Jimin only meant to step out for a minute, he was coming right back. Just wanted to go enjoy a little bit of time outside before the storm hit and forced him back in for the rest of the day and possibly even then some. He ventured out to go dip his feet in the stream, feel the leaves crunch under his steps and the rough bark ripple under his fingertips. Jimin was coming right back.

“What the hell,” Jimin mutters under his breath, panic rising unbidden. There was always a door right here – the trapdoor, it was always open and available, it doesn’t just disappear. Jimin runs his hands over the ground, pushing and prodding at the smooth wood. There’s no sign of the door at all, not even a seam or hinge to indicate where it might be.

And even if Jimin’s got a good idea where it used to exist, the floor doesn’t give way no matter which way he shoves and tugs, digging his nails in between the wooden boards until they ache. Outside, the first rain starts to fall; it doesn’t take long for it to grow into a full-blown downpour. He slaps the wooden floor in frustration, letting out an angry yell.

Jimin doesn’t know where Yoongi is, hasn’t seen him since the night before (besides the cursory glance he’d given Yoongi’s sleeping form in the corner when Jimin had first left). He’s aware the Yoongi will probably be coming back, but there’s a voice in his head that wants to become hysterical no matter how Jimin reasons with it. He’d seen Yoongi using the mysterious hidden doors in the walls, and this trapdoor is definitely a similar contraption – but Yoongi made it look so easy, just touching places gently and having them spring free.

It’s getting cold, and Jimin hadn’t bothered to bring a jacket or jumper or coat or anything warm because he’d really only planned on being outside for ten, maybe fifteen minutes. He wraps his arms around his body, rocking back from the place where he’s sure the trapdoor had been before. The storm clouds are blocking out any light and Jimin’s starting to feel pretty miserable.

He’s got himself curled up and backed into the further corner of the shrine by the time Yoongi reappears. The roof is leaking – just like the book said – and Jimin’s all but frozen. Yoongi doesn’t even notice him at first, startling out of his skin with a shout when Jimin moves just enough to catch his attention.

“What the , Jimin?” Yoongi curses, shuffling over to squat in front of Jimin’s huddled shape. He can only imagine how pitiful he looks right now, but would really just like to get inside. “Why are you out here?”

“Just enjoying the weather,” Jimin bites back sarcastically, suppressing a shiver. Yoongi rises back up and taps his foot on the floor, the trapdoor magically springing open and beckoning Jimin with blankets and warmth. Jimin’s pissed, because why wouldn’t the shrine do that for him? Why is it so easy for Yoongi?

“Get inside,” Yoongi commands, and Jimin stands up to hobble pathetically over to the entrance. He lowers himself down, one step at a time, but not without shooting Yoongi a bitter glare first. His tail is damp, leaving little water droplets with every step.

“Why’d you leave?” Yoongi presses again, as Jimin jumps from the last stair and Yoongi begins his descent.

Jimin huffs. “I just wanted to go outside before you woke up,” he says. It’s not a lie – he’d been bored and Yoongi was still sleeping.

Yoongi frowns. “You were still in bed when I left,” he responds, before a look of realisation settles in. “That’s not- you weren’t...” He gestures dumbly at the pile of blankets in the corner, and yeah – Jimin can see how that might be confused for a human body underneath.

“,” Yoongi swears again, shoving Jimin towards the bathroom. “I thought you were still here, I locked the door, I’m so sorry.”

Jimin lets himself be guided, even lets Yoongi start preparing the bath for him – he’s not that cold, but he also doesn’t want to make Yoongi feel worse. Besides, it feels kind of good to be looked after, Jimin’s not going to lie.

Yoongi leaves him after that, and Jimin undresses and sinks gratefully into the hot water. It’s almost scalding and makes his skin tingle, but Jimin can’t help but sigh as the water envelops him. It really hadn’t been that cold outside, but the bath feels so good. If he really focuses, he can faintly hear the rain thundering down outside, soothing now that Jimin doesn’t have to sit in it.

Yoongi’s sitting on the floor looking sombre when Jimin finally emerges. Jimin’s clothed in what he can only assume are Yoongi’s warmest clothes (he really needs to go shopping and get his own, but for now he’s content to steal) – he’s already kind of in love with the woollen jumper he’s wearing, and seriously considers never taking it off again. The sleeves cover his hands, giving him floppy sweater-paws to flap around.

Yoongi doesn’t seem impressed, although his eyes linger on Jimin’s hands (or, rather, lack of). “You need to learn how to use your energy,” he says, finally looking up to meet Jimin in the eye.

“Like, magic?” Jimin asks, throwing himself down in front of Yoongi. The room is just a touch warmer than he’s ever remembered it being, but there’s no thermostat or heater or vents or anything at all that would indicate a heat source.

Yoongi shrugs. “Like magic,” he parrots. “I don’t know how else to describe it, but if you focus on throwing your energy through your body, you can kind of...make things happen.”

“The hidden doors,” Jimin provides helpfully, crossing his legs and tucking his hands in his lap. Yoongi nods.

“That’s just a small part of it. But yeah, you should at least be able to open the door to this place.” He pulls a small wooden box from behind him, tips it around in his hands carelessly. Jimin’s eyes are focused on the cube, taking in every detail, and so he’s a little surprised when Yoongi somehow pulls it apart. There had been no indication earlier that the box wasn’t whole, but then again, Jimin’s slowly beginning to understand that most things in this place aren’t as they first appear – Yoongi included.

Yoongi slots the pieces back together and tosses the box to Jimin, who barely raises his hands in time to catch it. He runs his hands over the smooth wood and tries to pull it apart just like he’d seen Yoongi do, but to no avail.

“It’s a puzzle,” Yoongi explains. “A secret contraption of sorts, that only you can open.”

“Me?” Jimin says with surprise, fiddling with the cube.

Yoongi backtracks. “Not just you, but more that only you and the person who gives it to you can open it. It’s a safe way to store things or send messages and stuff.”

Jimin stops trying to open the box, assuming that Yoongi will show him eventually – there’s obviously something special to it that Jimin’s just not getting. “So like a secret code or something,” he murmurs quietly. “Cool.”

Yoongi chuckles, and it warms Jimin from the inside. “It’s actually mostly used by kids to pass notes at school in the spirit world,” he says, effectively killing the coolness-factor of the object in Jimin’s hand with a single sentence. Jimin pouts, giving Yoongi a scathing look.

Yoongi doesn’t seem to care. “Just try focusing your...energy, into your hands while you hold it. Imagine it coming apart, opening up,” he explains, leaning back on his hands. “It’s probably going to take you...”

Yoongi’s sentence trails off as Jimin separates the cube with an audible click!, and Jimin looks at Yoongi curiously. “Take me what?”

“What the hell,” Yoongi says under his breath, although Jimin catches it. He chooses instead to examine the pieces in his hands – the two sections connect in such a way that leaves the cube hollow, the perfect space to pass notes in class, as Yoongi had so kindly explained to him.

Jimin doesn’t care if it’s a children’s toy. This is decidedly cool. He presses the pieces back together, admiring the way they seem to join seamlessly with no indication to what’s inside.

“Come here,” Yoongi commands, holding out his hands with his palms facing up. Jimin looks at him inquisitively, but puts the cube aside and gently places his hands in Yoongi’s when Yoongi only beckons him.

“Do it again,” is the only instruction he receives – so he tries. He imagines something running through his veins, travelling from his heart to his hands. He can feel the energy, and understands why Yoongi calls it that. It’s like he’s tapping into pure adrenaline, making him want to run and dance and sing and cry all at once. He directs that feeling to his hands, although he’s not exactly sure what Yoongi wants him to imagine acting upon.

“!” Yoongi cries out, shooting back from Jimin and ripping his hands away to cradle at his chest.

Jimin falls forwards, hurriedly crawling on hands and knees towards Yoongi. “Oh my god, I’m sorry! Are you okay?

Jimin doesn’t even close half the space between them before he’s stopped short by Yoongi’s laughter, loud and clear. Yoongi’s hands drop and he tips his head back. “Holy ,” he breathes, and Jimin’s not convinced that he hasn’t accidentally fried Yoongi’s brain or something.

Yoongi climbs to his feet and reaches up to pull the ladder to the outside world back down. He’s made it two steps up before he pushes the trapdoor open, letting in the sounds and smells of a spring thunderstorm pool in their little abode. Yoongi waves Jimin up right before he hauls himself over the top lip. “Come on.”

Jimin scurries up after Yoongi, head reeling. Yoongi must have gone mad, there’s no reason to be outside in weather like this – Jimin can attest to that much having experienced it for himself.

Yoongi slams the trapdoor closed behind him as Jimin finally pulls himself out through the hole in the shrine floor. The resounding thud as the door seals itself back into the wooden planks is barely audible over the wind whipping through the small building to create what might as well be a miniature wind tunnel. Jimin has to flatten his ears to his head and tuck his tail against his leg just to avoid them being injured in the turmoil.

Yoongi gestures at Jimin. Watch. He presses his hand to the floor – barely a moment passes before the door flies back open. Yoongi uses his foot to close it, and Jimin understands.

Or at least he thought he understood – when he tries to take a step forward to put his hand where Yoongi had his moments ago, Yoongi stops him with a wave and a shake of the head. He points at the floor in front of Jimin’s feet. Not here. There.

A lot of weird things have happened to Jimin in the last couple of days; he’s not really in a position to be questioning this as well. The door clearly isn’t a regular door with regular hinges and a regular handle. Jimin lays his hands on the floor by his feet, urges it to open as he forms the image in his head. It’s not as swift as Yoongi, but sure enough, a trapdoor forms and swings open, barely missing the tips of Jimin’s toes as it crashes backwards against the floor.

Only problem is that is not where the other door was earlier. Jimin peeks down through the hole, and the home inside looks identical. The entry hasn’t moved on the inside, ladder still leading down next to the small kitchen – the only thing that had changed was the trapdoor moving three steps to the right of where Yoongi had demonstrated.

“It opens wherever you need it,” Yoongi says, making Jimin jump a mile in the air with his sudden proximity. Focused as he was on the mystery of the moving trapdoor, he hadn’t even seen – let alone heard – Yoongi move to crouch down beside him, nearly pressed to Jimin’s side just to be audible over the storm. “Let’s go back in.”

Jimin’s ears are ringing by the time Yoongi draws the ladder back up, safe and sound in below the shrine at last. He doesn’t speak to Jimin at first, busying himself around the kitchen with his back to Jimin.

Jimin takes the moment to fetch his already damp towel from the bathroom and rub his head. His ears are freezing, even after such a short time above ground. He silently hopes that the storm passes soon – the thunder is setting him on edge, skin prickling under every creak and groan of the shrine above resisting the wind.

“I’m not sure there’s a limit on what you can do,” Yoongi says, surprising Jimin yet again – and even though Jimin’s technically the cat between them, he considers buying a bell to attach to Yoongi instead. He giggles at the thought, Yoongi with a cute collar and a bell looking absolutely furious.

Yoongi gives him a funny look but ignores the noise, leaning against the doorframe. “I guess there might be something in that book, that was more N-...not really my jurisdiction.”

There it is again, Jimin thinks, pulling the towel from his head to peek at Yoongi. He’s hiding something, I know it.

“However, you are tied to the shrine,” Yoongi continues quickly, shifting uncomfortably and choosing to stare at the floor instead. “If no one believes in the shrine, well...”

“So how do we get people to come?” Jimin asks, letting Yoongi off the hook – for now. He approaches the door, and Yoongi steps back to let him pass through. It’s not really Jimin’s place to pry into whatever it is Yoongi’s dealing with, but if it affects Jimin then Jimin thinks it’s well within his right to know.

Yoongi shrugs. “The usual. Not sure anyone even knows we exist out here, so probably need some attention first before anyone starts visiting regularly.”

Jimin stops, Yoongi nearly crashing into his back. Jimin’s tail tickles where it brushes against Yoongi’s leg before he backs off, sidestepping around Jimin. “Like a festival?”

Yoongi hums. “A festival, sure. It’s a lot of work though.” He pauses, picking up a dish from the countertop in the kitchen – an array of brightly coloured fruits sparkle back at Jimin. He’s pretty sure some of those aren’t even in season right now, but he doesn’t bother questioning it. “You should probably just focus on working out what you can and can’t do for now, though.”

It’s easy enough, once Jimin gets the hang of it. Yoongi has long since retreated to his nest of blankets in the corner, tucked up tightly with an unnamed book as Jimin explores the small space with new eyes. He quickly learns that he doesn’t need to use his hands to make things happen – any contact seems to work, although he finds it more difficult through clothing than with bare skin.

He’s uncovered at least ten different storage compartments hidden in the walls – and one in the floor, even – as he runs his hands over the smooth wood to seek out the invisible doors. Even if the trapdoor leading outside can change locations, these nooks and crannies seem to stay in the same place Jimin finds them. He catches Yoongi watching with smile once or twice, but otherwise doesn’t find any help - or interference, for that matter - from that corner of the room.

Soon enough though, he’s bored with finding and opening doors – he’s a god, shouldn’t he be harnessing power of the universe or something? Yoongi catches on to Jimin’s boredom pretty quickly, although Jimin thinks that might just be from the way he mopes around in a sulky mood as the storm raging outside continues to trap them to the confines of this one small room.

“Let’s make dinner,” Yoongi suggests, catching Jimin in his third loop of the perimeter. “I’m hungry.”

As it turns out, Yoongi really did mean to make food – Jimin had been hoping for some sort of codeword for an exciting venture, but no. He’s not sure he’s even all that hungry, with nowhere to spend his pent-up energy from the last meal.

Still, it’s not like he’s got anything better to be doing. Yoongi pulls a bowl of leftover rice out from the fridge and dumps into a hot pan, Jimin watching dumbly. Yoongi doesn’t even add anything before he’s passing it on to Jimin, breaking up the clumps of rice with a spatula.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Jimin asks, although he stills takes the pan from Yoongi’s hands. He can feel the residual heat as his fingertips stray a little too close to the metal. “You’re not seriously just making plain rice for dinner, right?”

Yoongi gives him a withering look, but Jimin’s bored and that makes him childish and he’s not backing down. “It’s just rice, so make it something else,” Yoongi says, enunciating his words carefully.

Jimin feels stupid when it clicks, carefully turning away to hide his expression so as to not give Yoongi the satisfaction of Jimin’s stunned gape. Make it something else.

All it had taken Yoongi was a few flips of the noodles to make them taste incredible, although Jimin’s starting to suspect that it came more from the godly magic he possesses – that Jimin now possesses – than some actual skill in cooking.

Easy enough, right? Jimin gives the pan a few test shakes, focusing on channelling towards his hands and into the pan. He imagines the taste, feels the warm rice on his tongue and experiences joy of eating something good. It’s just rice, but it will smell amazing. He pictures the best rice he’s ever eaten and makes it better, pictures Yoongi’s smiling face eating this delicious meal Jimin has created with his own two hands.

“Okay,” he mutters finally, opening his eyes without knowing when he’d closed them and setting the pan back down on the stove top.

Yoongi doesn’t waste any time, sticking a spoon into the fluffy mound and scooping out a decent mouthful. Jimin watches with bated breath when Yoongi bites into it, waiting for that moment of pride when Yoongi turns to him to say it’s perfect.

The moment doesn’t come. What does happen will haunt Jimin with embarassment for the rest of his days.

“Holy ,” are the first words out of Yoongi’s mouth – the first anything to come out of Yoongi’s mouth is the spoonful of rice, spit back into the sink. “Jesus Jimin, what the hell?”

“I-” Jimin starts. Apologies are already bouncing on the edge of his tongue, but he doesn’t get the chance to say any of them as Yoongi sends him a panicked look before crashing into the bathroom. Jimin winces at the retching sounds that follow.

“Yoongi?” Jimin calls carefully when the noises finally cease, standing just outside the bathroom with his hands tangled together. “Are you alive?”

A muffled moan is Jimin’s only warning before Yoongi appears in the doorway. Jimin jumps back out of Yoongi’s way, who only leans against the doorframe with a pained expression. Something black drips from the corner of his mouth.

“You,” Yoongi says, sounding like he’s run ten miles in ten minutes. Jimin bites his tongue when he sees a flash of Yoongi’s teeth – also stained black. “You’re not allowed to cook again.”

Oh god, Jimin frets as Yoongi staggers past to collapse on his pile blankets. I’ve poisoned Yoongi.

~*~

As it turns out, Jimin has not, in fact, poisoned Yoongi. He’s fine by the following morning, although he won’t shut up about the foul taste that seems to persist in his mouth. Jimin’s already thrown out the failed attempt at plain rice. He’d briefly considered tossing it out for the birds to eat but decided he doesn’t want to have his hands dirty of wiping out the local fauna population too.

“You must really ing hate me, huh?” Yoongi mumbles around a toothbrush in his mouth, fixing Jimin in place with a dead stare.

“I don’t know what happened,” Jimin repeats for the umpteenth time that day already. He twists his hands anxiously. “I just focused on the pan and tried to make it taste good!”

Yoongi spits into the sink, making a face. The toothpaste comes out grey – a sight better than it had been earlier that morning, at least. “You and I have very different ideas of good,” Yoongi responds, rinsing his mouth with hands cupped under the tap. There’s a hint of humour in Yoongi’s words, but Jimin can’t get past the guilt that he actually poisoned Yoongi.

“Can you go be guilty somewhere else?” Yoongi says flatly as if he’s read Jimin’s mind, pressing a clean towel to his mouth. Jimin makes a face – if Yoongi sees it, he doesn’t make any comment.

Jimin sighs and turns to leave, prepared to spend the day outside again. The storm had passed sometime during the night, leaving another sunny day – albeit with patchy clouds and a chilling touch the breeze, but sunny nonetheless. He’s stopped only at the last second by a cold hand on his arm, tugging him back around.

“Seriously Jimin, I’m fine, yeah?” Yoongi says, suddenly serious as his eyes search Jimin’s face like he’s looking for something in particular. It makes Jimin feel funny. “I know you didn’t mean it, so stop worrying.”

Jimin shrugs, and Yoongi lets go. “Yeah, okay,” he says easily, decidedly avoiding Yoongi’s stare.

~*~

In the back of his mind, Jimin knows he can’t be good at everything, but logical reasoning isn’t one of his strong suits. He plucks at the grass in a daze, lost somewhere inside his head as sits cross-legged amongst the overgrown grass and weeds at the edge of the courtyard.

Something tickles his fingers when he reaches back down, something that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Jimin turns his head down, jerking back in surprise at the flower his fingers had been brushing over. Tiny, weak, and a pale yellow – Jimin almost feels sorry for the pitiful thing that had sprouted out of nowhere. Without thinking, he outstretches his fingers again to gently touch its petals.

Jimin has to suppress a cry when the flower moves, actually moves into his touch as if seeking out the feeling of Jimin’s fingertips. It shrinks away again when Jimin’s hand stutters in surprise.

It’s shy, Jimin thinks, appraising the flower like he might watch a stray animal on the street. He approaches again slowly, letting the flower turn to him rather than imposing himself upon it. He finds it strange, to be treating a plant like he could build trust with it.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmurs, finally brushing lightly against the flower. It seems to react to his voice. Jimin smiles.

“You’re such a pretty little thing, look how strong you are!” he croons, swallowing down the embarrassment that he’s talking to a flower like it’s a cute baby. The flower likes it, though, stretching taller and stronger with each word.

Jimin laughs softly. He could swear the flower grows under his touch, the yellow blooming stronger and brighter, but his attention is already torn away. Two more little flowers blossom by his left side, and then another three on his right. He doesn’t see them appear, but Jimin swears every time he turns there’s a whole new bunch of flowers just begging for his attention. There are more flowers now than Jimin knows what to do with, reacting to his touch and his words and his laughter like they have this deep, caring attachment to his whole being.

Yoongi doesn’t notice Jimin at first, trudging out onto the veranda having finally managed to wash that filthy, dark taste from his tongue. He’s not entirely sure how Jimin managed to harness some kind of dark, foul power to imbue their food – but then again, he’s too lazy to ask those kinds of questions. That had never really been his forte, working with the energy of the Earth to bring him answers – some people liked exploring that kind of thing, but Yoongi’s just happy as long as he can manage the basics to keep him comfortable.

His train of thought comes to a stop – or, more accurately, runs off the rails and crashes into a concrete building, imploding on contact into a thousand little shards that he’ll never bother to piece back together again. He’d known Jimin was outside, had been for a while, but Yoongi still hadn’t seen him since that morning anyway.

The sight makes Yoongi’s chest constrict. Jimin has his back to Yoongi, completely unaware that he’s been watched as he chatters cheerily to a bright ring of flowers encircling him that Yoongi’s certain hadn’t been there earlier. Jimin laughs, high-pitched and joyful – Yoongi wonders if it’s something the flowers said, or if Jimin’s just always that happy.

He doesn’t know Jimin, a stranger living in his house and eating his food and wearing his clothes, but Yoongi’s already well-aware that he’s grown attached to having Jimin around. He invariably brightens Yoongi’s little world without hesitation, even when he’s pouty and sulking or busy poisoning Yoongi with dark matter – even in this short time, Yoongi’s pretty sure he wouldn’t know how to go back to living alone if Jimin ever decided to leave.

Yoongi can't help but smile when Jimin laughs again, and for the first time in a long time, Yoongi wonders if everything just might end up okay at after all.