written in the stars

You told him you loved him. Why would you do that? He obviously doesn’t love you back. You’re just a nuisance to the pack, a problem that Jungkook has to handle alongside everything else. God, you’ve never felt like such a burden. You can’t even speak to your dad to numb the ache in your chest since the landline and your mate’s computer are locked away in his office, practically taunting you it’s so close yet so far. And that means no Taehyung either; granted, that’s probably the reason the door is locked, so possibly wouldn’t be a wise decision anyway.

You trudge into the kitchen sullenly, finally succumbing to the growling in your belly and scavenging for some kind of relief. It comes in the form of cornflakes a few days out of date; as the stock in your kitchen hasn’t been replenished for about a week it’ll have to do. Maybe this is just another way the world is punishing you.

As you settle with your food, the sound of a door handle rattling is brought to your attention. Your eyes widen slightly, dropping the spoon as you jump from your stool to around the corner, just in time to see your mate shutting the door behind him slowly. As he turns, you’re immediately met with purple bags looming under his eyes and a pale face making his skin look white-washed and ill. Your wolf stirs, aching to care for him, but you don’t know what to say, or what to do.

He shrugs his coat off, dropping it over the radiator by the front door, but remaining facing the wall. He stays that way for a moment, enshrouding the room in a deafening atmosphere, before whipping round to stalk stealthily in his office.

The door slams shut behind him. You let out a breath. Then he walks straight back out.

“I’m sorry,” he announces, striding over to you. As if subconsciously, you throw yourself into his arms.

“I was a jerk and angry and stressed and I’m sorry,” he mumbles into your neck, nose nuzzling against your flesh as you curl further into his chest. This was not what you were expecting – not that it hasn’t come as a welcome surprise.

“I’m sorry I ran, too,” you respond, pulling back your head to look up at him, “I should’ve stayed with Jin, I should’ve listened to you, I-“

He cuts you off by bringing his lips onto yours, and you melt into him like caramel. The sugar drips off your lips as your hands climb up his chest onto his shoulders, his own clinging to your waist desperately. He nudges you backwards as you step behind you towards the kitchen, still holding him with a newfound urgency. When your back is flush against the kitchen counter, your mate hoists you onto the surface as you push the bowl of cereal aside and he slots himself between your legs, finally pulling back to breathe.

“Don’t apologise, Y/N,” he pants with you, “It was a shitstorm and I should’ve handled things better – it was my fault for being a shitty Alpha.”

“Don’t say that,” you respond, sternly, “You’re – we’re still so young and you don’t have to do it alone – all I want to do is help you, but you always push me away when I should be being there for you.”

He frowns slightly, “No, it’s my job to protect you, Y/N.” His response leaves you grimacing, and you push him gently out of the way so you can jump off the counter.

“Jungkook, I don’t think you understand, a Luna’s role is-“

“Y/N, I know what a Luna’s role is,” he sighs, “Let’s not argue again now, please, there’s still shitloads to do-“

“Well I’m trying-“

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he sighs, holding one hand up to his nose briefly before heading to the fridge and pulling out a drink, “You’re trying to have me let you lead a pack with me when you’ve no experience whatsoever.”

You grimace at that, “I’ve got to start somewhere.”

“Can we talk about something else?” He looks at you, bum perched on the counter as he sips his drink.

Folding your arms over your chest and with the most authoritative tone you can muster up, you order: “Tell me about your father.”

Jungkook watches you as you stand there, resolute with your words. It’s fairly apparent you must be the only one who ever dares to question him or make demands of him. Other packs wouldn’t, and Jimin certainly wouldn’t, let alone the rest of the pack’s inhabitants. Only you. You think he enjoys it slightly, though, having someone give him a bit of response.

Your mate finally puts down his drink with a deep breath, “You don’t want to hear about that.”

“I do,” you insist, fumbling quickly behind him as he trudges towards the stairs, “I do, Jungkook.”

He doesn’t slow down, instead double-steps up the spiral staircase as you struggle to keep up behind him. You won’t let him close up again – not just as you’re about to get somewhere.

“Jungkook, please!” You all but yell from behind him, the distance between the two of you growing as he steps into the bedroom while you still make your way up the last few steps. 

“Just....just talk to me.” The hint of desperation in your voice causes him to stop and you nearly collide into his back. A sharp sigh leaves his lips and you’re hopeful that he’ll finally begin to open up and treat you like a mate rather than a burden... but of course, this is Jungkook you’re talking about. 

“Why are you so interested in everything that involves me? Is there nothing else to entertain you?” You’re a bit taken back by his outburst, before letting out a scoff. Had you really expected anything different? 

“Unfortunately, no. Everything I had to ‘keep me entertained’ I had to give up as soon as you decided to show up,” you spit back at him with clear disdain, the shock that settles onto his features mimicking yours from just seconds ago. 

“Excuse me?” Jungkook’s incredulous tone challenges you to keep going. You see the fire ignite in his eyes and it triggers an adrenaline rush which pushes you over the edge to take him up on the offer, fist clenching at your sides as you continue on. 

“Honestly Jungkook; one day you and your pack just show up, it turns out that we’re mates and you bring me here before I’ve fully processed what’s happening. I had to give up my pack, my family, my home to start my life anew with people I don’t know and who I’ve barely interacted with since I got here. What did you give up, huh? You, being my mate, are the one person who’s supposed to make all of this worth it and I don't know anything about you. Are you actually surprised that I’m not on cloud nine up in your segregated house where I have, as of yesterday, no friends at all?”

Although your question is rhetorical, Jungkook can’t help the physical ache it leaves in his chest to hear you say that you aren't happy being with him. He tries to convince himself that the comment hurts his own ego rather than his wolf’s bond, but the longer he stares at you, the tighter the bond feels. It’s almost as if his wolf is trying to hold on to you and keep you close to him, afraid you'll leave if he doesn’t.

The tension in the room feels suffocating as you and Jungkook remain staring at each other, waiting for the other the make the first move. You decide to break the silence, taking in a calming breath before carefully addressing him. 

“Jungkook I just... I'm not asking you to tell me everything about you. You can tell me as much or as little as you want, but just tell me something. Talk to me. I want to know my mate, not ‘Jeon Jungkook, Alpha of Red Moon’, like everyone else knows. I want to feel like we’re bonded better than that.” 

Jungkook clenches his jaw and looks away, considering your words. Another sigh leaves his lips, exhaling his anger and apprehension with it as his body finally relaxes and slouches over. Stretching out his taut muscles, your mate walks over and sits at the edge of the bed. Looking down at his feet, he pats the open space next to him. 

“There’s a lot to catch you up on so you might as well take a seat.” A small smirk graces his face and you tilt your head in wonder as your legs guide you closer to him, hesitantly sitting down.

It’s silent for a few moments as he thinks over how to begin. 

“My father… he was incredible, once. He knew the right thing to do in every single situation, how to keep the pack happy and safe and balanced… and they loved him for it. He was what made Red Moon as powerful as it is now. The loyalty of his pack made him a formidable opponent to any others, and he was admired across the world. Growing up, these incredibly powerful wolves from all over the world visited us to meet him and form alliances and friendships and to listen to him speak of his pack and his mighty prowess… not that it’s much use now.

Dad’s mate – my mother – was from an Omega family from one of the packs that visited.”

You can’t suppress the gasp that slips from your lips. An Omega? With such a powerful Alpha? An Omega is the absolute runt of the pack – there is no going lower than an Omega wolf, but usually wolves mate with those of similar rankings. You’ve never heard of such a story – and if you had anywhere else other than the horse’s mouth you aren’t sure you would’ve even believed it.

After a brief pause he continues, “My father didn’t care what ranking she was. He was utterly in love with her from the start. They were married within a few days and expecting within a few weeks.” He looks down at his lap, uncomfortably, and you gently reach out to place a caring hand on his, squeezing it softly to offer some reassurance.

He breathes in, “After I was born, they received word that there’d been some resentment bubbling within some of the lower ranks of the pack – they were angered that they were treated poorly yet this Omega from another pack was now their Luna and regarded as wolf royalty. It was jealousy. They were fucking jealous.” You see the fury rise in his eyes as you slowly rub your thumb across the veiny back of his hands.

“They’d plotted out a whole agenda. They were to wait for a viable heir for the Alpha position. They had originally planned to do it within a few weeks of my birth, but they decided to wait for an age that I no longer needed my mother. So things were good for a few years, the pack flourished under the leadership of my father and my mother cared for me at home until I started school. It was then that they deemed me capable without parents.

They lured my father out of the house with a fire one night and came in and slaughtered my mother. She’d heard them come in and thought it was an attack from another pack, so she rushed me to the saferoom, but the revolt had an Epsilon who knew the passcode in. So we were trapped and they slit her throat in front of my eyes.”

You watch as a tear slips through onto your mate’s cheek, staring blankly ahead as he involuntarily relives the moment. You shuffle closer to him and bring his hand up to your face, holding it there for warmth.

He sniffs slightly, “When father returned, he found me in the saferoom with mum’s blood all over me, trying to revive her. He immediately knew who’d killed her. Apparently he’d heard about the plotting before, but hadn’t expected anything to come of it. It was then that I saw his eyes, they – it was almost as if I could see the way the man he was slip from them. He was gone, along with her.

His sanity was questionable from that moment, let alone years later when the pack decided enough was enough and exiled him from Red Moon. He was executing masses. He blamed the pack rankings for my mother’s death and wanted to obliterate them. Starting by killing as much of his pack that he’d built over the years as he possibly could. People died for anything, and they lived in fear for too many years.

I was 17 when he finally left. Made Alpha the same day, because what’s a pack without its leader? Red Moon was fairly easily rebuilt. Word of my father’s sanity was kept within the borders, else we could’ve faced wars and conflict we couldn’t overcome without a lucid Alpha.”

It almost is too much to process. No wonder your mate is initially cold to people; his own father betrayed him and continues to attack everything he loves. The thought of it makes you miss your own father, wondering how the hell you would ever get over losing him, the way Jungkook’s lost his parents. It’s too harrowing to even consider.

“And the letter? From the box in the cupboard?” You don’t mean to pry, but for the first time he’s actually being open with you about his life.

He sighs, biting his lower lip cautiously, “He sent that to me a few months ago – well before I met you. He still believes all wolves should be equal and the rank system should be demolished. But he’s not in his right mind – without ranks there’d be anarchy, and the powerful would no longer be required to protect the weak. It would be wolf versus wolf, and there’d be massacres without consequence. The world would no longer be safe. He was trying to convince me to dismantle Red Moon and join him and the rogues in a rank-less world. But I would never yield my pack to a life like that. Never.”

You both sit in silence, both lost in your thoughts with an indistinguishable atmosphere between you. This is the story that’s made him who he is, his legacy. You feel a lump in the back of your throat when you look at him, eyes red with both grief and fury, head hung low and a forlorn look strewn across his features. 

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” you tell him, earnestly. 

He breathes out, “I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into it. Maybe having an Alpha mate isn’t worth it after all.”

You immediately take his hand in yours and lean into him, “Don’t you ever apologise, Jungkook. I know I said some things earlier, but I promise I still chose to be here with you, and I don’t regret leaving Scarlet Oak, and certainly the last thing I would ever ask for is to have a different mate. You are perfect for me, flaws and shitty family and all.”

This makes him look back at you, a slight smile just poking at the corner of his lip. He watches you for a moment, before leaning in and stealing a gentle kiss as his arms reach for your waist. As if subconsciously, you relax into him and bring yourself round to straddle his lap. 

He pulls back, “I love you, too, you know. I should’ve told you before the Rogue attack because I know how you like to overthink things, and I shouldn’t have excluded you from everything that was happening, but I do love you. Even if I don’t show it in the right way.” 

An uncontrollable grin spreads across your face as much as you try and hold it back. Your mate smiles contentedly in response, leaning in to you again.

“Wait-,” you stop him, “Say it once more?”

He finally lets out a throaty laugh and it rings like a chorus of church bells in your ears, still ringing after it’s stopped and you hope it never does, “I love you.” 

He kisses you on the forehead, “I love you.” 

Then on the bridge of your nose, “I love you.”

On your eyelid, scrunched up from the smile spread inexorably across your face, “I love you.”

And finally he looks down at your lips, “I love you.” 

__________________

After a lazy afternoon of kisses and ignorance, Jungkook excuses himself to his office to take a call from the packhouse in the town, leaving you settled on the sofa alone with your thoughts.

It would be ideal if you could reconcile with Jin – then you would have it all; your mate and your closest Red Moon friend. And that’s enough for you. And maybe a better friendship with Taehyung. You haven’t spoken to him much, but you still like him a lot. He’s intrinsically kind, from what you can tell, and that’s something you don’t often come across – particularly when speaking of pack Alphas who are traditionally cold and cut off… reminds you of a certain someone.

Thinking of Taehyung, you begin to contemplate the problem of the Rogues. Red Moon is clearly struggling, and despite Jungkook’s best efforts to protect the pack and be the best Alpha he can be, the attacks are still getting worse and more frequent. You need help, and frankly you can already expect that your mate isn’t going to be one initiating anything – especially considering him and his impenetrable pride.

He promptly finishes his call in his office, swaggering out to find you still lounging on the settee.

“Comfy?” He smiles, coming around to sit beside you, taking you by the waist and hauling your figure into his lap.

As he nestles his face into your neck, you begin to play with his large fingers, absentmindedly, “What was the call about?”

“Rogue stuff – not much progress in that department, but they’ve sealed up the well,” he responds, with a sense of finality.

You gently bite your lower lip in apprehension before speaking again, carefully deliberating over your words, “Maybe we should call Alpha Taehyung?”

Jungkook stiffens beneath you, “What?”

You nudge his face from your neck to look at him better, “I don’t mean for dinner and a show, Jungkook.”

“I should fucking hope not,” he growls.

Ignoring him, you continue: “I think we should be requesting his support if this were to reach a war we can’t handle.”

He perks up slightly at your comment, finally listening to you with half-earnest intent.

You carry on, “Taehyung is a good ally to have and he’s situated close the pack so could reach us within a couple of hours. He is actually a very kind person if you would actually give him a chance and he said we can call him whenever we need him. And I think we do need him.”

You can tell your mate is on the verge of compliance, but his jealousy still holds him back. God, this man and his hubris. You look at him, unforgivingly.

“I think you need to suck it up and be what you need to be for your pack right now.”

“You sound like a Luna.” You can tell he tries to suppress the small smirk on his face, fondness riddled through his expression.

You watch him still, seriously, “So you will call Taehyung?”

With a sigh, Jungkook throws his head back, “Fucking alright, I’ll call the bastard. Later though, we have to get down to the packhouse first for something.”

“For what?” You interrogate, suspiciously.

“You’ll just have to wait and see. I’ve had enough of you bossing me about for one day,” he squeezes your waist playfully before standing you both up to head out, enveloping your hand in his to walk over to his jeep.

The packhouse is fairly busy when you arrive; the usual people mulling about outside with Jimin handing out some clipboards to people. He holds a hand up to you in greeting from afar, and Jungkook half-smiles back before walking you by the hand into a meeting room inside.

The lights are dimmed and your mate’s skin looks soft and dewy in the darkness. He looks over you at the door, and you cannot help but lean into his neck and leave kisses gently down.

“What are you doing?” He grumbles, quiet and throatily.

You bite your lip as your hand runs down his torso, “Nothing.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you…,” he warns.

“And why not?” You smirk back, looking up at him suggestively.

He flicks his head to the door with a humorous glint in his eye.

“Hello, poppet.”

There, in your bed, lay your boyfriend and your best friend. They’re fast asleep, holding each other close and shirtless from what you can see. You’re unsure of how to react, standing frozen in place for what feels like years before your legs finally carry you out of the room and out of the house. Tears start to blur your vision but you viciously rub your eyes to rid them. Storming to your car, you slam the car door shut and start your car up. You don’t know where you’re going to go, you just know that you don’t want to be near either one of them.

You don’t really make it far, having to pull over into a supermarket parking lot once your tears start to fall and completely obstruct your view. Covering your face with your hands, you sob freely. You don’t want to cry; of course you’re hurt, devastated even, but you feel so weak crying over them. The frustration of the situation doesn’t make things any better and now you don’t know if you’re more upset at the issue you saw or your lack of control over your emotions. Finally calming yourself down a bit, you try to take deep breaths and think about your next plan of action.

How are you going to confront them? Do you go back? What are you going to say? All these questions make your head pound. You lean your head back against the seat and stare at your suitcase in the backseat. Fuck, where are you going to stay? You planned to be here for a couple of days, and there’s no way in hell you’re going back to stay at that house. Sniffling, you pull out your phone and search up your options to distract yourself, even if it is briefly. 

Scrolling through different hotels and inns, you can’t stop the sinking feeling it brings. A hotel room isn’t really where you want to spend your weekend. Your fingers fly past each variation of the same single bed room until you come across an open listing for a cabin. You ponder over the possibility and you’re a bit anxious to say that it becomes more appealing with each passing second. It’s not some dingy hotel room or inn, and it’s secluded in forestry. Maybe being surrounded by nature will allow you to calm yourself and think through what you actually want to do to handle this whole situation. It’s a bit of a drive, an hour outside of your city, but the separation could be exactly what you need. Without another thought, you book the cabin.

It’s around 1 pm when you finally start to see similar cabins scattered between the trees. Even though it appears as if the day had started not too long ago, the exhaustion of this morning weigh down your limbs. You’re glad you stopped inside the supermarket to grab some snacks and ready meals for your time here, though you already went through a sandwich on your drive up. Relief washes over you as you spot the cabin you’ve rented. You pull up and park in front, convincing yourself that you’re only a few feet away from finally being able to lay down.

Approaching the cabin’s front door, you haul your suitcase up each step before finally setting it down with a thud. The sudden echo of laughter pulls your attention to look at the group of boys piling into a neighboring cabin. They all seem so happy....and fucking loud. After everything that has happened in the last few hours, you’re praying that someone will have mercy on you and let you have some peace and quiet to think and mope around in. You don’t realize you’re still watching them, probably with a less than pleased expression, until you lock eyes with one of them. His wide, boxy smile immediately falters once he sees you and you take that as your cue to get inside as quickly as possible, fumbling with the keys only briefly before eventually forcing yourself and your suitcase through the door. Gripping the doorknob you see him still looking towards your porch, confusion and concern etched on his features evident through the sliver of space left until the door is finally shut.

You’re honestly proud of yourself for having only one good cry since being in the cabin. Although that may be because you fall asleep once you tired yourself out - still an accomplishment nonetheless. You sleep from that evening until around 8 am the next morning, woken up only because of the screaming you hear below your window. Dragging yourself out of bed, you look through your window to see the boys from next door huddled in the open backyard all the cabins in your line share. They’re looking out into the lake, laughing maniacally and once you follow their line of sight, you see one of them floating on an airbed a fair distance away from the dock.

“Jeon Jungkook, I’m gonna fucking kill you!” the one in the lake screams and you were honestly surprised by the sheer volume of his voice as well as the amount of fear it held.

“Why only me?! Seokjin helped too!” the one you figure to be Jungkook complains, unabashed as he throws his head back in laughter before being hit by who you can assume to be Seokjin.

“Hey don’t drag me into this!”

“Fucking help me! I can’t swim!” screeching from the top of his lungs, Seokjin is the only one able to pull himself together and head towards the man. You step away from the window, laughing with a shake of your head. What a start to your Friday morning you think, seeing as you won’t be falling back asleep now.  

Cleaning yourself up, you head downstairs to fix up breakfast. A chorus of laughter can be heard outside and you’re unable to stop yourself from looking, despite already knowing what the source is. You see that all of them are now either in the lake or chasing each other, soaked in their same clothes from earlier that morning. Rolling your eyes, you debate going for a hike, a bike ride, or anything to get you some distance between you and them. Despite not knowing them, seeing all seven of them being so happy and carefree makes you bitter. You know it’s unreasonable, you know that you don’t know them and being upset at their happiness is a bit excessive on your part, but you came up here to clear your head and avoid the mess that is your relationship. Privacy is what you came for and you intend to get it.

Finishing your breakfast in the living room, away from the backyard, you head back upstairs. Looking through your luggage, you realize you didn’t necessarily pack for a quick camping trip. You settle for some jeans and a nice blouse and decide a walk through the area is just as good as a long hike up the impressive trails. 

Heading out, you don’t notice the pair of eyes that follow you. He debates going with you, or asking if your okay once you get back. It’s obvious to him that something has upset you, the sadness in your eyes is unmistakable and it’s plain to see that you’ve been crying. Your pained features imprint themselves in his thoughts and he replays the image back until he gets hit on the side of his head with a ball.

“Taehyung, pay attention! And stop staring at strangers!” his friend giggles across from him and all Taehyung can do is cradle his throbbing head.

Your brisk walk turns into something much longer, arriving back towards the lake around evening time. The scenery is captivating; everything seems so tranquil and soothing. You get so lost in the peacefulness that time seems to pass you by. 

When you eventually decide to make your way back, it’s close to sunset and you hope you will make it back before dark. 

The lake comes into your line of sight, as well the seven boys around a fire pit in between your two cabins. They’re eating, and laughing amongst each other as they seem to always do. You feel a bit awkward walking in the middle of their little dinner around the fire, so you sit on the dock. On your walk, you realized you weren’t really mad at them enjoying themselves while you didn’t; instead, you realized that you were upset that they had this strong bond and friendship between them and you were hurt that you had just lost both of yours. You thought you already cried out most of your tears earlier, but the tears that spring to your eyes now appear instantly.

“Hey, would you like one?”

You gasp at the voice that’s suddenly next to you and look up to see the boy from yesterday. Your eyes fall to the beer he holds in his hand before shaking your head.

“No thanks, I’m not a big drinker,” you politely decline.

“Me neither. But you seemed like you needed it.” You’re surprised that he takes a seat next to you, looking out to the lake like you’ve been. There’s a long silence and you think he may just sit quietly next to you the whole time, until he finally speaks up again.

“I’m Taehyung, by the way.” Smiling over at you, he extends a hand out.

“Y/N.” You force out a small smile and shake his hand swiftly.

“Any reason you're out here alone in the middle of the woods? A homicide, perhaps?” He teases.

You chuckle at his question, spitting out a quick “no” in the process.

“Hmm... don’t really believe you, if not that then what are you doing out here by yourself?” You look at him slightly dazed, but he only smiles back at you.

“Did you think that just because I know your name now, we’re friends and I’m going to tell you all of my secrets?” You tease him back and all he can do is laugh.

“Not all of them. Just the good ones.” You shake your head and laugh softly. You both sit in silence once more, enjoying the movement of the water while he shakes the bottle of beer in his hand.

“Why don’t you come up and eat with us!” Before you can even process his question, Taehyung is standing up and holding his hand out to you.

“No, no, it’s okay! I’m fine, really, I already have-”  

“Please? It’s fun to eat with others! Plus it’s kinda weird of us to keep eating dinner while you stare off into the sunset like some chick mourning in a soap opera,” he raises his brows and gestures to his extended palm as you blush.

“Oh, uh, if it’s weird I can go inside I just didn’t want to interrupt-”

“Go inside and eat alone while wallowing in whatever misery brought you up here in the first place? Don’t think so,” Taehyung reaches down to grab your hand and pull you up with him, leading you straight to his group of friends while you stutter out your pleas.

You approach the group with an all-consuming apprehension.

“Everyone, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is everyone.” He hands one of his friends the beer he brought out for you. 

“For you, Jimin,” he smiles proudly and takes a seat on the grass nonchalantly, gesturing for you to take his chair. Uttering out a timid greeting, you sit uneasily and look around at all of them, You then watch as Jimin opens the beer only for it to foam and spill all over him. 

He yelps in surprise while Taehyung simply states, “That was for hitting me in the head with a ball”. The group watches them slightly amused as they greet you individually. You were expecting a bit more awkwardness, but everyone greets you and continues on in their conversation as if nothing happened, even including you in their discussion. The tension rolls off of you in an instant and you look down at Taehyung to see that he is already smiling up at you.

You try not to choke on the piece of meat you’re chewing as one of them, named Hoseok, turns beet red once you reveal that you saw him floating out on the lake in the early morning.

“You saw that?!” He questions, covering his mouth and laughing in both embarrassment and joy.

“Heard you loud and clear before anything else,” you tease as the rest of them laughs along with you and at him.

As the night goes on, everyone’s energy goes with it. One by one, the boys go back inside and to bed. When only you, Taehyung, Yoongi, and Namjoon are left, you decide to get up and go too.

“Thank you for letting me join you guys. I really appreciated it,” you thank them genuinely. As much as you didnt want to intrude on their group, they welcomed you openly and you were able to laugh and enjoy the night with them.

Taehyung gets up with you, smiling at you brightly. “You should join us tomorrow too! We’re gonna go on a hike and then maybe have a movie night if you’re interested?” You smile at his thoughtfulness, but shake your head at his offer.

“No, no, I’m fine really, I don’t want to keep bothering you guys.” You look around at Yoongi and Namjoon, hoping one of them will support you.

“No, we’d love it if you joined us actually!” Namjoon replies, sending you a tired smile.

“Yeah, you’re really fun to talk to and you fit right in,” Yoongi backs up Namjoon’s statement and you’re a bit speechless.

“See? I promise you’re not intruding,” Taehyung tries to convince you further, but you’re still a bit hesitant.

“I know you probably came up here to be alone, but please spend time with us. Just for the weekend, and then we’ll be out of your hair and you don’t have to worry about being dragged into stuff with us… unless you like it and have fun of course. Then you’re always welcome to future events,” he smiles that same boxy smile you saw the first time and you can’t bring yourself to say no. You are having fun with everyone, something you weren’t expecting when you came up here in the first place.

“I guess - I guess okay then. I’ll see you tomorrow?” You smile at the three of them before Taehyung starts walking you the short distance to your cabin.

“Oh, wait…,” you turn to look at Taehyung, disappointment settling in slowly. “I don’t have any hiking clothes.” You pout and Taehyung can’t help the giggle that slips out.

“With that look you gave me, I thought it was serious,” he giggles again at your furrowed brows before he shakes his head. “Don’t worry, we have extra clothes. Might be a little big, but I’m sure you’ll look that much cuter.”

You blush at his comment and look away, opening your door and stepping inside.

“Goodnight, Taehyung,”  You wave him off.

It was drugs you were first exposed to, the pungent green smell invading you from the bench of a run down bus stop by Brandenburg Flughafen, foreign to you and so incredibly exciting. You’d never even seen any popular narcotic, bar on the tv shows you watched on your phone down in the local café in a corner booth away from any wandering eyes — your mother hired a technician when you were in your pre-teens to censor any ‘explicit’ or ‘inappropriate’ broadcastings, and the whole town of 267 knew of your credulity and innocence, thus seemed to have a silent agreement not to allow you to experience anything ‘harmful’.  You had to hide to try and experience things; it’s no wonder you left for a scene of sex, partying and amphetamines.

“You smoke?” A voice rasped from beside you, sucking in a breath through his teeth after choking out another huff of the joint.

You barely flickered your eyes to look at him, so far out of your comfort zone you could barely form a coherent sentence. He looked brazen, with luminous mint hair and hooded eyes, drained of life beneath the tendrils of smoke scorching through his nostrils like handmade clouds. Between his fingers was the thing you were most scared of, there, right in front of you. It was finally real, finally happening. There was no friend of your parents to switch the channel or take away the book or suggest you research a different subject, he was there, in front of you, real, happening.

“Sure.” It tumbled from your mouth before you could consider any further, hand effortlessly lunging slowly forwards to pry the smoke from his hands, and you held it between your thumb and your forefinger, as if you’d done it a million times before.

You remembered the first time you discovered drugs exist — Pulp Fiction, you believed it was. Mia Wallace inhaling some white substance up her nose? You couldn’t fathom at the time that someone would react that way to a powder. It intrigued you, beyond belief. Then at school in year 10, that assembly where you were taught of all the gruesome effects drugs can impose on your organs, and all the side effects they could have. You know how when you’re forbidden from something, when you’re constantly instructed not to do something… you know how it makes you oh so more desperate to do that very thing? That feeling was stirring inside of you.

The blunt felt scary in your hands, scarier than you imagined. It was strange the way it rolled down to the crease of your knuckles so easily, the sound of the rolling paper ruffling slightly and resonating through you in a chorus of anticipation. It came even easier to your lips, closing them around the filter and gently sucking in for a few seconds.

You ripped it from your mouth and began coughing violently.

It was like it was burning down your throat, your voice deepening as you tried to cope with the feeling of it coating your oesophagus like hot wax being poured generously into your mouth, gliding down your tongue and plugging your windpipe. It didn’t ease up for at least a minute, gunk rising up into your jaw relentlessly, and you spat it out in desperation to rid yourself of the scorching it brought.

“So you don’t smoke then?” The man smirked, retrieving his joint back from your curled digits and holding it back between his own lips. He took a stainless-steel lighter out of his pocket, engraved with the acronym MYG on it, relighting the end and promptly puffing out again, the smoke tapering into the air to form other strange shapes.

“I wanted to try,” you choked, finally regaining the ability to speak with a still coarse throat.

He tilted his head slightly, “Why you in Berlin?”

His question unnerved you. You didn’t answer. You instead burrowed through your hand luggage for the scarce remains of a bottle of water, unscrewing the cap and letting the meagre sips trickle onto your tongue to offer some brief soothing to your dizzying head.

He laughed, “You run away from home or somethin’? You don’t look like the typical Berliner.”

“I didn’t run. I left,” you exhaled, wetting your lower lip with your tongue, eyes fluttering shut, breath heavy.

He laughed, again, “That’s what they all say.”

Looking back on your first meeting with Min Yoongi, you didn’t ever really like him. It wasn’t that you were scared of him — well, you were a bit scared, but even after everything you felt the same way. You didn’t like the way he spoke, and you didn’t like how he acted like some nonchalant, borderline careless druggie with no real feelings or emotions. He was an effortless liar, and you valued honesty. He could be condescending and cruel and manipulative. He wasn’t someone anyone should trust.

He sat next to you on the bus. You didn’t ask him to, but he did. He didn’t speak to you, just sat there smoking his joint till it burnt out and he rolled another. God, he made it look so easy. Like it didn’t singe the pink flesh in his cheeks, or like he couldn’t feel the way it thrusted down him into his lungs, just waiting there, or how it drove into his brain and made him high as hell. He would’ve certainly excelled in a career of acting, with that beautiful façade he employed. He pretended he felt nothing. Later, you would find that was not the case.

You were travelling to Kreuzberg. Apparently, there were lots of cheap hostels there to put you up during a measly financial situation, popular to other youths that went to Berlin with little to no money. It was the perfect way to blend, to be the typical traveller that was relatable and approachable. You wanted to make new friends, meet new people. You thought Min Yoongi might be your first, at the time, and perhaps he was, perhaps you did consider him your first friend.  You glanced fleetingly over at his side profile, admiring the way he grit his jaw and the curved slope of his nose. He was handsome.

You never had a boyfriend back at home. You had friends that were boys, sure, but they were shy and most were strictly catholic and didn’t want to risk any undue temptations. You especially, because you hemmed your skirt a couple of inches higher than the rest of the girls at your school — a scandal at the time, you were labelled as a slut for at least a week which speaks a lot of the town’s standards. When the headmistress did her rounds at the end of the week, she made all the girls kneel to ensure their skirts reached the floor. Yours didn’t, and the subtle scarring left on your hand from the thin cane certified you were to carry on hemming all your skirts till the teachers gave up. You liked a thrill like that, you liked being able to defy those condemning rules that society set. It felt freeing.

Kreuzberg wasn’t what you expected, as you gazed out the tinged window onto the paved roads, onto the buildings painted with colossal street arts; a worthy canvas of such mighty works. You briefly wondered how they managed to paint a few stories high, slathering colour onto the otherwise miserable red bricks, but you supposed that could be a good conversation starter for later. Instead, you tried to digest everything you were seeing; the people sat in cafés smoking, photographers on the street, backpackers, young people, old people, tourists, natives. Some you couldn’t identify if they were actually native Berliners or not, and others you could.

You got off at a stop in the heart of the city, and Yoongi followed. Of course, you didn’t know his name at the time, you only knew that he smoked and knew that you didn’t. You strode over to a nearby map of the tramlines to find a decent hostel.

“They’ll all be booked, y’know?” He commented, sighing as he finally put out his cigarette without pulling out another, “It’s summer in Berlin. It’s packed with people like you.”

You ignored him, unwilling to accept that was the case. You couldn’t book anything prior to your trip; it was all a bit last minute. You’d just decided you couldn’t stay it that damned town any moment longer, so booked a flight, packed a bag and there you were at the heart of Berlin, the city of new starts. Of your new start.

“I know a place you could stay,” he remarked, piquing your interest, “I gotta friend down by the Spree. He’ll put you up if you’re nice to him.”

You grazed your teeth over your lower lip in contemplation, conflicted with feeling like that was cheating, like you weren’t really doing it for yourself. You didn’t want other people to still be controlling you, like at home.

“I don’t even know your name,” you quipped, making eye contact briefly before diverting them away, finding yourself struggling to look him in the eye for longer than a few seconds.

He pulled his lighter from his pocket, pointing to each letter as he spoke, “Min Yoon-Gi.” He sounded out each syllable with an amused glint in his eye, and you thought it was strange the way he became suddenly much seemingly friendlier.

“I’m Y/N,” you responded, glancing around awkwardly. You didn’t like that introduction. You felt uncomfortable.

“He lives by the bridge.”

You really were so naïve. You allowed a man who’d given you a joint at a dodgy bus stop to take you to his friend’s place to stay for a few nights, and you barely questioned it. God, you couldn’t have imagined what kind of a hell hole it really was. But at the same time it was exciting, it was new. It was everything you’d never experienced and craved like a captive desperately labouring for an escape. So you got on a tram to the river with Min Yoongi, and you followed him to a worn down terrace house on a street corner, both thrilled and terrified; you’d never felt more exhilarated.

The bricks were dark crimson, stained with mould and the rotting pieces crumbled away like ashes. It was lifeless and cold, and it felt as though it had been lived in over a thousand years and seen a hundred deaths. There was a bra hanging out one of the windows, and the other was smashed and covered with a strip of cardboard that had a picture of a blender on it. Yoongi ambled down the front path like it wasn’t the most harrowing place you’d ever seen, like it didn’t tell you to go back and find a hostel, or even as far as to travel back home and live your life the way it was. But that’s what made you follow him.

His knuckle rapped against the ivy oak as green paint chippings fell to the doormat that had an image of a cannabis leaf in the centre, with cigarette butts smothered into the bristles as well. He kept knocking, till a man with silvery hair pulled back the door.

“Fuckin’ stop, I was tryna roll, you prick,” he spat in Yoongi’s face as he spoke bitterly, immediately stalking off back down the corridor towards an archway.

Yoongi trudged inside with his shoes on, “I’ll find Jimin.”

You thought Jimin sounded like a nice name. Like someone happy and energetic; you thought you could make another friend.

The interior of the house was nothing less than expected; barren of any decoration or paintings or even some basic household items. It felt so vacant, like the people that lived there never really lived there — perhaps that’s because they were never really living. Everyone in that household was dead from the moment you got there, and maybe that’s why you don’t feel sick at the thought of what you did, rather just that it happened. And it was done and a part of history that couldn’t be changed.

You followed Min Yoongi to the kitchen, piled with dirty dishes and cutlery, empty packaging strewn across the cheap surfaces and abandoned beer bottles on the table. It smelt like weed, and the silver-haired man that opened the door to you sat on one of the counters with a filter amid his teeth, pinching the rolling paper between his thumb and index to bring it into a skilful turn.

“Where’s Jimin?” Yoongi asked, pulling back the off-white refrigerator door to take out a beer as you hovered uncomfortably in the doorway. It’s a horrid feeling, standing in a stranger’s house in a strange city with a strange person you’ve only just met. You felt like you were in a movie.

The man nodded his head in the direction of upstairs, focusing his gaze still on the tobacco in his hands.

“Stay here,” Yoongi ordered, making you grimace as his figure stalked back past you into the corridor.

You looked back at silver-hair, sliding the filter into the tip of the roll. Honestly, he didn’t look like a smoker. But then, what would you know of what smokers looked like? He muttered a curse when he patted his empty pockets, looking back at you.

“Got a lighter?” He inquired, and for a second you were taken aback.

You told him, “No. I don’t smoke.”  He groaned at you, jumping down off the counter and began rummaging through all the drawers. You could see inside they were all filled with junk, spilling out onto the floor as the man whipped each one out and left it open as he went onto the next. Your parents would’ve hated someone like him in their house. They used to lock you in your room without food or water until it was immaculate, and only then were you permitted to eat. You remember you tried to defy them once, refuse to do it, but after six hours in the blazing heat of summer and no water you were beginning to feel dizzy from the dehydration and submitted to their order.

He found a lighter on the table under a newspaper. You didn’t expect anyone in that house to pay attention to the news, let alone buy a paper. He leant against the counter and lit the end of the fag, putting the lighter down with a sigh.

“How’d you know Suga?” Silver-hair asked, head lulling back to breathe up towards the ceiling.

“Suga?”

“Yoongi.”

You remained uneasy beneath the doorframe, “He told me he knew a place I could stay.”

“You wanna stay here?” He laughed all of a sudden, holding the lit cigarette unnervingly close to the wooden counter.

“I’m Y/N,” you announced, pursing your lips.

“V.”

“V?”

“Or Taehyung. Whichever.” It fell quiet between you both again, and you enjoyed the brief escape.

He trudged over to the table to shake the beer bottles, seeking one with a little liquid left inside, “You drink?”

You shrugged. You’d never drank before. The teachers at school told you drinking was a temptation that brought about sinful consequences that would never be suitable for young girls like you. Drinking was limited to a sip of wine during Mass and should not otherwise be pursued. You didn’t really like the taste anyway, but you were curious what drunk felt like, what such sinful intoxication felt like. It at least sounded dramatic.

Silver-haired Taehyung found a fuller bottle, bringing it up to his mouth to take a sip before smacking his lips together and passing it to you. You retrieved it cautiously, sloshing about the stuff inside before having a taste yourself. You discerned a yeasty and bitter flavour, but you continued to drink. It was better than smoking.

“You speak German?”

“Not really, no.”

“But you wanna live in Berlin?”

“You speak English.”

“You think you’re gonna be hangin’ around with me?” He laughed, making your face flush with embarrassment, and perhaps a little of the beer now stirring in your stomach. You took another long gulp.

“You look like a nun.”

You didn’t own any revealing or fancy clothes. Your parents wouldn’t even let you wear jeans for a few years, deeming them improper. It’s one of the things that had seem to stuck with you; your apathetic attitude towards your own attire. You’d just learned not to care, so a baggy, waffle-knit jumper and black trousers was just something you put on to leave the house, really. Something that covered you up and your parents weren’t going to question as you left them.

“How long you gonna be stayin’ here?” He quizzed, taking another long drag.

You shuffled awkwardly, “Only a few days I think. As soon as I can find someplace else, and some work.”

A voice resonated from behind you.

“You can stay here as long as you like, babygirl.”

The first thing you thought was: Park Jimin was short. Shorter than your average thug. But a thug nonetheless.

His hair flamed orange like a fox and his teeth were slightly stained. And the tattoos were everywhere; inscriptions across his bare chest; Aztecan patterns looping around his arms; playing cards littered across his shoulders; a tiny diamond inked just beneath his left eye. He wore black sweatpants that hung low on his hips to reveal a tiny trail of hair and small looped earrings in his lobes. He scared you from the second you met.

Although short, he still had a good few inches on you. And a hell of a lot more muscle. You immediately felt an anxiety begin to consume you.

He sauntered towards you with his crotch forwards as you looked at him, coming to place his hands on your waist. He seemed to look you up and down with an insatiable look, or maybe it was amusement, you couldn’t tell. It was a fierce gaze, that you naturally desired to squirm away from as he pressed himself closer to you, lips curling up into a smirk.

“Babygirl, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” His Cheshire grin reached his eyes, crinkling up at the corners, “You wanna stay here wi’ me, huh?” One hand crawled to your arm, tracing his fingertips up and down the skin making you shiver.

You swallowed, “I don’t have anywhere to stay.” Your voice wobbled uncontrollably, as did your entire being in his predatory arms.

“That’s no problem at all,” he pulled the hand from your arm and up to your chin to bring your face towards his, “No problem at all.” You screwed your eyes shut and held your head as close to your chest as possible as he pressed a kiss to your lips, uncomfortably softly to make you quake. You wanted to scream in his face for him to get away from you.

He pulled back, chuckling, “I think you’ll get along just fine here, babygirl.”

He and Taehyung left promptly after that without so much as a second word to neither you nor Yoongi, only leaving you with his musky scent in the air and phantom touch on your lips. You were glad he was gone.

The floor of your room was carpeted, but you didn’t want to take off your shoes due to the questionable stains that were sprinkled across it. You had a bunk bed, but Yoongi told you nobody would come in to share without warning, and there was a chest of drawers with a Yoda Bong on it, just sitting there, staring at you. You had an en-suite too; the bottom of the bath was stained yellow and the toilet had no seat, blackened with mould around the rim. The sink was clean enough in comparison.

You swallowed, lifting up the duvet of the bottom bunk to peer underneath, eternally grateful that it seemed rather untouched.

“Nobody really used this room,” Yoongi told you, arms folded across his chest, “Nobody wants a bunk bed.”

“I don’t mind,” you countered, plonking your backpack and hand luggage onto the floor beside the bed. “And he’s not going to make me pay?”

“He has parties most nights anyway, so it’ll be noisy. You won’t be able to get much sleep,” he admitted nonchalantly, turning to pick up the bong on the side.

You sat down on the edge of the mattress, the springs inside prominent and digging into your behind. You’d not expected much when you left, but you had hoped for something better than that. There was no cushioning, nor did it resemble in any way the duck feather mattress you slept on at home. It was entirely new.

You pushed your mouth to the side awkwardly as Yoongi lingered, “Do you stay here too?” Your meagre attempt at small talk seemed to be enough of an invitation for him to come and sit next to you on the bed.

“I crash with Tae most of the time,” he said, slumping down beside you and falling onto his elbows as he gazed onto your back.

You could feel the way he stared.

You turned to look at him, “How do you know Jimin?”

“Everyone knows Jimin,” he said, with his shooting eyes still unwavering, but now focused on your chest, “He and I- we have a mutual agreement.”

“Agreement?”

“You a virgin?” Your eyes widened at Yoongi’s curt interrogation, blunt and outright, making you feel embarrassed enough to squirm away, swallowing back the discomfort with crimson cheeks. He laughed, loudly, unbelievably amused with your mortification.

“I’ll take that as a yes then,” his chuckling faded out into a piercing look, and you felt it burn on the side of your face and in your peripheral, “Are you scared?”

“No.” Yes, you were, actually.

“You’re sure?” He leant forwards to sit upright, a smirk pinching the corners of his lips as his hand landed on the outside of your thigh, moving inwards.

You turned to look at him, now somewhat adamant with whatever the hell you thought your intentions were, “I’m not scared.”

He licked his lips, before he leaned in to kiss you. He tasted like the beer you’d just been drinking, and he was quickly laying you onto your back and pressing on top of you into the springs of the bed before you could protest.

There was a brief few seconds where you didn’t realise your eyes were open, watching Yoongi’s head rock back and forth as his tongue delved into your mouth, but then you squeezed them tightly shut, trying to follow with his pace. It was fast and intense, and you could barely keep up when your lips began to dry out.

Moments later and the reality of what could happen suddenly hit you, and you shoved him off of you with all the force you could muster. The back of his head hit the wall with an ominous thud. You wanted new, but you didn’t want whatever this was.

With one hand now holding the back of his head, his eyes immediately snapped up to look at you, blazing with fury, “The fuck?”

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered, breathing heavily, “I couldn’t.”

You could see his nostrils flaring slightly. For a moment you were really scared. Like really scared. Of what he might do.

Thankfully, he shuffled to the end of the bed, readjusting the crotch of his trousers slightly.

“Whatever,” he grunted, “Shit kisser anyway.”

It reminded you of your first kiss with a boy on holiday. You met him on a cruise ship. His name was Tom. You were both 14 and he said you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. You swooned instantly- rather charismatic for a spotty teenage boy. He kissed you on the last day, and he said he would keep in touch. But, of course, he didn’t. Maybe if he had things might’ve been different.

As Yoongi left the room, you heard him grumble, “Fuckin’ virgins.”

“Mornin’, babygirl,” Jimin sang as he strolled into the kitchen, entirely bare except for his skin-tight grey briefs, outlining his crotch. He came over and kissed you uncomfortably slowly on the cheek, then sauntered over to the fridge to take out a beer. It seemed all they did was drink and smoke. But that was what you’d left your home for. You wanted these experiences. Didn’t you?

“Good sleep?” He asked, perching against the counter with his Cheshire grin.

You swallowed a mouthful of Honey Cheerios you were surprised to find in a cupboard beneath the sink, “I slept well.” You didn’t try to continue the conversation, you didn’t want to.

He did anyway.

“You gonna go sightseeing today or some other shit you religious girls like to do? Go to a fuckin’ church or some shit?” He’d seen the crucifix necklace you wore and was a million times more intrigued by you; and by intrigued you mean humoured.

“I wanted to go to the town and eat Bratwurst.” It was the first to-do on your agenda. Your parents were vegetarians, so you only ate meat when alone with your friends or other relatives — quite frankly, not very often at all.

He nodded, “I assume you need a tourguide, babygirl?”

You froze for a moment, before slowly tracing your lower lip, “I don’t- I think I-“

“We already have plans,” Yoongi interrupted you, buttoning up his plaid shirt as he ambled carelessly into the kitchen. Jimin glanced at you, looking thoroughly entertained, before returning to watch Yoongi, taking another gulp of his beer.

“Suga, I gotta job for you later.”

“I left my wallet upstairs,” Yoongi ignored him, jogging off till you heard his footsteps on the stairs.

Jimin sniggered from the side, watching you with his slanted eyes taking another mouthful of cereal. He loved to look at you, watch you. It was like you were his own personal form of entertainment, and he couldn’t get enough. You weren’t like the usual travellers that came through him, usually aggressive or a druggie or an alcoholic or- or just anyone considered some kind of a delinquent. But, God, you were pure. You were naïve. You were untouched. You offered something different to his usual girls, something new.

Suddenly, he was behind you, hovering above your shoulders.

“I saw him go into your room last night, babygirl,” his hands slithered malevolently down your biceps, skin rising into goosebumps at his touch.

He began to whisper in your ear, “Did you like it when he fucked you?”

“He didn’t,” you insisted, frozen in place staring down at your bowl of cereal.

He hummed, amused, “Babygirl, don’t lie to me. I’m not a man you lie to.”

“I swear,” you gulped, the fear beginning to churn in your stomach.

He nudged closer, his hand slinking down further and onto your waist, but as he inched closer you snapped your hand down to stop his arm, even surprising yourself.

There was a second where he just scowled at your hand, attempting to cease his advances, but then he violently ripped his arm back, yanking you up by the chin to bring you close enough you could hear the way his teeth grit in his jaw, dirty breath wafting up your nostrils and you had to repress the gag biting at your throat.

“Babygirl, if I can’t have somethin’, nobody can,” he snarled out, shoving your face to the side and leaning in to clamp his lips over your throat where he sucked the skin red and raw, as you held your lips tightly shut and tried to repress any tears.

Crybaby. They’d called you crybaby. When you were about ten you suddenly lost the ability to hold back your tears. At films, books, being scolded, being praised — even over things that had nothing even remotely to do with you. You’d cry. And you were inconsolable for hours. So all the kids at school started to call you crybaby. Then, when you were about sixteen you suddenly found a new emotion inside you — a stronger one — anger. So whenever you wanted to cry, you’d get angry. Anger didn’t need tears, anger needed a scream into the pillow and a punch to the wall and it was enough. Everything was channelled into this unrelenting fury towards your parents, your school, your friends. Even the word crybaby was enough to set you off. When you wanted to cry, you’d become angry instead. So as Jimin sucked a deep magenta bruise into your flesh you clenched your fists and you squeezed your eyes shut; angry.

He retreated seconds later, still grimacing as he took his thumb starkly across the raging bruise, “Don’t fuck anyone in my house.”

It’s a shame your anger didn’t fuel your confidence. You nodded meekly in response, fists still quietly clenching as he stalked out of the room, leaving you emptily.

“I’m not paying for you,” Yoongi announced, waiting behind you in the street stall line as you held your hair next to your neck, attempting to conceal the large, unwarranted bite.

“I have money,” you countered, nervously tightening your lips as you took another step closer.

You didn’t know why he even offered to go out with you. He was miserable.

“You seriously wanted to come all the way here for a fuckin’ sausage?” He groaned, pulling a cigarette box from his pocket and fumbling to open it before resting one between his teeth.

You cowered slightly, “I wanted to try it.”

“Such a cliché,” he mumbled, fag still between his lips as he patted his jeans in search for something.

“Shit, I didn’t bring my lighter.” He wrenched the small pipe from his lips, “Get your damn sausage, I’ll be in Maysie’s.” You didn’t know what that was, but you still nodded as if you did.  

You didn’t like the Bratwurst. You thought it tasted too… too meaty. And it was a bit spicy too.

Maysie’s was a bar that was open 24 hours and filled with mainly young people sat around circular tables drinking. There wasn’t a bouncer, and IDs weren’t checked. Yoongi was sat with a girl with a pixie cut and a bald man with sad eyebrows.

You approached them wearily.

“Yoongi…,” you murmured, in a futile attempt to pry his attention away from the bong that sat breezily on the table, as if it were the most normal thing.

He coughed a bit as he pulled his lips away from the tube, covering a hand over his chest with his chin lowered slightly as he fought the rising phlegm, “Sit.” You sat on a chair next to the girl, and it felt comfortable to be next to her. At least, more comfortable than you had been since you arrived.

“This is Y/N,” Yoongi remarked uninterestedly, immediately bringing his attention back to the pot on the table.

The girl offered her hand, “TK, and this is Sadly.” She gestured to the bald man with the slanted eyebrows.

Sadly. What an apt name for his features.

You shook back, “Do you live in Berlin?”

“Only as of recently. Sadly’s a native,” she smiled warmly, “You come here to get away from your parents?”

“To get away from my life.” You returned her smile, liking the way she spoke to you.

She shook her head understandingly, “I get it.”

You spent the day with your two new friends and it couldn’t have been more exciting. You went to Checkpoint Charlie and the art gallery then sat and ate pretzels by the Spree. You drank black coffee and they offered you a smoke, which you politely declined. You felt you could with them, they didn’t pressure, and you weren’t scared. Yoongi moped nearly the whole time, and you felt angry that he kept trying to ruin the day and cut short your time with them.

Sadly taught you some German, predominantly the phrases “Kann ich das kaufen?” and “Ich hasse Pferde”. You didn’t really know what the second one meant.

The two of them shared a house together, and they lived in Lichtenberg. They’d only come for the day to visit Checkpoint Charlie and buy some drugs off of Yoongi. It was at this point you understood why his nickname was ‘Suga’. You didn’t think he looked much like a drug dealer — he didn’t have any tattoos.

“I heard Jimin’s having a party later,” TK said, biting off a chunk of her bread.

“He always does,” Yoongi responded, curt and dismissive as you’d only ever seen him be.

“I imagine Y/N’s invited, with that big-ass hickey on her neck,” TK laughed, and your hands automatically split to your neck, covering the bruised side. You’d forgotten.

“At first I thought Suga had done it, but Jimin’s far more likely to have,” she carried on, and you couldn’t look anywhere except for your lap. You noticed that Yoongi stayed quiet, and you couldn’t decipher what it meant. What any of anything meant. If he liked you, if he didn’t, what happened yesterday. You just didn’t know.

The air was so clogged it was suffocating. You dizzily made your way through the people crowded in the kitchen towards the cupboard with the cereal, aka the only food you knew was safe to eat in that house, and tried to shove your way back through the sweaty bodies when Jimin spotted your retreating form.

“Babygirl!” He laughed, happily.

He trotted over to you with his Cheshire grin, “Babygirl, I haven’t seen you since this morning.” He smiled, pushing your hair off your shoulder to admire your bruising.

He leaned into you, “Won’t you join us for a drink?”

His breath smelt like whiskey this time, like an old man. He sneered at you, burying into the crook between your neck and shoulder.

“I’m quite tired,” you responded, subtly turning away from him.

Unexpectedly, he nodded his head, pursing his lips slightly, “Course’ you are. Had long day, huh?” He ran his tongue slyly over his lips, eyes unconcernedly wandering to your chest, peaking out a bit from your vest if you peered over at the right angle. Which, of course, he did.

“It was,” you exhaled, “I’ll go to bed.”

“I might see you later, then.” God, you hoped you wouldn’t. You nodded docilely.

In bed, you couldn’t shut your eyes for longer than ten seconds in fear that drunk Jimin would stalk in and pin you to the mattress when you weren’t looking. He’d already been drinking, and only God knew what he became when he was drunk.

You wriggled and switched positions infinitely, but sleep never came. Instead just the writhing urge to pee, which you attempted to suppress in fear of the bacteria on the loo, but your bladder was about to burst. You knew you’d never fall to sleep needing to go this bad, so you eventually succumbed and got up to your feet from the bunk.

As you approached the en-suite, the sound of soft moaning resonated. Soft moaning and quiet grunts from behind the door. You could only hear it muffled, so you pressed your ear gently to the wood. It was squelching and slapping and other vulgar noises that vibrated through your eardrums like a coffee mill. You let out an uncomfortable breath.

The scream that pierced through the air was all instinctive. The door had opened to reveal Taehyung holding a woman on the sink with her legs high and parted, and himself situated between them, pounding into her turbulently. Of course, they immediately stopped and began frantically covering themselves as you looked on, frozen.

“Fuckin’- fuckin’- Y/N get the fuck out!” Taehyung roared, but your feet remained planted on the ground, as if vines had wrapped around your legs and held you to the floor, immobile. The pair were fervently picking up the strewn articles of clothing as footsteps approached behind you.

“What- what is-“ Jimin’s voice ceased when he pulled the door back further to see into the bathroom, with Tae and the stranger now relatively covered.

His chuckle rang like poison, “Babygirl, you scared me.”

“She fuckin’ scared us!” Taehyung shrieked, eyes wide and nostrils flared. He looked livid.

Jimin simply laughed again, “She’s a baby, V. Don’t yell.” You wanted to be sick. You thought you might be.

As the two of them sprinted past you and out of the room, Jimin smiled, “I think you need that drink, huh? How ‘bout that?” His voice was mocking and you felt like a child, but you still agreed. You were too shaken to do anything else.

He guided you downstairs to the lounge, with battered blue sofas and a coffee table with a lamp and nothing else, except for the people sat on the floor passing round a joint. He made them move aside so you could sit near the door, and you didn’t want to look at the brunette beside you, guzzling down vodka like water.

“Babygirl, you ever smoked?” Yoongi chuckled from the other side of the room at that, looking darkly amused. Jimin squinted his eyes back, making the diamond tattoo on his cheek crinkle.

“How about a brandy first?” There was a plastic cup on the table which he passed to you, with burnt orange liquid sloshing about inside. He smirked a bit as he ushered it to your lips, and you instinctively held his wrist as he tilted it upwards, pouring a generous gulp into your mouth.

Why did everything burn?

You struggled to swallow it, and as soon as you did you were gagging embarrassingly. The small crowd laughed at your straining, face contorting with disgust. Your grandfather loved a glass of brandy at Christmas, and he always considered it a treat, so you’d expected it to be sweet and warm, as he’d described to you as a child. You thought it tasted like perfume you’d sprayed the wrong way.

“Good girl,” Jimin coaxed the cup back to your lips to make you finish the rest of it as you continued to gag and nearly spit it up. It came as a relief to see the liquid was finished when he pulled it away, entertained as if you were a showcase.

“Babygirl, you really are somethin’, eh?” He smirked, “Now, hows about a smoke?”

He taught you the way to do it. He said: inhale for three, hold for three, then exhale. You still weren’t very good at it, but you felt it this time. You felt the lethargy hit you hard enough that your head began lulling side to side, back and forth uncontrollably as the group fell into laughter at your disorientation.

“There we are,” Jimin cooed, before turning to look at Yoongi with a satisfied grin, “Suga, what do you mean she can’t smoke?”

Yoongi grunted, “It’s all an act. She isn’t a virgin anyway.”

You straightened up your head with significant struggle as Jimin responded, “She isn’t?” He looked you up and down with a frown, as if not being a virgin made you worth less.

“She fucked me yesterday.”

“No I didn’t,” you denied, shaking your head slowly, eyes squinted in your drunken haze.

“Don’t lie, Y/N. Jimin doesn’t like it.”

“I don’t lie.”

“You’re a fuckin’ slut, Y/N. Stop playing the virgin.”

You couldn’t find the anger in you to prevent it, the tears. The fucking endless tears that just streamed from your eyes relentlessly and unstoppably. They were all laughing. All the strangers laughing at you as Jimin frowned and you felt scared; so so scared, and you didn’t want to breathe or be seen, you wanted to hide and cry. You wanted to cry and be away from there.

You left, jaggedly and disturbed.

It was too late to apologise. Mistakes had been made, words had been said. All the hurt that wasn't meant to be given, was not only given but received. A person that should give only love, a smile, warmth to the heart, gave nothing but the feeling of a broken heart. 

This endless misery of despair and sorrow should give you pain only, but when your heart is shattered by your soulmate it shows the happy memories; it takes you back to the happiest moments of your relationship, when you both shared your most honest smiles. It tells you the story of how you should be grateful for the love you received. It doesn't tell you to hate, to hide in your feelingless shell. No, it shows you the best moments so you could learn what you've lost. 

It shows you how you’ve met, the shy smile that you shared when you both ordered large iced americano at local Starbucks. How he surprised you and came to your table asking, how such a pretty girl orders such dark coffee, to which you replied with the same question. How does such pretty boy order such dark coffee, but, in reality, you wondered how does such a handsome man talk to you? It shows you your first kiss, how his lips touched yours, afraid of you running away from him. Your lips returning his kiss, your tongue slowly opening his upper lip, afraid of going too fast in your relationship.

“You don’t have to force yourself to do something you don’t want to do, darling” was the very first sentence that convinced your heart that this man is worth your trust.

“I need to break up with you,” he said. As if your world didn't break apart the moment words left his lips. He left. He moved on with his life. He decided for both of you, that this is the time. This is the end.

And so, with those words, you thought of the end, of how to end this excruciating pain. Yet, you couldn't force yourself to reach for that blade, for those pills, for the liquid poison that you liked to savour in small amounts.  

You were sitting with this emptiness in your heart, in your thoughts, when you heard a knock, a doorbell being rung. You knew you were supposed to leave the warmth of the bubbly water; it is something that is expected of people, after all. To open the door. But at that moment, you honestly couldn’t care less. You lost your light; you lost your will to fight, to live.  

So, you sat in that lukewarm water, becoming colder with every passing minute. You wondered if maybe your recent talk had caused it. You knew that this secret of yours would destroy any relationship, yet you decided to reveal it. After all, it was honesty that was the foundation of every good relationship. You wondered if maybe that statement wasn't true; if maybe some secrets should never be revealed.  

“I can't have kids. I can't get pregnant.”

When the water became ice-cold you reached the conclusion that devastated you forever. You were the cause of why your world fell apart. Even though he claimed there was nothing that could break his love for you, this must have been the limit of his love. The limit that he’d never met before the obstacle that couldn't be overcome. The Berlin Wall. The Dutch Water Line. The Mount Everest of his love.  

His love for you withered away like a flower without light. His dream of being a father was something that always kept him motivated; his dream of telling stories - of making his dreams come true - was something that kept his body going. But when this possibility was taken away from him, he gave up on you. He gave up on your future, he gave up on your heart. 

Your ears picked up a slight creaking noise when the heavy entry door was being pushed open and before you took notice of this fact, you heard your name being called throughout the house.

“Y/N!” it wasn’t the voice you longed for; it wasn’t the voice that could glue your heart back together. When your name is being summoned, you’re supposed to answer this call, but the only thing you did was stare at the view in front of your bathtub. 

You loved the fact that you lived high up in the building and had a window stretching through the whole length of the wall in your bathroom; it allowed you to appreciate the crystal-clear night sky. The sky seemed to share your pain; stars being covered with the clouds, fighting for their light to shine through the vale of darkness. But when it seemed that the stars might have had a chance to win, the clouds covered their source of motivation; their moon was taken over by the same darkness that covered your heart, the moment you heard those devastating words.

“I don’t love you anymore. It’ll be better for both of us if we end it now.” 

He was the one that thought of it. He was the one that decided for both of you. You, on the other hand, weren’t better off without him. You still loved him; he was your light, and you thought it worked both ways. That you were also his light.

“For fuck's sake, Y/N! You answer when someone calls you! Are you okay?” Your brain told you to answer, but your body refused. What’s the need for speech? You have no reason to live. What’s the need to announce that you’re still breathing? What’s the possible reason behind admitting that you’re still alive and in pain?

You felt your hand being taken into another; you saw worried eyes in front of yours. Yet, you didn’t react. You just looked at the face of your dear friend - another reminder of your broken heart. He was not only your best friend, but also you his. You should have felt some kind of emotion, probably negative, but you felt nothing. You went numb. You didn’t want to cry, smile, hug. You wanted nothing. You wanted to disappear from this world and join the stars in their fight. At least they wouldn’t suffer the way you were.

“Y/N.” This time it was a whisper. A warm whisper, an inviting whisper; the kind that brings peace even to the most violent fight. “Why are you in your clothes?”  

He hadn’t even noticed the bloody blade next to you, same with the half-empty bottle of vodka. The blade was so close to you, yet so far away. You saw the blood on its ridges and wondered who had a chance to get to it before you. You were the one that wanted to suffer no more. The only thing that you needed to do was to just stretch your hand. But even this simple move was too much for you. Your friend must have noticed that there was no point in trying to cooperate with you.

“Get up, change into new clothes. I’ll take you to bed.”

Instructions were something you could follow, as it turned out a few minutes later when you were being put to bed by your dearest friend, Namjoon. He asked if you wanted him to lie with you, and you must have nodded your head, as he soon held you into his body. You knew it was healthy to cry your sadness out, but it must have been out of your limits, as you closed your eyes and went straight into deep night sleep.  

You wandered through the land of Morpheus, dreaming of the future that was now lost, of the happy moments with your three kids. Your dogs chasing after them in the garden through the sprinklers. Then you, sat on the porch with your husband right next to you, your fingers entangled with his, smiles and pride evident on both of your faces. Your heart filled with joy, happiness, love, pure bliss.  

Soon enough, though, you had to leave the land you started to love so much, to go back to the cruel reality. In your bed, there was no one. Namjoon must have gone to work; at least that’s what you thought and slightly hoped for. You reached for your phone that was placed yesterday on the nightstand next to your bed. Your stomach reminded you of the desire to eat, so you decided to order something from the place near your house. Jajangmyeon and japchae. Your favourite dishes.  

Ten minutes later your food had arrived, so you left your bed in order to get breakfast. That’s when you noticed that Namjoon didn’t leave your apartment. No, in fact, he went even further. He brought the rest of your group. You thought it was your delivery ringing the doorbell, but it was your friends.  

“Y/N!” Jimin ran to you and enveloped you in an honest hug. You didn’t return it, you only looked at the hands of Jin that had them full of dishes he must have cooked for you. So, you left Jimin, grabbed the dishes you needed, went to the kitchen for some chopsticks and sat by the table to eat.  

“Hey, baby girl, you alright?” this was all you needed to snap. The two words that were reserved for your lover, the cause of your self-hatred, was all you needed to snap. To start screaming, to start the uncontrollable stream of tears going out of eyes.  

All of it was such a blur, that until this day you don’t know what you screamed. The only thing you remember from snapping was what happened after it. All 6 of the boys cuddled you, not letting go until your legs gave out. Until your heart brought the sadness it should bring from the beginning. Until your tears dried out, and until your devastating emotions came back alive.  

“It’s all my fault.”

“Darling, it isn’t your fault, trust me. It’s even beyond him, he had to do it.” You heard Jin’s voice clearly, so clearly that you felt as if his words were a loud church bell sounding on the Sunday’s morning mass. His words lingered in your thoughts and when you thought that this is the end; that they were gone; that you could let it go, move on, they came back. The thoughts of you being the fault for your unhappiness, the thoughts of him being forced to break up with you because of your circumstances. Because you were different. Because you weren’t normal as every single person around him. They always sneaked their way back to your mind.

You saw your friends almost every day after the breakup. They always made sure for someone to drop by your place in the evening and check on you. Sometimes they’d stay for the night, hugging your body tightly to their chests, talking to you total nonsense to stop you from crying. To distract you.

That’s how you came up with your plan. You decided to make the boys feel good, make them happier, remove this constant worry from their lives. You didn’t want to add to their stresses and worries; you knew what kind of restraint their careers put on them, and you didn’t want to add another problem to the already big pile. You watched them becoming more relaxed around you; you watched them giving you their biggest smiles, whenever they saw a delicate smile on your lips. You watched them going to their own beds at night.

Finally, after a few weeks of this tiring affectation from you, you got the big news. This was actually the first time you felt happy in months. Yes, you pretended to be happy, and you felt relieved when you saw your boys smiling, but what you felt at that moment was pure happiness. You jumped around your room, singing to happy songs, dancing around with wine in your hand and snacks on the table. They were going on tour, finally.

There was still a lot of time before they went, but you’d found endless sources for being happy in front of them, now that you knew they were going away. This only made them feel even better. They were worried for you for the past few months, ever since Yoongi broke up with you. They all tried to convince Yoongi to ask for you back, they all believed that you two together, was what made you both truly happy. That you both were destined to be together. They didn’t understand why he broke up with you. He never told them the true reason behind, always dismissed them with:

“It’s better for both of us.”

Finally, the day came. You’ve met with them the day before, drank some alcohol, wished them luck on their tour and wished them to have many amazing memories to tell you when they’ll come back. And you hugged them. Jimin asked you constantly whether everything is alright, but the only thing you said to him, every single time, was:

“Yes, Jimin. I’m finally happy.” 

“Have you forgotten all those lessons on etiquette?” Your mother sighs, brushing away the dust accumulated on your gown from Apollo’s talons. No, no you haven’t. So many gruelling hours spent tied to a chair and being analysed on everything from your focal point to the direction your feet face underneath the table. The Queen accepts nothing less than perfection, and unfortunately for her you weren’t even close. It’s a surprise after so many years under agonising scrutiny you’re still sane, and still manage to befoul the ‘proper way’ of acting.

“Sorry, mother,” you mumble, closing your eyes for Nova as she pats on some more powder in a rapid manner. She’s far less gentle than this morning, each pat blowing excess pulvilio into the locks of your hair, now pinned back again, and you feel a tad guilty she’s having to rush to restore what should’ve been maintained perfectly. Sometimes you wish you could be that beautiful, mannerly princess your mother so earnestly desires, such so you can often hear her praying some nights that you’d simply digest her instruction and, even if only in the company of the public, you’d adopt a far more fitting demeanour for someone of your status. But unfortunately, you aren’t what she wants you to be, nor will you ever become that.

Nova steps back, scanning you with those observant eyes she’s mastered over her many years working at the palace. She bows her head to the Queen, “Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Nova. Return to the servant reception,” your mother dismisses, admiring for herself Nova’s swift handiwork.

As Nova retreats to her place, she sends you a fleeting glance of worry, of motherly care that you receive solely from her. If this were her choice, she wouldn’t have you marrying a man you’ve never met before. She’d allow you to be with Jimin, to spend your days with someone you love by your own accord and certainly not under your mother’s influence. She’d want to you to be happy, and to live a life that you are in control of. Maybe in another lifetime.

Your father’s favourite Commanding General catches your eye as he passes Nova scurrying away, headily approaching you and your parents with the medals littered across his chest rattling with every stride. He’s not as intimidating as you’d expect from a typical army-man. He’s got kind eyes and a gentle touch, which is perhaps why your father likes him. The King has never been particularly rough nor intimidating, instead he seeks power and respect in tolerance and benignity, although it’s too often undermined by the harsher ideals of your mother to discipline and rule the Kingdom.

“Your Majesty, is all ready?” General Dumont inquires, hands clasped respectfully behind his back as he speaks with the King, politely bowing his head.

He smiles back, satisfied, “I believe so General. Open the gates.”

The King and Queen stand dutifully next to one another at the centre of the room, you just to their left and slightly in front. Your mother has her hand placed delicately on your father’s forearm, symbolising their unity and showcasing a durable front; a highly thought out stance from the monarchy’s many advisors. Your father’s most treasured senator choreographed this subtle tableau; thus it’s employed frequently. To you, however, it symbolises nothing but the lies and the control.

You swallow back the fear as the huge, iron gates click ominously, then slowly begin to push forwards, out onto the front patio wreathing the façade of the palace. You suck in your lower lip between your teeth as the doors open wider, revealing a lone man stood patiently on the other side.

You’re aware of his handsomeness even at this distance, enough so you momentarily glance away, feeling intimidated by such a presence, but as you turn back to look at him, you are helpless to admiring his features. The gentle declivity of his jaw delving into a sloped chin, and the way his rotund lips protrude slightly below the curved tip of his nose. His hair has been immaculately tailored by what you expect to be a whole corps of stylists to sweep across his forehead and drape over to swipe parts of his eyelashes, accentuating the flickering hazel eyes beneath. All accompanied by a pristine suit clinging to the width of his shoulders and diving downwards to the leather belt harbouring a blade that reaches the middle of his thigh. You swallow again.

The man steps forward as the gates open fully, finally revealing his advisors and guards and arrays of other workers, dutifully employed to care for their prince. He has an irrefutable confidence emanated from even the way he walks; chin up, chest forward, a hand placed carefully on the scabbard attached to his belt. He defines everything a prince should do, and everything your mother yearns for. No wonder she’s been so keen to marry you off like this.

He nears you with an indecipherable smile lingering on his lips, poking at his cheeks to form plush roses beneath his eyes, “Your Majesty.” He bows low to the King, with deep reverence implied.

He turns to face your mother, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,”

He takes one of her frail hands in his, bringing it cautiously up to his lips, “You’re a masterpiece; Lyra is lucky to be ruled by such a beauty.” He presses a chaste kiss to the knuckles, before releasing her hand as she blushes, turning to face you, stood as a somewhat blank onlooker.

“Your Highness,” he greets, reaching to take your hand with even greater delicacy than your mother. As his skin grazes yours, you feel the reality wash through you and you’re hastily awoken from your trance and brought to see the verity of the man in front of you, your future husband.

You bow your head slightly as he softly puckers his lips to the back of your hand, “It’s an honour.” You smile respectfully, embracing his handsomeness with open arms. At least he doesn’t resemble one of those fat nobles that drink execrable amounts of port at charity events you host at the palace. And at least he’s not old; your cousin Delia recently married a man just over a whole twenty five years older than her- you couldn’t even imagine the discomfort and mortification that would bring about for someone only just turned twenty years of age.

“Prince Seokjin of Orion. Next in line to the Orion throne, ruler of East Estrella, King Titan the First,” General Dumont introduces the prince with profound admiration riddled in his tone, thundering across the room so everyone is to know of prince Jin’s unparalleled power. You nearly want to hurl at the thought.

“Prince Seokjin,” your mother begins, “I-“

“Please, call me Jin,” he swiftly interrupts, beaming at her with a dashing smile only a prince could muster up, and she’s abashedly blushing instantaneously.

“Oh, yes, of course, Jin,” she stammers over her words, and you can tell she already loathes the idea. She thrives off of the titles and the status, and such colloquialisms are beneath her. Unless instructed so by a debonair prince. “It’s a delight to meet you face to face- I’ve only heard of such charm from fellow nobles, and they didn’t do you justice. You’re incredibly handsome, the perfect candidate for our beautiful daughter.”

“Beautiful indeed,” he responds, looking you over with glazed eyes, and you feel yourself inadvertently retreat slightly.

She reaches over and places a hand on the back of your bare shoulder blade, slightly pinching the skin to prompt you forwards again to ‘properly’ greet the guest, “I too have heard much about you.”

He perks up as you speak, tilting his head slightly, “All good things, I presume?”

You wish. “You’ve a bachelor reputation.”

“Y/N,” your mother hisses from beside you, your father’s eyes bulging in shock.

“It’s alright, Your Highness,” Jin soothes, holding a comforting hand out to her, “I am well aware some people may assume such things of me; as a young prince with many followers I was bound to collide with a bit of hearsay and certain speculations, but I can assure you none of it is true. I’ve been waiting for my fiancée to come of age, to finally unite our nations under a pure matrimony.”

You submit to the aching need to clench your fists to quell the comments biting at your tongue. Pure. Pure matrimony. If it were pure, it wouldn’t be inked in the writing of potent philosophers in ancient books that the Five Kingdoms of Estrella were to stay rigidly separate, never to indulge one man the power of two Kingdoms to thus oust rulers of the rest. It’s not what Andromeda intended, and you’re unyielding to those that believe they are above her pre-eminent instruction.

“Such a gentleman,” your mother sighs in contentment at his patently calculated response, “I’m anticipating getting to know you better, and welcoming you into the family.”

Jin smacks together his plump lips before returning her smile, “I feel the same way.”

They disgust you. Why isn’t your father saying anything? At least he must see past this abysmal pretence that imbecile prince is adopting? One glance over at him and you can tell he’s mesmerised by Jin’s charm, flooding out of him in waves. You must admit, he is convincing, but you’re convinced his appearance and articulation is a guise steered by the division of advisors that accompany him wherever he may go. You’re certain of it.

Your mother quickly reignites some polite small talk, “Would you care for a tour of the grounds? We’ve the most splendid lake at the end of the gardens- my husband and I cherish a beautiful garden.”

You could almost scoff at her incredulousness. You’re near positive she’s never stepped foot in those gardens; claims she’s a dire sufferer of hay fever, but you know better. She just hates the mud, the dirt, the wildlife, the scorching sun to tarnish her porcelain skin. It’s baffling that she’d even consider giving Jin a tour of her least favourite area of the palace grounds and-

“Y/N offered to escort you. She loves the outdoors, and she said she’d love to share that with you,” your mother divulges, interrupting your stream of thought and making your stomach flip, eyes widening in refusal to yield to her scheming.

“She did?” Jin glances at you, eyes glistening with amusement at your poorly hidden panic, “I kindly accept such an offer. I’d be foolish not to.”  

“I actually don’t feel particularly well,” you cut in, adamant you won’t indulge your mother’s fantasies, “Perhaps General Dumont would care to take the prince-“

“Y/N, don’t go back on your words now.” The words you never said, “You wanted to show him where you grew up.”

All eyes are trained on you as you run your tongue over your dry lips, chapped after your laboured breathing of dread to the thought of having to be alone with Jin already. You can’t even imagine what you’ll be like on your wedding night. You exhale slowly, deliberately, fluttering your eyes shut with a mumbled agreement.

Outside is still warm from the dawn, and the sun sits wantonly behind a thick layer of trees as you stroll outside, your dress trailing behind you and Jin’s eyes focused solely on the back of your head. You swear you can feel his piercing gaze like a knife. Although, you’d rather this than have him beside you, brushing his hand over yours till his fingers begin to interlock with your own. That would be far too satisfactory for your mother, and you aren’t going to subvert your own independence by doing so.

He follows you all the way down to the lake, where you’re somewhat fretful he’ll see Apollo- she is a highly desirable creature, one you’re sure Jin would love to claim as a gift for Orion-, but thankfully she stays tucked away in her house in the treetops. You pass her burrow swiftly, only glancing up to see a fleeting blaze of crimson wings before snapping your gaze back down to the rippling blue water of the lake, maintaining your composure as you approach the glistening bay.

“You have a beautiful home, Y/N,” Jin remarks from behind you, eyes glazing over the landscape. You hum in response, not yet ready to give him the gratification of a spoken word answer. The two of you continue at the same pace, yourself a few feet ahead of him.

“I know you didn’t offer to give me a tour, but I, personally, am glad the Queen impelled you to,” he remarks from behind you, “I think it’s important for us to spend some time together alone before we wed.”

Why do those words sound even more sickening coming from his mouth? It’s silent for a few more moments.

“I brought you a present from Orion. A Rose Quartz necklace. Handcrafted by our castle’s lapidary,” he boasts, “You know we’ve the most skilled craftsmen in Estrella. They’re remarkable.”

You can see the reflection of the morning sun lighting up the lake, illuminating the heat wave across the surface to blur where the water meets the sky, but you’re distracted by the sound of Jin’s laugh from behind you. When you turn to glance at him, his eyebrows are raised, looking quite amused with you.

You frown, tilting your head ever so slightly,”What?”

“You’re ignoring me,” he accuses, smirking.

“I am not ignoring you,” you object- you were, ignoring him, but it’s not right that he should voice that-, “I simply felt the view was far-”

“No, you felt as though you didn’t want to talk to me. Because you’re ignoring me.”

You sigh, exasperated, “Well, can you blame me?”

You let out another long breath, feet speeding up to take you closer towards the lake. You believe perhaps it may bring you a little consolation among such turbulent times. Who knew marriage could incite such anger in you.

Jin paces behind you, “I know you aren’t in full agreement with this engagement.”

“Full agreement?!” You snap back round, stopping him in his tracks, your anger suddenly bursting out of you in waves, “I don’t understand how you could possibly even consider something as preposterous as this marriage. A political marriage. Haven’t you ever thought you should marry for love?”

“Y/N, commoners marry for love. Royals marry for political alliances,” he responds, calmly. He sounds like your mother. God, could you really marry someone as brainwashed as he? Spoken like a true royal.

“Have you no heart?” You spit, angrily.

His expression darkens, “Your Highness, we are to be wed, but I will not tolerate disrespect. The least you can do is conserve propriety-”

“There’s nothing proper about a blasphemous marriage.”

“Blasphemous?” He laughs, shocked, “What the Devil do you mean blasphemous?”

Your nostrils flare at his blatant ignorance, “I mean the history of Estrella. The goddess Andromeda? Are you not familiar with the works of our greatest historians? Sir Reihmeir Hellford-”

“A drunkard.”

You grit your teeth, “Searlus Narsk the Third-”

“Schizophrenic.”

“Han Xin of the Boussis-”

“A pathological liar.”

“How would you know that?”

“I studied the Boussis Dynasty extensively. He was renowned for his attention-seeking deception. He also loved a fairytale.”

Fairytale. You hate that word. You feel so connected to Andromeda’s story; how could anyone demean it in such a way? You spin on your heel and march towards the lake once again, the fury bubbling inside of you.

“You won’t jump in, will you?” Jin remarks, jokingly. You’re fairly tempted though.

You think of Jimin as you reach the edge of the water. He must be inside preparing lunch, unaware of the torture you’re enduring in the company of this man. It’s nearly intolerable. What must he be thinking of this situation? If it weren’t for the even the smallest possibility of seeing Jimin’s face again you may actually be inclined to jump. But you wouldn’t do that to him.

Jin is suddenly in front of you, reaching out to touch the flesh of your wrist, but you fling your arm back before he is able to feel you.

“I do not wish to be touched,” you instruct, lips pursed and eyes looking down at the floor. You can see the reflection of your face in his polished black shoes, far too close for comfort.

“Y/N, I do not comply with folklore. And neither should you. The Great War was a terrible tragedy, but I cannot believe that it was induced by anything other than human greed and mortality. I’m sorry you’re unhappy to be marrying me, but nothing can, or will, change that. I’m trying to make the best of a situation out of our hands, so let us continue in silence,” he offers his suit clad arm to you, “Your Highness?”

You’re apprehensive. You glance at his tan face fleetingly, then at his offered arm. You suppose you’d rather hold his arm and walk silently than have to continue arguing with him.

After a soundless wander around the expanse of the lake and through the flowerbeds, you find yourself back indoors and faced with a sudden flurry of excitement.

“Y/N, Prince Seokjin,” the Queen calls, beaming like a sun with a smile spread from ear to ear, “We’ve the most wonderful news.” She gestures to your father who follows closely behind, dismissing the group of servers gathered around him.

Your father grins as he approaches, “I’ve just informed the nobles. We are to celebrate the arrival of your engagement with a party-”

“A ball!” The Queen interrupts, specifically addressing Jin, “Of course to introduce my handsome new son-in-law to Lyra’s aristocracy. Only the most valuable Lords and Ladies will be in attendance. Nothing less for my most treasured family.” She places a hand on the side of Jin’s face, appreciating his features with a gratuitous look.

“A party would be wonderful,” Jin smiles politely in response, slowly manoeuvring his hand to sit on your lower back and looking at you, “I’d love to boast my beautiful betrothed.”

“You two will be the most beautiful couple in Estrella. You’ll draw the envy of all the other kingdoms,” your mother praises, enviously admiring you both.

You shuffle Jin’s hand off of your back, gently lowering your head, “If you don’t mind, mother, the events of the day have left me quite run down. I’ll retire to my room, please.”

The Queen immediately grimaces, “Y/N, it’s your first dinner with Prince Seokjin; do not dishonour your-”

“Your Majesty,” Seokjin interrupts, “Our first meeting has left me too feeling a little weathered, perhaps from the ride over. I’m we sure we would both agree a long night’s sleep would do everyone a great satisfaction. May we resume tomorrow morning?” You look at him curiously.

“Uh- yes, yes of course,” your mother stammers, uncharacteristically, “I apologise I did not-”

“No need for apologies, Your Majesty. I’ll escort Y/N to her room,” he smiles softly, putting his hand back again on your waist and slowly guiding you away, leaving both your parents to busy themselves again with the party planners.

You don’t speak a word to him as you walk up to your quarters together. He silently nods you goodbye when you reach the heavy oak door, and you slip into the room with soundless haste.

Your back hits the wood of the door and you slip down to the floor, lulling your head between your knees as you begin to sob.

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