#i forgot about the card so i thought was just wandering around in mourning | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wordsturnintostories · 4 years ago

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show me your rosettes, baby (g)

summary: The world tour is over and the Bangtan Boys finally get their well-deserved break. When Namjoon suddenly can’t find Jimin anywhere, things take an unexpected and pretty unbelievable turn. “Kim Namjoon!” “Hyung. How common is it for people to turn into cats?”

word count: 27.8k (strap in, guys) note: wow sorry for not uploading here. i uploaded on ao3 but forgot to put it on my tumblr blog. which probably doesn’t matter... unless there are still people reading this fic on here. If that’s you, have fun. ✨ warnings: graphic depictions of blood and wounds

masterlist | moodboard masterlist

When Namjoon exits Bang Sihyuk’s office, head heavy and heart low, the coolness of the hallway air is the first thing he notices. It’s a refreshing change to the tension that had lingered in the office and kind of added an uncomfortable pressure to every breath, to every thought. The second thing he notices is that Yoongi is sitting on the leather couch, on his phone while holding up Jimin against his neck. The little cat sleeps comfortably. Even from over here, Namjoon can see the little belly rising and falling with every breath.

“Hyung,” he whispers, not wanting to disrupt the sacred peace.

Yoongi looks up from his phone and scoots to the side so Namjoon can sit comfortably beside him. Jimin’s tail flicks once but the kitty just sniffles and sighs against Yoongi’s throat.

“He sleeps so well,” Namjoon comments.

“Fell asleep right away. Such a cute little baby. Even with paint all over his fur.”

It’s a hidden question and Yoongi’s natural way of asking for what had happened when he doesn’t want to accuse or cast blame or make anyone feel bad. When Namjoon just hangs his head low, he’s got his answer.

“Do you think we’ll get it out?”

“Am I Min Yoongi or not?”

Okay. It’ll all be okay, hyung will take care of it. Yoongi is good at repairing things, has fixed almost as many things as Namjoon has broken - which is a lot, needless to say, and not even half of it has been captured on camera.

“So, what did Pdnim say?” “He said that we can’t tell the members about this.”

When Yoongi doesn’t say anything in return, fingers quietly curling up into a fist on his lap, Namjoon doesn’t need words to understand the storm inside his hyung.

“Not ever?” “Just for a while.”

“Well,” Yoongi snorts, “good luck with that. You’re shit at keeping secrets.”

“Hyung. I always do my best-“

“You always blurt out secret stuff. You’re the worst out of all of us.”

“That’s not true.”

Yoongi turns to look into his eyes, looking highly unimpressed. It’s a little unsettling how much it resembles Jimin’s look from this morning, when Namjoon’s elbow had accidentally pushed over Jimin’s little bowl of tuna right after he had filled it up. It’s pure disbelief and annoyance in one glance.

“Okay,” he admits, “maybe it is true.”

Satisfied, Yoongi sits back, checking in on Jimin gently and brushing his fingers through the fluffy fur, which earns him the sleepy beginnings of a purr.

“In any case,” he begins, “we don’t have to worry about keeping secrets if Jimin doesn’t turn back soon anyway.”

And yes, that’s a good point. And strangely, it’s got Namjoon thinking. In the beginning of this, he’d hoped for Jimin to turn back as fast as possible but now? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he’d stay a cat for a bit longer, just long enough for the members to find out (because Pdnim had only made him promise to not tell the members, and not to hide Jimin from them) and then turn back so they are able to prepare for the comeback. Yes, that would be perfect, even if he can’t imagine how it must feel to be a cat for Jimin.

“Anyway, I’ll be in the studio,” Yoongi says and just gets up without even waiting. “Slow Rabbit-hyung sent me my beats back, so I’ll work on that. Don’t worry about getting take out, I’ll cook tonight. Just text me when you and Sejin-hyung are done shopping.”

“Kay, hyung. Thank you.”

“Don’t forget the rubbing alcohol.”

Namjoon signs that he understands and sits back, rubbing his face. He really wishes he could be as stoic as Yoongi. Sure, the guy has a hot whirlwind of emotions on the inside, emotions that tear deeper into his heart tissue than he lets on, but just the fact that Jimin has been able to fall asleep on his chest is a huge testament to the calmness he radiates. Namjoon knows that he will probably never acquire that level of calm that Yoongi has. Most of the time, his fingers and brain and motor skills just don’t… line up and that resulting clumsiness flows into his aura and disrupts every inch of serenity he could even build up. Maybe that’s why Jimin loves to be scooped up by Yoongi. Why he rests so peacefully in Yoongi’s arms instead of wiggling around like he does in Namjoon’s.

Finally, Sejin comes out of the office as well.

“Ready to go?”

After their first couple of hours of treading through a couple of stores and ticking off a couple of items from Sejin’s list (even the rubbing alcohol), Namjoon feels like he’s swallowed a stone. Worry presses into his belly like an unremovable weight, inducing a stomach ache and a wandering mind. There’s so many things going through Namjoon’s mind that he doesn’t even pay attention, just strolling after Sejin, careful enough to not get lost but otherwise unresponsive to the world. He’s got sunglasses on, a good enough disguise to avoid showing people the storm in his eyes. They walk and walk and by the time they finally sit back in Sejin’s car, two shopping bags in the trunk, and drive on, Namjoon has created and dismissed a good six plans of action that seemed perfect at first and then turned out to be either impossible or unrealistic. He really doesn’t know what to do and coming back to his first issue - not being allowed to tell the members - almost drives his mind into overdrive.

How on earth does Pdnim expect me to take care of Jimin when I have to hide his secret identity? Because in the end, Namjoon is convinced that that’s exactly what it is - Jimin turning into a baby leopard for days counts as having a secret identity. And Yoongi was right - Namjoon is terrible at keeping secrets from the public. From the members? Even worse. Multiple scenarios run through his mind. He spills the tea in all of them. It’s just not- Namjoon just can’t imagine living with Jimin and practically raising him, experiencing the highs and lows of a developing character, of a developing person, celebrating first successes and mourning losses together and then not telling the members. It’s almost like the universe had heard Namjoon’s wish for a child of his own - and then given him a child he can’t show to his members. In some way, it’s ridiculous because he knows with all his being that he would have never managed to raise any of the maknaes without Jin or Hobi. The only relief is that Yoongi knows. Pragmatic Yoongi who can do anything he tries. That’s the only relief, Namjoon thinks.

All this rumbling discomfort inside his head makes Namjoon want to focus on something else, something outside of himself. He doesn’t want to acknowledge the ugly feeling of being alone - I am not alone. I will never be alone. It might take some time to dismantle all the lies that pop up in his head every now and then but not giving them the attention they cry out for is a first step. Namjoon’s fingertips tingle on the car window’s cold, wet glass.

Outside, Seoul has been dipped into an agitated grey glow that’s certainly thanks to the white clouds above, not a precious white, not a clean white either. It’s an old, used up white that reminds Namjoon of old carpets in need of thorough cleaning. Only a few seconds later, the thick clouds can’t hold their ugliness anymore and spill over with thick drops. It’s comforting, to see another thing burst out of their normal state - Namjoon feels the heavy rhythm of the water on the car and the relating echo in his soul. I wish I could spill over so carelessly too. But he can’t, he promised, so he just turns his consciousness back to the hazy grey of the world behind the window and sighs.

The more he focuses on the rain, the way that less and less people walk the streets, the thrum that tunes out everything else, the more he’s drawn to his memories with his members, almost as if the melancholy outside had snuck inside his head and drawn out memories of comfort.

Namjoon sees Taehyung sitting on his bed in their shared room. Yeontan lies halfway draped over his lap, napping with big hands carding through his fur softly. Outside, it is raining, inside, it is quiet that day.

“I want to write a song about the rain,” Taehyung says in a hushed tone, never taking his eyes off the window.

“What do you want to write?”

Namjoon loves this about the younger boy - he can never really pinpoint what’s going on in Taehyung’s mind - Taehyung’s mind is a beautiful maze of creativity and emotions. Just inspiring - like listening to a new song for the first time and falling in love with it because it connects to something inside of you so deeply that not listening to it makes you feel like something is missing in your soul.

“The way rain falls - we think it’s sad because it’s water and water has so many purposes,” Taehyung pauses, “in summer, we play with it. We see it in the ocean, we drink it. But when it rains, the drops are reduced to falling, only falling helplessly. The fall must feel endless, the way we have nightmares of falling sometimes. Maybe that’s why people think rain is sad.”

Namjoon hums, trying not to let the intense amazement at those philosophical thoughts ruin their serene atmosphere.

“Do you want it to be a sad song?”

“No,” Taehyung says, “it should be comforting. Because water lives in a circle and falling means nothing if you know that your home is in the clouds, above the world and that you’ll always find your way back home. If you know this, even hitting the ground is not scary anymore. Rain is not sad - it’s a reminder that everything will be alright. Rain means don’t worry, you’ll be okay soon.”

Namjoon feels his heart swelling even now, even here in the car, as they drive through the streets of Seoul, passing taxis, business people, students and everyone else. No one knows this, no one else has shared this moment with Taehyung, no one else thinks about rain just the same way. Not yet, anyway, not until the song has been finished. Namjoon loves these secrets that they have, these secrets and songs that are theirs to guard until it’s time to entrust them to the world. Not just once, he’s drawn strength from them. And now too, it makes him smile fondly. I love my members. I’d do anything for them. I can do this, too. Hitting the ground is okay, no matter how much it hurts. I will always find back home. Fighting, Namjoon.

Beside him, Sejin smiles. They pull up to the pet store.

Now, Namjoon is ready to stroll through pet store aisles with a pout on his lips and his shoulders hanging low, mind absently digging through his list of issues and his spiderweb of possible solutions. He is prepared to pick between red and blue and pink and green cat toys (which is stupid because cats are probably color-blind like dogs, right?) and to look for the fluffy stick-thingy Yoongi had mentioned. He’s ready to ask store employees for help when he can’t find litter boxes after half an hour of searching and yet suspecting that he’s run past them at least five times.

There’s one employee who’s keeping an eye on him (Namjoon can feel the gaze on his skin and wonders whether he’s starting to develop some sort of clairvoyant powers now that Jimin turned into a leopard) and whether it’s because she recognized him or whether he’s a suspicious customer, running through the same aisle five times, looking around helplessly and not even having one product in his hands despite having been in the store for half an hour now (yeah, that’s probably it). In the back of his mind, he still tries to figure out why in the world he would ever say yes when Sihyuk asked him if he would be okay on his own because he wanted to get something for his own dog as well. Sweat rolls down his back when his eyes go up and the employee has moved to stand directly in front of him.

“Hello, customer-ssi,” she greets, sweetly but with a flat tone, “how may I help you?”

“I, uh, I’m looking for uh, cat toys. For my cat.”

A shudder of as if that needed elaborating, Namjoon runs through Namjoon’s head and he knows that if Yoongi was standing next to him right now, he would facepalm and move away, stew in second-hand embarrassment from a safe distance. He smiles when the employee giggles softly and likes to think that just maybe, his stupid reply may have been a tiny spark of light in her boring work day, something to laugh about. It’s nice.

“Okay, the cat section is here,” she leads him over to another aisle that - no kidding - Namjoon didn’t even see before. Despite the big sign overhead. Am I blind- “you were standing in the mixed aisle before, so you’ll probably have better chances finding what you want here.”

He blushes, because this is really embarrassing, and thanks her with a nod. She probably thinks that he’s cute, or handsome, or whatever the nation thinks about him nowadays, but then he dares to look at her eyes and realizes that no, that’s not it, she probably thinks he’s a poor customer who doesn’t have a clue about anything because then she has mercy on him, yes, that’s a recognizable spark in her eyes that Seokjin also has when dealing with the mess Namjoon is and makes, and she asks, “Have you filled out the questionnaire yet?”

And see, that’s another thing that makes Namjoon feel so damn clueless. How was he supposed to know there was a questionnaire? Does every customer here fill it out? Or just the helpless idols?

“Questionnaire?”

“Yes, well. You look a little-“ she pauses, has to pick her words carefully because he is a customer and she doesn’t want to upset him (but the way she smiles like she’s giggling inside really lessens the punch) “-like this is your first time buying stuff for your cat. The questionnaire might help you figure out what type of cat yours is.”

Oh. There’s different types of cats?

“No, I haven’t.”

“Haven’t filled out the questionnaire or haven’t bought cat necessities?” (For your cat, Namjoon’s brain adds, just to taunt him. He winces.)

“Neither.”

“Oh, no worries,” that sounds cheerful, “I can help you, if you’d like.”

He nods graciously, genuinely thankful for her help although he’d usually insist on solitary shopping. Normally, people recognize him too quickly and the rest of his shopping trip turns into a race (it really feels like that sometimes) to get through the store without causing too much of a mass revolt in the streets (although in Korea it’s better than in other places). The woman - her name tag says Lee Kyungmi in an elegant font - pulls out a sheet of paper from somewhere and leads him to a quiet corner with two armchairs that are so fancy that for the first time in the whole half an hour he’s been here, Namjoon realizes how high-end the store actually is. Of course Sejin wouldn’t just take him to any store - they had to go to the frickin’ best because well, customer service, right? Confidentiality. Anonymity. Quality. Like so many other instances in his life, Namjoon is grateful for Sejin’s clear head.

“Let’s start here,” Kyungmi and points to the first question. “Have you shopped with us before?”

He ticks the box for “No”. Back when his family adopted Rapmon, they had bought all the stuff for her in some store in Ilsan and when he says they, he means mostly his mother and his sister.

“Tick the type of animal you’re shopping for.” He ticks cat and moves on. “How old is your pet?” And that’s where it gets complicated for the first time but Namjoon pulls through diligently and writes, “a few months.” Because while it’s difficult to guess and it’s not like he can just ask anyone to find out Jimin’s age let alone ask Jimin himself, Namjoon has seen documentaries about leopards and Jimin is definitely not a one year old leopard yet. Thank God. “What’s your pet’s breed?”

Well. That answer takes a while but Namjoon doesn’t want to look any more incompetent in front of the staff who is so kind to order them both a coffee from the store’s café further in the back. Namjoon is aware that he clearly can’t write leopard, so he settles for mixed breed. Mixed. Leopard and human.

“Does your pet spend most of its time inside or outside?”

And like that, Namjoon spends a good twenty minutes on answering all the questions on his pet’s fur, the living environment, the food (he improvises a little because yeah, of course he’s feeding Jimin only cat food from the can, of course, he’d never let him have stuff from the table) etc etc until he stops at the end of the page, smiling like he’s just won an award because finishing the questionnaire really feels that way. Until he lifts the paper. And sees the back. More questions.

“There’s a back!? How much do you want to know about my, uh, pet? Isn’t this like a pet tinder?”

Kyungmi laughs more, visibly unable to contain her bright laughter that seems a little out of place in this reverently quiet store (which is not that different from most high-end stores Namjoon’s visited) and Namjoon’s heart blooms when he thinks about the fact that he can make people laugh like that even without his music and rap and stage presence. Even on his own, without the members next to him.

“This is definitely not pet tinder, we’ve got a register for that in the back for registered pets. The next questions will be about your pet’s character. Whether it’s energetic or calm or a little diva. This information helps us to find the perfect toys and equipment for your pet and also, mix some customized food for the little one.”

Namjoon is stunned. If Jimin even knew the lengths I go for him today… Namjoon is glad that they moved to the chairs. They are comfortable, like lounge chairs in waiting rooms in the backstage areas of broadcasting stations. Chairs to fall asleep in. He can see Sejin strolling somewhere through the aisles, probably making use of the situation to buy stuff for his children’s pets as well.

“What is your pet’s favorite activity?” Jimin had enjoyed chasing that frog - hunting?

“What sets your pet apart from others?” He’s not actually a pet- its cuteness?

“Does it enjoy cuddling? Does it have a favorite person?” Yes, yes, yes. Definitely. He loves all his hyungs. - Do pets even have hyungs?

“Does it tolerate other people or pets in its territory?” Loves people, loves pets.

“How does it react in critical situations, e.g. when it’s taken to the vet?” …

Namjoon huffs. All the questions make sense but he can’t help but feel like the helplessly falling rain drops on their way into the sewers. There’s only so much to know about kitty Jimin after three days and his mind doesn’t seem to understand that the questionnaire definitely only wants answers about cat Jimin. Ah, this is difficult. He’s not sure whether Jimin has ever been to the vet even as a human (and suddenly, his mind can’t stop thinking about the possibility of having to take leopard Jimin to the vet for an examination - and all the shit human Jimin will give him for it afterwards). He groans and maybe that’s a sign for Kyungmi to start speaking.

“If you can’t or don’t want to fill out everything, that’s fine too. I’ll do my best to help you nonetheless.”

When he hands the questionnaire over and she’s read the answers, Kyungmi gets up and starts walking towards the cat section. Namjoon does his best to keep up and follow. Like the competent store staff she seems to be, Kyungmi grabs products with sure eyes and quick hands and puts them all into a basket while she explains.

“First of all, keeping a pet is both a great decision and a huge responsibility and we are proud of you for adopting your cat”, welp, Namjoon thinks, I’m living a lie, but then again, it does sort of feel like he adopted Jimin - just maybe in a different way, 7 years ago… “besides food, you need a variety of items to make your pet feel at home and cared for. Since your cat spends a lot of time inside and outside, you’ll need to brush its fur not only to clean it but also to check for ticks and other little insects that could be hidden underneath. Now, you wrote that your cat is a short-hair breed, so this is our shampoo segment for short fur. We recommend this one, this is a scent-free shampoo from a brand that only produces vegan and pet-friendly stuff. If you would like to check out this product line over here, we can surely find-“

The first package in Namjoon’s hands says “all fur types” on the front in red, big letters. Namjoon can’t help but wonder - is it really for all fur types? Would those shampoo companies develop their shampoo for wild cats too? Do wild cats have the same fur as small domestic cats? Namjoon isn’t bold enough to ask. But am I really the only person with this issue? In his head, Namjoon browses through all his contacts. Sadly, all the people he knows either have no pets or have never mentioned any pets and there are no shifters Namjoon knows other than Jimin. Suddenly, a thought pops up. I have seen wild cats before - at the zoo! Surely zoo employees would know which fur products are adequate for leopards, right? But... do we know anyone at the zoo? If not, can we just call them and ask? Is that a normal question? Do they have a hotline for desperate pet owners? It sounds… unlikely but Namjoon reminds himself that he’s an independent rain drop falling helplessly that only needs to find its way back home. He calls Yoongi.

“Namjoon? You alright?”

Yoongi sounds sleepy. Yoongi would never be bothered to worry about falling from the clouds. Namjoon excuses himself from Kyungmi and walks a few steps away. He whispers.

“Hyung, do we anyone who works at the zoo?”

“Why are you whispering? Also, I don’t know? Why are you asking?”

“It’s…”, the words I’m overwhelmed by the amount of cat shampoo in this shop and you were the first person I thought to call because I don’t think there’s an actual zoo hotline I could call for help sound a bit ridiculous, so Namjoon figures he’ll solve this problem on his own. “Ah, no, it’s nothing. Sorry for calling, hyung.”

“No, I just don’t understand… but maybe ask Tae? He’s the people expert.”

“Thanks, Hyung! Sleep well.”

“I’m not sleeping.”

His voice is raspy, deep. A little purr comes through the phone and Namjoon can just picture it - Yoongi on his sofa, head on a pillow, Jimin on his chest. Napping. He ends the call. A new image pops up in his mind - isn’t there some YouTube channel Jimin and Jungkook watch sometimes? Some guy who takes care of lions and leopards? Something like that? A… Dan Richard? Just Richard? Suddenly, Namjoon wishes he’d paid a little more attention to his dongsaeng’s YouTube interests. Maybe I’ll look this Richard guy up and ask for help. He thinks he remembers that Jungkook had once exclaimed that the guy was famous and that he would love to visit that place one day - that he would love to just meet the lions too, play with them. Jungkook is a thrill-seeker. He’s crazy. But now, Namjoon smiles. I’ll definitely text him. Later.

Kyungmi still smiles politely when he turns back to her and carries on with her informative rant about shampoo.

Namjoon feels like his arm is ready to fall off after having carried his little basket of cat stuff for only ten minutes. Kyungmi is still giving him a lecture on how to measure his darling pet’s temperature (revelation of the day - one does not simply take the temperature in the cat’s mouth, no) when his eyes flick to the toys just a few shelves further. To be honest, Namjoon has never ever in his life imagined to stick a thermometer any place other than Jimin’s ears or mouth and he figures he shouldn’t start now, so he starts slinking away slowly, step by step. It’s unsettling how guilty he feels for ignoring Kyungmi’s speech - why do I feel so guilty?

But the toys are beckoning him over like nothing else in this store and then, he’s standing in front of them. He’s happy, somehow, and thinks that if he were an Animal Crossing character, he would start having sparkles or flowers around his head right now, blushing and swaying on his feet. Sejin sends him a thumbs up from where he’s sitting in the lounge chairs from before, two fancy paper bags at his feet.

Wow, there’s so much variation, Namjoon thinks, surprised that people have come up with so many things just to entertain their pets. Kyungmi comes up next to him, still cheerful, still in her element and not seeming like she’s mad at him for escaping her waterfall-like explanation speeches.

“I would recommend a chewing toy of some sort,” she says, pointing at some boxes. “You wrote that he’s only a few months old, so he might still be teething.”

“Yeah, he chews on our fingers a lot,” Namjoon agrees and grabs a little heart shaped pillow that looks good to bite into. For cats. It resembles Tata a little bit but probably not enough to make Jimin feel guilty for chewing it up.

“Is this good?”

“Depends,” Kyungmi says and brings out something from the aisle on the opposite site, “does your cat get distracted easily?”

“Sometimes?”

Jimin generally has a good concentration span. But when other people are around, it sure is easier for him to get distracted. The burdens of a people-oriented mind.

“Well, we always recommend toys with safe seams, adequate texturing, organic materials and a high fun factor for your cat. Of course it should also be washable, with all the slobber and dirt it will encounter. Are you looking for a toy with catnip or without?”

Catnip? Namjoon has heard of it. Of course. Who hasn’t seen those cat videos on YouTube with cats going crazy after taking a whiff of catnip? Usually, they roll around in it and then nap the high off, which seems harmless. But he’s not sure whether that’s a good idea. Isn’t catnip like a drug for cats? If so, the agency probably won’t allow it. Also, Namjoon really doesn’t want to drug Jimin.

“Without, please.”

“Are you sure? It does help to create a bigger and longer interest for a toy. Not all cats like it, but most do. But if you want, we can find other toys that are interesting for your cat.”

Namjoon nods and together, they decide on a couple of hand-sewn mice with dangling twisted rope tails for Jimin to chase. The eyes are sewn on to prevent swallowing. The mice almost look too cute to buy and the thought of finding them wet and chewn out on the sofa makes Namjoon wrinkle his nose in disgust but then his mind wanders to the little picked apart frog Jimin had killed in their backyard and that’s enough motivation to buy them all. Kyungmi hands him another chew toy that has some floss material on it and she explains that it not only helps with dental hygiene but that it is also supposed to lessen bad breath. We definitely need that, Namjoon thinks, quietly to himself, because every pet’s breath stinks. That’s just a universal fact. Sorry, Jimin.

“Do you want it in blue or pink?”

Honestly, after all the running around, the two quickly filling shopping bags that weigh down his arms and the relentless chatter from Kyungmi, this simple question sinks the ship. As much as Namjoon enjoys picking stuff for his dongsaengs, he’s tired. Does it matter? Does the color really matter? He doesn’t know whether future human Jimin would be offended by his choices when it comes down to colors but he does know that Jimin is particular about style. Kitten Jimin however is a completely different story that Namjoon actually doesn’t know anything about. He might have a completely different taste from his human counterpart. The only thing Namjoon knows is that Seokjin once bought a hat for Jimin that the dancer thought was completely hideous. The next time he saw it was in Hoseok’s section of their shared wardrobe. Up to this day, Jimin hasn’t worn it even once.

“We also have them in yellow, green and black, if you think he’d like those better,” Kyungmi adds, not even aware of the trouble she’s causing. No, Namjoon does not know if Jimin would like those better because Jimin is not Jungkook and not Yoongi and will therefore not sympathize with the black toy by default.

For a second, Namjoon tries to put himself in Jimin’s shoes. These toys are gonna stay with him for a while. What if he doesn’t like them and we have to keep them until we are in Seoul the next time? Even if we order stuff, if we are on the road, we won’t get them delivered and Jimin will have to make do with these. Namjoon thinks back to his old phone case that was an accidental and careless order, and remembers how annoying it is to look at something every day if you don’t like it. No, he’ll do the best he can to make sure Jimin likes his cat toys.

He freezes. His eyes wander down to the shopping bags he’s already holding. Will Jimin like the other things I have picked? A wave of uncertainty rushes through him and he’s tempted to just push it all back into Kyungmi’s arms, leave the store and come back with Jimin once he’s shifted back so he can choose everything himself. But he is aware of how that would look. Kyungmi is still waiting for his answer and the headache that’s building is not helping at all. So, Namjoon is ready to take extreme measures. He pulls his phone out and dials Yoongi’s number. It takes three tries to get him on the line but for his dongsaengs, Namjoon has learned persistence.

“What is it now?”

“Hyung, which color do you think the, uh, the cat would like best when it comes to toys?”

Namjoon only realizes now that they should have maybe come up with a codename for Jimin. Just in case he’d ever need to talk about his kitty alter ego in front of other people who are not supposed to know. Perhaps Yoongi realizes the same thing. Perhaps Yoongi doesn’t care. His incredulous answer on the other side is a little… unhelpful.

“What are you asking me? Am I a cat? Just bring anything, Namjoon-ah. I don’t care about the color as long as Jiminie doesn’t tear my flesh and bones apart. He might look harmless but I swear he’ll be a beast later.”

“You’re so dramatic, hyung.”

“I’m truthful. He keeps chewing up my fingers.”

“Okay, but… do you think,” Namjoon turns away from Kyungmi and whispers, just to make sure, “do you think he’d like something more, uh, Chanel, or, like a cat bed from Versace? Because this store is high-end but if he doesn’t like it-“

Yoongi just huffs on the line and Namjoon feels a heavy weight in his chest. How am I supposed to take care of Jimin if I don’t know what Jimin wants? How could I know? How can any of us know? Maybe there are specific brands that are popular with shifters? Should I call Jackson? But no, Jackson is probably sleeping right now, if he’s in Europe. Namjoon whines.

“Hyung…”

“Namjoon-ah. Don’t lose your mind over this. Just bring anything and we’ll all be happy.”

“But what if- what if he doesn’t like it?”

Namjoon can’t help it. He doesn’t want Jimin to be disappointed in his hyungs when he shifts back. He wants Jimin to feel safe and loved and honored to be taken care of by his hyungs.

“Then we’ll return it. Keep the receipt, Namjoon, and don’t worry. Just buy the basics and if he wants additional things, we’ll order them, okay?”

“Okay, hyung.”

Something crashes. Yoongi groans.

“Okay. I have to wipe up a mess. See you later, Joon.”

“See you,” Namjoon mumbles, a tiny bit reassured. Rain means don’t worry, you’ll be okay. He turns back to Kyungmi, who has once again waited politely. He lifts the bags on his arms.

“My hyung said to just buy the basics.”

“I think we’ve got everything then. Would you like to pay?”

“Oh, just one more thing. I need something, uh, like a stick for cats? Hyung said it’s important.”

“A stick? For chewing on?”

“No, for playing.”

To be honest, Namjoon has no idea what this specifc toy looks like. He’s just grateful when Kyungmi leads him to a special section. The toys look like… fishing rods. For cats.

“I think this is what you meant.”

“Are these… fishing rods?”

Kyungmi laughs. “I guess you could call them fishing rods.”

“I thought cats fish with their paws.”

“Oh no, they are for the cats.”

Namjoon doesn’t... understand? It’s like his brain is frozen. The concept is just so weird. Why would cats need fishing rods?

“Oh, you mean for the owners to fish the cat?”

“Yes, kind of. You hold the stick and the cat chases after it. You see this fluffy part at the end, right? It will awaken your kitty’s natural hunting instincts.”

Namjoon gasps. Awaken their natural hunting instincts? Do I want that?

“Isn’t that… dangerous?”

“On the opposite, it’s essential.”

The image of a leopard on a prowl inside their apartment makes Namjoon feel a little different. It’s essential, he tells himself. Kyungmi is the expert. Don’t worry. It’s essential.

“Okay, I’ll take a few.”

“Very good. I would have recommended taking more than one anyway, in case the cat breaks it.”

Namjoon nods, smiling. Right. In case the cat breaks it.

“Would you like to pay now?”

“Sure.”

Sinking into Sejin’s car seat feels like a welcome break from running a marathon. Namjoon thinks he should have maybe not put on dress shoes but sneakers this morning. But he couldn’t have known the day would take such a turn, so this is how it is. They drive for a while before Namjoon realizes that this is not the way home. It seems like they are driving away from Gangnam, not towards it.

“Hyung, where are we going now?”

“Well, you expressed that you wanted to go somewhere serene and calming, so I’m taking you somewhere you can relax.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Yes you did. You sighed, checked your phone, scrolled to Jin’s contact, looked at it while we stopped and waited at three different street lights, then you sighed again, shut your phone off and stared into the distance. You’re an easy read.”

Namjoon is speechless, blushes at how Sejin chuckles and wriggles his fingers in his lap.

“Thank you, hyung,” is what he presses out, almost quieter then he wants, thanks to the heavy blanket of emotions falling over his mind.

“Also,” Sejin adds, “you always look for quiet places to figure out your troubles. That’s you. And I said I’d support you, so this is the first responder emergency aid you get.” A chuckle rips free from Namjoon’s chest and he leans back comfortably.

Like before, a sweet rumble runs through the car once Namjoon’s mind finds the peace to concentrate on it. It’s soothing, like a little lullaby as the city’s shapes fly past the window. The only difference to this morning are the empty backseat where Jimin’s, no, Yeontan’s travel box had stood, and the slight worry that pulls both Namjoon’s brows and shoulders down. Worry for Jimin that is completely unnecessary since Jimin is safety entrusted to Yoongi. Yoongi who has a way with words, a way with trivia knowledge and a way with cats, as it seems.

Namjoon is aware - as aware as everyone else in the band - of the fan’s obsession with Lil’ Meow Meow, and he sometimes he wonders whether it affects Yoongi. Whether his feelings towards the nickname are positive or indifferent, or whether is ever pops up in Yoongi’s head at random times. Whether his friends ever tease him about it like Jackson teases Namjoon about being the Dad of the group. There is only this way of wondering because Namjoon doesn’t feel confident to ask Yoongi about it - its a peculiar thing, this theme of Yoongi as a cat - and somehow, Namjoon feels like asking about it would make him sound… suspicious. Like maybe asking about it could make it sound like he’s accepted it and he isn’t sure what Yoongi will think. Because Namjoon never thinks that his best friend acts or looks like a cat. Never. He’s never scrolled through a so-called Yoongi and Cats thread on twitter. (What’s a twitter? Never heard of it. Can you eat that?)

Namjoon wonders if people would still call Yoongi a cat if they found out about Jimin. Or if they would draw sketches and write (actually tear-inducingly) good stories about kitty hyung Yoongi and baby kitty Jimin. Well, he wouldn’t ever get to know.

Because ARMY wouldn’t find out.

Because not even the members would.

Namjoon sighs and turns his eyes back to the rain outside.

When Namjoon first moves to actually register the outside world passing by instead of gazing outside with dead eyes, he realizes with a start that Sejin has either lied or misunderstood the words “serene, calming place”. The manager drives their car onto the parking lot of a restaurant that looks oddly familiar, like a faraway memory of an uncle you’ve seen once and just shortly but who has left a lasting impression by sneaking you a piece of cake or something.

We’ve been here before, Namjoon realizes, for lunch. He remembers how the news of BTS’s presence here had sort of blown up the restaurant’s little circle of regular guests and made it into countless online reviews that in the end boosted the restaurant’s ratings and even led to a well-deserved renovation. That had been during their era of first wins, first apartment moves and first everythings in the spotlight and if he didn’t know better, Namjoon would say that their present had been hammering against the egg shell of their past even then, that their success had already been a firm knot in their lines of fate back then. But that is bullshit, just the way success by hard work to the bones could never be replaced by success gained by just looking pretty, and Namjoon smiles fondly, almost feeling a sense of touching connectedness to the place. Almost as if this little restaurant has grown up with them. As if it understood their troubles. Maybe “serene” and “calming” fit just right.

Vague memories start to creep back right then, vague memories of a tired maknae surrounded by even more tired hyungs, everyone eating with aching thighs, aching calves, aching everythings, and greasy food that did everything it promised on the photos on the menu. Namjoon remembers the rides there and back, remembers the sleepy faces, the happy snapshots in between, reasons to celebrate their togetherness, and even a distant voice mentioning that a relative of Sejin worked here. It must be meaningful for hyung to come here too. Over the entrance, a big white sign says Geum-wol in brushed golden hangul. Golden month. In the sun, the letters look piercingly bright.

“We’re going to eat?”

“If you want to.”

“I’m not very hungry yet. But I think I could use some food. Some soul food.”

“I promise you won’t regret it. They changed their menu along with their remodeling a couple of years ago.”

A shiny glimmer sparks from Sejin’s eyes and Namjoon has to work on holding back a giggle. It’s the same, really, it’s exactly the same as Jin-hyung’s I-see-food glimmer. “I’m sure I’ll love it if you do, hyung.”

From years of shared meals, boring breaks in between recording sessions at broadcasting stations and backstage eating sessions, the whole band knows their staff members. There’s not much that actually goes past them when it happens in the same room. Fourteen eyes see a lot of things, even things people wouldn’t think they would notice. They know which types of snack to bring to bribe a specific staff member and they know that Sejin generally has good taste (all of their tastebuds have evolved, Seokjin always insists, along with the success of their company).

Upon entering the restaurant, Namjoon feels like he’s stepping into someone’s living room. A fancy, warm and welcoming living room. It has a lush arrangement of plants, clearly well-loved and well-cared for and fantastically arranged (Namjoon spots that little cactus on the windowsill covered in tiny drops of water that sparkle in the sunlight like royal jewelry and just knows that he is in love). The painted linens and calligraphed drawings lead his surprised mind to the Joseon era, eagerly lapping up his memories from tv shows and stories and books and bundling them all together in this spot where an attentive waitress in a fancy outfit leads them to a table.

“They did a great job with the remodeling,” Namjoon says, unable to tear his eyes off the golden decor that doesn’t look cheap and the beautifully arranged sets on the low table. Even the pillow underneath his bottom is an invitation to relax.

“I love it here,” Sejin nods, smile wide. “It feels like coming home and going on an adventure at the same time.”

Yes, Namjoon thinks, feeling the blood in his veins stir a little. An adventure but also home.

“Hyung, what’s home to you? Seoul or Ilsan?”

It’s a difficult question. If Namjoon wasn’t so close to their manager, it might even be a rude question and he would possibly not be bold enough to ask anything else for the rest of their meal here. Sejin just thinks.

“It’s possible for a person to have more than one home, you know? At least that’s what I think.”

Of course, Namjoon can empathize with that. He’s got a big heart home in the members and then another, with his blood-related family.

“So, home is where my wife and children are, but home is also with you guys. I miss you when I go home, can you believe it?”

Namjoon chuckles.

“Of course. We’re the best, so sweet and so nice and so cute - I’d miss me too if I wasn’t here.”

“Oh, shut up. Jin’s ego is rubbing off on you.”

They both laugh until the waitress returns to take their orders and even then, the glimmer in their eyes doesn’t disappear.

Namjoon’s chest feels warm. Maybe we don’t need to eat here anymore. Maybe this conversation was enough comfort already.

It takes a while for the food to come through the restaurant’s kitchen doors that are hidden behind a noble dark-wood door decoration. Everything here looks noble in a way, Namjoon notices, but not without losing the effect of feeling gently familiar, almost loving. That kind of atmosphere is something Namjoon hasn’t even experienced in noble restaurants before, so he sinks into his fluffy seat cushion, letting himself enjoy the treat thoroughly. Because it is a treat - a feast for the weary-hearted that can’t go home to their families, either because they have to stay here or because the family is not at home. The green plants in the genuinely ancient looking pots (some have gold-plated rims, some are glazed, some are engraved or painted with artful poetry and all of them are twitter-worthy) offer silent comfort, sometimes swishing their arms, sometimes just staying rooted in the fresh dark earth and reminding every onlooker about altruism, virtues like endurance and quiet resilience.

When the food arrives, Namjoon kind of feels sated in a non-physical way. His heart doesn’t seem so heavy like before. It’s like someone has gently kneeled at the edge of his heart to shake up the stiff earth in it. It’s nice. Paired with the soothing voice of Sejin, the type of questions he asks now and then (all of them optimistic, in a distracting way “I heard from Yoongi that you wanted to look for a new bed, did you already find something you’d like?” and “Will you publish your new mixtape soon? My kids listen to mono to fall asleep but my wife said that at this point, she could probably perform it live.”) and together with the delicious food in front of his nose, Namjoon almost feels like he’s escaped to another world. Another world where he isn’t famous, where he isn’t living this life but some other version of it, where all his decisions had been different but led him to this little restaurant nonetheless, and there he is, sitting at the axis point where all the versions of him flow together into this one moment. It’s magical, like glowing dust floating in the air, like the first flakes of snow landing on your face. The light of the sun slides past the beautiful gold-ornamented silk curtains of the restaurant, revealing a gorgeous view on the side of Achasan Mountain that’s lushly green thanks to the trees on it. It’s basically an invitation to dream, to imagine, and Namjoon’s eyes can’t really get enough of it.

“Hyung, have you ever had a secret that you were so afraid to tell that you lied to keep it?”

Sejin sighs into his spoon of rice.

“You know what I think about lying,” he starts and Namjoon nods. Lying means breaking trust, Namjoon-ah. Never lie to your members. During their entire time together, he can’t remember ever seeing Sejin lie. “I usually don’t keep secrets either. Not bad ones, at least. But there was one.”

“Was it bad that you lied back then?”

“Yes, the consequences were bad but the worst thing was that I didn’t say the truth. Even though I apologized, the regret stays with me and every time I look at that person, I feel it again.”

“Hyung, I don’t want to feel that way towards the members.”

“Then don’t lie.”

“Do you think it will be that easy?”

“I honestly don’t know what I think it will be like with Jimin. Maybe you are lucky and the members are back before he shifts back so they can see for themselves. Didn’t you send something to the group chat already?”

“How do you know?”

“Jungkookie sent me a text asking if we got him a surprise pet. He sounded very hopeful. He even used the heart-eye emoji.”

“Oh no. What did you answer?”

“I wrote ‘Ask your hyungs.’ Nothing else. That was before you called me to come back here.”

Namjoon groans and figures that Jungkook will have to wait. No new pets for a while, sorry Jungkook.

“I don’t think I’m ready to be a cat owner.”

Sejin huffs, amused. “The universe thinks you are.”

“Well, I don’t think so and that’s what counts. Even the maknaes would be better at handling a cat than me.”

“That’s not true. Jungkook - I swear, this kid doesn’t have any sense of self-preservation, so I don’t even want to think about what he’d do with Jimin. Tae… well. He’d probably slide into depression without Jimin to talk to so let’s not think about that. I think we can agree there’s no one better than Hoseok to deal with such a thing if he doesn’t freak out about it but you follow close behind, just after Yoongi and Seokjin.“

“Hyung, that was a shitty argument.”

“At the same time,” Sejin says with a look that says I wasn’t done, “Kook loves Jimin to death and would do anything to make him feel better. Taehyung has studied up on dogs and dog training for half a year before adopting Yeontan. Imagine how much more he’ll do for his soulmate.”

The look Sejin gives him is serious and even when they are brought drinks and the girl from before leaves again, the serious expression does not leave Sejin’s eyes.

“Hyung, just think logically for a second. Jiminie is a tiny fragile cat baby, a rare leopard cub and I am a helpless clumsy idiot who can’t even take care of himself. How do we match well in your eyes?”

“You don’t need to match. Honestly, other than Jimin being smaller than usual and not being able to speak, there’s no difference to living together as usual. You take care of him and he looks up to you. You shouldn’t worry so much.”

He starts chuckling a second later when he realizes the unintentional pun. Namjoon frowns.

“I disagree. This morning I almost squished Jimin between the fridge and the fridge door. It’s not exactly safe for him to be around me. He’s too curious and I’m just clumsy. Did you see the printer ink in his fur?”

“It’s not a big deal, Namjoon.”

“Besides, Yoongi takes care of him way better than me.”

“Allow yourself room for improvement and learning.”

“I’m afraid I’ll hurt him.”

“So be more careful. You haven’t killed any of your band mates yet, so I don’t think it will happen any time soon.”

“Yeah, but they have all been human and with a fully functioning human mind for the past seven years. They know how to dodge the danger.”

“Animals have pretty good instincts, too. I think Jimin won’t need help to dodge your accidents once he’s out of his toddler phase. And don’t forget that all of you can take care of Jimin in different ways, each of you plays their own role. It will all be fine.”

The food arrives and is daunting enough to drag Namjoon’s rumbling thoughts away from his hardships. There’s soup, there’s rice, there’s vegetables and meat, and it’s beautifully arranged and beautifully steamy and just the scent could throw a man off his horse in desperate hunger. It’s heaven. At the first spoon of soup, Namjoon understands why Sejin brought him here. Comfort spreads in his tummy like a sweet melody. He sighs, almost tearing up over simple Korean soul food.

“Thank you, hyung.”

Sejin’s smile is kind.

“You know we love you like you’re our own children, right? Sihyuk-hyung and I. Of course, seeing my own children being born was different but you are my family too. We always want the best for you, we want you to go forward with boldness and integrity.”

“You’re doing well, hyung.”

Of course it’s a little strange to think of their CEO and their manager as parental figures in general but after sharing his life with them for the last decade, Namjoon figures his own parents wouldn’t even be mad if he suddenly called any of them appa by accident. He smiles when he remembers all the times a sleepy Jungkook has called other people appa without even noticing. It had always resulted in a hand carding through his hair, a warm “aigoo, our sleepy maknae, are you warm enough?” and lovely feelings of family.

“Namjoon-ah, what if this is an opportunity?”

“What do you mean? An opportunity how?”

“We haven’t heard of shapeshifters before Jimin turned into one, right?”

“I haven’t. It truly feels like a mind-blowing discovery. Only that it’s not a discovery exactly because apparently, shapeshifters have existed all the time.”

“But it means that they must be hiding in society. Why?”

Namjoon pauses. Why are they hiding? In the end, he supposes shifters - supernaturals in general - are like every other human being.

“Afraid of discrimination? Racism? I don’t know, hyung. I’m still hung up on how I didn’t know about this although one of my best friends has literally been a hybrid his entire life.”

“A hybrid? What the heck is a hybrid? And who’s a hybrid?”

Oh. Right.

“Uh, well. It’s more like Spiderman… more permanent? More all the time? I don’t know, I’m bad at explaining this.”

“Spiderman is a hybrid? Wow, I never thought about it this way.”

“No, I mean, yeah, I guess? But hybrids are people with animal features? I think? Like, a tail or animal ears?”

“Like in anime?”

“Basically. I don’t know too much about it but it seems to be that way.”

“Wow. That must be really difficult to hide.”

“I’m sure it is.”

How does Jackson hide it? Now that Namjoon thinks about it, he has seen Jackson without a cap on his head or loose pants to shove the tail in before and not seen any animal features. How is that possible? He then realizes that Jackson’s managers and company must know. They must have the editors photoshop his animal features out on every photo, even every video. Wow. That must be such a huge effort. And expensive. What a hassle it must be for stage appearances, interviews and even just walking freely on the street. All of the sudden, Namjoon feels grateful Jimin isn’t a hybrid. The company wouldn’t have been able to pay so much money to edit every shot of him so extensively back then. They wouldn’t have accepted him.

“So, hybrids are different from shapeshifters, right?”

“Yes, hybrids can’t turn into animals.”

They eat in silence for a few minutes, letting the new information and thoughts sink in along with the food. Namjoon realizes he’s both a little grateful and a bit bummed that Jimin didn’t turn into a hybrid. It would have been impossible to hide from the members then. He wouldn’t have to tell them anything, they could all figure it out, Jimin wouldn’t turn into some animal that can’t speak, he would just be a normal human being with some extra parts and that would be it. They could deal with it so much more easily - probably. But Namjoon reminds himself that that line of thought is just based on assumptions. There’s probably no perfect option between those two if you’re a performer.

“Do…do you think the members are going to figure it out themselves?”

“I think they’re all smart enough to.”

“So… just a maybe?”

“I can’t tell the future, Namjoon-ah.”

“I know, I just… I just don’t want to be alone with this.”

“Are you?”

“I guess I’m not but… I’m just so glad that we are seven members. Because we share our lives, our feelings and our fears all the time. That’s where we all draw our strength from. Keeping a secret like this from the members… I don’t want to break their trust. Isn’t it my responsibility to tell them about this? This is such a huge change and it’s not fair to just… I don’t think this is right, hyung.”

“If a secret becomes a prison, it doesn’t deserve to be kept, Namjoon. You’re too precious to cut yourself down just to please someone else.”

“Hyung, are you telling me… to tell someone?”

“I’m telling you to do the right thing. If you know the right thing is to tell the members and you take action, you will have to bear the consequences. I’m never for disobeying authority - especially PDnim because I know he tries to do the best for all of us - but if you feel burdened and like you have to mute yourself to keep your promise, then it’s not worth it. You should definitely talk to PDnim. I’m sure that he will understand. Maybe not today, though. Give him a night to think about it all. He might have not seemed surprised but it’s a huge change for him too. It’s a given that any impulsive decisions may need revision.”

“He should have been prepared for this day, especially if he knew about Jimin from the beginning.”

“Yeah, I agree. I think this decision just shows that PDnim is just human too. He made a mistake, just like you have in the past and still do. Also, ‘doing the right thing’ looks different through every person’s eyes so who knows how we would have decided to do things in his place.”

“I know.”

“Everyone needs room for learning. Do you still trust PDnim?”

“Of course. I know he will fight for us no matter what.”

“Then I don’t think you need to worry about the members.”

Namjoon nods and goes back to his food, forcing himself to just stop thinking about this issue. I’m not doing myself a favor if I overthink this. So he focuses on the food that’s before him. It’s really delicious, coating his tongue and all the tastebuds on it - but he can’t help but notice the taste of disappointment mixing in. What do I need? What am I looking for? Is it just support? Do I want pity? Advice? He chews, lets his eyes wander over all the other restaurant guests. Some seem happy, some are engrossed in the food or their friends. They all seem free of worry, even if just for the moment. I want my worries taken away. To be reassured.

“Hyung, can I call Jin-hyung?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Would you be mad at me if I told him?”

“Namjoon-ah. Do what you feel is right. You know I respect you.”

“Thank you, hyung.”

“Why do you want to tell Jin specifically?”

“Well, he’s the oldest so I guess he should know. Also, realistically speaking, Taehyungie and Jiminie are like, actual soulmates so I guess Tae would either figure it all out on his own or Jimin would tell him. Hobi is Jimin’s roommate so he can’t avoid noticing any significant changes about Jimin. And Kookie - Kookie is pretty observant about Jimin too whenever he doesn’t give him heart eyes. No, I think telling Jin-hyung makes the most sense. He feels responsible for the maknaes so I think he’d be the most upset about not being told - not because he’d feel left out but because he couldn’t have cared for Jimin the way he needs it.”

“You’re a good leader, Namjoon-ah. I’m proud of you.”

“Don’t make me blush, hyung. It’s just… strategy.”

“Mhm,” Sejin says, cheerfully winking.

Namjoon groans and rolls his eyes at the enthusiastic chuckling behind him. He finds a free table in a calmer part of the restaurant and takes out his phone. The window next to him comes with a good view on the wooden slope of a hill just behind the end of the parking lot.

For a moment, Namjoon tries to sort of soak up the freshness and calm from outside to reenergize himself for this serious talk with Jin. The green of the trees pulses with life, like a painting so fresh and excessive that the colors threaten to run down the canvas in a semblance of invigoration, and he sincerely wishes the city would look like that more often. Although the air outside is still hazy from the rain before, everything spreads out in a vivid picture in front of Namjoon. So beautiful.

The phone rings four times before Jin picks up. His voice is super groggy.

“Hello? Joon, that you?”

“Hi hyung,” Namjoon says softly, grateful for his hyung’s voice against his ear. So close, almost warm. “Where are you right now?”

“In bed.”

There’s rustling, probably blankets and pillows. Namjoon checks the time. It’s 2 pm. Typical Jin. No worries at all. “You won’t believe it, we’re at Kookie’s parents’ place and we stayed up late yesterday to play games with Kook’s brother. So I’m in the guest room and guess what?”

“What?”

“It��s the middle of the night, a light falls on my bed and I think it’s a ghost but it’s Kook standing in the doorway. Says he feels lonely without his hyungs so he comes to sleep with me instead of in his own bed. He’s been clinging to me like a monkey-“

There’s a deep groan of annoyance in the background and suddenly, slapping sounds.

“Are you fighting?”

Yelling, more rustling, the thump of a body hitting the floor. Namjoon can’t help but grin at the image of his bickering brothers even if he goes unheard. This normality feels good. This being together feels good. There’s laughter in the background, so loud and explosive Namjoon basically feels it spilling out of his phone. When he looks around to apologize for disrupting other restaurant guests, no one even looks his way. Jin laughs.

“Sorry, Namjoon-ah, there’s a noisy teenager next to me. You know how they get. Where were we?”

“Hyung, we didn’t even start talking…”

“Ah, right. Well, why are you calling? Is everything alright?”

“Um, define alright.”

Seokjin pauses. Namjoon knows he understands and he can already sense Jin’s answer coming.

“I can come back earlier, you know. It’s not a problem for me.”

“No, hyung, it’s fine. Sejin-hyung and I are dealing with everything, so it’s all good, I just wanted to tell you an imp-“

“Sejin-hyung is there!? He was on vacation! What happened, you little punk? There’s no way everything’s alright if you had to call Sejin-hyung!“

Oops, Namjoon’s brain helpfully provides. He clenches his jaw as Seokjin rambles on in the background, about how he’s gonna pack his suitcase and come right back and about Jimin and his sickness and everything - Namjoon feels his head ache.

“Namjoon-ah?”

Namjoon can’t focus. It’s as if something draws his gaze away from the creamy white tablecloth and the golden decorations and outside the window. They land on a little violet spot by the parked cars - a moving spot. It moves around a black car. Sejin’s car. The man wearing the violet - it’s a modern violet durumagi, a noble-looking Hanbok overcoat - is walking around Sejin’s car, looking inside. Namjoon freezes, doesn’t hear the restaurant, doesn’t hear Jin’s voice. Is that a stalker? Did he recognize our car? The man circles the car as if he expects a BTS member to sit inside of it and Namjoon feels a little sick. I hope he won’t come- the man looks at him. Their eyes meet. Time stops for a horrifying moment. Namjoon’s blood freezes, the trees pulse along with his heart, moving in on him with force. Like a fly in a spider’s net, he feels caught. He can’t move even if the eyes pierce through him as if they see into his soul or even beyond. Namjoon’s breath falters and he gasps when Sejin’s hand suddenly lands on his shoulder. He grasps it, needs the warmth to ground himself, to come back, to calm his soul. To find his sanity, possibly.

“Hey, sorry, it’s just me. Are you okay?”

Namjoon nods numbly, realizes that Jin is still on the phone, repeating his name.

“Jin-hyung?”

“Thank God you’re still there. What happened? You scared me.”

“I’ll call you back later, hyung. Don’t worry, okay? Sorry.”

When he hangs up and puts his phone back on the table with shaky hands, the man in the durumagi outside in the parking lot is gone.

“Are you alright? You look… you’re trembling.”

“Hyung, did you see the man outside? Just now?”

“The man?”

“He stood by your car. I think it might have been a stalker, hyung. Can we leave? I don’t feel safe.”

Sejin gives him an immediate reaction and Namjoon feels grateful for his hyung and manager who always takes him seriously if need be.

“Of course.”

“Hyung, he was so scary. He looked right at me.”

“I’ll ask if we can leave through the back. Come on.”

“Thank you.”

Together, they walk up to the waiter’s area. Namjoon doesn’t hear the conversation between Sejin and the kind waitress from before, only sees her eyes widening from the corner of his eye while he trains his gaze on the entrance of the restaurant. Just when he thinks he spots a a hunch of violet, Sejin’s hand on his lower back pushes him forward and he’s led through a door, they wait for a while, something rustles and a key clicks. Then, fresh air, a quick walk, Sejin’s car. When Sejin’s door closes and the motor turns on and the car starts rumbling, Namjoon feels the ice in his stomach start to melt. He can only start breathing again when they are off the parking lot.

“I’m sorry this happened,” Sejin says quietly. “I wanted you to have a great time.”

“Not your fault, hyung. People do what they want.”

“Yeah.”

The engine starts and Sejin begins to pull out of the parking lot. Namjoon keeps an eye on the area behind them just to see if the man in the violet durumagi appears again. Nothing. He sinks into his seat as they drive further away.

“I’ll take you to the perfect place. You’ll love it.”

“Okay.”

“It’s one of my favorite places in Seoul but you won’t expect it because I’ve never taken you there and you normally don’t ever go there.”

Namjoon feels numb. Sejin’s words kind of go through his ears but don’t find his brain. It’s been a while since something like this happened. He realizes that he’s holding a plastic bag in his hands, on his lap. Warmth seeps into his thighs.

“Are these…?”

“They insisted on giving us food for compensation.”

“It wasn't their fault.”

“They wished you and the members health and strength for the upcoming promotions, too.”

Namjoon nods, feeling tired. He puts his head against the window, lets his eyes jump from color to color, finding a home in the blur and allows himself to drift off.

“Wake up, we’re here.”

It’s a car wash street, the kind where you throw some coins into a coin slot, then park your car inside the washing tunnel and run out as fast as you can as soon as the lights turn on and the brushes come to life and the water starts to spray. Namjoon is not sure whether that’s really the so highly praised destination Sejin planned to go to to relax and be comforted or if he just decided to make a joke. (Or clean the car, for some reason.) On the other hand, it puts a check behind all the characteristics of the mystery location Sejin had revealed. A place you wouldn’t expect? check. A place you never go to? Check. Check, check, check. Now, Namjoon wouldn’t necessarily say that car wash street would be a place he’d ever want to be at, but if he knows anything after traveling half the world with his band mates and staff, it’s that it’s not the places you visit that count but the people you visit there with. So he smiles, allowing some childish giddiness to build up in his stomach at the surprise that Sejin has for him. Whatever it is.

“Let’s go, hyung. Show me what you had in mind.”

Sejin smiles and drives a little closer to the washing street. They wait until the car in front of them is done, which takes exactly one run-through of Zion T’s Eat on the radio and then, Sejin pays and slowly drives forward until the display in front of them tells them to stop.

“Do we run now, hyung?”

Namjoon feels a bit of adrenaline rush into his limbs when Sejin doesn’t look like he intends to move. And then the big big brushes around them begin to stir and Namjoon’s mind is telling him that it’s almost too late and that he should run now if he wants to make it out dry and Sejin just chuckles.

“Stay inside, relax. It’s time for the playlist,” he says and picks something on the car’s display. Soft music trails through the speakers, turned all the way up because the washing street is loud, Jimin’s voice singing Promise as angelically as possible and when the first drops of water hit the car, Namjoon’s heart stops for a second. It’s so nice, this calm feeling of safety that engulfs him when he watches more and more drops of water running down the windows. The warmth that’s in the car, even with the motor off and the lullaby fading. They are practically embedded in the music. It’s just a blessed togetherness with a friend he likes spending time with, a friend who comes up with the wildest ideas to give him comfort and a good time.

And even when the water hitting the car is less than a rain shower and more like a thrumming thunderstorm, Namjoon’s heart still jumps around with giddy leaps for the simple, childish sensation of being surrounded by water but not getting wet. Sejin also seems to have a good time, looking outside the windows with a fond smile and gently tapping the steering wheel with his fingers, matching the soft beats of Blue Side.

“Let’s finish eating,” he suggests then and really, that’s the only way to make this - whatever this is - better.

The paper bags around their little boxes rustle when they unwrap the food and with a warm fuzzy feeling, Namjoon realizes that this moment is special for Sejin too. Usually, the manager would not let anyone eat in his car (a habit from his time taking care of their official business cars), so this is clearly an exception he made for Namjoon.

“This is the coolest thing I’ve done in a long while,” Namjoon says after a few bites and feels like he should maybe pick up his old habit of writing a diary again. He doesn’t want to forget this.

“Let’s take a selfie, hyung.”

They do, and even after finishing their lunch, after watching the big brushes make way for smaller brushes to foam and shake their car, and after five more songs, the car wash street is still not done.

“Hyung, what kind of washing program did you buy? Will we be out before dinnertime?”

“Only the best for you,” Sejin grins. “You’re enjoying yourself, right? If not, we’ll go through again. This playlist is longer than you might think.”

“I am enjoying myself.”

“Good. I really wanted to distract you from everything. Are you relaxed?”

“Very.”

The moment is perfect, warm and content. As if it was meant to be. Namjoon feels his anxiety and all the stress of the day wash off along with the film of dirt on the car. It flows out of his line of vision and his soul is considerably lighter. Maybe we should do this more often.

“This is one of my favorite spots in the city,” Sejin reveals and checks the digital clock on the display, “and you’ll see why soon.”

The brushes recede to the sides of the tunnel and make way for the blow driers. It doesn’t take long for the display outside to start blinking again to signal that the ride is over soon. Sejin starts the motor and when the blinking display rises up, slowly revealing the exit before them, Sejin smiles.

“Look.”

Namjoon doesn’t immediately understand what Sejin wants him to see - but then it hits. The display rises up to reveal the horizon. The car street is built upon a little hill and from here, they can look down on a lower part of Seoul, gleaming in the golden light of the falling sun. It looks like an explosion of light, framed by the walls of the cr wash tunnel. It’s glorious, breathtaking even and Namjoon just stills, afraid to ruin the view with irrelevant thoughts. This is perfect. Just perfect.

The light reflects off the rain water that’s still lingering on the skyscraper’s plateau rooftops, the endless glass walls and even the airplanes taking off in the distance like rising diamonds. The massiveness of it all, the way it surrounds everything, the way it creates this feeling of being a witness of a majestic spectacle takes Namjoon’s breath away. Golden light floods the sky. The Han River looks like a serpent on fire. And this is just a goodbye for one night, so ordinary, almost meaningless. So beautiful.

Namjoon gasps. A fleck of violet moves in the corner of his eye.

“Also,” Taehyung’s soft voice sounds like a melody after the long, thoughtful break of silence in their room. Yeontan yawns and shakes his fur, looking fluffy. “Even if hitting the ground is painful and seems like it will break you apart, you’ll see that that’s exactly what it takes to create a rainbow. Being shattered can be beautiful too - if you keep letting the light shine through you. It will all be okay. That’s the comfort I want to give.”

And then the moment is gone, Namjoon doesn’t know how he got here, only that he feels floaty one moment, almost like he’s being pushed out of his body. It’s comparable to being lifted out of your seat the moment your plane lands and stutters along the landing strip. The next moment, he’s being shoved back in, feeling very weighty for second, like he somehow doesn’t really fit in his body. All of that happens at the same time with Sejin driving forward to exit the car wash, a white flash blinding Namjoon so strongly that he has to close his eyes lest they lose sight forever, and him wondering whether this is the famous light at the end of the tunnel that everyone’s talking about. Whether this is the end. He opens his eyes when the gleaming brightness recedes behind his eyelids, or rather, when he can’t see the the tiny veins in his eyelids anymore.

The sight before him takes his breath away. Where the car’s coachwork, the car wash brushes and sponges surrounded him before, thick trees now form an uneven circle around him and create a clearing. Namjoon sits in the middle of it, on the grass, hands in his lap, jacket softly flapping in the mild breeze. He can’t help but wonder how he got here, whether this is a dream, whether he just fell asleep after leaving the restaurant. When he reaches out to touch the grass, to just see if it’s real, he gasps. It’s very real and incredibly soft, softer than the grass in the little garden on top of BigHit’s office building. Little flowers sway under the sparkly rays of sun that manage to make their way through the treetops and birds hop around the branches of the trees while chirping animately. A butterfly lands on his knee and Namjoon is careful to stay still. After a few moments of taking rest, it flies off and Namjoon adores the tiny creature that had been so bold to land on him. Being so used to the city’s sharp edges and spaces devoid of color, being in nature always feels a little unreal, like something out of a dream. Not being able to recall how he got here just adds to the strange feeling.

Desperate to push the worrying second cycle of thoughts of where am I, what happened and what the heck away and keep his calm, Namjoon closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath, tells himself not to worry, and deliberately tastes the forest air as it streams through his nose and across his tongue. He wills his heartbeat down, eager to drown in the serenity around him, even if there might be bigger issues at hand. It takes a few minutes to lose the fear, the confusion and the anxiety, but when he does, his body becomes light, almost like he’s floating.

Namjoon feels… embedded. Embedded in nature to a ridiculous degree, to an extent that he doesn’t normally experience in a forest, not even when he’s fully Namjooning, as the other members call it. It’s an amalgamated feeling, every inch of the woods around him part of the sensation. Everything pulses, everything vibrates, from the strands of grass brushing against his ankles to the bugs crawling over myriads of swaying leaves. And Namjoon finds himself in the center of it - not as the center, just interwoven into the net of reality, just a tiny, belatedly added piece in this complex throng of life pulses that flare up as soon as he inhales and settle when he exhales. He could lose himself in the pleasant buzzing that could be all around him just as well as it could be him, his cells, his body thrumming with life. He just knows he could lose himself in this too easily and too fast, there’s this little whirl of energy nudging him deep inside his mind, asking him silently whether he would like to stay here a little while longer, longer inside the whirlwind, if he would like to go deeper, deeper, deeper. And Namjoon isn’t afraid even if it seems a daunting invitation. He’s too overwhelmed to react, busy listening to the trees sway, the birds flap their wings, the clouds pass by. The calmness mixes with a sense of belonging, a belonging he still doesn’t feel all the way in their new apartment. This is a perfect place, he thinks.

He feels embedded, knows that this is a rare moment and that it’s a privilege to be here and experience this miracle melody of life. There’s only one other moment that feels like this - when the stage lift pushes him above the stage, the beat driving his blood forward and thousands of fans melting into him, when their screams align with his rap. Embedded. Namjoon wonders if he’s dreaming, if this rush he feels is just a product of his memories ganging up on him in his sleep.

Something rustles behind him and Namjoon turns around slowly. He finds that the shopping bags from the pet store have followed him into the woods. Only the shopping bags that had been his. What the heck? If I’m here and the shopping bags are too, shouldn’t Sejin be here as well? Is this some kind of… time travel or teleportation stuff? What is going on? His breath hitches as a new thought hits him. What if - what if someone took me here?

He watches one of the bags topple. There’s no wind. Suddenly, a little brown paw - hand? - appears behind the brown paper and Namjoon has to hold back a coo. A little animal with slightly wet fur rolls out of the paper bag, sniffing it. It looks like an otter. The only other time Namjoon has seen real otters was when he’d visited the zoo in Seoul with the members and back then, the otters had been in a water enclosure. This otter is not overly fluffy but the black twitching nose makes up for it in cuteness; Namjoon raises his hands to his mouth to not let out any sounds. And fails. Immediately, the otter looks up, big brown eyes staring at the strange invader in the clearing. Apparently, Namjoon doesn’t categorize as a threat, because the otter goes back to exploring the bag right away, squeaking and sniffling around. There’s more rustling and from his angle, Namjoon can only see a little sleek tail peeking out from the paper bag’s opening. Then, the otter seems to have found something of interest because it backs out, dragging the little twisted rope Namjoon had bought for Jimin.

Jimin. A tiny ripple of shock rocks through Namjoon. His eyes widen. He had almost forgotten. He might have almost sat here for the rest of the day, getting lost in the beauty of the woods and forgetting about his day - about all the drama - and what he had wanted to do. Is this an enchanted forest? It’s so… peaceful. He looks around, scans the area. Trees everywhere, the ground in between covered in lush grass, flowers and fallen leaves. In the distance, something glitters every now and then, and Namjoon realizes that the constant soft swishing sound in the air must come from a little pond or river. Somehow, now that he thinks about it, that same freshness carries in the air and it’s almost like Namjoon can feel the fresh water swirl in his lungs in a peaceful, refreshing way. It’s all he could dream of when he imagines a peaceful retreat. To be honest, he would love to come here with the members.

Suddenly, the otter startles with a squeak and flees when Namjoon stands up and wipes down his slightly wet jeans. When his eyes follow the cute animal, he stiffens. There’s a wolf standing just a couple of meters away. It’s big and grey, definitely a grown wolf. It takes one quick look to realize just how huge it is. It reaches up to Namjoon’s chest if he were to stand up - and it’s watching him intently. The gaze is so strong that Namjoon feels a lot like he’s been caught. Caught in the wolf’s territory. He doesn’t dare to move even as his heart pounds and his head tells him to run.

Namjoon knows, logically, that a wolf is a big predator with a tendency to be territorial and the ability to kill an adult without much effort. He knows that he should logically be afraid of it, maybe afraid enough to pee his pants, but it’s so damn hard to be afraid here in this warm-colored, sun kissed spot of forest that, in its essence, is so pure, so good. It reminds him of good things, of relaxation. Of home. Maybe it’s also because of the way the forest just buzzes on inside his mind as if the wolf hadn’t appeared, as if there was no reason to worry, no reason to stop the bubbly melody because the wolf simply wasn’t dangerous. Maybe it’s because of the knowledge that the forest has some kind of conscience and possibly an ability to judge between good and evil, or maybe just that the way the forest breathed and pulsed around him reminded Namjoon of all the books he’d read in his childhood. Books that had taught him about principles, about the order of things even if those books consisted of fictional characters and places. It somehow instilled trust in Namjoon, a trust that he thinks he had already extended towards the forest. The forest had accepted it from him. And now, the forest was offering it in return. He looks up to find that the wolf us mustering him still, probably not used to visitors on its terrain but it’s not a malevolent look. There’s no growling, no claws, no fangs or even the kind of bristling he’s usually get to see each time Monie met another dog she didn’t like, so Namjoon concludes that the wolf is just curious.

“Hi,” he says lamely, “I hope I’m not intruding. I don’t know where I am but I’ll leave if you want me to.”

Namjoon doesn’t know why he’s talking to an animal but he knows that animals do assess people and pick up on their mood and intentions based on their voices, so he just speaks. It feels natural, the forest’s buzzing picks up and little sparks appear in the melody, almost as if it was amused by their interaction.

He almost doesn’t flinch when a black wet nose prods his thighs, his shins and his hands. He doesn’t flinch when the wolf locks eyes with him and feelings of both being utterly vulnerable and fully accepted shoot through him like electric shocks. He feels - like he’s meeting one of his best friends. A quiet but wise friend, maybe a little like Yoongi.

Without a sound, the wolf turns and starts walking. A breathless Namjoon stands in his spot as if the ground under his two feel was holy. He stays until the wolf throws a look over its shoulder. Does it want me to follow?

Walking with a wolf, Namjoon comes to find out, is a very different feeling than walking with your own dog. Definitely. The wolf doesn’t stop a hundred times to sniff at every flower, every stone and every shrub to see if someone else has peed on it. The wolf also doesn’t feel the need to pee on all these things himself or pull on a leash to find more things that have been peed on. No, the wolf walks through the forest like it’s his kingdom revolving around him. Like he owns every centimeter of the land. Quietly. With pride and honor. The wolf oozes self-expression on a higher level, shows off its independent thinking and self-determined capabilities. Namjoon likes it. They stop at a pond. At first glance, it looks like any other pond or lake Namjoon has seen before. There’s clear, calm water surrounded by a shore packed with reeds and all kinds of water plants. He spots frogs on the wet earth and even a few fish in the water. The surface shows him his face, plain and normal, like any other mirror in the world would show. Perhaps its the soft water noises or just the visual of water that calls up feelings of thirst - Namjoon wants to lean down and scoop up some water in his hands but when the wolf next to him doesn’t make any move towards the water, almost as if he’s wary of it, Namjoon becomes suspicious.

“Is it drinkable?”

The wolf’s eyes aren’t focused on the water and instead scan the area. Maybe this isn’t a resting place. Maybe he’s patrolling the territory? Is this the outer edge maybe? Even if they just remain standing for a few minutes, a this deep sense of fateful belonging is in the air, almost like honey dripping down tree bark. The air is sweet and thick and Namjoon’s hand flies to his chest. Breathing becomes more difficult with time and he throws a worried glance at the wolf who remains stoic. Are we… supposed to die here? What is this? It almost feels like a relief of tension when the wolf suddenly shakes its fur. But not only that, it walks towards Namjoon and only then can he see the eyes of the wolf - dark, black has replaced the kind amber glow from before. What is happening? The wolf doesn’t seem any more threatening than before, just nudges Namjoon’s arm until he holds it up. What does it want?

A swoosh of air, then a dark body tunes out the light of the sun. Namjoon yelps when claws tear through his shirt and into the bare skin of his lower arm that suddenly has to carry a heavy weight. When he has gathered enough courage to open his eyes, he comes face to face with a raven. It’s black and sleek, gaze so piercing it almost hurts physically. It stares at Namjoon without blinking. What is it with these animals here? In a strange way, their eye contact is comfortable like a conversation between friends, with a certain familiarity, but the intensity of it just shatters that comfort completely. He’s captivated by the raven’s eyes. In the depths of his mind, he understands that his soul lays bare, that he’s practically naked before this creature. Every dream, every doubt, every fear, they all turn and twist inside of him, coming alive under the scrutiny of the attentive gaze. When he feels his body tense and shiver, physically unable to withstand the tension, Namjoon looks away.

His eyes fall on the pond, now mysteriously dark, reflecting the faraway blinking of stars. Is it night already? How long have I been here? The starlight shimmers like diamonds on the water whenever it moves. The sway of light almost seems melodic, almost audible. When he sees his image in the calm surface, it's... different than before. He sees himself and definitely recognizes himself but somehow, it's not what he normally looks like in a mirror. Namjoon thinks that it might just be the ethereal glow the moon and the stars cast on the pond but then, he sees something else in his eyes, a different kind of glow. Something that he's never seen before. If someone asked him to put this into a song, he has no idea what the lyrics could be. It's almost otherworldly. A few steps away, the wolf sits, watching the pond’s hypnotic view.

The raven walks a few steps closer towards Namjoon, gaze burning into the side of his head.

“What do you want, raven?”

Namjoon feels his lips move on their own.

“Reality,” the raven croaks. “Fragile. Guard it.”

It flies off with a whoosh and Namjoon follows the bird until it has passed the top of the trees. Maybe I would know where I was if I could fly. I could go home.

Before he has time to think about the raven, leaves rustle behind him. When Namjoon’s head turns toward the sound, he expects to see some other animal, or maybe that the otter has followed them. What he gets instead is a colorful burst of color on a tiny body. He blinks.

“Oh, Jiminie! Is that you?”

The cub just taps forward, head bobbing with every step as if it had become too heavy after wandering for so long. When it finally reaches his feet, it plops down into the grass with an exhausted chuffing sound. Namjoon can see its flank moving up and down with the cub’s breaths.

“How did you get here, baby?”

Did he really walk here all the way from the company building by himself? Perhaps the question would be easier to answer if he knew where exactly here is. He looks around, has never felt so disappointed by the sight of trees everywhere, then sits down in the grass.

“Did hyung take you here? Is hyung around, Jiminie? Did you get lost looking for me?”

The leopard cub’s fur is warm and damp under his fingers and he can’t help but scoop the little one up. He still doesn’t answer, doesn’t show signs of understanding and Namjoon figures that’s just the way it is. Jimin immediately snuggles deeper into the embrace, seeking the comfort and shelter and Namjoon holds his fingers out when the leopard’s little black nose starts snuffling around. Jimin doesn’t settle for his fingers and noses along Namjoon’s shirt until the human recalls the image of the baby cat snuggling into Yoongi’s neck. Is he looking for bare skin? With curiosity, Namjoon opens the upper button and exposes a collarbone. The leopard’s tail wiggles with excitement as the cub finds familiar scents on Namjoon’s skin. He squirms, blue eyes opening to sparkle as they find Namjoon’s face. He yips and yaps and makes little high-pitched noises that have Namjoon chuckling.

“Hey there,” he laughs, “hi baby. Hi. Yeah, hi. It’s me, yeah.”

When the cat calms down, lulled into safety by the warmth and scent and the familiar voice, Namjoon smiles. “Should we go looking for hyung?”

He holds his breath when the wolf steps closer, just reaching down to sniff the cub throroughly. The big head is almost leaning against Namjoon’s chest and he can smell the typical scent of dog and woods on the big animal. Jimin squeaks when the big nose rubs over his fur instead of fingers and his tail shakes but he’s brave, enduring the bigger animal’s curiosity. Namjoon is aware that this whole thing is absolutely ridiculous. It doesn’t make sense at all that he teleported into the woods slash got abandoned with amnesia, that he follows a wolf and that Jimin just appears out of nowhere. He feels like he’s missing more than one piece of information.

I only remember sitting in the car with hyung and the next moment… I was here in the woods. Or did I wake up? Did I fall asleep? Is this a dream? Was I unconscious and maybe… Sejin-hyung took me here? Was maybe the car wash a dream and this is where he wanted to go? But if Jimin is here - doesn’t that mean that someone came looking for me? Like, I was missing and they decided to search for me and Suga-hyung and Jimin came close and they just lost Jimin but he ended up finding me? He freezes. What if this is a magic forest and I lost track of time and weeks have passed? What if all the members are back and looking for me too? It’s all confusing and every speculation Namjoon comes up with feels incomplete and unsatisfying. Whatever, he tells himself, we’ll find Suga-hyung and he can explain everything that’s going on.

The wolf seems to be satisfied with smelling Jimin, so it just walks off as if there’s nothing more to stay here for, warm amber eyes and serene personality. They walk for what feels like an hour, thinking hard, dodging trees, passing caves (some are decorated with lanterns, some are not), another pond. Jimin falls asleep quickly in Namjoon’s arms. At this point, Namjoon has decided that he’s either a) hallucinating, b) on drugs and hallucinating, c) having the weirdest dream of his life or d) trapped in a children’s fairy tale for some disturbing reason. He’s decided that all the things that have happened don’t really makes sense and that even the wolf seems too… much like a book character to be real. He notices a few scars on the wolf’s flank and on his legs and figures that the wolf must have fought with some other animal to get them but they don’t look vicious. Somehow, they look like they are meant to be there, like the wolf is aware of them and carrying them with a certain pride. This wolf is the kind of animal that would be given a series of touching children’s movies, leading a lost human through the woods on a powerful journey to - just to where? That’s the thing Namjoon has been trying to wrap his head around for the last half an hour. It doesn’t come to him.

A growl leaves the wolf’s throat when Namjoon walks into it and makes him retract his earlier thoughts about the wolf. Makes him realize that this is still a wild animal despite the calm appearance and that the wild animal has stopped walking and also warned him to not run into it again. To keep his distance. To respect its boundaries. When Namjoon looks away from the sleek grey body against the knee-high ferns and wild flowers growing everywhere, he automatically freezes. A stunning light-brown stag is grazing in front of them, all alone and almost glowing in the sunlight slipping through the treetops. It owns a majestic pair of antlers - majestic in both size and form, covered by the fine sort of fur that make them look soft like velvet. When it looks up, Namjoon stumbles a step back, tiny in front of the huge animal. Even breathing - breathing feels like a mercy in front of this animal, like he’s only able to breathe because he’s been allowed to. Namjoon thinks he prefers the wolf as a walking companion - until the deer’s deep brown eyes focus on him and Namjoon’s world begins to spin.

Like magic, pieces of memories start to flit through his mind, recollections of old days and new days, of forgotten moments and forlorn ideas. A youthful looking Jin appears in front of his inner eye, dressed in crappy t-shirts that they would all laugh about fondly now. Memory-Jin shoos Namjoon out of their crappy little makeshift kitchen after letting him wash cabbage and resumes cooking for the members. A hard-faced Yoongi who is stuck with writer’s block for a whole week, a depressed Yoongi in front of a tauntingly empty fridge. Hoseok, holding a pair of smelly sneakers (his sole pair at the time) to his chest as he packs his bags quickly before they leave for some tv program shooting. Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook, all crying quietly under one shared blankets on Chuseok, Christmas and New Year’s because it’s the third year in a row that they can’t visit their families to spend the holidays with them. The way every hyung’s heart breaks at the sound that their thin apartment walls can’t block. A hundred memories flash by, too fast to really stick but not fast enough to not make emotion swell like a tsunami wave. He’s on his knees, he notices though wet eyes, Jimin no longer in his arms. Namjoon just wishes the stag would stop looking at him. In this beautiful place, it doesn’t seem fitting to think about all these memories again - all the bad, painful memories buried underneath the glory of the payoff, of the success, the luxuries.

But the stag doesn’t. Instead, it comes closer and closer until its warm breath falls on Namjoon’s chest and collarbones and it feels like the overflow of memories will burst Namjoon’s heart. The big deer musters him like it can feel all of this too, like these are all pieces of a shared photo album, like the stag cherishes them deeply. The warm nudge of its snout against his cheek feels like a whole embrace and Namjoon shudders. In a weird, cathartic way, he wishes he could just burst.

Suddenly, a shock goes through the stag. It jumps away in fright, letting Namjoon fall to the ground.

“What’s going on?”

To his right, he sees the wolf, poised and full of tension, looking somewhere between the trees and nudging Jimin under its belly. Namjoon can’t see anything. Jimin’s ears point to the same direction as the wolf’s ears. What did they hear?

“Dokkaebi,” the raven croaks from one of the trees. It must have come back when I saw my memories. It croons, “don’t cry, moonchild, don’t cry. It’s fate, don’t cry.”

Namjoon can’t wrap his head around the ominous words. He knows what a Dokkaebi is, obviously, but the rests sounds like it’s some fantasy novel- prophecy type shit. He really hopes that nothing bad will happen. Dokkaebis are good, aren’t they?

The wolf and the stag apparently believe that something bad will happen because the wolf looks even more tense than before, fangs peeking out and eyes wary. The stag walks around to keep an eye on all of their surroundings, hooves scratching up the ground every now and then. Neither makes Namjoon’s racing heart calm down. What’s happening? Should we hide?

“Listen, Namjoon-ah,” the wolf interrupts his self-talk, “I’m sorry to say this but we can’t really do much against a Dokkaebi. You need to remembers this: This is your Essence, your bokjil. Nothing can happen here if you don’t let it. Do you understand?”

He pauses, eyes dark. Namjoon’s head is full of confusion. What the hell is my Essence? Why does it feel like we’re seconds away from going into battle?

“You-you can talk as well?”

“Do you understand?”

“No,” he presses out between tight lips, feeling immensely frustrated by now. In a way, he feels in awe of the wolf’s wise eyes and he doesn’t want to fling all his sorrows on the elegant creature but it just bubbles out of him. “No, I don’t understand anything! From the beginning till now I have not understood one damn thing this whole day. I don’t know how I got here, I don’t know how to find my hyungs, I don’t know why I can understand you-“

The wolf growls. Namjoon’s mouth snaps shut immediately.

“This is not the time for whining, pup. Clear your head. Remember, we are here and we will help you as much as we can but there’s a damn Dokkaebi on his way to see you and that’s not good news. Dokkaebis are powerful tricksters. Don’t believe everything you see. I don’t know what he’s here for but he’ll try to get into your head. Don’t agree to anything he propos-“

“How rude, wolf. Don’t judge a whole species for a few individuals’ actions,” a new voice speaks and Namjoon doesn’t want to look but he has to. His eyes widen. Violet durumagi. That’s the Dokkaebi!?

“You! You’re the stalker from before!”

The guy frowns and lets out an indignant huff. He notices the wolf softly biting Jimin’s neck and carrying the cub a little further away, obviously not wanting him to be anywhere near the stranger.

“Stalker!? I’m not a stalker. Do you really think I’d be chasing you all over Seoul for my own entertainment? I’m not crazy. I get paid for this, thank you very much.”

It’s Namjoon’s turn to frown because that… is not less concerning in any way.

“Paid? Are you a paparazzi then?”

“Are you kidding? I was sent by the MMA committee.”

The MMA? What do the Melon Music Awards want now? Is this just a misunderstanding?

“Then why are you coming to me? Just call our CEO. He always helps if there is something wrong about the logistics or the shows.”

The man furrows his eyebrows.

“Are you an idiot? What shows are you talking about?”

Okay, rude, Namjoon thinks. Every word this guy says is just plain rude and he has to remind himself to remain calm and collected, to not show any insecurity. It certainly doesn’t make sense for anyone from the MMA’s to come to the artists themselves to ask them about anything - that’s solely the management team’s task. So Namjoon remains wary of this guy. After all, the animals had also fled from the clearing and animals’ instincts are seldom wrong.

“I’m talking about our next show in December? I mean, it’s still a really long time until then, but if you’re already planning, I can just call PDnim and we can figure out-“

“We already talked to your PDnim and scheduled a meeting. That was this morning.”

“Okay, hold on. What does MMA stand for?”

“Magistrate of Magical Affairs, of course. I’m your case worker and I need to ask you a few questions about Park Jimin and his environment that I hope you will answer truthfully. Of course, our AMI already collected quite an amount of data but like any other UI, she’s not perfect.”

That hope sounds more like a threat. The wolf growls.

”Let’s sit down, Namjoon-ssi.”

A dark mahogany table materializes out of nowhere, joined by two chairs, one on either side of it. Namjoon sits down, not ready to have a conversation about all this stuff again. He just wants to go home. I hope they are not freaking out about me. Jimin’s legs and his tail twitch as he sits, looking to Namjoon from between the wolf and the stag. He already wonders how he’s going to explain everything that happened to Jimin when he finally shifts back.

“I suppose that’s Park Jimin.”

“Yes.”

Papers appear on the table. They look like official forms. Upside down, Namjoon can’t read much of it. Before the Dokkaebi can start asking stuff, a thought shoots through Namjoon’s mind.

“Alright, first question. Who is Park Jimin living with right now?”

“With me and five other guys.”

“Does he have close contact to his parents? Does he see them often? Do they come over?”

“No, that’s not possible. They talk to each other on the phone, though.”

The Dokkaebi writes something down. He remembers his conversation with PDnim and hopes that it’s not a bad thing that Jimin doesn’t get to see his parents much even though he has a feeling that it is.

“Since when has Park Jimin been living with you?”

“We moved together in 2012.”

“I see. Are there children in your household?”

Namjoon almost says Yes but then realizes that officially, Jungkook is not a child anymore. Neither is Seokjin. So he says, “No. We’re all adults. Responsible adults.”

The other man raises a brow but ticks a box on the paper.

Namjoon almost chokes.

“Have any of you ever had a cat?”

“Not that I know of. One of the members grew up on a farm, so I suppose there were cats around. Does that count?”

“If you would guess in percent, how much time of the day do you spend at home?”

Namjoon sinks a bit deeper in his chair. Be honest, he tells himself. Honestly always wins in the long run.

“10? 10 percent of the day, maybe 15 if we’re lucky?”

“That’s a very low percentage.”

“Our schedule is very busy currently.”

“Will that change in the foreseeable future?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You do realize that even though cats can be left at home, they do need a lot of stimulation and effort, yes? Especially when they are so young.”

“I want to take him along to work.”

“That is… ambitious. Is your workplace a cat-friendly environment?”

Not… really. The studio maybe. An arena full of people? Jimin would stay backstage. Tannie had managed. Namjoon nods confidently.

“We could make it one.”

That sounds more like a question than a statement and Namjoon hopes that it won’t come across as insecurity. Because he knows that PDnim would do anything to enable Jimin to live his life normally with the others wherever he goes - despite his handicap.

“That’s not enough. According to the first and the fourth book of the MMA’s additions to the Civil Code, the Magistrate is legally required to assign a qualified caregiver with every Type-3 shapeshifter or hybrid if their parents or further relatives are either absent or physically, mentally or otherwise unable to raise the child in all aspects. This is the law. You know, most people are happy to hear that someone else helps them with raising a shifter.”

“Most people don’t value what they have until it’s too late.”

“Do you even know what raising a shifter means? What happens when a shifter like your friend grows up, when his instincts tell him to hunt and kill? What do you do then?”

“I will do whatever I can.”

“And that’s what they all think. Until their shifter child kills the pet. By accident. Until their child attacks the neighbor, a sibling, the parents themselves. That’s what the training is for. They need to be taught how to live from the youngest age possible.”

“And you think I can’t do that?”

“I’m just offering you the best options available.”

“But you don’t get to say what’s best for a person you don’t even know. Yes, maybe I don’t have much experience with shifters, but-“

“Exactly, you don’t. The magistrate has done this since mid-Joseon times so I think we do know pretty well what’s best for your shifter friend.”

“That’s bullshit. That logic only applies if you think that this is a task on your schedule. But this is about a person. Park Jimin is a person. And you don’t even get one thing to say about what’s best for him. Firstly, you have never even met him before, let alone asked him about what he thinks about this.”

“And you have? How, if he’s been like this for days now.”

“I have not but I will as soon as he shifts back. Until then, I will decide in his place, but I will never undermine his autonomy as a human person like you just did. Secondly, if you boast about the Magistrate taking care so well of every shifter and hybrid in the country, how come the Magistrate didn’t have Jimin or even his parents in the registry until now? Shouldn’t you have known about him?”

“Well, we didn’t- I mean, before AMI alerted us, there were no signs-“

“I don’t trust you. Jimin shifted and suddenly, you barge into our lives, saying Jimin should come with you every time he shifts. Maybe there is a reason Jimin wasn’t in your registry. Maybe his parents didn’t trust you either. Either way, I can’t consent to your proposition.”

“It’s not a proposition.”

“Without my consent, it’s nothing at all.”

“Tell me, Namjoon-ssi, have you met other shifters or even hybrids so far?”

Namjoon thinks that he must have, if so many people of the community hide their real identities. He must have walked past so many shifters and hybrids on the sidewalk, brushed past their shoulders, bumped into them in an elevator, in a crowd, anywhere. But he doesn’t remember just because he didn’t know back then. There’s just one hybrid he remembers. Jackson.

“Yeah, I have.”

“Did they seem animalistic?”

Just as always, Jackson had been friendly and sociable, with open laughter and a warm hug. Had he not revealed his dog ears and his silver tail, Namjoon would have probably never found out about his hidden identity despite being his best friend. From the corner of his eyes, he sees something moving.

“No. He seemed - just like I knew him. Human.”

“He did, didn’t he? He must have gone through proper training by either his parents or a mentor. Shifters and hybrids can’t afford to be found out and ostracized, so they train to overcome their instincts. Their instincts are overwhelming when they are young and they need to learn how to act like humans.”

That’s messed up, Namjoon thinks, but figures that it’s necessary to survive without trouble in the cruel human world. He sees Jimin waddling over to him.

“Do you understand what might happen to Jimin if he doesn’t receive training? How it could harm not just the people around him but him, too?”

It’s a fair point, Namjoon has to admit. He can’t imagine how Jimin would feel and think of himself if he killed someone or something else. If he even hurt someone just because he couldn’t control himself. Suddenly, Namjoon remembers his first months (scratch that, make it years) in dancing, how his limbs weren’t graceful, his movements weren’t controlled. Of course, seeing it on Hobi or Jimin was clear and the idea of replicating it exactly was simple, but whenever he tired, he couldn’t do it even if he could envision it perfectly. Until a certain point, his limbs were flapping around and it was impossible to make them cooperate. Is that what it would be like for Jimin? Namjoon knows how much Jimin hates losing control. This would be his worst nightmare, probably.

The Dokkaebi seems to take his silence for doubt or hesitance, apparently, because before Jimin can reach Namjoon’s chair, the man reaches for the cub and holds it up by the neck. Without any warning, he shoves two fingers into the cub’s mouth. Taken by surprise, Jimin squirms and tries to wiggle out of the firm grasp but the man just continues to pry his little jaws open.

“See these fangs? They’re made for meat, specifically for tearing into it.”

Jimin whines so loudly that Namjoon has to really contain himself. He can’t bear to see his brother being treated like that. His knuckles are white with the force of his fists. The Dokkaebi just goes on.

“It’s is still young but once he’s grown these jaws will be strong enough to drag a fully grown antelope up a tree.”

“Let go,” Namjoon says, “he doesn’t like it.”

The Dokkaebi shrugs, the golden emblems of his durumagi gleaming in the sun.

“It doesn’t like me, I don’t like it. It’s mutual loathing. What I care about is what it likes. Did you know that feral predators don’t discriminate? Any living creature becomes meat, even humans.”

I don’t like you either, Namjoon thinks grimly. Jimin really struggles, tiny paws pushing against the hands holding him, head twisting this direction and the other. He can’t get away and hisses. Namjoon leans over the table.

“Let him go. He’s still a person and he deserves respect.”

The Dokkaebi’s eyes sparkle darkly as if he had just waited for Namjoon to say that. He lets go of the kitten’s jaw but keeps holding it firmly, hand moving to Jimin’s neck to paralyze him. His voice is deep and daunting.

“And will he still deserve respect when he’s grown and turned into a wild beast just because you’re too sentimental to send him away to train?”

Filled with anger, Namjoon glares at the man in Hanbok. But his eyes are drawn somewhere else. The mahogany table disappears, the chairs disappear, Namjoon plops on his butt, while the Dokkaebi just takes a few steps back. Something shimmers in the air beside the Dokkaebi, almost like a fire’s flying sparks being drawn into one shape. Namjoon gasps when it takes form - a fully grown leopard materializes right in front of him. Its massive body looks huge in comparison to Jimin’s kitten body, it would tower over him were the little one on the ground. Even though the leopard only reaches the Dokkaebi’s bellybutton at most, its presence is overwhelming. As if the whole forest vibrates in simultaneous fear and awe of this one creature, as if it feels the low buzzing of danger joining the life-filled and cheerful pulsing of the woods. Namjoon’s back thumps against rough bark and he realizes he’s been walking backwards. The moment the leopard takes its first breath, the forest’s melody collapses. Namjoon almost chokes at the sudden disarray, the jumbled notes clashing into each other like cars on the wrong side of the street. They seem jagged and lost like they can’t remember their tempo, their placement or even their key and instead, they jump around and create chaos. It reminds Namjoon of a drowning person who is making the most dreadful noises humanly possible before realizing there is no saving because the screams for help are swallowed by the waves all around. It’s ugly and raw and if Namjoon would be sent a melody like this for a song, he wouldn’t even try to fix it.

His stomach drops and his blood freezes, suddenly unable to maintain a steady flow as his heart begins to pound heavily, The blood rush in his ears does nothing to drown out the low tones of danger building up with every step the leopard takes forward. While he frantically weighs the probability of success of running and simultaneously takes careful steps backwards, the notes how much darker the forest looks now. At first, he doesn’t think it could be due to the new predator whose own threatening melody intimidates the forest into a frantic arrhythmia - the sunlight still flickers through the treetops - but then the leopard steps into the center of the clearing. There’s a dark aura around the cat - an inverted glow, as if it was drawing all the light from the atmosphere and keeping it locked away in itself.

Namjoon breathes heavily already, without having run an inch. The adult leopard stands still, steadily breathing, chest moving, ears twitching to capture every sound, tail resting low. He looks like a sharp dog waiting for a command. Namjoon really wishes that none would be given, that they could just keep their distance and be fine. Don’t move, he thinks. And then, at one twitch of the Dokkaebi’s eyebrows, the leopard takes another step.

“Will you still think that a beast like this should be given respect? When it discovers that it’s born to be a hunter? A killer?”

Namjoon’s eyes widen when his eyes meet the leopard’s, when the amber lights in them go dark like the darkness swallowing up a long forgotten candle’s last flame.

“When it realizes that fresh meat is better than whatever crap they mix together in those pet stores?”

The grass is silent under the leopard’s paws. Its muscles move elegantly under the beautiful rosetted fur of the vicious cat. The perfect killing machine, a documentary narrator had explained Stealthy, skillful and merciless. Namjoon’s heart pounds frantically. He thinks of running. His mind short-circuits. He runs.

Almost immediately, a body knocks into him, brutally pressing him into the ground. Everything goes dark with the collision. Namjoon groans, has difficulty estimating the degree of his injury. All he feels is pain. When he opens his eyes again, the leopard bares his fangs right in front of his face. He’s trapped. Trapped underneath the perfect killing machine. All the dead prey he’s seen in the documentaries flashes by his eyes. He whimpers, can’t believe he’ll just become another piece of prey. Leopards mostly go for the throat. They paralyze their prey with a forceful bite, then go for the kill. Namjoon’s hands go for his throat in a feeble attempt to shield it. He’s not sure if it’s smart or even any protection at all.

“When they discover that they crave the taste of blood?”

Blood. Namjoon weakly realizes the there’s blood dripping from the leopard’s jaw and snout. He chokes, feels his body spasm against his will. When the leopard leans in, face coming closer and closer, Namjoon’s hands shoot out to hold him away, to press the cat’s face away. Fear drives a stake into his heart when dark red drops roll down his wrists, his arms. His entire hands are covered in blood, so much blood that it can’t possibly come from the cat’s fur. Am I bleeding? Tentatively, Namjoon feels around his throat again. It’s wet, everything is wet. Blood in massive amounts. He shudders, fighting the way his lungs constrict and burn. A flash-like memory pushes its way into Namjoon’s inner eye like a cold slithering tendril before he can defend himself from the intrusion. Images flash. From a third perspective, he watches himself on the ground and the leopard caging him in. He watches the leopard’s furious lunge and the way its jaw closes around his throat, the way blood blubbers forth as if he were a fresh spring coming to life. The leopard bites until the flesh is bloody and raw, an open wound. The precursor to a powerful death. The leopard growls and Namjoon is ripped out of the vision which he understands to be the Dokkaebi’s point of view.

“Do you still think a beast like that deserves respect when the first victim dies? When they bleed out in your arms?”

Namjoon can’t stop choking violently, can’t breathe, can’t focus. The leopard still or perhaps again has its massive fangs in his flesh like a vice grip, unrelenting and unbeatable and Namjoon’s vision blurs a little. With the blood loss comes freezing coldness. Panic sets in slowly but sinks deeper with every moment. Am I really dying? Am I dying? Again, the leopard rams its fangs into Namjoon’s throat, rattling his entire body. When his head lolls to the side, grey fur moves in front of his eyes. He hears a voice. Dokkaebis are powerful tricksters. Don’t believe everything you see. This is your Essence, your bokjil. Nothing can happen here if you don’t let it. Do you understand?

Is this… an illusion? As Namjoon tries to push the leopard off, his hands drive deep into the fur. The cat pulls off, growling like hell. There’s a long moment the leopard and the boy stare into each other’s eyes. Namjoon feels his own heartbeat pulse through his open flesh in hot, painful surges. Thump, thump, thump. Then - realization. He stares at his fingers, then at the wild cat. His hands are buried deep into the fur, so deep he can feel the outline of bone against his skin. The cat’s chest is pressed against his as it presses him into the ground. And yet. No heartbeat. The leopard has no heartbeat. It’s an illusion. The knowledge explodes like a bomb inside Namjoon’s mind, inside his body.

“You’re not real,” he gasps, almost laughing in relief. As if he’s opened the door to a dark room, clarity and light flood everything. The blur in his vision disappears, all the pain just vanishes in one go, so quickly that Namjoon almost feels floaty. The pressure on his throat disappears, Namjoon can think straight. Even the leopard disappears like it was never there. He feels his throat. No blood, just smooth skin. The sensation is surreal after being caught in the the cruel illusion. Namjoon sits up. He’s exhausted even if he’s fine. I want to go home, he thinks.

When his eyes fall on the Dokkaebi holding a whimpering Jimin down, he swallows. You can do this. This is not about you. This is about Jimin, and you’ll do anything you can to protect him. He trusts you. This Dokkaebi is just trying to intimidate me. The wolf right next to him, radiating a comforting warmth. I am not alone.

“I said, let go of Jimin.”

The cub starts running as soon as the hands leave his fur and he tucks into Namjoon immediately.

“Shhhh,” he whispers, rubbing the little one’s head, “it’s alright. I’m here, I’m okay, see? Shhhhh.”

He lets Jimin sniff around as much as he wants, the cub desperate to be comforted by a familiar scent.

“I will respect Jimin no matter what happens. I will respect his wishes and not decide over his head. Every person needs to be respected, everyone. Lack of respect and love are what turns people into psychos, not lack of training. Not even shifters.”

“I don’t think you understand. If you don’t choose for him today, I am authorized to take Park Jimin in custody until his trial ends. The mere fact that he’s lived as an unregistered shifter for so long needs to be investigated. After that, he will be sent to the Academy either way.”

“And how is that respecting his human rights?”

The Dokkaebi smiles.

“But he’s not human, is he? Human rights don’t apply to him, smartass. He’s a shifter. It’s time for you to understand what that means.”

That’s a crass way of saying it but it really hits Namjoon. That can’t be true… right?

“So… we need to find a trainer for him to be able to keep him?”

“We as the MMA offer classes at our very own Academy to guarantee professional supervision and a guided training period. Since you are VIP clients, we would only charge you half the tuition fees and make sure Jimin receives upgraded treatment there.”

“There?”

“The closest Academy campus is located outside of Seoul, in the mountains and woods of Gapyeong-gun.”

“What! Why is it so far away?”

Gapyeong-gun isn’t too far outside of Seoul but it’s difficult to get there by car. Public transport is even worse. Namjoon knows it means they wouldn’t be able to see Jimin much anymore - driving to school, being there for class and driving home in the afternoon would already take more than half of the day. He’s gonna miss early dance practice, vocal training and a lot of interviews, Namjoon thinks.

“With over 500 students of all kinds of genetic denominations, it’s slightly difficult to find a fitting environment to meet every student’s needs in Seoul, Namjoon-ssi. The Academy is in the woods to grant space, freedom and anonymity.”

“I see… but we can’t drive up there every time Jimin has class.”

“Oh, I think there might be a misunderstanding… the Academy is similar to a boarding school. He would stay there for his entire study period.”

That means - we won’t see Jimin at all? Or just a couple of days per semester? On the weekends? Assuming the Academy even allows students to receive visitors.

“No. Jimin can’t just leave for a semester. Do they have online classes?”

“Online classes are not practical, Namjoon-ssi. Young shifters require hands-on training, not theoretical teaching.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“Is there no way one of those mentors would come to us to train Jimin?”

“Unfortunately, they are always short on staff so that won’t be an option. Unless you find a private tutor with a Caregiver and Mentoring Certificate, Jimin will have to attend school like anyone else.”

From some corner of his mind, Namjoon hears Bang Sihyuk’s voice. No one can know.

“That’s not an option,” Namjoon says. “On so many levels.”

“It’s the law.”

Namjoon breathes. He doesn’t know what he expected from the day when he put his feet on the carpet by his bed for the first time this morning, but it wasn’t this. The Dokkaebi’s eyes bore into Namjoon’s face, he can feel it.

“Are you perhaps… suggesting I break the law?”

The atrocity of the phrase makes Namjoon’s head snap up.

“Of course not,” he snaps, then, calmer, because he’s not a snappy person and he reminds himself of all the people he represents, “of course not.”

I will not allow scandals, Bang PD had once said. If any of you see any of the others or even a staff member do something illegal or even consider doing something illegal, we’re gonna have a long talk. I know you boys by heart. You’re kind, hardworking and talented. I will do anything in my power to support you but I will never enable people to abuse their position.

“You had me worried there, Namjoon-ssi. For a second.”

“I’m just saying that there are two things that cannot happen no matter how we turn it. Jimin can’t go to the Academy. And he can’t go without training. We need to find another solution. I trust you to find a different way.”

It’s this point that Namjoon fears. Because he has no idea about the MMA’s bureaucracy, about the rules or the law. He doesn’t want to engage in illegal activities. But he can’t not leave everything up to fate or luck either, and this is where he needs the Dokkaebi’s honest help.

“Well, there are other ways…”

“Which are?”

“Expensive ways.”

He hopes it doesn’t involve corruption but he feels like a gangster with his next words.

“Money is not an issue.”

“Money!? Are you really offering me money? That’s a weak currency.”

“Real estate?”

“Do I look like I need real estate?”

“What then? Business shares?”

“I’m not greedy.”

“Well, what is it?

“You know, some creatures thirst to feed on your emotions, your dreams, even your blood. They love the taste of a conflicted soul. But I am not that cruel. I wouldn’t even dare to suggest such crude things-“

“Get to the point. What do you want?”

“Your soul.”

The forests still before the Dokkaebi’s lips press closed. As if under a spell, even the clouds draw together and the menacing darkness in the Dokkaebi’s eyes falls over the clearing. Namjoon shivers, feeling cold, feeling tiny, feeling empty. For the first time of his life, he understands that he’s sharing a table with a predator. From this distance, running won’t make a difference, not when the forest obeys the powerful man in Hanbok; begging won’t change a thing, not when Namjoon’s chair’s armrests are chilling and rough like a cage’s bars. No, Namjoon has only his words and he knows he needs to put them in the perfect order to find the one way to get out of this situation unharmed. From the corner of his eye, he notices the deer and the wolf, helpless onlookers by the misguided force of his own lips. They look sad, fur no longer shiny in this low light, heads no longer held high in this awful suffocating silence. As if their souls had been drawn out of them with the threat of Namjoon’s loss.

“The way I see this,” Namjoon reiterates, slowly, praying to breathe life back into the forest with his warm voice. There’s still hope, he reassures himself. I have many words. Words are my playground. No reason to despair yet. “It’s a bargain, yes? We will bargain.”

“I am not a monster,” the Dokkaebi says. Namjoon can’t tell whether that’s supposed to reassure him. He takes it as an affirmation when the man waves his hand, signaling him to start.

“First of all, what do you want my soul for?“

“Is that really your biggest concern?”

“Of course. I will not agree to anything if I don’t know what will happen to my soul. Let’s be honest to each other.”

“Honest, hm?”

All books and films and stories aside, there’s not many occasions Namjoon has heard people even mention their soul or anything related to it. There’s no way of knowing what a soul means in this world of super natural creatures, the value it has, if it’s different for the different creatures. What you can do with a soul. So yes, even if he has to argue and talk his mouth off for hours, he insists on knowing every little detail he can get. He is aware, of course, that any information the Dokkaebi shares could be a lie, but Namjoon has seen liars before, knows some signs of it. Knows he won’t let others do just anything to him.

The Dokkaebi’s face pulls into a smile that so… heavy that Namjoon isn’t sure what to make of it. From the dark look in the man’s eyes, the gaze that he directs at his own hands, he dares to believe that smile is not meant for him.

“Do you know how people turn into Dokkaebis?”

Namjoon has to reign in his mind to not think about the tv show and instead rake his memories for old tales that he may have been told by his grandmother or other elderly from his neighborhood when he was young. All the Korean books he’s read in his youth. Nothing helpful pops up.

“I’m not sure… you die with a sword in your chest?”

The wooden table aches with the forceful slam of the Dokkaebi’s hand. Namjoon flinches, pants, hopes to never see anyone scowl at him again like that.

“Do I look like frickin’ Gong Yoo!? Frickin’ Koreans - has this entire nation watched that show!?”

A bead of sweat trails down Namjoon’s neck. He fiddles with the ring on his finger, shrugging.

“It was a good show. Funny, too.”

“Nothing about being a Dokkaebi is funny. It’s a curse,” the Dokkaebi growls as he tugs his durumagi sleeve back into place. “Just like this atrocity.”

Honestly, there’s not many Hanboks Namjoon has seen in real life with authentic golden emblems sewn into it - the kind that a king would wear in a drama. This durumagi must have either belonged to royalty before (but it doesn’t look very old) or been exclusively tailored for this man because there’s no way that he could have gotten this in a normal Hanbok store. It kind of reminds Namjoon of their 2017 MAMA outfits. This must have been expensive, too. Too expensive for a random foreigner with no regards for Korean culture to spend money on. Why did he get a Hanbok overcoat like this if he doesn’t even like it?

“Cruel of God to put me into this for all eternity, isn’t it? The garb I was butchered in.”

As if a hole is torn into reality, Namjoon’s strained but collected vision is directed towards the Dokkaebi’s stomach where blood starts to flow into the fine fabric with shocking vigor. Namjoon almost stumbles backwards in his seat, the chair creaking as he leans back, his mind telling him to get away, get away. Even the scent of blood is out to shock him. It stings in his nose, as if to show him how real it is. No wound is visible behind the slashed textile but Namjoon is sure that he wouldn’t be able to look at it anyway. This is already crass enough. Jimin seems to smell the blood too, raising his head and sniffling the air. Namjoon does his best to placate him with kind caresses and a slight push for him to stay down, to lie back down and sleep.

“Ugly, isn’t it?”

He should have notices the teasing tone of the Dokkaebi. Should have noticed, well, everything around the blood. Should have noticed. Because when he looks at the Dokkaebi’s face, another layer of reality has been torn away. He feels bile force its way up his throat, feels terror claw into him. In the chair across the table sits the body of a young man, shape and visage so unrecognizable it might have been a different person altogether. A cold breeze rushes through the trees around them, shaking the powerless leaves around as it likes.

The disgusting taste of bile reaches Namjoon’s mouth and he shudders, swallows, presses his eyes shut, swallows and swallows until there’s enough spit to wash everything away for a second or two. He dares to look up, look back at the Dokkaebi. His face is - not a face. It resembles a farming ground that has been plowed thoroughly - deeply, brutally, with force. The flesh of his cheeks just hangs off his face in tatters, like shredded wet tapestry that’s supposed to be removed and clings to the wall pathetically, his left cheekbone sticking out like crushed wood good for nothing but to feed a fire, and there’s blood everywhere between the swollen flesh, the torn nose, the ripped off eyebrow as if it was the only thing holding the disfigured pieces together. The only thing that’s sort of intact are the eyes - eyes that have not lost the piercing ire that’s following Namjoon’s pupils as they wander across the massacrous sight, almost like guard dogs making sure he won’t dare misstep even once. By the time Namjoon even locates the Dokkaebi’s throat between the wet, bloated flesh and the sharp pricks of white that had held the man’s jaw in place once, there are tears streaming down his cheeks. He shuts his eyes, praying that this face will not become the center of his nightmares for the rest of his life. When the Dokkaebi leans his face into his hand, which is also torn apart, flesh swelling between deep bite marks, joints hanging off the bone loosely, there’s an ugly squishing sound. Namjoon really wants to vomit. Jimin squeaks, terror in the high-pitched sound. The tiny cub thrashes in Namjoon’s hold but his hands feel numb, can’t hold the cat. It falls off the chair, squeaks some more, and runs.

“Please,” he begs, “please stop.”

“Did you know,” the Dokkaebi says, jaw crunching while he speaks, “that a supernatural’s powers never work on themselves?”

“No,” he croaks.

“Never, Namjoon-ssi. So I can hide this from you and the entire world but never from my own eyes.”

“Why did you have to show me?”

“Look at me again.”

“No, I don’t want to.”

“Look at me again. I will answer your questions.”

By now, mind occupied by the intensity of disgust and just overall sickness, Namjoon doesn’t even know what kinds of questions he’s asked before or if he still wants them answered. Raising his eyes back onto the horrifying sight takes more than a few seconds of encouraging and reassuring himself. He whimpers when the sticky red of the blood and the gruesome white have not vanished, but follows the Dokkaebi’s finger. Namjoon can’t help but pull up his shoulders, wishing he’d be somewhere else, wishing he could just go back to his normal life when the man in Hanbok puts his fingers into the flesh by his throat. He chokes, gags, isn’t sure who the sound is coming from, and looks at the wolf and the deer. The wolf is low on the ground, nuzzling something in between his paws that Namjoon identifies as a trembling little cat cub. Only the stag looks back, eyes deep and full of sympathy. Please get me out of here, Namjoon begs but jumps when the Dokkaebi’s loud voice demands his attention.

“LOOK AT ME!”

He does. Shivers.

“Do you see this?”

Between the two fingers that sort of… pull a more punctual wound open, something white shows up. At first, Namjoon suspects it to be bone but then, the Dokkaebi’s fingers dig deep enough to show the actual bone and it’s clear that the white piece is not a part of it.

“It’s a fang,” the Dokkaebi says, his own teeth showing. When he rips it out of his throat and throws it away, it takes only a few seconds to lodge itself in the open wound again. He looks at it in disgust. “This is the sword in my chest.”

“Great,” Namjoon groans, “I’ve seen it. Now make it go away.”

“Can you imagine the one thing that’s worse than all of this?”

“What is it?”

Namjoon feels sick. Sick to his stomach, sick to his bones. Sick like even vomiting won’t bring relief. Sick like he hasn’t felt sick since the beginning of his life. Sick like he won’t recover till the end of his life if this doesn’t end soon.

“The fact that all I remember from my life as a human is my death - the way a pack of wolves tore into me, clawed me apart until I became this. That I am forced to watch myself die every single night. Becoming a Dokkaebi is a punishment.”

The Dokkaebi pauses, must have found mercy in some hidden, unharmed corner of his body, and lets some sort of magic cover his face until he looks like a normal human being again. For some reason, it doesn’t loosen the icy grip the vision of his face has on Namjoon’s heart. He knows what he sees but his heart doesn’t follow up on it, not when it knows what’s underneath the mask. When the blood stains disappear from the Hanbok, Namjoon and the whole forest take a deep breath, like the last second of winter’s chokehold has passed and everything dares to hope for new life.

“I can’t heal or even become free until I find these beasts and kill them. I may seem powerful to you but I am not a war hero. My illusions will not be enough to trick a powerful Alpha - not when there’s a whole pack of wolves following him. They've all had a taste of my blood, what do you think will happen if I try to kill their Alpha?”

Namjoon’s head is still reeling. He doesn’t really want to talk anymore. If at least one of the members were here. Yoongi, perhaps. Or maybe just the wolf and the stag. Anyone. Comfort. He pulls himself together and speaks, even if his voice is trembling.

“So you collect souls. To become more powerful.”

“Sort of, yes.”

“And what happens to the person who sells their soul?”

“It depends on the contract they make.”

“Contract?”

A new piece of paper appears on the table, flat between them, innocently white against the dark wood and Namjoon feels his heart pound quickly at the sight of it; as if it knew what kind of paper it is. He remembers all the times he’s been standing on a tower in the pool, ten meters above the ground, then letting himself fall into the water below. His body feels the same rush of losing control, sitting in this chair but looking at the paper and Namjoon needs a second to gather control over his mind again. When he takes a second look, the paper doesn’t call forth adrenaline and memories and his ears pop open to hear the sounds of the forest. The Dokkaebi speaks first.

“This contract specifies our deal - I receive your soul for three months in return for letting Park Jimin live with you instead of taking him to the Academy.”

“And how can I be sure that it’s only for three months and that you won’t be taking my soul and do whatever you want with it for all eternity?”

“Think of it as a Netflix subscription… if your free trial is up, the subscription ends.”

Namjoon frowns. “…that’s not how Netflix works... Do you even watch tv?”

“Why would I not be watching tv? There’s lots of good shows…. How To Get Away With Murder, and-“

“Anyway,” Namjoon says, “what happens to me in those three months? What does it mean for me if you have my soul?”

“I don’t need your memories, your emotions or any of that. I merely need your soul’s strength, the horsepower of your soul so to say. In those months, you will probably not be very productive and drift in your thoughts a lot - your mind will automatically drift to me and what I’m doing. But you’ll live normally.”

“That’s not enough then,” Namjoon says. He isn’t sure if that’s too bold to say but he knows that they had agreed to bargain and bargain he will. An idea pops up. “My soul is worth much more than that.”

He seems to have hit the nail on the head because the Dokkaebi frowns.

“I’m in the international business. An absence for three months will result in million-dollar losses. Nowadays, the world doesn’t really run without me. But what’s most important, I have a family to take care of and a leopard shifter brother I need to raise - I want more in exchange.”

“What do you want?”

“How sure can I be that the mentor you pick is good for Jimin and that our CEO will even accept that person?”

“Are you challenging me?”

“No. I’m saying, every mentor must have undergone training themselves. You mentioned a license?”

“There are classes to train mentors and caregivers.”

“Good. Enroll Min Yoongi and me. We’ll do the classes, we’ll take the exam, whatever. We’ll take care of Jimin.”

From the expressions of the Dokkaebi, it’s not discernible how much it is that Namjoon is asking for but from the long silence, Namjoon gathers that it must be a big deal. Whether it’s about sneaking them into the system or breaking the law, he doesn’t care. These are the conditions. I will do whatever I can to make Jimin live the best life possible.

“The class takes three years of teaching. I can’t keep the officials’ eyes away from you for that long.”

“Well, do we have to be present or do we just need to pass the exam?”

“You need to pass the exam.”

“When is the next one?”

“I’m not sure. In five months? I think the exams take place semi-annually.”

“Great, put us on that list. We’ll be there. We’ll pass it.”

The Dokkaebi huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Humans are so stupid. Look, you don’t really think you can learn the stuff from three years of class in five months, do you? Especially when you’re just human.”

“Give me a guidance counsellor then. Something like a tutor.”

“What?”

“Someone to tutor Min Yoongi and me. Someone with experience, a person who’s taken the classes before.”

“I-that’s- you’re asking for a lot, Namjoon-ssi.”

“My soul is worth a lot.”

The forest sings around them as if nothing bad could ever happen here and with every chirp of the birds, Namjoon feels something in his blood surging, like a connection. Almost as if he can feel the grass growing, stretching towards the sky and bathing in the sunlight. By the side, the deer and wolf sit. They look more relaxed than before and Namjoon likes to think it’s because he’s taken control of the situation. The Dokkaebi’s eyes are calculating but also… curious.

“I’ve never met a human who actually knows the value of their soul.”

Namjoon is not Seokjin, so he doesn't think it's the right time to fling in some cheesy pun or snarky comment like, of course, my soul's just as handsome as my face.

“So, what happens to my soul if you die fighting those wolves?”

“Good question. I guess you’d have to hire someone to find it for you.”

“Find it???”

“I suppose so. I’ll make sure your guidance counsellor slash tutor will be able to find your lost soul in case I die. If I can even die. Otherwise, I’ll just bring it back to you.”

“That’s not reassuring at all! What if someone else finds it first? Someone bad?”

“We could always bind it to an object? Something small, something you can keep on your body?”

Namjoon thinks about all those EarPods he’s lost. He shivers at the mental image of his soul falling through some sewer on the street.

“Maybe not too small?”

“I won’t need your soul anytime soon anyway, so we’ll find an adequate object until then. When I need it, I’ll notify you. That all?”

Namjoon looks at the paper and finds that every word has been recorded on the paper in fine calligraphy. It looks like an old Hangul script that he find in museums. It makes him wonder how magic works, how many kinds of magic there are and if it’s anything like he would imagine. If people could really use magic for good, just like Tata with his little ray gun.

“So you want to use my soul to execute revenge.”

“I want to find the people who killed me and make them pay, yes.”

“How about you bring them to the police?”

He should have seen it coming but somehow, he didn’t. The Dokkaebi gets up faster than Namjoon can even register and slams his hand on the table. His eyes are angry, his whole body tense.

“You think they would even care!? No one cares, no one cares for a punished soul! And even if, I don’t think it’s your business how I deal with my stuff.”

“I think it is, considering that it’s my soul you’re taking. I don’t want it to be used for violence.”

“But you want your little brother to stay with you, don’t you?”

Of course Namjoon does. Also, besides wanting Jimin to stay with the group, there’s also a couple of rules Namjoon can’t ignore. No one can know, PDnim had said specifically. We need to keep him safe, Yoongi had pointed out. Even if Jimin wanted to go, Namjoon’s hands would be tied.

“Jimin can’t go,” he says simply, hoping that he won’t have to explain. It’s enough reason. The Dokkaebi nods, as if his reason is the same. Enough.

“Then you can’t care about what I use your soul for. This is the deal. Take it or Jimin will have to go.”

A wave of uncertainty rushes through Namjoon. What can I say to make him reconsider violent behavior? It’s natural in the world to use violence for violence, Namjoon knows that and can’t help but feel disappointed at the realization that it’s no different for the supernatural world. But still, even if that’s the natural way, there’s another path that’s worth taking - Namjoon knows this especially.

“There’s no freedom in-“, he wants to say but the words are stuck in his throat. A cold shiver crawls up his legs like a horde of insects scrambling over each other between his bare skin and his clothing. He looks around, feeling as though time stands still. Everything is still as it was a second ago, the Dokkaebi, the mahogany desk, the wolf, the stag, the trees. But it’s all silent as if someone had turned the birds, the trees and even the frogs off. As if the whole forest is holding its breath for something major to happen. The sunlight still falls through the treetops but it flickers, dipping the clearing in an unsteady light, never quite passing warmth to Namjoon even when it brushes over him. What is going on?

He notices something stirring from the corner of his eyes. When he turns, the wolf and the stag are moving, moving around something. The wolf nudges something, licks and nuzzles his snout into a lump, a naked human body on the grass. The body moves, lifts its blonde head. Jimin? Namjoon is holding his breath along with the forest. It takes minutes but finally, the boy moves more, sits up, encouraged by the wolf that moves around Jimin in gentle steps, tail wagging slowly. When Jimin rubs his eyes like he’s just woken up from sleep, Namjoon can’t help but smile fondly. Jimin shifted back. The Dokkaebi makes a surprised noise by his side but Namjoon ignores him, standing up and walking towards Jimin, who has also found his way up. Their footsteps towards each other echo, hitting grass, little rocks and flowers. Namjoon thinks they echo from within his chest. His racing heart pumps blood through his ears. He sighs in relief when a hand touches his shoulder, closes his eyes for a last time before he lets himself be convinced that this is real. When he opens his eyes, he gasps, even if the image before him is not new. Jimin really stands in front of him, hair in disorganized strands as if he’d run, eyes big and tears wetting his entire face. He’s crying, sobbing and something is wrong with the image of his younger brother but Namjoon can’t figure out what, so he tries to touch Jimin. The skin is familiar and warm and the touch makes the younger shake even worse. Sunshine turns into rainy clouds over their heads.

“Hyung,” Jimin gasps, voice broken and small. His breath brushes over the goosebumps on Namjoon’s skin in fast little waves. Too fast.

“Jiminie, you shifted,” Namjoon rushes to smile warmly, grabbing the boy’s shoulders, “you changed back. How did you do that?”

Jimin looks around, eyes wild as he searches the area around them. For what, Namjoon doesn’t know but the fear in Jimin’s face makes his heart break. He wills his big hands to calm and to quickly wipe Jimin’s cheeks like Taehyung and Seokjin always do to calm him. Jimin whimpers and lets himself be drawn against Namjoon’s chest. Normally, he wouldn’t really do this, but Jimin shaking like a leaf definitely isn’t normal. His little chest is falling and rising too fast and Namjoon feels like he’s holding a delicate bird in his arms. Drops of rain start falling, start trailing long paths over Jimin’s bare skin.

“What’s happening, Jimin-ah? Tell hyung what’s going on, hm?”

What is going on inside his head? Are there side effects to shifting? Is he in pain? Does he remember anything?

Jimin smells good where his hair is right underneath Namjoon’s nose. It’s reassuring to see him back in human form of course but right now Namjoon dares to think that maybe Jimin has shifted back at the wrong time. What if the Dokkaebi will try to take advantage of him? When he’s this vulnerable? What if he just takes him and I can’t do anything? Namjoon is careful, trying not to overwhelm Jimin but he finally has the opportunity to get the answer he’s been dying to hear ever since Jimin found him in the woods.

“Jimin-ah, is Suga-hyung here too? Did you come here with Suga-hyung?”

“Hyung,” Jimin breathes, voice fragile, threatening to break while new tears flow out of his beautiful beautiful eyes, “hyung, will you really send me away?”

The forest’s melody dies down into an ugly silence. No buzzing, no life. Namjoon’s heart shatters. Shatters like it’s just a thin slice of glass not meant to withstand anything. He feels the shock crawling into his own face, driving tears into his own eyes. A whisper of betrayal hangs in the air and Namjoon swallows heavily. Before he can say anything, Jimin grabs his arms. Pleading.

“Hyung, please no. Please, please don’t send me away. I would never - I, please, please, I want to stay with you. I love you all so much, I can’t-”

He cries, cries like he hasn’t since a long time ago, since he was younger and more fragile in his spirit, too dependent to reassure himself. Big tears roll over his cheeks, big tears like fat raindrops falling after a forest fire and Namjoon is reminded of that one time he’d found Jimin in the shower, under the running water where he had been for three hours until everyone started looking for him. The water had washed the tears away of course but the redness in Jimin’s eyes and the way he’d curled up on the floor instead of standing had given it all away. In the end, Hoseok had helped him to breathe while Taehyung had patted him dry and given him little kisses on his forehead. Jimin didn’t sleep that night, confiding hoarsely in Taehyung, and had seemed better afterwards but never spoke of it again. The next day, Namjoon was informed of the death threats that had been announced against Jimin and Jungkook and the concerts PDnim had canceled because of it.

“Jimin, I-“

“Please tell me you won’t give me away because I’m different now. You said- you said you’d always love me.”

The tears are real, they slide down from Jimin’s cheeks onto Namjoon’s hands, warmly but clinging onto their skin desperately as if afraid of falling. Namjoon’s heart pounds, strains, tries to escape his chest and engulf Jimin’s to make him feel protected, secure and loved.

“That’s,” Namjoon’s voice breaks, “that’s never gonna happen, Jiminie. We won’t send you away. We’ll never send you away, okay? You’re our brother, you can decide what you want and we’ll always be here for you. We love you so much, you’re our Jiminie.”

Under Namjoon’s hands, Jimin’s tears are wiped off and when he looks at his dongsaeng again, the deep sadness is replaced by glimmers of hope. A pout is on Jimin’s warm lips as he mumbles, “promise?”

“I promise.”

The way Jimin’s face lights up like the golden sun breaking forth from behind the clouds is everything. If he was any more sentimental, Namjoon would probably really believe Jimin was an angel. But there’s something… unsettling in the way Jimin’s beautiful eyes start looking glassy. Glassy if there’s some sad part of him that can’t believe Namjoon’s promise.

“But would you… would you really sell your soul for me?”

Namjoon breathes, feels lightheaded, feels the air rushing inside his lungs, rushing in, rushing out. Feels peace in the rush. Wants to give the same peace to Jimin. The tender love Jimin always gives but never expects to be given in return.

“Jiminie, it’s because of my soul that I can serve you and the members. I will fight for you with all that I am but I don’t know if I can give my soul away and still-”

It’s difficult to say this and to see the hope in his dongsaeng’s eyes flicker and turn into new tears. Jimin presses his eyes shut, a bitter smile on his lips.

“I trust you, hyung. If you want me to suffer, I will. You’re my leader. I will always follow you. You’re my home, you know that, right?”

“I know-“ Namjoon’s voice completely breaks. This is the worst he’s ever felt towards Jimin even if the younger is smiling at him, he knows that not doing it would make him think that he betrayed Jimin forever. In the rain, it looks as if Jimin’s whole body is crying violently. With a start, Namjoon knows. I have to protect him in any way I can. If it’s this sacrifice, that’s life. It will all turn out well. It always does.

“Oh, Jiminie. You’re my home, too. We will never send you away.”

For a second, he becomes a witness of the sunrise that’s Jimin’s smile. It swells along with the crescendo of the forest, swells into a warmth that soaks into Namjoon’s body. It's so beautiful, almost like it can make up for all the shit and all the disgustingness his day had brought. Namjoon wraps his arms around Jimin, letting his nose get buried in Jimin's neck, just the way he knows Jimin likes to be hugged. And then it happens. With an ice-cold start, Namjoon realizes that something about this is wrong. He realizes what has been bothering him at the back of his mind for their entire conversation. Why the chill on his legs had never gone away. He hadn’t felt Jimin’s heartbeat. Even with his fingers digging into Jimin’s cheeks, into Jimin’s shoulders and while holding his head against his chest by the neck, Namjoon hadn’t felt Jimin’s heartbeat pulsing under the delicate skin. Just like the leopard - the illusion of the leopard. Within seconds, Jimin dissolves like a ruined reflection in a lake - and Namjoon looks straight into the dark, gleaming eyes of the Dokkaebi. The Dokkaebi who is holding a whining leopard cub in his arms. The only weak comfort are the red stripes on his hands that look suspiciously like claw marks.

“How heartwarming. Now, let's move on.”

Namjoon gasps like he’s resurfacing after a long dive. He holds his chest but can’t find the hurting spot. It aches from deep down, hollow. Around him, the rain is back and crashing down. The initial peace is nowhere to be found. An illusion. It was - it was another trick. Namjoon slides off the chair, can’t hold himself, sinks to his knees, gasping for air. It takes more than a minute to come back to his senses, the nausea overwhelming. The forest’s song has turned into a mess, an arrhythmical clashing of dissonant sounds.

“How- how did you do that?”

“Hmmm, I didn’t do anything. Your imagination is really powerful, all it needed was a tiny push. Now, if you’d sign here and here… You have come to a decision, have you not?”

Namjoon’s heart pounds furiously and he starts to believe that people saying “follow your heart” clearly haven’t ever stood before decisions like this. One side of his conscious knows that the Dokkaebi is a supernatural being and that there’s no way he could ever take this guy on but the other side of his mind tells him that every creature has a weakness and that a trickster can be defeated through a trick. But there’s no real way to tell whether he can even win this game or not - other than trying. His hands are shaking so he puts them into the wolf’s fur. The touch ignites a prickling sensation, almost like little lights crawling into his hands to give courage and strength. And if this is the last thing I try, I have to do it. For Jimin.

“I-I made my decision.”

“And which is it?”

“I decide not to tell you. You didn’t tell me I had to tell you what it is, you only said that I needed to decide.”

The twitch in the Dokkaebi’s eyes gives it all away - it’s a valid loophole and the Dokkaebi has not expected Namjoon to find it.

“That’s unacceptable, you can’t-“

“In fact, I can. This is my Essence, my bokjil, isn’t it? Nothing can happen here if I don’t allow it. I could just go back and report you.”

Namjoon feels like there’s hot courage boiling in every vein. The wolf nudges his cheek in silent praise. It feels like victory. Until the Dokkaebi laughs.

“Oh, Namjoon-ssi, how do think you got here in the first place?”

Namjoon hates the patronizing tone.

“Do you really think you’re so great that you can transport your physical body into your soul’s landscape yourself? And how do you think you will get out of it without my help? Do you want to wander your own soul for the rest of your life and never go back?”

Everything shatters. Shatters like it’s final and there’s no saving left for this mess. Shatters like the melody is irreparable, useless.

“Give me Jimin first,” Namjoon croaks.

“Sign first. I will give him to you right after.”

“You have been tricking me left and right. How do you expect me to believe you say the truth?”

The Dokkaebi laughs.

“Hm, I see we have a bit of a misunderstanding here. You see, I haven’t lied to you. Tricks and lies are really two different things. Lying means intentionally misleading someone. A trick is just a suggestion. If you fall for it, that's your bad. Also, I do have some honor. I’m not a liar. I always keep my word.”

Namjoon shudders, feeling empty, feeling defeated. His shoulders sag, his chest hurts. I just want to go home. Thunder shakes the sky and lighting crashes down when the pen in his hand scratches over the rough paper. The ground beneath his feet turns to mud with the myriads of water drops catapulting against it. Everything is wet, the uncomfortable sort of wet that you’re not prepared for even with an umbrella and a rain jacket. The drops are invasive, driving straight through Namjoon’s clothes and pressing obnoxiously against his skin. It’s unrealistic and illogical but Namjoon fears that they might dig through his skin and pierce his organs if he doesn’t get out of here soon.

The Dokkaebi smiles when Namjoon puts the pen down. The mahogany desk disappears behind a new veil of rain and Namjoon feels unprotected with nothing firm between the Dokkaebi and him. He sighs in relief when Jimin’s wet snout, wet fur, wet body touches his fingers, when the little one mewls in his arms.

“It’s alright, baby. I’m here. It’s alright.”

“I believe we’re done here. It was a pleasure to meet you, Namjoon-ssi.”

He should be glad it’s all over, should be glad this weird meeting is coming to an end and he will go home and all but all that’s left on Namjoon’s mind is the feeling that he’s missing something. That he’s been tricked beyond simple illusions, bereaved of answers, options, freedom, god knows what else.

“Wait,” he says, barely able to keep his eyes open in the strong rain, “why me? Out of the millions of souls in Seoul, why did you pick mine?”

He notices a grey figure moving through the rain. Wolf? The Dokkaebi seems to notice it too but instead of being intimidated by the animal that could tear him apart any second, he speaks calmly.

“As I said before. Each beast has its own preferences.”

He’s gone in the blink of an eye, the dark glint in his eyes and the wicked smirk on his lips the last things Namjoon sees. He smiles weakly, finally able to breathe now that the menace is gone. He looks down at Jimin in his arms, finally safe. In a gesture meant to calm the shivering cub, Namjoon lets his fingers move through the cub’s fur as tenderly as he can, careful not to pull on the strands of hair the printer ink still glues together. Jimin purrs when Namjoon rubs his neck. And then - Namjoon freezes, nausea swelling up like a roaring tsunami. There’s no pulse. A dark wave pushes over him, making him numb and deaf, making him drown in himself. The leopard baby falls apart in his hands. Instead of the forest’s melody, there’s laughter. Namjoon falls to his knees. He vomits. Namjoon sits in the rain, unmoving and alone, only the wolf by his side, silently spending warmth. The rain drops sting.

“How do you want the song to sound?”

Namjoon has a few ideas already, here between the softness of the pillows and the gentle curls of Taehyung’s permed brown hair and the hazy glow outside the windows where rain keeps running down the glass tirelessly. On the windowsill, a scented candle flickers, spreading its cozy wooden scent. It’s most likely a gift from Jimin and therefore a treasured reminder of something special for Taehyung.

“It should sound like tearing your heart out violently. Like crying, too. Because our tears are just like raindrops,” Namjoon sees Taehyung staring into the distance, face grim as little wet streaks trail down his cheeks and drip off his jaw, “without the pain, there is no need for comfort. Even if you’re not scared of it anymore, being broken still has to hurt. It hurts every time.”

Namjoon kneels in a familiar living room, shaking, dripping, gasping. There’s a puddle of water at his knees, slowly sinking into the carpet. His head spins and he’s nauseous, as if his whole body rhythms and sensory systems have all been overloaded and violated. He still feels the stinging pricks of rain drill into him. Even the comforting and familiar scent of Yoongi’s cooking is not enough to calm him down. He’s home, yes, but he can’t stop shaking. Is this… what going insane feels like?

The only sense of relief comes when a small rumbling distracts him from all the noise in his head. A tiny body of violently colorful fur rolls around on a blanket on the sofa to his left. The kitty rumbles, its paws kneading the air while it sleeps. Namjoon doesn’t dare to believe it, inherently afraid to fall for another cruel trick. Slowly, he leans over to put a hand on Jimin’s chest. Thump, thump, thump. Peace. Glorious peace spreads in Namjoon’s chest. It’s real. This time, it’s really real. It seeps through his entire body and Namjoon relaxes, tears streaming down his cheeks. Jimin is fine. Jimin will be fine. I made my decision. It will be alright.

“Namjoon!?”

He flinches when something crashes against the floor. A cup of tea stains Yoongi’s white slippers, the shards in a circle around him like he’s standing in a bomb’s impact crater. When Namjoon lifts his hand to wave, his wet clothes feel gross and heavy. Yoongi frowns. One look at Jimin, the paper bag that stands next to the sofa and Namjoon realizes something he hasn’t even thought of while in the woods.

“Namjoon-ah. Are you alright? Were were you? Sejin-hyung said-”

Yoongi’s eyes follow his, the genuine concern put on pause when he understands that Namjoon is focused on something else. When their eyes meet again, Namjoon can literally see his hyung’s thoughts.

“Don’t say it, hyung-“

“Where are they?”

Namjoon grimaces.

He forgot the shopping bags in the woods.

masterlist | moodboard masterlist

#park jimin #bts #bts fanfic #jimin #bangtan #kim namjoon #jeon jungkook #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #cat jimin #supernatural bts #shapeshifter jimin #wordsturnintostories #show me your rosettes baby g

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beakmanfans-blog · 6 years ago

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Beakman's World/Castelo Ra-Tim-Bum story 5, Beakman's World, Episode 93, "Sight, Beakmania & Sound".

It is that time of year again, to enter the worlds of imagination. Again two worlds unite into unique ways, and surprising events unfold. Whether you wish to recapture your childhood, or you are visiting these worlds for the first time. We hope you will enjoy this fourth adventure, into the worlds of humor, science, and education. As with the earlier three version, these stories are presented in both English, and Portuguese. On our "Beakman Fans", and "Castelo Rá-Tim-Bum, Entusiastas" Faceboook pages.

This is a clip and paste image, by "Teary Eyes" Anderson, to go along with the fourth story in this series, also written by him. In the first 3 adventures in this series, the characters from the Unites States television show "Beakman's World" {O Mundo de Beakman}, visited the characters from Castelo Ra-Tim-Bum, the fourth story had the 'Castelo', characters return the favor, by visiting the "Beakman's World" characters. If you have not read these earlier stories here is a few quick links to begin your adventures into these worlds. As with the previous stories, and accompanying images, these were made for a friend's birthday.

Castelo Ra-Tim-Bum/Beakman's World, The Complete Fan Fiction Trilogy * https://archive.org/details/CasteloRa-Tim-BumBeakmansWorldTheCompleteFanFictionTrilogy

Castelo Ra-Tim-Bum/O Mundo de Beakman, A Trilogia Completa da Ficcao de Entusiasta * https://archive.org/details/CasteloRa-tim-bumOMundoDeBeakmanATrilogiaCompletaDaFiccaoDe

Beakman's World/Castelo Ra-Tim-Bum, story #4 https://www.facebook.com/BeakmanFans/posts/924363684408617

O Mundo de Beakman/CasteloRa-Tim-Bum, historia #4 * https://www.facebook.com/CasteloRaTimBumEntusiastas/posts/1998738060367719

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Beakman's World, Episode 93, "Sight, Beakmania & Sound".

Written By: Tyler "Teary Eyes" Anderson. Translated into Portuguese by, Otavio Almeida.

{Fade in, to illuminated image of the moon, on the wall.}

Don howling like a wolf: Owwhhaa

{Camera lowers to a darkened forest area, of Beakman's Information Center studio. Between the trees is a igloo surrounded with ice, and the two penguins standing outside.}

Herb: Don, your going to wake everyone up. Why are you doing that? We aren't at the South Pole anymore.

Don: Sorry penguin pal of mine. It's just that time of day, my instincts take over, and I think about our wolf friend, and how we would give him our fish left-overs.

Herb: I don't think he was a real wolf. I think he was a expedition dog, from the polar station, wanting to beg food from us.

Don: Either way, he woke us up every day at the right moment, to begin watching Beakman's World. And now here it is, time to start a new day, and to watch Beakman's World, from inside the studio itself.

Herb: Waking up to new science, and knowledge. The best way to start off your day, its a real howl. Owwwhaaa.

Don & Herb: Owwwhaaa. Owwwhaaa. Owwwhaaa.

{A penguin flipper is then seen pressing a button on the remote control, for the studio lights. An explosion type sound is heard as the lights come on, but it is Beakman yawning, sitting up, and rubbing his eyes.}

Beakman: Fast Fact, did you know that light has many speeds? Its speed depends on whatever environment it is in. Fog, gelatin, gas, or the vacuum of outer space. Each substance it goes through, it will have a different speed. However its top speed, is known as the "Speed of Light" which can only be achieved in a vacuum. However even something like a piece of paper can stop a photon of light. Catching these photons is how we see.

{The opening credits then begin. The camera then shows a overhead video of Information Center, Beakman getting off couch, Liza, Josie, and Phoebe waking up from their reclining chair beds. And a Lester wandering across the room, tripping over a footstool, then continuing across the room with his arms outstretched, as if half asleep. The Castelo kids, and their parents are seen rolling up their sleeping bags.}

Beakman: Good mourning Liza, I had a strange dream last night. I dreamed I was kidnapped by some goblin creatures, and told to teach them about science. Then they kept challenging me to card games, near their Hearthstone. Which of course I always won. I must have been doing too much research into your video game voice linguistic projects, and lost track of time, last night.

Liza: I always love falling asleep to voices. Their tones, and rhythms are like music, to loose yourself in, and pass into the world of dreams.

Pedro: I always liked falling asleep looking at the stars, or the moon, imagining I could use a radio, and contact life on the moon. And things like that. What do you enjoy dreaming of son?

Sancho-Esteban: I always dream about the adventures you had in the Castelo, and the time I got to visit it for myself. The Castelo is something magical, and wonderful.

Josie: Dreams are a way that our minds review our thoughts, categorize them, and try to analyze events, from a different perspective. Sometimes they are wish fulfillment, other times they are tasks that aren't completed. Now please hurry, and move these things to a distant corner, so we can begin the show. Children all around the world will soon be tuning into watch the show, and we haven't even picked our first question yet.

Phoebe: I'll go and check the mail room, and see how many new correspondences we have received. I'm sure there will be a great puzzler, in one of those letters.

Zeca: I enjoyed spending the night, here in the Information Center. It was like camping out, without the dangerous animals, or the having to go behind a tree, to use the restroom.

Maca: I liked seeing the stars from the skylight, and the lightly flashing exit signs. It was like being in a cave, and inside the big city all mixed together. However I didn't get much sleep, all I heard, the entire night was that guy in a rat suit snoring.

Beakman: Yes, he is like a lovable pet, that rarely does anything, which you ask him to do. But he does have his helpful moments. When he isn't sleeping, or looking for food.

Biba: Spending the night here was similar to the moments I spent with my scouting troop, back in my younger days. Earning badges, helping the elderly, learning to cook, and acquiring survival skills.

Phoebe, dragging two bags behind her: I was once a scout also, we sold cookies, tried to start fires, and made crafts. But I always forgot about the meetings, and rarely completed the tasks. If there was a "Badge of a Quitter", I probably would have gotten it. I think I got 6 skill completion badges, when I was young.

Josie: Move it along people, this episode isn't going to make itself. We still got research to do, correspondence to sort, experiments to check. And safety equipment, to put into place. Before Beakman starts his demonstrations. Do you remember what happened last time? He crashed through that wall over there.

Baba wondering around, after putting away her sleeping bag: Hello Gato, what are you doing now, reading?

Gato, seated at a desk, with his paw on a book: I have been reading this book for the last few hours. I did not want to wake anyone, so I began reading this Braille book.

Baba: You were reading in the dark? What is a Braille book? It sounds like it has a French origin. Is it a illustrated book?

Beakman, picks her up, and spins her round: From the questions of children, the education of the world can be achieved. Yes, that is correct, or at least partially correct. Braille was the name of a French teacher that lost his sight in his childhood. That will make a great topic for this morning's show.

Josie: Do you want me to get your French teacher's costume ready, for him to be our special dead guest scientist?

Beakman: Nope not today. I have a better idea whom can be our special guest for the day. All I will have to do is make a special phone call.

{Beakman walks over to a old style, rotary phone. Picks up the handle. Dials a number, and then places the handle back on the phone. He then lifts off the cover, showing a small cell phone under the larger phone.}

Beakman: You can never be too careful, with security around here. Once my phone was lost for an hour, and we had 30 pizzas delivered here a few minutes later.

Dr. Victor: Yes, Nino did something similar when you came to visit our Castelo, but they were expensive packages.

Nino: I apologized for that, already. I'm only half awake, what is going on, will we be on TV again like yesterday? I hope everyone at home in Brazil gets to see us. Including Dina, I think she is infatuated with me.

Pedro: As I recall you were the one chasing her around, with romance in your eyes, but she liked me more.

Nino: That was a long time ago, my relationship with her has become much better since then. I want to make her proud.

{A image of Dina appears above Nino's head, and he stretches his neck ready to kiss her.}

Zeca: I think they wear clothing, which is too similar to each other. I wouldn't be surprised if they dance in front of each other, and pretend to be mirror images of the each other.

Beakman: Okay, that's enough for now. I'm going to need Nino's help in a few minutes, after I finish my phone call. Off to the make-up chairs, your morning grooming, and remember to brush your teeth. A clay shaped rat fellow wanted me to remind you about that.

{Beakman then turns on his cell phone, and slides various sections of text into the center of the screen, and then quickly presses the "Send" button.}

Beakman: I just finished asking our guest teacher, to come onto our show today. Are you ready for a day of science today Nino?

Nino: Well I am still partially sleepy, but I'm glad to help you, if I can. You have always been a big inspiration to me.

Beakman: That's great I could always use a slightly dim witted assistant with my science demonstrations.

{Nino looks sad, and slightly confused, but follows Beakman. Next in the mail area everyone has gathered waiting for Beakman, and Nino.}

Beakman: Our first question for today, is from our special guest Baba. She asks, what is Braille, and how can it be read in books?

Nino: {Gulp}, I was never very good at reading.

Baba: He's answering one of my questions. Did you hear? Beakman is answering my question.

{Baba shakes Maca, as she questions him.}

Maca: I can't think, when your shaking me to pieces. He's already answered our questions before, or have you forgotten yesterday?

Sancho-Esteban: If you don't stop talking we'll miss the answers.

Mau: Oh sure Beakman answers their questions, and not ours. And we even have to wake up, before lunch time. I hope the show will be rebroadcast later today, so I can watch it after I am more rested.

Godofredo: I'm excited to watch the recording of a actual episode of Beakman's World. It is a dream come true. This is the best moment of my life. I can hardly control my excitement, I am shaking all over.

Mau: Settle down, or you will hear my fatal laughter, and then never hear anything again. Now do not disturb me, while I crawl back into our snot filled nasal tube, and take a nap.

Close-up view of Beakman: The word Braille, comes from the last name of Louis Braille the inventor of the writing system. Although there were several earlier writing systems that could be read by the blind. Louis's version was created with the intent of being simple to use, and to write. Earlier version of writing for the blind, or secret writing, involved raised {embossed} letters, or symbols. At the age of three he lost the sight in one of his eyes, and the other eye got infected, and by the time he was five years old, both his were blind. His teacher Valentin Hauy, at a school for the blind in France, tried to teach children to read with embossed alphabetic letters. This process was created by Hauy in 1784, but this proved to be difficult, to write and to read. A later writing and reading system was created for the French military in 1815, using raised dots to send secret messages. But this also proved to be difficult. At the age of about fifteen, Louis Braille began trying to create a version of writing, and reading which would be easier for the blind. When he turned twenty years old, he published a book about his new writing system. He later became a teacher, and eventually a professor. But his writing system was never taught, in his school, during his life time. But it became popular slowly, and soon after his death. Then is writing system began to be adopted around the world. There are also versions for mathematics, and music. Fast Fact, many countries are now creating money with surfaces that can be distinguished by feeling them alone. Come here Nino, close your eyes, and tell me if you can feel the difference in these four pieces of paper money. You can have two of them, if you tell us the reasons you choose each.

Nino: Well, these papers feel similar, and two of them seem longer then the others. I know that gold, and diamonds are more valuable then paper money, even though they are smaller. My guess is, that the smaller the paper money, the more expensive its value. I will take these two small pieces of currency.

Beakman: Well, congratulations. Here let me take the money you did not choose. You have chosen the Malaysian Ringgit 1, worth about 25 cents, in USA money, and the other is an Australian one dollar note worth about 75 cents, here in the USA. These other dollars were $100 USA, and the other was a 100 Brazilian reais, which I got during my last visit to Brazil. Thank you so much for playing. Yes, everyone that contributes to science is a winner in my book.

Maca: Wow, Malaysia and Australian money, I wish I could have earned that. Can I have them?

Nino: Sure why not, I just gave up a fortune, this small amount can't do me any good.

Maca: Thank You. Back in Brazil, I could probably trade them for $15, or more if I find the right buyer.

Nino: Huh? On second thought, maybe I should keep them.

Dr. Victor: Now, now, Nino. You already gave them away. It is not nice to ask for presents to be returned. What would Morgana think, if she knew?

{Nino kicks the ground with his toe, and walks away from the camera's view.}

Nino: Even when I'm a winner, it seems I loose.

Josie: Speaking of money that can be identified by the blind. Did you know that most people that are called blind can see something, whether its just shadows, or certain colors?

Beakman: Yes, that's right. Thank you Josie for steering me back to the topic at hand. The most common type of blindness is from proteins building up, on the inside of the lens of the eyes. Making a person's vision seem cloudy. Or like this.

{A thin piece of nearly transparent paper is placed in front of the television camera. Liza then rubs her face up against it, and moves her hands along it, making ghost type sounds.}

Liza: Ohhh, ahuuu. It looks a bit scary doesn't it? Things quickly going from shadow, to clear, then blurry again.

Beakman: Yes, thank you Liza for that hauntingly good representation of partial sight, due to cataracts in a person's eyes. Just like adding another piece of paper, cataracts, can get worse, and worse. Until hardly any light reaches the retina of the eyes. This condition seems to have first been diagnosed as early as 2,500 years ago, various treatments were developed, but surgery is needed for most of the advanced cases.

{Liza continues to wave her hand behind the paper, as more and more similar, transparent pages are added, making her hand less visible.}

Beakman: Another common type of blindness is called color blindness. This occurs when the color photoreceptors on the retina, are damaged or not working. The retina contains rod and cone receptors, but the color wavelengths of light are recognized mainly by the three types of cone cells. These cones are sensitive to the colors Red, Green, and Blue.

Phoebe: If you ever see the letters RGB, on a monitor, display, or on art store product. Remember that this is for the colors Red, Green, and Blue. A way to represent all the colors of the rainbow, with only using these primary colors.

Beakman: With color blindness, one or more, of these color receptors are damaged, or not working.

Zeca: What about the color yellow? Doesn't yellow and blue make green? I remember learning that, when I was as young as my son is now.

Beakman: In this RGB system of additive colors, yellow is created using a mixture of red and green. Another color system for painting, and printing of colors is called the "Subtractive Color" model. It focuses on Cyan (light blue}, magenta {purplish red}, yellow, and black {Key black}. Most comicstrips are made of these colors, including mine. Josie will you hand out the glasses please?

{Josie distributes sunglasses to the children, and their parents.}

Dr. Victor: No need for any sun glasses for me young lady. I have special glasses, of my own. Nino come here, you might want to see this.

{Victor then presses a button on his glasses, and three color filters slide down over his glasses.}

Nino: I'm going to go, and hang out with Lester. He is like me, downtrodden and misunderstood. Only he seems to understand my suffering. Its also fun listening to him play guitar.

{Liza, and Phoebe, walk infront of the camera, holding a large picture of a waterfall. Liza makes the waterfall sounds, while Phoebe makes a wind type sound. As they rock the picture slightly up and down.}

Beakman: Here is a photograph of a waterfall. Take a look at the various colors, with and without your glasses. These glasses separate the colors in a slightly different way, for each of these glasses. Correcting for various types of color blindness. The colors Red and Green overlap in most people's vision, but some people can not see the difference between these colors. For this reason, these glasses block light wavelengths that overlap in these people's vision. It in a way, helps them distinguish between the colors easier. After looking through your glasses, trade your glasses, with someone else, and see how the colors seem similar, but also different. For the people at home, we'll simply show the different color filters on the screen, so they can see the waterfall in its various color versions. Ray if you will, could you please put up the image for the people at home?

{The waterfall image is then seen with the various color changes, representing the different corrective colored glasses. Liza and Phoebe then flip the picture over, and on the backside is a negative version of the image, with colors reversed.}

Beakman: Now please take off the glasses, and stare at the center of the image for about 30 seconds. We will also now show this to the people at home, on their televison screens. After that time we will change the image to a black and white version of the image. But instead of seeing it as black and white, it will seem to be color. Because the other colors are tiring out your cone color receptors. They now see only in the colors that aren't there, making a optical illusion of color. But if you move your eyes away, and then look back at the image you will see that, it is actually black and white. This is called the color afterimage illusion.

{Liza and Phoebe, then pull on the bottom of the image, revealing the black and white image underneath. After the children and parents look away, and then look back at the image. Liza and Phoebe then look down, from behind the image, then look back up, and their eyes are crossed. They then tap the sides of their heads to try get their eyes to focus straight ahead again.}

Beakman: There are other interesting subjects about the human eyes that we could talk about. Floaters, little particles of cell debris caught in the jell of the eyes. These cause ghost like shadows, that pass back and forth across a person's vision. There is also "Visual snow", a sparkling of light and dark spots, that can be seen by some people, as they move from light to dark, or dark to light filled areas. Remember that even the colors that we can see, are only a small segment of the wavelengths of light. There are also gamma rays, x-rays, ultra-violet, and even radio waves, which we can only detect using electronics. Now with electronics, some people can recover some of their sight. With light sensitive devises attached to a person's skin, surgically implanted into a person's eyes, or attached directly to the brain itself. Speaking of electronical devises.

{Beakman then presses a button on his arm.}

Beakman's watch, begins beeping, and chiming: It's that time again, it's time for the...

Beakman: The Beakman Challenge!!! {His voice echoes through the Information Center.}

{Dr. Victor, pressing the button on his glasses again, and then in reverse, the filters on his glasses go back up.}

Dr. Victor: I see you've made a few improvements on your watch, since yesterday.

Beakman: Yes, late last night, while laying in the darkness, I found inspiration, to add a louder speaker. Sorry if it woke anyone. Speaking of inspiration from the darkness. Ladies if you please will you bring in the walls of sound?

{Josie, Liza and Phoebe push in wheeled plastic walls, and begin making coordinated zig-zagging paths through the studio. Then they leave them, and bring in a few more. Josie then hands everyone a noise clicker. While Liza and Phoebe begin blindfolding the children and their parents.}

Beakman: Here we have just created a echo maze. The object of this challenge is to use these little clickers, to find your way through the maze. You need to use the clicker to make a sound, and its sound will echo between the walls. This should give you enough information, to navigate the maze, even though you are blindfolded. This is similar to how bats, some birds, dolphins, toothed whales, and even underground animals like shrews echo locate. If you succeed in this challenge. you will receive, our special visitor gifts. Sound balls for playing catch blindfolded. And the shape shifting mirror 3x3x3 puzzle cube.

Dr. Victor: This sounds like something Nino would like to try. I'll go and get him. He should at least find that winning a prize, would be worth trying this challenge.

{Screen fades to black. Then loud banging, and guitar type sounds are heard.}

Don: I think I heard them practicing this event last night. I kept hearing things that went bump in the night.

Herb: Perhaps it was monsters under the stairs, or in the closet.

Don: Nope, not in the closet, Beakman keeps his skeleton over there, and his name is Bones.

Herb: That's why we have the night light on, to help keep the monsters away, and of course to find the restroom. Although I was hoping Beakman would give us a litterbox. But we can't have any litter around here. This is a laboratory, and everything needs to be tidy.

Don: I wonder what those noises were last night. If they were preparations for the challenge.

Godofredo: Sorry about that, those sounds were us, and Lester raiding the refrigerator.

Mau: Yes, it was difficult for the three of us to take things out of the refrigerator at the same time.

Godofredo: It's a puzzle how we all managed to fit inside, and empty all its food.

Mau: Speaking of puzzles, I have a riddle for you. What goes down white, and pops up brown or black. Gets hot, and then cold again. Answer correctly or fear the result of my fatal laughter. Ha, ha, ha.

Don: Is the answer, Food falling on the floor?

Herb: My answer is the stove. It is white on the outside, and dark inside. But I do not understand the popping up, section of the riddle.

Godofredo: I know, the toaster drops bread down into itself when it is white, and when the bread comes out it is brown, or black. Then the toaster needs to cool down.

Mau: Not fair, not fair at all. You were supposed to let them fail, so I could show off my skill, and petrify them with my fatal laughter. I guess I'll just have to continue singing to that music, the rat suit fellow, is playing.

{Camera then shifts to Nino sitting on a step, while listening to Lester play guitar. Lester's back is turned away from the camera, as he dances to the music, while he plays.}

Dr. Victor: Come along Nino, there is something I want to show you.

Nino: But I wanted to finish listening to Lester play guitar. He was going to teach me how to play it, when he finishes his performance.

Dr. Victor: You can play with your rat friend later. I think you should take the time to join in with the rest of the group. Besides you might win a prize, if you can successfully complete the maze, and come out on the other side. All it will take is a little concentration.

Nino: Okay I will go, but I want to bring Lester with me. I know he is the only one that will not laugh at me, if I fail. After all he fails all the time, and that doesn't stop him, even with all those failures he was able to make such great music, and finish college, after several hundred attempts. Lester reminds me of that guy from the television show DuckTales, and now that I think of it, the Darkwing Duck television show also. He may crash the plane, or fail at some task, but he always tries, and he is helpful, when he is not eating or sleeping. I'd even feel safer riding with Lester in a plane, with him piloting the plane, rather then on a broomstick with aunt Morgana, she flies like a crazy person. Because of her hyperactive broom.

Dr. Victor: Speaking of Morgana...

Nino: I already promised not to ask for my money back, so I hope you will not tell her about my loss. Come along Lester, let us go and win some prizes.

Dr. Victor: Thunder and Lightning, that boy is impatient. But he will learn soon enough, anyway.

{Fade to black, then fade in, as Zeca walks past the camera blindfolded. Then into the maze of plastic walls. One hand outstretched, and the other working the clicker.}

Beakman: Notice how the clicking becomes quick when he is near a wall, and long slow clicks in open areas. Sadly unlike the children that made it through with only a minimal of reaching out, all the adults need to also feel the wall before they are willing to believe their own ears.

{Thump sound, and a frustrated groan, as Zeca crashes into a wall.}

Biba: You children all did a wonderful job at finishing the maze. Sadly us adults, were less skilled at using our ears to navigate. I tried to make a map of the area around me, in my mind. Then it got erased every time I turned another direction, and thought I was walking into a open area, when I really just crashed into another wall.

Pedro: I had as much trouble with finding my way through the maze, as if I had been using my hat to bounce echoes to my ears. I had to touch the walls several times, so I could go in a straight line away from the wall.

Zeca still in the maze: It feels like I'm about half way through the maze. I think I'm going to complete it, see it isn't that hard when you try. {Crash} Ouch, where'd that wall come from?

Josie: Remember this maze doesn't even have any dead ends, it simply turns in different directions, and ends at the other side.

Liza: With my excellent hearing I was able to make it through the first time without touching any walls. Did I ever tell you that I also learned violin by simply listening to it, and trying to replicate what I heard? That's probably why I am so good at hearing accents, and I'm a expert in linguistics, and dialects.

Phoebe: And then there's me, I'm the expert in rhythm. Ba-da-bop-pop-pow. {She then begins tap dancing.}

Beakman: Here he is, Zequinha has finished the Beakman Challenge!!!

{Zeca while taking off his blindfold, then covers his ears for a second, as Beakman's voice echoes even louder through the walls of the maze.}

Beakman: That looks like everyone has had a chance to finish the maze. Phoebe I think its time you get prepared for...

Phoebe still tap dancing around everyone: I'm on it boss. Bop, bop, chaw, ba-da-bum. Ring-a-ding, bomp shoo wap...

{She dances away, as Nino and Lester arrive at the maze. She circles Lester, whose back is turned away from the camera, as he watches her.}

Josie: Here are the prizes, that each of you have won. The sound ball, to encourage you to listen with, and learn about, the world with your ears. And the fascinating shape shifting cube puzzle, great as a decoration, or a great brain teaser, if you are able to solve it. Without taking it apart. {Using her foot, she then pushes a bucket of the toy parts, behind a plant.}

Liza: And here is your signed, and notarized certificates of completion. It says that you have officially completed the Beakman Challenge!!! And it is signed by all of us, as witnesses, and anyone else we could find, that wanted to sign it.

Beakman: Its even got a hologram of me in the lower corner, near my signature. It's suitable for framing, or laminating, and placing it with your job resume pamphlets. Everyone whom sees it will be suitably impressed.

Nino: Wait a minute, I want a award, and prizes also. Me and Lester can do the challenge also.

Beakman: Well, this segment of our show is almost over, but we will give both of you the chance. Nino you'll start here, and Lester can start at the other end.

{Beakman then leans over towards the camera, and then winks one of his eyes. He then shows his two hands crashing together.}

Liza: Right this way, my lovely little Rat fink.

{She then takes him to the other side of the maze, and blind folds him. Nino is then blindfolded by Josie. From overhead both sides of the maze can be seen, and the path, which will lead both people to the center. Then a animated version of a car crash is seen.}

Nino: Let me see if I understand, I click this sound maker, as I walk through this maze, listening to the echo. Is that correct? It sounds, hehehe, super easy.

Beakman: Yes, that is the Beakman Challenge!!! Can you do it? While you are trying to accomplish this, we will set up the next segment of the show.

{Nino then walks into the maze with his hands over his ears, and shaking his head, because of the loud echo of Beakman's voice. He then sneakily raises up a corner of his blindfold to see where he is going. The lights then begin to dim, and red spot lights, and alarms begin sounding. Nino quickly pulls the blindfold back over his eyes.}

{Fade out to black, and fade in to flashing red lights, and "Beakmania" sign.}

Phoebe: Its time to baffle, your wits. Tie on your thinking ribbons, and put on your thinking caps. Here he is, the man without a cape, that will swoop in, and confound your intellect. The one... The only... The Beakmannnn!!!

Beakman: Let us slip loose, the knots of ignorance. Untangle the string theories, and practical sciences. Stand on the shoulders of giants, and scope out new frontiers of knowledge. Now let's Cha-Cha-a-round da-dingos.

{Scene quickly switches to penguins looking into refrigerator.}

Don: Howl.

Herb: No Don he said dingo, not wolf.

Don: I'm howling because all the food is gone. It has all been eaten already.

Godofredo: See I told you, we ate everything. Lester and Mau ate nearly everything. I myself only got a few crumbs.

Mau: I think the rat guy hid most of the food in his suit, to eat later. If someone doesn't bring food soon we'll all starve.

Mau, Godofredo, Don, and Herb: No, owww, howl..

{Fade to black, and back to Beakmania, and envelope drum spinning. Josie opens door and voice of message is heard.}

Envelope drum: What do you want from me? I was paid for in full, at the post office.

Josie: First question Beakman, it says, "What is a dingo, and were do they live?"

Beakman: A dingo is a Australian dog. It is thought that to be descended from ancient dogs of Asia. They can howl like a wolf, or bark like dogs.

Maca: I've got a question Mr. B. Do dogs and cats have a common ancestor?

Beakman: Many people think that the cat {Felidae} and dogs {Canidae} branches of the Tree of Life, join at a animal called the Miacis. A long bodied animal which is now extinct. It seems to have had, retractable claws like a cat, but with a pelvis bone similar to a modern dog. Fast Fact, did you know that the Saber-toothed cat had large teeth to hunt its main source of food, large animals. It needed the long teeth to puncture the hides of the bigger animals.

{Liza then sneaks up behind little Maca, and pretends to be a vampire, ready to bite him on the neck. He gives her a disappointed glance. She then lifts up two giant saber teeth.}

Maca: At least with big teeth like that, it would be quick to brush your teeth.

Pedro: Are dogs really color blind?

{Animated sign "Myth Busters" appears, with a asterisk behind it, and below saying "Not to be confused with the trademarked television show, of the same name".}

Beakman: Most dogs have blue, and yellow receptors in their eyes. Unlike the three color in human eyes. This is sometimes referred to as color blindness, but they can still see colors, only fewer of them. They can also see various shades of gray. Sort of like looking through sunglasses that tint everything one color, and it becomes difficult to determine which color you are actually seeing.

Biba: What types of colors can bats see?

Beakman: Bats can see more into the ultraviolet, the higher energy waves, which we need to be protected from. They can see in the Red and Blue range of light, they do not seem to be as good at seeing colors like Green. However this possibly changes for each bat species.

Baba: Why do I have colors in my eyes?

Beakman: The colored part of your eyes is called the iris. Its color comes from various colored pigments of your melanin, the same stuff that makes up your hair and fingernails. A eye's iris can be brown, grey, or even black because of this. However if the layers of cells are not dense enough, the light gets scattered in the eyes, and colors like blue, and green are created, similar to the sky. There is also a yellowish brown pigment named Lipofuscin that gives eyes a golden brown type color. That mixed with the refraction from the thin layer of melanin can result in a greenish type eye color. Because of different pigment in various other animals, birds and many other creatures can have eyes that are colored differently then humans.

{A thump is then heard. Nino then groans. There is then a view of the maze from above.}

Nino: Am I near the finish of this maze yet? It feels like I've been blind folded for hours. Lester how are you doing?

{In reply there is a distant thump from another side of the maze, as Lester crashes into another wall.}

Beakman: Fast Fact, did you know that trees planted in the ground can still move? Here is a picture of a tree, and here is another picture of the same tree a year later. Can you figure out how it moved?

Maca: Did its roots raise up above the ground, and pull it along, like a evil Triffid, with the goal of ruling the world? Mahahaha!

Baba: The ground around it also seems like it has also shifted. Is that part of the answer?

Sancho-Esteban: I think it was a land slide, and everything on the hill seems to have slipped, or creeped, down hill. You can see that the house in the distance is at an angle, so the picture is tilted to make a slope look flat.

Biba: Yes we have smart children here, they have watched your show through the years, and have learned to analyze everything, to try and understand things that seem impossible.

Pedro: We are proud of our children.

Zeca: It is also important to have a good imagination, and think outside of the box. Imagine the fantastic, and question the limits of what is possible.

{Sancho-Esteban then puts his hand into a pocket and brings out a note.}

Sancho-Esteban: Beakman, I wanted to know if you could pronounce this word for me. I saw it in a article about human ancestry. The article was about how children can look, and act, like their parents.

Beakman: Well, if it's a pronunciation you need, we should give the paper to our resident expert on the subject, Liza. She can break down the word for you, and give you precise explanations of its etymology, and terminology. Answer the question of, if it was written in a rhotic, or non-rhotic language. And explain how the word was constructed, and its exact pronunciation.

Liza: Ahh, let me have a look at that paper. You can see that the phonetic notations are missing. For instance this letter 'e' seen here doesn't sound like a 'e' at all. It would more closely sound like...

{Liza, Sancho-Esteban, and Pedro walk away to a table, for a better explanation. While they helplessly look back at Beakman. Josie is then seen mixing the caged drum, and Phoebe pulls out a envelope.}

Phoebe: This question, asks what if a person can not read or hear, how can they learn, and possibly read?

Josie: This is it! It's my chance to play Helen Keller, get my wardrobe ready. I've been waiting years for this. Don't worry Phoebe you can play my teacher Anne Sullivan. I no longer have to play second fiddle, I can be the star of the demonstration, showing how she learned to read, write and talk. After she became blind and deaf.

Liza from off screen: Did I heard something about playing fiddle? I'll remind you, that I not only play the fiddle, I also play the banjo, and any other instrument that I can find...

Beakman: Hold on Josie, I think this is a topic we can leave for our special guest teacher, flying in all the way from Brazil.

Nino in the maze: Oh, no! I hope he doesn't mean Aunt Morgana. She was supposed to be spending time with...

{Nino then collides with Lester in the center of the maze. From the overhead view, they can be seen falling over each other. Then laying on the floor in a jumble of arms, legs, and a tail, as they try to stand up. Eventually they get tired, and decide to rest there a while.}

{A broom then passes the overhead view, the legs of two people can be seen dangling from the broom. The camera then shifts to Beakman, and there are crashing sounds heard.}

Beakman: It is now my pleasure to introduce a great teacher, that has lived through much of history. Meet many exciting people, and learned first hand knowledge about important moments in history. {He then looks at the children.} You might remember her from her educational theater plays, or even her self titled musical song. Here she is the one and only.. Morgana.

Phoebe: I wish he'd let us do all the introductions. Where's all the rhythm, where's the fun, and dancing?

Josie: Well, we better get the demonstrations ready. Lester looks like he'll be stuck in that maze for a while.

{Morgana then comes out of a door, with foam flowing out behind her.}

Morgana: Sorry about that fire extinguisher. Valdirene, my broom sometimes has a bit of trouble stopping. She becomes hyperactive at times, and it is a bit difficult to calm her down. She'll sometimes start sweeping the floor, and won't stop until there is a big pile of dust in the corner.

Phoebe: We could use someone like that around here.

Morgana: But she mostly bumps into things, and causes a mess.

Josie: That sounds similar to Lester.

Beakman: Shh, be quite, the teacher is speaking.

{Josie and Phoebe, pretend to pull a zipper across their mouths, and touch their fingers to their lips.}

Josie and Phoebe: Shhh...

Beakman: The question was, how can a person learn, or read if they can not see or hear?

Morgana: Before I left home, I saw that you already explained blindness. I will now explain hearing loss. Just like loosing your sight, hearing loss can be experienced in small increments, or it can happen all at once. Hearing is done by a small bone in the inner ear. The sounds cause it to thump on the ear drum, and send the signals to the brain. However, the ear drum, the bone, or the nerves might be damaged. And the signals from the sound waves, do not reach the brain.

{Phoebe then mime acts the part of the sound waves shaking her, then thumping her finger against the side of her head for the ear drum sounds. Then waving her fingers, she covers her head, as the signals go to the brain. Overlaid on her image is animation showing the various stages of the sound wave's journey.}

Morgana: If a person knew the words you were saying, they could watch your mouth, and guess what you were saying. This is called Lip Reading.

Liza at the table: Excuse me for a second, I'll be right back.

{She then walks over to Beakman, gives him a piece of paper, then returns to the table. Pedro and Sancho-Esteban seated there with their hands on their faces as if they can not understand a word of Liza's notations. Mau and Godofredo look over the edge of the table.}

Mau: Wow very interesting, at last someone with a real interest in words.

Godofredo: Imagine the many new tongue-twister phrases we can learn from Liza.

Mau: When she is finished with her current task, I think I will ask her is she has ever heard anything like my fatal laughter.

{Back in the center of the studio, Beakman unfolds the paper and shows it to the camera.

Beakman: Here is a diagram that Liza made showing the tongue, and mouth positions of various sounds in the English language.

Morgana: When people had only partial hearing loss. For many years only shouting could help. But about four hundred years ago. A new invention was created. It was a ear trumpet, which acted like a funnel. It amplified the sounds, and conveyed them into the ear. This allowed the person to hear words, and understand them directly. New modern versions, are things like hearing aids, which also amplify the sounds electronically, or bone conduction. The sound passes through the cheekbones usually, which can bypass the ear drum itself and reach the inner ear which can then send the signals to the brain.

Beakman: Fast Fact, did you know that after Beethoven lost his hearing, he would bite on a rod of metal, and place the other end on his piano to hear the sound through bone conduction?

Morgana: I meet Beethoven once, he was a kind man, but he was always busy. Constantly working and reworking things until they were perfect. If a person could not hear you at all, or you did not know their language, you could do what people have done since ancient times. They would make hand gestures towards each other. Eating might be like holding a sandwich, and drinking might be represented by lifting a glass to your mouth.

{Josie and Phoebe then show how they could pretend to eat, and drink.}

Beakman: This type of gesturing was also very popular in the silent days of films. It was called 'Mime' acting. Charlie Chaplin was a very popular comedian that used this technique, which could later have subtitles added, and be shown in many different countries. Making him one of the first world famous actors.

Morgana then clears her throat: As I was saying, this hand gesturing eventually developed into sign language. With different hand gestures representing letters in the alphabet, or different words, or phrases. One of the first people to create a manual of these gestures was Pedro Ponce de Leon a Spanish monk, in the 1500's. I remember him well. He was always so energetic, and he tried to teach children, of the rich. I would tell him that he should teach everyone, and not just the rich. But he would say...

Pedro looks down at his son: See, your father is named after someone famous.

{Liza then gives him a look of concentration. He then looks back down at the paper, and tries to follow her explanations.}

Adelaide flapping her wings, and breathing heavily, lands on a table near Morgana: I finally made it here.

Morgana: You should have stayed hanging on to us, as we landed.

Adelaide: No thank you, I've seen some of your landings. When Valdirene gets excited, there is no stopping her. There doesn't appear to be too much damage, from your landing. Where is Eduardina, did she get hurt in the landing?

{Nino at hearing that name, quickly wakes up, and tries to free himself from Lester, and get away.}

Morgana: Dina is around here somewhere. She's probably looking for Nino at this very moment. My goddaughter has always had a mind of her own. Where was I in my lecture?

Maca: Did she really know all those people? How old would she have to be, to have known everyone of those people?

Baba: I remember hearing she created a theater play describing her search to discover how old she was. I think the results were hundreds of years. But it is not supposed to be polite, to ask a lady about her age.

Biba: You were talking about deaf people learning with their eyes, through sign language. But what if they couldn't see? Please continue your story.

Josie: Ah, like Helen Keller. I could quickly put on a costume and explain.

Beakman: We will let our special guest explain that as well. However we will need the science demonstration that is on that table.

Adelaide: Please continue your story. I want to learn more about this subject. I've always been fascinated with your stories of the past.

Morgana: If a person is also blind, as well as Deaf, the next sense that they will use, is their sense of touch. In this case, the finger tips are how people learn the shapes of objects, and their surface features. We have now come full circle, with Beakman earlier mentioning the reading and writing system of Braille. Now I think Beakman has a demonstration for us, that the children at home can try with their parents.

Phoebe: The tools that you will need are these; A set of bolt or wire cutters. A parent, a piece of wood, and at least six round headed pins.

Liza: And a piece of paper. A thick piece of paper like this.

{She then picks up the paper from the table. It still has all of her notes and explanations on it.}

Josie wearing safety glasses: You'll need a adult to clip off the tips of the pins so that they are about 1 centimeter from the pins head to the end. These will then need to be pushed into the wood, in two rows, of three pin heads each.

Beakman: With these 12 pin holes, we can add or remove pins to create up to sixty-four different combinations of patterns. We only have to place them in the holes, or take the pins out of the holes, to create letters, words, or phrases in Braille. All we need to do is press the paper down on the rounded pin heads, and they will leave dents on the paper. We can move the paper slightly to the side and change the pins around, and press down on them again, creating another set of bumps.

{Beakman then unfolds the paper, revealing that the single piece of paper he was holding, is now several pieces of paper with bumps on them. He then places them on the table in front of the children. Beakman then reaches up behind his head and pulls out the original paper with Liza's notes on it. He then turns over the paper, to show a guide to translating the Braille into alphabetical letters.}

Beakman: You can also send secret messages, using this secret writing technique.

Sancho-Esteban: That was some pretty good magic. I saw Liza, and Beakman's hands the entire time.

Pedro: It's not magic... It's...

Everyone else: It's science!!!

Morgana: They probably watch his show a lot.

Dina: Speaking of watching this show, where is Nino?

Dr. Victor: He is sadly still in the maze. Although to be precise, he did go in with Lester at the other end of the maze.

{Dr. Victor then waves his hands in the air. And like magic, the moving walls slowly move away to show Lester, and Nino tangled on the ground.

Dina: There you are Nino, let me help you up. We were watching you on television before we left from home. You mentioned my name, and then I saw that you had won some money. Did you really think, I was infatuated with you? And if so, does that mean, your willing to give me the money you won?

Nino: Sadly I do not have the money any more. I gave it to Maca, I was tricked into giving it to him, I think.

Dr. Victor, you thought it seemed worthless, and then when you heard it might be valuable, you wanted to ask for the money to be returned.

Morgana shaking her finger at Nino: Nino, did you do that?

Adelaide: Very selfish Nino. Haven't you learned that giving, and sharing are their own rewards?

Nino: I'm a good guy. I did give away the money I won. And I'd do it again if I had something else that someone wanted.

Josie: Speaking of winning, since you and Lester went into the maze at the same time. The other person was in your way, and it is understandable that you only managed to get half way through the maze. But here is your reward. I hope you like your prizes.

Dina: Oh, what wonderful prizes you got. I especially like that shape shifting puzzle cube. Remember you just said you'd give anything you had away if you had something. Can I have it?

{She leans close to Nino, and he begins to blush. She puffs out her lips as if she is about to kiss him. He pulls away.}

Nino: Okay take it, I probably wouldn't be able to solve it anyway.

{She then hugs Nino, instead.}

Dina: Oh thank you, this is such a amazing cube, I could spend hours just looking at the ways it changes shape, and reflects the light. I think someone that was blind, could probably solve it, if they knew the solution.

{Mau and Godofredo, then raise up behind Lester, whom is curled up into a ball, and sleeping.}

Mau: It is such a shame, I was not able to show Liza my Fatal Laughter.

Godofredo: Well, at least we know that Lester isn't going anywhere, he's sound asleep. If he stays asleep he'll miss the end of the show. Maybe we should wake him.

Mau: Leave it to me....

{There is then a loud pitched guitar type noise, and Lester is seen running away from the camera, and into the distance. As he leaves, his tail knocks over Mau and Godofredo. Nino startled by the sound tosses the ball into the air, and Adelaide swoops in to catch it, and then flies to a distant table. The kids then run into view, with their translated messages.}

Maca: Look Mr. B, we solved your puzzle message. It says. "Tune in tomorrow".

Baba: Mine says, "At the same beak time".

Sancho-Esteban: This last one say, "And the same beak channel".

Beakman: Bada-Bing, Bada-Bang, Bada-Boom. That is correct. Here's another autographed picture, and certificate. Don't look so sad Nino you still have your Beakman Challenge!!! Certificate.

Nino: Yes it is vary nice of you to have signed it. What does it say down at the bottom, it looks like a barcode, or something?

Beakman: Ahh, one last puzzle for you, my friend. Tilt the paper away from you, and you should be able to read it.

Nino: It says "Zaloom".

Beakman: And it was personally autographed just for you, look on the back.

{Nino then turns the paper over and tilts the paper again.}

Nino: It says "and Cassio".

{Beakman then looks over Nino's shoulder at the piece of paper. With both of them looking at the camera, they both wink at the viewers.}

{Fade to black, then slowly fade back in, to reveal that the penguins are now wearing glasses, in front of a studio made, igloo home.}

Don: What do you think of these color corrective glasses, Herb?

Herb: I don't see any difference, you still look black and white to me Don.

Don: Maybe they'll help us find some cute female penguins. After all don't you think they make us look cool?

Herb: We're penguins, we're always cool. But sadly, we aren't as popular with the females of our species.

{The camera turns slightly to the side, and shows a shelf with shoes on it.}

Tap: Can you imagine that, they want to be hip, and cool by wearing sunglasses.

Flap: It takes more then that to be cool. It requires dedication, attitude and a bit of that special magic from a person's personality.

Everyone: After all, glasses aren't magic, they're science...

{The staff credits then roll.}

0 notes

castlehead · 8 years ago

Text

(walking with no heart)

As I walked out to the car, I looked up at the sky. It seemed like a storm. But maybe not. What signs further on could change me? Direct me?

I got in the car and turned on the ignition. Harried halfconscious by somnambulism. Like a voice saying I had to go, now. My hands, shaking.

As I drove I examined an odd thing. It was under darkened clouds. A cast of downy and confused ruin cast against these swathes of laden hay.

Abandoned combine that once shucked, sticking out of the boring, distant fields like omens of a horror. The road it felt like a nothingness.

The road it felt like some pretended mimic. As I drove I must have forgotten where I had decided to go some 20 times, but somehow got there.

I drove into the parking lot and parked. Sighed. The titans in my head I said. Telling me I am some bewitching frailty of a person. Not God.

She sat in me and raved and raved and burned. I looked up without aim at the sky through the hood. Overcast blight. I wondered about mother.

I opened the door to my car and felt something very special and eyed someone shady outside the supermarket smoking a cigarette or something.

Something's always spoke from out its misery like one whose attempts at screaming are strangled and hushed by dint of them being in a dream.

She asked me what I meant to do, sitting there inside myself like a fetus. Something's always is prone in me I said. "Yet you wish to live!"

It was her. I knew it. Her voice it shot straight through all custom as if making up for some obscure dereliction of duty. "I can hear you."

I had one of my deaths in the supermarket looking for cucumbers, because cucumbers are supposed to be good for the skin. Mothswarm, burning.

The taste of an ideal is what makes it for we are fragments I began. I did not finish this thought, amongst the egg cartons and the creamer.

I examined an odd thing. I had sensed was eternally following behind me as I cranked my placid grocerycart down the sinister bland symmetry.

Of aisles. aisles of produce. Hordes of cereal, famished mascots. A thing of horror. It took on its aspect truly, as I examined it the more.

In such and such a paradoxical way as to suggest what caught my eye to start with had not even been visible to me. Pressure against my ears.

She said I was already telling my story somewhere craven leapfrogging men make it for me. I recalled this with difficulty sewing up my eyes.

"Your frequenting here. Looking to fade out. What has will anymore in this society? Of you and some friends?" She started chasing me. I ran.

As I was running I breathed out the mothswarm the figure wanted. She could have my disease, if it revived her. I didn't turn around to look.

Later on I forgot about the supermarket. Loose incidents happen all around me I said in my car. I said this in my squalor. Metallic shrieks.

I finally uttered: "All I wanted was to feel something. And here we are bitching away." The air cold and the wind infrequent though cutting.

The next moment I was from the patio to bed as if I did not fully realize myself. A thing had made me unreal, a thing at the foot of my bed.

Part of me was not in bed, was outside. This apparition, sentinel and wordless. I imagined it or not, it did not matter. Her form was there.

What of hatred, incarnating its wandering blessing in me? Stopping there, to breathe like I am now on the patio? Go to bed. That is crucial.

I sniffed the odor of cold air outside. I thought of hatred in its first sprigs and thought, my friends Carl and Murphy are the apparitions.

Something told me in my unending pax on my patio that whatever residue of touch I'd have left would remain after my death as a living thing.

Thoughts left me wondering about my friends. Shards of power whipped up some following Titan or Ideal in myself most carnivorous. I sniffed.

The night half-stark. Dim under a fuzzed consciousness. The lee of my ears whooshing, approaching whispers improvising down my ear. My debt.

How much in this life goes despised! Nobody is ever satisfied. I kept repeating my awe: bitching away. The sins in this ambition, fledgling.

I said, "All I wanted was to feel something." And she looked at me reproachfully. Her hypothetical form was realized above my bed, hovering.

Her face was a tone. Through that was a fever of a skeleton flashed, filing through ray and particle, for decisions about the light looming.

“Feel? For what? Damn you masochistic one. Chasing after your fellows’ decryptions of who you are. Do you not see who you are? Do you need?”

“Do you need these emotions to be a currency, a trade; can purity exist in your heart outside of these finnikin rarities and collectibles?”

She said. I could hear her fury trying to steal my breath and prolepsis. I embraced a tree and in reality was clenching my hot sheets hotly.

I felt myself waking up and then thwarted from it by the knowing some malevolent underbelly of knife-like people, stabbing me back to sleep.

“But why didn’t you recreate me? Was I too little too late?” The creature broke from her gaol and insinuated my remorse a lie: “Fake tears.”

She kept arguing with me. A limitless unreason going in voided circles not even circles, fractures forgetting why they were a point of view.

I awoke to my usual WORLD in either tears or surrounding beads of sweat. Faded light managing through the curtains. Concluding light of day.

The story of an ending day that perhaps is my protection against mortality. Or a reminder of it. Memento mori. A thing crucial rooted in me.

Time is an always converging on reality’s brutal second-hand. Picked up the phone to call, shrugged off the dream and the neighing thoughts.

They said she was more than remembrance, more than bitterness. I believed them then; now, not sure. Her sad face always guiding to my guilt.

“Yeah come over. Yeah.” I said. There wasn’t much to do anyway. Rimbaud said our inner desires lack a cunning music. I believe him. Flashes.

I walked to my deck for a breather with my phone. “Sure. Why not come over and have some fun.” I said. The ebb of day practically trickling.

A story yet was made of it to myself. But I needed her closer. So she was in my dream and I was waiting for my friends. I was there and not.

She was in my dream and I thought Carl and Murphy would like to know. I told them, and they said she was dead, but not dead in my heart yet.

We usually talked about philosophical things. We always meant to figure them out but never did. Till next time I guess. It was nice outside.

What awaited me: existing inspirations, figurations, or dreams. Sounds, familiar ones for me to get back her. Looking lashes, cricked heads.

Said I needed some air. Looked down at the flowers. What life was as well as wondering about it was a beautiful thing. I heard Carl call me.

I went inside to meet them. Before that passed to look around. Looked through the door into the living room with them at table. Batty fucks.

The forsythia bush drooped yellow outside of my house under the window and something else groaned out of the ground. I didn’t know about it.

Murphy and Carl and I talked around the table playing cards. Smoking and drinking beer. Death came up. I asked about it but nobody answered.

A void flowered out of the flatlands between one and another side of my door. A flower that grew out the door of a mind. I asked who it was.

The void said it was baffling stuff. I wouldn’t understand. I told him I had Murphy and Carl over and the void said, What about the machine?

I said to the void, The machine was named Murphy. The God named Carl. Carl and Murphy drank and made up stories that were more than stories.

They drank and sang in the night wind and yearned for the heaven neither of them would go to and made up songs like this.

The void was not listening and looked up, smiled halfway about baffling stuff. Of the heaven, and the clarity of chaos, its hopeless purity.

Murphy churned out what Carl said. Carl said they were right there. Suddenly. Waking from sleep in a Keatsian vale.

I asked them, half quoted, half adumbrated by reality: I did not ask one specifically: I let them breathe for a second, asked of this, thus:

Reality was leaves she woke up to into this World where her heart sang with fear. “Don’t you mourn her? You loved her. Grief is a slow deed.

"I have to piss.” He sniffed rough like to grab her in the mucus. Like saying I know what you are trying to say. Center me at least in this.

The God was named Carl. Carl was born here where he, the man, tripped over the watery stones dappled with light once. He went in the bushes.

The fern looked alive as it swung as drops of piss hit it and moved it about. He knew it would turn. Just one more object of mortal bracken.

He felt like a ghost. He knew she did, too. She must. There were only a few trees loud in their brittle spareness. Soon there were no trees.

They came upon a desert. He was not trying to lift himself up into his body anymore. Just reach. Reach for what? He could not read her face.

Him: “She’s dead now. I’m left walking with no heart. I tend to leave out a part of what I don’t say, from myself. Like myself from myself.”

Will pain, He thought. Groom pain. Like a dog. Or I am the dog. Who ever really speaks, when all the voices are always preparing themselves?

She said, “We didn’t know it was whatever that thing was that they needed. Maybe we’re at the dead blinked out crust. A mysterious purpose.”

Their deserted surroundings. “Na,” It was almost a declaration. “The last say on it all. But that was for those big ugly fucks upstairs eh?”

“The machine knew about the heaven. We’re not immortal. Don’t you fucking get it?” She said. He looked mournfully at his cap, at everything.

She looked at him. “So this isn’t real? This sand?” He drew up some clot in his hand and spit it through his fingers. “The machine knew it.”

He felt invaded by some fickle prognosticator, saying in loops of material death. You’re welcome, he thought. He thought, My cap isn’t real.

I whispered to her, Don’t you understand? You are both my myth. I was a brief unsettling wind knocking at her. I beckoned her into my dream.

So it happened she saw me through the grey fug of his wit, saw me not as myself but as him, after wading errant through swamplands of being.

She woke into his dream and his head and I voiced out his desultory ego, hid behind that, which wavered on its plinth, like to topple over.

Call me as with the tyrants like Saddam then. I would make dream and life uncertain just to flee those judgments. You, she, doesn’t hear me.

I spread the words he spoke to you over you like a blanket. I wanted you to know this mythos could get achieved but only through some death.

Wayward sense, the human you, or him; or to be able to touch the clime where you get freed from this OTHER unto me as others I could handle.

One that would not make water the mouths of titans, whom I cannot check, because they made me. Be my Prometheus o love, I said out to there.

Yet I made you both to check them, in destroying THE OTHER of me. It does make me human, yes. And yet these titans are all names for voices.

She thinks to herself, You, and him there in front of you a few yards ahead, baking in the sun of what seems an endless day, seems to speak.

Only night is in the quick blinking you do, o momentary darkness, please: rape and deform my stating with your being despite your nonbeing.

Then you will get to I know not what but is some weak part of these titans chasing you. Maybe I should make myself be hassled in quotations.

“You say something like you heard me though made no tell of it, you’re both so borne upon owning why you travel. Awaiting me to tell it you.

My new from whence, my backwarding, bewildering evil?” She said: “And, how does he become He? I fucked him. I knew already. It didn’t work.”

She: “He was enjoying myself. I felt far away, more inhuman than ever. It could not be me who is the prophet here. I don’t exist. I’m not.”

And me, the ‘I’, said back: “It will only be once he is capitalized. It will only be once he seems a greatness.” She was not breathing, was.

Me: “You’ll go on being ignorant of your own while he thinks of that dead machine, deprecates it yet thinks of it.” She smiled at the irony.

Me: “I am the creator of you. I now am to destroy a thing of myself through your destroying THE OTHER, which is not the other in human you.”

“I know,” She said defiantly, as if she knew. “We are one of many at random to feed the titans. But you will not be Zeus or Jupiter for us.”

They struck out to pure miles of a mountain they traveled by foot on but vertically, as if held by a strong unguent to mimic gravity. Miles.

Did not even notice their own switched WORLD till I told it her, who bit her tongue at it. I know, she said to me, that is, not him but 'I’.

“Extinguish you? She said, in herself yet thus outwardly, halfquoted, telepathically, to him. "In the next few days’ dissipation will pain.

In the next few days’ dissipation would lead them miles of some weird uncapped valley and they both knew it was this. Just with no mountain.

The miles didn’t matter anymore for more ill was the symmetry of their actions, like puppetry. It was noticeable. Like they were controlled.

They saw a barn. It was an outstanding shadow or cowlick graced up against this faded space. They also were indented on the WORLD similarly.

They walked inside, it not the place in the next few days’ dissipation would lead them, into whatever CITY or labyrinth they weren’t at yet.

He seemed bled out. Hands on hips. Heroically wasting away. But the other in him we both knew was not THE OTHER we sought, a vague religion.

"Don’t they make you feel small?” She said. For once felt like his comrade in this scant place, barely described. He was sweaty. Wet shirt.

She tilted her head inquisitively at him. “Why do you think THE OTHER is this kind of wanted thing by the titans? Don’t they extinguish you?

She knew. She knew as he spoke his speeches and all of it, his look said, I refuse to know the 'anything’ that hussy machine explained, you.

"Something is looking at us and becomes our reality without our consent.” He said, his voice faceless and yet itself a professing old druid.

“Something tells me we shift between a 'they’ and 'we’” He said. She knew. He strandedly aimed his eyes around the structure, inspecting it.

She thought, looking around, stretching, Tell him why I had sex with him. As if to feed the thought the barn door swung shut, locking us in.

A voice filled and shook the barn, it said we were fakes. Maybe a titan, coming to look after the apocalypse. Spoke sans quotation. Quotes.

Said they were as real as that stone over there. A stone lay in the corner of the barn. But if you find and burn THE OTHER the heaven opens.

For you still live, are living, are adulterated life. An abomination. She smiled at herself, her warp, her soul. “Just accept it my friend.”

He wept as he kicked it. She just watched sitting on a destroyed beam, in the open attic of the barn. The stone was sizable. “Fuck you all!”

He kicked and kicked the sad stone. The stone did not feel any of it but he felt sad and was in the stone and was viciously trapped in self.

The door unlocked. They heard it do so. They absterged hay from clothing and went into the fey day. Compared to the barn it was hot outside.

They entertained themselves with meditations on THE OTHER’s makeup, then after growing bored of that left the pursuit elsewhere in the mind.

They looked struggling through sight awhile, the others in them angered because exploited by them however little the two of them understood.

When he stopped limping it was days later and they saw a tree in the distance from the barn. Days passed blindly, strangely displaced, here.

They walked out to the only tree in what seemed an endless field. Unripe wind, breaths as if stolen, disturbed the surrounding grassy lands.

They stood under the forgiving branches. “Good place to rest.” He said, looking away from her. She without quotes, What else could go wrong?

The tree provided good shade from the white unction of the heat from the white sun hung like a circular wound, surrendering to the huge sky.

They put their heads against the base of the tree and drifted off. He was asleep before she was but as time slipped away oblivion soon came.

She dreamt she slept on question, in looking for that machine. Still as death she sought a deeper GOD within. She thought, She was, qua sky.

The sky was made of words. Then interposed this rare utterance from the nowhere. In the dream words drifted across the sky, toward question.

They awoke. He with her traveled for hours towards quietly flickering lightning, too far for sound to penetrate to them, furthering granted.

They followed in the dirt and dusk. Their footsteps rattled. Both hungry for THE OTHER to be more than this rare utterance from the nowhere.

After a search through turns in the pathway He said something yet she only figured some other words, beheld their marmoreal quality as rare.

These were the belched words from him sufficed to keep her on levels of reality she could only think she knew. She fell asleep to the words.

Lazed over a lattice like unknowing flowers. “Is anything but what I hope this is anything, if it is too much to ask for a successful myth?”

She could imagine the titans arguing their milage for her, and knew what happened last night was truer than this. This, anything, an acedia.

She thought about herself concentrating on the flourishing wounds on her ankles from being so long on foot. He ran faster. Her mind ambling.

But she still ran because to burn THE OTHER would lead them to the heaven, where they could create titans that did not want to destroy them.

Could create themselves out of this hellscape of a CITY. No arguments there however from one machine to another? Were those GODs expendable?

She wanted to have a voice inwardly speak her mind to her like the way one cradles a child. The titans had wanted her an artless gentleness.

He was ahead of her presumably wrestling with the other. He seems like an obsessive, She thought. And my thoughts at the end will be quoted.

She ran after THE OTHER. I am them and why they want THE OTHER. 'I’ am but as Zeus to Prometheus. She couldn’t help but notice that beauty.

She saw it as she chased. Saw the floating alien thing well. A silhouette against a pane, this torched, painless, sky. Permanent as minutes.

He tied rags cuffing the blanched wrists. The body or form was exceedingly dirty. The form of it seemed itself out of a mere physical body.

As if THE OTHER had been waiting for this moment and knew what to do to be freed. He sensed this buzzing anticipation and called it tragedy.

He poured Nepenthe into the ear of THE OTHER and grunted, “There will be the heaven. Quit it, you dickhole! Shit!” They bit him on the hand.

His squirming trophy’s decease he nearly was too frantic to have come. “He will numb out alright.” She faltered, Supply him no strong hand.

“Stop it!” He’s already gone.Look? Is anything but what I hope this is anything. He looked her straight in the eye. I will burn him damn it.

“Do you recall where to go?” He was still hugging the puffing body, restraining it but as like a lover. She thought, That machine, so close.

She tried to remember. Something special brought her to this land with him that was not THE OTHER. But, I say, it was; I am he of a present.

She: “On top of one of the last buildings that still stood in the CITY?” “Where that old schlub said it was.” He said, knifing scarred wind.

They the both of them began speaking in their heads to eachother. Maybe the heaven would come for them this way. A Deus Ex Machina for sure.

She looked at all the rotted hulks dispassionately, How long before the air is gone?Look, I don’t know exactly how tenuous the WORLD is. OK?

Should I stop here? He thought. They had been carrying THE OTHER together for awhile. She hoped whatever they or it was hadn’t changed much.

She tried to answer. He went on, vibrating, chest vibrating. “That’s why GOD’s a machine.” She held to her prolepsis, standing idle for him.

“Perception sucks,” He said. “There’s too much of it all.” He looked at the burnt sky. Then he and her looked at the body they had wrangled.

Even if she was dead and couldn’t, she wouldn’t have. She was like that. Though with a core of metal, an outside of fair reasoning. Machine.

His response was short and menacing. She muttered low inside her brain, We were about to abort the machine but the machine, she didn’t care.

They. But who? Surely mostly him and her. Flickering in and out of consciousness, swinging likewise, aloft. “Stop with this no point shit.”

THE OTHER said barely they were an end to the 'I’ -a why to it. Must enjoy tragedy more. Something gotten almost. Sad eyes in, out of sleep.

They were to burn THE OTHER so as to be themselves, hopeless as that was. Or themselves too mediocre for to hold some big staff of identity.

The WORLD wanted to kill them, because it wanted a turn at what they had. Yet she was affronted by him. She said. “Perception is our jewel.”

“Why create, if what created us wants to kill us?” And she thought to herself, Wanted this silence for awhile. There is moisture on my neck.

They took THE OTHER for a good long time in silence. She held their legs tighter as THE OTHER started to wake. Then he sniffed, “The WORLD.”

“I feel like we’re getting somewhere with you.” He said to her. THE OTHER wanted to say, they were I of the rain. No, heaven is much better.

She said to herself, an aside, ignoring the beaten, wound-ridden OTHER: I know, the fucking sadistic Zeus-whore he is. I know, worst timing.

I want it to rain myself on them. But they will not know. They are in mutual ruin. “It did matter to me. It mattered, you fucking torture.”

I look upon them, hidden, and make it start to rain. He thinks Hebriacally, “This is the moment I am become being.” And lets fall the match.

I am the 'I’ or what these two others wanted to be and cannot, thus I cannot be, while they exist and are without knowing I am their father.

He and her felt no more real. Like dolls. Him: “We have to fucking get out of here.” The heaven, there. Her: “I know.” For more than titans.

She murmured, “Sorry.” Transfixed. At him, at as well the screams and the heat of THE OTHER, a struggling slave in repulsive, ratty bondage.

“You said it didn’t matter that I was with her. That she died anyway. That that was the fucking price I had to pay, one I think you paid.”

THE OTHER begged and begged as if there lay some hope despite their own charred skin. She watched. I am conjured, sadly. As still as a doll.

“No, GOD, please. Please!” THE OTHER said, struggling to free himself from the flames. The thunder was a mourning sound off in the distance.

“Like when you told me that we had become stiff and meaningless.” Well the WORLD was over, wasn’t it? He said, “I didn’t want to scare you.”

She said, through her barrier of tears, waiting for the heaven to come, each second proving nothing but especially proving it wasn’t there:

“Why did you tell me that shit when we were sleeping together?” She made him pause. Ugh. 'Sleeping together.’ Yo who calls sex that anymore?

He lowered his arm ceremoniously. Nobody could know. They waited for catastrophe. She wavered; he was still. He said, “Because I wanted to.”

Who cared about this blasé planet? This was as they had been told the escape from it. The sacrifice was drawn out enough. They looked on it.

The body became form. Then form formless. She did not hear him say how the rain tasted like lead because she was not close to him anymore.

So normal. Sucked into a hole of normalcy. Like this happened every day. His hat was wet. “This rain tastes like lead,” He mused. It sucked.

The sky looked threatening. The sky was grey and lackluster and humdrum drops fell in small bombarding fleets of rain, battalions of mist.

The body quit seizing after a little while. They could not hear anything but their hearts in their throats, backing away from the effigy.

“Ok now the fuck what?” He said. She couldn’t say anything to that. The heaven was for titans. Silence. Then, “Well. That should teach you.”

She felt like she couldn’t say anything, like this giant censoring ghoul made the moment between them too holy, the door to the heaven ajar.

The rain was just the dregs of rain. It chafed and chilled his shoulders against his clothes. “What we did we had to.” She needed to say.

It smelled the way you would picture a burning body. The form was a pyre. The both of them had eyes that glowed in the fire’s arrhythmia.

“How can you say this wasn’t your fault? Misery? C'mon. Your doubts eat you alive like mine do but you can’t handle them. You’re a faggot.”

She had had enough long ago and was about herself like a mother puttering cleaning up her son’s mess. He laughed flatly at the smell of it.

“Why did he bother trying to live?” She thought to herself. He had his arms crossed and his weight on his right leg, so casual. So intimate.

The less she knew the better. Distance needed to be put between them before he could even think of breathing. The fiery corpse lay aground.

Feelings had been heard in him, directed him, before. He knew at this time she would stay where she was. She had her own feelings about it.

“I told them not to come.” He was not listening but knew the gist already. He had known it for awhile. He clenched his hat and looked down.

“Yeah, that’s what you said.” They looked at each other. The moment might as well have been vacated, an empty house smelling of tarpaulin.

This was what he had thrown away. Those verses in his bleeding head. What corruption here. At the hand of a pestle so much dust to extract.

He started walking away then, and stopped at the foot of a church two blocks out of view, crying at the leaves weighted down by the rain.

#twitter novel #here lies handsome #prose poetry

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