house of addams (9)
— 🌖 pairing: ot7 x fem.reader
— 🕷️ genre: mystery, angst + fluff + smut
— 🗝️ word count: 5.9k
— 🍄 summary: reeling from the aftermath of the attack, you take refuge at the addams house.
— ☕ content warnings: blood, brief medical procedures.
— 🕸️ a/n: thanks for everyone’s patience!! i must thank florathecake on ao3 because their comments truly got me writing again
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chapter 9: the veil lifted
november 20, 2004
The sun is just beginning to rise as the car pulls up to the Addams House. It’s a pale morning, fog clings to the ground and a light drizzle falls from a clouded sky.
The massive iron gate surrounding the grounds swings open by itself, letting the car pass, then slams shut more firmly than you’ve ever heard before.
Your gaze lingers on it through the window, and when you turn back Jimin shoots you a reassuring glance, as if to say don’t worry, no one is getting inside.
A little further up the hill, and the house looms ahead, dark and almost impossibly tall. Except, there’s something off about it.
There’s still the filthy window panes, the rotten wood, the thick cobwebs and dead vines clinging to every surface, but it’s like everything is vibrating at a slight frequency.
Hoseok stops the car in the paved driveway and everyone filters out. Taehyung offers a hand when it’s your turn to get out, but you ignore it in favor of holding the blanket around your shoulders with both hands against the chill.
The entire front of the house, it looks like it’s melting.
You’re staring hard now, focusing your eyes in a way that feels somehow natural yet slightly uncomfortable.
Slowly, the facade of the house drips away completely.
Underneath the false shell is polished wood and stone, the windows shine with warm light from within the house, and the spires and iron accents are free of any debris. The paved walkway is slick from the light rainfall, reflecting the light from the lampposts and lanterns scattered around.
The yard that was once full of nothing but spindly branched trees stripped of leaves and dead grass is now a sprawling garden of cobblestone paths, trimmed hedges, and tall, lush pines overhead.
A truly magnificent estate hidden under the appearance of a haunted house.
Yoongi notices you staring. He follows your gaze and looks back at you in realization.
“Can you see it?” he asks.
You just nod, still wrapped up in the wonder of the curtain being pulled back.
They all give each other a brief glance.
You finally find your composure and start to follow them towards the front door, the handcuff still attached to your ankle rattling, when you notice someone lingering behind.
Jungkook is still standing by the car. No longer holding a hand to his chest, the blood falls freely, though in a much weaker stream.
Just as you gain your composure, it is quickly knocked right back out of you.
Jungkook’s skin is devoid of any color. His veins are visible just beneath the pallid surface, creating a map of blue lines across his hands, his neck. His lips are a strange shade of blue-purple. His eyes are a milky gray, surrounded by deep-set dark circles.
There’s an uncanny effect when you look at him, the strange feeling of your brain stuttering when its expectations for what a human should look like are shattered.
Any of the remaining questions you had about what exactly makes Jungkook so peculiar are settled then as you finally see him exactly as he is.
Of course his housemates weren’t at all concerned about him getting shot at, not when he’s already dead.
Jungkook bristles under your attention, averting his eyes to the rain-slick ground.
Even with no sign of vitality in his complexion, Jungkook has a particular beauty about him. His hair, hanging around his face, is still slightly wet, taking on a natural curl. The shade of his skin seems to make his eyebrow and lip piercing stand out more, as well as the sharp contours of his jaw.
Jungkook meets your eyes as you’re staring at him, and while he can’t read your expression, you can read his. The way he looks down at his feet, folding in on himself, has the unmistakable air of self-disgust written all over it.
He hurries to follow the others to the front door without looking at you again.
No doubt you’re in store for many more shocking sights.
The inside of the house is more or less the same as you remember it. Clean floors, grand arches and gothic accents in the architecture. There’s the same massive staircase that branches into two directions halfway up, the whole thing against the backdrop of a huge stained glass window.
Despite all the richly dark wood, the inside of the house is surprisingly well-lit, given the abundance of tall windows and skylights. There’s also plenty of elegant scones and lit candles lining the halls, along with many, many plants with creeping growth. Some of the plants are almost as tall as trees, making the entire place resemble the inside of a greenhouse.
You follow the men to a sitting room lined with bookshelves and sprawling leather couches.
Yoongi hurries out of the room saying something about getting a few supplies, whatever that means. You can hear Hoseok in another room, seemingly talking to someone on the phone.
You join Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook in the circle of couches.
Taehyung starts taking out various pieces of equipment from his med bag that he grabbed from the hall, laying them out on a nearby coffee table as he directs Jungkook to remove his blood-stained shirt.
You try not to let your eyes linger too long on Jungkook’s torso, and you certainly don’t let your brain linger on the fact that despite being dead, Jungkook still has fucking abs.
You quite literally cannot stifle an eye roll, and Jimin can’t stifle the short burst of laughter that consumes him from watching you try.
You look at Jimin, who’s already looking at you, and Jungkook and Taehyung look back and forth between the two of you trying to figure out what just happened.
You, annoyed, start to scan the various books on the wall as Jimin sports a slightly smug look from having caught your reaction.
Taehyung focuses back on his work, using a pair of tweezers to dig out the two bullets from between Jungkook’s ribs.
In this moment of relative calm, you realize how much your head hurts. It makes you squeeze your eyes shut and clench your jaw for a brief moment.
“How are you feeling?” Taehyung asks, eyeing you while he reaches for another tool.
Man, these fuckers really don’t miss anything, you think to yourself. You suppose Taehyung is a doctor and he is more likely to notice any sign of discomfort, but still, you don’t like the way they always seem to be watching you.
“I’m fine,” you reply.
Taehyung raises an eyebrow at you, and for a moment you think you’re about to get scolded, but Yoongi comes back into the room before anyone can say anything else.
He’s carrying a small cauldron already filled with water and several bottles and bundles of herbs. He hangs the cauldron on a hook over the flames in the nearby fireplace, uncorking one of the bottles and pouring some of its contents into the pot. The water immediately begins to bubble.
“Why did the outside of the house change?” you ask, landing on the first question out of hundreds that sticks first.
“It’s always looked like that, but now your mind is finally comprehending it for what it truly is,” Yoongi answers as he stirs the contents of the cauldron.
“Namjoon will explain it all when he gets here. He’s the most knowledgeable about all that stuff,” Jimin says.
“And what’s that for?” you ask, nodding towards the pot.
“This is for you,” Yoongi replies, tossing in a handful of crushed flower petals.
“Oh?” you reply, raising a brow.
“Mm hm. You’ve been poisoned,” Yoongi says, as nonchalantly as reporting the weather.
Alarm shoots through you.
“But I haven’t eaten anything in over 24 hours!”
“What?!” Taehyung exclaims with all the concern of a practicing physician. The look on his face now definitely looks like he wants to scold you.
“It’s not your body that’s poisoned, it’s your mind,” Yoongi says calmly.
A door slams somewhere, and three sets of footsteps and voices begin to approach.
Hoseok, Jin, and Namjoon enter the room. Jin is still wearing his apron, clearly fresh off a shift at the cafe, and Namjoon has a handful of books tucked under one arm, probably direct from the bookshop.
“Is everyone alright?” Namjoon asks. Everyone replies with affirmative grunts.
They all sit down as mist starts to billow over the lip of the cauldron.
Taehyung whispers something to Jin, who then shoots up from his seat and declares that he’s going to get everyone something to eat, disappearing into the hall.
“One of you is going to answer my questions,” you say, trying desperately to find a sense of familiarity in this strange situation.
“Of course, we want to help,” Namjoon replies calmly. It’s all out in the air now anyway, you’ve seen them all as they are. Well, maybe not to the furthest extent, but that will certainly come in time.
“Why did the outside of the house change?” you say again.
“The grounds of the house are warded with protective spells to keep intruders out, and the house itself is coated in glamour, an enchantment that projects a false image. In the case of the Addams House, the false image is the one that many people expect to see. This house has been here for over a hundred years, and people already think of it as a haunted house of sorts. Plus, it tends to keep unwanted visitors away,” Namjoon explains.
“But…” you begin, taking it all in. “Why did it fade all of a sudden?”
Namjoons knits his fingers together as Yoongi continues to add various things to the cauldron, which churns and releases a sharp-smelling smoke.
“Well, normally, the house releases its glamour gradually to any new inhabitants of the house. So slowly that they often don’t even realize that the image is changing. And descendants of the original Addams family are basically immune to this glamour, since the house recognizes them,” he continues.
Your eyebrows are furrowed by now.
“You haven’t answered my question,” you say.
Namjoons leans back in his chair in what looks like contemplation.
“To be completely honest, I’m not sure why. But Jungkook and I have been having suspicions,” Namjoon says, cryptically.
There’s a pause as you wait for him to elaborate, but it doesn’t come. There’s only the sound of the bubbling cauldron and Taehyung cleaning Jungkook’s entry wounds after giving him a few stitches to quell the blood flow.
“Jesus Christ, Namjoon, how long are you going to keep me in suspense?” you blurt out.
“We think you possess prophetic abilities.”
Your first instinct is to laugh, but a quick look around the room proves that its far from a joke.
Even still, the absurdity of it makes you lean back in your seat and let out an incredulous huff of breath.
“I told you she wouldn’t believe it,” Jimin pipes in.
“Yeah, because it’s ridiculous,” you snap back.
“All the things you’ve seen so far, and that’s the one thing that’s ridiculous?” Taehyung says, now finished putting a pad over Jungkook’s clean wound.
“I’ve always been perfectly normal, thank you,” you say, rubbing your forehead, which has only started throbbing more.
“You brought a gun to a dinner party, darling,” Hoseok says from his position lounged in a nearby armchair.
You purse your lips without looking at him, you don’t want to see the hint of a smirk that’s clearly in his voice.
“I’ve never experienced any kind of clairvoyance before,” you supply.
“I’m not saying you’ve always had the ability, this was probably just the catalyst. It’s likely laid dormant up until this point. Or maybe it’s just the town itself rubbing off on you. There’s no way to really tell,” Namjoon explains.
Jin returns to the room with a silver tray in hand, setting it down on the nearby coffee table. There’s a fresh pot of coffee, a platter of golden meat pies, and small pile of warm pastries.
It smells delicious and your stomach does gargle (Jimin, with his non-human senses, hears it), but your head is throbbing so bad and you’re feeling faint enough that you know your hand will shake if you reach for something.
“Prophetic abilities…” you say, tossing the idea around and testing the words in the air. “So, like a seer?”
“Yes, except…” Namjoon starts, trailing off as if to find the right words. “The term seer is a little archaic, typically referring to someone from past societies where they were actually respected and revered for their abilities. Today, we have something a little different.”
Jin takes it upon himself to prepare you a cup of coffee, knowing just how you like it from all your visits to his cafe, placing it gently in your hands. Taehyung, likewise, takes it upon himself to prepare a plate and place it in your lap.
There is a specific feeling that comes from them so readily serving you, but you don’t linger on it. There are other more urgent things to think about right now.
You gratefully sip from the elegant china cup and nibble on the corner of a meat pie, perfect for the autumn season.
“Have you ever heard of Casandra of Troy?” Namjoon asks.
It makes you look at him mid-sip, already starting to see where this is headed.
“From the Greek myth?” you reply, and Namjoon nods.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you mumble under your breath, letting your head fall back to look exasperatingly at the ceiling.
Cassandra of Troy, according to the Greek myth, was both blessed and cursed by Apollo. Blessed with the gift of prophecy, but cursed to never be believed. She predicted the fall of Troy and her own murder, but was met with ridicule, forced to watch her predictions play out as she remained helpless to change them.
“Don’t tell me…” you say, half to yourself, trailing off as your headache peaks in intensity.
Taehyung notices to signs of increasing pain in your expression.
“How’s that potion coming, Yoon?” he asks.
“Almost there,” the man attending the cauldron says, watching closely as it continues to bubble.
“So what you’re telling me,” you begin, now starting to see spots in one eye. “You’re telling me that any visions I have are doomed to come true? And no one will ever believe me?”
“No, not at all!” Namjoon replies, and a swell of relief floods through you. That is, until he elaborates.
“Only if you share them,” he says.
You set him with an irritated, pain-ridden look, gesturing for him to just explain everything, despite the fact that merely thinking has become painful for you.
“There seems to be a strange, repeated pattern surrounding modern-day seers. Every vision that they share seems to be both unchangeable and also never taken seriously by their peers. Some scholars believe that these kinds of seers are actually able to manifest these visions into existence, that they themselves are the catalyst for prophecies. Unfortunately, there isn’t much funding in the ambiguous arts, so this is all conjecture—”
“Joon…” Jimin says gently, stirring sugar into his coffee and giving the bookshop keeper a fond yet imploring look.
Namjoon, realizing that he was starting to ramble, reins it in for your sake.
“Basically, as long as you don’t speak them into existence, the outcome of the visions can be manipulated,” he says.
“Okay,” you say, processing all this new information. “But just how accurate are these predictions? I mean, how seriously should they be taken?”
Namjoon looks around the room, appears to think for a moment.
“I can’t say, it depends,” he admits, and you bite down your growing frustrations. “Some visions are purely a result of your own mind, with no bearing on the future, but others can be direct prophetic insights. It comes down to your own gut feeling.”
You meet Jungkook’s gaze briefly. Trust your instincts.
Yoongi removes the pot from the fireplace, setting it on a wire rest on the table. Taking one of the teacups from the tray Jin brought in, he ladles some of the deep green liquid into it and passes it to Jimin, who places it in your hands.
“Drink,” Yoongi orders gently.
“The fuck is it?” you reply, eyeing the steam rising from the surface of the strange, too-vibrant liquid.
The question is useless because Yoongi rattles off some phrase in a foreign language.
“It’s to banish malignant influences on your mind. It should get rid of your headache too,” he elaborates.
You don’t need much more convincing than that, first taking a tentative sip and then draining the cup when it proves not too hot.
The man is right, you feel the throbbing in your head start to quell almost instantly.
“Christ, you’re an angel,” you sigh in pure relief, and Yoongi shrugs but blushes slightly.
Now that the state of your head isn’t so distracting, you can scroll through to the next question on your mental list.
“Did you drug me? At your dinner party?” you ask.
Several confused and slightly shocked faces.
“What?” Jimin replies, brows furrowed.
“When I went to sleep that night I didn’t wake up until a full day later, on the first of November.”
Several of them glance at each other, still very much confused.
“No, we didn’t serve you anything unusual,” Namjoon says when no one seems to know what you’re talking about.
Nothing to you screams that they are lying, so you take their word for it.
Whoever is responsible for the “malignant influences on your mind” clearly did more than you gave them credit for.
You sigh again, exasperatedly this time, and lean back on the sofa. The headache is gone but your vision is starting to swim.
“I don’t suppose they liked how much I avoided sleeping after that. My dreams were out of control.”
Maybe that’s why they somehow got you to sleep for an entire day, so your dreams would devolve faster.
“Well, the potion is only the catalyst. You’ll have to sleep off the rest of effects so your mind can purge itself. You’ll probably start to feel lethargic soon,” Yoongi explains.
“Oh, so that’s what that is?” you say as your head lolls back against the back of the sofa. Now you know why it feels like the force of gravity has doubled.
“Yeah, sorry,” Yoongi replies with an apologetic half-smile.
“What have you been dreaming about?” Taehyung asks.
Your eyes have a hard time focusing on him, but it doesn’t matter because the images from your dreams quickly take over.
“The woods. The lake. Disembodied voices.”
You remember seeing Jin dripping in blood and Jimin emerging from ink-black waters.
“Anything I read about would manifest in my dreams. Like images from those clippings you gave me,” you say, looking at Namjoon.
“The Periscope Press clippings?” he asks.
“No, the ones about the upir and the sea creature.”
Namjoon’s brow furrows.
“The only clippings I gave you were from the newspaper,” he says.
By now, your eyelids have begun to droop. You think back to the folders of clippings dropped on your doorstep. Only the first folder, the one tied off with a ribbon, contained a note from Namjoon.
You let out a huff, rubbing a hand over your increasingly dry eyes.
“Then they know who you are too,” you say. “I think they’ve been trying to make me afraid of you.”
There’s a few glances exchanged between them.
“You said there was a voice,” Hoseok says after a pause.
You look at him, lounging in one of the plush armchairs with his long legs crossed. He’s looking at you like something troubling is on his mind.
“Is it a human voice?” he asks.
“I think so,” you reply, your face slightly scrunching in the effort it takes to focus your thoughts through the brain fog.
“Male? Female?”
“I…I’m not sure,” you can hardly manage the words.
You can already feel the gripping dread attached to the mental images starting to melt away, wiping your mind clean.
“There’s something else,” you say, recalling one particular image. “I saw a hand come out of the lake.”
There are more confused glances all around, some of them glance at Jimin.
“A human hand. It reached out from the water, like it was beckoning me.”
There’s a pause as everyone takes this in.
“Does…” Jungkook begins, sounding deep in thought. “Does the voice belong to the same person as the hand?”
Running your fingers through your hair, you blink hard a few times in an effort to stay awake.
“I have no idea,” you admit, defeated.
Yoongi clears his throat and starts to gather up his brewing supplies.
“Well, we certainly aren’t going to figure it out tonight. I say we all head to bed and continue the discussion tomorrow,” he announces with a not-so-subtle look at you struggling to keep your head from bobbing.
“Come, ______. I’ll show you to an empty room,” Jimin says, rising from the sofa. He holds out a hand, offering to help you up, and it’s only because of the circumstances that you accept it.
Good thing too, because when you rise to a stand a wave of dizziness ripples through you.
He leads you back to the main entryway and up the grand staircase. Branching off to the right wing and down an ornate hallway, all carved wood and Persian rugs, you focus very hard on putting one foot in front of the other, handcuff still rattling.
As expected, the place is massive. The hallway stretches far, with many twists and turns and stairways branching off of it. Sconces and candelabras on side tables shed warm light into dark corners.
Jimin finally stops at one of the doors, turning the brass old-fashioned key already sticking out of the keyhole and opening it wide.
“Here we are,” he says as the lights inside the room turn on by themselves. It’s a large room, with richly dark wood floors and tapestry-lined walls. A sizable four poster bed sits against the wall, complete with embroidered curtains to keep out the draft. There’s a wardrobe and dresser drawers to the left of the bed, and a bureau style desk to the right, all exquisite antiques.
“The bathroom’s through there,” Jimin says, gesturing to a door near the corner of the room. “And I’ll go find something to deal with…that,” a gesture towards the handcuff clinging to your ankle.
The bathroom is fixed with the same dark wood floors and furniture, broken up with white porcelain and golden fixtures. There’s already a wire basket full of toiletries on the counter. Amber soap bars, luxurious cloths and sponges, and an almost ridiculous amount of bottles, jars, and vials of various shapes and liquid colors.
You’re just starting the water with the turn of a squeaky dial when Jimin returns, Hoseok in tow.
“Compliments of Jungkook,” Jimin says, setting a black button-up pajama set on the bed. It’s Jungkook’s nicest, comfiest pair.
Hoseok spreads something out on the bed too, a roll-out fabric with various little pockets sewn into it. In each pocket is a thin piece of petal, all curved in different shapes. A lock picking kit.
Immediately, you create a mental note to ask him to teach you later. You’ve had and used many lock picking devices before, but you never learned how to do it manually.
Hoseok takes out a metal piece bent in a small L shape, a handcuff key.
Dropping to one knee, he quickly unlocks the cuff and pulls it away from your dirt covered feet.
“There, much more comfortable,” he says, rising to a stand. He glances at the broken thing in his hand.
“May I keep this?” he asks.
“Uh, sure?” you reply.
He smiles.
“Thank you. Well, goodnight ______. Rest well and clear your mind,” he replies, swiftly exiting the room.
Jimin utters a similar goodbye, leaving you to get to bed.
You manage to stay upright in the shower, though the warm water makes you want to curl up right there in the clawfoot tub. Layers of dirt, ash, and splatters of Jungkook’s blackened blood slip off your skin and circle down the drain.
You lather products smelling of cedar and fresh rain onto your body until you feel that whatever the hell happened in the last few hours is sufficiently washed away.
Barely dry and delirious with drowsiness, you stumble from the bathroom to the bed and nearly collapse onto the dark green sheets. Maybe it’s the effects of the potion, but you feel as if the mattress sinks in sucks you down into it like a gaping pit. You wonder for a moment if you’ll fall deep enough through the center of the house.
Your sleep is still plagued, swirling with turbulent water and fungal spores. And a voice still reaching out, nearly roaring with frustration that their hold on you is fading.
november 22, 2004
Your body feels heavy as a corpse when you finally start to stir awake. There’s light peeking from behind the curtains, but the room isn’t as drafty as early morning would suggest.
And yes, for the first time in weeks, your head feels unclouded. If you were to tap it, it would ring clear as a bell.
You stretch, roll over, then sleep for several more hours. When you slink to the side of the bed and hang your legs off the side, the light outside the curtains is tinged warm.
Bare feet hitting the rug, you roll your neck and get all the cracks out of your bones. You don’t make it two steps before your stomach is unleashing a roar.
You don’t know if you’ve ever felt more hungry in your life, not even when you pulled a two-day stakeout on a suspected drug trafficker.
You’re only in the bathroom long enough to relieve yourself before entering the hallway in search of the kitchen.
It’s clear fairly quickly that the house twists and turns more abnormally than a normal house. Some hallways curve into themselves in an impossible spiral, stairways lead up and then immediately down in zigzags, and there are so many dead ends at odd angles that you quickly lose count.
Eventually, you come to the main branching stairway, nearly bounding down it as your stomach growls more insistently.
There’s someone already in the kitchen. At first, all you see is the back of a suit jacket and the chestnut-haired head attached to it. The man turns when he hears someone else entering the room, and you see that it’s Jin.
“Good afternoon,” he calls cheerfully. “Did you sleep well?”
“I’m hungry.”
You did NOT mean to say it, but this hunger feels primal and the words simply demanded to be said.
Jin just laughs.
“Sit, I’ll fix you something,” he says, shucking his jacket and folding up his shirtsleeves.
After you sink down in one of the stools along the counter, there’s nothing to distract you from the hunger except for the way Jin’s back looks in his pressed white dress shirt.
You’ve noticed his very broad shoulders before, it’s hard not to, but you don’t think you’ve noticed them quite this much before. Nor have you really truly noticed the way his arms flex beneath his rolled shirtsleeves as he deftly handles utensils with the speed of a seasoned chef. He has eggs and sausage sizzling on the stove in mere moments.
“Do you want your coffee hot or iced today?” he asks, oblivious to your staring.
You swallow deeply.
“Hot.”
Jin leans his weight on one foot as he preps the espresso machine, hip jutting, and you notice the way his ass fills out his pants. Hot indeed.
This is going to be a very big problem.
Soon he’s setting a steaming latte in front of you, sweetened just how you like it, along with a plate of sausage and eggs.
“Would you like a cinnamon roll? I made them this morning,” Jin says.
“Yes please,” you reply, mouth already full.
He gives you a smile, fetching a ceramic pan with several rolls already missing.
“Glad you got one, they’ll be gone by the end of the day,” Jin says, sounding fond rather than annoyed.
Your hunger makes you abandon the fork, grabbing one of the plump, generously-frosted rolls in your hand, taking a bite so big you get vanilla-flecked icing on both your cheeks.
“Jesus Christ,” you mutter around the mouthful. Maybe it’s your hollow stomach, but you don’t think you’ve had a better meal in your life. Rotating between the savory meat, the sweet pastry, and the rich coffee like it’s your full-time job, Jin watches with barely concealed amusement as you quickly devour everything in front of you.
Well sated, you release a sigh of wistful delight when you’re finished.
“Better?” he asks.
“Yes, thank you. You’re a saint.”
He grins, taking your plate to the sink to wash it.
You watch him as he takes care of the rest of the dishes, feeling suddenly awkward without the buffer of eating to avoid conversation.
“So,” you begin, fidgeting with your coffee cup. “Where is everyone?”
“Yoongi and Jimin are upstairs. Namjoon’s at the bookshop, Taehyung and Jungkook are examining a body a few cities over, and Hoseok is out doing…something,” Jin says with a wave of his hand.
You nod to yourself, thinking.
“Would it be possible for someone to give me a ride to my place?” you ask.
You need to examine it, no matter how destroyed it is. And you need to fetch your car. And call the mayor. And talk to the police.
“Oh, your car’s out front. Hoseok picked it up for you,” Jin says.
Your eyebrows rise.
“He didn’t want to leave it there in case whoever fucked with you came back to trash it,” Jin explains.
Well, that makes things a little easier.
“That…was very nice of him,” you manage.
“I still think you should bring one of us along when you go back there, just in case they try anything,” he explains.
You nod, agreeing quickly.
“The mayor’s been calling twice a day, too,” he adds.
Wait…
”How long have I been asleep?” you ask.
“About two days,” Jin answers.
Your coffee cup nearly clatters to the floor.
“Fuck,” the word is punched out of you.
“You needed to sleep out all the negative influences on your mind! Yoongi made us swear we wouldn’t wake you,” he explains.
You rake your fingernails against your scalp, fiddling with your hair.
“Don’t stress out, Hoseok took care of everything already,” Jin placates.
“I’m not stressing out,” you say, stressfully. “And how exactly did he do that?”
Jin gives you a half-shrug.
“He’s very persuasive.”
You wait for him to elaborate, but that’s apparently all he’s willing to say on the matter.
“I’d be happy to accompany you back to your place, but you’ll have to wait until sundown,” Jin says.
You’re confused for only a moment, as long as it takes you to recall the details that you uncovered during your…investigation.
A million questions bubble to the surface of your mind. You can only restrain yourself for so long.
“So, you can’t go out in the sun at all?” you ask. You know that’s not entirely the case, you’ve seen him out and about during cloudy days or with an umbrella during clearer ones, but it was the first question to escape past your lips.
“I can’t be in the sun’s direct light for too long,” he explains. Then, as if an idea strikes him, he crosses to the floor to ceiling windows that line the room, currently enrobed in thick curtains. Pushing one aside, he raises his hand and lets it sit in the beam of burnt orange light from the setting sun.
“I’m working the cafe tonight so I won’t be making dinner, but the kitchen is stocked so go nuts. Or feel free to use Hoseok’s credit card to get takeout, the info is in the address book by the phone in the living room,” Jin says.
“Uh huh,” you reply, unconvincingly. As if you would ever be comfortable enough to do such a thing.
“Though, I will warn you, delivery drivers always leave it at the gate. No one’s ever brave enough to go up to the house, so you’ll have to venture into the cold.”
“Uh huh.”
Smoke has begun to unfurl from Jin’s fingertips. Backlit by the sun, his hand has started to glow like it’s ember-hot. A few seconds later, and a small flame sparks to life along his knuckles.
“You’re—fire!” you exclaim, pointing.
Jin, nonchalantly, retracts his hand from the beam of sunlight, flapping it to extinguish the flame. He holds up his hand to show you as the skin begins to heal seconds later, fresh pink flesh stitching itself over the blisters.
“See?” Jin says.
“Wow,” you reply, fascinated. “Is that your only weakness?”
“It’s the most debilitating, yes.”
You have more questions, obviously, but you’re pretty sure that most of them would venture into territory that’s considered rude to ask someone you don’t know that well. They’re categorized and filed away for later.
In another room, the phone rings.
It makes you sit up a little straighter. You’ve got to call Mayor Summerbee.
“I should get back to the mayor,” you say, rising from your seat.
Jin nods, glancing out the window. The sun has nearly completed its descent past the horizon.
“I’ll get going to the cafe, then,” he says, grabbing his jacket.
He sets you with a serious look.
“Promise me you’ll take someone with you when you go back to your place,” he says.
It makes you pause in more ways than one. They seem to look out for you a little too much.
“Don’t worry, I’m not stupid,” you reply. It’s not exactly a promise, you hate making promises, but Jin seems to take your word for it.
You manage to find your way back to your room with little difficulty. It’s almost as if the halls recognize you.
There is a phone in your room, albeit an old-fashioned rotary phone without an answering machine. Dialing the mayor’s number seems to take ten minutes.
She picks up on the second ring.
You assure her that you are quite alright, that you’re safe with good accommodations.
She doesn’t press you and ask where exactly you’re staying, maybe Hoseok already told her. And if he did, then it means he’s pretty reliable if she doesn’t even bother to ask any follow up questions.
She apologizes profusely for the danger that she’s put you in because of the investigation, but you assure her that you’ve pulled off more dangerous jobs. You’ve been threatened before and you’re sure you’ll be threatened again. Never before has it been quote this pointed, but she doesn’t need to know that.
You assure her that while your whole library of research has been destroyed, you’re not stopping anytime soon.
If they want to stop you, they’ll apparently have seven others to get through first.
a/n: thanks so much for reading!! please let me know what you thought of this chapter in the comments, they really keep me going :)
