IT HAD BEEN a long time since Jin had taken a good look in the mirror. He never used to mind his reflection—his brown eyes; straight teeth; thick eyelashes; and dense black hair. That was then. Before last summer.

After his mom had chopped off his hair, Jin had started avoiding mirrors. It wasn’t just because of his weird cut; Jin didn’t think he liked who he was anymore, so he didn’t want to see any evidence. He started looking down at his hands when he washed them in the bathroom. He kept his head forward when walking past tinted windows and eschewed face powder in mirrored compacts. 

But twenty minutes before he was supposed to meet Jungkook, Jin stood before the mirror in the empty boys’ bathroom in Augustine. He guessed he looked all right. His hair was finally growing out. He checked his teeth, then squared his shoulders and stared into the mirror as if he were looking Jungkook in the eye. He had to tell him something, something important, and he wanted to make sure he could muster a look that demanded he take him seriously.

He hadn’t been in class today. Neither had Taehyung, so Jin assumed Mr. Lee had put them both on some sort of probation. Either that or they were nursing their wounds. But Jin had no doubt Jungkook would be waiting for him today.

He didn’t want to see him. Not at all. Thinking about his fists slamming into Taehyung made his stomach lurch. But it was his fault they’d fought in the first place. He’d led Jungkook on—and whether he’d done it because he’d been confused or flattered or the tiniest bit interested didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was that he be direct with him today: There was nothing between them.

He took a deep breath, tugged his shirt into his jeans, and pushed open the bathroom door.

Approaching the gates, he couldn’t see him. But then, it was hard to see anything beyond the construction zone in the parking lot. Jin hadn’t been back to the school entrance since they’d started the renovations there, and he was surprised at how complicated it was to maneuver across the ripped-up parking lot. He sidestepped potholes and tried to duck under the radar of the construction crew, waving off the asphalt fumes that never seemed to dissipate.

There was no sign of Jungkook. For a second, he felt foolish, almost like he’d fallen for some kind of prank. The high metal gates were blistered with red rust. Jin looked through them at the dense grove of ancient elm trees across the road. He cracked his knuckles, thinking back to the time when Taehyung had told him he hated it when he did that. But he wasn’t here to see him do it; no one was. Then he noticed a folded piece of paper with his name on it. It was staked to the thick, gray-trunked magnolia tree next to the broken call box.

I’m saving you from Social tonight. While the rest of our fellow students stage a Civil War reenactment—sad but true—you and I will paint the town red. A black sedan with a gold license plate will bring you to me. Thought we could both use a dose of fresh air.

—JK

Jin coughed from the fumes. Fresh air was one thing, but a black sedan picking him up from campus? To bring him to Jungkook, like he was some sort of monarch who could just arrange on a whim for men to be fetched? Where was he, anyway?

None of this was part of his plan. He’d agreed to meet Jungkook only to tell him that he was being too forward and he really couldn’t see himself getting involved with him. Because—although he’d never tell him—every time his fist had struck Taehyung the night before, something inside him had flinched and started to boil. Clearly, he needed to nip this little thing with Jungkook in the bud. He had the gold serpent necklace in his pocket. It was time to give it back.

Except now he felt stupid for assuming that Jungkook just wanted to talk. Of course he’d have something more up his sleeve. He was that kind of guy.

The sound of car wheels slowing made Jin turn his head. A black sedan rolled to a stop in front of the gates. The tinted driver’s-side window rolled down and a hairy hand came out and picked up the receiver from the call box outside the gates. After a moment, the receiver was slammed back into its cradle and the driver just leaned on his horn.

At last, the great groaning metal gates parted and the car pulled forward, stopping in front of him. The doors softly unlocked. Was he really going to get into that car and drive who-knew-where to meet him?

The last time he’d stood at these gates had been to say goodbye to his parents. Missing them before they’d even pulled away, he’d waved from this very spot, next to the broken call box inside the gates—and, he remembered, he’d noticed one of the more high-tech security cameras. The kind with a motion detector, zooming in on him every move. Jungkook couldn’t have picked a worse spot for the car to pick him up.

All of a sudden, he saw visions of a basement solitary confinement cell. Damp cement walls and cockroaches running up his legs. No real light. The rumors were still spreading through campus about that couple, Jules and Phillip, who hadn’t been seen since they’d sneaked out. Did Jungkook think Jin wanted to see him so badly he’d risk just walking off campus in plain view of the reds?

The car was still humming on the driveway in front of him. After a moment, the driver—a sunglasses-sporting man with a thick neck and thinning hair—extended his hand. In it was a small white envelope. Jim hesitated a second before stepping forward to take it from his fingers.

Jungkook’s stationery. A heavy, creamy ivory card with his name letterpressed in decadent gold at the bottom left-hand corner.

Should have mentioned before, the red’s been duct. See for yourself. I took care of it, like I’ll take care of you. See you soon, I hope.

Duct? Did he mean—? He dared a glance at the red. He did. A sharply cut black circle of duct tape had been placed cleanly over the lens of the camera. Jin didn’t know how these things worked or how long it would take the faculty to find out, but in a weird way, he was relieved that Jungkook had thought to take care of it. He couldn’t imagine Taehyung thinking so far ahead.

Both Sandeul and his parents were expecting phone calls this evening. Jin had read Sandeul’s ten-page letter three times, and he had all the funny details memorized from his friend’s weekend trips to Nantucket, but he still wouldn’t have known how to answer any of Sandeul’s questions about his life at Sword & Cross. If he turned around and went inside to pick up the phone, he didn’t know how he’d begin to catch Sandeul or his parents up on the strange, dark twist the past few days had taken. Easier not to tell them at all, or not until he’d wrapped things up one way or another.

He slid into the sedan’s plush beige leather backseat and buckled up. The driver put the car in gear without a word.

“Where are we going?” he asked him.

“Little backwater place down the river. Mr. Jeon likes the local color. Just sit back and relax, honey. You’ll see.”

Mr. Jeon? Who was this guy? Jin never liked being told to relax, especially when it felt like a warning not to ask any more questions. Nonetheless, he crossed his arms over his chest, looked out the window, and tried to forget the driver’s tone when he called him “honey.”

Through the tinted windows, the trees outside and the gray paved road beneath them all looked brown. At the turning whose westward fork led to Thunderbolt, the black sedan turned east. They were following the river toward the shore. Every now and then, when their path and the river’s converged, Jin could see the brackish brown water twisting beside them. Twenty minutes later, the car slowed to a stop in front of a beat-up riverside bar.

It was made of gray, rotting wood, and a swollen, waterlogged sign over the front door read STYX in jagged red hand-painted letters. A strand of plastic pennants advertising beer had been stapled to the wood beam underneath the tin roof, a mediocre attempt at festivity. Jin studied the images silk-screened onto the plastic triangles—palm trees and tanned, bikini-clad girls with beer bottles at their grinning lips—and wondered when the last time had been when a real live girl had actually set foot in this place.

Two older punk rock guys sat smoking on a bench facing the water. Tired Mohawks drooped over their middle-aged foreheads, and their leather jackets had the ugly, dirty look of something they’d been wearing since punk was new. The blank expressions on their tan, slack faces made the whole scene feel even more desolate.

The swamp edging the two-lane highway had begun to overwhelm the asphalt, and the road just sort of petered out into swamp grass and mud. Jin had never been out this far in the river marshes.

As he sat, unsure what he’d do once he left the car, or whether that was even a good idea, the front door of Styx banged open and Jungkook sauntered out. He leaned coolly against the screen door, one leg crossed over the other. Jin knew he couldn’t see him through the tinted window of the car, but he raised his hand like he could and beckoned Jin toward him.

“Here goes nothing,” Jin muttered before thanking the driver. He opened the door and was greeted by a blast of salty wind as he climbed the three steps to the bar’s wooden porch.

Jungkook’s shaggy hair was loose around his face and he had a calm look in his brown eyes. One sleeve of his black T-shirt was pushed up over his shoulder, and Jin could see the smooth cut of his bicep. He the gold chain in his pocket. Remember why you’re here.

Jungkook’s face showed no sign of the fight the night before, which made him wonder, immediately, whether Taehyung’s did.

Jungkook gave him an inquisitive look, running his tongue along his bottom lip. “I was just calculating how many consolation drinks I’d need if you stood me up today,” he said, opening his arms for a hug. Jin stepped into them. Jungkook was a very hard person to say no to, even when he wasn’t totally sure what he was asking.

“I wouldn’t stand you up,” he said, then immediately felt guilty, knowing that his words came from a sense of duty, not the romance Jungkook would have preferred. He was there only because he was going to tell him he didn’t want to be involved with him. “So what is this place? And since when do you have a car service?”

“Stick with me, kid,” he said, seeming to take his questions as compliments, as if he liked being whisked off to bars that smelled like the inside of a sink drain.

Jin was so bad at this kind of thing.

Sandeul always said Jin was incapable of brutal honesty and that was why he got himself stuck in so many crappy situations with guys whom he should have just told no. Jin was trembling. He had to get this off his chest. He fished in his pocket and pulled out the pendant. “Jungkook.”

“Oh good, you brought it.” He took the necklace from his hands and spun him around. “Let me help you put it on.”

“No, wait—”

“There,” he said. “It really suits you. Take a look.” He steered him along the creaking wooden floorboards to the window of the bar, where a number of bands had posted signs for shows. THE OLD BABIES. DRIPPING WITH HATE. HOUSE CRACKERS. Jin would rather have studied any of them than gaze at his reflection. “See?”

He couldn’t really make out his features in the mud-flecked windowpane, but the gold pendant gleamed on his warm skin. He pressed his hand to it. It was lovely. And so distinctive, with its tiny hand-sculpted serpent snaking up the middle. It wasn’t like anything you’d see at the boardwalk markets, where locals peddled overpriced crafts for tourists, state of Georgia souvenirs made in the Philippines. Behind his reflection in the window, the sky was a rich orange-Popsicle color, broken up by thin lines of pink cloud.

“About last night …,” Jungkook started to say. He could vaguely see his rosy lips moving in the glass over his shoulder.

“I wanted to talk to you about last night, too,” Jin said, standing at his side. He could see the very tips of the sunburst tattoo on the back of his neck.

“Come inside,” he said, guiding him back to the half-unhinged screen door. “We can talk in there.”

The interior of the bar was wood-paneled, with a few dim orange lamps providing the only light. All sizes and shapes of antlers were mounted on the wall, and a taxi-dermied cheetah was poised over the bar, looking ready to lunge at any moment. A faded composite picture with the words PULASKI COUNTY MOOSE CLUB OFFICERS 1964–65 was the only other decoration on the wall, showcasing a hundred oval faces, smiling modestly above pastel bow ties. The jukebox was playing Ziggy Stardust, and an older guy with a shaved head and leather pants was humming, dancing alone in the middle of a small raised stage. Besides Jin and Jungkook, he was the only other person in the place.

Jungkook bpointed to two stools. The worn green leather cushions had split down the middle, the beige foam bursting out like massive pieces of popcorn. There was already a half-empty glass at the seat Jungkook claimed. The drink in it was light brown and watered down with ice, beaded with sweat.

“What’s that?” Jin asked.

“Georgia moonshine,” he said, taking a gulp. “I don’t recommend it to start.” When he squinted at him, he said, “I’ve been here all day.”

“Charming,” Jin said, the gold necklace. “What are you, seventy? Sitting in a bar by yourself all day?”

He didn’t seem obviously drunk, but he didn’t like the idea of coming all the way out here to break things off with him, only to have him be too trashed to understand it. He was also starting to wonder how he’d get back to school. He didn’t even know where this place was.

“Ouch.” Jungkook rubbed his heart. “The beauty of being suspended from class, Jin, is that no one misses you during class. I thought I deserved a little recovery time.” He cocked his head. “What’s really bothering you? Is it this place? Or the fight last night? Or the fact that we’re getting no service?” He raised his voice to shout the last words, loud enough to cause a huge, burly bartender to swing in from the kitchen door behind the bar. The barman had long, layered hair with bangs, and tattoos that looked like braided human hair running up and down his arms. He was all muscle and must have weighed three hundred pounds.

Jungkook turned to him and smiled. “What’s your poison?”

“I don’t care,” Jin said. “I don’t really have my own poison.”

“You were drinking champagne at my party,” Jungkook said. “See who’s paying attention?” He nudged him with his shoulder. “Your finest champagne over here,” he told the bartender, who threw back his head and let out a snide hacking laugh.

Making no attempt to card him or even to glance at him long enough to guess at his age, the bartender bent down to a small refrigerator with a sliding glass door. The bottles clinked as he dug and dug. After what seemed like a long time, he reemerged with a tiny bottle of Freixenet. It looked like it had something orange growing around its base.

“I accept no responsibility for this,” he said, handing it over.

Jungkook popped the cork and raised his eyebrows at Jin. He poured the Freixenet ceremoniously into a wineglass.

“I wanted to apologize,” he said. “I know I’ve been coming on a little strong. And last night, what happened with Taehyung, I don’t feel good about that.” He waited for Jin to nod before he went on. “Instead of getting mad, I should have just listened to you. You’re the one I care about, not him.”

Jin watched the bubbles rise in his wine, thinking that if he were to be honest, he’d say it was Taehyung he cared about, not Jungkook. He had to tell Jungkook. If he already regretted not having listened to him last night, maybe now he’d start to. He raised his glass to take a sip before he started in.

“Oh, wait.” Jungkook put a hand on his arm. “You can’t drink until we’ve toasted something.” He raised his glass and held his eyes. “What should it be? You pick.”

The screen door slammed and the guys who had been smoking on the porch came back in. The taller one, with oily black hair, a snub nose, and very dirty fingernails, took one look at Jin and started walking toward them.

“What are we celebrating?” He leered at him, nudging his raised glass with his tumbler. He leaned close, and he could feel the flesh of his hip pressing into his through his flannel shirt. “Baby’s first night out? What time’s curfew?”

“We’re celebrating you taking your back outside right now,” Jungkook said as pleasantly as if he’d just announced it was Jin’s birthday. He fixed his eyes on the man, who bared his small, pointed teeth and mouthful of gums.

“Outside, huh? Only if I take him with me.”

He grabbed for Jin’s hand. After the way the fight with Taehyung had broken out, Jin expected Jungkook would need little excuse to fly off the handle again. Especially if he really had been drinking here all day. But Jungkook stayed remarkably cool.

All he did was swat the guy’s hand away with the speed, grace, and brutal force of a lion swatting a mouse.

Jungkook watched the guy stumble back several steps. Jungkook shook out his hand with a bored look on his face, then Jin’s wrist where the guy had tried to grab it. “Sorry about that. You were saying, about last night?”

“I was saying …” Jin felt the blood drain from his face. Directly over Jungkook’s head, an enormous piece of pitch-dark had yawned open, stretching forth and unfolding from itself until it had become the largest, blackest shadow he had ever seen. An arctic gush of air blasted from its core, and Jin felt the shadow’s frost even on Jungkook’s fingers, still tracing his skin.

“Oh. My. God,” he whispered.

There was a crash of glass as the guy smashed his tumbler down on Jungkook’s head.

Slowly, Jungkook stood from his chair and shook some of the shards of glass from his hair. He turned to face the man, who was easily twice his age and several inches taller.

Jin cowered on his bar stool, rearing away from what he sensed was about to happen between Jungkook and this other guy. And what he feared could happen with the sprawling, dead-of-night black shadow overhead.

“Break it up,” the huge bartender said flatly, not even bothering to look up from his Fight magazine.

Immediately, the guy started swinging blindly at Jungkook, who took the senseless punches as if they were smacks from a child.

Jin wasn’t the only one stunned by Jungkook’s composure: The leather-pants-wearing dancer was cowering against the jukebox. And after the oily-haired guy had socked Jungkook a few times, even he stepped back and hung there, confused.

Meanwhile, the shadow was pooling against the ceiling, dark tendrils growing like weeds and dropping closer and closer to their heads. Jin winced and ducked just as Jungkook fended off one last punch from the seedy guy.

And then decided to fight back.

It was just a simple flick of his fingers, as if Jungkook were brushing away a dead leaf. One minute, the guy was all up in Jungkook’s face, but when Jungkook’s fingers connected with his opponent’s chest, the dude went flying—knocked off his feet and into the air, discarded beer bottles scattering in his wake, until his back slammed into the opposite wall near the jukebox.

He rubbed his head and, , began to pull himself into a crouch.

“How did you do that?” Jin’s eyes were wide.

Jungkook ignored him, turned toward the guy’s shorter, stockier friend, and said, “You next?”

The second guy raised his palms. “Not my fight, man,” he said, shrinking away.

Jungkook shrugged, stepped toward the first guy, and lifted him off the floor by the back of his T-shirt. His limbs dangled helplessly in the air, like a puppet’s. Then, with an easy toss of his wrist, Jungkook threw the guy against the wall. He almost seemed to stick there while Jungkook cut loose, pounding the guy and saying again and again, “I said go outside!”

“Enough!” Jin shouted, but neither one of them heard him or cared. Jin felt sick. He wanted to tear his eyes away from the bloody nose and gums of the guy pinned against the wall, from Jungkook’s almost superhuman strength. He wanted to tell him to forget it, that he’d find his own way back to school. He wanted, most of all, to get away from the gruesome shadow now coating the ceiling and dripping down the walls. He grabbed his bag and ran out into the night—

And right into someone’s arms.

“Are you okay?”

It was Taehyung.

“How did you find me here?” he asked, unabashedly burying his face in his shoulder. Tears he didn’t want to deal with were welling up inside him.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Without looking back, he slipped his hand into his. Warmth spread up his arm and through his body. And then the tears began to flow. It wasn’t fair to feel so safe when the shadows were still so close.

Even Taehyung seemed on edge. He was dragging him across the lot so quickly, he nearly had to sprint to keep up.

He didn’t want to glance back when he sensed the shadows spilling out of the door of the bar and brewing in the air. But then, he didn’t have to. They flowed in a steady stream over his head, up all light in their path. It was as if the whole world were being torn to pieces right before his eyes. A rotting sulfur stench stuck in his nose, worse than anything he knew.

Taehyung glanced up, too, and scowled, only he looked like he was merely trying to remember where he’d parked. But then the strangest thing happened. The shadows flinched backward, boiled away in black splatters that pooled and scattered.

Jin narrowed his eyes in disbelief. How had Taehyung done that? He hadn’t done that, had he?

“What?” Taehyung asked, distracted. He unlocked the passenger-side door of a white Taurus station wagon. “Something wrong?”

“We do not have time for me to list all of the many, many things that are wrong,” Jin said, sinking into the car seat. “Look.” He pointed toward the entrance to the bar. The screen door had just swung open on Jungkook. He must have knocked out the other guy, but he didn’t look like he was done fighting. His fists were clenched.

Taehyung smirked and shook his head. Jin was fruitlessly stabbing his seat belt again and again at the buckle until he reached over and pushed his hands away. He held his breath as Taehyung's fingers grazed his stomach. “There’s a trick,” he whispered, fitting the clasp into the base.

He started the car, then backed out slowly, taking his time as they drove past the door to the bar. Jin couldn’t think of a single thing to say to Jungkook, but it felt perfect when Taehyung rolled down the window and simply said, “Good night, Jungkook.”

“Jin,” Jungkook said, walking toward the car. “Don’t do this. Don’t leave with him. It will end badly.” He couldn’t look at his eyes, which he knew were pleading for him to come back. “I’m sorry.”

Taehyung ignored Jungkook entirely and just drove. The swamp looked cloudy in the twilight, and the woods in front of them looked even cloudier.

“You still haven’t told me how you found me here,” Jin said. “Or how you knew I went to meet Jungkook. Or where you got this car.”

“It’s Bogum’s,” Taehyung explained, turning on the brights as the trees grew together overhead and threw the road into dense shadow.

“Mr. Bogum let you borrow his car?”

“After years living on skid row in L.A.,” he said, shrugging, “you might say I’ve got a magic touch when it comes to ‘borrowing’ cars.”

“You stole his car?” Jin scoffed, wondering how the librarian would note this development in his files.

“We’ll bring it back,” Taehyung said. “Besides, he was pretty preoccupied by tonight’s Civil War reenactment. Something tells me he won’t even notice it’s gone.”

It was only then that Jin realised what Taehyung was wearing. He took in the blue Union soldier’s uniform with its ridiculous brown leather strap slung diagonally over his chest. He’d been so terrified of the shadows, of Jungkook, of the whole creepy scene, that he hadn’t even paused to fully take Taehyung in.

“Don’t you laugh,” Taehyung said, trying not to laugh himself. “You got out of possibly the worst Social of the year tonight.”

Jin couldn’t help himself: He reached forward and flicked one of Taehyung’s buttons. “Shame,” he said, putting on a southern drawl. “I just had my tuxedo pressed.”

Taehyung’s lips crept up in a smile, but then he sighed. “Jin. What you did tonight—things could have gotten really bad. Do you know that?”

Jin stared out at the road, annoyed that the mood had shifted so suddenly back to grim. A hoot owl stared back from a tree.

“I didn’t mean to come here,” he said, which felt true. It was almost like Jungkook had tricked him. “I wish I hadn’t,” he added quietly, wondering where the shadow was now.

Taehyung banged his fist on the steering wheel, making him jump. He was gritting his teeth, and Jin hated that he was the one who’d made him look so angry.

“I just can’t believe you’re involved with him,” he said.

“I’m not,” he insisted. “The only reason I showed up was to tell him …” It was pointless. Involved with Jungkook! If Taehyung only knew that he and Ken spent most of their free time researching his family … well, he would probably be equally annoyed.

“You don’t have to explain,” Taehyung said, waving him off. “It’s my fault, anyway.”

“Your fault?”

By then Taehyung had turned off the road and brought the car to a stop at the end of a sandy path. He switched the headlights off and they stared out at the ocean. The dusky sky was a deep plum shade, and the crests of the waves looked almost silver, sparkling. The beach grass whipped in the wind, making a high, desolate whistling sound. A flock of ragged seagulls sat in a line along the boardwalk railing, grooming their feathers.

“Are we lost?” he asked.

Taehyung ignored him. He got out of the car and shut the door, started walking toward the water. Jin waited ten agonizing seconds, watching his silhouette grow smaller in the purple twilight, before he hopped out of the car to follow him.

The wind whipped his hair against his forehead. Waves beat the shore, tugging lines of shells and seaweed back in their undertow. The air was cooler by the water. Everything had a fiercely briny scent.

“What’s going on, Taehyung?” he said, jogging along the dune. He felt heavier walking in the sand. “Where are we? And what do you mean, it’s your fault?”

He turned to him. He looked so defeated, his costume uniform all bunched up, his blue eyes drooping. The roar of the waves almost overpowered his voice.

“I just need some time to think.”

Jin felt a lump rising in his throat all over again. He’d finally stopped crying, but Taehyung was making this all so hard. “Why rescue me, then? Why come all the way out here to pick me up, then yell at me, then ignore me?” He wiped his eyes on the hem of his black shirt, and the sea salt on his fingers made them sting. “Not that that’s very different from the way you treat me most of the time, but—”

Taehyung spun and smacked both his hands to his forehead. “You don’t get it, Jin.” He shook his head. “That’s the thing—you never do.”

There was nothing mean about his voice. In fact, it was almost too nice. Like Jin was too dim to grasp whatever was so obvious to him. Which made Jin absolutely furious.

“I don’t get it?” he asked. “I don’t get it? Let me tell you something about what I get. You think you’re so smart? I spent three years on a full academic scholarship at the best college-prep school in the country. And when they kicked me out, I had to petition—petition!—to keep them from wiping out my four-point-oh transcript.”

Taehyung moved away, but Jin pursued him, taking a step forward for every wide-eyed step he took back. Probably freaking him out, but so what? He’d been asking for it every time he condescended to him.

“I know Latin and French, and in middle school, I won the science fair three years in a row.”

He had backed him up against the railing of the boardwalk and was trying to restrain himself from poking him in the chest with his finger. He wasn’t finished. “I also do the Sunday crossword puzzle, sometimes in under an hour. I have an unerringly good sense of direction … though not always when it comes to guys.”

He swallowed and took a moment to catch his breath.

“And someday, I’m going to be a psychiatrist who actually listens to his patients and helps people. Okay? So don’t keep talking to me like I’m stupid and don’t tell me I don’t understand just because I can’t decode your erratic, flaky, hot-one-minute-cold-the-next, frankly”—he looked up at him, letting out his breath—“really hurtful behavior.” He brushed a tear away, angry with himself for getting so worked up.

“Shut up,” Taehyung said, but he said it softly and so tenderly that Jin surprised both of them by obeying.

“I don’t think you’re stupid.” He closed his eyes. “I think you’re the smartest person I know. And the kindest. And”—he swallowed, opening his eyes to look directly at him—“the most beautiful.”

“Excuse me?”

He looked out at the ocean. “I’m just … so tired of this,” he said. He did sound exhausted.

“Of what?”

He looked over at him, with the saddest expression on his face, as if he had lost something precious. This was the Taehyung he knew, though he couldn’t explain how or from where. This was the Taehyung he … loved.

“You can show me,” Jin whispered.

He shook his head. But his lips were still so close to his. And the look in his eyes was so alluring. It was almost as if Taehyung wanted Jin to show him first.

Jin's body quaked with nerves as he leaned towards him. He put his hand on his cheek and he blinked, but he didn’t move. He moved slowly, so slowly, as if he were scared to startle him, every second feeling petrified himself. And then, when they were close enough that his eyes were almost crossing, he closed them and pressed his lips against his.

The softest, featherlight touch of their lips was all that connected them, but a fire Jin had never felt before coursed through him, and he knew he needed more of—all of—Taehyung. It would be too much to ask of him to need him the same way, to fold him in his arms like he’d done so many times in his dreams, to return him wishful kiss with one more powerful.

But he did.

His muscled arms circled Jin's waist. He drew him to him, and he could feel the clean line of their two bodies connecting—legs tangled up in legs, hips pressed into hips, chests heaving in time with each other. Taehyung backed him up against the boardwalk’s railing, pinning him closer to him until he couldn’t move, until he had him exactly where he wanted to be. All of this without once breaking the passionate lock of their lips.

Then he started to really kiss Jin, softly at first, making subtle, lovely pecking noises in his ear. Then long and sweet and tenderly, along his jawline and down his neck, making him moan and tilt back his head. He tugged lightly on his hair and he opened his eyes to glimpse, for a second, the first stars coming out in the night sky. Jin felt closer to Heaven than he ever had before.

At last, Taehyung returned to his lips, kissing him with such intensity— his bottom lip, then edging his soft tongue just past his teeth. He opened his mouth wider, desperate to let more of him in, finally unafraid to show how much he yearned for him. To match the force of his kisses with his own.

He had sand in his mouth and between his toes, the briny wind raising goose bumps on his skin, and the sweetest, spellbound feeling spilling from his heart.

He could, at that moment, have died for him.

He pulled away and stared at Jin, as if he wanted him to say something. Jin smiled at him and pecked him softly on the lips, letting his linger on his. He knew no words, no better way to communicate what he was feeling, what he wanted. 

“You’re still here,” Taehyung whispered.

“They couldn’t drag me away.” Jin laughed.

Taehyung took a step back, and with a dark look at him, his smile was gone. He began pacing in front of him, rubbing his forehead with his hand.

“What’s wrong?” Jin asked lightly, pulling his sleeve so he’d come back in for another kiss. Taehyung ran his fingers over his face, through his hair, around his neck. Like he was making sure he wasn’t a dream.

Was this his first real kiss? Jin didn’t think he was supposed to count Yi Jung, so technically it was. And everything felt so right, like he had been destined for Taehyung, and he for him. He smelled … beautiful. His mouth tasted sweet and rich. He was tall and strong and …

Slipping from his embrace.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

His knees bent and he sank a few inches, leaning up against the wooden railing and looking at the sky. He looked like he was in pain.

“You said nothing could drag you away,” Taehyung said in a hushed voice. “But they will. Maybe they’re just running late.”

“They? Who?” Jin asked, looking around at the deserted beach. “Jungkook? I think we lost him.”

“No.” Taehyung started walking away down the boardwalk. He was shivering. “It’s impossible.”

“Taehyung.”

“It will come,” he whispered.

“You’re scaring me.” Jin followed behind, trying to keep up. Because suddenly, even though he didn’t want to, he had a feeling he knew what he meant. Not Jungkook, but something else, some other threat.

Jin’s mind felt foggy. His words knocked on his brain, ringing eerily true, but the reasoning behind them eluded him. Like the wisp of a dream he couldn’t remember the whole of.

“Talk to me,” he said. “Tell me what’s going on.”

He turned, his face pale as the bloom of a peony, his arms held out in surrender. “I don’t know how to stop it,” Taehyung whispered. “I don’t know what to do.”