Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chaeyoung thinks they’re being dramatic. 

“It can’t be that bad,” she says one evening, perched on his balcony rail with her booted feet swinging back and forth. “It’s not as if Jimin’s running around getting himself stabbed every afternoon.”

It’s easy to say that when you’re on the outside looking in. Sure, Jimin doesn’t get himself stabbed very often (although there was that one night in the bar where he’d almost taken a knife in the ribs before Jungkook shoved him out of the way; a close call). Physical injury for either of them isn’t an everyday occurrence, but it’s just not as simple as that. 

The other day, Jimin bumped into a wall, and Jungkook felt the ghost of the bruise blossoming on his hip. Last week, Jungkook was miserable enough to try drowning it in drink until Jimin barged in and complained that he was getting drunk by proxy and knocked the bottle out of his hand. Jimin has headaches in the mornings, so now Jungkook has them, too. An old knee injury of Jungkook’s acts up when it’s cold, and on the days he limps, Jimin does, too. 

But the biggest problem is not the pain - it’s the pleasure. 

A week ago, Jungkook had woken in the middle of the night with heat under his skin and the familiar burn of arousal spreading through him. At first, he’d thought he’d gone and had a wet dream like he was a teenager again, but he couldn’t remember dreaming of anything, and the arousal had felt distant, elusive. Then he’d felt a jolt of embarrassment and realized none of it was his. Jimin was the one with the dream; Jimin was the one, now, feeling embarrassed. 

He’d had a hard time looking Jimin in the eye the day after. That night, partly for revenge and partly because he couldn’t get the feeling of Jimin’s arousal out of his head, he tried getting off. Jimin had been much less kind about it than him. He’d barged right into the room, mid-tug, and demanded that he stop. Then he’d flung a pillow at Jungkook and stormed right back out. 

They hadn’t been able to look each other in the eye the day after that, either. 

“You have no idea,” Jungkook groans, fixing Chaeyoung with a look so desolate he thinks even she might be moved to pity. 

A vain hope - Chaeyoung only scoffs. She leaps off the balcony in one neat move, boots barely making a sound on the marble floor, and skirts around him to slip into his suite. Naturally, she beelines for the table of fruit. “Well, this is all your fault in the first place, so I don’t know what you’re always complaining about.”

Jungkook trails after her, exasperated, snatching the apple out of her hand before she can bite into it, just to be mean. She picks up another. “What was I supposed to do, let him die?”

“That’s what an ordinary person would have to do,” she says, a little sharper than before, and Jungkook’s lips twist. 

She’s right, after all. Faced with a brother bleeding out on his bedroom floor from an assassin’s knife wound, an ordinary person could have done nothing. Press his hands to the wound, try to staunch the flow. Cry out for help. Drown in despair. 

But Jungkook wasn’t an ordinary person. He had saved Jimin’s life, and in doing so, he had bound them for the rest of their lifetimes - or, more accurately, he had bound Jimin to himself. Jimin’s life was now tied to his, and for the first time in his life, Jungkook had finally been forced to take a little care with himself. 

There would be no point to putting them through this if he went and got himself killed, only for Jimin to die with him. 

“Well,” Jungkook finally says, after the silence has stretched into the uncomfortable, “I guess I should have expected this, coming to you for comfort.”

“You should have,” she agrees, slouching in his favorite chair by the fire and putting her feet up. He sighs, dropping onto the plush carpet beside her, sprawling out. 

“So, how does it work then? Can he feel what you’re feeling right now?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Probably.” Jimin’s presence is a constant awareness on the edges of his mind. Right now, he doesn’t feel anything in particular, but if he reaches out, he can feel the muted tinge of Jimin’s hunger, along with a slight annoyance. “He’s hungry and annoyed right now.”

“Fascinating,” Chaeyoung says, in the way one might say about an oddly-colored rock. “So it’s feelings, not thoughts.”

Jungkook shudders at the idea. “Not thoughts, gods. No thoughts.”

“If he starts crying, do you start crying?”

“I don’t know,” he huffs. “I’ll let you know the next time he starts crying.”

Chaeyoung sits up, eyes brightening, and Jungkook already knows he’s going to hate whatever comes out of her mouth. “If he has sex, are you gonna feel it?”

Jungkook winces. That’s exactly what he’s been dreading. Jimin isn’t exactly sparing with his affections. He hasn’t been with anyone since the night their souls bonded, but it’s inevitable. He won’t deny himself forever. 

“Remind me why I let you in here?”

“Because I saved your life,” she says cheerfully. “Twice.”

“Right, well, remind me to hire an assassin so I can return the favor. Twice. We’ll be even, and I never have to see your face again.”

“Then who would you whine to about being in love with your brother?” Chaeyoung says sweetly. “You know everyone else would find that a little weird, right?”

“I’m not - ” Jungkook starts, frustrated, then cuts himself off in the face of Chaeyoung’s grin. She’s too good at getting under his skin. He has to stop letting her. “Alright, get out, or I’ll call the guards on you.”

She hops to her feet, taking her half-eaten apple with her on the way to the balcony. “Goodnight, Your Highness.” She delivers a mocking bow. 

“You can use the door,” Jungkook complains, but she’s already climbing over the railing. 

“I don’t think the king likes me very much. Better to be discreet.”

“That’s because you tried to steal everything you could fit in your jacket - ”

He can hear her laughter on the wind. With an exasperated sigh, he stands up and pulls on his coat. He isn’t going to anyone any good sitting here and moping. Soul bond troubles aside, Jungkook has a job to do. The king and queen didn’t adopt him to laze around like a real prince. He doesn’t have the luxury. 

Jimin still feels hungry. 

Jungkook winds his way through his suite and ducks his head out of the door, beckoning to a passing servant, who dips into a bow at the sight of him. “The Crown Prince is hungry,” he tells her. “Have the kitchens send him something to eat.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” 

She keeps her head lowered until he closes the door between them. He takes Chaeyoung’s way out - over the balcony, down the walls and through the gardens, where no one will see him. 

He doesn’t think the king likes him much, either. 

⏀

The thing about traveling between worlds is that the doors have to be in exactly the same location - exactly. Jungkook’s learned that the hard way. The door to Grey Seoul is a certain section of the wall that surrounds the palace. Jungkook had drawn the symbol on it with his blood - a simple circle with a line drawn through it. He finds the symbol now, hidden behind a towering plant, and tugs the knife from a sheathe on his hip. Carefully and quickly, he cuts his palm, wrapped his bloody hand around the medallion he had asked the president to give him last time he visited. Then he presses his hand and the medallion to the symbol and steps through.

Grey Seoul doesn’t have a king like Red Seoul does. They have a president who changes every five years, which the king finds to be quite troublesome. He’s always having to learn his way around someone new. Jungkook finds it even more annoying. He hates having to explain himself every time a new president takes office. It’s never an easy conversation to have; unlike Red Seoul, Grey Seoul doesn’t have a lick of magic. One can imagine an explanation of hello, I’m from the other Seoul - there are four - and I’ll be traveling as an ambassador between our worlds doesn’t go over too well . The previous president always briefs the new one, so they aren’t completely out of the loop, but nevertheless. It takes some convincing. Somehow Jungkook always finds himself doing parlor tricks. Conjuring a flame on his fingertip. Transforming a piece of paper into a bird. 

President Moon is waiting for him in the office when Jungkook steps through the door. He looks uncomfortable. They’ve been meeting for three years now, but Jungkook thinks part of the president still thinks he’s dreaming every time he shows up. 

“Morning, President,” Jungkook says, slipping the envelope out of his coat. He steps up to the desk and places it there. “Correspondence from His Majesty the king. He hopes you’re doing well and that the trade issues with Japan have come to a satisfactory conclusion.”

“Ah, good morning, Ambassador Jeon,” he says stiffly. Jungkook notices that he doesn’t move to touch the envelope. “I trust all is well in, ah, your part of the world?”

“Some minor issues, as always. I’m sure His Majesty has provided details in his correspondence.”

“Of course. Should I call for coffee, tea?”

“No, thank you,” Jungkook says, like always. “I’ll be heading back. Traveling takes a lot out of me, you understand.”

It doesn’t, but he could probably tell President Moon that pigs flew in Red Seoul and he would believe him. It’s a convenient excuse. Jungkook doesn’t like staying in Grey Seoul for long; it feels uncomfortable. Off-kilter. Jimin’s always telling him that if he were able to travel between worlds, he’d get up to all sorts of mischief in the other ones. 

Jungkook isn’t like Jimin. 

“I understand,” the president says. “Thank you, Prince Jungkook.”

“Have a good day, President Moon.” Jungkook bows and slips behind the curtain to find his way home - this time, he wraps his bloody hand around the coin he’d brought from his room and uses it to return. 

When he’s back in his own city, he stops at a stall for some lamb skewers, thinking he ought to treat himself after the rather miserable week he’s been having. Aside from two trips outside Red Seoul, there’s Jimin - always Jimin. Neither of them had slept last night. Jungkook had felt Jimin’s sadness flowing in waves through their bond, but there hadn’t been anything he could do about it. Sometimes it was what it was. The night came and sadness came with it. 

“What can I get you - ” the owner of the stall begins, then startles when she gets a good look at Jungkook. Her eyes widen in fear, and she drops into a bow. “Your Highness!” 

Jungkook is quite good at disguising himself, unlike Jimin, who thinks throwing a dark coat over his palace clothing is enough, but it doesn’t do him much good. His eyes always give him away - one black, one blue. The king’s Antari. The only person left in all of the four worlds who can travel between them. 

“Be easy,” he says. “Three skewers, please.”

She goes on about picking him the best cut of meat, and he nods politely until his food is finally boxed and handed to him. He walks away with a sense of relief, feeling like his detour for a reward turned into more of an ordeal than a reward. But when he starts on his first lamb skewer, he decides it was worth it. 

He finishes the skewers by the time he makes it back to the palace so that he doesn’t have to climb up to his balcony with a box tucked under his arm. He clambers onto the balcony a little gracelessly and slips inside, kicking his shoes off and shrugging out of his coat with a grateful sigh. 

“What took so long?”

Jungkook startles, hand going to his knife, but he knows that voice. He forces himself to relax. Jimin’s sprawled out on his bed like he hasn’t a care in the world. His shirt is half-untucked, the ties around his neck undone. Jungkook’s eyes flicker down to the line of his throat and away just as quickly. He’s become a study in controlling his emotions ever since the soul bond. 

“I don’t remember sending you an invitation.” Jungkook undoes his belt so he can untuck his own shirt, tossing it carelessly aside. He approaches the bed, eyebrows raised as he waits for an answer. 

Jimin doesn’t give him one, of course. He props himself up on his elbow, watching Jungkook’s approach, the long line of his body on display. Even though Jungkook knows it’s practiced, Jimin’s allure always feels so effortless. “I was thinking,” he says, and like with Chaeyoung, Jungkook knows the tone of voice that precedes nonsense, “if I got a tattoo, would it show up on your body, too?”

Jungkook scoffs. He sits on the bed, and Jimin doesn’t bother so much as scooting an inch aside. “You’re getting a tattoo?”

“I was thinking right here.” Smooth as a snake, Jimin’s hand darts down to lift the hem of his shirt up, revealing a generous strip of skin, his jutting hipbone and slender waist. Jungkook swallows harshly, looking away - control. Constant control. The last thing he would want is even a flicker of arousal to leak through their bond. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re going to see the needle, start crying, and run out of the room.” Jungkook lies down, Jimin’s lack of politeness be damned. Jimin still doesn’t move out of the way. Like this, they’re too close - Jungkook can feel the heat of his body. 

He feels the flash of Jimin’s irritation before he even speaks. “I will not!” He swats Jungkook’s stomach for good measure and then lies down, too, so that they’re shoulder-to-shoulder. “What took so long? You didn’t say.”

“You didn’t say why you came, either.”

“You didn’t ask. You only made a snarky comment about my needing an invitation, as if brothers need invitations to visit each other.”

“I stopped for lamb skewers.”

“You went to Grey Seoul?”

“Dropping off a letter.”

“I wish I could go to Grey Seoul with you.” Jimin’s voice softens to a murmur. He tosses his arm over his eyes, and Jungkook works hard not to look at the flash of skin revealed when his shirt tugs up. He chooses the safer option: admiring the sharp line of Jimin’s jaw, the lush set of his mouth. 

“It’s not very exciting,” Jungkook says honestly. “They don’t even have magic there.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” He shifts his arm up so he isn’t covering his eyes anymore, fixing them earnestly on Jungkook. “I think it would be nice to live in an ordinary place like that.”

Something inside Jungkook cinches tight. He hopes Jimin doesn’t feel it - he doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. Longing. Sadness. Pain, maybe. “If I took you to Grey Seoul, you’d just run away, wouldn’t you?”

“I’d make you come with me, of course.”

“Of course.”

“We could find somewhere to live. And something to do. You wouldn’t have to be Antari and we wouldn’t have to be princes, either.”

“Mm, royal duties taking a toll on you? Too many outfits to try on? Had enough massages?”

“Shut up!” Jimin shrieks, swatting at him again, but this time Jungkook grabs his wrists to stop him. Jimin twists out of his grab, attacking his sides, and he laughs, trying to shove him away, but he isn't trying too hard. Jimin gains the upper hand, pressing Jungkook’s wrists down onto the bed, hovering over him.

Jungkook falters. For a moment, Jimin fills his vision, flushed cheeks and heaving chest, hair coming loose from its bun to frame his face. He feels his heart thudding in his chest and wonders if it’s his own or a ghost of Jimin’s. 

Just as quickly as the moment starts, it ends. Jimin rolls off him, plopping onto his back again, both of them catching their breath. 

“I came to say thanks. For the food.” Jimin shifts, his shoulder brushing Jungkook’s, and Jungkook finds himself holding still. He stares at the canopy of his bed, waiting, because he can tell Jimin wants to keep going. “Even though it was weird and nosy and invasive.”

Jungkook scoffs. “Get a handle on your feelings, then. Your hunger was distracting.” 

“Block me out!” 

“You block me out.”

“I’m not the magician between the two of us, thanks. If anyone can come up with some sort of mind barrier, it ought to be you.”

“Right,” Jungkook says dryly. “I’ll get to work on that, Your Highness.”

He can feel Jimin glaring at the side of his head. In the beginning, he’d been furious. Hadn’t spoken to Jungkook for weeks. He’d been roped into this with no say in the matter, after all, and now his life essentially belonged to Jungkook - even if Jungkook would never be so cruel as to do something with that. 

It had been a difficult transition. Jungkook’s grateful that they even made it to where they can make jokes about it like this. 

“Father’s throwing me a ball next month,” Jimin says, an abrupt subject change, and Jungkook groans. 

“Not another one.”

“I’m the most eligible bachelor in the entire country, Jungkook, don’t you want me to settle down?”

Jungkook doesn’t dignify that with a response, knowing well Jimin’s feelings on the matter. As soon as he had turned 20, the games had begun. The earlier we start, the better , the queen was always saying. Since then, the balls are painfully frequent. It doesn’t help that Jimin’s 24 now and still hasn’t settled on anybody. 

“I’m tired of balls.”

“Unfortunately, I do need to find someone to marry,” Jimin says, propping himself on his elbow again so he can look down at Jungkook. “Unless you’re offering.”

Jungkook shoves him away, though he can’t help the way his heart stutters for the briefest of seconds. “I’m not coming, so you’re going to have to find someone else to frighten into marrying you.”

“What do you mean you’re not coming?” Jimin demands. 

“I’m tired of balls,” he repeats, and Jimin looks genuinely appalled.

“You’re a prince. You have to come.”

“Barely one,” he mutters under his breath, but Jimin catches it.

“Don’t say that. You’re part of this family. You know you are.”

It’s kind of him to always reassure Jungkook, but they both know it isn’t true. Jungkook had been 10 when he was brought to the royal family, Jimin 12. His birth parents had died when he was very young. He’d lived on the streets after that, until people began to notice his abilities, his eyes, and word spread all the way to the king himself. 

Being the last Antari makes Jungkook a very important tool, and what better way to use him than to keep him as close as a son?

“You have to come. You can be my escort,” Jimin decides, and Jungkook laughs in disbelief. 

“Well, that would certainly make you the talk of the city, like you always want. Attending a ball escorted by your own brother.”

“I think it would be sweet, actually. They might find it touching.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Jimin shifts onto his side, looking at him, and Jungkook stares resolutely at the canopy. He can feel Jimin’s breath tickling his shoulder. “It isn’t all that strange, you know. Wards marry the children of their guardians all the time.”

He doesn’t want to think too hard about Jimin’s implication, about the softness of his voice. “Am I a ward?” he says instead, dryly, and Jimin falters. 

“No, you aren’t, but - ”

He doesn’t finish, but Jungkook hears the unspoken. He’s supposed to be a son, but in the end, he is little more than the king’s ward. A tool.

“Well, if you want to marry me that badly, you better get in line. If you’re the most eligible bachelor in the country, then I’m the second.” He sits up and slips out of bed, heading toward his wardrobe. “Now go away, I’m tired.”

He strips his shirt off on the way, tossing it onto an armchair, and when he glances over his shoulder, Jimin’s staring. 

“Fine,” Jimin huffs, clambering out of bed and marching to the door. “You’re boring, anyway.”

⏀

Jungkook has to go to the ball, of course, because personal feelings aside, he bears the title of a prince. He holds the king’s surname. It’s just as miserable as he expected it to be. Of the two of them, Jimin is the most socially active at court, always making nice with everyone. Jungkook keeps to himself. He doesn’t feel like a prince, even if he is one; his duties as Antari are what he’s kept for. Not to attend tea parties. 

Then there’s the small fact that all these balls are thrown with the not-so-subtle intention of finding Jimin someone to marry. 

Today, though, Jungkook’s irritation is eased by the fact that Jimin seems more bored than he does. He isn’t prancing around the room flirting with everyone - he’s sprawled in his throne next to Jungkook’s, tossing a bauble in the air and catching it neatly each time. Jungkook can feel his boredom and annoyance through their bond. He’s been drinking all night, too, though fortunately Jungkook can only feel a bit of lightness through their bond.

Jungkook reaches over and chucks him under the chin. Jimin shoots him a look, still managing to snatch the bauble perfectly from the air before as it falls. “Go play nice. This party is for you, after all.”

“How come I have to play nice but you get to sit here and look all brooding all night?”

Jungkook finds himself grinning. “Brooding, is it? Maybe that’s my way of finding myself someone to marry.”

“If the way everyone’s always looking at you is any indication, it works.”

“Well, I’ve already claimed brooding. You have to be charming.”

“I’m tired of it. Let’s trade for the night.”

Jungkook sighs, getting up and straightening his finery. “Come on, they have your favorite treats down there. I checked.”

Seeing him up, Jimin finally acquiesces, following him down to the table of refreshments. Despite his mood, Jimin greets everyone they pass sunnily. Jungkook can’t be arsed to mingle but he knows Jimin will regret his mood later, when everyone is gossiping about him and his attitude. 

Jimin perks up a little at the sight of food, grabbing a glass of wine off a passing platter and downing it a little too quickly. Jungkook adjusts himself neatly to block him from at least most of the room’s view, knowing they’ll all have hawk’s eyes tonight. As soon as Jimin’s done with the first, he grabs another glass and downs that, too. 

“Hyung,” Jungkook complains. “Slow down.”

“I need this to be charming,” Jimin says ominously, then hands Jungkook a plate of the beef bites he likes before finding his own favorite treats. 

As soon as he’s made himself a plate and turned around, a handful of people are already beginning to approach, eager to speak to their prince. The eagerness doesn’t really apply to Jungkook. Being Antari tends to intimidate everyone. That doesn’t mean he’s never approached with interest; greed at making a match with someone as powerful as him tends to overshadow any fear. But still, it isn’t like it is with Jimin, the bright, lovable Crown Prince. 

Jimin entertains everyone sweetly and politely, although he’s clever about extricating himself from conversations with people he doesn’t like. Jungkook’s trying to edge out of the way, hoping he can sneak back to the throne and continue to be brooding for the rest of the night. He’s taking a few subtle steps away when Jimin’s hands darts out to clutch his sleeve, holding him there. His smile doesn’t falter as he continues to tell Lady Kim about the view from their summer palace. 

Jungkook sighs and stays. 

Jimin keeps refusing requests to dance. He’s made up some clever excuse about hurting his foot while out riding and not wanting to aggravate it. He’s good about finding everyone other partners. Oh, Lord Jung, won’t you dance with Lady Kim? I’d love her to tell you about her horse, it’s magnificent . Jungkook grabs himself a glass of wine and tries not to look as bored as he feels. 

But the conversations are mind-numbing and he can feel how annoyed Jimin is, too. He turns subtly back to the table of refreshments, angling his body so he can whisper, “Follow my lead.”

Jimin keeps on talking like he hadn’t said a thing, but when Jungkook makes himself another plate of refreshments and calls for Jimin to try one, Jimin excuses himself easily to come look. 

“Mm, I like that one better,” Jimin says, pointing at another dish. Jungkook takes a few steps over to look, then a few more toward the end of the table. 

“How about some of this?” 

Jimin sidles up next to him. “Hmm, why not?” 

Jungkook angles himself, glancing behind him, and then he shoves Jimin toward the curtain hanging before the servants’ exit. Jimin slips through like a ghost and Jungkook follows, and then they can finally breathe. Jimin bursts into giggles immediately. He’s more than a little drunk - Jungkook can feel it through their bond, and it’s making him feel dizzy, giddy. Jimin leans heavily against him as he laughs, pressing him against the marble wall. Jungkook’s hands fly to his waist on instinct, holding him steady. 

“I thought you were going to die out there,” Jimin giggles. “You should have seen your face.”

“You should have seen yours. Your smile looked taped on.”

“That was smart.” Jimin’s hands are resting on his chest. Jungkook grows abruptly aware of their proximity - Jimin’s almost flush against him, and Jungkook can feel the heat of his body where they touch. He hasn’t taken his hands away from Jimin’s waist yet. Doesn’t want to. His heart’s thudding hard in his chest and he knows Jimin can feel it. But he can feel Jimin’s too. Feel the way his dizziness suddenly grows, his breath catching. 

“Hyung - ” Jungkook starts, unsure of what to say but knowing he has to say something, has to break the oppressive silence. Has to push Jimin away, even though the last thing he wants to do is stop holding him. 

“You should ask me to dance,” Jimin blurts, and Jungkook falters. 

“You’ve been turning everyone down all night.”

“You should ask,” he says, again, and Jungkook’s heart clenches. 

“Won’t that be a scandal,” he murmurs. “The Crown Prince says he has an injured foot and can’t dance. Then he dances with his brother.”

“You’re not,” Jimin says, looking down, lashes casting shadows on his smooth skin. “Not really.”

Jungkook tries not to think about what he means. Tries and fails, because he can feel it, this thing between them that has been growing for so long, growing until it’s suffocating. Jimin’s right, in the end. They aren’t really brothers. 

“Your Highness,” Jungkook says, can’t help himself when he brushes his fingers along the slope of Jimin’s cheek. “May I have the next dance?”

Jimin brightens. He pulls away from Jungkook, and Jungkook misses his warmth immediately, feels the loss of him so acutely. “Thought you’d never ask.” 

He pops his head out of the curtain to make sure the coast is clear before he drags Jungkook out behind him. They stand by the refreshments table as if they’ve been there all along, where Jimin takes the chance to drink another glass of wine. When the next song begins, Jungkook takes Jimin’s hand and leads him onto the dance floor, where puts his hands on Jimin’s waist again, and Jimin winds his arms around Jungkook’s neck. 

“Don’t look now,” Jimin says, his voice coy and mischievous, “but everyone’s staring.”

“Perhaps wondering what magic I used to heal your injured foot.”

They start to dance, winding their way through the dance floor among the other couples. They have to stand close for the dance to work, only a breath of air between them. Jungkook can’t feel anything through their bond besides the result of Jimin’s drinking. It’s almost infuriating. He’s always trying to ignore Jimin’s overwhelming feelings leaking through, but right now, when he wants so desperately to know what he’s feeling, there’s nothing. 

“Could you do that?” Jimin asks thoughtfully. “Heal a foot.”

“I did save your life,” Jungkook points out. “I could probably heal a foot.”

“When I was fifteen and I broke my leg falling off my horse, you didn’t do anything.”

Jungkook casts an exasperated look to the ceiling as he lets Jimin go briefly to spin him before tugging him back into his arms. “When you were fifteen, I was thirteen and barely knew right from left.”

“That’s not true. You were always much smarter than me.”

“Well,” Jungkook considers. “I grew up on the streets.”

He feels it, finally - a hint of Jimin’s sadness. “Yes, you did.”

“Don’t look now,” Jungkook echoes, “but our parents are staring, too.”

“How long do you think the lecture will be?”

“Certainly longer than the one I got when they found out I snuck Chaeyoung into the last ball.”

“You danced with her three times,” Jimin says a little sourly, and Jungkook finds himself grinning. 

“Are you jealous?”

“Of course not. It’s just that you hardly dance twice a ball, and never with the same person, but you danced with her three times.”

“If you must know, it was to keep her out of trouble.”

“And yet she still managed to steal half the room’s cutlery.”

“I’m rarely successful when it comes to keeping Chaeyoung out of trouble.” Jungkook spins him again, and when Jimin comes back to him, he’s scowling.

“Your fault for sneaking her in when you knew she was going to cause trouble.”

“I was threatened.”

“With what?” Jimin says, eyebrows raised in amusement. 

Jungkook hesitates. Chaeyoung had quite colorfully told him she would love to tell Jimin all about how he’d gotten ludicrously drunk at the tavern one night - well before the soul bond - and fucked both the owner’s daughters. Come on , she’d said, I just want to go to one ball, is that so much to ask? He should have known that she’d only wanted to come to scope out the area, not out of some girlish desire to dress up and dance. 

“Uh, nothing,” Jungkook mutters, feeling his ears grow hot. 

They skirt around another couple, twirling neatly, and Jimin’s eyes widen and then narrow, like a hawk setting its sights on its prey. “What does she have on you? Tell me!” 

“Absolutely not.”

“Jungkook!” Jimin whines. “Tell me. I want to know.”

“We can’t have everything we want, hyung.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Jimin warns, determined, and the sad part is, he probably will find a way to extract Jungkook’s secret. 

They’re so caught up they’d hardly realized the next dance is beginning, and the couples around them are staring. Jimin giggles an apology, taking Jungkook’s hand in his and dragging him off the dance floor. 

“We’re going to be in so much trouble,” he says conspiratorially, reaching for another glass of wine from a passing servant. 

Jungkook snatches it from his hand before he can down it, too. “Oh, no, you’ve had quite enough.”

“Jungkook,” Jimin whines, clutching at his arm. Jungkook leads him expertly toward the side of the ballroom, where he’ll be less noticeable. 

“Whine all you want.” Jungkook places the glass back on another passing platter. “If you have to be carried out of here tonight, you’ll whine about it all week, and that’s worse.”

“You’re so mean.”

“Jimin,” says a voice behind them. “Your Highness.”

It takes Jungkook a moment to place the voice. Then he feels it flooding through their bond - Jimin’s surprise, despair, and discomfort. He tenses immediately, spinning around, and sure enough, it’s Jaebeom. The guy who’d broken Jimin’s heart two years ago when he’d courted him for months and then left without a word. 

Jimin turns, too, face shuttered. “Lord Park. You’re back in Seoul.”

Jungkook is far less inclined to be civil. He steps between them, a little too close to Jaebeom to be polite, using his height against him. He’d always liked the way he could tower over Jaebeom, even if the latter had refused to be intimidated. 

“You have a lot of nerve,” Jungkook hisses, “saying his name.”

“Jungkook,” Jimin warns, putting a hand on his arm. 

Jaebeom’s gaze slides to him, obvious in his dislike. “Still the prince’s guard dog, I see.”

“You’d best turn around and walk away, Lord Park.” The threat is clear in his voice, and he means it. Jimin had cried for weeks after he left, and Jungkook had vowed that if he ever saw him again, he was going to punch him right in the mouth. 

“I’d like a word with His Highness, if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind, actually, and if you don’t piss off, my fist is about to find your face.”

“Jungkook, stop,” Jimin hisses, fingers digging into his arm, but Jungkook feels almost blind with fury. Jimin had thought he was going to ask for his hand in marriage. Had been ready for it, and then he had left for his home without saying goodbye, and never turned around to say a word to the boy he’d left behind. 

“Are you going to cause a scene?” Jaebeom says, eyebrows raised. “Right here, in the middle of a ball?”

“Watch me,” Jungkook snaps, and then he pulls his arm back and clocks Jaebeom right in the face, just the way he’s been dreaming of for two years. There’s a crack and blood gushes from Jaebeom’s nose, and Jungkook feels absurdly satisfied. 

Behind him, he hears Jimin’s gasp of horror join with everyone else’s. 

Jungkook comes back into himself and realizes they’re at a ball, and everyone’s just seen him punch Jaebeom in the face, and still he can’t bring himself to really care. He stares at Jaebeom with cruel satisfaction as Jimin calls for a servant to bring towels and lead him away. 

“I’m sorry,” Jimin’s saying, dragging Jungkook out of the ballroom. “He’s had too much to drink, please excuse us.”

Jungkook lets himself be led, noting the way Jimin walks stiff and poised until they’re out of the room, large doors shutting behind them. He waits until he’s found them a secluded spot before he finally turns on Jungkook, shoving him hard. Jungkook feels the full force of Jimin’s fury through his bond and finally realizes what he’s done. 

“Jimin - ” he tries, but Jimin isn’t having it. 

“What is wrong with you?” he hisses. “How could you?”

“He deserved it,” Jungkook says, arrogant, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’d do it again.”

“This is my battle, not yours. You have no right.”

“No right to defend my brother?”

“I can take care of myself,” Jimin snaps. “All you’ve done is made it worse. However much you like to pretend you aren’t, you’re a prince. You can’t just do whatever you want.”

“Right,” Jungkook scoffs. “You’re one to talk.”

“I’m not the one who just punched a lord in front of everybody!”

“No, you just lied about an injury and danced with your brother .”

“That’s not the same thing!” Jimin cries, flinching at the sound of his own voice. He looks around them, lowering his voice with effort. “Are you being obtuse on purpose?”

“Isn’t it the same thing? They’re going to be talking no matter what. Why is it that you get to run around doing whatever you want, but when I do, I’m the problem?”

“You’re doing this on purpose.” Jimin’s voice is flat, his eyes hard. “We were having a good night, so you’ve gone and ruined it like you always do. What are you so scared of?”

Anger floods Jungkook’s veins and he takes a step toward him, hissing, “I was trying to protect you.”

“Well, I didn’t ask you to. I never have.”

Jungkook knows what he’s getting at. What he’s always getting at. “Next time you’re about to die, I’ll just let you, then.”

“Good,” Jimin spits, turning away from him, and Jungkook’s pissed and he isn’t ready for the conversation to be over yet. He grabs his arm, pulling him back in, and Jimin snatches his arm out of his grasp, stepping back. 

“I don’t get what you’re so angry about,” Jungkook says, frustrated. “You hate him. He deserved it.”

“I know that. Do you think I don’t know what he deserves?” Jimin demands. “I’m the one whose heart he broke. Not yours.”

“Then what’s your problem?”

“I asked you to stop. You didn’t listen to me. And now they’re not going to be talking about you or Jaebeom or anything he’s done - they’re going to be talking about me.”

Jungkook falters, his clenched hands loosening. 

“It’s just going to be - just going to be, so it’s true, he abandoned the Crown Prince and broke his heart and isn’t it pathetic, getting left behind like that? It’s what he deserves, sleeping with half the court - ”

He stops himself, jaw set tight. His anger is fading. There’s only this heavy feeling, now. This sadness. “Jimin,” Jungkook murmurs, stepping forward, but Jimin stiffens, taking a step back. 

“Go back to your room.” He dashes at his eyes, fixes his clothes, and starts to walk back to the ballroom. 

“Hyung, I’m sorry,” Jungkook calls, but Jimin doesn’t look back. His figure grows smaller as he grows distant, walking with the same poise as before, like there’s nothing wrong at all. A prince through and through. Not like Jungkook, the pretender. 

He swears, spinning around and driving his split knuckles into the wall. He realizes, belatedly, that Jimin will feel the pain, too. He swears again, running a hand through his hair, and wonders how he’d fucked everything up so royally. 

⏀

It’s well after midnight when Jungkook feels it. 

He’s been pacing his room since he returned, furious both with Jimin and himself, running through the things he should have said and the way he wished he’d acted. He shouldn’t have done it in public. He knows that. Jimin’s right, and there’s going to be hell to pay from his parents, with whom he’s already perpetually on thin ice. 

But more than that, Jimin had asked him to stop, and he had ignored him. 

So he’s feeling bitter and miserable and he can feel Jimin’s anger through their bond, which makes the sudden jolt of arousal all the more surprising. He falters in his pacing, frowning, wondering if he’d imagined it - but sure enough, he can feel the muted intensity of it. Jimin’s pleasure. 

For a second, he’s disbelieving. Here he is in the midst of his self-flagellation and Jimin’s perfectly unconcerned, getting off like it’s any other night. But that can’t be it - up until a few seconds ago, Jimin had been furious. He had felt it.

His arousal’s getting uncomfortable, has Jungkook feeling it by proxy, and he makes sure Jimin can feel how irritated he is. He considers calling for a tub of cold water so he can sit in it and make Jimin feel that, but it isn’t worth his own discomfort. 

It isn’t until ten minutes later, when Jungkook’s seriously considering marching down the hall to confront Jimin, that he starts to feel something new. A lot of new feelings, and all of them physical, and it dawns on him in a horrifying wave of understanding. 

Jimin’s getting fucked. 

He can feel it everywhere. The fullness inside him, the ghost of bruises on his hips and his throat, the twinge in his scalp. He feels sick, leaning heavily against the wall. He can’t do anything but imagine it: Jimin on his knees, someone else’s hand in his hair, his body jolting with every thrust. His cheeks flushed and eyes lidded. He hopes it isn’t Jaebeom. If it’s Jaebeom, he’s going to run him through with his sword the next time they see each other. 

For a brief, crazed moment, Jungkook considers doing exactly that: barging into Jimin’s room and killing the man who’s fucking him. 

He forces his hand away from his sword and grits his teeth, head dropping back to rest against the wall. He makes sure Jimin feels every excruciating pulse of his fury. He could do it. Barge in and give him a piece of his mind, like he had done when Jungkook had only tried getting himself off. But the thought of seeing Jimin like that, under another man - Jungkook really will do something rash. He knows it. 

Instead, he drives his split knuckles into the table and hopes Jimin feels it. 

Eventually, he can’t help it. The ghost of Jimin’s pleasure is too intense to ignore and he’s painfully hard, no matter how much he tries to ignore himself. In the end he wraps a hand around his cock and works himself to the edge, hating every second of it. He comes when Jimin does - the combined pleasure is too much, has him gasping, tears springing to his eyes. He knows Jimin will have felt him, and he hates that, too. 

He cleans himself up and goes to the door. At the dark look on his face, both his guards cower. 

“I need one of you to inform me when the guest leaves the Crown Prince’s rooms. You are to be discreet, do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Yeonjun mutters with a bow, looking nervous, and runs to do his bidding. 

Then Jungkook settles in to wait. 

It isn’t long. Apparently the sex isn’t good enough for more than one round, or maybe Jimin has decided that his goal of making Jungkook miserable has been accomplished. Yeonjun knocks on the door to inform him that the guest has just left.

“Who was it?” Jungkook demands, and Yeonjun looks like he’s seconds from quaking. 

“I, uh, don’t know his name, Your Highness.”

“Was he short?”

“No, Your Highness, he was a little taller than, uh, you.”

Jungkook scoffs. He brushes past Yeonjun and heads down the hall to the other corner of the West Wing, where Jimin’s suite is. Taller than him. He hadn’t bothered changing after the ball, too furious, and he’s still in his finery, ceremonial sword belted at his waist. The servants and guards who pass him are too polite to stare, but he’s sure he looks like a sight. It’s only a few hours until dawn. 

The guards outside Jimin’s door snap to attention at the sight of him. “Your Highness,” Taehyun says, “would you like me to announce you - ”

“That’s not necessary.” 

“But Your Highness - ” he falters, and the small part of Jungkook that hasn’t gone completely out of his mind feels guilty for putting them in this position. They shouldn’t be letting anyone into Jimin’s rooms without asking first. But Jungkook is the prince, too, and Antari on top of it. They can’t say no to him, either. 

But that’s only a small part of him. The rest of him is feral, pounding at the edges of control, and so he brushes past Jimin’s guards and enters his room without so much as a knock. Jimin’s standing by the table, pouring himself a glass of water. He jumps at Jungkook’s entrance, shoulders stiffening, and Jungkook knows that after the kidnapping, after the near assassination, he hates to be snuck up on. 

“What the hell was that?” Jungkook demands, and Jimin turns around. He’s only wearing a long, loose shirt, his legs bare, his throat bare. He’s still flushed. His hair is in disarray. Jungkook feels his anger swell at the sight of him, yet it’s tempered by longing. 

“Get out. I didn’t say you could come in.” Jimin’s voice is cold, but Jungkook only laughs, bitter. 

“Don’t. We both know this is exactly what you wanted.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He sets the jug down, taking a sip of water before setting the glass down, too, and folding his arms over his chest. “Care to explain why you’re in my rooms at this time of night?”

“If you care to explain why you found someone to fuck you just to piss me off.”

Jimin winces, then schools his expression back into coldness. “Don’t flatter yourself. If this is about the bond, I wasn’t going to stay celibate forever, and neither were you. If you’d like to go out and find yourself someone to fuck , be my guest - ”

“You know that isn’t what this is about. This is about you toying with me, like you always do.” His voice rises and he tries to keep it down, hands clenched so tightly he can feel his nails digging into his palms. He’s tired of this. Tired of the way they dance around each other. Tired of the way they hurt each other. 

“I’m not toying with you - ”

“Yes, you are,” he says with a weary finality. “You always are. You do everything in your power to keep me looking at you, and when I am, you push me away like I’m nothing.”

Some of Jimin’s cool composure breaks. He takes a step back, clutching the table behind him. “What are you talking about?”

“You must know,” Jungkook says, and his heart aches, and he knows Jimin can feel it. Wants him to feel it. “You must know, and still you did this to me.”

“Know what?” Jimin says, barely a whisper, his eyes searching Jungkook’s face. 

There’s no confusion leaking through their bond; Jimin knows. If he wants to hear it out loud, he isn’t getting it. He’s kept it secret long enough, and he isn’t going to give it up now, not at a moment like this. Not when Jimin’s goading him into it.

“I’m not some fool you met at the ball,” Jungkook says, taking a step back. “You don’t get to manipulate me like you manipulate them.”

“You sound like you hate me.”

Jungkook thinks about Jimin lying on his bed, the long line of his body, his undone collar. Unless you’re offering . “Sometimes,” he admits, “I think I do.”

He feels the flash of pain through their bond as acutely as if it were his - and maybe it’s his, too. Jungkook turns away from him and leaves the room, forcing his fists to unclench, flexing his aching fingers by his sides. There’s no use going back to his rooms, no use trying to sleep. He’ll just be pacing until dawn. He returns only to change out of his finery. Then he leaves the palace, riding to one of the taverns he knows will be open all night. 

Sure enough, it’s bright and rowdy despite the late hour. Jungkook leaves his horse in the stables and enters, keeping the collars of his coat high around his face. The tavern owner recognizes him right away but is discreet as always, having his drink sent over to a table in the corner where Jungkook can remain largely unnoticed, so long as he doesn’t look anyone in the eyes. 

He’s on his fourth drink when he hears a familiar voice. He can feel Jimin’s misery bleeding through their bond and it’s making him feel twice as miserable. The skin of his face feels like it’s sagging. 

“Who took a shit in your dinner?” 

It’s Chaeyoung, of course, plopping down in the seat across from him and stealing his drink for herself. She raises her eyebrows at him and he groans, passing a hand over his face. 

“Let me guess.” She takes a swig and makes a face, sliding the mug back over to him. “Was it your brother?”

“Fuck off. I’m not that in the mood.”

“When has that ever stopped me?”

“I’m going to take a shit in your dinner.”

Chaeyoung, as always, is completely impervious to his threats. “So, what’d he do?”

Jungkook groans again, knows she won’t leave him alone until he gives her something. Part of him wants to give her something. The feelings are growing too heavy for him to hold all on his own. “He’s a bitch.”

She barks a laugh. “I could have told you that.”

“Don’t say that about him.”

“You’re kind of a bitch, too.”

“I know,” Jungkook sighs. “Comes with being a prince, I think.”

“You’re not really a prince. You’re just pretending.”

Jungkook startles. Even through the fog-haze of his drunk brain he feels a shift, sitting up to look at her. “What?”

She shrugs, looking away, and he stares at her unconcerned profile. It probably doesn’t mean much to her. Probably something she has thought of more than once. But to Jungkook - for a moment, he feels painfully seen. 

Everyone’s always trying to reassure him. Insist that he’s a prince, that he’s son to the king and queen. It’s only ever been him, bitter and lonely, who feels so uncomfortably out of place. Chaeyoung understands. She knows he’s only pretending. 

His brooding thoughts are interrupted by a sudden pain in his arm. He mutters a swear, bringing his forearm up to the light, but there’s nothing there. Just as he begins to wonder, the pain returns, and he feels a line drawn into his skin. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, and Chaeyoung looks over. It takes him a moment to understand, but when he does, his eyes widen. Then he squeezes them shut and focuses. 

The lines are forming letters. 

He grits his teeth, panic clawing its way up his throat - he can’t imagine what could be happening if Jimin is choosing this way to reach him - but as the marks continue to form, he realizes what Jimin’s trying to spell. 

Sorry . 

He leans back, laughing in disbelief. Chaeyoung’s staring at him, looking vaguely disturbed. The word is complete, though the echo of pain is still there. “What on earth is wrong with you?” she demands.

Jungkook laughs again. His anger hasn’t faded entirely. It’ll take more than this to heal the rift between them, but still. It’s something. It’s surprising and it’s something and suddenly Jungkook misses Jimin so much it hurts to breathe. 

“I’m going back,” he announces, standing up. He’s a little dizzy and remembers, abruptly, how much he’s been drinking. 

“Probably shouldn’t ride like that,” she says wryly,

Her following quip doesn’t reach Jungkook’s ears, because suddenly he’s filled with choking terror. It suffocates him so quickly he stumbles, grabbing onto the table for support, vision swimming. He’s terrified, every muscle in his body poised to flee, even though there’s no visible threat. The feelings are so overwhelming that it takes him a moment to understand. When he does - 

“Jimin,” he hisses, and then turns to run out of the tavern. 

He stumbles out of the door and would go right to his knees if it weren’t for Chaeyoung close at his heels, catching him and holding him steady. 

“Something’s wrong,” he tells her, and she steers him toward his horse in the stables. 

“You need to sober up if you’re going to make it back in one piece,” she says, and promptly dunks his head in the horses’ water trough. He splutters, but the cold water knocks a little bit of the haze away, and he emerges with a gasp. 

He’s still too out of it to ride, but he needs to get back, needs to find Jimin. The fear is still there, and it’s hard to think past it. “Not enough,” he manages. 

“Can’t you use your magic?” 

He tries to think, but he can’t use his brain. Chaeyoung can tell. She takes him by the shoulders and shakes him. 

“Hey. Get it together. Do you want to get to Jimin or not?”

He puts his head in his hands and tries to focus. He breathes past Jimin’s cloying fear, reminds himself that he’s alive at least, and tries to draw upon the power inside him. He doesn’t quite know what to do with it, but magic has always been more feeling than anything else, so he tries to feel. When he opens his eyes, enough of the haze has cleared that he can stand and mount his horse. 

“I’ll follow,” Chaeyoung assures him, giving his horse a firm pat just as Jungkook urges him onward. 

He rides hard and fast through the city. He wishes, for the first time, that their bond was telepathic. That he could tell him, now, that he’s coming. That he isn’t alone. He tries to send him reassurance but it doesn’t help that he’s panicking, too. All he can think is that this can’t happen again. Not again. 

When Jimin was 16 and Jungkook 14, a group of rebels had kidnapped Jimin and demanded ransom from the king. Their father hadn’t allowed Jungkook to be involved in the search, despite the advantages offered him by his magic. He had thought Jungkook was too young, nearly a child still. 

But Jungkook had been the one to find him. He’d rescued him off a ship in the middle of the night and brought him home. Jimin, in his infinite generosity, had pardoned the kidnappers. I don’t want them to die , he’d told his father, and the king had allowed it. 

Jungkook had gone back in the night and killed them all. 

Six months ago, an assassin had snuck into Jimin’s room while he was sleeping. Jimin had woken up just in time to put up a valiant fight. He was a prince, after all, and he knew his way around a sword. The guards outside his door had been dead before the assassin entered, but the racket Jimin created was enough to bring more their way, along with Jungkook, running into his rooms barefoot. 

He’d been too late. The assassin had driven the knife between Jimin’s ribs, angled upwards, and Jimin had collapsed to the ground in a pool of blood. In the ensuing chaos, one of the guards had killed the assassin, while Jungkook had fallen to his knees and cradled Jimin’s head in his lap. 

He had watched the light leave his eyes. Watched him die. And as he died, Jungkook had felt power like he had never felt before, and he had begged it to save him. 

Not again. He can’t do this again. 

As soon as the palace is within sight, he begins to shout. “The Crown Prince is in danger! Find the Crown Prince!” 

The guards stare at him in shock, not expecting the Antari prince to come riding up with the dawn, but Jungkook has no patience for them.

“Go!” he shouts, and they scramble to do his bidding. 

The palace is in an uproar by the time he rides into the courtyard and leaps off his horse, dashing inside. He grabs a passing guard for news, and she tells him in a voice full of panic, “He’s gone.”

Jungkook swears, letting her go, and marches through the halls to find his parents. He doesn’t have to go far - King Hajun is storming down the hall toward him, a coat thrown hastily over his nightclothes. 

“What do you know?” he asks, steering him toward the throne room. 

“Only that suddenly he felt afraid. I rode back as fast as I could.”

“And you were in the tavern getting drunk.” 

The king’s tone is mild, but Jungkook feels the shame wash over him all the same. “I am sorry, Father.”

Hajun takes his seat on the throne, beckoning for his Captain of the Guard to join them. “His rooms are upturned. They took him out the balcony. There are marks of a grappling hook on his balcony. Can you feel him, still?”

“He’s scared.”

“Captain. I want search parties dispatched immediately. They can’t have gotten far.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Captain Lee bows and leaves the room. Jungkook can hear him barking orders down the hall. 

“Jungkook.” His father reaches out to take Jungkook’s arm, his grip firm. “Find him.”

Jungkook nods. “I won’t rest until I do.”

⏀

Chaeyoung is waiting for him in the courtyard, crouching between two shrubs. He meets her there, urgency like fire in his veins, though the intensity of Jimin’s fright seems to have ebbed. Jungkook hopes that means they’re treating him well. If they want a ransom for a prince, they’ll need him in one piece, after all. 

“He’s gone?” she confirms, likely having extracted the whole story from someone already. 

“I’m going now to look for him.”

 She nods. “I’m coming. They’ll be taking the northern road through the forest. You don’t know it as well as I do.”

His brow furrows. “How do you know?”

“It’s the smartest way to go. Hardly anyone travels that way, and it’s dangerous for any pursuers, too. Meet me by the crossing.”

Jungkook doesn’t waste more time. He squeezes her shoulder briefly to show her how grateful he is before he shoots for the stables, saddling his horse and riding out of the palace gates, around to the crossing where the eastern road meets the northern. Chaeyoung might be prickly, but she’s incredibly loyal - the only person he trusts to have his back in a fight other than Jimin. 

She had saved his life twice - he had been traveling alone on an errand for the king, something only Antari could do. He’d been beset by bandits, too dark for them to see his eyes and realize who they were attempting to rob. Chaeyoung had realized. She’d been following him from his stop in the last town - probably hoping to steal something, too. But in the end, he had been outnumbered, and she had helped him. 

He isn’t really sure what drove her to do that. She isn’t the type of person who goes out of their way to help strangers. But she had saved him, and then she had taken him to a nearby acquaintance’s house to help him recover from the knife he’d taken to the ribs, too. If the bandits hadn’t killed him, the wound most definitely would have. 

Once, his mother had told them that fate brings them to the people they need. She had meant it to explain how he had ended up as part of their family, and back then, he hadn’t been cynical enough to doubt her words. He thinks she’s right, though. Fate had brought him and Chaeyoung together. Fate had brought him to Jimin. 

She makes it there mere moments after he does. He chooses not to comment on the very obviously royal steed she’s riding, and they set off down the road. They ride hard, and being on the road settles some of Jungkook’s anxiety. So far, Jimin is alright, and they have direction. 

They’re nearing the forest when Jungkook’s arm begins to itch. He rubs it on his leg, trying to sate the itch without having to stop, but it’s spreading to a burning and he frowns. He slows down, tugging his sleeve up, but there’s nothing there. 

“Stinging nettle,” he says, realization dawning, and Chaeyoung slows down, too, turning her horse to join him. “He’s touched stinging nettle.”

Her eyes flash. “He’s smart, your brother.”

He feels a flash of pride at that. “Know where some might be growing in these woods?”

“I know exactly where they’re taking him,” Chaeyoung says. “We have to wait until nightfall.”

Jungkook opens his mouth to protest, immediately unsettled at the thought of leaving Jimin alone for so long, but Chaeyoung beats him to it. 

“Listen to me. They haven’t hurt him yet, which means they aren’t going to. He’s precious cargo. They can’t travel forever. They’ll have to make camp, and I have an idea of where they’re going to do it. We wait until nightfall, and we ambush them.”

Waiting ten hours for night to fall fills Jungkook with unbearable anxiety. He can hear his father’s voice in his ear - an ambush is not the way of a warrior with honor . But he sees the sense in her words, and he knows that now, more than anything, he needs to be sensible. It isn’t something he’s good at. Jungkook acts, doesn’t think, but if he messes this up, he could put Jimin’s life in danger. 

“Fine,” Jungkook mutters. “But if I feel anything wrong from his end, we’re going in.”

She nods. “Can you send word to the palace? We could use a few soldiers on our side. I doubt they’ll be traveling with more than a handful of people, but we might need the backup still.”

Jungkook steers them off the road, finding a place where they can dismount. He sits on the root of a sprawling tree and tears off a strip of his white undershirt. Carefully, he fashions the folds into something resembling a crane. Then he raises it to his lips.

“Need three soldiers. Northern road. Discretion advised.”

He blows lightly, and the crane takes flight. They watch it soar above the treetops. It’ll go directly to the king.

“I’ll be able to sense their exact location when we get closer,” Jungkook says, and Chaeyoung nods. 

“Let’s keep moving, then. We shouldn’t let them get too far ahead.”

They follow Chaeyoung’s route through the forest. It’s not long before they stray from the road entirely, and Jungkook’s amazed at her ability to map out their location so easily. She always seems to know exactly where they’re going. Before long, the king’s soldiers catch up to them, having followed their tracks through the woods. Jungkook advises them of the plan, and they fall in line behind them. They pass the stinging nettle, and in his mind’s eye, Jungkook can see Jimin raising bound hands to brush his arm against the leaves. 

It takes another hour for Jungkook to finally begin to pick up on the presence of Jimin and the kidnappers. He can feel the pulse of their energy when he focuses, and it brings him a great sense of relief. Chaeyoung’s hunch was right. They’re on the trail of the kidnappers, and they’ll have Jimin soon, too. 

They follow them for hours. The sun rises high in the sky and begins to ebb. The foliage is lush and provides the perfect cover. They remain far enough to avoid detection; Jungkook’s magic works over a fair distance, and as long as he can feel them, that’s all they need. 

They’re deep in the forest when night falls, guided only by Jungkook’s magic and Chaeyoung’s insight. He can tell the soldiers are growing uneasy. At last, Jungkook senses that the kidnappers have stopped. 

“Setting up camp,” he murmurs. “We wait another two hours, and then we get close.”

The waiting is the hard part. Jimin’s so close and yet they have to wait. He doesn’t feel anything through their bond beyond the quiet hum of fear that he’s felt all day. Jimin is afraid, as anyone would be, but he’s calm. Jungkook tries to calm himself, too. 

Two hours feel like an eternity, but they pass, as time always does. Then they make their move, leaving their horses behind and creeping through the undergrowth. They’ve made camp in a clever location, exactly where Chaeyoung had expected them to: on top of an outcropping where there is a clearing of trees, leaving the surroundings visible on all sides. 

“Wait,” Chaeyoung whispers, and then she breaks away from the trees, darting toward the outcropping. 

Jungkook bites his lip to keep from calling out to her, wonders if she’s lost her mind - but she’s like a shadow, sliding along the ground on her belly, pressing herself to the rocks to keep out of sight. Then she disappears, and Jungkook waits with bated breath. Whatever she’s up to, he knows they’ll need to be prepared. 

He hears a flurry of panicked whinnies and then their horses are darting all over the place, down the outcropping and into the woods, across the camp. Jungkook could laugh - clever as always, Chaeyoung has created the perfect distraction by setting their horses loose and frightening them. 

He watches a pair of men run into the woods after them; he and the king’s soldiers stay perfectly still, pressed to the ground, until he sees Chaeyoung come down the rock again. She beckons, and they follow, creeping along after her. She leads them up the rock face, where the handful of men left are either sitting by the fire or staring over the edge of the outcropping, muttering amongst themselves. 

“Fucking horses, no wonder we bought them so cheap - ”

And then Jungkook’s eyes land on Jimin, and his heart clenches in his chest. 

They’ve bound his hands but not his legs - Jungkook’s willing to bet he talked his way out of that. He’s sitting on a log by the fire, sandwiched between two men, his back straight and the tilt of his head as arrogant as ever. If it weren’t the ever-present hum of fear coming through their bond, Jungkook wouldn’t think he was afraid at all. 

Chaeyoung throws the first knife. 

It lands in the back of one of the men looking over the edge, and then the camp bursts into chaos. Jungkook goes for Jimin first, knocking a man out of the way. The two men on either side of them are up with their swords out, and Jungkook pulls his knife from his belt and throws it. Jimin raises his bound hands in the air and catches the hilt of the knife between them. Then he spins and drives it into the ribs of the man on his left while Jungkook takes the one on his right, delivering a heavy kick to his torso and disarming him on the next strike. He runs him through with his sword and moves on to the next one. 

Jimin cuts himself loose and they fight back-to-back. Hearing the chaos, the men who had run after the horse return to fight, but by then they’ve already cut down most of the camp. Dealing with the stragglers is easy. The soldiers tie up two of them for questioning - the rest are dead. 

Finally, Jungkook turns to Jimin. They’re both covered in blood, and he can see the events of the day finally catching up to Jimin - his face pales, and his hands are shaking. He stands there, staring back at him, until Jungkook steps forward and pulls him into his arms. Jimin’s stiff, and then he melts, clutching desperately at Jungkook’s shirt, his body trembling like a leaf. Jungkook holds him tight, feels the solid warmth of him and is infinitely grateful for it. He rocks him gently, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“I’ll always find you,” he murmurs. 

He can feel Jimin’s relief, his horror, through their bond. It echoes his own. Again and again, they find themselves here. He couldn’t bear to watch it happen again. 

“Take me home,” Jimin says, his words soft on the wind, and Jungkook nods. 

“Let’s go.”

⏀

Jungkook has lost track of how long he has been sitting on the floor outside Jimin’s suite, head lolling against the wall. First it was the physician, and then his parents. He’s been waiting his turn for so long, he feels like he’s going to lose his mind. 

“He keeps asking for you.”

The king and queen are standing in the doorway. Jungkook scrambles to his feet. 

“He’s been told to rest, but he won’t until he sees you.” There’s something disapproving in the king’s voice. 

“Go on,” says his mother, and her eyes are much gentler than her husband’s. 

He bows to them until they turn away, and then he slips into Jimin’s room, heart in his throat. Jimin’s sitting up in his bed, changed and cleaned up, looking soft and vulnerable - something he rarely allows anyone to see. Jungkook hovers in the entry to his bedroom, suddenly nervous. The kidnapping hasn’t erased everything that happened before it. 

He clears his throat. “How are you feeling?”

Jimin’s lips twist in annoyance. “I’m fine . They’re insisting I stay in bed and I’m not even injured.”

“You’ve been through an ordeal,” Jungkook says gently. 

“Yes, well. I’m getting used to it, aren’t I?”

He sounds bitter. Jungkook keeps his thoughts to himself: that if the king did a better job of stamping out his opposition, rather than showing them grace, maybe this wouldn’t keep happening. The kidnappers had been paid by one of the most prominent lords in the king’s council. Jungkook had been present for part of the interrogation.

He’s been silent too long. Jimin’s face is pinched tight, though he’s keeping his feelings safely guarded from Jungkook. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “You’ve saved me again.”

“You don’t need to thank me.”

Jimin casts his gaze downward, lashes long against his skin, and Jungkook takes a tentative step further into the room. His eyes flash up at that, and he looks uncharacteristically shy as he pats the space next to him. “Will you - will you sit with me?”

Jungkook takes off his shoes and joins him on the bed, crossing his legs beneath him. Jimin sits to mirror him, knee-to-knee. When they were younger, sometimes they had snuck into each other’s rooms to sit like this, covers pulled over their heads as they told each other ghost stories. The endgame was always to see who grew scared the fastest. It was almost always Jimin.

Jungkook reaches out and takes Jimin’s forearm in his hands, undoing the ties on his sleeve so that it falls open at his elbow, leaving his skin bare. Sure enough, the scratches are there. Sorry . They’re scabbing over, but Jimin had cut deep enough to bleed, the only way he must have been sure the feeling would cross over to Jungkook. 

With a touch light as a feather, Jungkook traces the marks. 

“Did you feel it?” Jimin asks softly. 

“I was on my way to you when you were taken.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know - don't know what I was thinking, not that there’s any excuse. I wanted to hurt you and I did and that was - that was horrible of me. I won't dare ask for your forgiveness, but I just want you to know how sorry I am.”

Jungkook sets his arm down gently, pulling his hands back so he can lean on them. “You knew it would hurt me.”

“I knew.” Jimin nods, shamefaced. A bit of it leaks through their bond, but Jungkook can tell how hard Jimin is trying to hold it back, to not burden Jungkook with his own regret. 

“Then you know how I feel.”

He nods again, staring at their knees. “I know.”

“How long?”

“I think I’ve - I’ve suspected for a while. But it wasn’t until the bond that I grew sure. You’re better at hiding now, but in the beginning, I could feel it, sometimes.” 

Jimin swallows visibly, still avoiding his gaze. Jungkook stares at him, at the soft fall of his hair and the furrow in his brow. He feels curiously empty at the revelation that he had failed to hide himself from Jimin. Somehow, he thinks he already knew he’d failed long ago. Long before the bond. 

“I always thought it was just me. Seeing what I wanted to see. Seeing my - my own feelings echoed in you. And then the bond happened, and I realized I wasn’t imagining it, after all.”

Jungkook stills. My own feelings . His heart thuds hard in his chest and he doesn’t dare to breathe - “You - ”

He falters, can’t say it out loud. Jimin finally looks up, meeting his eyes, and nods. 

Jungkook had always wondered. Always suspected, as Jimin had, but to bring life to their feelings by speaking them aloud - he can’t move. Can’t think. He has loved Jimin for so long that he’s forgotten what it felt like not to love him. 

“Truly?” he asks quietly. “You mean it - no games?”

“I mean it,” Jimin whispers, and Jungkook surges to life. 

He pulls him in so quickly that Jimin stumbles into his lap, clutching his shoulders for support, lips parting to say something. Jungkook doesn’t let him. He kisses his open mouth like he’s been wanting to for years, kisses him like a drowning man. Jimin gasps into his mouth, momentarily stunned before he starts to reciprocate, his fingers winding through Jungkook’s hair, their tongues sliding together. It’s overwhelming - Jungkook feels not only his own desire, but Jimin’s along with it, doubling every sensation.

“J-Jungkook - ” Jimin breathes, and Jungkook kisses him again, and again, each time more insistent. Jimin’s shuddering against him, shifting to straddle his waist so that he’s fully in his lap, Jungkook’s arms winding around his waist. 

He doesn’t let himself think. For once in his life, he doesn’t think about all the reasons why they can’t do this, why he can’t love him. He thinks only about how much he loves him, and in that moment, that’s the only thing that matters. 

“Jimin,” he murmurs against the corner of his mouth, dragging his lips along his jaw. He kisses under his ear - “Hyung.”

Jimin tilts his head back, staring at him from under his lashes, and Jungkook’s lips travel down his throat. He sucks lightly on the curve of his jugular, mouths at the soft skin of his neck until he reaches the sharp jut of his collarbones. He kisses them open-mouthed, licks at the hollow at the base of Jimin’s throat. Jimin shivers, fingers tightening in his hair, and he pulls back. 

“Jimin,” he says again, his heart full, and Jimin pushes him down onto the bed, knees at his hips, and leans down to kiss him again. 

Jungkook pulls him down until they’re flush, runs his hands down Jimin’s ass and thighs, fitting him more securely against his hips. Jimin draws kiss after kiss from him, their lips slick, chests heaving. He sucks on Jungkook’s tongue and Jungkook flips them, pressing Jimin into the bed, holding his thighs against his hips. Jimin’s ankles lock behind his back and he arches up, fingers digging into Jungkook’s shoulders. It’s heady, overwhelming, the intensity of their combined feelings. 

“We have to - we have to talk - ” Jimin pants between kisses, and Jungkook hums to show he’s listening. 

“First, this.”

He kisses him quiet, and Jimin doesn’t protest again. 

He loses track of how long they lie there, kissing - it feels like forever, and he would do it for forever more. Later, they lie shoulder-to-shoulder and try to catch their breath. Jimin keeps laughing, a delighted sound, and every now and then, Jungkook leans over to kiss him again - the inside of his wrist, the curve of his shoulder, the corner of his eye. 

“We shouldn’t do this,” Jungkook murmurs after a soft lull, turning to look at Jimin. It hurts him to say it, but he knows they have to talk about it. 

“I know,” Jimin says quietly. “That’s why I tried so hard to hide it.”

Jungkook nods; he has always done the same. 

“But we could make it work.” His voice is tentative, yet the tendrils of hope are clearly there. “I can think of a few arguments my parents might accept.”

Jungkook laughs lightly. “Trust you to have thought of your arguments already.”

“Well, we’ll need to if we want this to work.”

He studies him, reaching out to take Jimin’s hand in his, playing with his small fingers. “And what’s this?”

“I would like it to be something,” Jimin says. Jungkook can feel his nervousness through their bond, so he brings Jimin’s knuckles to his lips and kisses them. “And we can’t sneak around forever. Someone will notice. They always do.”

Two princes won’t be able to keep their secrets for long. “I don’t want to sneak around,” Jungkook says honestly. 

“Then we argue. The Veskian princess married her father’s ward.”

The thought of going before the king and queen has Jungkook’s belly tightening with fear. Jimin feels it, curling around him, stroking his hair. 

“I know it’s cruel to say,” he whispers, “but you’re too important for them to lose. They can’t afford to. They’ll listen.”

The rational part of him thinks Jimin is right. The rest of him thinks of his parents and the way they have always made him feel small. The way he has always felt indebted to them. 

“They aren’t too happy with us right now,” he points out wryly. “Not after the ball.”

Jimin winces. “We’ll have to wait until they’re in a better mood. Although I should think you saving my life outweighs that disaster of a night.”

“You would think,” he mutters, though he suspects the king will still find a way to lecture them for it. “I’m sorry I ruined the night. I should have listened to what you wanted. Shouldn’t have lost control like that.”

“At least your intentions were good. Unlike - unlike mine - ”

Jungkook feels the guilt before Jimin tries to shut it away. He squeezes Jimin’s hand in his, holding it against his heart. “I forgive you, hyung. You know I always do. Just don’t take advantage of it.”

He feels Jimin nod against his shoulder. “I won’t. I promise. I’ll - I’ll show you I can do better.”

“We’ll do better,” Jungkook promises, and he thinks that outside this cycle of hurt they’ve trapped themselves in, they really might. If they can only have a chance together, they could make something of this. 

“When this is over,” Jimin says decidedly. “We’ll go to them. We’ll make them listen.”

“Yes,” Jungkook agrees. For a moment, with Jimin by his side, he believes they can make anything work. “We will.”

He can feel Jimin’s joy before he sees his smile. Jungkook shifts, pressing Jimin against the bed, admiring the fall of his hair against his silk pillows. He thinks he could look at him forever, admire every inch of him and even then it wouldn’t be enough. 

“Until then,” he says, taking on a sly tone, “I have some theories about this bond of ours that I’d like to test out.”

Jimin splays his arms out over his head, raising his eyebrows. “Oh, do you?”

Jungkook traces his fingers down Jimin’s neck, wrapping them lightly around his throat. “I do. The first - will I feel everything I do to you?”

Jimin’s eyes grow lidded, and Jungkook sees him shiver, feels the spike of arousal. “And what are you going to do to me?”

Jungkook grins, wicked. “I guess you’ll just have to find out.”

⏀

Jimin is good at arguing. He knows exactly how to play any situation to his advantage. When they stand before their parents and present their argument, Jungkook has little hope that anything will come of it. But he forgets to account for Jimin and the way he weaves absolute magic with his words. 

He wears them down, and incredibly, the king and queen agree. 

It’s announced exactly one month later: the Crown Prince is betrothed to the Antari prince, and they are to be married in the spring. The whispers are aplenty - they want full control of their Antari, what better way to do it than this? But Jungkook finds he doesn’t mind their speculation. 

For the first time, Jungkook is grateful for the soul bond. He seeks Jimin out, relishes in the closeness it brings them. His heart no longer aches with the echo of Jimin’s. Their hearts beat in tandem. 

It’s like the queen said: fate brings you to those you need, and Jungkook needs Jimin more than anything.