He was never able to feel much, as far back as he could remember.

Pain never fazed him, neither did the jesting and mocking of the other kids. It was as if the world was separated from him by a thin veil. Thin, yet impenetrable, shielding him from the laughters just as much as the tears. 

Not that Jungkook cared, really. It felt cozy in a way, with the noise and distraction in the distance. He played alone, jumping to grip onto the rusted monkey bars tightly each time, only to fall and scrape his knees hard on the gravel. And then he’d try again, and again. Until he’s able to hang on and make it all the way to the end of the bar, the bloody scabs dried and numb on his legs, alone and depending on nobody else. 

There was a quiet comfort in solitude, and he enjoyed feeling stronger each day as he grew up, muscles taut and aching to be pushed to the brink. Books became his companions, and he spent countless nights reading biographies and philosophy, letting his own beliefs and morals take shape.

It was all fine, he was even a little proud, of the way he ignored the worried whispers of the teachers, or punched through the despising glares of his peers. But what finally pierced through his wall of defense was the soft sighs and resigned murmurs of mom. 

“Gukkie, your teacher called me today, Ms. Louis? She said you were in a fight again, and that the other kids are scared of you.” 

A hand would reach towards his cheek, thin delicate fingers brushing just below the bruised cut. The sigh that followed would drape over his heart, making it irritably heavy, “Try to smile more, love. People are scared of you when you look so serious… So quiet and serious, just like- just like him-“ another long sigh that dragged and fizzled into the air, as the sentence was cut short, and the hand retracts, taking the hint of warmth away. 

He was too young to realize that maybe she’s just tired, too tired from life to appreciate her son for being different. So naturally, as most kids would do, he blamed himself - if only he could be just like everyone else, if only he could pretend to feel, to blend in. 

Jungkook started observing people, emulating their small motions and reactions in every social occasion. A slight upcurl of the lips for simple jokes, raised cheeks and pearl whites for bigger occasions. A gentle pat of the arm or back, no matter how bizarre it felt to him, seemed to put people at ease. And when all failed, he learned to listen - let them talk, no matter the age, about themselves. It’s amazing how everyone unequivocally loved to talk about themselves in the end. 

He messed up sometimes, and kids called him a freak that “can’t even act properly”. But eventually, he tweaked and rehearsed each motion so it’s just the right amount of superficial appropriateness. People no longer stayed away, when he finally seemed no different than them, safe. The mastered smile almost looked genuine in certain lighting. 

The bruised cut eventually healed, leaving a faint line on his cheek. Every time Jungkook spotted it in the mirror, he thought of it as a memento, of how he needed to disguise his true self, for the only person that mattered to him. 

“Am I really… just like him?” The question finally drifted out one night, when he was worn out, when mom had a night off and was in a happier mood.

She hesitated in the dark, but Jungkook felt the pause clench at his heart. Eventually, she responded, “Of course you are. He is your father, after all.”

Why doesn’t he ever visit then? The question rang loudly on his mind, but he curbed it, not wanting to face the answer, and asked instead, “Can I meet him one day?”

Another pause. But the response was uttered into the dark, resonating to all the longing that he would never admit to, “I told you before, your father can’t be with us. But he loves you very much, and is always out there watching out for you.”

“Can I find him then, mom? When I grow up, when I’m strong enough to take care of all of us, can I go find him please?”

Her voice was whisper quiet, like words murmured in a lucid dream, seeped in weariness that he was too young to understand, “Sure, sweetie. Let’s talk about it when you’re grown up, when you’re strong enough to find him…” 

They never did talk about it. It turns out, that when Jungkook is ready at the age of 18, he no longer needs her permission. 

It takes him a few years to find the run down cottage outside of Baden, the sleepy little Swiss town near the border. It’s not easy, finding someone that has seemingly vaporized from society, but he persists, following the invisible trail of crumbs that seems to have been left out just for him. 

The road stretches out south for about forty minutes from town’s center, as dwellings become sparse, and barren farmlands sprawl into the horizon. 

A small driveway meanders through an aspen grove, the empty branches filled with eyes that never shut. A snowstorm rages, covering everything under a thick blanket of blinding white, with no fresh track in sight. By the time he parks the car and walks up to the front door, the exposed skin on his face stings, and snow begins to pile over his shoulders and hoodie.

Big wet flakes that absorbs all the sound in the world, freezing time in the very monochromatic moment. 

His hand shakes when he knocks on the wooden door, and each noise from the other side makes his heart hammer rapidly. 

When the door finally opens, the face that meets his gaze is both foreign and familiar. Jungkook has watched him from a distance for a few days now, but it was only in that moment that he realizes the familiarity: a slight head tilt that he’s perhaps caught in the mirror, crinkled eyes that shines with the same curiosity, and a small mole right beneath the lips, just like his. 

Jungkook stammers, head dizzy in a cloud. They stare at each other for a moment, and finally, the person gestures inside and speaks, “Talk inside, it’s cold out.”

And he’s in, wet and cold, getting the floor dirty with his boots. The dark eyes that scan him from head to toe is matter of factly, and the voice calm, “You found me. I’m glad.”

No fanfare, no emotional confessions or apologies. They stand in the small foyer of the cottage with the drifting snowstorm tapping against the front door weakly. Somewhere on the interior wall, a clock tick tocks. 

Jungkook frowns, something irritated wrangling against his rib cage for a moment, then ceases. He looks up and responds, “You planned this, didn’t you. Led me to here.”

“Only when you’re ready. Only when you’re old enough to be responsible for your own decisions.”

The eyes that meets his are unflinching, familiar in the lack of emotions. 

Ah. Mom was right. 

“What happens next then?” The air smells of old books and staleness, and the man in front of him, who holds all of his longings and hope precariously, is diminutive. 

“Well, I’d like to explain everything. Show you everything I do. If you’re interested, only if you want to know.”

Jungkook in a sharp inhale, and responds stiffly, “I do. Father.”

The next three days become the most information dense three days of his life. Half a day is spent on history and networks of both the US and Russian side. The formal soviet training, the chance encounter with a CIA agent. Then the web spreads from there, lists of allies and threats, people well known in the industry for various services. Jin’s name was on one of the lists, in an old typewriter font. Jungkook only realizes the importance of that name many months later. 

Then they stay up late into the night going over the various storage places all over the globe, and the content of each location. Information is a double edged sword, it brings the owner both power and risks in possession. The art of manipulating and trading information skillfully is not easily taught over one night. 

Another day is spent on various skills of the trade. Cryptography, forgery, surveillance. Jungkook’s basic experience with a handgun pays off when they practice aiming with beer cans in the backyard. “Your hands are steadier than mine, well done. Although the trick is to avoid having to fire a shot in the first place.” The subtle compliment still makes Jungkook blush. 

On the third day, the conversation slows down. They eat together, and discuss past cases over strong chai tea. A lot of mistakes, a lot of lessons learned. On how to trust the right people, when to make calculated risks and when to be reckless. Sometimes, the subject turns personal, and Jungkook can’t shake off the feeling that he’s being taught life lessons that go beyond those for a profession.

“Do you want me to be like you?” The question comes out not as an inquiry, but more as a careful test of the water. 

The man reclined in the old couch hums, and answers, “I’m sharing everything I have with you. What you decide to do with it is entirely your choice.”

But would you be proud of me, if I become like you? The question dangles on Jungkook’s mind, but he doesn’t give it voice. 

The man sits up and leans in a little, “But if we are to be perfectly honest with each other, then tell me, Jungkook, did you hate me for being away all these years?”

“No.” 

The man smiles, something rare twinkles in his eyes, a trace of fondness, “You’re not a very good liar. Something you have to work on.” 

A pause, then he adds, “One day, I hope you’ll understand why I did it. You see, sometimes when you love someone, it’s better that you stay away and protect them from afar.” 

The words cut into Jungkook, and he wants to retort, to tear through the vague statement that makes light of his loneliness. But instead, he nods with knitted brows. 

That night, they make spaghetti together in the tiny kitchen with pink tiles from decades past. Sitting in the creaking wooden chair, watching his dad pile scoops of food on his plate for the first time in his life, Jungkook wondered if it’s all a dream. A beautiful lucid dream that’ll end at any moment, for wishes are not meant to be fulfilled in such heartachingly perfect ways. 

The next morning, Jungkook wakes up with drifting snow on his mind. Wet flakes that dampen and chill his skin as they fall weightlessly from the sky, burying the cottage deep underneath a suffocating layer of white. Rubbing his face and taking a rushed inhale, he gets up and steps into the silence in the house. 

The air is warm, the ember in the fireplace has cooled and turned black. Silence descends, even the wind that vibrated against the frosted windows has ceased. Jungkook walks past the other bedroom, and feels a heaviness when he spots the empty bed. 

Everything is where it should be - teacups from last night still on the kitchen counter, books dad flipped through haphazardly sitting on the end table. The clock on the wall tick tocks, muffled and fading away. 

He is alone. 

Jungkook opens the front door, and stares at the blanket of snow on the ground with no fresh tracks in sight. Pristine, gleaming snow that stings his eyes, and hastens his erratic breaths.

Jungkook never meets his father again. It takes him a few months after that day to make up his mind on what to do. 

Will you let me find you again? Would you stay this time, if I become like you? 

From then on, like a man with no past to retrieve into, he’s never looked back.

——

The boat is docked at Kusadasi pier, a simple vessel with curtained windows and gleaming railings. Jungkook is seated on the open deck, next to a table filled with an open notebook, a plate of green grapes, and a black polymer framed Glock G19 - all 15 shots fully loaded. 

The handgun is less of a necessity, but more to keep his hands busy assembling and disassembling each component carefully. 

The late afternoon sun reflects off the gleaming waves, making him squint a little, but his gaze stays fixed on the distant figure on shore - Taehyung sitting on the grass with head buried in a book. 

A click of the tongue next to him, and Jin’s voice sounds, impatient, “So you’re telling me this is all you’ve been doing for the past three days - sitting on this boat, waiting for him to show up, then staring at him from a distance like a creeper.”

“Well, he hangs out at this harbor a lot, which makes things easy.”

Jungkook doesn’t have to look to sense Jin’s eye roll, “Actually, what would make things really easy is if you just go up and talk to him. You know, like a normal non creepy person.”

“I’m technically dead, I don’t think that’s how dead people behave.”

“Hey, don’t be a brat with me. You orchestrated this whole thing to set yourself free, and to make him quit his job. So stop pretending to be clueless, and just admit to the fact that you’re scared to talk to him.”

“Am I?” Jungkook’s fingers reach out to trace the handle of the gun. 

“What is it? Are you scared he will hate you for faking your death? That he doesn’t love you the way you wish him to? Or maybe…” Jin glances at the distant figure before adding, “maybe you finally realized what we have planned will put him in even more danger.”

A pause, Jungkook’s fingers linger on the edge of the gun, “You need to give him more credit, if he is to join us. That Georgia incident in his record, an entire team of armoured soldiers were killed, but somehow he survived. He’s much tougher than you realize.”

“I guess. He did shoot you, not many people can say that.” 

Jungkook chuckles, “Yes. There is also that.”

“Has it ever occurred to you, that maybe this whole thing is just wrong?” Another click of the tongue, “I mean, the shooting, this whole post mortem creeper act, obviously. But even before all this, how you sort of picked him to be the one, got this idea in your head, that you wanted to have him? It’s- it’s- “ Jin waves his hands weakly, and starts to pace, “This is not how people typically fall in love, Gukkie. It’s not really love, is it, if you picked him and shaped the outcome of every encounter into what you planned?”

The waves flicker and gleam, a million shivering golden splinters. Jungkook responds plainly, “You’re probably right. I’m the last person to understand love, or any emotion, for that matter.” His hand pauses, “I just know I need him. There’s no heart in what I do. But for him, he’d bet his life on a belief, even if the logical evidence shows otherwise-“

“You can’t just get a heart like that. Plus-“ a sigh, “You need to have a little more faith in yourself. I swear, maybe all these years ago, what your dad intended was not for me to teach you tricks of the trade, but to help normalize the way you feel…”

Jungkook retracts his hand abruptly, the handle of the handgun drops on the table in a dull thud. 

Jin sighs again, but this time, the sound is soft and barely audible. From the corner of his eye, Jungkook can see the sleeve of his pale pink silk shirt flutter weakly in the wind, “But it’s up to you, Gukkie. It’s always been up to you. I owe it to your dad to help you, so that’s what I do. A new group, a new identity. And him. If you’re sure that’s what you want.”

Jungkook’s gaze flits up to meet his, and there’s no response, just a slight purse of the lips. Jin blinks, and nods slightly, “Very well. We are ready, whenever you finally decide to talk to him.” 

The wind blows, kissing his skin coldly, stealing its warmth. There’s something worn out about Jin’s voice, as his figure turns away and moves towards the cabin, “Maybe there are some cans in the cabinet.. I swear, how you survive without food is beyond me…”

Jungkook’s gaze shifts back to Taehyung’s silhouette on shore, in the distance. Back slouched, chin stubbornly tilted up, towards the glowing sun dipped low in the sky. His shoulders are turned slowly, relaxed yet a little too still, frozen in thoughts, anticipating, waiting. 

Waiting. 

———

The hotel room is dark and chilly. Faint music bleeds in through the closed windows from down the street. With eyes closed, Jungkook listens to it absently, trying to catch words of the lyrics here and there. 

Like a heartbeat…

drives you mad...

In the stillness of remembering what you had

The AC clicks on with a groan, swirling up the artificial air. 

His mind races, as it usually does in the small hours of the night, to moments of the past, and emotions harder to decipher than the most complex ciphercode in the world. 

A nudge snaps him out of the meandering thoughts, warm torso nuzzles into his arm, soft hair tickling his skin. A yawn, low and disarming, stretches into the darkness, “You know I can’t fall asleep until you do.” 

Jungkook’s lips curl up, as he reaches to tangle his fingers between the flop of messy curls. 

Another yawn, and Taehyung drapes his leg over Jungkook’s thighs under the blanket, curling into his chest, “Looks like we’re not watching sunrise on the Landwehrkanal after all.”

“You know I don’t need much sleep though.”

“Yeah but,” A weak jab, “I want to sleep in. Me.”

Jungkook teases his fingers between the soft curls of hair, massaging his scalp, “Then we’ll sleep in. There’s always another sunrise tomorrow.” 

He can feel Taehyung smile in the dark, “Yes, all the time in the world. As long as we’re together.”

Jungkook hums, and pulls the blanket up more to cover Taehyung’s shoulders. 

“It’s so nice to be back. Never thought you’d actually get to show me Berlin like you promised.” Taehyung’s words are slurred by drowsiness, “And to think, that whole night, I figured you were just saying whatever to get into my pants...”

“Well. It did work.” The voice is matter of factly.

A feeble punch in Jungkook’s chest, “Sometimes I still can’t tell if you’re joking or being an .”

Probably neither. Jungkook muses inwardly but stays silent. 

“Worth it though. It was all worth it in the end.” Taehyung’s fingers trail on his chest, traipsing, drawing faint shivers that Jungkook has grown to like. 

Jungkook thinks of the scar on his abdomen, “I sure hope so, prefer not getting shot again, to be honest.”

A whine in the dark, almost feline in the way it vibrates into his skin, “Such a meanie. You know I’d rather shoot myself than you. Ugh. Can’t believe - can’t believe you were so mean… making me do it, making me think you were dead for months and months…” he’s mumbling again, voice turning quiet and breathily. Pitiful. 

Jungkook sighs, and embraces his torso tighter before lying, “That one was a joke. It was the only way to sever all our ties with all the agencies without raising suspicion. But I am sorry for what happened.”

He’s not sorry. It was an orchestrated effort that took the better part of a year to execute, and every detail went according to plan, brilliantly, down to Taehyung’s exquisitely genuine sorrow for the fake death. If Jungkook had more feelings, he’d say he’s almost proud. 

Almost. 

“I guess.” Taehyung whispers, “You win. You always win in the end.”

“Not I. We.” The singles word melts like wax, and Jungkook exhales slowly, allowing his eyes to droop. Music from outside drift in and out, blending into the darkness, along with the warm scent of Taehyung’s skin. It all feel like forgotten memories he’s never had, peacefulness he hasn’t earned.

Something like belonging.

Absently, his thumb swipes over the skin on his left hand, over the slightly raised outline of a new tattoo - two black trapezoids mirroring each other, like double doors that creak open. He whispers, half to himself, “What next?”

“Sleep. Then maybe we check out a flea market tomorrow?” Taehyung murmurs.

Jungkook stays silent. He feels Taehyung looking up in his embrace, “Oh. That’s not what you’re asking, is it.”

Jungkook ruffles Taehyung’s hair, “Like I said before, there’s no rush. We can travel and relax for as long as you like.” 

“But you’re asking about what happens after that…”

Soft locks, slipping through his fingers languidly. Jungkook nods. 

Taehyung hums, then responds after a pause, “I think - I think I still want the same. If that’s ok with you.”

“A life with purpose.”

“Right. A life with purpose. To work together on things that are meaningful to us.” Taehyung nudges his face into Jungkook’s skin. 

It was one of the first things they talked about, after finally reuniting, after Jungkook confessed all the planned details to a tearful Taehyung. Their shared future, what makes it all worthwhile. He wants to say he knew what Taehyung was going to say, but that’s not true. The clarity of Taehyung’s vision for the future, the determination in his voice, it still blew Jungkook away. 

“You know, once we start, this-“ Jungkook gestures with his hand, “-all this, the laid back trips, the freedom and security, it won’t be possible anymore. Not the way I run things anyways.”

A soft giggle, “You mean, whatever freedom and security you have right now as a dead man?” 

“Well…”

“I know what it all means. Changing the world is not an easy thing to do. And I’m fine with the way you run things. Well…” Taehyung pauses under his touch, “it would be nice if you tell me all your plans this time, no more secrecy. My heart can only take so much, you know.” 

Jungkook dips in to kiss him on the hair, “Of course. No more secrecy. We are in this together until the end, you have just as much say in it as I do.” 

“Then I’m ready any time. This is all great, the trips, the relaxing. But life has to be more than this, right? I’ve lived under the control of others for so long. No more.”

Taehyung pushes himself up in bed, and there’s a flicker in his eyes, bright and drawing Jungkook in, “Information is powerful, it can start a conflict or diffuse a war, depending on how you use it. And I want to be the one to nudge the situation in the right direction. To save the innocent from pain, and protect the powerless from those who abuse the system for their own selfish gains.” 

“You know, most world leaders can’t even do that - changing the outcome of an event.”

“That’s because they’re chasing after the wrong things. I said nudge, didn’t I?”

“And you’d sacrifice your life for a nudge?”

“Yes. You know the answer is yes, and I think-“ he chews his lips before continuing determinedly, “-I know, that your answer is the same. I’m done following orders and hurting people for all the wrong reasons. We pick the cause now, and we help as much as we can.”

Jungkook’s finger touches the tattoo on his hand, “Perfect. When you’re ready, we can meet up with the others.” 

“The others?” 

“A few friends who share the same interest.”

“Yes, you did mention. And we’ll all work together? Like, like a group?”

“I’ve known them for a long time. They are...the closest thing I have to a family.”

“A family… I like the sound of that.” Taehyung leans in for a kiss. Soft, chaste, warming up the heart gently. There are words mixed into the kiss, timid but Jungkook hears them clearly, “Love you…”

Jungkook hums, and sinks into the kiss, drowning the words out of his mind. Love, funny how everyone mentions the word, but he has yet to understand what it really means. 

The broken music drifts in and out, and the air, however artificial, is warm and embracing. 

Dreams of loneliness,

Like a heartbeat, drives you mad

In the stillness of remembering, what you had

The tattoo under Jungkook’s fingerpad is slightly raised at the outline, and his mind traces it, over and over, until it’s etched on his mind. 

Together. Nudging the world in the direction of peace. He thinks of the yellowed pages in father’s book, of a heaven that’s opened by the golden key, a place from where shadows of the world fall from. There’s a lightness in his heart, more freeing than anything he’s ever felt in life, as he realizes the name of their little group and whispers it out loud.

“Shadowfall.”