“Are you sure you’re a shaman?”

Well, as if that wasn’t a familiar question. The old lady’s eyes crinkled as she sat down under the shade of the tree, two pairs of inquisitive eyes gazing at her. They belonged to two boys, around maybe eight or nine years old. Dirty and ill-mended clothing, uncombed hair, and no shoes. They were definitely from the area, the poor countryside and its failing crops. The taller boy had sharp facial features, slightly hollowed with the struggle of finding food and shelter on a daily basis, yet he kept his chin up proudly. The shorter one seemed younger, healthier. His cheeks were pink and full and he seemed to bounce on his toes. She fondly noted how the taller one stood in front of the shorter every so subtly and patted the grass beside her, “Do shamans lie?”

“No, but normal people do.” The taller boy said with a humph, his eyes suspicious and his arms crossed over his chest protectively. He made a tsking noise and looked over to his friend with a frown, “Can’t we just go, Min-ah?”

“Noo,” the shorter boy tugged at the other’s tattered shirt sleeve. “She said she had a story, Jion. How long has it been since we’ve heard a good story?”

The shorter boy pouted and made puppy eyes as the larger boy grimaced. “Fine,” he said grumpily, “it better be good.”

The shorter boy plopped down next to him on the grass, entwining their fingers while giggling at the other’s unhappy expression. The shaman smiled, “Don’t worry, it will.”

 

⠠⠿⠐⠑⠲

 

Once upon a time, there were two lovers living in a dangerous city. Their names were Jeon Jungkook and Park Jimin. Jungkook was a hitman for hire; only the better trained gang and mafia members could spot the way he stuck to the sides of the street, his hood shadowing his face and his hand always close enough to reach a knife or gun. But it hadn’t always been this way. He had been circulated through foster care as a young boy, too stubborn to accept new rules and ways of life, yet he had finally settled with a family similar to the rest, all because of one exception. They had Jimin.

Cleaning kitchens and running errands for a pampered daughter didn’t seem as bad when he could run into the family’s son, a pink-cheeked boy with a beautiful smile who was older than Jungkook but somehow still shorter than him. He teased the boy about that often and he’d retort that he was tall enough, thank you very much. They got into fights together, they snuck into the pantry together, they ran to the outskirts of the city to take pictures of everything and anything together. They did everything together.

At the age of eighteen, Jungkook had gotten a run-of-the-mill job in construction and Jimin left his hometown to follow him, leaving behind the safety of his family, who for all their good intentions, would not support their relationship. It’d been tough, saving up in the ghettos of an overpopulated city, but they had done it. When Jungkook took off Jimin’s blindfold to show him his twenty-first birthday present, Jimin had clutched the apartment keys to his chest, kissed Jungkook, and started crying.

 

⠠⠿⠐⠑⠲

 

“This is boring.” The taller boy was pulling out grass.

The shorter boy glared at him but the shaman laughed. “Remember, children, this isn’t just a story about lovers, it’s a story about love. Love’s like that grass you’re pulling. It takes a while to grow.”

The taller boy glared at her.

 

⠠⠿⠐⠑⠲

 

One chilly fall morning, Jungkook woke up to the smell of pancakes. He sat up in bed, gently finger-combing his hair as the usual steps came pitter-pattering down the hall, music to his ears.

“Oh, you’re awake.” Jimin leaned against the doorframe of their shared bedroom, holding a plate in one hand and a notepad in the other.

“Why are you acting as if I don’t always get up before 7?” Jungkook smiled warmly as Jimin placed their breakfast on the bed.

Jimin rolled his eyes. “Oh, shut it Mr. Perfect. I can have hope that you’ll mess up someday, can’t I?” He cut a slice of pancake and held it up to Jungkook’s lips.

“No, no, you can’t.” Jungkook grinned evilly before opening his mouth wide and snatching the food.

“Mhm, sure.” Jimin smiled and got up, slipping his notepad into his pocket, “I’m gonna go to the living room, my project’s waiting. You’ll have twenty minutes to get to work, Kookie. The stuff is next to your shoes, and so’s your lunch. Oh, and, go buy some eggs if you have time after work, okay?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“That’s more like it.”

The pillow hit the door.

Quickly stretching, Jungkook rolled out of bed into a brisk walk. Fingers lightly tracing the paint of the corridor wall, he closed his eyes as he made his way to the door. Thin bulletproof vest? Check. Gloves? Check. Knife strapped to his thigh? Check. Black clothes to cover everything? Check. No traceable electronics? Check. He gave the knife holster one last tug before stepping out of their apartment and into the crowd.

There, among the masses of people in the city, he was invisible. Slipping into a dark alley behind a crowded bar, he pulled out his gun and knives. The target that day was male, late 50s, about 5’ 5”. Jungkook was to eliminate anyone in the way, dispose of the target, and rescue the girl that had been kidnapped. Rescuing, in the city of death. He scoffed, quickly evaluating the bodyguards waiting in the alley.

There were only three, a gross underestimation of Jungkook’s skills. His left hand on the trigger, his hand hand twisted the knife. A body slumped to the ground behind him as a stray bullet grazed the stone alley wall. Jungkook snapped out his left leg, making contact with the second guard’s neck in a sickening crunch. He’d have to ice his leg, but that could wait. Quickly flipping behind the body as a shield, he said a quick sorry before shooting the last guard.

The knife re-strapped at his side, Jungkook walked past the bodies toward the back of the buildings before turning down into another alleyway.

There he was, the man cowering in the corner. Seemingly recognizing his reaper, the man cried out, “Please, please. I’ll pay you, just don’t kill me!”

“Tell me where the girl is.” Jungkook’s voice was cold and harsh, foreign to his ears even after all these years. He walked closer, gun in hand.

“The- the basement,” the man said, “the door is in the bedroom.”

Jungkook looked at him for a second, calculating. Then he cocked his gun to the man’s temple, “Lead me there.”

 

⠠⠿⠐⠑⠲

 

“Sounds like a bad guy,” said the taller boy, his nose wrinkling.

The shaman smiled, “We’ll see.”

“What about the one named Jimin?” The shorter asked. “I wanna hear about Jimin.”

“Jimin was at home-”

 

⠠⠿⠐⠑⠲

 

Jimin was at home, comfortably snuggled into the sofa in their living room. He knew Jungkook was already curious about his current project. After all, Valentine’s Day was coming up. Jimin smiled to himself; Jungkook would never be able to guess what the present was.

“I’m so thoughtful, he should thank me.” Jimin laughed, twirling a paintbrush in his right hand as he studied his work. Suddenly, an alarm went off. He sniffed the air and picked himself up off the sofa, walking over to the microwave. “Ah~ nothing better than noodles for lunch.”

Sitting down at their dining table, he blew at the steam impatiently before splitting his chopsticks with a flourish and digging in. There was barely any spice, unlike how Jungkook liked it. Before Jungkook had work, he used to stay home and they would eat noodles together, salt for Jimin and pepper for Jungkook. But that didn’t happen anymore. Jimin missed it, but it was bearable as long as he knew Jungkook would come back every night.

Jimin knew Jungkook killed people, but he also knew Jungkook had to. Around this part of town, you were dead if you didn’t look like a credible threat. Jimin could paint and take photos and follow his artistic passions because Jungkook protected him.

“He’s so stupid.” Jimin huffed, “I’m not some fragile snowglobe.” He tossed the rest of his lunch and went back to his project. Jungkook was going to be happy on Valentine’s Day, Jimin would make sure of it.

 

⠠⠿⠐⠑⠲

 

“He’s the stupid one,” said the taller boy. The shorter boy glared at him. “What?! It’s true.”

 

⠠⠿⠐⠑⠲

 

The sun was setting. Jungkook could still smell the perfume on his gloves from when he had carried the girl back to her family and taken his payment. There had been no tears, no joy, only that same cold business transaction that marked the town they lived in. But in this cold harsh town, Jungkook still had a refuge in Jimin. Jimin who was both sweet and sassy, who sent him off with a soft “be safe” and welcomed him back with fussing care. And even when Jimin was snuggled at his side, Jungkook felt as if he is the one wrapped around Jimin’s pinky.

Memories of a disapproving glare on Jimin’s soft features flashed across his mind, followed by the soft cushion of the mattress against his back from the several times Jimin had pinned him down on their bed. Jungkook smirked, his strides getting faster. “Jimin will flip out if he smells the perfume again.”

A block away from home, he bumped into two oddly dressed women. They wore head coverings and gypsy-styled jewelry. Shamans maybe. There had been an increase in spiritual worries with the rising crime. As he walked by, gaze to the side respectfully, something latched onto his arm.

There came a voice, raspy and shallow, sending tingles down his spine.

“Mister, you should move far, far away from here.”

“Wha-”

Nails dug into his skin painfully. It was one of the shamans. “You think you two can live like this? Look at all the blood around you. Look at it!”

Jungkook ripped his arm from her grasp, scowling at her bitterly. “What the hell! What I do has nothing to do with you. Just off.” He sighed and stalked off quickly.

In the dark of the night, even shadows of people seemed to watch him. “Look at it!” They seemed to whisper angrily, “Look at it!” He disliked those sort of people, the ones who lived in this city of death but had the audacity to tell people like him they were immoral. As if anyone could be moral here.

Checking one last time to make sure the crazy lady or her friend did not follow him home, he knocked at the door twice in quick succession. The door opened.

“Kookie!”

“I’m back.” Jungkook smiled, sweeping Jimin off his feet and carrying him over the threshold bridal style. He closed his eyes, finally relaxing as Jimin’s scent enveloped him, the watchful shadows and lifeless bodies of the night fading away behind him. Even on days when he came back cold or Jimin was grumpy, it always worked. Jimin would get red and complain, but he looped his arms around Jungkook’s neck anyways and buried his head in the nape of Jungkook’s neck. As their worlds shrunk back down, down to the four square feet they shared, Jungkook breathed in and out. It felt good to be back.

 

⠠⠿⠐⠑⠲

 

The shorter boy asked, “Was that scary shaman you?”

She laughed, “No, I was the other one. The one who approached him was my acquaintance. She saw something ominous in their future but I disagreed.”

“What happened? Were you right?”

“So impatient, child. Wait and see…”

 

⠠⠿⠐⠑⠲