scarred | 1
[ AO3 LINK ] a/n: this is the first part of a time travel / reincarnation / soulmates taegi au !! genre: historical / time travel / reincarnation / soulmates pairing: taehyung / yoongi word count: 1,218 summary: Yoongi is tasked by two spirits to assassinate his past reincarnation - a mad tyrant king - to restore the balance between the living and the dead. The mission gets complicated when he meets his ex-boyfriend's past reincarnation as the king's concubine. warnings: violence (not present in this current chapter but will be in later chapters) status: incomplete / in progress NOTE: changed taewon’s name to HANSUNG
Yoongi wakes to a slap to the face.
“Wake up,” the boy says, hands dropping below his chin to grasp at Yoongi’s clothes before shaking him awake. “Come on, wake up. You don’t want Seokjin-hyung to be the one that wakes you.”
A groan slips from chapped lips and Yoongi unwillingly forces his eyes to open, immediately greeted by a rounded nose pressed a little too closely to his face. Sleepy limbs attempt to push the boy away but he only dodges Yoongi's arms and moves to kneel behind him before pushing him to an upright position. Yoongi’s head lolls side to the side, still chasing sleep, but a loud gong breaks through and he snaps to attention.
Now alert, Yoongi takes in his surroundings. Panic starts to bubble inside him when he realizes he isn’t in his crappy apartment, but a hanok of all places. It’s clean and minimalistic, lacking any decor other than the dying plant in the corner. No one else is in the room except the mat he’d been sleeping on, the boy that woke him, and the man that hit the gong standing by the entrance.
“Give it a moment,” the man says, lifting a finger as Yoongi’s mouth snaps shut. “The memories will return so let that sink in then ask me your questions.”
Yoongi opens his mouth anyway, a string of curses ready to be spat, but an invisible force crashes into the forefront of his brain and suddenly, he’s being swallowed by the floor.
/
“I’m fucking drunk. S’all it is…”
Yoongi brings up a ringed hand to harshly rub at his eyes, as though willing away the image of the two odd, handsome men in front of him. The pub’s lighting isn’t that great, just dimming, flickering bulbs that offer enough light to help any drunkard to at least see the floor. It’s just the soju, Yoongi thinks.
“It’s not the soju,” the younger one — the one with the huge, bambi eyes and teeth that resemble a bunny — rolls his eyes. “We’re real, dipshit.”
“Watch your fucking language,” the other one snaps, delivering a sharp jab to Bunny Boy’s ribs. a yelp sounds before he’s swinging but the fist is only caught by the elder, shoving it down impatiently before both of their attention is back on Yoongi. “But Gguk’s right. We aren’t hallucinations. We’re real and we need your help, Min Yoongi.”
“How… How the fuck do you know my name?” he slurs, words slipping and sliding together without his consent.
“You look just like him,” the older one comments, ignoring Yoongi’s original question. “All except the scar. Do you know him? The scarred tyrant king?”
Yoongi takes a sloppy swing but both men just lean back, easily dodging Yoongi’s drunken attacks. “What the fuck are you two even talking about?”
Despite the silly taunts and insults the two have been exchanging since they entered the bar, something somber, ancient, and absolutely terrifying crosses both their faces as they share a knowing look. “Let’s start from the beginning. I am seokjin. This is jeongguk. We’re timeless spirits that exist beyond all mortal realms.”
Yoongi blinks. “What.”
Jeongguk lets out a sigh reminiscent of an old, patient man and gives his hand a little wave. Suddenly, the cloudiness in Yoongi’s mind dissipates and the sluggish feelings in his limbs fade, giving him a new sense of clarity that he hasn’t experienced in years, sober or not. His feline eyes narrow at Jeongguk's hand then rise up to meet Seokjin’s gaze when the man clears his throat.
“We’re spirits that need your help, Yoongi. Do you know of your heritage?”
Yoongi gives a shrug. “I know I’ve descended from some powerful clan but that’s it.”
“You're not wrong. You’re a… type of descendant of the scarred tyrant king, Yeoeul, and his meaningless wars had brought upon waves of death that even our reapers don’t agree with. Our job here is to keep the balance between the living and the dead and your king doppelganger decided to fuck with that. so we need you to kill the king.”
“But killing that king — won’t that just be killing me and my existence?”
Jeongguk shakes his head. “No. You two aren’t directly related by blood. Trust me, Seokjin-hyung and i already followed through all the possible timelines to make sure we’re choosing the right guy to assassinate the tyrant king with the least amount of rippling effect. That’s you, Yoongi.”
“Why can’t you two just kill him?”
“We can’t directly affect mortals and meddle with mortal affairs. We usually have a patron do our bidding for us,” Seokjin replies. “Now, any more questions?”
“What if I can’t kill him? I've never — I’m not a murderer.”
The two share another loaded look. “You must. I’m afraid if you don’t, this world you know will cease to exist.”
Yoongi’s eyes widen in shock. “What?! What do you — that doesn’t make any sense!”
“Think about it,” Jeongguk says. “The tyrant king took too many lives and we must restore balance. If you can’t kill the king and stop him before he starts another war, we must take lives in another era to balance out the lives lost in the previous one.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.” Yoongi’s brows furrow but before he could utter another question, Seokjin steps forward.
“Mortal minds weren’t made to solve a spirit’s problem but please, trust us on this. Our bosses are righteous beings whose only role is to keep balance and they’ll do anything to keep it that way. Emotions like sympathy and empathy are associated with mortal flaws so they don’t care whose life they have to take to restore balance. That's why it’s up to Jeongguk and I to take the mortals’ side.”
Perhaps it's the sudden clarity granted by the spirits that has Yoongi nodding his head in assent. “Where do I start?”
“Close your eyes and once you wake, your mission will begin.”
/
“Wear this,” Seokjin instructs as he places a satgat on top of Yoongi’s dark locks, adjusting it so that it reveals only below his nose. “This is a small village closest to the palace, you’ll already be branded as an outsider even before you make it obvious with your mannerisms.”
Jeongguk directs Yoongi to a mirror propped up by the wall, swift hands readjusting the hanbok that’s hanging comfortably on his shoulders. “Just refrain from cursing. or talking. You can just converse in grunts, okay?”
Yoongi scowls at their reflection before swatting away Jeongguk's fidgety hands before straightening out his own hanbok himself. “How do I even get to the king, let alone get close enough to kill?”
“He rarely leaves the palace grounds which is why Jeongguk and I got you a job as a gardener,” Seokjin reports. “You’ve just received the news yesterday and today is your very first day. You’ll be moving into the servants quarters as well. Don’t worry, you have little to pack so go and get yourself to the palace.”
Yoongi could barely say another word before he’s being ushered out the door and onto the dusty grounds of the tiny village. Carts of produce and trinkets are rolled haphazardly all over the crowded streets, tables and booths set up in front of hanoks similar to the one that Yoongi had just been kicked out of.
There seems to be only one main street, leading to the edge of the village and the other a pathway merging with worn down roads towards the grand palace, with only a few dead-end alleys in between the larger houses. Yoongi doesn’t hesitate to follow the other commoners dressed similarly as him, beige hanboks with a black and red trim that must signify a position above the peasant class but below the ranking officials.
He keeps his head down as he shuffles with the crowds until they reach the magnificent palace gates. The crowd doesn’t stop there but circles around the perimeter where a less grandiose wooden gate is being guarded by a man in a soldier’s uniform, checking the identification forms of each person. Yoongi starts to panic as he watches everyone around him bring out a piece of paper from their pockets as they wait their turn to be allowed entrance.
“Watch it,” a stranger grunts as they shoulder through impatiently, bumping into Yoongi. The movement causes a slight crinkling noise to sound from his pocket and Yoongi quickly digs into the fabric to pull out a form that states his name (Yoongi) and his occupation (apprentice gardener). It isn’t long until the soldier takes the form, deems it authentic, before he’s handing it back to Yoongi and he’s being nudged inside.
The packed line starts to disperse once they're on palace grounds; everyone seems to know exactly where they’re going.
“You there,” one calls out, a menacing and accusing finger pointed right at Yoongi. He’s dressed similar to Yoongi, beige hanbok with the black and red trim, but the sleeves are cut with gold thread. “Are you Yoongi?”
Yoongi approaches with a hesitant nod. “Yes. I’m the new—”
“The new assistant gardener. I'm Jimin and I am in charge of you.”
The man is only a centimeter or two shorter than Yoongi, dark hair thick but controlled in a uniform sleek ponytail with a black band dashed across his forehead. His eyes are sharp and calculating, full lips pursed into one of impatience. Yoongi catches a flash of recognition on Jimin's face but it’s quickly smoothed away, his face suddenly unreadable.
“Walk quickly,” Jimin says and the both of them start to walk swiftly past the open courtyard where handmaidens mill about. They circle around the pagoda where a luscious garden thrives. Yoongi wonders exactly why an extra gardener was needed, judging from the handful of men and women tending to the meticulously shaped shrubs and bushes.
“You see these shapes?” Jimin stops at shapeless bushes; Yoongi doesn’t comment but nods. “Your job is to trim any outgrown twig or leave that compromises these shapes. just continue to do so until the sun sets.”
“That’s it?” Yoongi can’t help but ask.
Jimin nods, small fingers stroking a petal delicately before his hard gaze returns to Yoongi once more. “That is all. Just do not touch the flowers,” he warns as he finally hands a couple of shears for Yoongi to take. “I have other matters to attend to. However, I will return shortly to see your progress.”
And with that, the scary small man departs.
/
Maybe the biggest inconvenience of time traveling centuries in the past may be the lack of proper time-telling tools. Yoongi isn’t sure exactly what time it is or how much had passed as he continues to circle the garden, holding the shears in his hand like a weapon as he searches for any flaw that could be cut down.
Sweat slides down ivory skin in rivulets, despite the cover provided underneath his bamboo satgat. His clammy hand lifts from his side to wipe away at his forehead and he winces at how damp his skin is.
“Water?” a voice says, a hand holding a wooden cup of water being thrusted into Yoongi’s line of sight.
The voice has Yoongi standing straight, the hairs on the nape of his neck shivering in slight anticipation at the deep timbre that hugs the man’s words.
No, no, no. How is he here? He can't be here.
Despite every alarm in his head ringing, pleading him to not face him, his body does so anyway and it takes everything in him to not drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness the moment he puts a face to the voice. But his body doesn’t do that.
“Taehyung?” Yoongi says instead, his voice barely a whisper. His knuckles are white from how tight he’s holding his shears.
Taehyung’s wearing a white hanbok and already Yoongi knows he’s a man with status here. The blue and silver designs on his chest are not as intricate as the ones he’s seen already but the fact that there are designs are enough to give away the fact that Taehyung should not be offering water to the help. Yoongi’s gaze lifts from Taehyung's attire to the slightly confused (and similar flash of recognition Yoongi saw earlier on Jimin's face) expression.
“No, my name is Hansung, I live here. You must have me mistaken for someone else.”
But the honeyed voice is the same, the sweet bronze skin that Yoongi used to trace for hours on end in a bed they used to share when time doesn’t exist between dusk and dawn. Still, Yoongi forces a laugh and gives a little shrug as he takes the offered water. “I must've.”
“Peculiar,” Hansung muses now, watching Yoongi take careful sips. “I… I almost mistook you for someone else as well.” Before Yoongi could press further, Taewon steps closer. “So are you the new gardener?”
“Yeah — had everyone been expecting me?” Yoongi chuckles dryly, readjusting the grip on his shears as he takes a slight step back. His self control usually disappears when it comes to Taehyung — or at least, Hansung in this era.
Hansung laughs and Yoongi’s heart gives a traitorous jump in his chest. “Well it depends, are you a talented gardener?”
“Of course, Why else would I be hired?” Yoongi brags and gives a snip towards the bush without even sparing it a glance. A familiar cocky smirk rests upon his lips only for it to falter as Hansung giggles behind his hand.
“Perhaps it’s your… odd choice of landscaping,” Hansung manages to say in between laughter. Yoongi glances over at his work to see a rose lobbed off, now rolling in between their feet, groaning as his cheeks flood with a hue of red that could rival the rose.
“I'm new,” Yoongi mutters as he shoves the rose into his pockets before Jimin could see.
“I can see that.” Hansung reaches into Yoongi’s pocket to take the rose for himself, slender fingers stroking the petals. “Can I have your name?”
Yoongi hesitates. “I’ve given you the rose, is it not enough?”
“No.” The firmness in his voice tells Yoongi there isn’t a point in arguing. “So your name?”
“Yoongi.”
Hansung tips his head to the side and Yoongi’s chest ache with a phantom pain; every little word, every movement, is so achingly Taehyung. “Very nice to meet you, Yoongi. Perhaps I'll come by to visit again.”
Both men drop their heads in a polite bow, Yoongi lower than the other, before Hansung takes his leave to join two other men that greet him casually. Yoongi turns back to his favored shrub and snips off the rest of the rose stem to match length with the rest.
About another hour passes by, judging by the sun’s position in the sky, when a sudden call has everyone standing to attention before bowing deeply at an angle of ninety degrees. Yoongi’s quick to mimic everyone else, peeking at the corner of his eye to see if the closest gardener to his right is still bowing.
A sudden marching noise comes from the left of the garden where the entrance is and Yoongi chances a look. An ornate palanquin is being carried by eight men, two for each pole. The chair itself has a tall poster frame that’s similarly designed to the black and red pagoda of the palace grounds with red sheer fabric to veil the person inside, casting only a red-tinted silhouette.
The tiny parade stops in the center of the garden and the eight men lower the palanquin carefully. Two men on the right side of the palanquin lift the veils aside before another two men help the honored guest out.
“Your majesty,” one of the men proclaims and everyone in the garden rises. “We hope the garden is to your liking.”
The king has his back facing Yoongi and the platinum blond hair is a sharp contrast against the black band wrapped around his forehead, matching his black hanbok. His topknot is secured with an opulent hair piece and a matching golden binyeo .
“We will see,” the king says and when he turns to Yoongi’s direction, Yoongi nearly topples over because the king is a spitting image of himself, save for the angry red scar slashed through his left eye.