His castle was a thousand years older than he; the brick and cement having began to crumble centuries ago. Min Yoongi—his name from his mortal days—sat there, slumped in his throne, glaring at the man who had just traipsed in his castle’s front doors.

 

Truly, he hated his rule. He was the God of all things lost; anything that disappeared, it wasn’t actually gone—it went to Yoongi. He hated receiving guests to his castle, however. The way they all came looking, wishing, demanding, bargaining. The way they expected him to help them, as if he didn’t have rules of his own to abide by.

 

The dead could not be brought back, no matter how much a man missed his late wife; youth could not be restored, as youth died, it was not lost; lost lovers could not be made to love again, as love withered and shriveled up, or burned out into ash—it was not simply lost.

 

Yoongi huffed at the man standing in front of him now, tall and long-limbed, anxiety rolling off of him in waves. It made Yoongi sick.

 

“I, um, heard that you found anything lost,” the man stated, dimples showing as he smiled. Yoongi wanted to punch him.

 

“I do not find them, they come to me,” Yoongi drawled, wishing this man would just go on and attempt to reclaim whatever it was he had been desperate enough get have back to have made the treacherous walk up the mountain path. His castle was not easy to get to—this was done on purpose. There was a price to pay if you get to Yoongi, of course, but the path to his abode was made dangerous enough for the weak to be taken care of. Yoongi did not like to waste his time.

 

“Well, yes. Of course. Anyway, I’ve…I’ve lost the engagement ring I just had made special for my fiancé, it’s rose gold with chocolate diamonds, and—,”

 

“I don’t need a description,” Yoongi snarled, snapping his fingers and holding out his hand as a small ring box came flying from the back, luckily not buried underneath the enormous pile of junk that sat behind his throne.

 

“Oh, yes, that’s it! What do I have to pay you for it? Hopefully not the full price it’s worth, I can’t afford to dish that out again,” the man rambled, wringing his hands. He was eyeing the ring box feverishly, Yoongi could practically taste how badly he wanted it back.

 

This was the part of his job Yoongi absolutely relished.

 

“I have no use for your mortal money,” Yoongi rolled his eyes, looking the man over closely.

 

“Tell me, what is your name?”

 

“Kim N—Namjoon, Sir.”

 

“Your fiancé?”

 

“Seokjin, Kim Seokjin.”

 

Yoongi leaned back into his throne’s cushion back, mindlessly fiddling with the ring box in his hands.

 

“What is Seokjin’s favorite thing about you?”

 

Namjoon looked confused, but answered anyway, “well, he…he always tells me he loves how poetic I am, whatever that means.”

 

Yoongi squinted, not quite believing this anxious mess of a man in front of him could be poetic, but snapped his fingers again anyway, figuring if Namjoon was lying, the deal simply wouldn’t work.

 

Immediately, Namjoon gasped, stumbling back as a cloud of gray mist shot through him, swirling up and around him and finally returning back to Yoongi, hovering around his chest before appearing to soak into his body.

 

“The price of your ring: your way with words,” Yoongi sniped, throwing the ring box at Namjoon, watching disdainfully as the man fumbled to catch it.

 

“Uh…oh. Well, thanks,” he stuttered, quickly turning on his heels and rushing out of the castle.

 

Yoongi sighed, kicking his feet up on his foot stool, and waited. It wouldn’t take long for another to come. They always came.

 

Yoongi had been doing this dance for so long, he couldn’t remember what his mortal life had been like. He couldn’t even remember why he of all people had been chosen to live this damned curse of a ‘life’, sitting around and waiting, waiting, dealing with ungrateful and demanding mortals, hating them more and more each day. He eventually got more creative with his deals; if they were going to make his life difficult, he would do the same for them.

 

Yoongi snapped out of his thoughts as the castle door slowly creaked open, a timid “hello?” echoing through the empty foyer.

 

A smaller man, with blond, fluffy hair and big, pretty eyes peeked his head out from behind the large wooden door—his small hands clutching at the edge.

 

As the young man made eye contact with Yoongi, he felt a chill run down his spine. It made him uneasy; no other ‘customer’ had ever done that to Yoongi before. He sat up straight, watching the boy closely as he shut the door behind him, his small frame so out of place in the spacious anteroom.

 

He made his way towards Yoongi, walking slowly and purposefully, looking around the room in awe at the randomly placed mountainous piles of assorted things, his eyes wide and bright. Yoongi felt a twinge of something, what, he didn’t know. It was almost like he knew this boy, somehow. Not possible, the boy couldn’t be older than 20, and Yoongi was only 23 when he had been chosen all those centuries ago.

 

“Hello, Sir. My name’s Park Jimin,” the boy said, bowing, his voice like a songbird, beautiful and musical.

 

“Welcome, Park Jimin. How may I be of…service, to you?” Yoongi asked, half sarcastically, half genuine. This mortal was an interesting one; Yoongi was intrigued.

 

“Well, I’ve lost something, and I hear you’re the best person to ask for help,” Jimin said, his voice tinkling.

 

“True. What is it you’ve lost, Jimin?” Yoongi asked, leaning forward on his elbows.

 

“I’ve lost a memory.”

 

Yoongi stared, taken aback. A memory? Yoongi sat up, thinking. He could not give back brain power, he could not give back any kind of health. But memories, specifically…he had never dealt with this. It was nowhere that he could remember reading in his studies.

 

“A memory? May I ask, do you have any kind of detail?” Of course, if Yoongi COULD make the deal, he didn’t necessarily need details, the memory would simply return to Jimin’s conscious. Yet, he was curious, and well...just maybe he wanted to keep cute little Jimin in front of him as long as he could.

 

“Well, it…it’s from when I was young, very young. I was playing out in the river, not far from here, and it was much too choppy and deep for me to have been playing in at that age…I nearly drowned, but someone saved me. That’s where it gets fuzzy…I vaguely remember being pulled from the river, but…I’ve gone so long not being able to remember who it was, and…I need to know,” Jimin’s bright eyes had become glazed as he reminisced, frowning slightly at his lack of the memory.

 

Yoongi, however, had gone still.

 

He now knew where he had remembered this boy from; it was only a decade or so ago, and he had been out of his castle for a rare instance as he was checking and redoing some of the traps and pitfalls he kept on the path to his castle for unsuspecting guests, when he heard someone shouting for help.

 

He had almost ignored it, but the voice…it sounded so young, and helpless…and musical. Yoongi had a soft spot for music.

 

Yoongi found a young child, almost drowning in the river that lead to his moat, and quickly pulled the child out with his mist. The normally gray matter turning a sunset pink as it swirled around the boy, gently lifting him out of the water and setting him down on the grass in front of Yoongi.

 

The boy was crying, gasping for air. Yoongi sat down on the ground next to him, waiting for the boy to catch his breath.

 

“Th—thank you, Sir, thank you so much,” he said as he sat up, his big eyes staring up at Yoongi with complete trust and admiration. Yoongi felt…weak, almost, for the first time since he had been mortal.

 

“Yeah, well. Don’t play in such rough waters, you’ll be swept away in an instant,” Yoongi scolded. He wondered where this child’s parents were.

 

“Yes, Sir. I won’t do it again,” the boy suddenly hugged Yoongi, invoking a rush of magic to come bursting out of him, surrounding him and the young boy in a haze of blue and purple and pink, shimmering in the sunlight.

 

“Wow!” the child hopped excitedly, reaching his hands up at the shining mist. Yoongi watched, eyes wide, as the boy played in the glittering haze, giggling and bouncing around, trying to catch the shiny particles.

 

Yoongi knew he couldn’t let this go. Mortals weren’t supposed to know about the extent of his magic; obviously they knew he was powerful, and that he had abilities beyond their comprehension, but this…he couldn’t risk this getting out, and him being taken advantage of.

 

As the child turned back towards him, running back up to him and giggling as he showed Yoongi his shimmering hands, Yoongi smiled softly and smoothed down the boy’s hair. He continued to pet the boy’s head, gently caressing him and finally putting his palm on the child’s forehead and looking the boy straight in the eyes.

 

He summoned the gray mist, pushing it through his palm and into the boy’s mind, forced it to cover his brain completely before pulling it back into his hand, hurriedly catching the young boy as his eyes closed and he fell asleep. Yoongi carefully layed him down on the grass, a good ways away from the river, and sent a small hint of his magic towards the village, a feeling, a direction to the boy’s location. The parents had lost their child after all, technically. Fair trade, for their child's memory.

 

Yoongi took one last look at the boy, and headed back to his castle.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Yoongi shook his head, swallowing roughly before looking back at Jimin, the grown up little boy, standing in front of him. He couldn’t return this memory, even if it was possible. Jimin couldn’t know.

 

“I…don’t think I’m able to return memories,” Yoongi bluffed, turning his head so he wouldn’t have to see Jimin’s disappointment.

 

“But…they said you could help,” he pleaded, “please, can you just try? This has been bothering me all my life, I have to at least try. I’ll give you anything in return. Anything.”

 

Yoongi looked at Jimin, the determination clear on his face. He couldn’t say no. This was his job, after all.

 

“Anything?”

 

“Anything.”

 

Yoongi clasped his hands together as he stared at Jimin. Suddenly, he got an idea. A twisted, manipulative idea, but an idea nonetheless. A way for both of them to be pleased.

 

“Come here, Jimin,” he said, his voice softer than it had ever been. He hoped this would work.

 

Jimin came closer, stepping right up in front of Yoongi, not even an arm’s width away.

 

Yoongi brought both of his hands up to Jimin’s head as Jimin closed his eyes, running his fingers through the boys’ hair as he willed the mist to do it’s work.

 

Sure enough, as soon as the mist hit Jimin, he gasped, snapping his eyes back open at Yoongi in shock; the memory must have come back. He locked eyes with Jimin for a moment, the boy studying his face, before focusing on Yoongi's lips.

 

As soon as this happened, Yoongi willed up a second mist, one he rarely ever used. The green shimmer slowly around Jimin, working its way from his toes to his hair, and as it did so Jimin’s eyes became dull and empty.

 

“Go back, go home. You won’t remember this day tomorrow. You’ll dream of me tonight, you’ll dream of your memory, but when you wake up, you’ll be right back where you started. You’ll come again,” Yoongi whispered firmly.

 

Jimin nodded, slowly turning and walking back towards the castle doors in a daze.

 

Yoongi sighed, sitting back in his chair, grinning madly.

 

What he had just done was not in the textbooks, nor was it something Yoongi felt was something he was allowed to do, technically. But this was the only way.

 

Jimin couldn’t know, but Yoongi didn’t want to let go of Jimin. Not now. He was far too interesting. And Yoongi was ready for something interesting, after waiting for so long. Jimin was his, whether anyone knew it or not.

 

He would come back, and he would keep coming back, day after day, repeating this song and dance, until Yoongi found a way to make the boy immortal. He would figure it out, if he had to trade his own sanity for the answer.

 

Yoongi was going to find the way to keep Jimin for himself, somehow, if it was the very last thing Yoongi found.