The courtyard is huge, covering nearly the entire clearing, but it’s not as difficult to uncover as Jimin had first imagined. The stone bricks were all in place, just covered by a fine layer of dirt. It would’ve been easier with a broom, yes, but Jimin’s just happy to have something do at all.

The water garden trickles lightly in the background, setting the mood at Jimin digs his hands into the soft dirt and works. He’s never enjoyed being outdoors as much as he has in the last few days – being dirty and out in the elements sounds like an absolute nightmare, but Jimin’s slowly recognising that maybe the opposite is true. The forest is peaceful, whispering messages that Jimin can’t understand, birds darting between the trees as they play. It’s nothing like the forest back home, although it’s not like Jimin really paid all that much attention there in the first place.

It all just feels so right, being out in the open and working on the shrine. Even as his muscles tire, Jimin only gains more energy from the slow progress, as if the shrine and the forest were actually feeding it back in him.

“A god,” Jimin scoffs out loud. It’s all in his head, for sure – he can’t stop making connections only because Yoongi made him think about it in the first place. Forests and mountains are renowned for being peaceful and serene; why else would there be so many hikers? And good, hard work was meant to be the best kind of productivity too, or at least according to Jimin’s father. He enjoys the work because it’s meaningful and brings purpose to his days, not because of any otherworldly force...right?

“A god...” Jimin repeats, but this time far less certain. Otherworldly isn’t all that far off right now, given his new appendages. He has full feeling and control over his new ears and tail, even though that shouldn’t be possible by any means. He works barefoot with no gloves, and yet never steps on sharp rocks or digs through splinters in wood, as if the forest is actively protecting him.

And if anything – it was. Jimin pauses for a moment to inspect his arms, his legs. Nothing to show for his tumble just days earlier. He remembers the way his arm shattered, the way his knees weren’t round and his shins weren’t straight. There’s no scarring, even though all the blood should’ve said otherwise. Jimin was a straight-up miracle of life right now, working physically when he should’ve been bedridden in the ICU.

Jimin settles back on his heels, wiping sweat from his forehead. Was the idea really all that crazy? Just because he doesn’t understand, it doesn’t mean it can’t be true. Jimin barely passed his physics class, and yet it’s not like physics just stopped existing. ‘Magic’ was only undiscovered science, right?

Jimin was by no means religious, but that didn’t mean he would never consider it all, especially through some kind of divine intervention – like, say, a series of events that all lead to Jimin becoming a god?

Jimin tries to stand up, but the thoughts are cast from his mind as he feels something heavy pull him back down from behind. Losing his balance, he ends up face pressed into the dirt, crumpled and embarrassed – he was standing on his own tail, as if things couldn’t get any better.

Footsteps approach, but Jimin’s better at listening now. At least there’s one benefit to the ears, he thinks snidely. Groaning, he rolls onto his back just in time to grimace up at Yoongi’s face.

“Just can’t stay away?” Jimin jokes weakly, rubbing dirt from his face. Yoongi doesn’t laugh, so Jimin pushes himself up into a sitting position to brush the dirt from his clothes instead.

“Why are you doing this?” Yoongi asks, no tone in his voice to give Jimin any clue to what exactly ‘this’ is (although Jimin can guess). His face is shrouded in darkness, the bright sun behind him sending Jimin just a little blind every time he looks in Yoongi’s direction.

Jimin shrugs, deciding to cheekily dodge the question. “It’s not like I wanted to step on my own tail.”

Yoongi frowns – dodge unsuccessful. “You know what I meant.”

Jimin sighs, looking away. “It’s my shrine, I should take care of it.”

Wait.

Jimin’s eyes dart back to Yoongi just in time to witness him looking just as taken aback as Jimin feels. My shrine? What the hell?

Yoongi squats down to Jimin’s height, and Jimin’s eyes are thankful. “Your shrine?” he says, and this time Jimin can pick the incredulous tone and see Yoongi’s eyes narrow.

Jimin winces. “I mean, it’s not like, mine, but, you know, you said-” Jimin pauses, takes a breath. “What if you were right?”

“And I am,” Yoongi responds cleanly, standing back up. He offers out his hand, but Jimin doesn’t take it – he doesn’t want to get Yoongi, in all his pristine cleanliness, dirty with the grime and dirt and sweat of the day so far. Instead, Jimin pushes himself up – this time without embarrassing himself and hurting his tail – to rise to full height.

“I can help you,” Yoongi says, withdrawing his hand. It’s quite possibly the first actually nice thing Yoongi’s said, and Jimin’s shocked. This is the same man who was annoyed by Jimin’s survival just nights ago.

“What if I don’t want to?” Jimin rushes out, not thinking through his words before they come out of his mouth. At some point, his mind seems to have accepted the idea of god, even if Jimin has failed to catch up yet. “What if I don’t want to be a- a god?”

Yoongi shrugs. “You wouldn’t still be here if that was true.”

Jimin opens and closes his mouth, gaping like a fish as he tries to find an argument – but he can’t. It’s true. He doesn’t want to leave, feels like he owes something to the shrine. The shiver down his spine when he watches the sun rise in the morning, the tingles in his fingertips as he uncovers more and more of the land, the twitch of his ears as he listens to the wind. It’s all natural, even if it’s completely unnatural, and Jimin’s somehow okay with that.

“Come on,” Yoongi says, apparently recognising the resolution Jimin’s come to. “If we’re going to be stuck together, you should at least understand why.”

 

~*~

 

“So you’re like, my servant or something,” Jimin says, plucking at a stray stick of grass growing out from under the shrine veranda.

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“Like a familiar?” Jimin tries again.

“A what?”

“Like Salem?”

Yoongi gives Jimin a look. “Again – a what?”

Jimin shreds the grass between two fingers. “You know, Salem the witch’s cat?”

Yoongi shakes his head, and now Jimin’s offended. “You don’t know Sabrina?”

“Who the is Sabrina?” Yoongi grumbles, clearly not following. Jimin drops the topic, but nods in finality – Yoongi is definitely a familiar, that’s the easiest answer to understand.

Jimin swings his legs out wide, stopping just short of letting them crash back into the wood of the shrine. “So you’re like, magic and stuff right?”

“Kind of. I’m just here to help you,” Yoongi says, as if he’s not repeating the exact same thing Jimin’s been hearing for the past half hour. “I’m a custodian, and you’re the god.”

“So I’m magic?” Jimin tries again, dropping the strings of grass to stare at his own hands as if they were about to show him the way.

Yoongi shrugs, and Jimin immediately takes that as a resounding yes. He sticks his hand out contorting it into shapes as if expecting to suddenly harness the powers of the world.

Nothing changes.

“You’re not going to be able to do anything yet. You don’t even know what you’re doing,” Yoongi huffs, looking away from Jimin’s ever growing frantic motions. “You’re not just some kind of all-powerful being, you have to maintain it.”

“Cool,” Jimin whispers under his breath, grinning. He couldn’t wait to tell his brother, it would make him so jea-

“I’m not allowed to go home, am I?” Jimin says, and suddenly the mood drops tenfold.

Yoongi’s silence speaks louder than any words – Jimin’s new status was as much a prison as anything. A jailcell to share with one other man, someone who seemed to barely stand Jimin’s presence and disappeared for days on end. Sure, it was fun so far, cleaning up the shrine, but that was like a summer camp – Jimin still held out hope that it would end. Now, it’s becoming less and less temporary by the second.

“Oh my god,” Jimin stutters out right before bursting into tears. His entire family, his village, his job, his friends, all gone. He’s never going to see his brother, his mother, his father. They’d wonder where he’d gone, become sick with worry as the days trailed past. The police would get involved, no doubt, but there wouldn’t be anything to find. Jimin wasn’t coming home, there was no body to find, no suspects to interview. No trace, except those boys who’d chased him off the mountain – but they probably just thought he’d died.

Jimin drops his head into his hands, hiding his face as he sobs. His family probably thinks he’s dead. Even if his tormentors never came forward about what they’d done, his family would have to lose hope eventually. What was it – 72 hours? 72 hours to find a missing person before the chances of finding them alive drops substantially. It had already been that long – how soon would his family begin to stop waiting for Jimin to come home? When would they finally grieve, start making funeral preparations, treat Jimin as dead?

Jimin all but forgets Yoongi even exists in that moment. His family thinks he’s dead, possibly even murdered or kidnapped or some other horribly twisted fate, and Jimin can do nothing about it. Every bone in his body rejects the idea of leaving the shrine, and even in his hysteria Jimin knows he can’t go home. He’ll never go back home again.

 

~*~

 

It takes a while for the tears to dry up, for Jimin’s heaving sobs to settle into occasional hiccups – but Yoongi doesn’t leave. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to comfort Jimin, but it’s at least something that he didn’t up and abandon the shrine again.

Jimin presses the heel of his palms into his eyes, rubbing until he sees stars. He’s sniffly and his eyes feel dry, he probably looks terrible. Yoongi doesn’t mention anything, and Jimin’s grateful. He musters the strength to get to his feet, finally meeting Yoongi’s eyes – and Jimin sees nothing reflected. In a way, he’s grateful for that too. Pity would be too much, they’re certainly nowhere near close enough to share any kind of feeling, and Jimin’s pretty sure he’d just start crying again if Yoongi was mean to him in any way at all. Blank stares are really the best option right now.

Yoongi doesn’t look like he plans on moving, so Jimin takes the lead. “I’ll make dinner,” he says, ignoring the way his voice pitches unevenly. He’d rather just forget this entire display and go to bed, maybe even not wake up for a few days. Food first though – then sleep. The sun is already starting to set, meaning they’ve been out here far too long.

Without waiting for an answer, Jimin turns around and sulks back into the shrine. Something to do to keep his mind off of his depressing future, making food sounds like an excellent idea right about now. The pantry is stocked at least, and Jimin feels confident he can make something decent enough to serve before passing out for an eternity.

Stir-fry didn’t sound too bad right about now, and Yoongi had some dried noodles left over that they could use. Jimin set to work immediately, sourcing all kinds of things he could throw together to resemble a healthy, well-rounded meal.

 

~*~

 

Yoongi descends the ladder from the overworld at some point as Jimin cooks, keeping quiet and staying out of Jimin’s way. Jimin doesn’t mind – he’s preoccupied with bringing flavour into his dish. He’s tasted Yoongi’s cooking, and needs to at least get something close to the bursting flavour that Yoongi somehow cooks up.

He pulls another stray noodle out of the pan, slurping it from between his fingers and wincing at the burn – but it’s still not enough. Something’s missing, but Jimin can’t find any other spices in the kitchen that would even hint at an answer.

His frustration must be showing, because Yoongi steps up and takes the pan from Jimin. “Give it here.”

Jimin makes a noise of protest, but doesn’t actually do anything to try and take the pan back. He watches as Yoongi gives it a stir, then a flip. Nothing special – he doesn’t even add any new ingredients. So, Jimin knows something’s up when Yoongi offers him the pan back and Jimin tries another noodle – because it’s just incredible.

Jimin voices as such. “What the hell?” he asks, almost as if accusing Yoongi of some dark plot – which was entirely true, because there’s no way anyone could make something taste that good without bargaining for a deal with the devil.

Yoongi shrugs, setting the pot gently on the edge of the sink where it wouldn’t burn a mark into the counter. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then tell me, because I’m not even sure what I think right now,” Jimin snaps back, turning to face Yoongi fully. He knows the frustration in his voice isn’t justified whatsoever, but his emotions are still raw and he can’t help but take it out on something.

Yoongi huffs. “You wouldn’t even taste anything if you weren’t – you know.” Yoongi gestures broadly at Jimin’s body, wincing, as if that were any kind of answer.

“What, a god? Are you feeding me cat food or something?” Jimin crosses his arms and purses his lips. His tail slaps angrily against the cupboards under the countertop, responding to his thoughts without conscious movement. “Cut it out, tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s not human food, alright?” Yoongi answers hurriedly, throwing his hands in the air as he moves away from the kitchen. “We eat differently, you eat differently.”

Jimin goes to repeat his question about cat food, albeit less humoured and more worried, but Yoongi cuts him off. “This is spirit food now, it’s something else.”

“So what, I can never eat like a normal person again?” Jimin realises that never being able to enjoy steamed pork buns again shouldn’t be this high on his list of concerns, but it’s not something he can contend with just this moment.

“I didn’t say that,” Yoongi snaps back, reaching up to press his hands flat against the wooden wall, back turned to Jimin. “Spirit food just tastes better than anything, so you’re probably ruined for anything else you ever enjoyed.”

Jimin doesn’t have time to process Yoongi’s words, as Yoongi draws his hands back from the wall and pulls open a hidden door to reveal a small bookshelf. He removes a book and pushes the door back into place – where it seamlessly moulds back into the wall without a sound.

That’s where he keeps his stuff. Jimin casts suspicious eyes over the entire space, seeing it with a new perspective. Of course Yoongi has more hiding spaces – even this little house under the shrine is hidden, the trapdoor in the floor of the shrine perfectly mimicking the door of the little cupboard Yoongi had revealed moments earlier.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Yoongi grumbles, shocking Jimin back into reality. “Serve the food and get down here.”

Jimin bounces back into action, quickly scooping up somewhat equal portions of fried noodles into two bowls before plopping himself down on the floor where Yoongi had already settled. The book sits between them, pure white and completely blank.

 Jimin passes a bowl of stir-fry to Yoongi, who accepts it silently.

It’s a few minutes of quiet eating before Yoongi finally speaks up again.

“This book was left by- an old friend gave it to me,” Yoongi corrects jarringly, avoiding Jimin’s stare. “I never really needed it, but he’s written all the stuff he used to need or do around here in there.”

Jimin reaches out for the book, hand hovering until Yoongi gives him a nod in permission. The book itself is smooth, like polished metal – or even smoother still. Jimin finds it difficult to hold in his hands, yet somehow comforting. It isn’t shiny or reflective, but almost feels like holding running water – Jimin’s not quite sure what to make of that just yet.

Inside, the pages are filled with notes and diagrams – some of the writing is neat, like it was planned and executed to perfection, while other pages are messy and scrawled like the thoughts were flowing directly from mind to page, words hastily crossed out and little arrows directing Jimin’s eyes all over the page.

Some of the messages were detached and unbiased, even if Jimin couldn’t understand them – Ask the river and it will return. Don’t trust the frogs though, they usually have something else in mind. Other messages were completely different in tone, though, human and close and friendly, foreign from this weird world Jimin had stepped into. There are two brooms in the outside closet, only use the red one indoors,  or  sometimes the roof leaks when it rains too hard, even though there’s no holes in the shrine that I can find.

And then, there were the comments that made Jimin uncomfortable to read, like he was intruding on something not intended for his eyes.

Yoongi won’t tell you when he needs help. Don’t ignore the signs. You’ll probably have to drag him from the The Ennui, check the tower.

“You should try and read through it, he can probably explain it better than I can,” Yoongi says, breaking through Jimin’s confusion. “There’s a lot of stuff to know.”

Jimin nods absently, tracing a finger down the current page. “Who wrote this?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer, and Jimin leaves it. There’s clearly something else going on that Jimin’s not catching on to, and he doesn’t want to push where he’s not welcome. Yoongi’s only finally stopped looking at him like he’s an unwanted guest, and Jimin wants to keep things that way.

“I’ll stay tomorrow, so I can help,” Yoongi says instead. “Whatever you want to do.”

 

~*~

 

Jimin had half-expected Yoongi to be lying, but he stayed true to his word. When Jimin woke up in the morning, Yoongi had already prepared breakfast – some kind of rice porridge – and was already settled on the veranda outside. Jimin grabs the remaining bowl, already served up, and joins Yoongi in silence to bathe in the sun.

Jimin’s always enjoyed the sun like any sane person, but it’s different now. He could outright nap in the warm air, spring finally arriving in full force. He’s nothing but content listening to the birds sing, the leaves rustle, even the small sounds Yoongi makes next to him just by existing. Setting his bowl aside, he lays back with his feet still dangling over the edge of the veranda. The sun hits his skin where his shirt rides up, but his face just falls into the shade of the roof hanging over their heads. Jimin slept peacefully all night, but it would still just be so easy to sleep again now.

Jimin cracks open an eye to watch Yoongi rise, paying Jimin no attention. He sets off down the stairs at the front of the shrine, out of Jimin’s vision – Jimin’s not worried though, he can still hear Yoongi pottering around somewhere nearby. A fly buzzes past Jimin’s nose, and he has to resist the urge to swat at it.

He may be in some kind of hellish reality, but he could definitely learn to live like this.

 

~*~

 

Jimin stretches, ignoring the way Yoongi peers curiously over him. He’s moved from his original position – Jimin’s now stretched out on the newly restored courtyard, tail curled around his leg and arms outstretched past his head.

“You sleep so much,” Yoongi comments mildly, finally backing off to take a seat next to Jimin. He keeps his space, but Jimin’s just happy he’s even around at all. He hadn’t realised how lonely it was to work by yourself, even if the peace helped keep him calm.

Jimin wriggles like a worm, working out the stiffness in his muscles. “It’s nice weather,” he justifies, as if it’s weird that Yoongi isn’t taking advantage of the sun right now.

They fall into content silence, and Jimin swears he’s almost asleep when Yoongi breaks it again.

“Thanks for doing so much around here.”

It surprises Jimin, although he tries his best not to show it. Yoongi sounds so sad, even apologetic in a way. It’s the most Jimin’s gotten from him since they met, beyond the anger when Jimin had originally accused him of being a predator.

Jimin stays silent, unsure how to answer, so Yoongi pushes on.

“It’s been a long time. You did so much, and you didn’t have to.”

Jimin smiles up at the sky. “I enjoyed it, it’s no worries really.”

“I was a to you, you could’ve just left,” Yoongi points out, in the same melancholy tone. Jimin doesn’t like it at all.

“I didn’t though, you weren’t even that bad,” Jimin says lightly, trying to bring the mood up. He waves his hand mildly in the air as he senses Yoongi tense next to him, cutting off anything that could’ve been said next. “I did vomit on your floor,” he reminds Yoongi.

“It took forever to clean up too,” Yoongi grumbles, and Jimin cracks a grin. “It was all soaked into the gaps between the-”

“Ew,” Jimin protests, rolling away onto his stomach. “Too much information, thanks.”

“It was your fault!” Yoongi cries out, dragging his fingertips over his eyes. Jimin doesn’t feel too guilty about it though – Yoongi already sounds better than he did earlier, so it’s kind of a win (even if Jimin does have to embarrass himself again).

“Whatever,” Jimin responds, rolling once more onto his back to narrowly dodge Yoongi’s foot in a well-aimed kick. “I owe you for saving my life, we’re even now.”

“Even? Because you vomited on my floor?” Yoongi asks.

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Even, because I didn’t kick your for being so rude all the time,” Jimin huffs, throwing an arm over his eyes to protect from the glaring sun.

“Right, because you totally would’ve won in a fight.” Yoongi sounds...happy, and it’s surprising enough that Jimin actually peeks out to make sure everything’s okay. It’s the first time he’s seen Yoongi smiling, even slightly, and it’s without a doubt one of the best things Jimin has experienced since he fell from the mountain. Surely this means Yoongi doesn’t hate him anymore?

“I would!” Jimin protested, acting like Yoongi smiling and joking and being happy wasn’t totally off-course for their usual turbulent exchange. Yoongi scoffs, and Jimin feels mildly offended that Yoongi genuinely believes Jimin wouldn’t stand a chance – but he’s more excited by the fact that Yoongi is talking, engaging with Jimin in a way that has no purpose barring for the sake of conversation and company, so he lets it go.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, staying here. It would still , and Jimin isn’t entirely certain he’ll be able to cope with never seeing his old life again, but it remarkably less spending it with someone who at least doesn’t actively hate his guts.