him – always carries one – but concentration is not his best friend right now. He has a coffee going cold next to him too and some old earphones, but no music. He has nothing in the end, so like the familiar habit it is, he resigns to watching people.
An elegant woman in her fifties is searching through her purse with poorly concealed frustration. She has no ring on her finger, but the skin is tighter and lighter where a wedding band once was. Chipped red nails – must work with her hands a lot. Eyebags under her eyes, but spastic light in her focused stare – Valium. The YSL jacket is a fake. The purse as well. Shoes are old. She’s middle class, trying to make it through the day. At least two adult children.
Behind her: A couple in their mid-thirties. His attire is athletic just for show. She is a big fan of bright colors and a flashy lifestyle, but trying hard to tone it down. Cares about people think. Cares about what his parents say a lot more. She tries to make a joke. He smiles, tight-lipped, eyes on his mobile phone all the while. The end of their relationship is near. Jeongguk gives it two more years of mental abuse.
Then: young parents with a young child – the kid might be experiencing symptoms of undiagnosed ADHD. There is days-old food on the mother’s blouse. The husband pretends to read a newspaper. Behind them: a girl in her mid-twenties, hyper focused on her writing. Her brow is furrowed, her lips are chapped raw. Shaky fingers. Anxiety. Tormented eyes, a heavy heart. Might be heartbroken. Some rows down: a boy with a dog. Small, a Maltese breed –
The lights start flickering.
Like a Pavlovian response, Jeongguk closes his eyes and settles his weight on his back, sinking into the train chair as he relaxes his mind – like letting loose a dog that’s still on a leash. Controlled.
They’re passing through a tunnel. It’s normal.
Everything has an explanation. It’s normal.
They make it out of the tunnel. The lights stop flickering. The unrelenting wheels of the train are a harsh gnash. It helps.
Jeongguk resumes his observations, clinical.
The dog is a Maltese. The boy is too young to be by himself on a train, but maybe life at home is hard. Jeongguk searches for signs of domestic violence. There are none. The boy’s eyes are clear, young, untouched.
But maybe he has no home. Maybe he’s on the road all by himself. He looks free enough for that. Maybe he’s a wondering spirit. Maybe he lives in the woods, or in the swaps outside Busan. Maybe he feeds on greenery and frogs for his dog. Maybe he’s a spirit, a guardian of –
Jeongguk tugs at his ear, scraps nails down his scalp.
The conductor comes just then. He asks for his ticket and Jeongguk shoves it in his direction with no aim.
The conductor accepts it, grunts and leaves, his gait so heavy that it seems to quake the whole train.
Maybe he’s a giant in disguise. A big soul left wondering through –
Jeongguk pinches his thigh.
He needs to stop. He needs to stop, stop, stop all these stupid fucking thoughts.
But he can’t.
How could he?
When it’s so easy for all these godless creatures to roam around them.
Who is he to say the woman in her fifties is not some centuries old witch? What proof does he have to not peg the unfortunate couple as some old gods living their fifth life? Or the parents – maybe the parents are those household spirits his grandparents used to scare him with when he wouldn’t finish his soup. The girl – maybe she’s a fucking blood-sucking flesh-eating vampire. The boy with the dog –
Jeongguk pinches his broken arm.
Breathe.
He’s broken. He is so fucking broken beyond repair and he doubts he will ever get his old life back. He wants to cry with it. He wants to weep and to sob and to wail. Why did this happen to him? What did he do to deserve such a merciless fate? Why did he have to be so greedy for praises and jump head first into shallow waters? Why does he have such a poignant hero complex that he was never enough even for his own self? Why did he have to meet Jimin?
Why, why, why does he have to go through this irrational grief and heartbreak and –
The lights start flickering again.
Jeongguk snivels and closes his eyes. It will be over soon.
Except it isn’t.
When Jeongguk opens his eyes again, the lights are still dancing across the ceiling. He is intrinsically scared, but his mind insists there is nothing wrong.
There is shuffling up ahead.
There is a person moving fluidly down the corridor, but Jeongguk can’t move his gaze from the staccato of bright beams.
Maybe he did lose his mind forever. Maybe he truly will never ever get it back.
“Is this seat taken, stranger?”
Jeongguk’s eyes shift senselessly to the side, mind too slow to process that familiar tonality. It’s thick molasses – that’s what his brain is – as he struggles to make sense of that pretty illusion in front of him.
Jimin is looking at him. His patient smile is mirthful, expectant, at peace. His mischievous eyes are battered, but alight as his whole being is. His hair is silver grey now, caressing down his nape. He has an undercut too, a display for his burnt skin.
Jimin is as beautiful as ever, if not even moreso.
He wears a dark green trench coat, but nothing else – no bags, or luggage, or otherwise with him. Jeongguk realizes what it is then – freedom.
Freedom becomes Jimin.
That’s what it is.
The voices in Jeongguk’s head quiet down. His heart stops beating so deafeningly. His fingers no longer shake.
He squishes closer to the window and finds himself smiling with ease, because he feels truly happy for the first time in his life.
“No. Join me, hyung. Sit with me.”
Jimin does and the film breaks.
Everything feels right again. There are no more worries.
And when their hands find each other again in this ruthless tempest of life, and their fingers intertwine like they belonged together all along, Jeongguk imagines this is what afterlife peace must feel like.
“Stay with me, Jeongguk-ah?”
Jeongguk swallows all of his anxiety and nods. “I will." It’s a promise he knows he can keep this time. He can’t help himself. He leans in and Jimin does the same and their lips finally meet again after an eternity of longing.
He is home. He is with Jimin.
The lights stop flickering and a new life regains its course again.
The End.