IT RAINED ALL day on Tuesday. Pitch-black clouds rolled in from the west and churned over the campus, doing nothing to help clear Jin’s mind. The downpour came in uneven waves—drizzling, then pouring, then hailing—before it tapered off to start all over again. The students hadn’t even been allowed to go outside during breaks, and by the end of his calculus class, Jin was going stir-crazy.

He realised this when his notes began to veer away from the mean value theorem and started looking more like this:

September 15: Introductory flip-off from KTH

September 16: Statue toppling, hand on head to protect me (alternately: just him groping for a way out); KTH’s immediate exit

September 17: Potential misreading of KTH’s head bob as suggestion that I attend Jungkook’s party. Disturbing discovery of KTH & JH’s relationship (mistake?)

Spelled out like that, it was the beginning of a pretty embarrassing catalog. He was just so hot and cold. It was possible he felt the same way about him—though, if pressed, Jin would insist that any weirdness on his part was only in response to utter weirdness on his part.

No. This was precisely the kind of circular argument he did not want to engage in. Jin didn’t want to play any games. He just wanted to be with him. Only, he had no idea why. Or how to go about it. Or really, what being with him would even mean. All he knew was that, despite everything, he was the one he thought about. The one he cared about.

He’d thought if he could track every time they’d connected and every time he’d pulled away, he might be able to find some reason behind Taehyung’s erratic behavior. But his list so far was only making him depressed. He crumpled the page into a ball.

When the bell finally rang to dismiss them for the day, Jin hurried out of the classroom. Usually he waited to walk with either Jimin or Ken, dreading the moment they parted ways, because then Jin would be alone with his thoughts. But today, for a change, he didn’t feel like seeing anyone. He was looking forward to some Jin time. He had only one sure idea about how to take his mind off Taehyung: a long, hard, solitary swim.

While the other students started trucking back toward their dorm rooms, Jin pulled up the hood of his black sweater and darted into the rain, eager to get to the natatorium.

As he bounded down the steps of Augustine, he plowed straight into something tall and black. Jungkook. When he jostled him, a tower of books teetered in his arms, then tumbled to the wet pavement with a series of thuds. He’d had his own black hood pulled over his head and his earbuds blaring in his ears. He probably hadn’t seen him coming, either. They’d both been in their own worlds.

“Are you okay?” he asked, putting a hand on his back.

“I’m fine,” Jin said. He’d barely stumbled. It was Jungkook’s books that had taken the spill.

“Well, now that we’ve knocked over one another’s books, isn’t the next step for our hands to accidentally touch while we’re picking them up?”

Jin laughed. When he handed him one of the books, he held on to his hand and squeezed it. The rain had soaked his dark hair, and big drops gathered in his long, thick eyelashes. He looked really good.

“How do you say ‘embarrassed’ in French?” he asked.

“Um … gêné,” Jin started to say, feeling suddenly a little gêné himself. Jungkook was still holding on to his hand. “Wait, aren’t you the one who got an A on the French quiz yesterday?”

“You noticed?” he asked. His voice sounded strange.

“Jungkook,” he said, “is everything okay?”

He leaned toward him and brushed a drop of water he’d felt running down the bridge of his nose. The single touch of his forefinger made him shiver, and suddenly he couldn’t help thinking about how wonderful and warm it might feel if he folded him into his arms the way he’d done at Jung-hwan’s memorial.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said. “Wanting to see you. I waited for you at the memorial, but someone told me you left.”

Jin got the feeling he knew whom he’d left with. And that he wanted him to know he knew.

“I’m sorry,” he said, having to shout to be heard over a clap of thunder. By now they were both soaked from the streaming downpour.

“Come on, let’s get out of this rain.” Jungkook tugged his back toward the covered entrance to Augustine.

Jin looked over his shoulder toward the gym and wanted to be there, not here or anywhere else with Jungkook. At least, not right now. His head was b with too many confusing impulses, and he needed time and space away—from everyone—to sort them out.

“I can’t,” he said.

“How about later? How about tonight?”

“Sure, later, okay.”

He beamed. “I’ll come by your room.”

He surprised him by pulling him in to him, just for the briefest moment, and kissing him gently on the forehead. Jin felt instantly soothed, almost like he’d been given a shot of something. And before he had a chance to feel anything more, he’d released him and was walking quickly back toward the dorm.

Jin shook his head and splashed slowly toward the gym. Clearly he had more to sort out than just Taehyung.

There was a chance it might be good, fun even, to spend some time with Jungkook later tonight. If the rain let up, he’d probably take him to some secret part of the campus and be all charismatic and gorgeous in that unnervingly still manner of his. He’d make him feel special. Jin smiled.

Since he’d last set foot in Our Lady of Fitness (as Jimin had christened the gym), the school’s maintenance staff had begun to fight the kudzu. They had stripped the green blanket away from much of the building’s façade, but they were only half finished, and green vines dangled like tentacles across the doors. Jin had to duck under a few long tendrils just so he could get inside.

The gym was empty, and pin-drop quiet compared to the thunderstorm outside. Most of the lights were off. He hadn’t asked if he was allowed to use the gym after hours, but the door was unlocked, and, well, no one was there to stop him.

In the dim hallway, he passed the old Latin scrolls in the glass cases, and the miniature marble reproduction of the pietà. He paused in front of the door to the weight room, where he’d happened upon Taehyung jumping rope. Sigh. That’d be a great addition to his catalog:

September 18: KtTH accuses me of stalking him.

Followed two days later by:

September 20: Ken convinces me to really begin stalking him. I consent.

Ugh. He was in a black hole of self-loathing. And yet he couldn’t stop himself. In the middle of the hallway, he froze. All at once he understood why this whole day he’d felt even more consumed by Taehyung than usual, and also even more conflicted about Jungkook. He’d dreamt about them both last night.

He’d been wandering through a dusty fog, someone holding his hand. He’d turned, thinking it would be Taehyung. But while the lips he pressed against were comforting and tender, they weren’t his. They were Jungkook’s. He gave him innumerable soft kisses, and every time Jin peeked at him, his dark brown eyes were open, too, boring into him, questioning him about something he couldn’t answer.

Then Jungkook was gone, and the fog was gone, and Jin was wrapped tightly in Taehyung’s arms, right where he wanted to be. Taehyung dipped him low and kissed him fiercely, as if he were angry, and each time his lips left his, even just for half a second, the most parching thirst ran through Jin, making him cry out. This time, Jin knew they were wings, and he let them wrap around his body like a blanket. He wanted to touch them, to fold them around him and Taehyung completely, but soon the brush of velvet was receding, folding back on itself.

Taehyung stopped kissing him, watched his face, waited for a reaction. Jin didn’t understand the strange hot fear growing in the pit of his stomach. But there it was, making him uncomfortably warm, then blisteringly hot—until he could stand it no longer. That was when he jolted awake: In the dream’s last moment, Jin himself had seared and splintered—then had been obliterated into ash.

He’d woken up soaked with sweat—his hair, his pillow, his pyjamas all wet and suddenly making him so, so cold. He’d lain there shivering and alone until the morning’s first light.

Jin rubbed his rain-soaked sleeves to warm up. Of course. The dream had left him with a fire in his heart and a chill in his bones he’d been unable to reconcile all day. Which was why he’d come here for a swim, to try to work it out of his system.

This time, his black Speedo actually fit, and he’d remembered to bring a pair of goggles. He pushed open the door to the pool and stood under the high-dive platform alone, breathing in the humid air with its dull tang of chlorine. Without the distraction of the other students, or the trill of Coach Woo-bin’s whistle, Jin could feel the presence of something else in the church. Something almost holy. Maybe it was only that the natatorium was such a gorgeous room, even with the rain pelting in through the cracked stained-glass windows. Even with none of the candles lit in the red side altars. Jin tried to imagine what the place had looked like before the pool had replaced the pews, and he smiled. He liked the idea of swimming under all those praying heads.

He lowered his goggles and leaped in. The water was warm, much warmer than the rain outside, and the crash of thunder outside sounded harmless and far away when he ducked his head underwater.

He pushed off and began a slow warm-up crawl .

His body quickly loosened up, and a few laps later, Jin increased his speed and began the butterfly. He could feel the burn in his limbs, and he pushed through it. This was exactly the feeling he was after. Totally in the zone.

If he could just talk to Taehyung. Really talk, without him interrupting or telling him to transfer schools or ducking out before he could get to his point. That might help. It also might require tying him up and taping his mouth shut just so he’d listen to him.

But what would he even say? All he had to go on was this feeling he got around him, which, if he thought about it, had nothing to do with any of their interactions.

What if he could get him back to the lake? He was the one who’d implied it had become their place. This time, he could lead him there, and he’d be super-careful not to bring up anything that seemed to freak him out—

It wasn’t working.

Crap. He was doing it again. He was supposed to be swimming. Just swimming. He’d swim until he was too tired to think about anything else, especially Taehyung. He’d swim until—

“Jin!”

Until he was interrupted. By Ken, who was standing at the side of the pool.

“What are you doing here?” Jin asked, spitting water.

“What are you doing here?” Ken returned. “Since when do you exercise willingly? I don’t like this new side of you.”

“How did you find me?” Jin didn’t realise until he’d said it that his words might have sounded rude, like he was trying to avoid Ken.

“Jungkook told me,” Ken said. “We had a whole conversation. It was weird. He wanted to know if you were all right.”

“That is weird,” Jin agreed.

“No,” Ken said, “what was weird was that he approached me and we had a whole conversation. Mr. Popularity … and me. Need I spell out my surprise any further? Thing is, he was actually really nice.”

“Well, he is nice.” Jin pulled his goggles off his head.

“To you,” Ken said. “He’s so nice to you that he snuck out of school to buy you that necklace—which you never wear.”

“I wore it once,” Jin said. Which was true. Five nights before, after the second time Taehyung left him stranded at the lake, alone with his path lit up in the forest. He hadn’t been able to shake the image of it and hadn’t been able to sleep. So he’d tried on the necklace. He’d fallen asleep clutching it near his collarbone, and woken up with it hot in his hand.

Ken was waving three fingers at Jin, as if to say, Hello? And your point is … ?

“My point is,” Jin said finally, “I’m not so superficial that all I’m looking for is a guy who buys me things.”

“Not so superficial, eh?” Ken asked. “Then I dare you to make a non-superficial list of why you’re so into Taehyung. Which means no He’s got the loveliest little blue eyes or Ooh, the way his muscles ripple in the sunlight.”

Jin had to crack up at Ken’s high falsetto and the way he held his hands clasped to his heart. “He just gets me,” he said, avoiding Ken’s eyes. “I can’t explain it.”

“He gets that you deserve to be ignored?” Ken shook his head.

Jin had never told Ken about the times he’d spent alone with Taehyung, the times when he’d seen a flash that he cared about him, too. So Ken couldn’t really understand his feelings. And they were far too private and too complicated to explain.

Ken crouched down in front of Jin. “Look, the reason I came to find you in the first place was to drag you to the library for a Taehyung-related mission.”

“You found the book?”

“Not exactly,” Ken said, extending a hand to help Jin out of the pool. “Mr. Kim’s masterpiece is still mysteriously missing, but I kind of sort of maybe hacked Mr. Bogum’s subscribers-only literary search engine, and a couple of things turned up. I thought you might find them interesting.”

“Thanks,” Jin said, hoisting himself out with Ken’s help. “I’ll try not to be too annoyingly gushy over Taehyung.”

“Whatever,” Ken said. “Just hurry up and dry off. We’re in a brief no-rain window outside and I don’t have an umbrella.”

Mostly dry and back in her school uniform, Jin followed Ken to the library. Part of the front portion had been blocked off by yellow police tape, so the guys had to slip through the narrow space between the card catalog and the reference section. It still smelled like a bonfire, and now, thanks to the sprinklers and the rain, possessed an added mildewy quality.

Jin took his first look at where Mr. Bogum’s desk had sat, now a charred, nearly perfect circle on the old tile floor in the library’s center. Everything in a fifteen-foot radius had been removed. Everything beyond that was strangely undamaged.

The librarian wasn’t at his station, but a folding card table had been set up for his next to the burned spot. The table was depressingly bare, save for a new lamp, a pencil jar, and a gray pad of sticky notes.

Jin and Ken gave each other a that- grimace before they continued to the computer stations at the back. When they passed the study section where they’d last seen Jung-hwan, Jin glanced over at his friend. Ken kept his face forward, but when Jin reached over and squeezed his hand, Ken squeezed back pretty hard.

They pulled two chairs up to one computer terminal, and Ken typed in his user name. Jin glanced around just to make sure no one else was nearby.

A red error box popped up on the screen.

Ken groaned.

“What?” Jin asked.

“After four, you need special permission to access the Web.”

“That’s why this place is always so empty at night.”

Ken was rooting through his backpack. “Where did I put that encrypted password?” he mumbled.

“There’s Mr. Bogum,” Jin said, flagging down the librarian, who was crossing the aisle in a black fitted shirt and bright green pants. “Over here,” Jin whispered loudly.

Mr. Bogum squinted at them. His bifocals had slipped down his nose, and with a stack of books under each arm, he didn’t have a free hand to push them up. “Who’s that?” he called, walking over.

“Oh, Seokjin. Jae-hwan,” he said, sounding tired. “Hello.”

“We were wondering if you could give us the password to use the computer,” Jin asked, pointing at the error message on the screen.

“You’re not doing social networking, are you? Those sites are the devil’s work.”

“No, no, this is serious research,” Ken said. “You’d approve.”

Mr. Bogum leaned over the guys to unlock the computer. Fingers flying, he typed in the longest password Jin had ever seen. “You have twenty minutes,” he said flatly, walking away.

“That should be enough,” Ken whispered. “I found a critical essay on the Watchers, so until we track down the book, we can at least read up on what it’s about.”

Jin sensed someone standing behind him and turned around to see that Mr. Bogum had returned. Jin jumped. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know why you scared me.”

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” Mr. Bogum said. His smile practically made his eyes disappear. “It’s just been so hard recently, since the fire. But there’s no reason for me to take my sorrow out on two of my most promising students.”

Neither Jin nor Ken really knew what to say. It was one thing to comfort each other after the fire. Reassuring the school librarian seemed a little bit out of their league.

“I’ve been trying to keep busy, but …” Mr. Bogum trailed off.

Ken glanced nervously at Jin. “Well, we might be able to use some help with our research, if, that is, you—”

“I can help!” Mr. Bogum tugged over a third chair. “I see you’re looking into the Watchers,” he said, reading over their shoulders. “The Kims were a very influential clan. And I just happen to know of a papal database. Let me see what I can pull up.”

Jin nearly choked on the pencil he’d been chewing. “I’m sorry, did you say Kims?”

“Oh yes, historians have traced them back to the Middle Ages. They were …” He paused, searching for the words. “A sort of research cluster, to put it in modern layperson’s terms. They specialized in a certain type of fallen-angel folklore.”

He reached between the guys again and Jin marveled as his fingers raced across the keyboard. The search engine struggled to keep up, pulling up article after article, primary source after primary source, all on  the Kims. Taehyung’s family name was everywhere, filling up the screen. Jin felt a bit light-headed.

The image from his dream came back to him: unfurling wings, his body heating up until he smoldered into ash.

“There are different kinds of angels to specialize in?” Ken asked.

“Oh, sure—it’s a wide body of literature,” Mr. Bogum said while he typed. “There are those who became demons. And those who threw in with God. And there are even ones who consorted with mortal women.” At last his fingers were still. “Very dangerous habit.”

Ken said, “Are these Watcher dudes any relation to the Kim Taehyung here?”

Mr. Bogum tapped his lips. “Quite possible. I wondered that myself, but it is hardly our place to be digging into another student’s business, wouldn’t you agree?” His pale face pinched into a frown as he looked down at his watch. “Well, I hope I’ve given you enough to get started on your project. I won’t hog any more of your time.” He pointed at a clock on the computer screen. “You’ve only got nine minutes left.”

As he walked back toward the front of the library, Jin watched Mr. Bogum’s perfect posture. He could have balanced a book on his head. It did seem like it had cheered him up a little to help the guys with their research, but at the same time, Jin had no idea what to do with the information he’d just been given about Taehyung.

Ken did. He’d already started scribbling furious notes.

“Eight and a half minutes,” he informed Jin, handing him a pen and a piece of paper. “There’s way too much here to make sense of in eight and a half minutes. Start writing.”

Jin sighed and did as he was told. It was a boringly designed academic Web page with a thin blue border framing a plain beige background. At the top, a header in a severe blocky font read: THE KIM CLAN.

Just reading the name, Jin felt his skin warm.

Ken tapped the monitor with his pen, snapping Jin’s attention back to his task.

The Kims do not sleep. Seemed possible; Taehyung always did look tired. They are generally silent. Check. Sometimes talking to him was like pulling teeth. In an eighth-century decree—

The screen went black. Their time was up.

“How much did you get?” Ken asked.

Jin held up his sheet of paper.

Pathetic. What he had was something he didn’t even remember doodling: the feathered edges of wings.

Ken gave him a sideways glance. “Yes, I can see you’re going to be an excellent research assistant,” he said, but he was laughing. “Maybe later we can theorize a game of MASH.” He held up his own much more copious notes. “It’s okay, I’ve got enough to lead us to a few other sources.”

Jin stuffed the paper into his pocket right next to the crumpled master list he’d started of all his interactions with Taehyung. He was beginning to turn into his father, who didn’t like to be anywhere too far away from his paper shredder. He bent down to look for a recycling bin and spotted a pair of legs walking down the aisle toward them.

The gait was as familiar as his own. He sat back up—or attempted to sit back up—and smacked his head on the underside of the computer table.

“Ow,” he moaned, rubbing the spot where he’d hit his head in the library fire.

Taehyung stood still a few feet away. His expression said that the last thing in the world he’d wanted to do right now was run into him. At least he’d shown up after the computer had logged them off. He didn’t need to think he was stalking him any more actively than he already did.

But Taehyung seemed to be looking through him; his violet-blue eyes were fixed over his shoulder, on something—or someone else.

Ken tapped Jin on the shoulder, then jerked his thumb toward the person standing behind him. Jungkook was leaning over Jin’s chair and grinning at him. A bolt of lightning outside sent Jin practically jumping into Ken’s arms.

“Just a storm,” Jungkook said, cocking his head. “It’ll blow over soon. Shame, because you look pretty cute when you’re scared.”

Jungkook reached forward. He started at his shoulder, then traced the edge of his arm with his fingers all the way down to his hand. Jin's eyes fluttered, it felt so good, and when he opened them, there was a small ruby velvet box in his hand. Jungkook flipped it open, just for a second, and Jin saw a flash of gold.

“Open it later,” he said. “When you’re alone.”

“Jungkook—”

“I went by your room.”

“Can we—” Jin looked over at Ken, who was blatantly staring at them with a front-row moviegoer’s captivation.

Finally snapping out of his trance, Ken waved his hands. “You want me to leave. I get it.”

“No, stay,” Jungkook said, sounding sweeter than Jin expected. He turned to Jin. “I’ll go. But later—you promise?”

“Sure.” He felt himself blush.

Jungkook took his hand and pushed it and the box down inside the front left pocket of his jeans. It was a tight fit, and it made him shiver to feel his fingers spread out on his hips. Then he winked and his heel.

Before he’d even had a chance to catch his breath, he’d doubled back. “One last thing,” he said, gliding his arm behind his head and stepping close to him.

Jin's head tilted back and Jungkook's tilted forward, and his mouth was on his. His lips were as plush as they’d seemed all the times Jin had stared at them.

It wasn’t deep, just a peck, but Jin felt like it was much more. He couldn’t breathe for the shock and the thrill and the public viewing potential of this very long, very unexpected—

“What the—!”

Jungkook’s head had spun away, and then he was hunched over, clutching his jaw.

Taehyung was standing behind him, rubbing his wrist. “Keep your hands off him.”

“Didn’t hear you,” Jungkook said, drawing himself up slowly.

Oh. My. God. They were fighting. In the library. Over him.

Then, in one clean movement, Jungkook lunged toward Jin. Jin screamed as his arms began to close around him.

But Taehyung’s hands were quicker. He swatted Jungkook away hard, and shoved him against the computer table. Jungkook grunted as Taehyung grabbed a fistful of his hair and pinned his head down flat.

“I said keep your filthy hands off him, you evil piece of .”

Ken squealed, picked up his pencil bag, and tiptoed over to the wall. Jin watched as he tossed his dingy yellow pencil bag once, twice, three times in the air. The fourth time, it went high enough to nail the small black camera screwed into the wall. The hit sent the camera’s lens swerving far to the left, toward a very still stack of nonfiction books.

By then, Jungkook had thrown Taehyung off and they were circling each other, their feet squeaking on the polished floor.

Taehyung started ducking before Jin even realized Jungkook was winding up. But Taehyung still didn’t duck quickly enough. Jungkook blanded what looked like a knockout punch just below Taehyung’s eye. Taehyung wheeled back from the force of it, jostling Jin and Ken against the computer table. He turned and muttered a woozy apology before careening back around.

“Oh my God, stop!” Jin cried, just before he leaped at Jungkook’s head.

Taehyung tackled Jungkook, throwing a messy flurry of punches at his shoulders and the sides of his face.

“That feels good,” Jungkook grunted, popping his neck from side to side like a boxer. Still hanging on, Taehyung moved his hands around Jungkook’s neck. And squeezed.

Jungkook responded by throwing Taehyung back against a tall shelf of books. The impact boomed out into the library, louder than the thunder outside.

Taehyung grunted and let go. He dropped to the floor with a thud.

“What else you got, Kim?”

Jin reeled, thinking he might not get up. But Taehyung pulled himself up quickly.

“I’ll show you,” he hissed. “Outside.” He stepped toward Jin, then away. “You stay here.”

Then both boys thumped out of the library, through the back exit Jin had used the night of the fire. He and Ken stood frozen to their spots. They stared at each other, jaws dropped.

“Come on,” Ken said, dragging Jin over to a window that looked out on the commons. They pressed their faces to the glass, rubbing away the fog of their breath.

The rain was coming down in sheets. The field outside was dark, except for the light that came through the library windows. It was so muddy and slick, it was hard to see anything at all.

Then two figures sprinted out to the center of the commons. Both of them were soaked instantly. They argued for a moment, then started circling each other. Their fists were raised again.

Jin gripped the windowsill and watched as Jungkook made the first move, running at Taehyung and slamming into him with his shoulder. Then a quick spinning kick to his ribs.

Taehyung keeled over, clutching his side. Get up. Jin willed him to move. He felt like he had been kicked himself. Every time Jungkook went at Taehyung, he felt it in his bones.

He couldn’t stand to watch.

“Taehyung stumbled for a second there,” Ken announced after Jin had turned away. “But he shot right up and totally clocked Jungkook in the face. Nice!”

“You’re enjoying this?” Jin asked, horrified.

“My dad and I used to watch UFC,” Ken said. “Looks like both of these guys have had some serious mixed martial art training. Perfect cross, Taehyung!” He groaned. “Aw, man.”

“What?” Jin peered out again. “Is he hurt?”

“Relax,” Ken said. “Someone’s coming to break up the fight. Just when Taehyung was bouncing back.”

Ken was right. It looked like Mr. Lee jogging across the campus. When he got to where the guys were fighting, he stood still and watched them for a moment, almost hypnotized by the way they were going at it.

“Do something,” Jin whispered, feeling sick.

Finally, Mr. Lee grabbed each boy by the scruff of his neck. The three of them struggled for a moment until finally Taehyung pulled away. He shook out his right hand, then paced in a circle and spat a few times into the mud.

“Very attractive, Taehyung,” Jin said sarcastically. Except it was.

Now for a talking-to from Mr. Lee. He waved his hands madly at them and they stood with heads hung. Jungkook was first to be dismissed. He jogged off the field toward the dorm and disappeared.

Mr. Lee placed a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder. Jin was dying to know what they were talking about, whether Taehyung would be punished. He wanted to go to him, but Ken blocked him.

“All that over a piece of jewelry. What did Jungkook give you, anyway?”

Mr. Lee walked off and Taehyung was alone, standing in the light from an overhead lamppost, looking up at the rain.

“I don’t know,” Jin told Ken, leaving the window. “Whatever it is, I don’t want it. Especially not after this.” He walked back to the computer table and pulled the box from his pocket.

“If you won’t, I will,” Ken said. He cracked the box open, then looked up at Jin, confused.

The flash of gold they’d seen had not been jewelry. There were only two things inside the box: another one of Jungkook’s green guitar picks, and a golden slip of paper.

Meet me tomorrow after class. I’ll be waiting at the gates.

—JK