The tale of how Yoongi and Jimin had met was probably his favorite of the many absurd stories told about him; because it was rarely exaggerated. If anything, it was actually watered down for pallet-ability. And, it had, like everything else in his huge world seemed to, started with a letter. The first letter he had ever written home actually. He'd dropped it off at TS, the smallest of the jungle hubs on his way to the port of JYP for the very first time.

The first line of that first letter he'd written was.

“Hoseok, you wouldn't believe the world we live in; it's so breathtaking.”

He remembered this so distinctly because a week later when the Port of JYP emerged from the deepness of twisted vines and darkness like a lacquered wooden beacon in the infinity of forest he'd gotten his first letter back. It was the first time but certainly not the last time that his mail had preceded him. Most mail from big cities traveled the main roads. So it beat him to his destinations when he got wanderlust and decided to run off into the woods.

With a sigh of absolute relief the young mail currier caught the salt air in his breath and found a promise of relief from the boiling heat. Everything at the edge of the forest was hot and thick beneath the beating sun. Sweat gathered on his forehead and stuck his overgrown hair to him like ivy growing up the side of a wall. When he went to move it he smeared dust across his face and puffed out some of his soreness. His joints felt like rusted hinges. Perhaps that last shortcut through the grove had not been his best idea. It was pretty but good grief had trekking across it been a chore. Wildflowers and weeds up to his chest, tangled undergrowth that caught his feet in twisted knots and roots of trees that reached up to drag him away.

With conviction he didn't think he'd had, Yoongi pushed through the scattered crowed and walked up to the counter. The man standing on the other side of it turned to him politely running a hand through bright cinnamon hair. He had skepticism written all over his narrow face had stared wide eyed through his strangely round glasses at a dirty and very exhausted Yoongi. When the young mail currier announced himself and handed in his contract from a tiny township near TS a gasp shuttered through the heavy air. Apparently the rumor of his death had spread much more quickly than he had anticipated. Can't a guy swim across a river of apparently terrifying man eating fish without a rumor starting? Eesh. Those nosey fisherman should have kept their mouths shut.

“Yoongi?” The stranger repeated back, “Yoongi of Heechul's tutelage, from The Heart?”

“Hi,” the smaller man waved with his very matted up Vermillion panting and slobbering by his side, “You are?”

“Hi,” the other smiled, extending a polite hand out over the counter, “Minjun. Jun.K professionally. I don't own the place, I just run it.” He also managed to toss his head over his shoulder and scream “Yoongi from the Heart!” Out into the stacks behind him, while simultaneously taking Yoongi's completion envelope out from under the counter with his free hand. High risk contract completions tended to get left out front because they were so few.

The second that Yoongi reached out and took that offered hand to shake the elder snapped back around give it a firm, almost bone-crushingly tight, squeeze and leaned over the exquisitely cool granite counter. “It's rare to meet people from my home town out this far. Welcome.”

Behind him a young lady with long black hair appeared; her features were rather nondescript in comparison to the brightly colored paper in her perfectly manicured hands.

“Four.”

“Thanks, Jimin,” Minjun said.

Before he could even stop to think Yoongi had “You wouldn't happen to be looking for a Hoseok would you?” spilling out of his mouth and then very quickly had to add, “My brother Hoseok is looking for a Jimin.”

She laughed brightly, covering her wide smile with a fan of letters, “No, sorry, I'm looking for a Kevin. If you ever meet one send it my way.”

The mint haired mailman smiled sheepishly as a blush crept across his already heat reddened cheeks.

“It's sweet of you to help him look,” Jimin said, passing the mail to Minjun, “There are an abundance of Jimin in this world.”

Yoongi had almost forgotten his manners as he finally released his captive hand from that of JYP's apparent commissioner. He started to search for the zipper on Vern's mossy, muddy, torn up bags to get his spare change out when that very same hand he'd just let go of stopped him.

“Hometowners don't pay.”

“Wont the mob be kind of angry if I get freebies?” Yoongi asked.

“Pft. The mob doesn't mess with kids that swim across dangerous rivers just to deliver some mail.”

The younger man decided not to make any comments about how mail wasn't a trivial matter. Instead he offered. “Has everyone heard about that?” The mint mail currier sighed and let his snark edge in, “It could be a lie you know. There are a lot of crazy rumors out there.”

The older man grabbed his hand again, turned the palm up and shoved the letters and the contract completion envelope into it, “If Jackson had been the one running around telling that story, not Mark, I would take you at your word but Mark never tells tall tales. If you need anything around here all you have to do is ask for it river boy.”

That was the first actual time he'd found himself without a witty comeback. There was only shock and the discomfort of knowing that he was only a baby at this job and somehow all of the men around him were looking down at him with this weird awe. No one had ever been in awe of him before...except maybe Hakyeon, Wonshik, and Taekwoon when they'd spotted him and his ragged dog wandering into their little Jellyfish township on the Starlight River...also maybe Heechul and the entire crowed of terrifying men when he'd taken that contract...and perhaps his parents when he said he was leaving. Okay, a lot of people had looked at him with awe recently but he was still not used to it.

“Thanks...” Yoongi offered distractedly.

“Minjun,” the elder reminded.

The younger had not forgotten the cinnamon haired commissioners name, he was just distracted thinking about how he'd gotten to this place and how he would never get used to tall muscly men looking down on him with admiration because it was kind of intimidating but also kind of awesome.

That's when the “Wait a minute,” came, “Minjun? Your name is Minjun?” He asked.

“That's the name my mother gave me...sort of...thats a long story. Professionally people just call me Jun.K.”

“If you're looking for a Wonshik, he lives in the Jellyfish township. He goes by Ravi.”

Okay, he was kind of starting to like the stunned faces. It helped that Jun.K was absolutely beautiful, his face was soft and rounded even with the make up that carved out lines where his cheekbones should be, his chocolate eyes were so wide they looked like they might just pop out and a pink tint started to spread across his nose.

“Ra-ravi's real name is Wonshik?”

He found out much later that Ravi and Jun.K had been writing each other for years and never knew; they'd even branched out from professional letters to personal letters without ever mentioning that they had separate names for work.

A smile cracked across Yoongi's warm face as he turned to walk away from the counter. It was hours yet before the next contracts would be out and even if they were he didn't particularly need one right away. He had enough money to sit around for a few days if he wanted to so he was going to find something to eat and stroll the docks. He'd never seen a ship from the ocean before; just ones from the river.

The road there at the old gate was wide and beaten down by hooves. Jovial mail curriers smiled and waved at him from their carts as they clopped down the street with squeaking wooden wheels. He chose to make slow progress with Vern's broad shoulder knocking against his knee. When they finally crested the hill and the forest disappeared behind him everything changed.

The trees parted and all but disappeared in the ramble of clay houses that were built into the hillside, painted bright, glistening like stones along a the bottom of a creek. A maze of old cobbled roads began at the edge of the dirt and lead sharply down to the coast. The skyline almost took his breath away, bright blue speared upon the points of enormous wooden masts that rose up even above the tallest of those clay buildings.

Yoongi chose to do that which he always did when he was entering a completely new part of the world. He stopped, took his shoes off and sat down on the side of the road where there was still grass that he could wiggle his toes in. Sometimes he could feel life blood beneath him. Deep comfort was pulsing up through the soles of his feet as he slid them around in humid slicked greenery.

“Well, we made it didn't we?” he said to himself and maybe to the grass, or perhaps something under the it. With a huff and a sigh and very little effort he fell backwards and stretched out against the softness of the world beneath him, arched his back, pressed his shoulders in and breathed out his wonderful journey to replace it in his heart with this new destination.

Vern wandered off for a moment and then wandered back throwing himself at the ground in a great heap of fluff and slobber and dirt. The great beast rolled around for a moment with his tongue hanging out before he finally settled into resting. With giant sheepdog's head in his lap Yoongi, rolled onto his stomach opened his letter from home and chucked to himself as he read the first couple of lines.

It read;

“Yoongi, it would be a better world with fewer Jimin's in it. I'm never going to find the right one at this rate.”

Hoseok had a talent for taking the wonder out of everything and turning his mint haired brother's poetry into something absurd; especially on weeks when he'd met another Jimin that was not his Jimin...which was almost every week. There really was an overabundance of Jimin in the world. Jimin? Jimins? Jimini? Was there a proper plural form for Jimin?

They fell asleep on the side of that road with warm sun beating down from the sky and the faintness of an ever present heartbeat somewhere in the ground. A lullaby was made by angry bugs that buzzed around in the short weeds. The persistent jingle and creak of old wooden wheels mixed with the gentle clopping of both shod and unshod horses and Yoongi felt overpowered by the sheer number of people. He hadn't even made it to town yet and he was already tired of it. Despite not having been alone in the wilderness for that long but he already knew that he preferred it.

It was some time later when a very very loud, husky voice shouted, “Heeeeeyyyy, it's river dude! You alright river dude?” He recognized it vaguely but didn't put much thought into it as his groggy brain tried to catch up.

“Maybe all of the walking killed him,” ...That voice. There was something impactful and overwhelmingly earthy about it. Deep but soft like gentle reeds pushing against the wind. It had him soaked to the bone with a memory in seconds and struggling to keep his head above water.

Crossing that river...had actually very nearly killed him. Cold water dragged his clothes down and his oil slicked, waterproof mail bags had been hard to balance. There was water in his nose and sputtering out his lips. Half way across he started to question his choice. That's when the fishing boat had come down.

“MARK THERE'S A DUDE IN THE RIVER!” cut through the air crackling and booming its away across the water.

“What you mean like a body?” the soft voice that presumably belonged to Mark contrasted. There was an accent to it? Kind of like Amber's. His words sounded almost muffled and they curled together like languid calligraphy scrawled out with strong hands. Everything melted instead of snapping. He came to know later that there was nothing at all sharp about Mark, the way he spoke reflected that.

Yoongi tried to roll on his back to float like Amber had taught him but he really just ended up flailing for a quick second and catching a glimpse of the old mahogany river boat in the bubbles and waves of his own splashing.

“Holy...” Mark gasped.

“Hey river dude!” the sharper voice screamed. “River dude! You need a ride.”

“I'm fine thanks,” Yoongi sputtered back trying to paddle his way to the other shore. In retrospect, once again, traversing a river that was nearly eight miles wide on his own had probably not been the wisest of choices but the only way to become a stronger swimmer was to swim right?

“You don't look fine dude,” the annoying voice without a name continued.

“Jeckson,” The weight and swooping curl of Mark's voice turned the presumed a into an e.

Apparently the loud voice did have a name.

“Starboard!” the man apparently named Jackson with the raspy, husky voice screamed, “Sorry, left. Bank left. There's a sandbar like twenty feet to the left.”

Sure enough, one look to the left showed him a little bit of sort of solid ground right in the middle of everything. The mint-haired mailman took as deep a breath as he could manage, closed his eyes and swam for all he was worth until his hands hit something muddy and he could rip and tear at slimy reeds. With a great heave and a loud slosh of anguish he threw himself at the bank, slapping his sheepdog's dirty bag down next to him.

The continued shouting from both strangers was washed out by the white noise of his own muscles burning for a split second before Yoongi sprang to his feet waterlogged with eyes blurry, searching the river for the one thing he'd forgotten in that moment, “Vern?” he called, “Vermillion?”

His view down stream was obstructed by the creaking old fishing vessel. It was narrow bodied but long, and big enough for a crew of four

“OVER HERE!” A sweet young man shouted waving his arms high in the air above his pale ashy-blond hair. “Sheepdog right? He's here.” So that was Mark with the curling words. His soft jawline, narrow slopping shoulders, and warm eyes matched his voice well.

There beside him Vern looked a bit like a weed that had washed up on the shore...but he also didn't seem to mind that he looked like that because he was still smiling like this was the best thing to have ever happened in life.

Yoongi's attention was drawn to a flash of bright silver hair. Jackson contrasted Mark almost starkly from sharp angle of his jawline and the broad width of his shoulders. “He would have been fine. He's a much better swimmer than you are.”

A hand slapped across the silver haired man's apparently solid chest with a smack, “Jeckson,” the smaller man scolded, “Don't be rude.”

“Ow,” The taller grumbled, looking almost comically offended, crinkling his brow and holding his apparently sore .

“Yah. Turn us would you,” The blonde ordered.

“Right,” Jackson lit up, exaggerated injury forgotten as he ran off into the ropes and nets that were pilled up on the deck. “Don't worry river dude! We're coming. We'll save you.”

“Yoongi,” the currier offered in return, “And I don't need saving.”

He knew very little about sailing, just enough to pilot a little one man rowboat really, and that wasn't sailing at all. Watching the two men aboard dance around each other to swing the mast was fascinating.There was a lot of shouting, most of it from Jackson. At some point Mark disappeared bellow deck only to reappear as they were nearing the sand.

They dropped anchor about fifteen feet from where Yoongi stood explaining that they didn't want to run aground. Vern jumped ship and swam at just the V at the start of his name when his mailman called him. He ran full speed off the deck and slammed into the water with all the grace of a bird flying into a brick wall.

When he came ashore he shook off, soaking a sort of-almost-maybe trying to dry Yoongi and wiggled so hard he almost fell over. Since the soaked sheepdog didn't have a tail he just wiggled his whole body instead.

The mint haired mail man rubbed his dog up and down and in a breath of moderate exhaustion. He probably should have caught some food before embarking on an eight mile swim. He was considering his options, like swimming back to shore, when something hit the ground beside him.

It was a backpack. “Clean clothes, for the other side,” Jackson offered, pulling back the large hooked pole he had apparently dropped it on.

“Here,” Mark nudged holding out a second hooked pole with rusted tin box hanging off of it “Some fish. It should feed you for a few days. And some bottled spring water so you won't have to boil any tonight.”

Yoongi stood completely speechless staring at his dog, the tin box and a backpack of supplies. He wasn't sure what to say...or how he was gong to carry that with his mail bags in tow.

“Inside the backpack there's a tiny raft you can inflate. It's big enough for your bags.,” Mark explained. “The river is calm enough, that it shouldn't drag you down stream.”

“We'd offer a ride but you seem alright. And we gotta make a living,” the silver haired man shrugged. “I'm Jackson by the way, and this is Markipoo,”

“Actually its just Mark...” the other informed, “Jeckson is just weird and loud.”

“I have a brother like that,” Yoongi shrugged.

“You're lucky he's just a brother not a soulmate,” the blonde said.

“Maaaaark,” Jackson whined. “How could you say that?”

“Thanks for the help,” Yoongi admitted reluctantly. He wasn't used to people actually wanting to help him. Mail people could be a little cut throat trying to get routes faster.

“You would have been fine,” Mark winked, “We jus' help where we can.”

“How can I replay you?” The mint haired mailman asked; because he didn't usually live in a world that ran on favors.

“Are you headed to Jellyfish?” Jackson asked.

“Sure am.”

“Good! There are letters for N and the boys in the backpack. Deliver them and we're square river dude.”

“Yoongi,” he reminded, “My name's Yoongi.”

The goodbyes included, “Be safe river dude, don't turn into fish food.” and “If you're ever in the Port of JYP look us up.” There was also a “The fish only bite if you're already bleeding man.” Somewhere in there.

Standing on a the edge of that river looking back the world was loud and beautiful. His bare feet sank into the rich mud between gnarled tree roots. The jungle behind him smelled green I contrast to the murky blue that had been filling his nose for hours.

He'd made it. The mint haired mailman had swum across the unswimable river. In that moment he wasn't Yoongi the Mail Currier he was Yoongi the unsinkable. Yoongi the defender of paper; the definition of determined. Yoongi would touched man eating fish and snakes the size of trees. Lungs burning, eyes watering, sky bright and ground humming. He was alive. Every muscle in his body ached; and he had miles yet to go but he was alive and breakable. Nothing in the history of his existence had prepared him for what it felt like to stand on solid ground triumphant.

Victory was his that day.

The whole world was his. Wild and lovely and breathtaking. He remembered trailing the pads of his fingers against slick bark and walking for as long as he could without shoes just so he could feel the ground beneath him.

His breath turned to smoke on his tongue as he pressed out the memory and sat up in the grass to face the fisherman that had saved him up close.

"Hey," was the only greeting he offered.

"Good to see you dry man," Jackson smiled like the sun he was blocking.

"Good to see you," Mark agreed.

"I thought for sure you'd been eaten by a snake until Marky saw that carved stake you left in the ground," the silver haired man continued.

“Yeah thanks for that,” Mark said, “I was kind of worried about you.”

"Are you headed into town?" Yoongi asked, turning his face from the taller to the smaller.

"Yeah. We were here to pick up mail that got sent to the wrong hub." The port of JYP it turned out, had three mail centers, the one he was at was the north entrance to town, just past an old town gate made of salt sprayed boards. There was also one right on the docks and another in the center of town.

"Does that happen often here?"

"More often than we would like," the blond admitted with an out of place shrug and a hand offered out.

When Yoongi took it he was pulled swiftly too his feet. “Wow, you're a lot stronger than you look.” Came spilling out his mouth before he had a chance to stop it and he reached up to cover it and apologize but he was stopped.

“Thenk you,” Mark nodded. The blonde looked younger close up, much younger and shorter surprisingly but Yoongi often assumed people would be taller than he was. Mark was only had a couple of inches on him.

“You need a ride in?” the young fisherman asked.

With a sigh of relief the mail man looked over his new friend's narrow shoulder and saw the horses. Gypsy Vanners. Broad and gorgeous with fetlocks that curled draped over their hooves all around. Well washed and brushed. They looked like show horses not working horses. The kind that offer carriage rides to wealthy gentries. One was bright grey with a pitch black mane, tail, and fetlocks. The other was a stunning midnight black horse with a flaxen mane, tail and fetlocks. Evidence of their exertion wasn't readily apparent but upon moderate scrutiny the luxurious hair that grew from their legs down over their hooves had gotten dusty on the ride and sweat had soaked in around their harasses. Their regalia was uniform with brass rings and fine black leather that was polished and lacked the cracks or sun-staining of old equipment. It was starkly at odds with the banged up old cart that was split and faded with wear and weather. The back behind the apparent driver was wide open, with bits of canvas hanging from nails where it had been torn off.

“Sure.” Yoongi shrugged. He came to the realization after he'd agreed to accept that Jackson had been talking the whole time despite the fact that not even Vern was paying attention to his rambling.

His introduction to the coach driver had gone something like: "Yoongi, Youngjae: Youngjae, Yoongi." Mark offered, gesturing between the two. Youngjae had black hair and small eyes but he smiled over his shoulder with a nod.

Yoongi had been expecting a hello in return for his "hey" and maybe a handshake since he offered his after he heaved himself into the back with Jackson and a couple of mail bags.

Instead a slack jawed horse driver spewed out "That is a MASSIVE Sheepdog. Like...wow, is he part mastiff?"

Caught off guard in that moment his period got replaced by a question mark at the end of his intended statement, "No?"

"Youngjae breeds dogs," Jackson explained, climbing in behind.

"Sheepdogs?"

"Ratters and ship dogs mostly," Youngjae said. His statement was punctuated but the loud bark of an exceptionally tiny white dog sitting in Mark's lap.

“Coco,” Mark whispered pointing to the little creature with long ears.

"But I have sheepdogs,” Youngjae continued, “so we have puppies every now and again,They don't sell well in town but when the shepherds come down from the steppe I can do good business. I've never seen one as a mail dog before. Don't mailmen usually have horses and retrievers?"

"Horses out in the jungle?" Yoongi laughed, “I think not. And the retrievers weren't as cute.”

Mark laughed; Youngjae whistled and the cart heaved forward.

The ride into town was bumpy and loud and filled with laughter. Vermillion padded along the side at a jog with his tongue out like always. His hair bounced and dipped with the curves of the stones while the horses walked slowly, pulling just hard enough to keep the momentum.

There were so many conversations had that Yoongi would be hard pressed to remember what all was exchanged in that first ride. Since that first time he was almost always met at the gate by his friends when he entered the port and given a ride into town. Largely because he always fell asleep on the side of the road, which gave the news of his arrival enough time to travel to the Inn.

Speaking of the Inn; the soft pink and stark white trim of its outside walls had alerted him in advance to the events that were about to transpire. “I think this place it too rich for me guys,” he commented as the cart came to a halt outside a large, incredibly well kept stable in the middle of the city. “Just look at my dog, he's a mess. I'm a mess. I don't have money to stay here.”

“Nonsense River dude,” Jackson puffed throwing a thick arm over the mailman's shoulder, “You're a house guest.”

“I'll groom your dog,” Youngjae volunteered, “Please? I love washing dogs. I'll do it for free. He'll look like a city dog in no time.”

The phrase city dog confused him but he shook it off.

“It wont even last a day,” Yoongi admitted, “But if you think you can handle him, go for it.” after a small second thought he added, “I-I do brush him you know?” sheepishly as a blush painted his cheeks.

“No judgment man,” the silver haired fisherman had said and that had effectively ended the discussion...well that and Jackson taking his backpack off the floor while Mark grabbed Vern's saddle bag and slung it over his shoulders.

As the mint haired mail man dismounted a taller man with red hair came out of the barn and started talking to Youngjae about the horses while they worked to unload the mail. Yoongi grabbed a couple of bags himself and followed the other boys up the oddly quite front steps with his sheepdog trailing close behind.

Walking into that building was ten thousand times more nerve wracking and intimidating than the big men that he competed for contracts with. The stairs had railing. Not a single board on the porch was warped. No cracked eaves, no rusty hinges, no broken gate. In Yoongi's life the only thing he had known to be as well kept as that inn was the chamber that held the Heart. The bright white door had windows in it, and it didn't make a sound when it was pushed open.

It opened to a two story vault in the lobby, with bright open air and glistening metal fixtures and more things than the mint haired mail man could describe in one go. Rich patterned furniture, perfectly polished floors. POLISHED FLOORS. The air smelled so clean that the poor mail currier felt the need to shower before stepping any further in.

“Welcome to GOT SevInn,” a voice echoed through the warm void fighting with the crackle of a distant fireplace. “Oh,” it remarked after a moment, “it's just you.”

“Good to see you too Bambam,” Jackson snarked back. “It's not like we brought your mail or anything.”

“This is way too rich for me,” the mint haired man fretted.

“What part of 'house gues'' do you not get?” Mark whispered under the echoed play fight Jackson and Bambam had gotten into, “We've got you Yoongi and you're pretty dog too.”

“You live here?” the mail currier marveled.

“My brother and I own it together,” he shrugged, “Jeckson and I catch the fish for the restaurant and sometimes do other things.”

“WAIT YOU BROUGHT RIVER DUDE?!” A scream of apparent shock that kind of sounded like anguish shattered the peaceful conversation. Whoever Bambam was he had managed to scream louder than Jackson.

“I thought you were a myth,” the voice belonged to a tall baby faced man with brown hair and really REALLY nice lips.

“So did I,” Yoongi sassed, offering out his hand to the newcomer, “Yoongi.”

“Dude,” Bambam said, looking at Jackson with puppy dog eyes, “I so wish I was looking for a Yoongi.”

The words, “Don't we all,” slipped through his lips and all of his anxieties about this place melted away because he was Yoongi, the man, the myth, the mail deliver. If he was going to be in a ritzy inn with a bunch of snobby gentry he was going to belong there.

The inn had a good mix of patrons actually; mostly because Bambam managed the front desk and liked the looks on aristocratic faces when fisherman passed by smelling like ocean. Honestly, that kid with his attitude would make a good mail currier. He was made of sass.

Hours later - bathed, fed and faced with a strange dog that looked vaguely like his - he fell asleep in the softest bed he had ever slept in and dreamt of wild places that smelled of honeysuckle and wild lavender where he could sleep with his ear to the ground instead of a duck feather stuffed pillow.

~~~

Huzzah! I am not dead! fun fact, everytime I write a chapter of this it splits itself into two chapters. Also I love bad puns and crack shipping AND have clearly been listening to WAY too much GOT7, particularly Mark's voice because I spent three days trying to describe his voice and his accent. Someone save me. Thank you all so much for reading! let me know what you think in the comments. I love feedback, it helps me become a better writer. 
Much love

~RFL