Fire. Sometimes Jungkook dreams of them. They burn in packs of waves, drowning him in scalding flames and sinking deep into his skin, grinding its ghastly fangs as though they were filled with vile wishes of death. They remain impassive of his grieving, feasting on his melancholy, releasing tainted smoke into his lungs and turning them ragged. Then they travel fast, in angry shades of red and blue, mounting on a crest of orange hues no brighter than a flickering matchstick. His polluted veins constrict with every tickle, the leaves of a fruitful mind discolouring as it digs into the rifts of his body.
Jungkook despises fire. They strip him of his powers, turning his ice into a pitiful collection of glass shards. And his soul is bared to the beguiling eyes of loathsome spectators, crowding over him with their many wretched hands. Their fingers wheedle around in circles –elusive, like the wind, absconding through the eerie silence only to come back bigger, louder and more malignant than before.
-
When Jungkook looks at fire, daring a peek at the fuming shadows of its deceit, he only remembers sorrow —but Taehyung was fire, and Jungkook breathed in his smoke as if it were the most harmless thing. It was was just that easy to forget things — with Taehyung, he always felt safe. Not an ounce of suspicion or reluctance —caressed by loving comforts.
"Kook?"
It has never been a question, because everyone knew Jungkook admired his brother more than any other fanatic fella. Front stage, back stage – one act more familiar than the other. They knew details of Taehyung's achievements, but Jungkook had access to every failure he had endured. They knew so much of his charming disposition and dazzling looks, but Jungkook saw coarse scars and chafed fingers –always the first to patch up the ugly bruises splattered all over his skin. Jungkook likes to believe he's known of the man before the world ever heard his name.
"Kook? You okay?"
—but Jungkook sometimes wishes Taehyung's name remains unheard of, unknown. There are some reservations, a kind of discomfort that leaves the prince on guard. He feels a sparse disconnection with the older, not too much of a chasm but still a fair amount of questionable distance – as if the shed of the spotllight hold clandestine corners no man could dare to unravel, to unveil. Not even Jungkook.
"Hyung?" He finally answers, a modest voice so used to speaking softly. His eyes roam the free area, landing still on Taehyung's neck, they throb, subtle beats buzzing listlessly in peace. A light passes through the ghostly noon, inching closer to the older's face and drawing out a yellowish glow. Some shades of darkness bespatter the man, and Jungkook wonders if the lingering shadows near his lips would cast him a spell – or would they perish in the disquieting pause too? Never to whisper of the man's most hidden secrets?
"Have you ever heard about the wolf who cried moon?" Jungkook speaks out in bewilderment, just as cautious of his own sudden question.
Taehyung gazes back with curious eyes, sat behind a pile of rolled parchments and heavily scented books. He purses his lips in contemplation, slow with his words as he replies, "From your father's story?"
Jungkook nods, refusing to dive into his folded elbows to make a pillow out of them. The rays are coming with ease, sauntering their way — into the caged windows and into Taehyung's soulful orbs. Hazel, Jungkook thinks, much like the sharp indents in his face.
"What about it?"
The voice is husky but light, rippling through the dry air with a song of its own. Sunflowers, they smell like sweet, saccharine sunflowers.
"Did the moon ever love the wolf?" Jungkook shifts. He feels something amiss within the surroundings, unable to fully grasp a conscious mind. Jungkook's attention is in clutters, a bungling thread of nerves that aimlessly lurch around the brown and yellow tinges of the barren hallways.
"I suppose so," Taehyung speaks louder, not so thorough about the noise he's making. The library is empty, not as filled as its dusty stack of unattended books. Jungkook adverts back to the speaker, head idly swaying. "But I do think her love was not the romantic kind."
"Oh."
There's silence yet again, the clamours of marching men resounding shamelessly across the pointed ceilings. But little racket was made from Jungkook's own chatters, trying to keep up to his own fickle awareness.
Taehyung doesn't seem contented with the shilly-shally pauses in between, so he asks again, willing to converse with the younger despite his load of unfinished essays, "What brought this on? Did you have a dream about it."
"Yeah..." Jungkook grunts, stretching his sore shoulders with the flex of an extended arm. He stills almost instantly when a crack is heard, finally popping a sleepy muscle. "And about the fire too."
"Jungkook, darling –"
"I-it's fine." He tells quickly, arms wiggling around in clarification. They fall just as fast they have resurfaced, leaning close to Jungkook's lap. "I'm alright now, Jimin-hyung helped me sleep through it."
"Oh."
There's a deafening bustle in the way Taehyung switches position, back stiffer than before as he turns another page from his references. His own quilt staggers, dragging a long, bulky line at the end of his sentence. Jungkook makes a questioning hum, evidently perplexed by the change in his tone.
"Say..." Taehyung confidently recants his lack of response with a blunt save, evading the younger's puzzled glances. "If you were to make a continuation of that story, how would you like it to end?"
This makes the omega rustle with intrigue, mind unexpectedly equipped to imagine the most probable outcome.
"The wolf doesn't die." Jungkook begins, legs swaying with deep judgement. "He lives, gets reunited with his pack and then builds a home with them. He meets another wolf, falls in love and mates with her."
"And the moon?"
Suddenly, Jungkook is immersed.
"She realises her mistake and apologises to the wolf, granting him a blessing — and then they part ways."
"What's the blessing?"
Suddenly, Taehyung is too.
"A family."
Taehyung furrows his brows, stumped by the younger's words. "Doesn't seem like a happy ending to me."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, what about the moon?"
"Ah," A friendly tsk, one that proceeds to manifest into a full-blown grumble – and then Jungkook supplies a simple reason, "The moon doesn't fall in love...or, she can't."
Taehyung huffs at that, too distracted to get back into his writing. "That's a little unfair." He then proposes an alternative, "Tell you what, the lonely moon travels across the sky —"
"She can't just move from one place to another, hyung. That's silly."
"Kook, it's a story."
"Fine. Then what would you suggest?" Jungkook childishly responds, folding his arms to mock the elder.
"She meets a star, falls in love with him, and the star falls in love with her too."
"And how certain are you the moon wasn't bluffing? Why did the star trust so easily? What if the moon was simply confused?" The questions can go onwards, but Jungkook chooses to falter in his babbling. He knows how perceptive the older was, and the omega is not too keen with the idea of sharing his projected fears on the story. The bit of respite gives him a freeway to rethink his next words —not too happy with being exposed.
But Jungkook is a simple man. He wants answers. He lives to find them. Preferably from the older prince himself.
"Because," Taehyung says, much kinder than his usually impish moods, "among the millions of his kind — the moon still chose him. I think that's enough proof the she truly loves him."
Jungkook hums at his answer. He blinks slowly, mind back into yet another made-up wonderland. He thinks of flames, and he thinks of how Taehyung reminds him of them. How Taehyung is fire. But he doesn't burn Jungkook with his touches —instead, they clothe him with warmth, with the promise of spring rather than autumn.
And just like that, everything is at ease.
-
"Would you look at that," Lilliana's voice is booming, teasing but ecstatic. It sings a welcoming chorus to the open field around them, so full of vibrant palettes and flowery fragrance that Jungkook instantly feels blinded by the woman's presence. "Our laundry fairy has finally paid us a visit!"
Jungkook huffs peevishly, muttering his cordial greetings before picking up a basket of muddy uniforms. His arms moan in disagreement, tired and rusty from a week's long training. "There's not much to do around when I'm still exempted from business affairs." He says bitterly, gracefully tapping on the corners of his leather soles before going barefoot into the water. "Darn their fancy ancient rules –any 18 year old can be of greater assistance. What's the use of educating the youth for years on end only to excuse them from helping anyway?"
"Alpha-Beta dominance thing, I suppose." Lilliana frowns in disappointment, "One of these days, I will surely give the King a good beating."
"Oh please do," Jungkook humours, tidying up a messy lump of clothing. "The King's cheeks would love your daring company."
"I'm telling you! They're no match for my coarse palms, I didn't spend all my time just serving you dinner."
"Don't be silly, of course you're more than that to us. Although, the hyungs do love your cooking so much."
"As they should," Lilliana proudly states. "The King may have all the gold but you won't live another day without my food."
Jungkook loves Lilliana. She's yellow and pink. Soft and seamless with no glitter to disrupt the impressionistic mixture of hues. Light and breezy too, careful in their approach as they dab their own colours in Jungkook's growing space of things. Like a mellow day drenched with melodies so close to Jungkook's own rhythm.
Jungkook adores Lilliana. Because she makes him sing. Her laughter is a buoyant addition to his hums of incompleteness, so wholesome in its contributions that it shines on its own even without Jungkook's lyrics.
And they go on to shoo his depressing thoughts away, committed to bearing a lively banter that leave them giggling carelessly around a line of rumpled shirts and stained slacks. And everything feels normal again for Jungkook, he's happy and jovial with not an ounce of worry in his smooth forehead—
"And how is my darling's love life?"
—until such matters were brought up again. So maybe Lilliana is too carefree, and Jungkook is a big bundle of nerves.
"Lilliana!" He whines, furrowing his brows towards the chuckling woman.
"What?" The older raises both foamy palms, eyes crinkled to half-moon shapes. "This old lady right here needs some gossip, heaven knows how I need motivation to do all the work around the house!"
"We can talk about something else, you know."
"Oh, a little too late for that. What else is more important than this? So tell me, our Prince Jimin seems to be all smitten about you –have you thought about your answer yet?"
Jungkook stills, dismayed to find out the people have not been truly informed about the newest agreement. If it were this confidential, then the prince is in no place to disclose it. The idea is upsetting, but he supposes the citizens may be too alarmed to handle the news well.
"No." Jungkook answers honestly, happy lines no longer present. His crestfallen expression is subtle, but the well-hidden apprehension did not go unnoticed by Lilliana's sharp senses, always quick and perceptive.
"Aigo, why so blue, Kook-ah?"
The sigh he releases is worrisome, it's laced with so much suppressed emotions. And it proves to be a likely habit too, seeing as Jungkook seems to have kept so much to himself for untold reasons.
"Dear, what have they been doing to you?" The woman does not direct her question to anyone in particular. But she does glance at Jungkook with a hearty gaze, hands naturally gripping on his limp fingers.
"I don't know what to do anymore." The young man's voice is shy.
"Well," Lilliana starts, just as careful. She faces the omega with warm palms, heating the younger's quaking ones with sincere kindness. "You can do something about it."
Jungkook laughs softly, the noise anything but honest. "What else am I supposed to do? I don't want to hurt anyone."
"Why are you so afraid of hurting anyone, darling? It's unavoidable to do that. What I am curious about," The woman clears her throat, speaking gingerly, "is why hurting seems to be your main problem."
"Well...because –"
"Kook-ah," The hold around his fingers tighten, circling around each with a knowing spell. "It's okay to think about their feelings. But what's not okay, is if you put theirs above yours. Remember, you alone hold the decision to your happiness – nothing and no one should get in between."
"He's my brother." Jungkook says, brows knitted and lips pursed. "He's family. I can't just do this to him–"
"You can't keep him hoping either, Jungkook. We're bound to break someone's heart, and it's not a selfish thing to do –it's human. The thing is, we spend so much time investing for the sake of others that we forget about our own selves. We make it an obligation to give them happiness, but what about ours?"
The field is a blooming heaven. It's wide and long and painted with ornate details. Jungkook likes to think about lying on top of the flowers, just out of the world's reach—
"Sometimes doing the right thing means hurting others. But it always leads to the best ending."
-
If Taehyung was fire, Jimin was water.
Blue, sea-like water. And some turn frigid under the frosty season, while others simply stomp the glaciers with stillness — Jimin's water is an entirely different entity. They captivate him, take him hostage under its crafty charms and frank overtures. He's complacent under the touches, filled with the warmest of affections despite their cold dribbles. Nothing about the damp, gallant waves terrify him. It's like a desolate world, void of anything but Jimin's steadfast assurances.
And the foams that glow with cocksureness, wind spread across the never-ending planes of evergreen seas. Blue, they're not entirely blue. Some tints of green reside within and beneath, clashing against the currents in candour fashion. Jungkook likes to think Jimin is the same that way. He's coloured with both, dipped in the galaxy of otherworldly creatures, stilling the tumultuous ripples with his heartfelt rhapsodies.
Jimin reminds him of the rain too, the scent that he leaves with his passing glance announces that thought so proudly that Jungkook feels no discontent. And it makes Jungkook forget, that he was once sodden with the same whirring drizzle—though less forgiving and more spiteful. It pacifies his misgivings, erases all the trails of fear.
Jungkook always feels at home with his promises—
"I'm starting to think you have a habit of lounging around your balcony."
—But sometimes he makes Jungkook feel unsure.
"Are you alright?"
Blue. Jimin is undeniably blue. His lips are shaded with lovely tints and his face is nothing but a blessed masterpiece —but his whole being is doused with blue. Like a peaceful picture of sadness.
"Sometimes you make me feel like the moon." He speaks. The voice is undefined, tone indistinct. Jungkook drowns in his own misty tub of riddled thoughts.
"From the tale?" Jimin entertains, so accustomed to the younger's whimsical humour. Heeled shoes tap against the mossy cement, advancing towards the man with a smooth, unmindful volume. Jungkook stands just as lax, a simple clothing (no fairer than the commoner's sleepwear) billowing in the midnight's air.
"Well you certainly surpass her majesty's beauty," The prince jests, simply amused. "Would that make me the wolf?"
The question is phrased without offense. But it makes Jungkook's eyes glisten with anticipation, glossed with the wincing kind of eagerness that makes the cicadas from bellow squeak and cringe. And it sends a clear signal that Jimin supposes to be wickedly misplaced.
"Oh."
It wasn't a lighthearted atmosphere after all. Jimin realises that too late, unprepared.
"My father used to tell the story as some sort of a warning. Lessons through tales, as the fables do." Jungkook picks a wilting flower, shuffling close to its pitiful stem to free it from the drying rails, "I used to think differently about it. It's not as romantic as people made it to be. But it's not a lesson about humility either."
Jimin's heart throbs with trepidation, as if he's long forgotten to breath. It makes it harder to speak.
"What do you suppose it means then?" He asks warily, light but hollow.
Jungkook stares back, neck craned towards the older with the saddest eyes he's ever seen.
"A tragedy."
Jimin waits, praying for the pauses in between to decline and no longer leave him wondering.
"The wolf shouldn't have loved such a tragedy in the first place."
"Why would the moon be a tragedy?"
Jungkook shrugs, "She's cold, bland — ungrateful, cowardly. She shouldn't be worshiped, shouldn't be glorified for her wickedness. She's a moon who takes things for granted, doesn't bat an eye for the gold she's showered with, so arrogant and heartless... The wolf shouldn't desire for a cursed fool – no one should."
"Jungkook," The name feels unfamiliar, so far from the loving Kook that Jimin loves to use. It's more effective than a simple nudge however, as it gets the omega's full attention. "The moon deserved nothing but the best. She's no tragedy, no wretched being. She's an absolute beauty that no one can compare to. And she shines, Jungkook, she shines with kindness and compassion. She is brave and powerful but she is also patient and gentle. Jungkook, everyone worships her because she deserves to be worshiped."
"Then what about the wolf she so cruelly ignored? What about his love? Was it not worth worshiping more? Was it not worth anything all? She is undeserving of that —undeserving of anything —" The young omega heaves, breath bristling with denial. And it takes him a moment, before his cheeks are dampened with unbidden tears.
"Kook?" Jimin steps forward within seconds, arms extended to cradle the man's wet face. "This isn't about the tale anymore, is it?"
"Hyung," he sobs out, leaning further into his brother's touch, "Hyung, I'm sorry. I-I don't deserve this. I've thought about it so many sleepless nights and I want this –I want you...b-but I can't feel it. Hyung, I don't feel it."
Jimin doesn't speak. He nods, listening closely to the younger's hiccups. Jungkook selfishly revels in his brother's palm, clinging on his wrists with a desperate grasp. He's pulled fast and cushioned against the older's chest. He only wails louder.
"It's okay. Kook, It's okay." The words are meaningful, but they're voiced in a way that carry a heavier weight.
Jungkook nuzzles closer for comfort –forsaking what little care he has for the world around him. Like this, he feels at ease, as if he's home with no change to bother him.
Like this, Jimin is water and Taehyung is fire. And nothing else matters.
-