Yoongi clicked “save” on the document he was working on, and leaned back in his desk chair, relieved to be finished with his assignment.

“That took way too long,” he grumbled to the darkened room.

Yoongi pressed “print,” and impatiently waited for the nearly seventeen full pages of his analysis on one of the most boring books he had ever read to file their way out of the inkjet sitting in the corner of his dorm. The paper was warm in his hands, and he struggled to make a staple pierce through the thick stack of pages before tossing the whole thing into a folder in his backpack and heading to bed. He had just spent well over an hour editing the essay, and at this point he really wasn’t interested in giving the hard copy another once-over at three in the morning, so he forgot about it and went to sleep.

In the morning, Yoongi woke up later than he’d wanted to, and brushed his teeth in a hurry before grabbing his pack and heading out the door. It wasn’t until he had gotten to class that he remembered the assignment that was due, and he silently thanked himself for being smart enough to leave it in his bag rather than on his table or in his printer.

Class itself was uneventful, the written analyses were collected in the last five minutes, and Yoongi went on to his next lecture - bored and already ready to be done for the day.

❧

Later that evening, sitting alone in his single dorm room and avoiding social interaction as always, Yoongi opened his email to find a message from one of his professors. It was the teacher whose class he had stayed up all night working on an essay for the previous day, and Yoongi felt curious as he clicked on the email, which had the simple subject line “Regarding Your Essay.”

Dear Mr. Min,

Please speak to me after class tomorrow about the content of your latest essay. There are some matters I would like to discuss with you concerning your prose and professionalism. Thank you.

Sincerely,

Professor Yu

Yoongi’s immediate emotion became confusion. Surely his professor couldn’t have read all seventeen pages of his work already. His essay had been near the bottom quarter of the pile of papers that had been handed in earlier that day, and all of his classmates had produced similarly lengthy works. There was no way the woman could have gotten through all of that - and even if she had, then why was she singling out Yoongi?

He thought that perhaps she had liked his essay - and certainly hoped that that was the case considering the amount of time he had devoted to it. The detailed analysis had been torture to write, but the young man really did consider it to be one of his best works. Yoongi’s pride swelled a bit as he re-read over the email, pausing when he came to the second-to-last line.

“...concerning your prose and professionalism.”

That didn’t sound much like praise. More like he was in trouble for something he had written. Yoongi frowned as he pulled out his phone, intending to text Hoseok, who was in the class with him and who Yoongi hoped would have an idea about what was going on.

❧

“Hobi, did you get an email from professor Yu about the essay we turned in today?”

The reply came almost immediately, and Yoongi could practically feel the younger man’s smiling smirk through the glow of the phone’s screen.

“Nope. Why; did you? Somebody’s in trouble!”

“Thanks a lot, you jerk,” Yoongi texted back.

Hoseok sent a reply, but Yoongi didn’t bother to check it, his spirits already too crushed as he read through the email for a third time. The professor definitely sounded displeased, and if there was one thing the woman had demonstrated throughout the semester, it was that she got seriously grumpy when she was in a bad mood.

Yoongi crawled defeatedly into bed, dreading the meeting tomorrow where he would probably get yelled at for something - but what, he couldn’t even guess at. He fell into an uneasy sleep, the room still illuminated by his propped-open laptop.

❧

The next day, Yoongi sat in the back row during his first class. Professor Yu was jabbering away as always - and she probably didn’t even notice Yoongi as she went about teaching - but the young man still wished he could vanish into thin air at the rear of the lecture hall, holding his pen in an effort to help stop his hand from shaking.

After class was over, Yoongi waited until everyone else had cleared out of the room before slinking up to the podium, where the professor was waiting for him.

“You wanted to see me, Professor Yu?”

His voice sounded small and sheepish, and Yoongi cursed himself for not being more confident. The woman dug around in her briefcase, pulling out an essay that Yoongi immediately recognized as his own from the title page with his name on it. Professor Yu frowned as she pushed it toward him.

“Mr. Min, I was looking through the essays I received yesterday when yours fell out of the pile. I was about to put it back when my eyes caught a glimpse of what you wrote.”

The professor’s voice was low and intimidating. Yoongi felt threatened by her carefully formal, explicit speech, and he made no attempt to respond as she continued to lecture him, tearing into his essays for reasons he couldn’t understand.

“Would you care to explain the meaning of this?” she challenged, her eyes dark and sharp.

“I, uh… I’m sorry, but I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Well then I suggest you take this opportunity to proofread your essay, Mr. Min,” spat the professor.

❧

Yoongi picked up his paper, glancing over the uninteresting title page before flipping it over to reveal the body of the essay. Everything seemed normal so far, but it didn’t take long for Yoongi to see what the teacher was talking about.

Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad deals with the often nefarious BLOOD. WEEPING AND SLITHERING, POURING OUT. SCREAMING ALWAYS BOUNCING ABOUT. RIVERS OF RED. EVERYONE DEAD. HOW CAN THERE BE SO MUCH BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD?

Yoongi was speechless. This was not the essay he had spent over half of the day yesterday perfecting and polishing until it was boring, dry, and insightful. This was some kind of twisted poem imposed over his essay, and the young man had no idea how it could have gotten there.

“Well, Yoongi? What do you have to say for yourself?”

Yoongi looked up. His professor had never called any of her students by anything but their family name, so she must have been really pissed at him to forgo that formality now. He had no way of explaining what was on the paper, and he didn’t really think any explanation he could try to give would have helped him anyway. Yoongi settled for the truth.

“I am extremely sorry, Professor Yu. I honestly have no idea how this got here,” Yoongi stammered. “It must be a virus or something on my computer. I-I don’t know.”

“I’d be willing to believe that,” said Professor Yu with crossed arms. “So long as it doesn’t happen again. You have until the end of class tomorrow to hand in a real copy of your essay, Mr. Min, so I would encourage you to fix any computer problems you may be experiencing, or borrow a friend’s if you can’t sort it out.”

❧

Back in his lonely dorm room, Yoongi clicked on the word document to which he had saved his essay two nights ago. Everything was just as he remembered it: pages upon pages of analysis and criticism that was too monotonous to read again, but there certainly wasn’t any sign of the outburst that had somehow taken over the first page - as well as several of the others, according to his professor.

Yoongi nervously pressed “print,” hopeful that things would be normal this time around, and that he wouldn’t have to email his essay to Hoseok to have him print it out - especially not this late at night, when the younger man would most likely be sleeping. The printer had finally finished, and Yoongi grabbed the stack of papers to flip to a random page, his sharp eyes quickly scanning the words as he felt a lump forming slowly in his throat.

THE DEMONS ARE SCREAMING, THE BIRDS ARE ALIGHT. THE EARTH IS ALL STEAMING, THE BAD SOULS TAKE FLIGHT.

Okay, what the is going on here?

Before Yoongi could turn back to his computer, however, a crackling boom came from behind him, and he whirled around to see the machine release a thick cloud of smoke. Worrying that the fire alarm would go off and wake up the entire building, Yoongi panicked as he looked around the room for a solution. Finding none, he lunged at the laptop to at least close it before more of the fumes could escape - but before Yoongi could reach the device, another shockwave knocked him backwards, pressing his shoulders against the metal bedframe.

When Yoongi looked up, he was shocked to see a man on his desk, the latter sitting casually with one knee crossed over the other as he swung his right foot, staring down at Yoongi with a mischievous sneer.

“What’s the matter, Yoongi? Didn’t appreciate my edits?”

The shocked man stared at the person on his table with pure and disbelief. He could only assume that whoever this was had come out of his computer, as the machine sat smouldering in a ruined husk next to the grinning, brown-haired man.

“Who in the are you?” Yoongi bellowed.

“I have many names,” responded the boy on the desk. “Lucifer. Beelzebub. But you can call me… Jimin.”

“Jimin?” Yoongi repeated.

“I feel like this might be easier for you if you have a more familiar name to wrap your head around.” The childlike man hopped down from the table, and sauntered over to help Yoongi off the floor. “Besides, the other names are all so ugly. Who wants to call himself ‘Satan?’ Ugh. Not me; that’s for sure.”

“But… you are,” murmured Yoongi. “You’re-”

Jimin dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

“That’s neither here nor there, Yoongi. The important thing is that you have an essay to turn in.”

❧

“Okay… Jimin,” began Yoongi apprehensively. “What do you want from me?”

“Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi. Oh goodness, you should know that’s a dangerous question to ask me,” teased Jimin. “But in the spirit of second chances, I’ll allow you to rephrase that. How about it?”

Yoongi was hesitant. It was a little bit much for him to take in - that the Devil was apparently possessing his computer, and on top of that wanted the young man to believe that he had no other motive than to wreck the latter’s essays. Or maybe that wasn’t what Jimin was saying, as he had warned Yoongi to not ask what he wanted. The whole thing was making the young man’s head spin, and he searched for some words that would get him out of the situation.

“How did you get here?” he finally asked.

Jimin smiled as he gave Yoongi a firm pat on the shoulder.

“From your computer, of course!” Jimin chuckled. “I’m pretty decent at getting anywhere I need to go, so I usually opt for the fun stuff, you know? Coming out of people’s mouths, flickering a couple candles - really making an entrance for myself.”

Jimin seemed oddly proud in this regard, and Yoongi was uncomfortable with the slightly shorter man’s hand resting firmly on his back. Thankfully, Jimin removed it before continuing, skipping over to stand by the charred remains of Yoongi’s laptop.

“Now, that was a very boring question, Yoongi - and we both know it’s not what you’re really curious about.” Jimin’s eyes twinkled in the light of the single lamp that was resting on the wooden table, and he leaned in a little closer as he spoke to Yoongi. “Ask another, won’t you?”

“Okay. Why are you messing with my goddamn essay?” Yoongi questioned without hesitation.

There was anger in his voice, and this seemed to amuse Jimin greatly as the latter continued to smile, snickering while he narrowed his eyes.

“’Cause I like to have fun,” explained Jimin concisely. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”

Yoongi turned red, more out of anger than any flattery, and he glared at the devilish creature before him. He opened his mouth, but couldn’t decide on what to say. Jimin motioned to the ruined laptop as he instead picked up the conversation, clucking his tongue at the fuming Yoongi.

“This is getting nowhere, so I’ll skip to the point,” mumbled Jimin. “You were right, Yoongi. I do want something from you, and in return for it, I’m willing to give you back your computer - as well as complete control over what comes out of it. You can hand in your essay and it’ll be like none of this ever happened.”

Yoongi was listening, but he wasn’t so sure he believed the words that were coming out of Jimin’s sly mouth.

“Don’t people warn others never to make a deal with the Devil?”

“Yoongi, most of those idiots have probably never even met me,” scoffed Jimin. “What do they know? And besides, this is thirty percent of your grade we’re talking about. Can you really afford to not listen to me?”

The young student remained politely attentive as Jimin outlined his demands, swinging his feet as he sat with a thunk on the dark wooden desk.

❧

“Now, I know it’s cliché, but I really want your undying soul,” explained Jimin. Yoongi’s eyes widened at the proposal. “A person can never have too many souls, and - well, I suppose I’m not exactly a ‘person,’ but I still like to collect them, you know. Souls are like baseball cards in a way…”

Jimin’s speech drifted off, and Yoongi took the opportunity to interrupt the other man’s monologue, posing a question of his own as the latter carried on swaying his legs.

“My soul for a computer?” clarified Yoongi. “That doesn’t strike me as a very fair trade.”

“What can you control in life if not the little things?” queried Jimin. “If you can’t even print your assignments correctly, then what’s the point of having a soul?”

That seemed like a pretty extreme logical leap to Yoongi, and he told Jimin in no uncertain terms just how far-fetched the idea sounded to him.

Jimin shrugged.

“Are you even really using your soul?” he questioned. “Or are you just hanging onto it for sentimental value?”

Yoongi didn’t know what to say to that. What was the actual point of a soul? And how did one use it if not simply to live? Was there a higher level of existence that Yoongi was missing out on? His mind randomly drifted to the locked door of his dorm room, and he noticed how Jimin lounged nonchalantly between Yoongi and the exit, swinging his feet as if they were discussing the weather, or television shows. But perhaps the most important thought that occurred to Yoongi was wondering what purpose Jimin could have for his soul.

“Thanks for the offer,” appreciated Yoongi, “but I’m pretty sure I’d like to keep my soul.”

“That’s fine,” replied Jimin. “You don’t want someone else walkin’ around with control of your soul - I get it; I do. A lot of people think that it’s weird and scary.”

Yoongi certainly did think it was both of those things, but he stayed quiet as Jimin continued to bargain.

“I’ll lower the offer, in exchange for a slightly more agreeable price.”

Jimin snapped his fingers, and a pristine stack of papers appeared in his hand. He tossed them to Yoongi, who saw that it was a copy of his essay, beautifully printed and there in its entirety - with no morbid blood poetry to speak of.

“If you don’t want the computer, I’ll at least give you the essay so you can hand it in and get Yu off your back.”

That sounded alright so far to Yoongi, but he waited to hear the conditions before accepting the offer.

“All that I ask for in return,” drawled Jimin, “is a single drop of your friend Hoseok’s blood.”

❧

Yoongi paused, his face scrunching up into an expression of bewilderment. Why Hoseok’s blood? And how was he even supposed to collect such a substance without coming off as creepy, insane, or homicidal?

“Why do you need that?” he asked Jimin.

“That’s a secret,” laughed the other man. Yoongi was surprised by how high-pitched the boy’s laugh was, and the sound itself was almost uplifting. “But I will remind you of this. I told you I like to have fun, and there’s nothing more enjoyable than corrupting the innocent.”

Yoongi noticed that his own mouth was hanging slightly open, and he closed it forcefully.

“That boy is too pure,” chortled Jimin. “Don’t you want him to have a little fun in his life?”

The slightly taller man wasn’t sure what to say, and he felt strangely cornered as Jimin stood up and invaded his space.

“It would have been easier - and even more entertaining for me - if you’d just given me your soul so I could make you do it without question,” explained Jimin. “But if you’re going to insist on playing hard to get, then I suppose this is the only path toward achieving what it is that I really want.”

Yoongi felt dizzy, and he couldn’t understand more than half of what Jimin was saying to him. All this for a stupid essay? It didn’t seem worth it to Yoongi, and he was about to inform Jimin of this when the latter cut him off before he’d even had a chance to talk, grabbing his arm as he hissed in the taller man’s ear.

“Come on; give Hoseok a little enjoyment out of life. If you get me his blood, I promise you he will be so much more amusing to be around.”

“W-why don’t you ask him yourself?” stammered Yoongi.

“Because people like him don’t make deals like that,” boomed Jimin. He was laughing maniacally, and the effect of the sound was very different from his earlier, almost twinkling giggles. “But people like you, Yoongi… you’re a different story.”

❧

There was fire behind Jimin’s sweltering eyes, and Yoongi had to look away before he became completely entranced. This was not his deal to make. It was Hoseok’s blood, and - regardless of what Jimin had said - Yoongi didn’t want to be the type of friend to betray someone like that just for an essay. He had to refuse.

“I won’t give you his blood,” Yoongi said firmly. “Hoseok is my friend, and I’m not going to do that to him.”

Jimin let go of the other man’s arm with surprisingly little resistance. Yoongi looked up from where he was huddled to see the boy looking oddly serene as he stepped away and walked over to the computer. With a wave of his hand, the machine was repaired, and Yoongi’s laptop sat on the desk as if nothing had ever happened to it, the title page of his essay glowing on-screen.

“Why’d you do that?” asked Yoongi. “I didn’t agree to your deal.”

“Ah, but you gave me your soul anyway,” hummed Jimin delightedly. “By expressing your morality, you essentially surrendered your spirit as soon as you denied me a drop of Hoseok’s blood. Think of it as… showing me who you really are. Giving me a glimpse into Min Yoongi’s soul so that I can just… snatch it up.”

With this, Jimin made a grabbing motion, and Yoongi clutched at his chest. He didn’t feel any different. But how was he supposed to know what a soul felt like in the first place to be able to  realize when he had lost it?

“You gave me what I wanted, so I thought it was only fair that I follow through on my half of the bargain,” said Jimin smugly. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

With that little quip, Jimin disappeared into a tiny puff of blue smoke, leaving Yoongi both alone and coughing as he slumped back against the wall. The young man’s breathing was ragged, and it took every ounce of strength that he had for Yoongi to stumble over to the computer, and check through his essay one final time. The words and punctuation were all there, and when he shakily went to print the assignment, its pages were clean and uncorrupted.

At the bottom of the stack, on the very last page that had printed in addition to the ones in Yoongi’s paper, the young man found a message typed in delicate print. He lifted the page to his nose as he tried to control the shaking in his fingers, squinting to make out the letters as his eyes began to water.

See you real soon.

I love the idea of the Devil manipulating someone into giving him what he really wants in a roundabout sort of way like this. I feel like this is the sort of confusing half-logic that makes dealing with the Devil so dangerous; you never know what he’s going to pull to trick you. And when he succeeds, it’s because of something totally unexpected.

I also think Jimin is the ideal member to be used to portray this style of devil, as he seems like someone who is not necessarily outright manipulative, but knows how to be persuasive and accomplish his objectives. I like to think that corrupting Hoseok wasn’t really Jimin’s goal at all, and he just told Yoongi that because he knew that the latter would be too loyal to betray his friend, which would ultimately result in him giving Jimin his “soul” (i.e., his essence of morality) anyway. So maybe that is what Devil Jimin wanted, hehe...