#perhaps one shrouded with an aura of tragedy

[typophobia-hijinks]

Want partner

Alas

Ace 😔

[love-and-deepspace-fanfic]

Zayne - Collapse of Multiple Deepspaces

Time to drop another #delulu for Zayne! It’s my first time writing about Zayne and all “thanks” to my friend all my ideas recently stem from *tragedy*.

So yeah sorry Zayne boi, you’re first!

I hope you enjoy this version!

What happens if Zayne and Dawnbreaker meet each other....

Collapse of Multiple Deepspaces

"You are no different from a weakling."

This phrase had echoed relentlessly within Zayne ever since he witnessed his friend transform into a Wanderer right before his very eyes.

If others were given a chance to judge, they would tell Zayne that his hesitation or fear, his inability to act, was entirely natural; no one could stand firm in such a dire circumstance.

To witness someone you know slowly morph into a beast and then have to end their life with your own hands? Who in their right mind would willingly undertake such a horrifying act?

But Zayne knew that the "shadow" that disdainfully uttered those words of criticism through its scornful gaze was no longer a normal person.

******************************************************

How long had it been since Zayne last felt this rush of anticipation, as if he were about to enter a battle?

Before him were blood-red eyes that forced Zayne to instinctively channel energy from his right arm as a defense mechanism.

It was this very power that had been the source of many of his tragedies.

But compared to the shadow standing right in front of him, Zayne could sense that the pain he had endured was nothing compared to the anguish reflected in those judging eyes.

Though shrouded by the night, Zayne recognized the person before him, for the power surrounding that figure was familiar to him. It was the power of ice—the same power he wielded.

In other words, the person before him might be none other than himself.

It was as if he were the embodiment of the Grim Reaper he had always feared.

Zayne also realized that the person in front of him not only possessed his own aura but also harbored an unpredictable emotion he couldn't quite grasp.

This emotion was like a drop of poison, ready to overflow at the slightest disturbance, spreading its lethal intent throughout the icy energy. It was this realization that helped Zayne recognize that the figure before him and he were separate entities. He would never allow himself to be consumed by such murderous intent. He was a doctor, committed to saving lives, not taking them. This was his life's principle and the oath he had sworn to uphold.

Yet, the eerie resemblance between them conjured images of two opposing reflections in a mirror, similar yet different, creating a sense of dual existence. If one of these images were to vanish one day, what would happen to the remaining one? Would it also dissolve, mirroring the original?

**********************************************************

While Zayne was observing the shadow, it was silently scrutinizing Zayne in return.

A weaker version, blessed with a life he craved.

Is this yet another part of the dream? But if it is a dream, then why is she not here?

Could even the fleeting dream of being with her be interrupted and dissipate like this?

Or perhaps…

*********************************************************

As Zayne pondered the bizarre occurrence before him in the dark space, he sensed a shift in the atmosphere between them.

A sudden, piercingly cold wind enveloped him, as if trying to freeze his entire being.

This chilling gust, like a raging beast, seemed determined to devour him whole, mirroring the fury of its creator.

Why had the shadow suddenly become so enraged?

Before Zayne could react, crystalline shards of ice hidden within the snowstorm hurtled toward him, catching him off guard.

The surging murderous intent warned Zayne of imminent danger, compelling him to instinctively unleash his own energy.

A formidable ice wall sprang up, separating Zayne from the lethal ice shards.

Yet, the relentless assault and overwhelming malevolence forced Zayne to retreat.

He panted heavily, striving to regain control over his chaotic emotions and energy. Why had the shadow, just moments ago in a state of observation, suddenly sought to end him?

This remained a mystery to Zayne, causing his hesitation to strike back.

Perhaps the gentle world he had come to know had softened his heart, infusing his decisions with the compassion and magnanimity expected of a doctor. But facing the figure before him, such ideals held no meaning.

Clearly, in this struggle for supremacy, in terms of both resolve and strength, Zayne was losing.

As the blizzard engulfed him, with icy spears closing in from all sides, Zayne realized the figure before him wielded far more power than he had imagined.

Arrows of ice began to pierce through his ice wall, embedding themselves in his body, inflicting excruciating pain and a chilling wind that froze him to the core. The agony was so intense it felt as though a curse had been cast upon him, rendering him immobile and leaving him at the mercy of the storm.

This sensation… why does it feel so familiar…

As Zayne struggled to rise, the shadow approached, revealing a familiar face.

The Grim Reaper… the Grim Reaper Zayne had seen before… the one who had look at him with an implication that he was merely a weakling.

With the same face, the same demeanor, the samepower, Zayne saw his own reflection in those blood-red eyes.

Is this… really himself?

Before Zayne could process his shock, the Grim Reaper moved closer, looking down at him with disdain:

“In the end, you are just a useless fool, incapable of protecting the one thing you were fortunate enough to have.”

These words felt like a curse, tightening Zayne’s heart in agony. He knew what his one lucky possession was, for he had felt this same heartache in his dreams countless times: the pain of not having her by his side…

Could it be…

Before Zayne could grapple with the implication, a shard of ice materialized in the Grim Reaper's hand. Its purpose was clear.

But what stunned Zayne more than the imminent threat was the Grim Reaper’s next words:

“If you are now useless, then it’s my turn to protect her.”

*************************************

“Zayne… Zayne!!”

Zayne jolted awake at the familiar call.

He sat up, gasping for breath, his body drenched in sweat as if he had just escaped a horrifying ordeal.

Fear clung to him, but a gentle touch on his back, mirroring his racing heartbeat, offered solace.

Looking up, Zayne’s eyes met the worried gaze of a familiar, tender face.

Sunlight streamed through the window, casting a glow on you and making you appear angelic, which had greatly soothed Zayne as though he were in heaven after wandering in endless darkness.

Unable to contain himself, Zayne pulled your close, seeking your comforting warmth. Only then, with your voice laced with concern, did his surroundings come into focus. The familiar scent of medicine, not the metallic tang of blood, filled the air.

A lingering sense of malevolent energy persisted, a stark reminder of the dream's icy grip. He touched his neck, the phantom pain of the ice shard a chilling echo. Dream or reality?

As he began to lose himself in his thoughts again, a warm touch on his cheek grounded him.

“Are you okay? Why do you keep zoning out? Did you sneak sweets before bed again, making it hard to breathe and sweat so much?”

Like sunlight dispelling the cold, Zayne's heart began to calm. Perhaps it was just exhaustion, a figment of his overworked mind. He clung to this hope, desperate to ease her worry.

Zayne looked at her lovingly, then embraced her once more, yearning to hold onto the warmth only she could provide.

“Thanks for being by my side.”

*****************************

“Zayne, promise me you won’t try to bear everything alone or make decisions by yourself, okay? Always tell me first.”

Seeing her cheerful yet concerned expression, like an old lady fussing over him, made Zayne chuckle—a rare sound for him.

Perhaps the dream was merely a manifestation of his fear, a fear of someday regretting his own "weakness." But what truly defined this weakness? Was it the lack of courage to destroy what could harm her, even if that meant it had once bear the form of a… human?

As Zayne began to drift back into his thoughts, the alarm on her hunter’s watch went off, accompanied by a warning:

“Alert… alert… Wanderer monsters detected… Level A… coordinates X Y… please evacuate residents from the danger zone.”

Both Zayne and you knew what needed to be done in such situations.

As he instructed you on the tasks and cautions for your mission, a rift opened before Zayne, followed by a Wanderer bearing a striking resemblance to…

William…

In an instant, as Zayne stood frozen, the Wanderer lunged, swinging a deadly scythe-like arm at him.

William… is it really you?

Zayne felt his heart stop, memories from that day flooding back.

At Mount Eternal… where the secret he wished to bury lay… where he had once been weak… William… I’m so sorry… turns out, even now… I’m still useless…

“ZAYNEEEEEEE!”

A piercing scream echoed as Zayne snapped back to reality. Before him lay the image of her, shielding him with her body. Blood spurted from her back, splattering across Zayne’s face.

In his arms was the girl he loved, falling.

The blood on his hands was warm…

But this…

Was not the warmth he wanted to feel…

In a heartbeat, everything around Zayne was swallowed by an endless night.

A night filled with murderous intent…

And amidst this darkness lay a path, lined with the bodies of countless fallen.

Zayne didn’t want to tread this path, but it seemed fate had already chosen it for him.

A voice echoed within him, as if from a distant past…

“If the law is a curse… why perfect it… just… destroy it all…”

That's right... destroy everything... only then can I... protect you...

Like a skeleton approaching its tomb, Zayne walked heavily past the rows of piled corpses, heading straight into the endless darkness. And at the end of the road, what Zayne saw was the throne with its many icy blades.

Zayne saw another figure resembling him dressed in an ancient sorcerer's garb... as if he had been sitting there for a long time... just waiting...

Waiting....

"For that daisy..."

As if echoing his heart, the voice of the Grim Reaper opposite him, now replacing the figure holding the staff, sat on the ice throne.

So who was who? He himself no longer knew and no longer cared. Because at this moment, he knew that he and the figures before him had only one thing in common, and that commonality was what all his beings cared about and wanted to have.

You... the daisy we've always sought...

In the quiet night, the cold voice of the Grim Reaper rang out like a warning bell:

"You... are the exception, because only you can have her."

Zayne understood what the Grim Reaper had said.

He sank weakly to the floor, realizing how lucky he was but also how powerless.

"But... you too... are the weakest..."

He knew... he knew... he was weak.

"So... if you can't become strong..."

Before his words could end, Zayne’s chin was grasped, forcing him to face the blood-red eyes right in front of him.

"If you can't do it, then it's my turn. There's no room for the weak."

****************************************

The blaring sirens of rescue vehicles… the screams of the townspeople… only you… seemed to be lying still… in firm arms…

You tried to get up but were held back by those strong arms, preventing any movement.

It seemed that the wound on your back no longer pained you, only a soothing, cool sensation remained.

It looked like Zayne had tended to your injury.

You knew what you had done was dangerous, and you would surely be scolded by him, but you still felt warm inside knowing he was safe….

These past days, seeing his exhaustion, you wanted to do something. But the more you looked at him, the more unsure you were of what to do, as if he was fighting a battle within himself, silently enduring.

That was when you saw him in danger, and you immediately shielded him without a second thought, just to spare him from more pain.

Thankfully… he was unharmed…

As you nestled in Zayne’s embrace, you couldn’t shake off a strange feeling, an unnamed sensation, like you had felt it long ago when you looked into his eyes…. as if… you were seeing a different Zayne…

While lost in thought, Zayne’s hand reached out to touch your cheek.

Fearing he would reprimand you for acting impulsively, you scrambled for excuses in your mind, avoiding his gaze to escape his scolding.

But when you met his eyes, you knew…

Without giving you time to think, the unfamiliar man who resembled Zayne looked at you and smiled, sending a chill through your body.

“Nice to see you again.”

[toraashi]

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥-𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠

info/warnings: inumaki toge x gn!reader, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, introspection, characters aged up!, canon universe, yet doesn’t follow the main plot exactly, ~2.5k words, kind of spoilers? not really, features all of the second years

notes: honestly this isn’t very good, I just typed it, briefly edited it then closed my eyes and posted it, regardless toge is the one for me and this was ib a dream i had

Things always fell into a pattern when anyone went on missions.

“This one should be no issue for your group.”

“One cursed spirit, we’ll put up a veil. It’ll be finished in no time.”

Perhaps it was the nature of the job, but countless times something went wrong. Whether that was as a result of outside interference, a political scheme, uninformed officials or something else, it was just roulette at that point. 

And yet, as you stared up into the towering curses eyes, arm outstretched in front of Yuuta like you could do something, like you were somehow any more powerful than he.

You wondered how it could be considered fair. You and your peers were young adults with a life ahead of them, a future, potential for happiness and growth, and yet you were constantly being dealt underhanded blows, forced to face tragedy time and time again because of a corrupt system.

It shouldn't be like this.

“Run, I’ll cover for you while you get the others.” You stiffened at Yuuta’s rock-solid voice from behind you. Determined. He always was. And fiercely protective. You all were; you had to be. 

“I’m not leaving you.” You hissed, never breaking eye contact with the monstrosity before you. The curse chortled and twitched, sizing you up and emitting a malicious aura. It sent shivers down your spine like nails raking down a chalkboard — grating. You felt the boy behind you shudder as if his body was manifesting the tension, and you gnawed on your lip. “We need to distract it and try and get away together. We both know the other won’t leave. We either fight to our death or try and escape and survive. I… whatever you choose, I’ll stand with you the whole way.” You murmured, narrowing your eyes and firming your resolve.

“You’re too selfless.” He responded, tightening his grip on his katana, “I don’t know if we’ll be able to escape.”

Any glimmer of hope was crushed by the harsh reality, and as your mind prepared for the worst, it began flicking through fond memories like a book. Pages and pages of smiles and sunlight crossed your mind, and heartbreak shattered through you. Gojo liked to shroud your group in a sense of normalcy, a desperate attempt to maintain the youth you all deserved, but the looming sense of finality of each mission never truly went away. Death followed you not like an old friend, but like a ticking clock. Inevitable and inescapable, and it was running short. You wondered if your life would ever be content. Would you ever be able to eat lunch with your friends without wondering how many of them would be around in five years? Would you ever be able to grab Toge’s hand and look him in the eyes with all the earnestness you felt and adorn him with every bit of affection you contained?

It hurt the most to think about Toge, him and his pretty eyes, his flowers, his kindness. The way you'd watched him change and grow alongside you throughout your teen years. It had always, always, always been him, without a single doubt. 

“Yuta,” You started, inhaling and exhaling, tasting the salt bleeding from your eyes. “If I die, will you tell Toge that I love him?” Yuta inhaled sharply, resting his free hand on your outstretched arm, pushing it down and moving to stand beside you. 

“Tell him yourself.” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “I couldn’t ever show my face around Toge if you died on my watch.” He chuckled awkwardly, and the lighthearted sound lifted a weight from your chest. 

“He would be heartbroken if you died, you know.” You muttered. Toge was a kind soul, and although you cherished him, the others were just as important to him, if not more. 

Taking gradual steps forward towards their foe, Yuta grit out his response, brandishing his katana. You followed carefully.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll never let anything like this monstrosity hurt him or the others.” 

[more under the cut!]

When the others found you, you were broken into hysterical sobs over Yuuta’s unconscious body. 

The curse had been exorcised, but the price you'd paid was great. You couldn’t feel your limbs, your heart ached and your cheeks were streaked with dirt. 

“Yuuta!” Maki shouted, sprinting recklessly towards them, catching your attention as you looked up, your round, vulnerable gaze glossed over with tears. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. This was all my fault, I couldn’t-” Maki practically shoved your wounded form aside to assess the damage, not meaning harm, yet too frenzied to care much. It made sense, you reasoned. They’d known Yuuta for longer. It was reasonable. 

And yet, when a muffled “okaka!” filled the room, you felt a piece of you shatter. Everything felt watery, and you barely registered the warmth in front of you: the hands hovering over your mangled body. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” You recited the words like a prayer, not even comprehending the gravity of your injuries, too lost in adrenaline and emotional agony. A pair of hands cupped yours, and somehow, you were coaxed down to Earth, settling into a pool of violet. His body was shadowed by that of another - - Panda - and a fresh wave of tears spilled over. 

“Okaka,” Toge’s voice floated through your consciousness, and your chest tightened at the worry crashing through the syllables like lightning. The weight lifted from your hand, moving to brush against your cheekbone.

“We need to get them to Gojo and Ieri right now. The veil has lifted, Maki can you call?” Panda’s voice sounded so distant, and the only thing filling your mind was the inescapable guilt and Toge’s touch. 

“How did this happen?” Maki grit, “What the hell. Why does this always happen?” It was borderline despairful, hearing a powerhouse like Maki question this situation. All of your "situations" (tragedies) leading up to now. 

“Toge,” You murmured, snagging his frantic attention. You were swamped by lethargy, your blood sticky and abundant against your chest. The ache in your twisted leg was finally catching up, but he needed to know.  “I tried to save him. I,” Your lashes fluttered, and through your pain, the brutal heartbreak, all you wanted was to sleep. “This strong curse showed up, I tried to protect him. I should’ve… I should’ve died. I don’t want you to lose him.” Vaguely, you registered the broken sound squeaking from his lips, his arms falling around you, shoulders shuddering as he quaked. Maybe if your body wasn’t so soaked in blood, you'd be able to feel the hot tears pooling against your collarbone. You deserved to. 

Finally, the darkness fuzzing your vision closed in entirely, and you fell limp against his body.

You woke up with a start, blinded by the sun and covered in tubes and bandages. A hospital bed. Your body tingled with cursed energy, spritely and buzzing with electricity, eager to spring to life. Somehow, you knew it wouldn’t be so easy. 

It took a moment to recollect your memories: Toge’s arms, Yuuta’s sacrifice, Maki and Panda’s panic and the curse, but when you did, and your vision cleared, you finally saw Yuuta sitting on a chair nearby, dozing off. It was good to see him alive and well, and you couldn’t help the relief that flooded through you. The others had been so worried seeing his body. Just as he’d said, you'd never be able to show your face around the others — Toge — if he’d died on your watch. They were here for each other. They had been since they were fifteen, and although they wouldn’t fault you for another sorcerer's inevitable death, your regrets would be too great. 

“You’re awake.” His sleepy voice shook you from your thoughts, and you locked eyes with Yuuta’s grateful ones. “How are you feeling?” 

“Weak,” You responded, yawning and glancing around once more. “Happy you’re okay. I thought I’d gotten you killed.” Yuuta shot you a disapproving look. 

“The others told me that you kept apologizing when they found you. It wouldn’t have been your fault if I’d died, I promise.” A silence fell over them at Yuuta’s declaration, and you curled your hands in the bedsheets. 

“Toge wouldn’t have forgiven me.” You breathed, fighting back an onslaught of tears. “Maki wouldn’t have either.” 

Yuuta snorted fondly, leaning over the space between you and cupping his hand over yours.

“Toge would forgive you for most things. You underestimate how important you are to us. Maki and Panda included.” His touch was calming, and it steadied your shaky exhales, coaxing you from an anxious panic back into yourself.

“Is he doing okay? Toge, I mean.” You swallowed thickly, the words gooey and thick as they traveled from your lungs. Yuuta smiled, a teasing look crossing his eyes. He was worried, you'd known him long enough to tell, but for your sake, he feigned playfulness. 

“He is very worried. Once you can stand, you should go see him.” Looking over your shoulder, he jutted his chin towards the nightstand behind you. “He left flowers and a note for you. He loves you very much.” You followed his gaze to the aforementioned gifts, plucking up the note and skimming over the carefully constructed words, your heart constricting and swelling. 

Toge, Toge, Toge

You couldn’t imagine traversing this walk of life without him by your side. Selfless, adoring, protective, reliable. The gravity of your mutual feelings had been an elephant in the room for a long time now, largely ignored, but there nonetheless. But, in light of this tragic experience, the swelling of your heart threatened to burst. An emotion that had once been a point of insecurity had been cast in a new light: a light so white it blinded you.

It would be selfish to ask for his love, knowing you could leave him at any moment (such was the nature of your career path), but he was in the same boat. But now, as you glanced at the wilting flowers, the note dotted with water marks (dried and fresh), droplets clinging to the side of the red vase, you were overcome with a realization. If your life was to be short, a flurry of youth and adrenaline, you should embrace and cherish any fragment of happiness. You wanted to hold Toge, to absorb him into your soul so that if- when either one of you passed, the other would have fragments nestled safely in their memories. 

It was with this realization that you were yanking needles from your arms, swinging your weak legs over the edge of your bed, and stumbling to a stand. 

“Wait! Where are you going?! You’re not supposed to be up yet-” You turned to the flustered Yuuta, ignoring his cries and offering him a determined, albeit tired, smile. 

“I’m telling him. He needs to know. It is only inevitable that I will die one of these days, and if I’m going to have regrets, I will not let this be one of them.” 

Yuuta quieted at that, his lips falling closed, eyebrows flattening. 

“Okay. Please be careful on your way. Last I saw, he was training outside with the others.” A hint of reluctance nestled between his words, hidden in the lines, and you smiled reassuringly before setting off. 

Each step felt like another challenge, and yet you pushed forward, the scenery blending together until you put one barefoot into the grass, your skin soaking up the sun, ears relishing in the lighthearted sounds of your friends’ words. It invigorated your muscles, brightening your stature and urging you forward, a pair of hands pushing against your spine. The stairs — previously a foreboding obstacle — were nothing as you practically leaped into the field, eyes deadset on the pale-haired boy. 

“[Name]?! You’re- You idiot! Go back to-” Maki guffawed, drawing the attention of the two boys as you brushed past. Panda made a sound of surprise, and Toge’s eyes blew wide at the sight, a confusing mixture of concern, relief and-

Your legs gave out as soon as you reached him, but like always, he was there to catch you, gently falling with you to the grass, arms locked around your back. 

“Okaka-” You shushed him with a finger to his lips, brimming with adoration and earnest before throwing your arms around his shoulders, conveying your love the same way you always had. 

“Toge,” You started, feeling your chest tighten as you hooked your chin over his shoulder, palm sliding up the nape of his neck and into his hair. “My Toge. You’ve always been mine, you know that right?” He made a noise of shock, bewildered in every sense of the word, pulling you from the crook of his neck to meet your eyes. 

“Takana?” He murmured, urgency lining every letter. You could only gaze into his eyes fondly, moving your hands to unzip his collar and hold his face, thumbs tracing his seal, smiling as the tips of his hair tickled your fingers. 

“I can’t live another day in this world without you knowing that I love you.” You began, feeling the beginnings of tears collecting in your eyes. His gaze softened at your proclamation, the terseness in his touch morphing into one of comfort. When he leaned his forehead against yours, you bloomed, bumping your nose against his. His cheeks flushed with red and the space between you grew warm. 

Inumaki Toge said nothing, one of his palms sliding to your biceps, keeping you balanced, drawing hearts with his fingertips. The other lifted to your face, tangling in your hair as he brushed it from your face, his eyes crinkled with joy. His actions said it all, and the softness bubbled over. 

“I’m sorry I worried you. I’m sorry Yuuta got hurt. I love you so much, I-” Your rambling was cut off in an instant, Toge stealing the words from your lips and tasting them on his own. They were no doubt bitter, but he soothed the taste with the sweetness of his touch, keeping the kiss chaste and withdrawing when he felt it was appropriate.

“Mentaiko.” He muttered, and it was absurd how giddy the onigiri ingredient made you feel. 

“It’s always been you.” 

                                             [name],

you wouldn’t stop apologizing, and i wished i could tell you that it doesn’t matter. it’s not your fault. it will never be your fault, and you are just as important to me. seeing yuuta unconscious and you— you injured and crying and blaming yourself— nothing could hurt more. don’t think that you’re not just as important to me. i would never want his life in exchange for yours. wake up soon.

- toge (yours)

[bangtan-dreamland]

in another life, you and i

Pairing: pjm x male!reader ; one-sided!kth x male!reader

Word Count: 16193

Warnings: major character death, brief descriptions of violence, mention of a massacre, terminal illness

Rating: PG15 

Genre: angst, fluff (?), supernatural!au, demon!au, reincarnation!au

Summary: you are, surely, the strangest human Jimin has ever met, and he’s had two hundred years to mingle with your kind. still, a deal is a deal, and your soul is interesting, so why not?

he soon realizes there’s much, much more to the story than he knows.

A/N: written as a belated birthday fic for @sombreboy, whose fics feed my never ending thirst!! this is pretty wordy and kind of wonky, but I had a lot of fun writing this, the ending stressed me out though, I couldn’t help making it bittersweet

a big thank to you @tigertaehyunq who helped encourage and support me writing this!! I could ramble about her help but it’d take a lot of space, so I’ll just say I couldn’t have finished this without her. also, I rushed making the banner and will probably replace it later. edited a little now!!

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The first time Jimin’s summoned in decades, it’s to a human who he cannot understand at all.

And as a demon, he’s met plenty of human beings over the course of two hundred years. He’s met humans who worshipped him, humans who feared him, humans who hated him… he’s granted all kinds of wishes as well, has made more deals than most demons, even those older than him. He has a reputation, one that he’s earned.

He doesn’t think that you’ll be different from any human that he’s met before, and that like usual, this would be a quick transaction. Boring. Repetitive. But if he doesn’t meet you, then there’s nothing else to do- even if you’re only a quick distraction, he welcomes it.

Yet, when he’s summoned by you, you manage to blow all his expectations out of the water. 

Oh, as the fire that rises to the ceiling brings him over, his feet making contact with the rough floor, the markings on the ground, the offerings- there is not one bit that surprises him. Instead, he readies himself for your shock.

Humans are always ever so vocal, after all, even those who seem to be, at first glance, calm and composed. It’s a waste of energy and effort to introduce himself when they’re too busy panicking over the fact that they’ve ‘actually summoned a real demon!’. Therefore, he waits for you to get your screaming done and over with.

But as the flames make way for your visage, the face with which you greet him is not one that he’s familiar with.

Yes- In the split second that the flames die down to a simmer before disappearing, he can see the vivid surprise in your face, then replaced by fear and- grief?

However, as soon as they come do they pass, leaving him wondering why and if he only imagined it. You approach him with a mild look on your face that gives away nothing as to what you really feel inside, your tone even. Still, your slightly heavy breathing gives you away. “... You’re not the demon I aimed to summon.”

Jimin chuckles. “No, I am not. However, do not fret. I am much more powerful than whatever demon you originally intended for, I assure you.”

“... Or perhaps, you are not worried, so much as you are afraid right now?” As he takes a step forward, he has to inwardly commend your courage- even at the distance of a mere foot between the two of you, still you do not cower away from him. Rather, it seems you even have the nerve to take a step closer, as you tilt down to look at him. He feels a small surge of excitement in him- maybe this one won’t prove to be boring at all. Jimin continues his words. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Humans are ever always so afraid, after all. Especially of the supernatural.”

And then it takes him by surprise- the way that your lips shift oh so suddenly into a smile. It turns your face from a still lake in winter to the blooming fields of spring, and a stray thought in his head arises- for a human, you’re quite attractive yourself. “I’m not afraid of you at all,” you easily state. “I don’t mind if you’re not the one I was originally calling for. You’re much better than him, after all.”

At this close a distance, he can see in clear detail the way your eyes are clearly free of any fear, as you say.

How interesting.

“Wonderful,” he purrs, smiling widely, taking delight in the way you freeze for a moment, evidently charmed by him, especially when you’re so close to each other. “For humans like you, I do not mind making a deal.”

It would be best to take a step backward, the current distance between the two of you unsuitable for a serious conversation. Still, he’s never been the one to back down first. With that in mind, he simply continues on the conversation. “Now, human, for what reason have you called for me?”

You nod your head, a small smirk on your lips. “This is my last cycle,” you suddenly declare, and, what-

Before Jimin can process the words you’ve just spoken, you admitting to information that you should have no way of knowing, you are the first one to take a step back. As you do, you make a gesture to the center of your chest, and- 

“As you can see.”

Jimin makes a sound of surprise in the back of his throat as his attention is demanded by your soul. As he examines it, the first thought in his mind is that- impossible.

It’s an enigma, like you. Whole, unbroken. Your soul can almost be called pure, as there’s not a single crack to be found anywhere, the orb smooth. Yet mystifyingly enough, at the same time there is a black shroud of darkness that surrounds it, the type that only souls broken beyond the point of salvation can emit. The pristine state of your soul would qualify you a place in heaven- yet at the same time, the aura of death and hatred that surrounds your soul would open a position for you as one of hell’s most powerful demons. He can’t help wondering just what exactly were you like, and if the state of your soul is the reason why you can remember your past lives.

It’s how the game of heaven and hell works, after all. Humans are given ten lifetimes, ten journeys in the mortal world, their souls starting out as pure orbs filled with the power of uncertainty and potential. And then they are born as humans- starting out with truly blank roots, no outside influence offering them good or bad luck. 

Starting from the first lifetime, all decisions they make are important as it determines their next lives. The more giving and loving they are in their previous life, the more luxurious and pleasant their next lives come to be, as they are blessed with luck by the heavens. Even those that seem to start from a tragedy, it wouldn’t be too hard to survive and thrive. People would adore them, they would find themselves more attuned with the world, and ultimately whatever field they endeavored in, they would find themselves succeeding.

In turn, the more wretched and hateful a person is in his previous life, the more the heaven casts him out with luck against him. They may be born in a wealthy family- but if you wait longer, then you will find that their only choice is to fall deeper into disgrace with evil, fight fire with fire so to say- or to suffer the fall and endure pain to gain heaven’s blessings again.

Both would face harder and harder trials in each passing cycle of life- yet, for those with heaven on their side, passing such trials would not be that hard a task, and they would gain even greater benefits if they are sincere. Yet to those who are hated by the heavens, they may only turn to more evil to mitigate the luck that deems them betrayed, failed, loathed by even those that they may trust with their life.

With each passing life, a human’s soul either cracks or repairs. To those who persevere, who manage to mend their ways, who somehow are in heaven’s good grace- their souls are instantly taken to heaven the moment their tenth and final cycle ends. To those whose souls are broken and filled with hatred, well. They are disposed of, turned into demons. 

Most of the time though, souls at the end of their cycles are broken down and remade into new ones. He’s never heard of any exception to the rules of the game they’re all bound by.

And as for him? Jimin is one of the few demons who became one even before his ten cycles were completed. It’s what gives him his reputation, his power.

Yes. As a demon, he’s quite familiar with the system. He’s familiar with all the types of humans in different stages, different cycles of their lives. It’s easy for him to realize, with a glance, the state of their soul. Not even their reactions faze him anymore. After all- you can only listen to one too many screams and whimpers, before they lose the thrill, before they become merely annoying. With a glance, he can tell if they are headed to the world above or the one below- yet with yours, it seems as though you belong in both.

It’s a contradiction- you’re a contradiction.

“What kind of lives did you lead before this?” He mutters, a hint of surprise evident from his voice. “I’ve never quite seen a soul like yours before. Never have I met a human who knew about the cycles before, too.”

In response, though, you only laugh quietly, dodging his question. “I’ve lived the best lives, that’s all.”

Jimin’s lips curl up into a bemused smile. “Then I suppose you really indulged yourself in the past?”

“And now the heavens punish me for it,” you agree with a smile. “But I don’t want my last life to end like this.”

With that, you suddenly gesture to the room around the two of you, bringing Jimin’s attention to your state of living.

Jimin frowns as he notices the run down walls, the naked floor, the cracked windows. That’s not even mentioning the bare feel of the room, without much furniture or personal items in any way.

“As you can see,” you explain. “I’m currently down on my last legs.” 

Giving him a nonchalant shrug, you continue. “Estranged family, no friends, no money, not much possessions left… a birth defect that will deare me dead soon enough… with the state of my soul, it seems that there is no changing it in this lifetime either.”

At your last sentence, you fall quiet, but it’s not quite the quiet of despair, but rather- calm acceptance. It intrigues him. With each second that passes by in your presence, Jimin finds himself sensing layers underneath layers in your personality, little things that make you stand out from other humans he’s met before. 

He hums. “Well, YN, I hope you realize it isn’t possible for me to give you the perfect life without a proper price,” he teases you with a lazy smirk, wondering if you’ll notice his lie. “Seventy five years of a human’s life, one that’s evidently been marked against by heaven too, it doesn’t seem like one that offers me much power. At most, I could give you a year.”

And yet you only shrug a little. “I figured that might be so,” you admit. “I… I think I just want a better life, in any way I can get it.”

He lets out a chuckle at your words. “If a better life is what you want, that you want to repent, I believe you’ve summoned the wrong entity,” he muses. “After all, with a soul like yours, even an angel could be persuaded into helping you.”

You scoff. “If I wanted to repent, which I don’t, I never would have summoned you.”

“I just... I just want to make the last years of my life worth living,” you clarify, voice becoming wistful. “Rather than live a lifetime like this… I’d much rather use the rest of what I have for a moment of happiness.”

“I won’t ask much from you. I don’t want to stand out too much anyway, humans can be just as troublesome as devils and angels.” You huff wryly at that, fidgeting with your hands. “I just need you to-” for the first time, you falter, a noticeable blush coloring your cheeks, but you go forth anyway, “-stay by my side.”

“At all times. I mean- to ensure I am happy and safe at all times, for at least a year, keep my disease at bay,” you add, at a point almost stammering. Still.

Jimin blinks. Looks at you. Twice. Waits for you to continue- to rescind your words,  to say something. Yet you continue to stay silent, eyes not quite meeting him but peeking at him anyway, and he-

Jimin erupts into laughter, loud and long, practically falling over himself at that. “You want me to- stay with you, protect you, heal you and oversee that you are always happy, that’s your wish, human?”

You huff, making a snippy comment, "I don't believe you can heal, which is why I'm only asking you to keep the pain away," but you nod your head without a hesitation. 

Jimin grins. “You really are daring, aren’t you? Aren’t you afraid to bring heaven’s wrath down on you? Asking a demon for protection and healing! For happiness- and I doubt what you’re asking is the one that you can gain from materials or other humans.”

You scoff. “I’m not afraid of heaven,” you deadpan, brows furrowing as the solemnity of your voice, coupled with the tight look on your face makes him smirk. Daring, indeed. “And- do you really believe an angel would grant this wish?”

His lips curl into a smirk. The answer to that is something that you obviously know as well. No, an angel would never.

Seemingly satisfied with his silence, taking it for compliance, you take a step back towards him. 

At this close a distance, for the first time of the night, he fully takes you in. And- truly, although he doesn’t know what standard of beauty humans have at the present, even with the faint, bluish hue to the tips of your body that he now notices, Jimin thinks you’d fit any and all requirements to be considered being able to bewitch one’s soul at a glance. Not him, though, as a demon.

“So,” you murmur, a slight smile visible on your face. “Do we have a deal? Seventy five years of life, in exchange for a year of living however I want.”

“Deal,” he purrs, tilting your head down to seal your transaction. As his plush lips glide over your own, he whispers, light and teasing. “I truly hope you don’t regret it.”

With his eyes closed, Jimin fails to see the way your face flashes with an unknown emotion. “I know I won’t,” you murmur just before he fully claims your lips for a moment.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

After that starts his deal with you, and Jimin is given all the time in the world to realize- that yes, you truly are one of the weirdest humans he’s ever met, much less made a deal with.

The first evidence to that is perhaps the morning after the night of his summoning.

As a demon, he never had the need for sleep. However, after signing the contract, you’d immediately claimed to be exhausted, heading straight towards your bed. With that, he took upon it himself to first examine the state of your apartment, and to verify your past. Well, this cycle’s past, anyway.

What he finds only deepens the mystery that is you in his mind.

Twenty three years old as of today (he’s amused that you summon him, a demon, on your birthday, of all days), YN LN. Congenital birth defect. Living family, however, there’s a record of abuse towards you, particularly from your parents. Still, the charges were dropped, and the records erased. Most likely because your family is influential and rich. No friends, none that can be called upon in times of need, anyway. No lover, of course. 

You also have a brief history of showing great skills, particularly academic wise. It’s baffling how you've come this low, if you remember your past lives. Luck plays a huge part in living, yes, but so does skill and it does not seem as though you are lacking in that in any way.

Not to mention, your personality. You are- brave. Or perhaps fearless is the right word. You do not panic in unknown situations, and you are clearly quite intelligent. Witty as well. Skilled, and experienced.

And yet.

You truly hold no wealth or money under your name, and you are without a job too. More than that, you live in the shady part of town, in a dilapidated apartment.

"... I can't wait to discover your secrets," Jimin cheerfully announces as he takes a seat at the table. Placed on it are food that you've cooked, and he's more than curious to try it out. Though he doesn't need to eat, he's never been one to deny himself of any pleasure, and food is no exception.

You hum in response. "Well, good luck with that. Although I'm not telling you anything."

"You will," he assuredly tells you. "It's only a matter of time."

He hears you snort, before diverting your attention back to your food. "... I hope you like it."

Jimin has high standards. Or, rather, humans have very low standards for what they see as delicious, which is understandable considering that most never leave their cities, much less their countries to sample other foods.

Still, there’s something about the hotteok you offer him that brings him comfort. He takes one bite- and a part of him is already impressed. 

"It's passable," he admits, amused when he sees the way your mood suddenly seems to become happier. 

For a moment, silence reigns in the room as the two of you as you eat breakfast. 

A moment like this- it's rather nice. Compared to the screams and flames that fill hell with noise, the murmur of the city outside, in a time where the world still holds a small piece of quiet, Jimin finds himself relaxing a little.

Still, all too soon the food is gone and the conversation starts again.

“Truly, it astounds me, how those who heaven is frustrated with are bound to the worst lives," he finally remarks as he takes another look around at your apartment. In the light of the day, its inadequacies are only made more apparent. The wallpaper peeling off the walls, the faulty pipes that offer you poor water, rusty doors that creak noisily and the cracks in the walls and floor that are damp with water. No doubt would they leak if there is rain. “I will have you move to a more suitable lodging. This one is not fit for a human in a deal with a being like me, much less one that is fit to house a demon like me.” The distaste in his tone is pronounced.

He misses the smile on your face, hidden behind the cup of tea you’re drinking.

“I’ve made plans for you to win the lottery,” he announces.

“I refuse.” You bluntly say, before adding. “Sorry.”

Jimin frowns. “Why not,” he crosses his arms. “Would you then prefer to live in a place like this?”

“I don’t,” you deadpan. “However, winning the lottery would make people suspicious of us, and I’m pretty sure there are people who would target me for the money.”

“Are you doubting my ability to protect you?”

“I’m not. I just don’t want to deal with having to be protected in the first place.” At your words, something in your tone changes for a moment, and Jimin frowns. Sensing the sudden fall of your mood, he opts to acquiesce.

“Your family is quite well off, isn’t it? And you aren’t close to them in the slightest... I could arrange their deaths and leave you with their riches,” he offers quickly, not really meaning it- just wanting to keep your mind off whatever thoughts you found yourself in.

“For the same reason as the first, no,” you refuse. “Angels would notice, and that would be troublesome.”

“A contest?” Jimin drinks his tea while he waits for you to consider his proposal, internally pleased with your skills in cooking. It doesn’t come close to renowned chefs, but there’s something about your food that makes him feel happy, and safe. The way you’ve acted so far… the lack of fear, the familiarity… perhaps you’ve dealt with demons in your past lives? It’s certainly a possibility. “I can acknowledge your skills with food.”

You smile for a brief moment, but all the same, it’s laced with the same emotions as before. Grief and longing.

“... Thank you,” you reply after a  moment, although you shake your head after. “But I don’t want the fame that comes with it. … I’ve had enough of it.”

Left over feelings from a previous cycle then. Jimin nods, finally letting out a sigh. “Well then,” he grumbles. “I suppose that leaves me no choice.”

“Human-”

“YN,” you interrupt him, gaze not particularly on him, but the tone of your voice firm. “Call me YN. Please.”

“... YN, how do you fancy a game of poker?”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Six hours later, YN is a man richer by several hundred thousand dollars. And as Jimin feels the cold air of the night meet him as they step outside, he has to suppress the giggles building up inside him. There’s nothing quite like being in a casino, surrounded by danger and despair hidden beneath the veneer of luxury and temptation. Nothing quite like the faces revealed to them as he deceives foolish humans, especially when they believe they’re about to win- and then, just like that, the victory is taken away from them. It’s all quite hilarious, really.

“You seem quite happy,” he hears you remark. Spinning around gracefully, Jimin grins at you. 

“What’s not there to be happy about?" He smoothly retorts. "I've gambled to my heart's content, and you are richer than you expected. This has been a productive evening."

He's about to tell you exactly why casinos are amazing, when he notices the man standing around the corner. 

Jimin's smile falls.

Clad in simple but fashionable clothes, the handsome face and sculptured body would have been a cause for getting mobbed by humans, not just girls, but also boys.

However, he's standing alone.

He may be without his wings, but there is no mistaking the holy aura that surrounds him, evidently sensed by even humans, as none dare to approach him. 

Crossing his arms, Jimin sends Taehyung a sharp look, the frown on his face all too visible. He instinctively pulls you behind him, not wanting you to get taken away by the self righteous sanctimonious angel. "Taehyung."

His name rolls off Jimin's like a curse, but it's as if Taehyung doesn't hear him, or he doesn't care.

In fact, the only assurance Jimin has that Taehyung has seen them is the way that he looks up- before freezing, the surprise all too visible as his eyes dart from you, to him. For a moment he sees something flash in his eyes- before it dies down, and like Jimin, he frowns deeply. He takes a step forward, towards you, but Jimin pulls you back as well, restoring the distance between the two of you and him.

"What are you doing with him?" Taehyung's jaw is clenched, a sure sign that he's angry, if the way his eyebrows are knitted aren't enough. "Let go of him." What more, the way he bites out his words.

“Let go of who, my human?” Jimin sneers, arm holding you close against him. A lazy smirk arises on his face as he meets Taehyung’s eyes and sees the sparks of anger inside. “You aren’t in any position to warn me away from him, angel, seeing as he called for me on his own.”

“Although it is quite intriguing for you to take so much interest in a human,” he taunts. “To go so far as having a personal meeting with him… why? Have you fallen in love?”

“YN.”

Instead of responding to Jimin's words, Taehyung turns to you, worried countenance seemingly pleading with you. 

“Taehyung,” you softly reply. It makes a part of Jimin annoyed, for some reason. The first time he hears you like this- and it's for an angel.  “It’s my choice.” 

Still the other does not back down, and you add with a helpless sigh. “Please.”

If possible, the angel's fury grows at your words. Not to you, though, but perhaps for him. For a moment, Jimin readies himself to fight- even if he doesn't know why the angel sees you as someone close enough to personally protect, more than the view of heaven treasuring a potential asset, he's determined not to give you up. You are a mystery he wants to unravel himself, after all. And it'd be another way to oppose the angel. 

Still, soon enough even that diminishes, until the angel's face is blank and seemingly uncaring.

“If you know what’s good for him and for you, you would leave,” he glowers at Jimin. And then he faces you and his face immediately softens. “I’ll try to plead with them.”

“There's no need for that,” you shake your head, a small smile on your face. “... But thank you.”

And with a nod of his head, the angel disappears, and the two of you are alone, again.

"Well," you sigh. "That was an experience."

Jimin turns to you, pinning you down (or rather, trying to) with a look. Still you remain calm under his gaze.

"An angel," he states, the question there all the same.

You only shrug at him, a playful smile on your smile as you start walking down the road. "A secret. Come on, I want to eat at a proper restaurant. Feels like it's been forever since I got to eat good food."

Jimin follows behind you dutifully, but it doesn't erase the suspicion in his heart.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

"So, YN” he starts as he watches you stroll through the aisles of clothing.

At this moment, the day after your casino outing, your first plan of action had apparently been to head to the mall and acquire new clothing. While Jimin personally thinks that there are other places, other things that you could handle first-

“Where do you think I should go then?” The sarcastic tone in your voice is loud. “The hospital? What’s the point of getting treated if, after this year, my conditions still stay the same? Maybe you’ve forgotten the state of my soul.”

“My old family? Oh, to make amends. Unfortunately I hate their guts with a passion,” you continue, making him fall silent with how suddenly the words seem to spill out of your mouth. Your face is set in a tightly neutral look, but the bitterness is easy for him to see.

“A job for after then? What’s the use? As with my condition, this cursed, rotten luck will ensure that I never truly succeed without dirtying my hands. And while I don’t mind it, it’s just too troublesome.”

“I just want to live my life the way I want to, without other people fucking butting in for once.”

There’s an intense look in your eyes then. There’s a history behind that sentence that Jimin can easily see. It can’t be from this life, so it definitely must be from your previous ones. Still, for once, he can’t help but wonder just what exactly it was like, for you to react like that.

“The mall it is, then,” Jimin hums with an easy smile, pressing his body closer to you. Since that little moment when he was first summoned, he’s noticed that he has quite the amusing effect on you whenever he goes near- your cheeks reddening, body stiffening for a moment, eyes darting away- it’s clear that on some level, even though you try to hide it, you find him attractive. Which really isn’t a surprise.

Even now, he sees you bite the inside of your cheek, angry look easing down.

And that was that.

“What is your requirement for,” he pauses, mulling the word over in his head, “‘happiness’? Is there anything in particular that you want? … I doubt you’d be one to wish for the typical.”

You pause from your steps, looking up from the rack of clothes.

The answering smirk that he spots on your face only confirms his words. “Well, I was hoping you’d answer that question,” the hint of cheer in your tone makes him look at you with even more surprise.

“... Me?” Jimin repeats. Your smile grows and you turn back to the matter at hand. In your hands.

“Give me a year of fun that can rival even more than my past lives,” you challenge him brazenly, although your attention is seemingly only on the clothes that you’ve picked. With a scowl, Jimin stalks over to you.

“And you believe I can provide you with that?” He dodges your challenge, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m curious as to what a demon enjoys,” you nonchalantly say. “Aside from casinos, that is.”

Jimin suddenly has the urge to sigh, his face falling at once, but it seems you pick up on it.

“I mean… aren’t you a demon?” you grin at him unabashedly. “Are you seriously telling me, that in all the years you’ve been a demon, you’re still surprisingly-”

He has a bad feeling about this.

“-pure?” You chortle at that word, and Jimin bristles.

“I’m not,” he instantly denies, lips pushing up. “It’s only that your wish was for me to protect you and keep you happy, however, why should that mean that I become your… your…" He pouts even harder, "... your helper?"

“Because that was our deal,” you say simply, before throwing him a look, a hint of mischief in your expression. “But there’s no shame if you can't do it. After all, it's not usually what a demon is summoned for, is it?" 

Jimin crosses his arms.

"And if I choose a dangerous place? If none of what I choose brings you any enjoyment?"

"Well, if I remember, part of the deal was for you to protect me. And it’s alright, we’ve got a whole year to play around with!" With that said, you finally turn back to look at him with a pleasant smile, holding up a jacket to your frame. “How about it? Do I look good?”

“Put down that clothing for one moment,” he bites out, annoyed. “And listen to me?”

“Don’t want to,” you blithely reply. “Besides, I’ve already made the decision. You can’t make me change my mind.”

There’s an obstinacy that your stance conveys all too well, and goddamn you’re such a brat. When you refuse to look back at him, he grabs your arm, pulling your body to finally face in his direction. When you still keep your gaze locked away from him, he uses his other hand to tilt your head up firmly but gently. 

In this distance of less than a foot, he looks you in the eye and asserts himself.

“I am not a toy, nor am I your butler,” he tells you slowly, but with a weight in his words. “I am a demon. If you know that, then you should know not to treat me like we’re anything like friends, as I assure you, it is only a mistake. And one that will cost you your life.”

You bare your teeth at him, eyes suddenly clear of any emotion. “And so?” You demand, pulling him closer in turn, a strange pressure present in your tone. It makes him tremble, an unknown emotion building up inside him. Annoying, frustrating, maddening. You’re the strangest human he’s ever met. “You say that like you believe that will somehow change anything.”

It’s not fair. Why do you have this effect on him?

He opens his mouth to speak-

But then he catches your expression change slightly. There is a brief flash of pain on your face, and the heavier breathing alerting him to your condition. Barely does a second pass before your legs tremble and Jimin spurs into action.

Jimin immediately maneuvers you to fall into his arms as your legs give way, leaving you to collapse on him, your chest falling and rising with increasing tempo. 

“Someone dares to harm my charge,” he swears under his breath, immediately spreading out his power to sweep through the nearby areas, but to no avail. There are only humans around, ignorant humans, so-?

“It-” you shudder as you struggle to breathe, your voice coming out as a croak. “Heart-”

-of course. Your congenital birth defect. 

He places one hand against your body, the magic in his veins directing, telling him that your disease is acting up again. Although a little awkward, he directs his magic through the nerves in your body, cutting off the pain and easing up the exhaustion of your body. Jimin isn’t an expert in the workings of the human body, but he at least knows enough to figure out how to temporarily ease and solve the problem at hand.

When he feels your breathing slow down, body relaxing, melting to his own- only then does Jimin allow himself to finally stop worrying.

“Don’t you humans have more regard for your life? Isn’t it human instinct to want to survive, or is your brain just that broken?” He hisses, glaring at you when you purse your lips, the very picture of stubbornness.

Still, when you speak, he’s forced to listen.

“... The moment I summoned you,” you say quietly as you press yourself closer to him. If anyone were to see the two of you now, they’d assume you were lovers embracing each other, the fleeting thought races into his mind. “I knew what I was getting into. I place my life in your hands. I trust your hands to take care of it.”

“After all,” you continue. “what else is there to live for?” 

“Besides, it’s only for a year. After that, you’re free to do whatever you want with my soul.” And then do you smoothly pull away from him, earlier weakness gone, the clothes you’d been trying on in one hand as you make your way to the counter. “Choose something you like. We have the money for it anyway.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

After that starts what might be Jimin’s craziest deal yet. Fully committed to live your remaining year of life your way, you have no qualms about using the contract to make him submit and follow your tems.

What’s even more infuriating is the way you do it. Sure, he could easily get mad, as a demon there is pride in his bones that cannot be easily handled, but you somehow manage to avoid that. When you talk to him, your tone is always light and playful, teasing, ever so confident. You don’t bow to him, like some of the humans he’d met who knew him and his power, but neither do you assume yourself to be the better of him, ignorant and drunk on power. For a lack of a better word, even after everything he’s done to you, you treat him as an equal.

“I feel exhausted.”

“I don’t want to hear that from you, considering I was the one who carried all our luggage.”

After that event at the mall, the two of you decided on a plan. 

A year’s worth of time, several hundred thousand dollars and absolutely no responsibility left to hold you down anywhere. Jimin didn’t know where to start, who the fuck would ask a demon to guide them? No one in their right mind would. 

Except you, that is. Infuriating you.

“It’s not my fault I’m not as strong as you,” you dramatically sigh as you flop on the bed.

Jimin snaps the lock on the suitcase a little harder than he intends.

Still, when he’d been practically browbeaten into accepting your deals, you’d offered him a piece of advice.

“I’m alright with anything you want to do. … Isn’t there something you wished you could do here? I don’t imagine a demon can spend so much time aboveground, the same way angels don’t linger here.”

So here the two of you were, on a trip around the world. 

“Maybe not,” he mutters under his breath, “but getting here would have been done much faster if it weren’t for you almost fainting in the middle of the damn street.”

“I didn’t think it was that serious,” is your blithe reply.

Starting from Japan, to Philippines, to a week in a country of your choosing, sometimes more, sometimes less, the two of you have gone in several different countries, trying out food, experiencing the vividly different cultures, learning about famous landmarks and basically touring around. All things that Jimin (if only to himself) admits that he enjoys, especially with your company. 

Choosing this particular plan is perhaps a mix of his own desires and an assumption. Almost every human had the desire to travel the world, didn’t they? Even you, with your past lives, would have to enjoy it.

He just didn’t expect how much he himself would have fun as well.

“You,” he sighs, “are completely hopeless.”

“But you’re still here with me, aren’t you?”

Perhaps that’s why three months later, as the two of you are checking in into your hotel rooms, he finds himself… being more gentle (not fussing, not, he would never fuss or truly worry about you, he’s a demon for fuck’s sake) with you, especially after you’ve just experienced another one of your episodes.

Three months with you, and Jimin’s become accustomed with you being… well, you. 

When you mention something clearly ridiculous (who asks a demon to dye his hair? Just because you are doesn’t mean he should, and why would he know how to?), to doing something ridiculous (he didn’t really need that stuffed toy. Really), to just about almost collapsing from overexerting your body in your excitement (the most annoying thing about it perhaps may be the fact that you don’t even seem to care that you’re in pain, just that you can’t move as your body refuses to listen to you), he slowly becomes used to handling you. Reading you, learning to take care of you.

He doesn’t understand it himself, even as he slowly recognizes that maybe, just maybe, he’s started caring for you more than he should. More than he wanted to, far more than he ever thought he would.

He accepted the deal because you were a mystery he wanted to unravel, but as each day passes, he finds your existence to be more than enough reason for him to stay.

“I keep telling you to take better care of yourself,” he scolds you as you lie down on the bed, eagle-spread. Still you remain completely at ease, complacent look on your face and body relaxed. If not for the way that you eye him with amusement, Jimin would assume you’re not listening to him at all. As it is, he fixes you with a glare. “I’m not all-encompassing, you know. All I can do is take the pain away and temporarily fix your body’s failure.”

“That’s more than enough for me,” you cheerfully exclaim. Jimin aggressively unpacks the clothes in the dresser in response, grumbling under his breath. No matter how much he practically insults you into taking care of yourself, you always shrug off his words.

“What kind of human are you? Don’t you want to live?”

“Of course I want to live,” you immediately reply, before yawning. “But I don’t want to live it in a hospital.” 

“Anyway, this current life is good enough for me. As long as I’m happy, I don’t care what happens to my body,” you quietly laugh, as if there is a joke hidden somewhere in your words that Jimin has failed to see. “Now, won’t you kiss the pain away?”

He sighs even as he looks over you, scanning you for any signs that your disease has flared up again. You wink at him in turn and he snaps his head around, annoyed at you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Says the one who took me to Disney World. A demon taking a human to Disney World, can you think of anything more ridiculous than that?”

The clothes in his hand almost slip from him as he splutters. Red flashes in his cheeks as he whirls around to glare (read: pout) at you. “You had fun! … Didn’t you?”

“Of course I did,” you agree with a small smile. “I’m pretty sure I had the most fun there, even if you were the one screaming your head off while we rode the rollercoaster.” Jimin’s face reddens even more at the reminder, while you chuckle at his reaction. “Though you lost all your dignity for a moment.”

“If you can make jokes like that, then I know you’re feeling alright already,” he glowers. “Go on and get some rest.”

“Yes sir,” you mock salute him, before shutting your eyes and falling asleep just like that. Jimin sighs, and then pulls up the sheets to your chin. 

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“Why does he like to visit you so fucking much?” He asks, maybe a little more aggressively than he likes. Still, it’s very much justified in his opinion. Taehyung stops by way too often, dropping by at least once a week, if not even more. It aggravates him to no end, to see the angel dare to get close to what Jimin has marked as his. “Does he not have anything else to do, or is heaven really that idle?”

His irritation only deepens as your lips quirk up in amusement.

“He’s just checking up on me.”

“What he is is being a nuisance and an overall pest. The urge to swat him down like the fly that he is rises up every time he appears.”

He hears you snort with laughter beside him.

“Pfft! Geez, alright. Instead of thinking about that, why don’t you look over this with me?”

He feels you lean on his shoulder, the phone’s screen showing your possible next destination.

“As long as that fly doesn’t dare to appear, I’m fine with wherever.”

“So you don’t mind missing out on the music festival in England for some other place then-?”

“I never said that,” he glares at you, pout on full display, ignoring your snickers. “Give me that phone.”

“Yes, yes, here you go.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

It takes him five months- almost half of the time he’s dedicated to your deal- before he asks you about the question he’s always wanted to know the answer to, the curiosity backed up by the fact that you probably will answer him. Hopefully.

Five months, and with every little thing he manages to glean about you, there comes another question to replace it. The skills he can easily guess to be remnants of your past lives, far off gazes reminiscing old memories, the unbothered attitude the accumulation of lives lived and lost.

Not to mention the way you always seem so... sad. Yes, perhaps that’s the best way to describe it. You hide it well, but even as you smile, you always seem to be one step saying goodbye. It doesn’t make sense, considering it was your choice to traded away your remaining years. Not to mention, you’ve let it slip that no one from your past lives are still living in the present.

Although.

It’s not as if he cares, not really- besides the fact that you always keep him on his toes, surprising him at ever moment, you’re just like any other human. Actually, you’re even less than that, considering your living conditions.

But time is running out, and if he lets you slip away without even trying, out of fear, then it wouldn’t be like him, now would it? And that won’t do at all.

At this moment, the two of you are sitting on the roof of the cabin you’ve rented out in Swedish Lapland. Something that you both came here to accomplish was seeing an aurora borealis, and as you’re both clad in warm layers of fur, hot chocolate in your flasks as snow surrounds you below and around you and the brilliant flashes of light above you- he can’t help but let his thoughts wander. 

For once Jimin decides to take a step past the line he’s tried to define against you.

“What were your past lives like?” The question slips from him before he can take it back, and he sees you tense up, though you soon cover it up with a befuddled look.

“Hm?”

“You know what I mean,” he pushes. “Even us demons barely remember our human lives, much less a human like you who remembers their past cycles.” 

A flash of heat decorates his cheeks as he sees the light in your eyes fade a little. “.. I was merely curious. It’s alright if you don’t want to-”

“I was the village healer in my first life,” you simply state. Jimin freezes, shocked that you would even reply.

Still, when he sees you turn to him, the look on your face clearly asking him to respond, he clears his throat.

“A healer huh…” he trails off, the image of you in his head becoming clear. “Somehow, I can easily see you as one. … Although it’s a little ironic, considering your current state.”

“Yeah,” you quietly chuckle.  “It was one of my favorites. I had a loving family, and many friends. We had enough to live by ourselves, and the place where we lived was peaceful and beautiful.“ 

“Our village was situated on the mountainside- we were surrounded by this huge forest, and the blue sea below. My daily life started with tending to my patients first, and then to my garden. After that, I’d go into the forest to scavenge wild herbs, and I’d always take the time to appreciate the beautiful scenery. When I got back, I’d start making medicine, and then I’d continue taking care of any patients that came through the door.”

“Sounds like an idyllic life,” Jimin remarks, before adding, “If it were me, I wouldn’t have been able to stand that.” 

“I wouldn’t begrudge you for missing that sort of life. It’s much more simple and easier than the life humans lead nowadays.”

You laugh, the sound full of melancholy even as there is nostalgia in it. “Right? You have the same way of thinking as- as him,” you pause, before your tone changes to a softer, gentler one, full of unspoken feelings. “My best friend. Kindest, most cheerful and helpful angel of our village. He was the son of our chief, but that wasn’t the reason why everyone loved him. We all adored him because he was the brightest part of our lives.”

“You sound overly fond of him.”

“I am.” The way you phrase your words doesn’t escape him as you look him in the eyes. You pause for a moment, before almost whispering the words, though he still hears them. “I will always love him.”

“... Do you?” For some reason, Jimin’s chest feels tight. It’s impossible for it to be like that. His body doesn’t function the same way that a human does, after all, no matter how much it may seem otherwise. Still, the way it suddenly feels as though the breath in him is slowly being stolen away, pain filling in the space left- he hates it. “How did it go, then?”

“How did what go?” You ask him, bemused. He sighs irritably and repeats his question, mixed emotions unknowingly present in his tone.

“You said you love him, so… did you, with him...?”

For a moment, you stare at him in surprise-

- and then you burst into laughter, long and hard. “Pfft! No, we didn’t,” you clarify as you giggle. “I’m sure I don’t have to point it out explicitly, but he was the son of the village chief, and I was just the healer. Besides, we were both men. No one would have approved of it, and it’s not like we could just shrug off the village and run away together.” 

You smile widely, brighter than he’s ever seen you smile before, but Jimin is not blind to the lingering pain inside. “He got married to someone else.”

“... He did? But I remember you saying you were the closest one to him. If he knew-”

“-I never told him,” you shrug, a hollow chuckle slipping out. “It wouldn’t have done anything anyway, except make him miserable.”

It should make him happy. Thinking about this ‘best friend’ of yours who you’re still in love with makes him unnaturally angry, and to know that you have feelings left for a ghost even more. 

Yet in the face of your heartbreak, as much as you try to hide it, Jimin feels sympathy for you instead. He clears his throat, breaking the silence.

“So you spent your life alone, then. While the guy you loved was with someone else?” He shakes his head. “I’m surprised, and yet I’m not.” Only half a year spent with you, and yet he can tell it’s something you would do. “Tell me about your next lives then.”

You smile a little then, recognizing the out he’s giving you. After a brief period of contemplation, you start speaking again.

You tell Jimin vaguely about your previous lives, the previous cycles you’ve gone through. You tell him about the city in your second life, the wandering merchant family you’d been born to and how you were pulled into the trade. You dipping into secret deals, backstabbing and a little manipulation to protect your family from malicious people. Your third life, where you are from a family of low nobles, and your forage into politics to find out who’s your allies and who’s your enemies. All the way up to your eight life, you talk, and talk, and talk, filling up the silence of the night with tales of lives lived so long ago, details lost to history and moments uncaptured but remembered. 

Even as a demon, as old as Jimin may be to the humans, he’s barely as old as you are, if one were to take your first life as your moment of birth. He’s only heard snippets and rumours of dynasties and eras so far down history, nothing can be proven a hundred percent true. Yet in your words, you manage to vividly paint a picture, a window into a world he’s never seen before.

In your eighth life, you tell him about the powerful family you’re born into. About the way your family held you tight, how politics ran deeply and tightly around the city, the powerful dictating the lives of those without, and how you carved a place for yourself into history despite the obstacles in your way.

About the prince you grew up with, the emperor you eventually strived to serve faithfully.

That’s something that he’s noticed is a commonality with every lifetime of yours. There is always the presence of this other person. Some lifetimes, they are your childhood friend and others they come late into your life. Their personality often varies, and so do your relationship, but several things always remain the same.

You and them are partners in some sense of the word.

They are in a position of power higher than yours.

You are close to them, devoted to them, perhaps even in love with them, although it never leads to anything tangible in the end.

“That sounds like a tedious life,” he quietly comments as you tell him about the banquet you’d been forced to attend, the beautiful but dry and cold food. “It doesn’t seem like one you’d like, but let me guess, this lifetime around he was the emperor, wasn’t he?”

To your point, you don’t ask him what he’s talking about. A bitter smile alights on your lips instead as you consider his question.

You huff. “Yeah. It’s kinda obvious, isn’t it? He was the emperor’s son in that lifetime,” you admit. “I helped him battle his siblings and gain the throne.” 

“But if you’re wondering... as I’m sure you know, relationships between the emperor and the officials are forbidden.” You look away from him then, eyes going back up to the northern lights above, though neither of you have been paying attention to it since the conversation started. “I was already pretty controversial in that time.”

He raises an eyebrow. “How?”

“Secret~” you smirk. He frowns at you, rolling his eyes- and you giggle.

“... I can’t understand how your soul became like that,” he grumbles. “How the hell do you have a soul that’s both pure and not? More than that, how is it that you happen to be reborn together and in almost the same circumstance in every life? It’s as though you’re tied together.”

You laugh, although it’s tinged with sadness. “... if I ever find out how, maybe I’ll tell you someday.”

He only rolls his eyes. “You will.”

The resounding laughter he hears from you makes it worth it. Still...

“Where is he in this lifetime, then?” He finally asks. Surely, if this person who you’ve met and waited for in every cycle has been part of your life without fail, then, surely, he has to have appeared in this one as well, right?

Although he thinks they don’t deserve you, but they obviously make you happy, and… you’re just about the only human Jimin thinks deserves that word the most. Happiness. He hasn’t seen you truly happy even just once, and it’s not as if he cares, no. But you made the deal with him to enjoy your last life, didn’t you?

You fall silent at his question, lips struggling to hold the smile on your face. When it doesn’t work, you take a deep breath, and then turn to him. “... Who knows? If he’s out there, alive… I just hope he’s happy.”

Jimin hisses at that.

“Asshole,” he furiously mutters. “After everything you sacrificed for him, you should get to have your own happiness too. If I ever see him, I’ll-”

You interrupt his angry tirade with laughter, warm and isn’t it funny how that single action seems to be more effective at keeping the cold away than the drink in his hands?

“Being with him was what already made me happy,” you smile. “But thank you.”

He pouts, wracking his mind for words to not only keep your smile afloat but to show you how worthless the person you’ve endured heartache for is. “... I wouldn’t leave you to suffer alone.”

“I know,” you coo at him, smile becoming a smirk.

“Because of our deal,” he hurriedly clarifies, the tips of his ears burning red as you lean on his shoulder. Jimin feels his body stiffen as the weight of your head on his side registers. He doesn’t want to push you away- but damn it if this isn’t something he’s ever done, and is familiar with before. 

Your fingers intertwine with his, bringing with them affection and comfort, and he finally calms down with a huff. “... I-I made a deal with you, after all.”

“Yeah, I know,” you repeat, obviously struggling to hold back your laughter.  “Thank you.”

“... As long as you know.”

That night ends with the two of you spending far more time than you should out in the cold, no matter that it’s the rooftop of your cabin. The aurora lights last all night long, the beautiful glows of colors dissipating and blending into the rosy colors of the morning sky, a beautiful sight that even Jimin has to appreciate as he sees it from the bedroom’s window.

If only you would wake up from your slumber, you could see it too. Still, he isn’t too keen on waking you up in any way, much less shoving your body away from him. 

… Even if your body is a little too cold than he likes.

•• ━━���━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

It’s in his seventh month of being with you that he slowly realizes something. As the cherry blossoms die, autumn leaves falling and snow coating the world in white, he realizes that maybe, just maybe, he’s let you come a little too close, a little too familiar with this heart.

At first he looked forward to knowing your secrets, but it’s infuriating to realize that even as much as he gets to know about you, it’s surprisingly not enough. He wants more. It never feels enough- whether it be your secrets, your attention, or maybe just you.

Not to mention he’s never had reason to stay so long as he has in the human realm, and not so close to anyone, moreso his human. Perhaps that’s part of the reason why it takes him so long to realize.

The way that it dawns on him too is frustrating- the thought instantly settling in his mind when he sees you flash one of your rare smiles at him. Mid-afternoon, as you stir the tea in your hand, the sunlight almost seeming to cover you with an ethereal glow as you sit with your back against the window. 

For once, you’re the one filling the silence, chuckling over incidents that happened as the two of you went to see the parade earlier that day. The memory of you watching the performers decked beautifully in white facepaint, skull masks and roses, and elaborate clothing, with an awed look on your face… the thought of it makes him smile unconsciously and you catch it.

“Are you smiling?” You raise an eyebrow at him, bemused. “I didn’t know you liked the parade that much, you wanted to join.”

Red flares up in his cheeks when your words sink in. “What. I- I wasn’t smiling! I was just- thinking.”

You give him a skeptical look, eyes travelling from feet to head, before you hide a very visible smirk behind your cup of tea. “Huh. Must’ve been a wonderful thought, if it made you smile so easily like that,”  you tease him. “... It’s nice seeing you smile more often these days.”

Do I? He wonders. You’re all that fills his head these days, from your ridiculous antics and decisions, the unfathomable way of thinking you have, the way you so easily see him and read him. Does he really smile that much, when you’re the only thing he thinks about so much?

Do the thoughts of you really make him happy, enough to the point that he’s always smiling?

You offer him a warm grin. “I’m glad. I worried I was the only one enjoying this deal, after all.”

… He’s fucked.

After that, it takes a miracle (heh) to act the same as before, to pretend that nothing is going on. After all, it’s not as if he can confess his love for you, can he? He isn’t even sure if it’s love that he feels- can demons even feel that emotion? 

But the truth is, now that he’s aware of just how much exactly you mean to him, it’s hard not that smile a little too much when you get the pleased look in your eyes, to keep the laughter at bay when you make a mistake and pout just the tiniest little bit, sulking, to generally just not let you catch on that everything you do is making him feel like holding you close as much and as long as his heart demands.

He can’t. He shouldn’t. He wants you, and he’s never had a problem with taking what he’s set his sights on before. But you aren’t like anything else he’s collected. You aren’t a toy he wants to play around with, nor are you a rare item he wants to keep locked up. You’re someone he treasures, and while he has no doubt he’s charming and powerful, that on some level, you’re attracted to him, that’s not enough to make you choose him.

At least, not enough for you to pick him over them.

Not if you chased them across literal lifetimes, if you’ve spent lifetimes dedicated to them.

Even now, when he approaches the subject, he can feel you distance yourself from him. He’s torn.

Jimin watches you, a smile of his own appearing.

I don’t want to push it and push him away for good.

But.

I really want to get past this wall.

… It’s fine though. There’s still time. There’s still time to make you change your mind, to love him too. He’ll make sure of it. After all, whoever he is is long gone, and Jimin is the one in front of you and beside you at all times. Something is bound to change.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“You’re much more agreeable these days.”

Walking side by side, he thinks that it would be more than easy to reach across and hold your hand in his. Instead, he raises an eyebrow at you and pushes those thoughts out of his mind.“And? You aren’t complaining, are you?”

You chuckle. He averts his gaze, feeling a little blinded. “No, not really. Just an observation. Does this mean you won’t mind the festival tomorrow? It’ll be messy, after all. And not in the way you like.”

He grumbles. “... I suppose so. It’s not like I have a choice, anyway, so why not?”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The days pass, and the cold becomes unbearable. It burrows under his skin, surrounding his body that not even human clothes can keep away. Especially at night, when the temperature is at its lowest, does he find himself shivering. Although admittedly, it’s much better than how it was months ago, now that the seasons are shifting into spring, it’s still bad for his health.

At least that’s what he tells you, any extension himself, as you continue to share one bed. You are his responsibility, but in the line of thinking Jimin is someone under your care too, as you are both partners. Therefore, it only makes sense for you to share warmth with him by cuddling (read: spooning, you’d been the one to bring it up after a very embarrassed Jimin almost stomped off, although you never mentioned the implications wrapped around it) with you.

In your arms, your scent surrounds him, legs thrown over his own, your hair soft on his cheek. Moments like this are hard to come by, but that just makes him savor every one of them even more.

Under the darkness of the room, minutes after you’ve agreed to turn off the lights and go to sleep, he finds himself whispering, wondering if you’ll reply.

“Aren’t you scared to die? … Is it really that terrible, to be confined in a hospital?”

Your response is short, tone even, but the way you tighten your hold on him says everything.“I’m more scared to not have lived.”

“And honestly… I can’t stand the somber atmosphere in hospitals. I never have, and I never will.”

Months ago, he wouldn’t even have entertained sharing a bed with a human, much less cuddle with one. But these days, Jimin finds he can’t ever sleep without the uneven beat of your heart lulling him to sleep.

He’s become spoiled with your presence.

“I’ll give you the best two months of your life,” he mumbles before correcting himself. “... Lifetimes.”

“Really now,” you hum, a yawn escaping you near the end, “I’m looking forward to it then.”

“Don’t give me those perfunctory words,” he gripes. “I mean it.”

“I know,” you adjust your position, just so that Jimin is pulled close, close, closer to you. WHe can hear the faint beating of your heart even louder, the miniscule warmth of your body a familiar blanket over his own. “... I’m just really tired right now. Can we go to sleep?”

Jimin finally yawns too, feeling exhaustion wash over him as you accept his declaration. “... Alright, fine. Good night, YN.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

But everything good has to come to an end. It isn’t an opinion, but rather a fact, and Jimin is only reminded of this just as the seasons start to shift back to spring, the year coming to its last month.

The way it happens is not even anything gradual, or perhaps it is, but he’s long chosen to ignore it. Because he’s been able to handle it so far, so it should be okay, right? If it’s for you, he’s willing to dole out his magic freely for your sake, so, you’d be alright no matter what, right?

But the way you suddenly collapse on the sidewalk tells him otherwise.

There’s barely a few seconds of warning, maybe one or two. Jimin can’t really tell. All he can remember is how you were walking side by side under the warm weather, enjoying the sun him telling you to take a break at the next cafe over, your laughter ringing out-

-before you fall over, just like that, your legs and arms painfully stiff, you almost crashing onto the asphalt if it weren’t for him catching you in his arms.

“J-Jimin,” you instantly choke out his name, the blue tint of your skin becoming stronger as the words fail to leave you, leaving you gasping and clutching your chest. He isn’t as worried at first, thinking that he only has to fix your failing heart again, but-

No. Your blood won’t move. It won’t close.

He tries again, his hand clutching you tighter this time as if to respond to the panic slowly rising up inside of him, but- still. It’s as if your body is rejecting him, the magic being blocked out, unable to enter you-

“No-”

-and he can only uselessly hold you in his arms, you getting closer to dying with every moment that he wastes-

“No, no, n-no-” he stammers.“YN, hang in there-”

Again and again, he keeps trying, trying to push your body to do something, but no, nothing.

From thereon, it’s a blur. He remembers that he can call the hospital, and scrambling for his phone, he immediately punches the numbers in, though his hands shake with every passing second. 

“9-911, help, please-” he chokes out, “please help, m-my YN, he’s- he’s-”

“Sir, can you please give us your location?” The voice that answers him is quick, urgent, but focused, and how can they be focused when you’re bent over, convulsing in pain-?

“I-I can’t-” he stammers, the address muddled in his head. Though he then looks around, searching for landmarks to give the other person. “W-We’re in front of the entrance to the Keukenhof Gardens.“

He fails to hear what they say, the only words standing out in his head that they’re coming. 

It should amaze him, later on, how at this moment all the panic seems to melt away and not, leaving him shaking but able to speak better, clearer. It’s as if the emotions have dulled away, leaving him pounding but still going on.

“YN,” he tells you, voice wrapped up in emotions that not even he can tell is what. “Hold on, the medics are coming- just-”

“Jimin,” you whimper, trembling. He can see your skin turn even bluer with every passing second, a warning that your heart is pumping yet your lungs are failing. You’re clearly in pain, but- despite that, your whole focus is on him. “... I couldn’t- I can’t see you- I t-thought you left me again.”

An ugly sob tears its way out his chest then. It feels as if his eyes are burning with tears, blurring his vision, but he’s resolved not to let you go.

“D-Don’t worry about that. I’m right h-here sweetheart,” he reassures with a shaky voice. “Didn’t I say I’d n-never leave you? Just focus on my voice-”

Whatever words he speaks next, you never hear as you fall unconscious. Jimin catches you in his arms, and promises to not let you go. 

He doesn’t register the sound of the ambulance arriving, the medics pulling you away from him, him using his power to convince them to let him go with you. The ambulance’s siren doesn’t sink into him, and neither do the busy personnel connecting you to various machines and leading you away into the emergency room, him stuck outside as they tell him to wait. He wants to go inside, to see you, but- they tell him that they can’t work with him in there. So he lets him be sat down on the bench outside by the nurse, eyes drifting into space as he stares at the doors.

All that remains on loop in his mind is the moment you look at him with tears dripping down your face, the terror reflected back in his eyes as you whispered that you thought he’d left again.

The tears fall even faster.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

When they allow him to come in, hours and hours and what feels like an eternity later, the sight of feathers and a(n unfortunately) familiar face barely surprises him. After all, it was made clear to him during your earliest days with you that the angel has a soft spot for you, though how much is still a mystery.

“Taehyung,” he says quietly.  “what are you doing here?”

“What do you think?” Taehyung stands by your bed, lips pursed and entire countenance stony as he regards Jimin. You continue to slumber, unaware of the conversation taking place before you. “I should be the one asking you that question. Then again, I guess I can’t be too surprised. You really are dedicated to your job, aren’t you?” He doesn’t laugh, only tightening his grip. “I’d say I hope you’re happy with what you’ve done to him, what you will do to him, but we both already know that’s a lie.”

Jimin bristles. “You say that like I intended for this to happen. … I care about YN.”

At his answer, Taehyung only seems to grow even more furious, the tick in his jaw appearing as his glare becomes murderous. 

“If you really cared for him,” he doesn’t outright yell, no, but Taehyung’s voice is low, trembling with anger, the type that takes every part of yourself to hold back. His hands are drawn into fists and Jimin doesn’t doubt that if you weren’t asleep, he wouldn’t even talk, he’d use his fists instead. “You wouldn’t have stayed near him at all, much less let it come to this point!”

“If you cared about him, you would have let him move on!” 

“I-” Jimin should be angry, and he is, but there’s something about Taehyung’s words, something about the grief in his face that forces him to take a step back. “W-What do you mean…?”

“... this was supposed to be his last chance,” Taehyung whispers. Looking down at your sleeping face, Jimin sees the way his face crumbles with bitterness.  “If he could just move on from you and start anew, he could have been given a chance to be an angel instead. Now, it doesn’t even matter if you and him aren’t like before, that he hasn’t done anything to harm others at all, they aren’t letting him go-”

Jimin’s whole body stills as he stares at Taehyung.

“... Like before?”

Taehyung’s face darkens- and then he snaps.

“How daft can you be?! Have you never wondered just why, out of so many demons, you’re the one he summoned? 75 years of a human life, even on their last cycles, that’s more than enough for a lifetime of wealth and riches!” Taehyung’s voice becomes increasingly loud, anger and blame visible in his eyes, before they shift to bitterness. “But no, he just wanted you. You, who’s always been the reason why he got screwed over in all of his previous lifetimes!”

“I…”

“And now he’s dying, his tenth life and he can’t enter heaven or hell, neither can his soul be broken and made anew,” he spat out bitterly. “Don’t preach to me about how his current state is our fault, because if you’d never tempted him in the first place he wouldn’t even be born into this wretched state!”

After saying his piece, it’s as if a string controlling Taehyung has been cut, as his whole body sags. Once more does he show grief in his face, tears falling and him brushing them away.

And Jimin?

He doesn’t know what to say, how to react. 

Thinking back on it, perhaps the clues had been there all along, and it was just him who refused to see it for what it was. The whole mystery, presented to him, while still missing important pieces had already given him the most important information.

All along, it’d been Jimin who YN searched for in every life, who you’ve been devoted to, may be in love with, and-

And him who’s ruined you in turn, whether it be your previous lives or this one.

The revelation makes him fall, crushing the breath in his lungs. It feels like he’s falling, deep, hard, with no way out and goddamn it why would you still want him after everything?

“... no.”

It’s your words that halt them in their tracks. Surprised, they see you awake.

“YN!” 

They both exclaim your name in surprise. You smile weakly at them in turn, and the way you struggle to breathe a little doesn’t escape them. 

“Thank you, Taehyung, for trying to protect me,” you start, before your smile turns sad. “But I think you forget I’ve always had the choice to leave Jimin. If I ever wanted to, if it ever got too hard for me, I could have left. But I didn’t. And I never will.”

You close your eyes. “A life without him isn’t a life worth living at all.”

Taehyung’s laugh is broken as your words sink in. “Is it worth it even if it costs you everything?”

“You know my answer will always be yes.”

It’s kind of funny. Jimin has always known you would die. Not just mentioning how you’re human, the fact that you refused to get treatment for your condition means death was only ever a few steps behind you.

But even so, now that the moment is creeping closer, it still hits him hard, anyways. 

Perhaps the worst thing yet is the calm smile on your face, reminiscent of the first time Jimin’s met you. You aren’t angry, aren’t defiant, aren’t trying to fight against this in any way at all- you’re just accepting what’s to come and it breaks both of their hearts.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

After that, Taehyung leaves, though not before he has a private talk with you. When he leaves your room, Jimin sees the trail of tears remaining on his face before he disappears.

Coming in, it all feels like a dream. 

It was only a day ago that the two of you had been planning to take a stroll together and admire the garden boasted to be the ‘most beautiful spring garden in the world’. 

Now the only thing that reminds him of spring inside is the flowers on the vase by your bedside (probably placed there by Taehyung, his mind tells him). You’re admiring them with a small smile (fake, his mind oh so helpfully tells him), though the way you’re determinedly not meeting his gaze, hands clutching the blanket tightly tells him otherwise. 

Silence reigns in the room like so many times before, but this time, neither of you are breaking it. He can only stare at you, the questions in his mind screaming at each other to make themselves known, but as he sees the vulnerable stance you’re holding, your body curled up just enough that you could hide in on yourself, he hesitates.

He can’t. 

It’s with that that Jimin turns around, intending to leave, but-

Only then do you finally speak. Your voice is almost a whisper, but he hears it loud and clear. “Don’t leave,” you beg him. “Please.” The way your voice cracks at the end with unshed tears echoes in the room.

Jimin stops. A moment passes- and then he turns around again, sighing as he seats himself beside you. You still aren’t looking at him, but you aren’t quite looking away from him either.

“... Is it true then? YN.”

You flinch, but you answer all the same.

“... Yeah, it is.” When you speak next, it’s only too obvious that you’re trying to be casual and light. “Sorry about that. I didn’t think Taehyung was such a blabbermouth.”

Jimin already knew. That was a fact.

But damn it if it doesn’t hurt right now. If it doesn’t make him physically sick, to consider his part in your current condition. To actually have to face the truth. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have-”

“You could have what?” You interrupt him. Jimin falls silent, unable to answer and you smile bitterly. “That’s what I thought.” 

“If I told you when we first met, would you have believed me?” 

He looks away. “... Yes, I would have.”

“Liar,” you immediately call him out, a hint of exasperation present in your tone. “Don’t blame yourself, Jimin. I chose this. I’m happy right now.”

“Originally I wasn’t going to find you, but… when I saw you, you just reminded me of the old you,” you smiled sadly. “when you didn’t know what to live for, desperate for anything to keep you going. And then I realized you didn’t recognize me… I just wanted to see you smile happily again.”

And then it feels as though someone’s punched him in the chest.

“If you die, I won’t be smiling happily anymore! If you die right now, I won’t find any reason to smile for the rest of this hell that I’m stuck as a demon. This time, I won’t ever be able to forget you. I won’t ever be able to forget your smiles, your laughter, the way you smirk at me when you tease me- I couldn’t ever forget you.” He chokes out, tears brimming in his eyes as he looks you in the eyes, forcing you to see him. “How could you ever think there would be a life where I wouldn’t fall in love with you?”

“... I’m sorry, Jimin,” your voice breaks with tears. “I’m sorry for being selfish. I should’ve just let you go, I’m sorry, I just missed you so much-”

He doesn’t know who starts crying first, only that the two of you are so close to shattering. 

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“What did I do to you?” He finally asks. To your credit, you don’t break eye contact with him, only flinching a little. Jimin quietly continues. “Taehyung… he said your soul became like this because of me. I want to know the full story.”

When he senses you hesitating, thinking over what to say, he clasps your hands in his own. “Please.”

Your shoulders sag, and you look away. 

“... in our first life, your wife cheated on you with another man from her village,” you finally say softly. 

Jimin says nothing, only encouraging you to speak. 

“Your father married you to her because she was the daughter of the head of the neighboring village, and she seemed to like you. When you were married, you made sure to treat her well, going above what people would normally do and almost even pampering her. With everything that was going on, you becoming head and your marriage, we began drifting away.”

“But your wife turned out to be tricking you only for the money and the status. I soon found out she’d been stealing money and lying about it, and going behind your back to see other men. At first I was incensed, and I immediately confronted her. She knew I could make you listen, so she promised to stop and change her ways. I agreed. I didn’t want you to be heartbroken when you realized how much she’d been lying to you.”

“... I found her under another man weeks later, near the shed. I confronted them, threatening to tell you- and her lover, who obviously knew who I was, panicked. He tried to kill me then, but I was stronger than him- and then he tried pleading for his innocence, killing your wife in turn before begging me to let it go.”

“I was shocked. At first I didn’t know what to do, but then I tried to confront her, and well-” you fall silent again, obviously torn about telling him what happens next. Jimin awaits your response, and it isn’t long before you make up your mind.

“... I tried to detain him, but in the process killed him instead. You came out, attracted by the ruckus… I can’t ever forget the face you had when you saw both your wife and another man dead, and me, standing over them,” your voice comes out as a whisper. “You never blamed me, especially after you heard the truth, but- we were never the same afterwards.”

“I think… that was the start of everything.”

The way you retell your past lives now, revealing to him the parts that you glossed over before, it puts the clues he’s seen before in clear perspective. It breaks his heart to hear your journey through the different lives, always there for him, always getting dragged into the darker side of the world because of him. Because of him, in almost every life you’ve been dragged to kill, to manipulate, to ruin lives on his account. If not to protect him, to keep him safe then to avenge him in some way.

Taehyung was right. It is his fault.

Finally, you touch upon your last life with him, your eight life.

“In our eight life, you were the emperor’s son, and I was the concubine’s son of the right minister of the court. We were childhood friends,” you smile a little in reminiscence. 

“... The royal family was full of backstabbing and schemes. I wanted to protect you, but I was too young. When I finally had the power, you were already broken in by others, wanting nothing but power and revenge. I thought… no, I wanted to help. If I could have just stopped it sooner, you wouldn’t have suffered so much after all,” the guilt in your tone is thick as is the regret in your eyes. “I became the minister, scheming and backstabbing others in order to gain what I wanted, to protect you, and to help you get revenge.”

“At the end of that life, we’d drenched the whole city in blood, not a single person against you left alive.”

“... I remember that,” Jimin finally says.

A demon’s past lives are always sealed shut and kept secret, but- perhaps just by the virtue of standing by you, the one person who’s always been a central point in all his lives, that he can remember at least his last life clearly.

“... I was poisoned, wasn’t I?” He chuckles. Your smile tightens, a shaky breath leaving you that he knows isn’t just from your illness.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “In the ninth life, I couldn’t find you anywhere. I lived my whole life searching for you, but I couldn’t even sense the slightest hint of you anywhere.”

“You were looking in the wrong realm,” he laughs a little. You shrug.

“... And now, this life.”

“This life,” he echoes, falling quiet.

“You already know about my family. My mother dying at childbirth, father abandoning me, my relatives only being greedy… I ran away as soon as I could. I suffered, that’s true, but- I thought,” you swallow nervously. “I couldn’t find you anywhere last time. And this was my last life. So… I thought that maybe, I could summon a demon to help me search for you, if you were at least still alive somewhere.”

“Imagine my surprise when I summoned you instead.”

You place a small kiss on his palm, intertwining your hand with him after. “I promised I’d only take a little peek, see if you were happy, but… I guess… I guess I got greedy.”

Jimin lets out a shaky exhale, feeling the strength leave him as your words sink into his mind. “And Taehyung?”

“I met him in my ninth life. I’m pretty sure he already told you, but… he’s the one who made it possible for me to remember my past lives,” you smile a little at that. “I started searching for you after that.”

“I guess they were pretty anxious for a new angel to arrive, making me that deal.”

He scoffs. “The amount of angels that enter heaven have heavily decreased these past centuries. I’m not too surprised if they are. For a system that prides itself on its morality, their pragmatism rivals even hell itself.”

“Yeah,” you simply reply. “Don’t be too harsh on him, okay? He was the reason I found you in this life, after all. I’m thankful I got to see you again in my last life.”

And just like that, he’s reminded again of the situation at hand.

“After all, they said,” you continue, “I could die at any moment now.”

Fingers trace where your heart would be in your chest. “Complications from my birth defect. A blood clot formed in one of the arteries near my heart. ”

“More than that though- there’s only two weeks left, before our contract ends,” you tell him. Jimin squeezes your hand, seated beside you.  

“...Is there anything you want?”

“Just stay with me, please,” you close your eyes as you lean on him.

“Alright. Alright, I can do that.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

After that, Jimin stays by your side at all times, every waking second of the day, if not to keep you company, then to ease the pain in your body. It’s ironic, considering your past lives. He remembers being bedridden, every change of his condition monitored. You’d told him multiple times then, that you were willing to follow him to the grave. The ministers praised your loyalty. Only he knew that it wasn’t a promise so much as a statement.

“Wow,” your lips quirk into a grin as you take the cup from his hands. “Tea from you, our great and oh-so-gracious emperor. How lucky of me.”

“Perfectly brewed tea too,” he preens as you compliment him.

In a reversal of roles, he brews you tea, accompanying you around (though not too far lest your disease acts up again), making sure that in your last days, you’re left with as little regret and as much contentment as you can get. 

Still, he can’t help thinking over the angel’s words. Every time he sees you just enjoy being alive together, he wonders, why not? If it guaranteed your survival, he’d push you to become a demon, or even an angel.

The one time that he brings it up, though, you instantly shoot him down.

“I don’t want to be an angel,” you bluntly state. “If I did, I’d be bound to fight you someday. Besides, heaven cast me out already..”

“Becoming a demon isn’t something you can so easily do, either. Remembering my previous lives actually makes it harder for me. Even if it’s for you… I can’t justify ruining people’s lives in any way in this life.”

He exhales, grip on you tightening with every word you say, feeling as though if he doesn’t, then somehow, somehow, you’ll instantly disappear.

“... I know.”

He doesn’t bring up that topic again.

And if he leaves moments later, not returning until an hour later, appearing the same but feeling empty of everything inside, well. At least you don’t call him out on it.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

A few days before your contract ends, he’s visited by someone he didn’t think would see him.

“If you had a chance to save him,” he says. “Would you?”

Of course. If there’s anything that binds Jimin and him together, it’s you.

“I would.”

A heartbeat’s worth of moment passes- and then he replies.

“What are you willing to give up?”

“Everything.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“YN!”

You cheekily wave at him from where you are, standing by the bed, outfit not the hospital gown but rather clothes for outside wear. Jimin stride over to you, features stiff as he almost-but-not-quite glares at you, or to be more specific at you standing and dressed to go out.

“I didn’t want to spend my last days on a hospital bed,” you explain before he can say anything, a forcefully lighthearted tone in your voice. You smile at him easily, pulling him down for a kiss- one that he easily returns, before grasping his hands in yours. “So. Accompany me, will you?”

Cold. Your body temperature has always been a little below than how normal humans should be, but in this moment it’s fallen even lower and Jimin can’t help but let his magic ease the discomfort you must be feeling. You hum in pleasure as you feel the pain in your body dull, no doubt because of Jimin.

“... Fine,” he sighs, before warning you. “But we aren’t doing anything strenuous.”

“I know,” you roll your eyes at him, before tugging on your interlocked hands. “Come on, we’re losing daylight.”

Where are we even going? He wants to ask, but it’s a futile question. After all, he’ll follow you wherever you decide to go, whether it be even heaven or hell.

With that thought in mind, he lets you lead.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The destination in question turns out to be the Keukenhof gardens, the place you two intended to visit before the incident.

Although he originally didn’t want you to put too much pressure on your body, Jimin thinks, if only to himself, that maybe this trip is doing you more good than harm. Surrounded by the beautiful scenery, it seems as though you are at peace for once. The tension that seemed unnoticeable before has visibly melted away for both of you, leaving you both at peace. 

“I remember you strolling in the imperial gardens.” The memory in question comes in a burst as he watches you walk around. The scene before him blurs. The present overlaps with the past vision of you in his mind- where you’re wearing brightly colored robes, followed by several attendants. Tulips on the ground are replaced by falling plum blossoms, and even the atmosphere is different. 

What only remains the same is you and the gentle look on your face.

“I always found you having tea in the pavilion. That was the first place I looked to when I needed you, and I rarely failed to find you there.”

You laugh a little. “I always asked you to join me.”

“... Yes, you were the only one who could so easily ask me to take a break with you,” he murmurs. “No one else would even dare meet my eyes. They were always too afraid.”

“The memories keep coming back to me now.”

“Do they?” You ask him, swinging your linked hands a little. “Our lives keep changing, but if there’s anything that stays the same… I guess it’s this. I’m glad I got to do this at least once with you in this life too.”

“If it were up to me, we’d do this everyday.” 

And then he feels you tug on him. He notices the way your breathing quickly becoming erratic, you starting to struggle even more just to breathe. It’s nothing that his magic can’t dull, the pain disappearing but the damage increasing.

This is the limit of what Jimin can do (he hates it, but you always look at him a grateful look on your face and he swallows back the words, knowing what your reaction would be).

After that, he carries you to one of the benches by the path. In the late afternoon, the sky is a brilliant shade of rose, sunlight gently bathing the sea of flowers with gold.

‘Just a little longer’, he thinks. Please.

“Hey, Jimin.”

“... You asked me before,” you suddenly speak up again, voice falling lower as if you’re sleepy. “If I was afraid to die.”

“Even after countless lifetimes, I’ve always been afraid to die,” you reveal. “But I was more afraid to die without seeing you at least once.”

“Were you happy, this past year?” He abruptly asks. The answer should be obvious- you’ve done so much just to find him, just to stay by him, so obviously you should, but he can’t help asking. Were you? Were you happy? Was he able to make you feel that the pain was worth it in any way?

Maybe it isn’t for you as much as it is for him. I’m sorry. The words are laced in every touch and he wonders if you can hear it.

You chuckle. “Of course I am.”

“... Jimin,” you call out his name again, when the silence drags him down to where his thoughts fester. He shivers- feeling your presence slowly wither away beside him, as you struggle to speak, your voice becoming more and more quiet. “Jimin...”

“Yes?”

“If there’s a life beyond this one, and the other one, and beyond… I’d still want to spend all of it with you.”

Jimin laughs, but it’s strange.

His voice… it really isn’t as smooth as it used to be. The trembling, choked up feeling in his throat- they turn his words into ones filled with tears. “Really, YN? That’s a promise then, alright? After all, I still haven’t paid you back for all the lifetimes I’ve caused you grief… I don’t think I ever will, no matter how much I try.”

He looks at you then- at your eyes that hold nothing but fondness in them, to the gentle slope of your lips, the smooth space between your eyebrows. Dipping his head low, he cups your face, pressing a kiss on your forehead. Your grip on him would be painful if there was any force behind it. As it is, he only grasps your hand in turn to make sure that at least you know you are together until the end.

A moment passes, and then another.

An evening breeze brushes by, making the trees sway, leaves falling down to the ground.

Jimin’s hands barely tremble as he closes your eyes for you. 

Like this, it’s easy to pretend you’re just sleeping. 

“... Goodnight, YN.”

Flower petals dance through the air, and Jimin thinks that is probably the send off that you would like. Surrounded by what you love.

He hopes that your smile carries on wherever you may go.

“I’ll meet you soon.”

Only the wind is there to hear him now, only the rising moon there to witness the tears that follow yet again.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“Hic… hic…”

It’s the sound of something that draws him to the place hidden behind the playground. He’s not scared- no, really!- but the other kids are too busy playing, enough that they couldn’t hear him when he said he wanted to join, so they definitely wouldn’t notice if something interesting was happening somewhere!

He’s a big boy though, so he can wait until they’re done, whenever that is. In the meantime, he can hear something weird, and he’s curious, so he can go investigate that!

So he walks carefully to just the veeeeery edge of the sandbox, looking around and trying to find out where the noise is coming from.

When he looks through the bushes, it’s when he finds himself what’s making the noise.

“What the- hey, are you okay?”

It’s a crying boy. 

For a moment, the two of them look at each other, surprised- before he awkwardly smiles at the other. When they don’t say anything, just staring at him, he patiently waits for them to say something. That’s what his mother always told him to do, after all. 

“Are you okay?” He repeats. The other nods a little. “What happened? I heard this strange noise but you seem and sound like you were crying!”

At that, they begin to tear up again.

“... I-I got lost, and I can’t find my mommy or my daddy…”

“Oh,” he says, before smiling. “That’s okay! I’ll help you find them!”

“... Really?”

He grins, eyes turning into crescent moons as he holds out his hand for the other to take. “Yeah, really! I’m kinda new here, so my mom told me where to go if I’m ever lost! I can take you there!”

They hesitate, face sad, before they seem to decide- and they take his hand.

And in that moment, he feels something wet on his cheeks.

“... a-are you crying!? I’m sorry!”

“Um- no, it’s okay… I just got really happy for no reason!” He hastily wipes away the tears, feeling really happy and sad for some reason. “Um… sorry… um.”

“What’s your name? Do you want to be friends? You’re really cute!”

“H-Huh?” They blush. “... My name is YN. And you are?”

“It’s Jimin! From now on, we’re friends, okay?”

They smile, and his chest feels a little funny. A little warm too. Just- he’s really, really happy, more than he’s ever been!

“Sure!”

Behind them both, a feather falls onto the ground.

[songsfromsevenbirds]

New contestants are approaching.

The signs are posted, encouraging. The tent is open, beckoning. The stage is set, welcoming. Somewhere within the impenetrable inky black, what used to be the faces of Edward and Lydia spread into wide, wide, impossibly wide grins, waiting for their unknowing prey like stalking, silent predators.

Though it’s not quiet, despite the overwhelming dark; it never is quiet here, between the ear-splittingly loud music with its accompaniment of agonizing moans, heartrending cries, and the occasional scream of souls (both figuratively and literally) being torn to shreds.

Not that you can hear any of that out there. No, all you can hear out there is the wind in the leaves, the birds chirping, maybe a harmless monster or six, and the call, that siren song, that quiet whisper of the heart that you can do it, you can weather the storm and find that which you want most. So you follow the colorful flyers, the alluring rumors, the guiding light, the flashing signs down, down, down to the black and white striped tent, only realizing you’ve gone too far when there’s no way out.

Well. Perhaps you’d hear all that on a normal day, when it’s not all dreary and gloomy with a storm coming. Lydia and Edward would wrinkle noses if they had them, displeased about the contrast of the tent against a near pitch black sky.

Their latest contestants are drawn in regardless, as they always are. Six people, or two groups of three, walking down, down, down to the black and white striped tent.

The first three are each drawn in by different prizes. One spoiled brat, two guards. The boy king is easy, and Lydia and Edward can always find something far more tempting than a bag of gold to offer mercenaries. The pair have seen these types before.

It is the second group, the one in pursuit of something that no one, save themselves and the young (old) woman some half a decade ago, can even seem to recall, that gets their attention, that warrants the spotlight.

The first one, the fighter, is sure to be such fun. Impulsive and self-sacrificing, the type to agree immediately only to collapse in horror and a cloud of suffering once he realizes what he’s lost. As easy to manipulate as a crow bar, his past tragedy and present company leverage to cause his strength to crumble to dust.

The second, the cleric. Divine aura muted, as though someone replaced the veil between this plane and the celestial with a heavy brocade curtain. Faith in his god struggles endlessly against the insidious spread of self-doubt, creeping vines of midnight with spines of silver curling around and around his soul. Edward and Lydia have such anticipation of the look on his face and the suffering he’ll spew when he learns of their little “no healing” rule.

The third is a wizard, wearing a most peculiar necromantic energy like a funereal shroud. Indescribable, confusing, pointless. It is a funereal shroud; no matter how full of life, health and beauty leave everyone. Just as people do, as the wizard will proclaim, despite bonds that say otherwise. The twins agree though, and they’re more than happy to help the process along.

The new contestants enter, squinting through the dark, cautiously making their way to the stage.

The lights come up.

The musics plays.

“Welcome-“

“-to Wonderland!”

[wickedvalentine-blog]

- Accursed Blessing I. -

Act I – Tribute of the Divines

A child was born, pure of human senses of judgement, duty and knowledge. At his cradle came to give their pledge, three goddesses of heaven, sisters of Celestis.

The child wandered in dreams as the sisters gathered around. Intrigued by the purity profound; the lost treasure of kings and queens.

The youngest sister stepped out, caressed his head, her snow-white hair gently touched his joined hands. Her name is Alba, an angel of forsaken lands; it was a goddess of words staying at his bed.

“Sleep, child, while there is still a dream to cherish. Once you are awake, a dreadful path you will tread, pained and lonely, you will miss your warm bed. But do not fear it, you will neither fail nor perish, for we will watch over you. I, Alba of the lands forsaken, will be with you as you reawaken, to guide your hand through the world written anew.”

The goddess of book and quill, ever so bold, leaned forward and kissed the child’s cheek. He is small and frail, but no longer weak, the gift of writing would shine down on his dark road.

Alba... her realm is travelled only by few, for who would willingly wander alone? Wanderer explores the land forlorn, forever old and forever new. Still the goddess uses all her might to help her children on the forsaken road, at its end, the promise of joy tenfold, the divine delights dwell, for which mortals fight.

Although she is youngest of the three, Alba’s powers exceeds all and any. With her thought a world is created, and with it many as well faded.

-

The eldest looked at the sleeping boy wondered whether she gives her pledge. “Another gift would make his spirit foil, but his senses sharpened like an edge.”

Aura, goddess from the house of melodies, full of friends, free of enemies, doubted her decision more than ever, wished to save the child from painful endeavour.

“Can we make a perfect human of this child? One wild of nature and calm of mind? There will always be a price to pay for talent, that is the way of fate, unwanted and ambivalent.”

Aura knows more than anyone how success is failure’s son. Her fair hair and voice angelic... although divine, she is a cursed relic. Through pain and loss the voice goddess rose. Now at the cradle she stands fighting her own moral laments.

She looked at the middle sister blankly expecting her move to provide a decision. She approached the child and watched, her eyes saw more than a kid, a dreadful vision.

-

Atra, the goddess of visions and memory, her blood red eyes saw a lot of pain, war, love and treachery, her torment never was in vain.

Her gift is to see more than meets the eye, and remember the stillness of the world around. Once the time of art is nigh, a memory to a canvas is eternally bound.

“Alba’s gift was more than enough. We already interfered beyond our limits. His life will be dangerous and rough should Fate ever hear of this.”

-

Unfortunate this sentence was, an unexpected turn of the cause. Fate made her appearance in the room, a failed progeny of doom.

Strange powers bound the sisters powerless as the Fate took over their place. She came here to curse the child, not to bless, to turn his righteous pride into disgrace.

“So it is a gift you wish for... Fear not, I shall provide a suitable one. As for the gift you received before, keep it, your life had just begun.

I give you a gift of eternal pain, knowledge of what could have been had your trying not end in vain and your dreams so close to be seen but never close enough to grasp, I promise you will cry and gasp in agony begging me to help this useless insignificant whelp! And I grant you the curse of the soul-wrecked; you shall know and fear of being imperfect! Go now, Alba’s young apprentice, the gifts of her sisters you shall forever miss.” Fate and the goddesses faded away, left the child a high price to pay for a life neither asked for nor wanted. What lies ahead is a story, tragic and haunted...

Act II – A kiss, my beloved...

The child grew up in great haste, his gift is still unfound but not in waste. Alba, in her kingdom imprisoned by fate, grieved and cried, forced to watch and wait.

She wished to help the kid right away, to banish the dread and dismay. Alas, there was nothing in her power to escape the heavily guarded prison tower.

-

Six times the winter came and went, bringing sadness in every moment spent. Loneliness sank its vicious teeth into the skin, and the kid started thinking: what could have been?

Laments sent out a silent cry, thus far the child did not wish die. Once upon time, on a lonely wintry night, the child went to sleep, only to wake as a knight.

In a dream, often shrouded in mystery, he met a girl – to his life the greatest victory. The moon shined brightly upon those two, love-struck, they immediately knew this encounter is above fate and nature, an adventure for the chosen ones to tread and wager. The dream was coming to an end, no more than their eyes have met. Yet, they both knew what was in their mind, a wish for kiss, the sweetest of its kind. The sealing of lips was nearly made, but alas, sooner this dream had to fade.

The child woke up cast out from heaven once again, back into reality, the hell’s harsh and dissonant den. But this time he entered without a frown. In tears of joy he could swim and drown.

For years the child wandered the halls of hell, what he was thinking, no demon could tell. His heart like the one of a dog, loyal, relentless and lost in a monologue, awaited his mistress with tempered belief, his heart hidden well from any thief.

Sixteenth winter had passed since his birth, the child started doubting his true worth. No miracle brought the two lovers together, from angel’s wing falls the last feather.

Fate smirks and grins at her triumphant trickery, douses the flames of hope to induce misery. Alba still trapped along with her siblings, sends her children to do her biddings.

“Go forth, daughters of affection, I place my apprentice under your kind protection. Go forth, be swift! Free him of the guilt and unveil my gift!”

So the two daughters hurried, hardly breathing, the two muses emerged in the world of the living. In a place once filled with love and light, they found the child, wounded from the fight.

Act III – Honour turns to horror / Monarch of Hell

Now they were three on this journey of tragedy. The muses told him of the gift in his soul, a way to fend off his perilous agony, one that is worthy of its toll.

With quill and blood he wrote, but never ceased to wonder: where is the colour and where is the note? Doubts slowly started ruining his mind asunder.

“Unneeded or unwanted am I? I break down for no reason why. As if cursed was this gift weighing me down, As if fate itself wanted me fall and drown.“

The muses looked at each other anxiously, to them he was still like a family. They revealed fate’s curse, unknown to him, laments turned his feelings dark and grim.

-

Fate has won both the battle and war, swept away his hopes with no remorse. When there was no place to go anymore, the child shut himself behind iron doors.

There his mind fell into dark depths into hatred, lust and laments. No more did he wish to live and create, no more time to waste, no more time to wait. “There’s a battle to be waged once again, this time all my anger I shall unleash along with pain! Brace yourself fate, I will tear apart your wings! You will regret the day you moved my strings. And should I die, I care not. Life never was the place I sought. Death walks with me as a friend, who sees to it that I shall end with a smile on my soul and face as I slay the one who upon me bestowed disgrace.”

Fate and the child - each other they still loathe, a war’s end needs the death of both. They have yet to cross swords and blades, and when the child´s life-light fades the Pale Lady takes them both to hell where their story I can once again tell as I did so many times before, and yet, you all read and listen without bore.

Act IV – The Chaos Walker

“Alba... heed my words, for I can no longer heed yours. I, the chaos walker of the real worlds, have lived through enough wars. Your gift I will no longer use, your ideas I will no longer follow. Find another child to abuse with your hope that brings sorrow.”

Is this what I really wish for? Anxious and uncertain chaos doth be... It is both all and every and neither, nor, a spiral of colour which no one can see.

I wish to be no more the fire that heals and water that burns, bloody peace and merciful war, the kindness given and meanness that returns, silent cry of a loud, deaf person, white pawn on a square of a black king, the remedy that will worsen and the venom that can heal everything.

Here I stand – the chaos walker. I, the child who in darkness grew older, and swore vengeance upon the thread weaver and the strong currents of fate’s river.

Years passed, tears were shed. To nought but darkness my path led. The light of my long lost heart is hidden in the words of my art.

Alba, answer me, for your cursed child became a monster most unkind. Would you let this weary soul yield as it threw away pride and kneeled?

Act V – Archdemon Faust

Many times I stumbled just to survive. My actions like thorns on a rose, will hurt those who wished to adore, and all who upon me wearily repose.

How can I ever undo my mistake? Welcoming the body and heart of a dame different from the one fated... All just to survive and keep sane...

This thorn... I don’t want her to bleed, nor by a fact that I find it not a mistake. It was to remain sane - and the same person whose name I used to take.

Perhaps it is too late for me to see another day, even if a brighter one. I had to become the evil side of nature - by losing to the truth, I have truly won.

As a demon, I’m seeing only myself. I gaze upon my own needs neglected, and mercilessly follow what it needs to have one’s life corrected. And now less than a human I am called? The same shadows we all bear inside; what they suppress and neglect I decided to no longer hide.

Tempered by confinement remade by a dystopian world; I have taken on a new name - Faust the archdemon of nature. Still I am a mirror to whom you vent, the same lover to whom you’ve curled when you realised love is just a game that gets better the further in you venture.

 Come see me in the darkness where you needn’t light to see that body gives us joy regardless of poor ugly me.

Embrace the evil of freedom where in mind you can find that we’ll get what we want and still remain in heart kind; for it is now we know what is true - the nature’s call we no longer heed. In life upon lust we want to feed, and by death, we’ll have all we need.

[romanceinthevice]

Early Refills for the Lonely Girl’s Soul

Chapter One: “Life Skills to Kill”

“The tide is high but I’m holding on.”

And the tide is made up of 75 (edit: 80mg actually, they allowed me an increase today) milligrams of thick Methadone that runs a marathon through my bloodstream. It always wins the race for nothing. It’s all for big nothing.

Welcome to the static years. I’ll be your unreliable narrator with a heart of a darkness. Did anyone else read that in University English-lit? I couldn’t get through that book. Then again, I could barely get through campus mid semester.

Die with the lie? (Insert French for yes)

I’m questionable at best. And a terrible fake crier at worst. I need my Methadone every morning or I think about stabbing the walls of my apartment. I need my coffee for the ride to the clinic or I think about crying in the middle of the parking lot. Middle-class tragedy. Spoiled since day one. I NEED. I NEED. I NEED. I need you to read this.

My death wishes used to be bad-girl-charming at 22. Cute in that worried type of way. “She’s such a mess, isn’t it fabulous? I just love how complicated Cat makes everything.” Fast forward three psychiatrists, two evictions, one overdose and a series of voided lovers. Currently they’re just a broken record of empty. No! Really! I look in the mirror and regret it instantly. These days I see right through my own smoke and static; the attempts to distract my social circle from the rattling pharmacy bottles. There’s not enough black lipstick to mute a friend who cares. But there should be. (MAC, take note.)

Mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the shameful of them all.

You are. You really are.

End of Chapter One

But maybe it’s mandatory for an author to have a loud reputation. You know what?A writers persona should be shrouded in rumors anyway. Fuck it. The checkered past. An affair with their professor. Or maybe their student. A secret arrest during the holidays years back. Maybe a forgotten relative with unfinished business. A hit and run inspired by Johnny Walker Red. A blood soaked sweater in the back of their closet to remember.

I have convinced myself that every writer deserves a notoriety to keep the masses at arms length. My, my, my, the mystery!

But the troubled-addict-writer is a cliche. And writers hate cliches. But writers also hate themselves.

Well, the good ones do anyway. What? Too far? And where was I before I launched a tangent of misplaced-poor me-bullshit?

Mmmmm. Methadone. My clinic has the pink kind.

I’m not the only one hurting myself, I tell myself over and over.

I think about how dramatic I’m trying to be, wanting to sound right and profoundly right at that. I feel like a bad actress in a dying career resurrecting a classic play. No need for an encore. Just cut. Besides there’s an after-party that I need to disappear into for eight hours.

I hate introducing myself in the first blog. Anything I write feels like the wrong thing. It’s so forced, I’m convinced no one knows themselves that well. Especially not I. Isn’t it better to keep a distance? Perhaps we can be strangers who make prolonged eye contact across the room.

Hi, I’m Cat. I feel like I just moved here. (Wherever here is.) I don’t know how to describe myself without comparing myself to the status quo. So, shallow generalizations about women, here I come!

Most girls find peace in an afternoon of shopping. Or make-up at Ulta. They get lost in the aisles and yell funny remarks to their friends about fashion sensitive culture. Maybe I’m jealous. And by maybe, I mean, absolutely.

Or perhaps They stalk their ex’s social media for clues about them, as if they were solving a murder. A new Facebook friend? An instagram story that makes no sense? It’s not adding up now, but it will. Oh, it will. By the way, who the fuck is Alicia and why are you tagging her?

I’ve always been sicker than the others.i win! Damnit. As the in crowd of seventh grade used to call it, I am “fuckin’ weird, no offense.”

“None taken” I nodded back taking a knee during gym class.

I do like to shop, although always by myself in the lonelier corners of shopping centers. And duh! I stalk many lucky persons on a semi-regular basis. It’s the American way at this point, I do it for my country. But on top of these typical hobbies of the expected feminine divine, I’m orbiting a different side of town. The side that no one thinks to go to for good reason; it smells weird and has no relevance to most standards of living.

Bare with me.

I’m a curious party. I’m also a drug addict in the harshest way. The combination of these two factors equal my favorite hobby; reading pharmacology research papers. Yes, sir. complete with abstracts and hypothesis that outlines the right balance of factual accuracy. Gets me giddy just thinking about it!

I like knowing what the new, FDA approved antidepressants are categorized as. And why they aren’t as good as Prozac. But better than Paxil. And less harmful to the female orgasm. Ladies, you know what I mean. It’s a cruel game when you finally stop thinking suicidal thoughts but suddenly can’t orgasm. God is really a piece of work. A sexist piece of work, come to think of it.

These new prescriptions hold possibilities, a potential change for an addict in the screaming cycle of addiction. It’s hope, baby. I’ve got that shit, I can’t play the bad ass who doesn’t care about anything anymore. I’ve been there and got the t-shirt. I had to rip it off.

Goodbye apathy. I’m blowing you a kiss. Of death.

I’ve been a pharmacy baby since day one. Hell, I was a pharmacy baby hopeful-groupie-wannabe-poser before ever cashing my first Celexa prescription. Or maybe it was Lexapro. Oh well. Same thing. I was so excited to be an official member of all the statistics I read about.

The few. The proud. The prescribed.

It began with therapy in ninth grade for a knot of emotional problems that caused me to isolate and skip class 80% of the school day. My counselor found this worrying. I thought nothing of it. Who gives a fuck about geometry? I wanted to listen to Celebrity Skin on my disc man and walk around the outdoors. If life was a one off, I was going to sit in this meadow with Malibu blaring my ears into deafening bliss.

Girl power. I understood my selfishness on a promising level, one that spoke volumes about who I was going to be, a stunningly poised sociopath with nothing to offer most of society. Adults felt the aura on me most of the time and soon their would be meetings about my “goals” and “friends.”

No wonder people were worried. I was a walking red-flag of rage and I hadn’t even gotten my first period. I didn’t have many good reasons to be pissed off and I was usually morbid about something if I wasn’t in my bed. This wasn’t looking ideal for a freshman with zero college ambition and no interest in recreational activities that would accompany academia and no doubt introduce me to new social groups. I wasn’t athletic enough to play school sports, and I was too wrapped up in my depression (which had no real cause, according to my family).

And they were rightful in their judgment. I was better off than most of my school friends, sporting the latest lava lamp that glowed my room a deep purple or concert tickets that we would countdown the days too. I got to see Ja Rule and Ashanti up close and personal much to the dismay of my classmates deep in the bleachers bitching constant complaints.

I didn’t have it bad. And I knew it, which made me feel worse. I hadn’t the faintest idea what my problem was. I couldn’t smile anything or even pretend to for the sake of my parents, who just wanted me to have a normal teenage existence that didn’t kill every mood with some invisible, existential threat. I must have been the most annoying fourteen year old with a lava lamp.

This stubborn depression led me to weekly ninety-dollar checks that were flawlessly made out to one Dr. Pat. Pharmacy Baby’s first shrink. Awww!

We all have to start somewhere. My start was Thursday’s at 4pm. This appointment made me vacate the bu on an earlier stop than the routine one. Kids soon began to take notice. And they couldn’t comprehend why I had to see a doctor four times a month. I must have leukemia or some other young person disease they saw on Dawson’s Creek. I must have been really sick, dying really! Afterall, my sole school-bus pal Kendra saw her hair stylist more than her primary care physician and the dentist combined. Highlights are a serious thing, she would state this as seriously as a heart attack. It made me chuckle and she never understood.

Unfortunately, the punchline was that I was dying. At fourteen years old I knew this was the start of a love-hate relationship with “irony.”

At my worst I was existing and not knowing why. I was wanting to sleep life away. Sleep was the answer.

At my best I was killing my old-self, the girl who reeked of unexplained trauma and bad moods and now this annoying trademark “irony.” The metamorphosis came around the third month of counseling. An anniversary with Dr. Pat meant we drank hot cocoa and did worksheets revolving around behavior and choices. Fuck prom, I had Dr. Pat! I was blossoming.

And i was learning about the power that was “change” and how it could empower you like a butterfly. Or whatever insect fit the worksheets. I sometimes felt like a spider, but I never told Dr. Pat this.

It’s never easy to kill the old you. Even more demanding to bury the old body, and just praying it won’t come back from the dead and replace you. Hoping wasn’t enough. I had to ask with my eyes closed.

I wanted to be a butterfly. I needed my wings. (Commence the beginning of secret plans that were thoughtlessly detailed in my diary, ready to be exposed any minute to a league of jealous girls re-enacting Mean Girls). The writer inside me cringed. Privacy truly died before Twitter. No girls thoughts were safe. They would never be safe. I would need to find new ways for my secrets and dreams. Then, I would fly away into the night, into a new city of strangers, outside of a small minded town of familiars. I wouldn’t need numbers in my yearbook. I was going to find what I was looking for.

But what the fuck was I looking for. Sweet sixteen started to taste sour.

I remembered Dr. Pat told me, “Happiness is a butterfly.”

I wrote it down in my diary, much to my own dismay, hoping that it would be both safe and true.

By: Caitlin Alysabeth Thomas, March 10, 2020, “pharmacy baby blogs,” “Romance in the Vice.”

[hellosaltysaladcollectionstuff]

MEGAN ABBOTT PROVES she’s still the queen of uncovering the dark complexity of the female psyche with her new novel, Give Me Your Hand. It uses all the strengths she’s known for and gives them more room to develop, tracking the evolution of a single relationship across the years. Two teenage girls become friends, rivals, enemies, and accessories, accumulating a tangle of secrets and betrayals with long-tentacled consequences that will affect them as they become women. Abbott has made her career exploring variations of this theme — the fierce and intense energy of female friendships, the competitive drive thrumming through high-achieving girls and women, the steel lying beneath the sugar and spice.

This newest version is less about dissecting sociological power structures than it is about two specific personalities crashing together. Rather than spotlighting familiar segments of girl-culture — gymnasts, cheerleaders, the various social and sexual politics of suburban high school cliques — this is slow-burning suspense charting the circumstances of two women whose conflict is not the ordinary relatable friction arising from athletic, social, or sibling rivalries. Instead, Abbott presents a granular look at the psychological fallout affecting two women whose lives become twisted so tightly, the passage of years does nothing to weaken the connection.

Diane’s and Kit’s paths cross three times over the course of their lives, never for very long, but each meeting changes them, leaving behind a small piece of what will eventually build into their tragedy, a relationship strengthened by competition and ruined by confession, summed up in Abbott’s tidily ambiguous understatement: “Diane, you changed my life. You made my life.”

They first meet at a cross-country summer camp when they are 15. The novel is told entirely through Kit’s eyes, and she remembers noticing Diane straightaway; the willowy Catholic schoolgirl with the mile-long legs and beautiful gait, making it all seem effortless. When she’s not running, Diane’s quiet determination and self-possession awaken Kit’s curiosity along with her competitive drive, and she resolves to discover what makes her tick: “I know I wanted to beat her. In part because she didn’t seem to be competing with any of us.”

Kit’s interest is platonic, somewhat scientific, but it emerges with an intensity usually found in a romantic attraction. She takes note of how Diane carries herself, how she interacts — or doesn’t — with the other girls, what she’s reading; fascinated by what lies beneath the inscrutable surface of a girl so seemingly detached from the world around her, suspecting she holds “secret knowledge” beneath her shining blonde hair and impassive expression: “[E]veryone always likes the best, wants the most, admires deeply, the girl who’s just out of reach. The girl no one can touch, really. We don’t know why we’re drawn, but it’s unstoppable.”

To Kit, Diane is truly “other,” and Abbott establishes their differences before the two even speak. Kit is earthy, working class, sensual, tactile. Her deadbeat dad is largely out of the picture, and her mother works at an animal clinic, bringing home stray dogs and the medical and biological smells of the lab. Money is tight, so Kit also has a job at a fast food restaurant, frequently smelling of chicken grease, oil, and sweat, and when she’s running, she attests, “I sweat all the time, wildly, like a sorrel mare in heat.”

Diane’s family has money — her glamorous mother visits the camp in an ostentatiously luxurious car, but Diane herself is ethereal, barely perspiring during their long runs, never seeming to eat or to exert herself as she “floats” along the course: “She was fast, but I soon figured out she was not as fast as the promise of those long legs. Sometimes I’d think if she let herself sweat, she’d be unstoppable. Her jaw so tight, her brow furrowed like our bull mastiff’s. I wanted to try that hard.”

It’s not until the last night of camp, while sharing a hotel room with Diane and two other girls during an away meet, that Kit breaks through Diane’s shell, unknowingly binding their fates. In what is essentially a road trip slumber party, “we swapped secrets all night, which is what you do on overnight trips, especially when you might never see these girls again, different schools, different worlds. You felt like you could say anything. Be anyone.”

When it is Diane’s turn to spill her secrets, she claims not to have any, becoming uncomfortable when the others interrogate her, until Kit gallantly intervenes by volunteering her own secret, after which she becomes uncharacteristically emotional, shifting the room’s attention from Diane, changing the mood from confrontational and confessional to tearful and comforting. Diane remains placid on her own bed, offering only “my mom always says, you don’t have a self until you have a secret.”

Diane’s aloofness cracks later that evening, when she becomes ill and allows Kit to take care of her, holding back her hair, sleeping beside her until morning, neither of them aware that what is happening at cross-country camp is not going to stay at cross-country camp, and will affect both of their lives in unforeseen, deeply destructive ways.

Two years later, Diane transfers to Kit’s public school after the death of her father, shrouded in the same impenetrable aura, a “locked box without a key,” with her long skirts, modest blouses, and grave detachment, still holding the same fascination for Kit: “Amid the sea of lank ponytails, a spray of tattoos, of crop tops and low jeans, she stood apart from everyone. Her focus always seemed elsewhere, head down, lost in her own thoughts, a shadow falling between her eyes like a warning.”

Gym class finds them on familiar ground, side-by-side on the track: “We ran together that day, never more than a stride apart. I didn’t have her long legs and grace, but I made up for it with sheer pumping power. She made me work harder, and I made her work harder too.”

From that moment on, Diane seems to come out of herself, pleased to have found someone in whom she senses a kindred spirit, intimating her regard with pronouns: “‘We’re both so much better,’ she said, eyes on me. ‘No one can touch us.’”

This second phase of friendship is characterized by the healthy kind of competitive spirit: each girl pushing the other to strive and succeed. They are partnered together in AP chemistry; Kit is a complacently underachieving student, but again Diane proves herself to be exceptional, again awakening Kit’s ambition: “A yearning inside me I couldn’t explain, to know things, to be bigger, to care more. I’d never felt it before Diane, but now it was there, humming inside.”

In a roomful of adolescent boys with “a hundred jokes about stopcocks and a hundred ideas of how to use science to rip girls’ dresses off or maybe make their bras fall open,” Diane’s “seriousness and purpose” is a breath of fresh air, and when she suggests they both try for a science scholarship specifically for females, sponsored by the charismatic, controversial Dr. Lena Severin, a woman they both admire, Kit becomes as dedicated and talented a student as Diane. Theirs is an oppositional friendship; working together toward a prize only one of them can win, pitting natural aptitude against hard work, cementing the roles that will define them.

Diane continues to be oblique to Kit, a contradictory puzzle: “I’d never known anyone so private. It felt like you could hurt her just by looking at her, or you could never hurt her at all.” But when she finally does take Kit into her confidence, she reveals a secret that horrifies Kit so much, it ends their friendship unequivocally: “Was it what I wanted? Didn’t I crave all her secrets, plucking the heart of her mystery? I wanted to know her secrets, but I didn’t want them to be this.”

Twelve years later, Kit is a postdoc at the Severin Lab, working for the very same woman she and Diane had idolized as teens. Kit is the only other woman on Dr. Severin’s team, which has just received a grant for a two-year study of premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD), for which there are only two postdoc slots. Cautiously optimistic that her gender and her performance may give her an edge over the otherwise all-male team, she is unprepared but also unsurprised when Diane enters her life once more, poached by Dr. Severin from a rival’s team. They are fated to repeat their familiar pattern of respect and rivalry, but with something much murkier than friendship simmering between them this time, something halfway between an impulse to protect and an impulse to destroy.

Give Me Your Hand is not likely to elicit the sparks of psychic recognition Abbott’s fans have come to expect from her books; the situation is too specific, the personalities far from archetypical. However, there are certainly familiar touchpoints and motifs: the convoluted inner lives of teenage girls, the relentless drive to succeed in a competitive, rarefied field, the angling for the approval of a woman in a role model and mentor role, and the deep-down darkness of the female experience, here examined through the mysterious, violent biology of women.

The culmination of the drama of Kit and Diane is played out against the backdrop of PMDD, as they are immersed in the study of a rare hormonal condition causing women to experience dramatic mood swings, uncontrollable rage, and violence every single month. As Kit posits: “Don’t we all feel we have something banked down deep inside just waiting for its moment, the slow gathering of hot blood?”

Although she and Diane are adversaries, they are still united by biology; in a highly competitive male-dominated field, it’s not about being the last girl standing but often about being the only girl standing in a room filled with jealous men who resent your presence, perhaps made even more suspicious after spending so much time researching the seething violence latent in women, “the purple marrow of female rage. The fear all men have that there’s something inside us that shifts, and turns. A living thing, once dormant, stirring now, and filled with rage.”

The men in the lab are the same as those high school boys using science to make bras open, but with different behaviors:

[T]he shoulder-squeezing predations of the older researchers. The fumbles and porn-slicked joking of the postdocs, never sure what to do with females around. When you meet the women in their lives — Maxim’s multilingual, opera-singing girlfriend, Juwon’s dazzling mathematician wife — it becomes more confusing.

They are nakedly ambitious, but Diane and Kit’s conflict is trickier, more emotionally nuanced. Unencumbered by a “male rigidity” that can only see “black and white, right and wrong […] Women have to live so much of their life in the in-betweens.”

This idea of the “in-between” is essentially what makes this book tick — two women whose relationship occupies these liminal spaces, shaping and influencing each other’s personalities and ambitions, shifting between friendship and rivalry, admiration and envy, trust and betrayal, Ophelia and Lady Macbeth, a respect that can be twitched so easily into disgust.

It’s an unexpected thrill to see Abbott’s themes played out over the course of a dozen or so years, to see the way women are shaped and defined by events in their past. This is a book that haunts, that demands a reread to chew through all of its layers. If there’s one takeaway here, it’s to choose your confidantes wisely. As both Kit and Diane learn, “When you get away with something it’s yours only, forever. Heavy and irremediable.” But when it’s shared, it can be much more dangerous, and you don’t get to control how it comes back.

¤

Karen Brissette is the most popular reviewer on Goodreads. She also maintains the blog Bloggy Come Lately.

The post Sugar and Spice and Steel appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books https://ift.tt/2LLpWMl