why so serious?

CHAPTER 2: GUARDIAN

Yoongi’s constant complaining and grumbling became white noise to Taehyung as they warily followed Madam Min to the library— a round, open room with wooden floors and sweeping, rounded shelves bordering the circular space. It was, admittedly, Taehyung’s favourite place after the grove—he had spent countless hours here studying with Yoongi and listening to him ramble on and on about the history of their Empire and Emperor Kwon. 

The room was filled with the characteristic white robes of students chattering on about their finals, and Taehyung found himself with a fond smile as he watched them stress over the same subjects that had made him and Yoongi want to pull their hair out over a couple years ago. . 

“Can’t believe we’ve made it this far,” Yoongi grumbled, nudging Taehyung’s shoulder as he too kept his eyes trained on the students, all seated around low wooden tables scattered throughout the room. They paid no mind to Yoongi and Taehyung, but slightly bowed their heads at Madam Min as she led them to the back of the room, secluded and hidden from view thanks to the rows of bookshelves keeping it out of sight from the students.

“You’re forgetting about the countless times we got spanked, ” Taehyung whispered back, keeping his eyes trained on Madam Min’s back—her wrinkled hands crossed behind her in a regal fashion.

“Those were all because of you,” Yoongi hissed.

The Matron cleared her throat before producing a small key from inside her robes. She traced her wizened hand over the carved wooden door, which arched high and had no handle. There was no way for anyone to get in, save for the Elders, who held warded keys, which were merely remnants of the people they once were, and the magic they once used.

The door was engraved with countless names—names of their ancestors, all carved in such a meticulous pattern on each groove of the door. 

Taehyung and Yoongi silently watched as Madam Min held the key up to her lips and whispered something. They went silent, tuning out the chatter of the students to hear her—but all they heard was a breath of air in an ancient language they didn’t understand.

The Matron stepped aside, holding her hand out. 

“Taehyung.”

Taehyung looked at the Matron, then at Yoongi, and then at the door, which was still closed. He raised a brow. Then he glanced at Yoongi again, who looked just as perplexed as he was. 

“Step forward. The door will let you in.” The Matron said this as if it was supposed to be obvious.

“You’re… letting us go alone?” Taehyung murmured.

“Just you,” Madam Min said, “for now. Yoongi, stay back for a moment. I need to speak with you.”

“Grandmother, how can you trust Taehyung to be alone in there? He’ll rip up all the books.”

Taehyung smacked Yoongi’s shoulder. “I’m plenty trustworthy.” He stepped forward, facing the wooden door. He knew how much Yoongi wanted to know what secrets the restricted section of the library held, and he couldn’t help but feel a little smug about it.

“Taehyung,” the Matron called out, “only search for what you need.”

It sounded like a warning, and he didn’t feel like asking why. 

Taehyung nodded once before stepping up to the door, expecting to collide with wood, but the transition was smooth—one second he was standing in the library he had spent the better part of his life in, and the next he was in a similar, rounded room. Only this one was devoid of any students—and people, for that matter. Rows of shelves lined the walls, most of them covered in dust. There were no windows. Only enchanted torches that helped to light the room. Taehyung took a second to take it all in. It seemed like a typical library. Ancient and musty—and there was a distinct smell of oldness that he couldn’t quite describe.  

He had to remind himself why he was here.

Bangamgi. 

Taehyung tapped his foot on the wooden floorboards, uneasiness filling his gut. There were so many books here, maybe even more than the actual library. He didn’t know where to begin. He walked along the edge of the library, fingers brushing over the dusty books sitting on the shelves, leaving clear signs that they had been disturbed. 

This part of the library certainly felt… different. It felt as if no one had been here in decades. There were cobwebs in every corner Taehyung looked, and he was sure he had counted at least four spiders since walking in—he wouldn’t be surprised if creatures of all kinds had made their homes here.  

Taehyung decided he would try to make his search useful, and racked his brain for what he would need to find. They were looking for a sword used by their ancestors. Yesterday he and Yoongi had stumbled across a cave with a creature dwelling inside—a creature that may or may not be guarding the sword they were after. Taehyung didn’t want to think about what else it could be guarding, because he was sure it couldn’t be pretty.

He realized it might be smart to start looking into the magic used by their ancestors. Not much was known about it—magic had been, for the most part, banned in their village, save for small spells to make life more convenient. But everyone knew about Bangamgi.

Taehyung couldn’t believe he wished Yoongi was here with him right now. He was a master at researching, at looking for books that would be of maximum use to them. Taehyung didn’t think he would have passed any of his assignments if it weren’t for Yoongi’s extensive knowledge on how to find proper information. The Matron should have sent him instead

He shook those doubts out of his head, trying to focus. He needed answers—the fate of their village very well depended on it.

So Taehyung strategically skimmed over the titles of some of the books under the history section, aimlessly pulling tomes out and stacking them up in his arms until he had a respectable amount. And then he moved aside some of the blank parchment sitting on the low-lying wooden tables, setting the books down with a thud—dust flying up in the air and sending him into a fit of coughs. He glanced at one of them—at the rough, faded picture of what looked like a sword with red ink used to imitate engravings in the hilt. He didn’t think much of it, but carefully moved it aside with the toe of his boot. He didn’t want Madam Min getting mad at him for ruining anything down here. 

Taehyung sat down, grabbing a torch from the far wall and placing it in a holder for light to see by. He carefully spread his robes, inwardly cringing at how dusty and dirty he was getting, and then he started to read.

He wasn’t sure how long had passed, because there were no windows to tell him whether the sun was still up or not, but Taehyung’s eyes began to feel heavy at one point, and his head kept falling forward. He had probably read through at least three books by now, and there was a fourth he was currently in the middle of.

He was reading something about… he focused his eyes, holding up the dusty book and trying to make out what was written on the page. Some of it seemed to be in a language he couldn’t understand—most likely the ancient language of their ancestors. Upon reading the descriptions, though, his back straightened and his eyes shot open—sleep suddenly evading him. 

The spells used by the Min family were the most powerful. They consisted of various different powers and were capable of countless feats. Bangamgi in particular was a spell used sparingly, and was often looked down upon by the villagers and sometimes even the Elders themselves. 

Taehyung set the book down for a moment, scrambling to find the parchment he had moved aside earlier—because the sword that was drawn on was most likely a picture of Bangamgi, and he had dismissed it entirely. He looked under the stacks of books and carefully pulled it out, glancing back at it as he continued to read the description.

Bangamgi was used only in the most dire of situations, as it was powerful enough to kill someone without a second thought. It was used to its fullest extent during the infamous attack on the Min family, more than three hundred years ago. 

Taehyung knew about that attack. They all did. It had nearly wiped out the entire Min clan. Yoongi’s ancestors had been the only ones to survive it. They had built the village from their own struggles—they had been the ones to suffer the brunt of Bangamgi’s devastating effects, it seemed.

Taehyung read on, intrigued to find out just how the sword was able to kill people so quickly and effectively, but the terms used in the book were unusually vague and seemed to be purposely misleading. Perhaps it was so not to confuse the reader, but to avoid enticing them further.

To this day, Bangamgi’s whereabouts are unknown. Some say the sword has been destroyed, lost to time and history, while others say it lies dormant deep in the Earth’s crust, guarded by a ferocious beast in an endless slumber. If Bangamgi were to be found, the Min clan would lay a claim to the sword and all its powers. It was reported that the beast guarding the sword recognizes its people, and that it will awaken when in the presence of a fully blooded individual from the Min clan, in turn awakening the sword and unleashing its powers once more.

“Shit,” Taehyung swore, shoving the book to one side. He allowed that thought to settle in. The beast… it had definitely awoken last night. Yoongi was there, which meant the sword was definitely in that cave somewhere, and it may very well have been awakened too.

That meant that it would be dangerous for Yoongi or Madam Min to be anywhere near it. That was why Madam Min had pulled Yoongi back. If Yoongi had found out about this, he’d want to find the sword—he would want to use it to its fullest extent. History might repeat itself—but this time the prey would be the predators.

Taehyung was frozen for a moment, solid fear settling into his bones as he pictured the disaster that would occur should the sword ever end up in Yoongi’s hands somehow.

He had to find it before Yoongi did. And he had to find a way to destroy it.

    “What did you find?”

Taehyung kept his focus on the target on the other end of the mountain—a makeshift wooden plank they had used berries to paint a target on. He breathed in the wind, allowing it to guide his fingers as he pulled back on the string of his bow, not allowing Yoongi’s incessant nagging to ruin his concentration.

“Taehyung, I asked you a question. You can’t ignore me forever.”

He pulled until the muscles of his arm were taut as the bowstring, fingers clasping diligently around the neck of the arrow. He adjusted the angle of his bow to accommodate for the wind, knowing it would blow his arrow slightly upwards. He took another deep breath, fingers just about ready to let go of the arrow.

“Your posture’s all wrong,” Yoongi grumbled, and suddenly there was a hand on his elbow, straightening his arm and adjusting his form. 

Taehyung’s focus had shattered and then he was being attacked by the sounds of songbirds and the rushing of the waterfall, the swaying of the leaves and Yoongi murmuring insults in his ear.

“You could do it nicely,” Taehyung snapped, shoving him away with his elbow.

Yoongi mocked him, making a face as he took a step back. “Fine. Do it your way, then.” He nodded to the target, and Taehyung straightened his shoulders, pulling back the bowstring once more. But this time, he could feel Yoongi’s scrutinizing stare at his back, and he knew even before he let go of the arrow that he was going to miss by a wide margin.

The arrow flew across the cliff, landing just in front of the base of the plank and burying itself in the earth.

Taehyung whirled on Yoongi, who had a smug expression. “This is your fault,” he growled.

“You should have listened to me.” Yoongi shrugged. 

“You’re not always right, you know.” Taehyung grabbed the quiver of arrows off the ground along with his satchel, slipping them onto his back as he made to leave.

“Where are you going?” Yoongi grabbed his wrist. “You didn’t even tell me what you learned from all your extensive research in the library. I’ve been waiting for you to tell me and you never do.” He gave a pointed look to the satchel Taehyung had around his chest, which was currently filled with the recent books he had been reading. 

Taehyung shook his head. “You can’t know.” He watched Yoongi’s eyes narrow, knowing he was going to be bombarded with a barrage of questions. So he turned before Yoongi could voice any of them.

“If I was your Emperor I’d have you beheaded for that.”

Taehyung barked a laugh. “But you’re not. And I’d kill you before you would have the chance.”

“Yeah, yeah.” 

“What’s your obsession with beheading people anyway?”

Yoongi shrugged. “Some people don’t deserve heads.”

The both of them burst into laughter, and Taehyung hadn’t even realized they were walking together towards the waterfall. He froze in his tracks, pretending to stop and think about something. In reality, he was stalling, because he knew Yoongi would want to pester him about the cave and what he had found out from researching for hours on end yesterday.

Madam Min wouldn’t let Yoongi into the restricted section of the library, no matter how much he pleaded, and Taehyung knew exactly why. Yoongi was influenced much too easily by people and the things he read. There was no telling what would happen to him if he got his hands on the sword and all the dark power it held.

“Tae, are you okay?”

Tae. Yoongi had been so much more affectionate with him lately, with the nicknames and the lingering touches and the soft gazes—even through the insults and the teasing, Taehyung found himself drawn to Yoongi and his alluring nature. There was definitely an unaddressed spark that had caught fire between them, but Taehyung was good at ignoring it.

Or maybe they were both slowly giving in to it.

“Yeah, I—“ Taehyung shook his head, his bangs falling in his face and obscuring his eyes. “I think I forgot something—“

“Bullshit.” Yoongi roughly pulled Taehyung to him, fingers coming up to brush his hair out of his face. “I know you don’t want to tell me whatever it is you learned, so you can drop the act, darling.”

Taehyung shivered at that, gooseflesh appearing on his arms. Yoongi was really good at making him squirm.

“Yoongi,” he whined, trying to pull out of his grip. “You can’t know,” he said again. “Madam Min told me—“

“I don’t care what Grandmother said,” Yoongi snapped. “You know we made a pact. To treat each other as equals and to never lie to each other.”

“Withholding information isn’t lying,” Taehyung mumbled under his breath.

“Shut up, smartass.”

Taehyung shook his head again. He wasn’t going to tell Yoongi no matter how much the other protested. Even if it meant risking their friendship and whatever else they had going for the two of them.

But even still, the way Yoongi’s eyes lit up with anger, an underlying hint of endearment flashing through them… Taehyung was finding it increasingly hard to breathe. 

“I’ll tell you,” he said, leaning forward slightly, “on one condition.” He raised a finger for emphasis.

Yoongi raised a curious brow, following Taehyung’s motion. 

“What’s that?”

“Kiss me.”

Yoongi made a face at that, but he didn’t budge. Their noses were close enough to touch, their lips inches apart. The tips of Taehyung’s fingers had begun to tingle in anticipation, and he was itching to simply grab Yoongi’s face and shut him up for good, to make him forget about his burning questions.

“You’ll tell me what you found if I kiss you,” Yoongi repeated, eyes glancing down to Taehyung’s lips as he wet them with his tongue. 

“Yes, sir,” Taehyung murmured. Yoongi’s answering scoff sounded much too condescending for Taehyung’s liking. 

“You make it sound like I don’t want to kiss you.”

“You want to—” 

That was it. Taehyung was stunned by the feeling of Yoongi’s soft lips caressing his own. He didn’t think Yoongi would actually do it—didn’t think he would want to— 

But he was. And Taehyung didn’t think he could handle being around Yoongi anymore, not without asking him what he felt and what was happening between them. But he knew this kiss was too short, too fleeting, and he hadn’t even been able to kiss him back. Because suddenly Yoongi was pulling away, and he didn’t notice when he had grabbed a book from his satchel, holding it up with a victorious smirk on his face. 

 “Don’t think I didn’t know what you were up to, asshole. You got your kiss, now I get my answers.” Yoongi shoved him back, and Taehyung was too shocked to fight back. The force of Yoongi’s shove was enough to knock him backwards on his ass. He was too busy trying to process what Yoongi’s lips had felt like on his own. It had been such a chaste kiss, merely a whisper of Yoongi’s lips on his, but Taehyung already wanted to feel more. He hadn’t been able to savour it properly.

He looked up to see Yoongi diligently flipping through the book, and Taehyung shook his head, counting to ten and taking a few deep breaths before standing and snatching the book from his hands. 

“You can’t read it.” 

Yoongi let out a frustrated growl before turning away, and Taehyung swore he had never seen anything more menacing in his life. 

“Where—where are you going?”

“To the cave. I’m going to find the answers you don’t want to give me.” 

“No, Yoongi—” 

Taehyung let out a frustrated groan. He had no choice but to follow Yoongi because he knew Yoongi would quite literally fight him if he stopped him. He just hoped the beast inside the cave was asleep, or would be nice enough to let them pass, but he highly doubted it.

“We don’t even have our swords,” Taehyung said, uselessly following Yoongi through the grove, to the waterfall they knew all too well. “You haven’t been exploring this cave behind my back, have you?”

Yoongi ignored him, his strides becoming wider, his footsteps becoming obviously stronger as he made a point not to even acknowledge Taehyung.

“You shithead!” Taehyung yelled, running to catch up to him, blocking his path and pointing his bow at him. “Hell, you kissed me just now!” 

Yoongi paused in his tracks, staring forward before he turned his head to look at Taehyung’s frantic expression. The entire motion was almost comical, and Taehyung wanted to laugh. 

“A kiss gone to waste.”

“What—you—”

“Taehyung,” Yoongi said, voice taking on a sad tone. “I understand if you’re trying to protect me from Bangamgi or whatever else you’re hiding. Grandmother told me as much. But you didn’t tell me anything else you learned. And you’ve been going to that stupid restricted section for a week now.”

“Yoongi, I—” 

“This is the first time we’ve been here, together— alone— since you buried your nose in those books. I know Grandmother put us both on this task, but sometimes it feels like she just wanted you.”

“No, Yoongi.” Taehyung grabbed his hand, fingers closing around Yoongi’s—which were clenched in a fist. “You’ve been so busy training the youngsters. That’s just as important.”

“Not as important as saving our entire village,” he spat. “I want to research. I want to find this sword and help you destroy it.” He glanced over Taehyung’s shoulder, at the waterfall that led to a cave with a beast inside. “It’s in there, isn’t it? Bangamgi.”

Taehyung blew out a puff of air, glancing up at the sky. 

“Yes. It is.”

“Then let’s go get it.”

Taehyung didn’t have much of a chance to protest before Yoongi was once again shoving him aside and stepping through the waterfall. 

“Yoongi, wait!” 

Taehyung hated how stubborn Yoongi could be. Either way, he followed Yoongi into the waterfall, noting that he was armed with nothing but a bow, and Yoongi was stupid enough to have forgotten his sword at home.

“Yoongi, the sword is—” He was cut off by Yoongi’s hand on his mouth, and Taehyung had the good sense to keep his mouth shut for the time being. Because that growl ripped through the cave again, which was brighter than the last time they had been here, but again, no sword to create a makeshift torch with.

He pried Yoongi’s fingers off his mouth, silently grabbing an arrow from the quiver strapped to his back. 

“Do you want to tell me what you learned about this fucking beast, at the very least?” Yoongi hissed.

“It won’t hurt you,” Taehyung whispered. “It’s guarding the sword.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Another growl had the ground at their feet rumbling. Taehyung grumbled a curse under his breath. “The sword is connected to the beast. It’s a dragon, named Bohoja. The Guardian.”

“So what are you saying? Get to the point.”

“ Bangamgi belonged to your ancestors, so you and the Matron are the only ones who can wield its power. When we came here the first time, your presence awakened Bohoja. He recognized you as one of the rightful owners of Bangamgi.”

“I see.”

“I don’t know whether that means the sword has been awakened or not, but…” 

“That’s why you didn’t want me to know.”

Taehyung was silent at that. He admitted that he was afraid Yoongi would let his morbid curiosity get the best of him and he’d want to see what he could do with Bangamgi. He knew Yoongi wouldn’t let him find a way to destroy it.

“Will Bohoja hurt you?” 

Taehyung chewed his lip, eyes trained on the glowing eyes that appeared in the darkness in front of them, followed by another deep, rumbling sound. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. Taehyung assumed that because he was with Yoongi—a descendant of the Min clan—he’d be safe. He didn’t know whether he wanted to take that risk.

“We should come back when we have some sort of plan,” Taehyung said, trying to coerce Yoongi back out of the cave.

“We’re so close, Tae.”

Taehyung could hear the desperation in his voice. And he thought back to how they were running out of time—how the Matron had to visit Emperor Kwon in person with appeasement gifts because his threats were becoming increasingly dangerous.

“Finding the sword isn’t going to guarantee the village’s safety,” Taehyung pointed out, voice becoming frantic. “We may very well be destroyed either way. Kwon is ruthless.” 

“We can use its powers to defend our village, Taehyung. You said it yourself! I can harness Bangamgi.”

“Yoongi, you know how dangerous it can be.”

“I’m a fast learner. I can read about it. Let me come with you to the library.” 

“Yoongi—“

“Why should we let its powers go to waste when we can make the most of it? We can destroy Kwon and his Empire.”

“Yoongi.”

“Taehyung, this is our chance to turn things around.”

“ Yoongi!”

The silence that followed Taehyung’s outburst was deafening. Yoongi was staring at him with wide eyes, and he felt something wet and sticky fall on his shoulder.

He ducked out of the way just before the beast could clamp down on his shoulder with that mighty jaw, groaning as he collided with the rough floor of the cave.

He took a moment to regain his senses, spitting out dirt as he used his hands to hoist himself up again. He turned to see the dragon—it wasn’t as big as he had originally thought it to be. But it was still enormous.

And it was currently baring its teeth at him, those dark slits staring him down as he realized it was protecting Yoongi. The way it had taken a protective stance in front of him, its wing curled around Yoongi’s back in such a gentle manner…

“Shit,” Taehyung murmured, nocking the arrow in his bow.

Yoongi seemed to be stunned, not able to understand what was happening. 

“Taehyung—“

“It’s protecting you,” he spat, gritting his teeth. He was having a staring contest with Bohoja, who was eerily still. Taehyung almost thought it seemed like a statue.

He thought back to what little he had read about the dragon, whether there was any information on how to get it to let others pass. 

He glanced over to Yoongi, who was looking around nervously, trying hard to avoid touching the dragon’s wing.

“Distract it,” Taehyung called out. Yoongi’s eyes widened in understanding before he nodded, and Taehyung removed the satchel from his chest, falling to his knees and taking out the books. 

He sprawled them over the floor, not allowing himself to pay attention to the dragon that probably wanted to kill him at the moment. 

“ Hey!” Yoongi shrieked. “Your name is Bohoja?”

The dragon’s nostrils flared, and it slowly turned its head to Yoongi.

Yoongi blanched. “Uh… so, you’re like… the Guardian, then.”

Taehyung chuckled, despite himself. He was terrified, as was evident from the way his hands shook. He was having a good amount of trouble flipping through the pages to find the section about Bohoja. 

“Can you speak?”

Taehyung zoned out, pushing Yoongi’s relentless questions to the dragon out as he skimmed through the pages of the book. Most of it he had read already, but he was trying to see if there was anything that would tell him whether or not the dragon would let him pass, and not just Yoongi.

…one known way to bypass Bohoja peacefully , even if one was not part of the Min clan.

Bingo.

He quickly read through the section, realizing that it was much easier than he thought it would be.

He slammed the book shut, shoving it and all the loose pages inside his satchel before standing straight, making sure to grab his bow off the ground.

“ Hey!” Yoongi’s voice pierced through again, and Taehyung looked up.

Only to feel sharp claws close around his throat and pin him to the ground.

“ Taehyung!” 

The dragon was inches away from his face, and Taehyung could hardly breathe to tell Yoongi that he simply needed a piece of his clothing—an identifier to show the dragon that he meant no harm to Yoongi. 

He could feel himself getting lightheaded, the air becoming constricted in his throat, and somewhere far away Yoongi was screaming, clawing at the mighty beast’s scales. 

And then he was being released, and he was gasping for air, choking, fingers flying up to his throat to find the dragon’s claws had pierced through his skin—far enough for him to bleed. He doubled over, heaving as he gulped in the oxygen he had been deprived of. 

If the dragon had pushed his claws in any further, it may as well have ruptured an artery and killed him.

The scene before Taehyung was… a little horrifying. 

The dragon lay on the ground, as if it was sleeping peacefully, but it looked dead. There was an arrow in its back. Yoongi was holding Taehyung’s bow, which was still pointing towards Bohoja, arrowless. 

“You killed him?” Taehyung said, voice hoarse.

Yoongi looked horrified. But he shook his head. “It’s not dead. Just unconscious.” 

“H-how?”

“Before you took the book from me earlier, I was able to glance at a passage. There was one scale on its back that was a different colour than the rest. That was its weak spot.”

The passage Taehyung had read…

…one known way to bypass Bohoja peacefully , even if one was not part of the Min clan.

Oh. 

The key word was peacefully. Of course there would be other ways to get past it. Knocking it unconscious, killing it—he was sure if he had read further he’d have found those answers as well.

Taehyung stood on wobbling knees, and Yoongi was there to help him, to make sure he didn’t fall face first. 

“You’re bleeding.”

Taehyung gingerly touched the side of his neck, which came away slick with blood. 

“I’ll live. We need to find that sword before the beast wakes up again.” 

Yoongi nodded once, handing him his bow. “Let’s go, then.” 

Taehyung had a sinking feeling in his gut—like something wasn’t right. Like something was about to go horribly wrong, or they’d do something they’d regret for the rest of their lives. He didn’t voice his concerns to Yoongi—because his friend just looked determined to get this over with.

He also didn’t address the argument they had earlier. He didn’t know what to do aside from praying that Yoongi would come to his senses.

The cave became darker and darker the more they ventured in, and soon they were sticking to the walls, holding on for dear life as each step forward brought them deeper and deeper into an endless abyss.

A loud clang had Taehyung on high alert, pulling out an arrow and nocking it in his bow with lightning speed—but a small groan from Yoongi had him relaxing a bit.

“What happened?”

“There’s a door here,” he groaned. “I walked into it.”

Taehyung snickered at that, cautiously making his way forward by feeling the wall.

He felt a large metal door with a rusted wheel attached to the front. 

“Help me turn this.”

Yoongi came over, and they both used their entire might to turn the wheel, which had probably been locked, and with centuries of being untouched it seemed near impossible to even get it to budge. 

They spent a good ten minutes turning it, their fingers aching and muscles screaming in agony, sweat dripping from their foreheads as the door let out an excruciating groan.

“Grab the door!” Yoongi said, and they both used whatever strength they had left to curl their fingers around the edge of the heavy metal door, grunting as they pulled. And it finally opened.

There were torches on the other side—and they were blinded by the sudden rush of light and warmth after drowning in darkness for so long. 

They glanced at each other in uncertainty, and Taehyung—to lighten the mood and because he felt a sudden rush of love for his best friend—smirked at Yoongi, who simply stared at him, expressionless.

“Are you scared?” Taehyung taunted.

“Yes,” Yoongi said, his voice monotone. “Hold my hand, darling.” 

Taehyung bit back his laughter as Yoongi’s familiar bony fingers intertwined with his own, and the way he squeezed had Taehyung wondering whether they both needed the comfort of knowing the other was there.

They warily walked forward hand-in-hand, marveling at the ancient text that was written all over the brick walls—they seemed to be in a catacomb of sorts. 

They walked down the never ending corridor, and Taehyung realized too late that there were skulls lining the walls—which seemed to become more abundant the further they went.

“Taehyung,” Yoongi murmured, seeming shocked by this revelation as well. “Tae, this is a burial chamber.” 

Taehyung nodded gravely. “For your ancestors,” he clarified. “They were buried with Bangamgi.”

Yoongi opened his mouth to say something further, but his attention caught on something behind Taehyung. He shoved him aside to go see what it was, and Taehyung followed, to an open, circular area with four different doorways leading to multiple burial rooms. Yoongi’s gaze was snagged in the middle, where a rounded, slightly raised platform similar to the one in their library was lined with dusty coffins. There were cobwebs all over them, since they clearly hadn’t been touched in ages. 

But in the middle of the platform was a piece of stone. 

With a sword embedded in it.

“Taehyung, this is—“

“ Don’t. Touch it.”

Taehyung watched the muscles of Yoongi’s back tense up. He watched his friend’s fingers twitch, as if he was trying hard to restrain himself from unsheathing Bangamgi from its resting place.

“Taehyung.” 

He didn’t like the tone Yoongi’s voice had taken on. But he was afraid to step up to the sword the way Yoongi had. Hell, they were surrounded by countless spirits and dead bodies. There was no telling what would happen if the sword awoke. 

He took a step forward, only to realize Yoongi had already closed a fist around the hilt of the sword. Taehyung was only able to glimpse at it—to see had the red engravings that he had seen on that piece of parchment in the library.

“Yoongi, don’t—“

Kim Taehyung was staring at you. Again. 

You deliberately ignored him as you twirled your pen between your fingers, trying to focus on what the professor was saying. You weren’t paying attention, though. You never did. You usually just recorded the lectures and played through them on your own time because you knew how much of a distraction Taehyung could be. 

The looks he was giving you—merciless. 

He was known for choosing one girl in each class to flirt with—a conquest for each class. He had conquered all of them, except for you. 

It wasn’t that he wasn’t attractive—God, he was so hot sometimes you couldn’t even think straight. And you had seen some of the thirst traps he regularly posted on his social media—going out of your way not to like them and avoiding them so as to not seem desperate. A part of you really just wanted to give in and see whether he lived up to his legendary fuckboy nature, but the rational part of you knew what he did to the girls he chased—he always made them fall in love with him using his superficial charm, and once he got into their pants he decided he was bored and wanted to move on, leaving the poor girls broken-hearted. 

You told yourself that wasn’t going to be the case with you. 

But hell if you didn’t want to know what he was like in bed. You glanced over to see him deep in thought as he scribbled something down on a piece of paper with those long, nimble fingers of his. Fingers that you liked to imagine tracing every curve and plane of your body before they dipped down low and—

“Y/N,” a harsh voice whispered. You whirled your head behind you to see your friend Jimin gesturing to his face and then to yours. 

Gasping, you realized what had happened. You had been so lost in your wild fantasies of Taehyung that you hadn’t realized you had left your pen uncapped while resting your chin in your hand—you had gotten ink all over your face. Thankfully, the lecture was just about to end. 

Covering your face with your hand, you groaned softly. 

“I can just give you his number, you know,” Jimin murmured from behind you, a knowing smirk on his face. You had vented your dilemma about Taehyung to him on more than one occasion. He was the type to refuse to sleep with anyone until he got them to fall in love with him first. Every girl fell into his trap thinking they’d be the one to change his ways, and it worked like a charm every time. He liked seeing girls bow at his feet just to get a chance to sleep with him—revelled in the attention because it inflated his already huge ego. 

You could think of something else of his that was most likely huge as well.

“I’m good,” you grumbled, cursing Kim Taehyung and his fuckboy ass for making you feel this way. 

Sometimes you hated how you became so hot and bothered just from the looks he gave you. You were no better than those pasty girls who had nothing better to do than fawn over hot guys all day. But Taehyung was Taehyung. And he was quite unrelenting. 

Just like now. As you made a beeline for the bathroom to clean your face, Taehyung stopped you in your tracks. For the third time today. 

“Y/N Y/L/N,” he said by way of greeting, and you hugged your laptop tighter to your body as you looked up at him, knowing how ridiculous you looked with that blue ink all over your cheek.

“Kim Taehyung,” you responded, looking up at him with a fire in your eyes.

“Somehow,” he murmured, leaning down to your height, “you find a way to look down on me despite being a foot shorter than me.” 

You gave him a fake grin. “I already gave you my answer. I’m not going on a date with you.” 

“How’d this happen?” His fingers came down—his fingers, God—and gently brushed over your cheek that was currently a mess of pen ink. He clicked his tongue and pouted, and you found yourself focusing really hard on the mole on his lip. 

“That is none of your business,” you snapped, shoving him aside and heading for the bathroom. 

He chuckled and leaned against the wall as he watched you, flustered and red as a tomato, run into the bathroom.

“Jiminie gave me your number,” he called out behind you. You could hear the smirk in his voice and you wanted nothing more than to wipe it off. Perhaps with your own lips.

“Fuck,” you grumbled, slamming your phone on the bathroom counter. 

  —

  4:32 PM

You: I can’t believe you just handed my number to Taehyung without asking me. 

Jimin the Fairy: surprise ?? 👀

You: just because you’re friends with him,,,, uGH

Jimin the Fairy: I was getting tired of both of u complaining to me. Why do I have to get involved like on the one hand Taehyung ew take ur disgusting fantasies and deal with them in the bedroom, and second, idk why u don’t just block him if he’s that annoying 

You: wait Taehyung also complains to u??

Jimin the Fairy: y/n he wants to do some really interesting things to u

Jimin the Fairy: just go on one date with him so u can sleep with him and satisfy his fantasies I stg

  You stuck your tongue out at your phone as if Jimin could see how much you disapproved of this entire situation. You knew Taehyung enjoyed breaking hearts. You knew he’d make you fall in love with him after one date. You knew his plans all too well, and you hated him for it. 

But it didn’t mean you wanted him any less. 

You dialed a familiar number on your phone, nervously chewing your lip as you paced the campus grounds. 

“Hey, what’s up?” a smooth voice greeted you on the other end of the line. Your best friend and voice of reason, Namjoon. 

“Joon, I have a bit of a predicament. Can we meet at the cafe?”

“Oh, sure. Now?”

“Yeah, if you’re able to.”

“No worries, Y/N. I’ll meet you there in five.” 

Those five minutes felt like five hours. You nervously tapped your foot as you waited in line to make your order, dreading the moment your phone would ping and you’d see a notification from a number you wouldn’t recognize but one that you’d know nonetheless. 

A notification popped up on your screen and you nearly dropped your phone. 

  4:47 PM

Joonbug: sorry y/n, I’m running a bit late, my bike tire is deflated.. :((

Joonbug: Order an iced coffee for me?? I’ll be there in 10.

You: okay.

  You made your order and paid, grabbing the drinks as you tried to balance them with your phone and wallet in the other hand. You picked a nice, secluded seat in the corner beside the window, the sun shining through the glass and warming the seats. Every move felt like you were wading through a sea of lead. 

Another notification popped up on your screen and your heart almost stopped in your chest before you realized it was just someone who had liked your post. 

Was Taehyung even going to text you? Had Jimin really given him your number? 

You didn’t know whether you wanted him to text you or not. 

To make the time pass by a little faster, you decided to scroll through your social media. 

And of course, one of the first pictures to come up was a picture of Taehyung. And it looked like he had posted it a few minutes ago. 

You warily liked it, checking the comments to see a string of people saying things like “ugh so hot” and “fuck me up daddy” and other things that you found yourself thinking of Taehyung on the daily. 

He had commented something like that on one of your posts—once. On your birthday a few months ago, when he had first set his sights on you. After that he had resorted to liking your posts. You knew just how bothered he was by the fact that you wouldn’t fall for his tricks so easily. And for some reason, that made him all the more attractive to you. 

The bell on the cafe door rang, followed by some masculine laughter. 

“Yo, stop being such a dick,” someone said, and you looked up. 

“I took that picture of you, Tae, the least you could do is buy me coffee.” 

“I’m not buying you coffee, Kook. We both know you have more money than me. I’m a broke bitch.” 

You choked on your coffee and promptly turned your head, pulling your hair down to cover your face. You knew that deep voice all too well. It had bullied you this morning, and it was always playing through your mind in elaborate scenarios you liked to dream up. You wanted to hear that voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear all night long—wanted to hear that deep timbre call out your name and rumble through your body as you—

“Y/N.” Someone’s fingers snapped in your face. “God, I swear, when you zone out, you zone out.” 

You flushed as you realized just where your mind had gone—you used to be so good at ignoring Taehyung. But lately he was all you could think about. 

You shoved Taehyung from your mind to see Namjoon frowning as he sat down in front of you, an ear still trained on what Taehyung was saying to his friend Jungkook. Mercifully, Taehyung hadn’t noticed you.

“Sorry, Joon,” you mumbled as you slid his coffee to him across the table. 

“What’d you want to talk about?” 

“Well...” you huffed, gesturing with your head to Taehyung, who was laughing at something Jungkook had said. 

Namjoon looked over and seemed to get the hint. “You’re horny for Taehyung,” he said with a straight face. “Honestly, though, who isn’t? Every girl and guy on campus wants to know what he’s like in bed. I don’t blame you.” 

“I’m not!” 

“I really thought this was an emergency.” 

“It is,” you insisted. 

“I don’t see how.” 

“Just—“ Your phone buzzed, and you grabbed it frantically. 

It was a message from an unknown number. You looked at Namjoon worriedly, and he raised a brow in curiosity. “Who’s it from?” 

  5:03 PM

Unknown Sender: hey baby girl 

Unknown Sender: so you’re liking my posts now? 👀

  You showed the message to Namjoon and glanced over at Taehyung and Jungkook, who were sitting on the other side of the cafe now. They seemed deep in conversation. Why would Taehyung send a message now? 

You sighed when you realized it was because you had liked his post... that he had posted mere minutes ago. 

“Yikes,” Namjoon said, sipping at his iced coffee. “He really wants to get in your pants. Maybe you should let him.”

“I can’t let him,” you said through gritted teeth. “I sleep with him once, he’s going to try to make me fall in love with him.” 

“So fall in love with him.” 

“Okay, smartass. I’ll just let him sleep with me so I can give my heart to him and then I’ll let him step all over it. Sounds like the perfect plan.” 

“You know everyone’s been watching you guys pine after each other for months.” 

“We’re not pining.” 

“There’s a lot of sexual tension, Y/N. Just fuck him already and break up with him before he gets a chance to let you fall for him.” 

If only it were that simple. 

“Give me your phone.” 

Before you knew it Namjoon was grabbing your phone from your hands and you were trying your damned hardest to get it back from him, to no avail. 

“Namjoon! Don’t send a message!” 

“He really called you his baby girl,” he snickered, his thumbs flying away on your keyboard as you sunk back in your seat. 

“Here, check it. I’ll send it for you because you seem to not want to make any moves.” 

He shoved your phone in your face to show you the message he had written: 

please just fuck me already. 

You gasped audibly, snatching the phone from his hands. “I’m not sending that, you asshat!”

“Okay, rude. I wrote please and everything.” 

You rolled your eyes, erasing the message. 

You glanced up to see Namjoon sipping at his drink with a knowing look in his eyes, and when your phone buzzed, you went pale. 

  5:08 PM

Unknown Sender: hey baby girl

Unknown Sender: so you’re liking my posts now? 👀

You: please 

Unknown Sender: already begging I see? 

  You had accidentally hit send before you had a chance to erase the entire message. 

“Namjoon,” you groaned, showing your phone to him and hitting your head against the table. 

“It’s alright, baby girl,” he muttered, patting your head. “Just talk to him. Block him if he pulls some weird shit.” 

You huffed, sitting up straight as you grabbed your phone off the table. You warily typed up a message. 

  5:10 PM

You: please leave me alone 

Unknown Sender: one date 

You: no

Unknown Sender: I can treat you so good baby girl 

You: don’t call me that lmfao I’m not ur baby girl

Unknown Sender: mmmm

Unknown Sender: I see the way you look at me, y/n. I know for a fact I’m the one you think of when you touch urself. If you just go on one date with me

You: are you really gonna start sexting me

You: in a fucking cafe 

Unknown Sender: I promise I’ll fuck you so good. 

  You closed your phone, slamming it face down on the table, and glared at Taehyung from across the cafe, who had finally realized you were here too once he seemed to read your message. Then you glared at Namjoon, who just shrugged. 

You tried to ignore the burning sensation between your thighs. 

“Namjoon,” you said quietly. 

“Hm?” 

“I’m gonna kill him.” 

“Please leave me out of it.” 

You gave him a suspicious look. “Fine. I asked you for your help but you’re just being useless.”

“Not useless.” He sipped at his coffee again, while pointing to your phone. The light in his eyes told you he was thoroughly enjoying watching you suffer through all this sexual tension. “I started a conversation.” 

You stared at your phone, daring it to buzz. Namjoon’s gaze followed yours, and the both of you waited. You could feel Taehyung’s stare just as you had felt it this morning in class. 

The buzz came. You picked it up. Narrowed your eyes at the notification that showed up on your screen. 

“He wants to add me on snap.” 

Namjoon set his cup down, massaging his temples as if exasperated. “Then give him your snap.” 

“He’s gonna send me dick pics in the middle of the night!” 

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“No! I mean, sure, but...” 

“Y/N, please make up your mind. Because if you keep saying you don’t want him, he probably won’t leave you alone.” 

“What if I made him fall in love with me instead?”

“And how, pray tell, are you going to do that?” 

You bit your lip, glancing over to see Taehyung throw his head back in laughter. His eye caught onto you, and he smirked. You gave him the finger, and you could hear his chuckle even with the distance between you. 

How would that laugh sound in your ear? 

You shook your head and any thoughts of Taehyung doing unspeakable things to you flew away as you grabbed your phone and your drink and stood. 

“Where are you going?” 

“To find Jimin. He knows Taehyung better than anyone. He can help me.” 

“Oh, could you tell him I said hi?” 

“Joon, please don’t be so loud. I know you have a thing for Jimin.” 

“Bye, Y/N.”

“Bye, Joon,” you purred, giving him a cheeky little wave as you stood to leave the cafe. You didn’t miss how Taehyung’s eyes trailed after you as you walked out, but you chose to ignore it and the message he promptly sent you. 

  5:19 PM

Unknown Sender: where you going? 

Unknown Sender: you didn’t even come say hi to me :(( 

  Instead, you dialed Jimin’s number. He didn’t even greet you before launching into a speech. 

“Listen, before you yell at me for giving your number to Taehyung I just wanna say he blackmailed me by threatening to tell Namjoon about the fact that we kissed that night at the bar because he really doesn’t remember and I’m not sure if I want him to because it really seems like he hates my guts and—“

“Jimin, what are you saying? I was just going to ask you something.” 

“Uh... it’s nothing. What were you saying?” 

You shook your head. Your friends were literal idiots sometimes. “Well, since you gave me Taehyung’s number, I ended up having a little conversation with him.”

“And?” 

“I need him to fall in love with me.” 

“What? Y/N, are you insane?” 

“Why does everyone keep thinking I’m insane for wanting to make him fall in love with me?” He was an ass for wanting to do the same to you. You decided it might be nice to give him a taste of his own medicine for once. It would be a good way to get back at him for making you feel this way all the time. 

“Let me guess... you need my help.” 

“Yes, Jimin. Please.” 

“You know you’re basically asking me to betray one of my closest friends.” 

“Fine. I’ll do it myself.”

“Wait, okay. I’ll help. Tae’s kind of an ass to me and Kook anyway. But you’re gonna wanna shell out some cash for some new clothes first. We’re going shopping.” 

  —

  This was a bad idea. 

A very bad idea. 

Taehyung had been texting you non stop for the past few days. And as much as you didn’t want to text him, you had ended up handing over your Snapchat username to him. 

And then came the thirst snaps from him. 

The latest one he had sent about an hour ago—a picture of him in his car, the sun setting behind him as he stared at the camera with an expressionless face. He had captioned it: wyd babygirl?

You still hated that he called you his baby girl, but this was part of the plan. Lead him on like this, but still refuse to go on a date with him. Days of this never ending banter had you suffocating because you just wanted more. Pictures and videos could only offer so much relief. 

Standing in front of your closet wearing nothing but a towel, you stared at the dress you had bought with Jimin the other day. It was really short and had a plunging neckline. And it was red.

Jimin had it on good authority that Taehyung loved the colour red on his women. This dress was so revealing that you weren’t even sure you could walk in it without accidentally flashing someone. 

Angling your phone in the air, you quickly snapped a cute picture of yourself looking annoyed—making sure to show some of your collarbone, before typing up a caption.

I’m getting ready. Leave me alone. 

You hit send. 

A few seconds later and a reply came through. A picture of Taehyung in a white t-shirt—except his face was contorted in what looked like an excited scream, and the picture was rather blurry. The caption read:

funny how ur collarbones get me so excited 🥵

You snorted, setting your phone down to go and get dressed. He probably said that to every girl who showed a bit of skin to him. 

You spent some time perfecting a smokey eye makeup look you had been practicing, and swiped some red lipstick on before straightening your hair. For some final touches, you put on a sparkling necklace that rested on your collarbones and slipped on some pumps that you were sure would absolutely kill your feet. And once you were satisfied with your own appearance—stopping to take a few pictures because it wasn’t everyday you felt this badass—you carefully stepped outside to wait for Jimin. He had offered to come for moral support—and to help get Taehyung drunk. 

Jimin had told you Taehyung wasn’t fond of drinking, despite what people thought of him. He enjoyed partying and clubbing, but hated getting drunk, because drunk Taehyung was a very emotional Taehyung, according to Jimin. A Taehyung who listened to his heart and not his dick. 

And that was precisely the Taehyung you needed for this to work. Your phone buzzed in your hand.

  10:17 PM

taeboy🥴: y/nnnnn I’m here babygirl

You: just reminding u this isn’t a date 

taeboy🥴: yea yea whatever helps u sleep at night. (Me) 🤩

You: mmmm

You: I’ll be there soon. Waiting for Jimin

  Jimin pulled up in his car, and you could see his grin through the windshield as you sat yourself down in the passenger seat. You tried hard not to cringe when he gave a playful whistle.

“Y/N, I didn’t even recognize you.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get too distracted. I know you have eyes for Joon anyway.” 

“You didn’t hear that thing I said about kissing him. Not a word.” He made a motion of zipping his lips and stared at you. You could only nod, a knowing smile pulling at your mouth as Jimin reversed the car. 

A few minutes later and you were entering the club, the music pounding in your ears and thrumming in your heart. Jimin led you over to where Taehyung was waiting against a wall, drink in hand. You stopped a few feet away from him, noticing the girls surrounding him like moths attracted to a bright light. He licked his lips when he saw you, his gaze roving over your very exposed body. You didn’t miss the way he slowly unbuttoned the top of his shirt. And then ran a hand through his hair.

“He had one drink,” Jimin told you before winking. “Now it’s in your hands.” 

“Thanks, Jimin.”

“Sure, I’ll be nearby,” he mumbled, heading off into the throng of people. 

You steeled your nerves, taking a deep breath before approaching him, pushing aside people grinding against each other. The clack of your heels against the floor was drowned out by the music in the club, but it was all you could focus on at the moment. 

Upon seeing you, the girls perched around Taehyung glared, looking you over and deciding you were a threat to them. 

“Who’s this, Taehyungie?” One of them purred, and you wanted to gag.

Taehyung grinned, and you crossed your arms under your chest, knowing it would accentuate your cleavage and that Taehyung would be thoroughly distracted. Sure enough, his gaze fell down just slightly, and he quickly shooed the girls away. 

“Y/N,” he murmured, sipping at his drink as he took a step closer, swaying slightly to the music. 

“Hi, Taehyung,” you said, a sweet smile on your face. Your hips automatically swayed with his, both in time to the music. 

“Tell me why you asked to meet me here,” he said in your ear—the deep voice sending chills down your spine and making every hair on the back of your neck stand on end. 

“I want to know what you’re like.” 

“Hmm.” He took your hands then, spinning you around so your back was against his chest. “You said this wasn’t a date.” 

“It’s not,” you breathed, barely able to hear yourself. “We’re at a club.” 

You hated yourself for feeling so turned on. 

“You came all dressed up, babygirl,” he murmured, his empty hand resting so gently on your waist as you both continued to sway. A part of you just wanted to abandon your plan and get stupid drunk with him and dance all night. 

Drunk. Right. 

“Taehyung.” You craned your neck sideways to try to look at him. 

“Yes, darling.” 

“Finish your drink. And then get me one.” 

You scared even yourself at how demanding you sounded as you wrenched yourself out of his grasp and turned to face him. Taehyung blinked, and a part of you relished at how you caught him off guard. 

“So demanding,” he chided, but surprisingly downed his drink anyway, tossing the cup into a nearby garbage bin. And as he left to get you a drink, you got a good look at him. He looked breathtaking with the bright lights of the club casting all sorts of colours on the sharp planes of his face—and his dark hair was a little messier than usual. You had no doubt he had made out with a few girls before you arrived. And the buttons of his shirt he had opened to reveal some of his slim chest had you losing all your focus. 

He handed you the cup once he got back.

“Done,” he hummed, licking his lips again. 

You smirked at him, biting your lower lip just slightly as you downed the drink and got rid of the cup. 

“Now we dance.” You grabbed his wrists and pulled him forward, placing his hands on your waist, all while he stared at you with wide eyes. 

“Y/N, I’ve never seen this side of you before.” 

He was tipsy. 

“Well, enjoy it. It’s not a side you’ll see every day.” 

You began to sway again, making sure to exaggerate the movement of your hips. Taehyung turned you around again, a little aggressively this time. 

You decided you liked it. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” he murmured, his low voice rumbling through your bones. You let your head fall back slightly—on his shoulder. “I told you,” you purred, chuckling at his bewildered sound of protest. “I’m getting to know you.” 

“Really,” Taehyung said. “Interesting way of getting to know someone.” His hands slid down. You gasped. 

“Tell me, babygirl,” he whispered in your ear as his  hands caressed your thighs, “why have you been spending so much time with Jimin lately?” 

“Jimin—“ you gasped again as his hands dipped a little lower. Grinding your teeth, you managed to say, “Jimin is my friend.” 

“Hm.” 

“Taehyung.” 

He didn’t answer, his hands continuing to stroke your legs—up and down, as you both continued swaying to the music. 

“Taehyung, are you jealous?” 

“No,” he answered immediately, his hands gliding back up to rest on your waist. “No, I’m not jealous. I just thought it was suspicious.” 

“Are you drunk?” you mused, a devilish grin pulling at your lips as you decided to grind against him. Just a little bit. 

“Drunk—shit,” he swore, his fingers tightening around your waist. 

You didn’t think you could survive the teasing. And you felt your mind getting a little muddied and hazy from the single drink you had earlier. But Taehyung had two. And judging from the way he was acting, you could tell he wasn’t thinking straight. 

He was jealous. Of Jimin. That could just be his possessiveness speaking, but you wanted to let yourself hope. 

Your hands closed over his, and you felt his sharp intake of breath as you turned, narrowing your eyes at him. “Well?” you asked with a cheeky grin. “Are you?” 

His hands moved back to rest on your ass, and you bit your lip in response.

“I may as well be,” he rumbled, “considering the way you’re looking at me.” 

“How am I looking at you?” you breathed, looping your arms around his neck as he pulled you closer. 

“Like you want nothing more than for me to shove you against the wall and fuck you right here, right now.” 

Taehyung—the devil, the bastard, the fucking stud of a man—leaned down to your neck, and pressed his lips so lightly to your throat that just the sensation was enough to have you leaning your head to the side, nearly begging him for more. 

The plan, the plan, the plan—you had to make him fall for you, and here you were, half drunk and melting in his arms while he whispered these obscene things to you, and you didn’t know how to function at this point.

You should have told Jimin to stay. 

But it had been weeks of exchanging provocative snaps and messages. Surely he would be sick of you by now. 

No, not when he didn’t have the chance to break your heart yet. Shit, were you falling for him? 

“I can’t do this.” You pushed him back, shoving his arms off you. He gave you a concerned look, his brows furrowing as he reached for you. “Y/N,” he said softly. 

You paused. That was the first time you had heard your name uttered so sincerely from his mouth. He had always used your name in a condescending way, and when he wasn’t using your name you were babygirl. But the way he said your name now… 

You glanced at him, and you could see the longing in his eyes. 

The rational part of you told you it was his way of pulling you in. 

But he looked so good, beckoning to you like that in a corner of the club with the music booming around you and the countless people dancing their asses off. 

“Give me a good reason to stay here,” you said quietly, clenching your fists. 

He stepped forward, grabbing your wrists. “I may not have one,” he admitted. “I know you hate me.” 

“Right.”

“And I know this isn’t supposed to be a date.” 

“Right again.” 

“But I really want to kiss you.” 

You didn’t even have time to give him a proper response before his lips were on yours and he was pushing you back against the wall, and you let yourself ignore the warning sirens in your head that told you he was just using you. His lips were making you feel so much more drunk than the drink you had. 

You had a feeling Jimin had been lying about Taehyung hating drinking—because Taehyung was his friend and you shouldn’t have expected him to help you any more than he’d help him. 

“Fuck it,” you groaned, abandoning your plan and tugging at his shirt to pull him closer. Taehyung chuckled darkly against your lips, his perfect boxy smile making you lose all your inhibitions once his hands slid down to your legs to hoist you up—and you swore under your breath when he pushed one of his legs in between yours.

Hands resting on either side of your head, Taehyung gazed at you with a ferocity in his eyes you had never seen before. 

“Do you want me, Y/N?” 

“What if I said no?” You leaned forward slightly to see he was poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue, the same way you could tell something was poking the crotch of his pants. 

“But you do.” 

“Perhaps.” You enjoyed this little game between the two of you—the cheeky banter that was loaded with so much tension. You pushed your hair back with a hand, not missing the way Taehyung’s eyes trailed your every movement—like a predator sizing up its prey. 

“But what would you have done if I said no and walked away from you?” 

“It wouldn’t matter,” he growled in your ear, “because you’d be lying.” 

It was at this moment you gave in entirely, and let Taehyung’s hands roam all over you as his lips found yours again, and you kissed him with an entire month’s worth of pent up frustration—it felt so good to finally be able to relieve it with him. Everything felt like a blur, and you didn’t remember when you decided to get into his car and let him drive you to his apartment, but you did remember Jimin giving you the most incredulous look as you left—because nothing had gone according to plan. Nothing. 

The thought left you laughing in disbelief on Taehyung’s lips as he dragged you inside, you tripping over your heels as you threw them across the room, him struggling to undo the buttons on his shirt. 

You were being pushed backwards onto his bed before you even had a chance to get familiar with your surroundings, and Taehyung towered over you, his shirt now entirely unbuttoned, leaving his chest exposed. Your own dress—that was very short to begin with—had ridden up your thighs, and as Taehyung grabbed onto your legs to pull you towards him, you gave your hands the liberty to roam his chest, your fingers gently scraping over his skin. You felt his breathing hitch as your hands dipped to the waistband of his pants, working quickly to unbuckle his belt. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this,” Taehyung muttered. Was he slurring his words or was that just your head making things up?

“Shut up, Taehyung,” you demanded, placing your lips on his as he helped you remove his pants. You sat up, lips never leaving his, and looped your arms around his neck, hands coming up to tug at his hair. His low sound of approval was music to your ears. You let him slip your dress over your head, leaving you in nothing but your lacy underthings in front of him. 

You weren’t quite sure of what happened next. It felt fast—too fast for you to properly register what was happening. Taehyung laid you down, kissing his way down your mouth, your chin, your jaw, then down to your collarbone, and lower, to your chest, the plane of your stomach. Lower. You vaguely heard his teasing chuckle as his fingers dug into your legs, and you arched your back against the bed, anticipating his mouth on your skin as he nipped at a sensitive spot on your thigh. 

You may have been protesting, or you may not have been saying anything at all. For all you knew, you could have been making the most ungodly noises ever, because Taehyung seemed to be thoroughly enjoying teasing you. 

You loved it. You hated him. 

You didn’t realize he had removed your lacy underwear and you had to bite your tongue when his mouth found the spot. The spot where you had been craving his touch for ages. And it was everything you imagined—better. He knew how to pleasure a woman. Of course he did. 

He seemed to relish in your squirming. You were ready to complain when he sat up, only to groan in pleasure when his fingers replaced where his mouth had been. God, his beautiful, nimble fingers. 

“Did I tell you how gorgeous you look tonight, babygirl?” he purred. 

“Tell me,” you managed between breaths and sounds of pleasure. 

“Of course.” He worked you so good, until you were so close to finding your release, and his deep, rumbling voice in your ear was wondrous. 

“I’ve never seen you dress like this before. It was quite a pleasant surprise.” “Taehyung,” you pleaded, your head falling backwards. His name was all you could think of right now. You hoped it conveyed your desperation for him at this moment—your mind was a haze and you didn’t think you could think straight until this was all over. 

And you really hoped you’d be able to walk away from him. To let him walk away.  

Your pleas were enough for him to remove his fingers from you, and then remove his pants. And just feeling him against you like that, with nothing but his underwear separating you— 

“Taehyung,” you said again, more breathless this time. “Taehyung, please.” 

“That’s what I like to hear, babygirl. I’ll be so good to you, I promise.” 

You gripped his arms with the force of a vice—you probably would have left marks in his skin had he not still been wearing his unbuttoned shirt. Taehyung grabbed a condom from his side dresser and wasted no time in sliding it on, and as he nestled himself between your legs, you anticipated the pain and pleasure that awaited you. You took a deep breath when you felt him push inside you, releasing it once you heard Taehyung’s low groan and saw his shit-eating grin. He loved seeing women feeling like this under him. You knew judging from his triumphant expression. 

You didn’t say a word, instead choosing to tug at his hair again to get him to move. 

He clicked his tongue, hoisting you up so you were straddling him, still buried deep inside you. You gasped at the movement—as his hands reached around your back to unhook your bra and slide it off your shoulders. “So impatient, darling.” 

“Says you,” you grumbled, wiggling your hips. You could see how the simple movement made him grind his teeth, and you ran your hands over the tense muscles in his jaw. “I know how long you’ve been waiting, Tae.” 

“Tae,” he mused, his lips pulling into a wide, boxy grin. “Are we going with the pet names now, Y/N-ie?”

“Just fuck me, you asshole.” 

“With pleasure.”

He slowly built up a rhythm then, his hips moving in tandem with your own, and you were reminded of the reason why you had wanted him so badly in the first place. You loved to hate him, and every day spent wondering what he was like in bed was nothing compared to the real deal. The way he teased you and whispered the most obscene things in your ear, his deep voice skittering across your skin as he kissed you in places you didn’t think could even feel pleasure—it was all so overwhelming. 

But he was surprisingly gentle through it all, even despite the rough pace he had built up.

“God, Taehyung, you’re so good,” you moaned. Your lips were so swollen from kissing him, and you were sure you had quite a few marks to display on your throat and collarbone from his kissing and biting, but you didn’t exactly care at the moment. His hips were so perfect, and the way he was working you was enough to have you calling out his name breathlessly, like a mantra, like a prayer. 

Even his name was beautiful. 

He bit your shoulder when he finally began to find his release, your name on his lips sounding so heavenly, and you hissed at the pain it caused. He picked up his pace in an attempt to chase that high, and you found yourself nearing that edge as well. To your surprise, Taehyung didn’t simply stop the way you had expected him to. No, he kept going, to make sure that you were able to be satisfied as well.

You didn’t know whether to be touched or not. 

“Come on babygirl,” he grunted, unrelenting, and your fingers clenched his sheets so hard your knuckles turned white and you were certain you had tore them. 

“Taehyung,” you groaned, your eyes squeezing shut as you threw your head back, and suddenly that wave of pleasure crashed over you, and you let it consume you until you were left heaving and sweaty as Taehyung slumped on top of you, his head resting against your shoulder. 

“Shit,” you breathed, not daring to move as you finally understood what you had just done. Who you had just done. “Shit, shit, shit.” 

“Did I not live up to your expectations?” Taehyung chuckled, easing himself off of you and flopping down beside you on the bed. “You said I was good.”

“No, it’s not that, I…” you huffed, draping an arm over your eyes—your face was sure to be super flushed. “I wasn’t supposed to sleep with you.” 

“That’s what they all say.”

“I hate you.” “I’m aware.”

You glanced over at him as he ruffled his sweaty hair, and you narrowed your eyes at him. He caught your gaze and grinned.

“You can leave.” 

The words hit you like a blow to the gut, and you sat up, horrified, making sure to keep his blanket around your naked body. “Excuse me?”

Taehyung grinned, and you genuinely wished you could slap it right off his face. 

“You heard me. You can go home.” 

You scrunched your nose in disgust, and instead, lay back down, turning so your back was to him.

“No. I’m staying.” 

You aggressively tugged the blankets towards you, and you could hear the disbelief in his voice as he sighed, resigning himself to his fate.

“I suppose I deserve this.”

Yes, he definitely did.

  — 

When you woke up the next morning, the sunlight streaming in through the curtains blinded you, and it took you some time for the events of last night to catch up to you. 

But when you turned to see a naked Taehyung dozing next to you, an arm resting under his pillow, you knew exactly what had happened. 

You stuck your tongue out at him, throwing the blanket onto his body, which seemed to make him stir.

“Move,” he grumbled, wrestling with the blanket to try and get it off his face. 

You snorted, swinging your legs over the bed and picking up your clothes off the floor. You noticed how you were a little sore from last night. 

You heard Taehyung swear under his breath as he finally got the blanket off his face, and in that time you had gotten yourself dressed.

“Leaving?” Taehyung said.

“I recall you asking me to leave last night,” you shot back, picking up your shoes off the floor. 

“Jimin told me about your plan.”

You froze. Of course he did.

“That little—”

“Y/N, darling, when I heard your plan, I was surprised at how ambitious you were. But then I saw how dedicated you were to make me fall in love with you. I thought it was cute.”

All you could do was stare at him. So he knew this whole time. The whole time they had been exchanging those snaps. He knew you were acting.

“If I’m honest, I told myself you would never act like that with me. I should have known.” He shrugged. “But I really did enjoy talking to you. You’re fun.”

“Yeah, and I bet you had a new girl in your bed every day,” you snapped.

He had the audacity to look hurt. 

“Y/N, I didn’t sleep with anyone since I texted you that day at the cafe.”

Oh. Oh.

“I just thought it was because I wasn’t feeling it. I tried. Trust me, I did. But every time I brought someone here, I could only imagine you. Caused a lot of conflicts.” He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand, and you had never seen him look so… boyish. “One of them punched me so hard I had a black eye for a week. Not fun. It really helped to further my reputation.” He laughed, and you didn’t know why it seemed so sad.

“I remember that,” you said quietly.

“People already think I’m a bad guy, Y/N. Might as well prove them right.” 

“You—what? Taehyung, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to sleep around.”

He looked at you. And you realized that the thing you hated most about him—the fact that he needlessly broke hearts—was what everyone else hated about him as well. It was never about all the girls he slept with.  

A part of you wondered whether he was faking this, and whether you were just falling into his trap. Because you had seen a different, playful side of him over the past few months. 

“I was a little scared,” he admitted, “that your plan was succeeding.”

“In making you fall in love with me.” You looked at him. Stared at him, and tried to understand just what was going on in his head. Looked deep into his eyes and dared him to say he was joking and laugh in your face. Yet here he was, telling you your plan had indirectly been a success. “And why would that make you scared?”

You found yourself sitting on the edge of his bed now, watching as he nervously fingered the fabric of his blankets.

“Because I haven’t loved someone in a long time. I was scared of what people would think of me. What you would think of me.”

“I think a lot of things about you.” 

“I know.” He smiled then, and you swore something in your chest ached. 

“I… I know I said I hated you, Taehyung. But, I kind of like you, too. Aside from the fact that you absolutely drive me insane.”

“Oh, I know, babygirl, I know.” He licked his lips and you narrowed your eyes at him. “Especially considering the way you were screaming my name last night.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose with your fingers. “Alright, Taehyung, I’ll be leaving now.” 

His answering howl of laughter had you shaking your head, a fond smile on your face as you called Jimin to come pick you up.

  — 

  “So you’re telling me,” Namjoon mumbled as he chewed on the stick that was left over from his cake pop, “that Taehyung is actually a softie.”

“Seems like it,” you said, resting an elbow on the table. 

“And you slept with him.”

“Yes, Joon.” You rolled your eyes. “We’ve established that.”

“So does this mean Jimin and I get to be spared from your horny fantasies?”

You threw your napkin at him. “Say it a little louder, will you? God.” 

You had immediately met Namjoon for lunch once you cleaned yourself up at your own apartment, and Jimin had grilled you about the details of last night while dropping you off—and then continued to complain about how you never shut up about Taehyung. You were a little annoyed with him about telling Taehyung what you were up to, but you supposed it wasn’t a big deal anymore. 

But you had spent an hour giving Namjoon the brief version of what had happened last night, and it seemed he was still trying to process the crazy events.

Now, you stared at your phone, waiting for Taehyung to text you or snap you or something, telling you he had a good time or that he wanted to see you again. But you knew that was unlikely. 

He had succeeded in making you fall for him too, it seemed. 

“Y/N, you are the worst person to eat with,” Namjoon grumbled. 

“Sorry, Joon.” You shook your head. “I still can’t believe last night happened.” 

“Yeah, me neither. But look who just showed up.” 

You opened your mouth to say something, but someone slipped into the booth beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as Jimin and Jungkook slipped into the seat beside Namjoon, who immediately moved over to make room.

“Taehyung.” You huffed. 

“Hey,” he said, his smooth voice reminding you of what you two had done the night before.

“Hey, Y/N,” Jungkook said, his grin making you smile. You gave him a little nod, surprised Taehyung had brought his whole posse over. 

“What brings you lovely beings here?” Namjoon deadpanned, offering Jimin his drink, who took a sip and returned it.

“Haven’t you heard?” Jimin said. “Taehyung and Y/N are best friends now.”

You glanced at Taehyung, who winked at you. And you swore there was a bruise blossoming on his brow. “Who punched you this time, Tae?”

Namjoon choked on his drink.

“He deserved it,” Jungkook said, crossing his arms. 

“Well, I guess. But, Y/N, I’m offering my friendship to you. If you want it.” 

“That position is already filled, I’m afraid,” Namjoon retorted, earning a glare from Jimin. 

“Friendship…” you thought for a moment. 

“It took us a lot of convincing to tell him not to ditch you,” Jimin said through his teeth. “You seemed really hung up about it this morning.”

That explained the bruise.

“Yeah,” Jungkook cut in, “he really likes you, apparently. Would not shut up about you. We decided you deserved better. Especially considering how Jimin is your friend, too.”

You turned to Taehyung, who had shrunk back in his seat out of embarrassment. “It’s true,” he mumbled. “I don’t want you to be like those other girls who I sleep with once and never talk to again. That, and I felt bad. I was ready to delete your number.”

“Does this mean we can join your little gang?” Namjoon said, motioning to Jimin and Jungkook. 

Taehyung blinked. “I mean, sure, if you want. Isn’t Jimin in love with you or something?”

The entire table went silent. Jimin looked like he really wanted to pummel Taehyung and add a new collection of bruises to his face. 

“Cool,” Namjoon said nonchalantly. “Jimin’s in love with me, Taehyung’s in love with Y/N—”

“Ah, I didn’t say that,” Taehyung said.

“That just leaves Jungkook.” 

“Yo, I’m good,” Jungkook said. “Love’s too messy.”

The rest of you all agreed with him, and an awkward silence fell over the five of you. 

You didn’t know what to make of the fact that Taehyung genuinely wanted to be your friend. And not a fuck buddy—he really wanted to spend time with you and get to know you. You didn’t know whether that would mean he’d sleep with other girls, and you didn’t know whether you’d be okay with that. You supposed you’d figure things out with time, but as Jimin started up a friendly debate over the effectiveness of coffee in the morning, you glanced over at the man sitting beside you.  

CHAPTER 1

The sky was dark.

There was a rustling of leaves, a downpour of rain, and a black, heavy cloud that followed him everywhere he went. 

The first time Taehyung lost the sun, he was a young boy who had no concept of rain or thunder. The skies were always blue, tinged with a softness that mirrored his innocence and naivety. 

The sun had disappeared one day—Taehyung had noticed the shift in the atmosphere, the whispers that were carried to him on the strong gusts of wind, and the change in pressure that made a phantom wound in his joints ache despite being a young boy. 

It was mesmerizing, almost as if the storm was comforting him and reassuring him that there was nothing to be afraid of. But when the crashes of thunder caused his sister to cry out in fear, he danced. Taehyung danced in the absence of the sun, in the endless rain that made him sick, and there was always someone else dancing with him, reaching out a hand. Someone who told him he was safe. And Taehyung was too young to think it was his own mind, trying to comfort himself in times of distress. 

When they lost their parents to a sickness they couldn’t afford to treat, Taehyung was left to take care of his ailing sister all by himself. A sister who yelled at him for stepping out in the roaring winds and rain so thick and strong he could barely see a few feet in front of him.

A sister who didn’t understand that the storm was his friend. 

It hadn’t taken him long to accept the storm’s friendship, though it was a bit strange. But he learned to accept it. Even when it started following him around wherever he went. 

It spoke to him sometimes.

It also didn’t take long for people to start thinking he was crazy, that there was something wrong with his mind. He didn’t know how to explain to them. 

The boy who became friends with the storm.

He was subject to teasing by the other kids in the town, and he’d often come home sporting bruises but taking it all in stride—the widest, boxiest grin on his face while his sister grumbled about it, fussing over a split lip, a black eye, which never lasted more than a week or so.

The storm disappeared one day, and its absence was jarring.

He didn’t know why, but it felt as if a part of him had been stolen once that storm left. It had been following him around his whole life, so why disappear at that moment?

Taehyung had wondered for a while. It was the only thought he fixated on for the better part of his childhood and early teen years, until he decided to do something about it. He used any leftover coins he could spare to save up for paint brushes and paints—blue, but also black and white. And he thought that was all he needed. 

Taehyung spent years painting the storm. It was imprinted into his memory. He created countless shades of blues and greys and whites and painted his storm to the best of his ability. His sister let him paint on the wooden surfaces of their small home once the canvases became too small, too restricting for the storm he called his friend.

Taehyung covered their house in blue and grey, and his sister always teased him that he was making it seem gloomy. But Taehyung didn’t see it that way, because the storm was his best friend.

Each time he picked up a paintbrush to bring his visions to life, it looked a little different. 

And every time he did, he thought his paintings were missing something.

Sometimes he’d paint grey, angry-looking clouds filled with heaps of water, ready to come crashing down—other times he’d paint lighter ones, mixed in with some blue skies and the promise of a new day. 

And then his sister fell sick. Much sicker than his parents had been. And Taehyung was forced to abandon his painting, instead saving his money towards finding a treatment for her.

He remembered it clearly—he was out in the market buying some fruit one day, when his gaze latched onto the paints that were being sold. And the colour that caught his eye first—yellow.

That was the moment he realized that his paintings were missing yellow.

That night, Taehyung brought home a can of yellow paint, and didn’t even stop to say hello to his sister before sprinting to the little kitchen, to the corner that he had been working on most recently, which was littered with brushes and pucks of paint, his smock laying discarded on a dry grey spot. He regarded the empty space carefully, his fingers tapping incessantly on his legs before he finally settled on an idea.

He painted until the moon came up that night. His sister had left him a candle to see by, but it had long been extinguished, and the moonlight shining in through the windows made him incredibly drowsy.

The storm returned again, its telling dark clouds covering the sky that was splattered with stars, and when the rain started falling, the moon shone through the dark clouds despite the storm. His storm.

He didn’t remember falling asleep. 

“Taehyung!”

His sister was calling him.

“Where were you?” she breathed, and Taehyung could see her wide eyes, could hear the way she wheezed, and how every one of her breaths seemed more laboured than the last. 

“I was looking for you all night,” she whispered.

Taehyung was vaguely aware that he was asleep, that he couldn’t move his body or open his eyes to call out to her. His body felt so heavy— 

He might have let out a sob as she felt her gently stroke his cheek with the backs of her fingers. 

“Taehyung,” she said again, his name said so lovingly that he wanted to curl up into her arms and tell her it would be okay, that she would be okay.

“I couldn’t find you.”

Taehyung was still fast asleep, still breathing deep and even, and though he willed himself to wake up he knew he couldn’t.

“Be good, Taehyung. Jimin told me that you are his Skyway. And all Skyways have their paths to follow.”

Skyway? Jimin?

Taehyung finally jerked awake. Each of his movements felt like wading through a pool of lead, and he went to stand, only to realize he had knocked over his new can of yellow paint.

All over his freshly painted sky from the night before.

Taehyung stood there while the echo of his sister’s words rang through his mind, as he stared in disbelief at his ruined painting, at the yellow he had been so hopeful for, swallowing his blue and grey and smothering his sadness in unbearable, bright, blinding yellow happiness.

There was a flash of lightning that illuminated the room and all Taehyung could do was stand still as a tear slipped down his cheek. It fell to the floor, mixing with the puddle of yellow paint spreading everywhere. 

Thunder rumbled. And Taehyung realized too late, even before he saw her pretty face frozen in a sad smile…

His sister had died. 

  4 Years Later.

 “Stop following me!” 

Taehyung threw the fishing nets down on the docks with a frustrated growl, throwing his head up to the sky, to the dark clouds swirling above his head, gathering in the distance. The other fishermen turned to give him strange looks, which he returned in kind. 

He was invaluable to the fishermen, because he could apparently predict storms, according to them. But it wasn’t predicting them so much as it was the storm following him and deciding to torment him at the most inconvenient moments. And it didn’t stop the fishermen from thinking he was cursed. 

Sometimes it felt as if there wasn’t a storm at all. Only himself, soaking and drowning in his own misery.

Ever since he had lost his sister years ago, he figured he should get a job to distract himself. A local fisherman had taken pity on him and had offered him an apprenticeship. They said he had sea legs, but Taehyung didn’t think his legs were meant for anything more than a crutch to hold his body, his broken soul.

“Oi, come here, boy,” the old man called out to him, and Taehyung shot to his feet, his eyes not leaving the storm in the distance. 

“You’re scaring the others,” he said, and Taehyung rolled his eyes at the comment. 

The old man stared at him for a second, and Taehyung shifted his weight on his other leg in anticipation. Was he doing a bad job? Had he reached the last straw? He knew he could be rather bothersome with his comments about the storm—which occasionally spoke to him through the thunder and lightning, though nothing concrete. It was enough to know that the storm was never going to leave his side no matter what, and Taehyung had to admit the storm had always been a huge source of comfort for him. It was there when his sister died, and it made him feel less… alone.

He didn’t appreciate it being a major inconvenience in his life, though.

“I think you need a job that will challenge you,” the old man continued, and Taehyung perked up at that.

“A job that will challenge me, sir?” 

Thunder rumbled in the distance, almost as if in agreement with that statement. Taehyung resisted the urge to tell it to be quiet.

“I recommended you to a travelling businessman who has been visiting our town under the name of Jung Hoseok. He’s been looking for interns, and I thought you’d be better off with a job that pays well rather than be stuck here tying knots for old men like me.” He gave Taehyung a friendly smile, but Taehyung’s own face was anything but friendly. 

“You… what?”

Taehyung didn’t want to work under a businessman. He knew how ruthless they could be, he knew what went on in their line of work, and he didn’t want a hand in any of it. That, and the fishery was something so familiar to him. He couldn’t just… leave.

“You could make a decent coin, and maybe learn a thing or two.” the old man added, clapping him on the shoulder. He let out a boisterous laugh as he walked past Taehyung, leaving him wondering if he’d be kicked out of the fishery if he declined this offer.

Thunder boomed, and a flurry of wind blew Taeyhung’s hair every which way. Men shouted to wrap up the work soon—the storm this time seemed to be strong.

Taehyung grabbed his umbrella off the hook inside the fishery building after work for the day. He planned to head home and do nothing but sleep until the storm passed. And when it settled in, he let it soak him from head to toe. He let the cold seep into his bones and basked in the feeling, wondering what had ruffled the storm’s feathers so much this time. It still whispered to him, and sometimes it felt like a bit of a nuisance, giving him information about the weather for the next day in the form of a gut feeling or just seeming to urge him into doing things like grabbing a coffee or picking up his paintbrush again. He had learned to block it out and ignore it.

But at times he could make out the voice of a young man. It was pretty and melodic, and he knew it was most likely all in his head. It would say one thing continuously, the only clear thing he could really make out aside from the overall feelings he got.

I’m here for you, it would say. Don’t forget about me. 

And it would piss him off to no end.

As Taehyung reached the busier part of town, with small cars crossing intersections, he stopped at a crosswalk that was stuck on a red light. 

He heard people whispering of the full moon, to be careful that the man-eating tiger would claim another victim tonight if they weren’t careful.

He scoffed, his gaze settling on a pretty little wide-eyed girl holding a small umbrella in her tiny, delicate fingers, her other hand holding her mother’s. While Taehyung had an umbrella, he never opened it. People never questioned it anymore, and he brought it along simply for the comfort of having one. Some people gave him looks even now, but never stopped to ask why he wasn’t opening it in the strong downpour. They had most likely heard of him and knew who he was.

The boy who became friends with the storm.

Taehyung methodically tapped the tip of his umbrella against the wet pavement, patiently waiting for the crosswalk light to turn green so they could cross.

He pushed his damp hair out of his face.

“Will the tiger eat me tonight, momma?”

“Sweetie, don’t say things like that. As long as you go to bed early, you’ll be fine.”

“But what if it’s hungry?”

Taehyung let out a low chuckle. He didn’t hear the mother’s response to her daughter once the light turned green and he quickly crossed the intersection. He thought it was all bullshit. There was no such thing as a man-eating tiger. No one had ever seen it—or at least, no one had ever lived long enough to tell the tale. 

He wasn’t sure why that little girl was on his mind as he walked home. Even when he passed out in his sad excuse for a bed, in the house that was drowning in yellow paint after all these years, that girl occupied his thoughts.

And he wondered the same thing she was wondering.

What if the tiger was hungry?

   There was a full moon tonight. And Jimin really wanted to see the tiger with his own eyes, even though he had seen him before from afar. He hadn’t told anyone, but the tiger was his best friend. Maybe he was in love with him, too—when he was human, at least.

But when he was a tiger, Jimin was able to speak to him—he didn’t want to take any chances by visiting him as a human. It could have disrupted the balance of things in the mortal world. As such, he was taking a huge risk in being here, in the town where the tiger lived, and he may very well be eaten before he could return to his place in the skies. But he knew the tiger would want to speak to him. And Jimin wanted to try and stop him from eating others—from consuming the flesh and bones of his own kind. He wanted him to remember.

He wanted to heal his misery, even though all Jimin brought was misery.

He pulled his hood closer around his face, relying on the silence of the town brought by the night of the full moon along with his storm to cover his tracks and to conceal him from view. His storm was raging tonight, and Jimin grinned. Just as he had planned.

Moonlight reflected off his straight, white teeth as he turned into a darkened alley, staying close to the brick walls of the building on one side. There was a soft, glowing blue light emanating from the dumpster at the end of the alley, and Jimin knew it had to be him. The tiger.

The human he had put a spell on.

The scene he was met with was a little gruesome. But he decided to ignore the fact that the tiger was currently feasting on a young girl, and decided to ignore the blood splattered all over his front. 

He watched from a distance—took in the sleek blue body of the large feline. His bony shoulder blades bobbed up and down as he chewed on the flesh of the poor girl—as he leaned down to take a chunk out of her already ravaged arm. 

Jimin ignored all that, and instead stood there watching it in awe. He was much more beautiful in person. His stripes were lighter blue in colour and stood out against its midnight coat, which seemed surreal and translucent. Nothing at all like the matted blue coat he had seen from high above. Jimin was rather impressed at how the spell turned his friend into a storm incarnate—there were even small bolts of lightning flashing around his body, in time with the flashes of lightning from the storm he had created. He had never understood why the tiger was blue, though. Weren’t tigers supposed to be orange and black? Not blue and grey. 

And they definitely weren’t supposed to be man-eating tigers. 

The young girl seemed to be dead, Jimin realized with a start as he took in her lifeless eyes, her frozen limbs as she was thrown around by the tiger, who was attempting to chew off another chunk of her arm. Blood splattered everywhere, and Jimin cringed. He didn’t necessarily care for humans, but even this was a little extreme. However, he didn’t dare step in and interrupt his friend’s meal until the tiger was completely satiated. 

The low growl he heard after a moment was indicative of just that, and Jimin cautiously turned his head around the corner of the building to look.

Bright, glowing eyes stared back at him. Eyes without pupils.

Jimin cleared his throat and attempted to seem somewhat intimidating as he held up a hand in greeting.

The tiger tilted its head in question. Jimin couldn’t take him seriously with all the blood covering his mouth and fur. He craned his neck to see the remains of the girl—but there was nothing but a pool of blood where her helpless body had been just moments ago.

Either he had eaten her entire body, or she had disappeared somehow once the tiger was finished feasting. Jimin wasn’t really sure how the spell worked to know for sure. Maybe that was why he was advised against using it. 

Either way, the tiger was staring him down.

“Um, hello,” Jimin began, pulling his hood down. “It’s me. Your friend.”

The tiger’s eyes widened in recognition.

You’re the storm? 

Jimin narrowed his eyes. The tiger was speaking, but not outwardly. He was speaking in his head. So Jimin nodded in confirmation. “Yes, that’s me. I’ve been following you.”

The tiger prowled over to him, and Jimin willed his feet to stay in place. The human form was so inconvenient.

I know you have. I asked you to stop.

The large feline was truly graceful, his  long tail swishing back and forth as it paced in front of him. Jimin gulped.

So you’re the one who’s been with me since that day. You danced with me.

Now Jimin smiled. “Yes.” 

The tiger stared at him, gently sitting himself down right in front of Jimin. Making eye contact with him. And Jimin’s smile faltered, almost as if he knew what his friend was going to say.

You spoke to my sister before she died.

The words skittered down his spine—he could never get used to the feeling of having bones—as the deep voice rumbled through his mind. The voice that felt so foreign coming from a tiger as opposed to a human like he was used to. It was a strangely loving voice, despite the grave words that were being said.  

“I did.”

The tiger glanced upwards to the sky—to the full moon that shone through the storm clouds. 

“You’re not going to ask what I told her?”

Do you have a name?

“Jimin. And you’re—”

It doesn’t matter who I am. The tiger stood then, returning to its pacing. Why did you come talk to me tonight? You never bothered to come before.

“I’ve been watching over you.”

But you’re human.

“You recognized me as the storm,” Jimin pointed out. “I have to say, you hurt my feelings when you told me to stop following you.”

The tiger went still, save for his tail, which was swishing back and forth around his lithe body, almost in consideration. He was too still, even for a predator.

Are you my guardian angel?

Jimin’s lips tugged upwards into a smirk.

“You could say that.”

Why have I never met you before?

“This is my first time coming here looking like this.” Jimin gestured widely to himself. “But you have met me. You talk to me every day. I always know what you’re thinking.”

I could eat you too, you know, the tiger said, turning his head to the pool of blood behind him.

“But you won’t.” Even as he said the words, Jimin was unsure. He was quite literally in the form of a human right now—when in this form, he needed the same bare necessities a normal human would require, and he hurt and bled and pissed the same way, too. 

Or so he was told.

The tiger seemed to narrow his eyes at him and scrutinize him, dragging its gaze up and down his human form. The form he had chosen was, admittedly, a very gorgeous one for a young man. He had tried to pick an appearance that he thought his friend would like—not too tall, with slender limbs and elegant facial features. Full lips and slanted eyes, and a straight nose. 

This wasn’t his first time venturing into the mortal world, but it had definitely been a while, and he had never been here as a human—the increasing rate of his heartbeat surprised him as the tiger stalked up to him. He circled Jimin slowly, his gaze never leaving him as Jimin followed with his feet. 

I think I’d like to meet you when I’m not a murderous tiger.

“About that,” Jimin started, “I need you to stop doing that.”

Stop eating?

“You can’t keep killing innocents.”

A husky, sensual laugh echoed in his mind, and Jimin felt blood rush to his cheeks. 

They haven’t caught me yet.

“You haven’t caught yourself yet.”

Wasn’t it you who put this spell on me?

Jimin’s mouth froze in an ‘o’. His friend had a point. But he didn’t know the details of the spell, and that was his own fault. He was determined to bring his friend back to normal and go back to being a storm following a human.

“Do you ever remember anything when you wake up?”

I wish I did. When I’m in this form I remember everything, but useless human me always goes about my day thinking there’s no such thing as a man-eating tiger.

“I’m trying to fix that.”

My umbrella, the tiger said. I use it to speak to you. Morse code, right?

Jimin nodded. “I taught you.”

I want to remember you, Jimin. The tiger stopped circling him then, and Jimin wanted to cry because of how desperate he sounded. 

“You will. I promise. But for now, you should go back,” Jimin said. “You’ve been here for long enough, and you might not make it home before the moon leaves.”

You’re the only human who’s met me, though. Can’t have that. I might have to eat you after all. The sly tone of his voice told Jimin he was poking fun at him, and he chuckled softly.

“I’m not a human. Not really. And I won’t tell anyone.”

With that, Jimin turned to leave but jumped in surprise when the tiger rubbed himself up against him, his head nuzzling into his chest. Jimin let out a deep sigh when he realized he was not being eaten, and he sat himself down in a puddle, not caring that he was in a human form and he was cold and wet and now he’d be dirty too. The tiger bumped his fuzzy head against his forehead, and Jimin carefully reached out a hand to stroke his cheeks.

“I’m sorry if you’re… bothered by me following you all the time, Taehyung.”

That was the first time Jimin had said his name aloud, and it felt so pleasant to feel it roll off his tongue like that. It felt intimate and loving, and he wanted to repeat his name like a mantra, over and over.

“I can stop if you’d like me to.”

No. Please. I need you, Jimin, You keep me sane.

The tiger didn’t say more, and Jimin didn’t push. He was already breaking so many rules by visiting him in person.  

Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung.

Jimin was absolutely smitten with a human—tiger. Whatever Taehyung was.

But Taehyung was his.  

So Jimin walked the tiger home as the moon took its leave for the night, as the tiger’s paws transformed into long, elegant fingers, as the yawn he took with his gaping maw became Taehyung’s familiar mouth stretching open and then relaxing into exquisitely carved lips that Jimin resisted the urge to kiss.

But he was unconscious as Jimin gently laid him down in the bed in that horrid yellow house where his sister had died, and Jimin really did press a kiss to his lips then—a promise that he would never leave his side.

His tiger. His human. His best friend. 

The human he was in love with. He couldn’t stop the idiotic grin from lighting up his face, and the feeling of his heart jumping out of his chest was one he was not familiar with—but it was only something that happened every time he so much as glanced at human Taehyung sleeping peacefully in that soft-looking bed of his.

Jimin was in a trance, and when he realized he was in love with Taehyung, he knew for a fact that he was royally fucked.

  The sun was enough to render him blind.

Taehyung was not used to the sun.

And he didn’t know where his storm had gone. 

He had the strangest dream last night. The little girl he had seen yesterday was still on his mind, and he wanted to make sure she was okay, for some reason.

But when he pulled on his favourite brown coat and scarf and grabbed his umbrella, he felt something… off. There was a strange quiet that had fallen over the town, and it was near deafening. Not at all what he was used to. 

Taehyung was wary as he stepped out of the small house, shielding his eyes with a hand—the sun was hot and bright today, and part of him wished it was at the very least cloudy. He began his usual daily trek downtown, but today he wasn’t headed to the fishery. 

There was a blood-curdling shriek, and then a cry, and Taehyung watched a crowd gather around an alleyway as the murmuring rose and more people broke into tears.

And as he pushed himself through the crowd, trying to get a good look at what they were so astonished by, Taehyung understood.

Someone else had died last night. The night of the full moon. He approached the woman he had seen yesterday, who was doubled over, sobs racking her entire body as she lay helplessly on the ground.

“My daughter,” she sobbed, “It took my daughter from me!”

Taehyung leaned down and placed a gentle hand on the woman’s shoulder as he glanced in the alleyway.

There was a large pool of blood there—and it was splattered on the brick walls and all over the front of the dumpster. But no body. 

“The tiger ate the poor girl,” someone was sobbing, and Taehyung’s blood froze. “Ate her entire body. It didn’t even leave anything behind.”

As much as he said the tiger was a myth and tried to convince himself that it was… how was it possible for these deaths to occur only on nights of a full moon? There was never a body left behind either. 

Taehyung flinched as a drop of rain hit him on the cheek.

He glared up at the sky, but all he saw was white, fluffy clouds, and sunlight. Blinding sunlight.

Nonetheless, Taehyung pulled his coat a little tighter around himself, adjusting the neck of the soft white turtleneck he had worn underneath before slipping away from the grieving crowd. 

He had worn his nicer coat today, because he wasn’t headed to the docks or the fishery for once. He was headed for the downtown cafe where he was to meet the businessman by the name of Jung Hoseok. The old fisherman had given him the name and address, and Taehyung was more than a bit nervous to meet Hoseok.

But for some reason, there was a name that would not leave his mind.

Jimin.

Whose name was that? It bothered him the entire time as he lined up to buy himself something to drink. 

He tried pushing that out of his mind, instead focusing on Hoseok and trying to come up with a potential scenario for how the meeting might go. He didn’t even know what this Hoseok looked like. But when the man behind him tapped him on the shoulder, he was met with a young, handsome face—wide, smiling eyes and a bright, heart-shaped grin. 

“You must be Taehyung,” he said, and Taehyung realized that this was Hoseok. 

“And you’re...a lot younger than I imagined,” Taehyung said slowly.

“Most people assume I’m an old man,” Hoseok chuckled. “Let me buy you a coffee.”

There was no room to argue, as Hoseok commanded the space he was in, and Taehyung was a bit taken aback by his bright aura despite how young he was. 

Once they were both seated across from each other with coffees, Taehyung blinked.

“Is this… supposed to be an interview?”

“Of sorts,” Hoseok said, sipping at his coffee. “I’m surprised you came. Most people hear the word ‘businessman’ and liken me to a money-loving prick.”

“You don’t look like a businessman.”

Indeed, Hoseok was dressed as a normal young man—much like Taehyung himself was dressed, with a long coat draped over himself, the sleeves hanging uselessly off his shoulders, and a sleek white shirt peeking out from underneath as he enveloped his coffee cup with his fingers. Taehyung watched the way he intertwined them.

However, the more he watched Hoseok and his slow, deliberate, calculated actions, the more he was convinced the young man really was a businessman.

“Appearances are deceiving,” Hoseok said, a smirk gracing his lips, and that name echoed in Taehyung’s mind again.

Jimin.

“I’ve been tasked by my company to look for young, fresh, new interns,” he said. “The old men at the docks have expressed to me how you seem rather… depressed lately. You have a sharp mind and a quick wit, or so I’m told.”

“Sharp… mind?”

Hoseok leaned forward. “How far away is the storm?”

Taehyung made a face. How did Hoseok know about that?

“Taehyung,” Hoseok continued, “did you know that a young girl was killed last night?”

His voice was soft. Too soft for the topic being discussed.

“I don’t believe I’m following,” Taehyung said with a nervous chuckle.

“Oh, but the storm is always following you . Does it whisper to you?”

Was he being tested?

“I can’t explain it,” Taehyung snapped. “So don’t ask me to try.”

Hoseok didn’t seem phased. “What does it say to you?”

“Is this an interview or an interrogation?”

Hoseok laughed, and Taehyung noticed the unnatural gleam in his eyes, and how the storm had been quiet ever since he had met up with Hoseok. It was never this quiet. In fact, it was rather sunny outside, which was quite unusual for his town.

Taehyung tapped his fingers on the table, deep in thought. Hoseok raised a brow in expectation.

“It’s my friend,” Taehyung said carefully. “But it doesn’t really tell me much.”

“Hmm.” Hoseok crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair, coffee cup forgotten. “Where is the storm now?”

“I don’t understand how any of these questions have to do with me being an intern.”

“They don’t.” Hoseok shrugged, and Taehyung stared at him in disbelief. “I’d just like to know why the old farts at the fishery think you’re so special.”

“Do you know someone named Jimin?” Taehyung blurted, tapping his fingers on the table again—a bit slower this time. He couldn’t feel the storm, and it was making him feel a little uncomfortable, especially with Hoseok’s invasive, overwhelming questions. 

I’m here. Still following. 

Taehyung tried to hide his relieved smile.

“I do,” Hoseok nodded, seeming to sit up a bit straighter. “Why, do you know him?”

Taehyung shook his head. “I just… I had a strange dream last night.”

Taehyung just barely made out people opening up their umbrellas in the periphery of his vision as Hoseok laughed and rain started to fall.

“He’s back,” Hoseok said. His smile was warm, but a little unsettling. 

“Who is?”

CHAPTER 1: GROVE OF SECRETS

Taehyung appreciated a lot of things. 

Growing up in a small village nested behind a grove of trees, he knew there was a lot more to life than luxuries such as fancy clothes or a sweet dessert after dinner. In fact, he appreciated a lack of those things sometimes. It made life simpler. He even came to appreciate a long day of hard work, of days spent lounging in the grove by the waterfall that was rumoured to possess healing powers. He even appreciated the antics of his best friend Yoongi, who had been with him through thick and thin. 

However, Taehyung did not appreciate the fact that Yoongi was currently kicking his ass in a sparring match—or the smell of blood that was making itself more apparent to him the longer he fought with Yoongi.

“Kiss my ass,” Taehyung spat, groaning as Yoongi shoved him down into the grass.

Yoongi grinned, showing off his gummy smile as he slowly pointed the tip of his sword to Taehyung’s throat as he looked down on him from above.

“Well, if you keep up that attitude, Tae, I’ll have to make you kiss mine.”

Taehyung made a face at Yoongi, using his elbows to prop himself up in the grass. Yoongi cocked his head, much like a cat would, and lowered his sword—pointed it at his crotch. “You might also want to kiss your favourite part goodbye.” 

Taehyung’s face fell, and Yoongi burst out into laughter, nearly falling over from how hard his body shook with the force of his laughs. Taehyung grumbled something incoherent under his breath and made sure Yoongi had put his sword away before sitting up cross-legged in the grass, removing his chestplate and rubbing at a sore spot on his arm. He pulled his fingers away, only to see them coated in blood, and let out a heavy sigh. Yoongi had grazed his arm with his sword during their match. They used to spar with wooden swords to avoid hurting each other, but the Elders of their village had started encouraging them to use real swords. Sharp, heavy ones. They had taken a while to get used to—about three to four years, since they were much larger and heavier than the wooden ones. Needless to say, the two of them hurt themselves a lot while learning, Yoongi more so than Taehyung. There was always blood after a match, but thankfully they hadn’t hacked each other’s limbs off yet. The protective gear they wore was helpful, but it didn’t stop them from being nicked by the edges of the blades or accidentally cutting themselves.

“Shit,” Taehyung mumbled, covering the cut with the palm of his hand. “You grazed me.”

Yoongi walked over, dropping his sword in the grass before crouching down on his haunches. “Let me see.” He gently took Taehyung’s hand away from his bleeding arm, and pulled a roll of bandages from inside the canvas bag they always brought with them—full of first aid supplies and some fruit, along with a canteen of water. The way Yoongi worked in silence was so endearing. He concentrated his focus on dealing with Taehyung’s injury, and the whole time Taehyung watched the way Yoongi’s brows furrowed, and the way he bit his lip slightly, taking pains to clean the blood so thoroughly. He watched Yoongi’s calloused fingers dip into the can of salve and then apply it around his cut before wrapping his arm with the bandages, making sure it was tight enough and then tucking the end in to secure it. The blood immediately soaked through the bandages, but Taehyung knew it would clot soon—the bandage was wrapped tightly. 

“Sorry,” Yoongi mumbled, glancing up at Taehyung, who gave him a fond smile in return. 

“Don’t be sorry, Yoongi. I’ll just beat you next time.”

“I am sorry, Tae,” Yoongi said, his lips forming a little pout. “I’m sorry I’m so much better than you with a sword.”

“You little—” Taehyung moved to grab Yoongi, tackling him to the ground and jumping on top of him. Yoongi tried to shove him away, laughing the entire time. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself again!” he said in between chuckles, until finally Taehyung gave him an obscene gesture and backed away—only to realize he was straddling Yoongi. Taehyung licked his lips in a teasing manner, and Yoongi narrowed his eyes. 

They were friends. Brothers, according to the Elders. But Taehyung knew they had a different sort of bond, and it was precisely why he loathed the Elders calling the two of them brothers. He admired Yoongi, and Yoongi cared for him in such intimate ways sometimes—patching up his wounds, for instance. Not to mention the lingering gazes and affectionate touches in spots no brother would ever dare allow their fingers to brush.

He had never read too deep into anything. They were friends. And that was all Taehyung knew. 

Yoongi scoffed, and Taehyung cleared his throat, easing himself off of Yoongi lest things get more awkward. His arm had begun pulsing, and although the both of them expected to have little nicks and cuts like this all the time, it didn’t mean he hated the smell of blood or the pain any less. He had just become used to it.

Yoongi leaned back in the grass, closing his eyes and seeming to breathe in the mist of the waterfall that flowed into the river. The both of them were seated by the riverbank, which had become their little getaway from their village. They always came here to spar, and knew the terrain well enough to navigate with blindfolds and their hands tied behind their backs. 

And like clockwork, after a match, Yoongi would start complaining.

“I don’t know why it’s a requirement for us to learn how to use swords.” 

“You know why, Yoongi.” Taehyung picked at the blades of grass, ripping them out of the ground and throwing them into the river. “It’s for our own protection.”

“They encourage us to hurt each other. They want us trained and primed to fight in future wars for an emperor that doesn’t care for us. An emperor that doesn’t know how to rule, who would rather sacrifice us than his own people. He probably beheads everyone who disobeys him and then puts them on display.”

Taehyung scoffed. Yoongi always blamed everything on the emperor.  

“Well, it’s better we know how to endure pain now rather than later, if we ever find ourselves in such a situation. Besides, I don’t know why you’re complaining. You’re the ace around here. The Elders even want you to teach the kids.”

“I’m not teaching them.” Yoongi huffed, crossing his arms in a stubborn manner. “I volunteered, so you have to do it with me.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

Yoongi didn’t argue further, because Taehyung knew that wherever he went, Yoongi would follow him. 

Taehyung sighed, falling backwards into the grass. “Do you think you could be a better ruler, then?”

He was met with silence. He glanced over to see Yoongi contemplating the question, looking out across the river in sort of a trance. 

“Yes.”

Yoongi shifted himself so he was sitting beside Taehyung, his legs stretched out in front of him. “I think I could be a very fair ruler, you know. I would make everyone train, not just the young men in the villages.”

“Even the rich, pompous nobles?” “ Especially the rich, pompous nobles.”

“Learning how to use a sword never hurt anyone.” Taehyung had to laugh at the irony of his statement. Because they had gotten hurt. A lot. Even Yoongi chuckled. 

“It’s a hard job,” Taehyung said after a while, grunting as he sat up to look at Yoongi, reaching forward to remove his boots. He winced slightly as the movement caused his injured arm to ache. “It’s a ton of pressure. Rules and regulations. Meetings and sleepless nights. I’m sure there’s more to being an emperor than simply dictating what people can and can’t do.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes. “You think I don’t know that?” He paused, seeming to want to continue, but the question that left his mouth had Taehyung involuntarily laughing.

“Are—are you stripping?” 

Taehyung threw his boots to the side and stood, ignoring Yoongi, who was suddenly very appalled. 

He was, in fact, stripping. But it wasn’t something new for them. They used to swim in the river all the time as kids—though it had been a while since they had done so, and Taehyung just wanted to have some fun.

“You’re not going to join me?” Taehyung asked, a hint of mischief lining his words. He slowly took off his tunic, letting it fall to the ground before removing his robes underneath, leaving him shirtless. 

“I—it’s just—“

“Come on, Yoongi,” Taehyung whined, testing the water with his toes. “It’s a pretty warm day, and the water’s a perfect temperature. You’ll regret it later.”

He looked over his shoulder to see Yoongi crossing his legs, forearms resting on his knees as he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I’m meditating.”

“No you’re not, you bastard.” Taehyung grabbed Yoongi by his bicep, pulling him up—much to his dismay—and stared at him. 

“Stop ruining my fun,” Taehyung grumbled. “You’d be a boring emperor.” 

And before Yoongi had a chance to respond, Taehyung shoved him forward, right into the river. Yoongi fell quite hard, the water splashing up all around him as he screamed—out of anger, frustration, surprise, Taehyung didn’t know. But he bit his lip in anticipation because he knew Yoongi wasn’t going to let him live after this. 

Yoongi came up, sputtering as he slicked his hair back with his fingers, and shot Taehyung a glare that would have killed him had it been a dagger. And then Yoongi reached forward and grabbed Taehyung’s leg, pulling him in with him.

Taehyung cackled as he was dragged under, but he was pleased to know that he still had dry clothes waiting for him, at least. Yoongi, on the other hand…

“I fucking hate you, Kim Taehyung. Don’t think we’re going to stay friends after this.”

“Duly noted. But, you know—“ Taehyung was cut off as a splash of water hit him right in the face, and he was rendered blind for a few moments as he coughed up water, rubbing furiously at his face. 

“You asshole.”

And so they started splashing each other with water, Yoongi horribly soaked and Taehyung flaunting the fact that he had the decency to take his clothes off before getting wet. Taehyung didn’t know how long they played for, like little kids enjoying a swim in the river under the hot summer sun. They only ceased their childish antics once the sun started lowering in the sky, painting the trees and the waterfall with a lovely golden hue that reflected off the water droplets on Yoongi’s pale skin and made him gleam. 

When Yoongi dragged himself out of the water, he lay down on the bank with a groan, attempting to remove his robes which were sticking to his skin from how thoroughly wet they were. Taehyung, on the other hand, grabbed his tunic, slipping it on before taking his robe and chucking it at Yoongi. 

“Put it on,” he said. “It’s dry and you’re wet. Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.” Especially with the sun going down and the air becoming considerably cooler, more so around the waterfall and the river. The trek back to the village wasn’t far—but Yoongi was always complaining about how he hated traversing through the woods. Taehyung knew it would be even worse for him if he was wet and cold. 

“Thanks for caring,” Yoongi grumbled, hastily removing his wet clothes and putting on Taehyung’s robe. 

Taehyung only chuckled, picking up his sword from where he had left it and holding the blade up to the sky, admiring the way the sun shone off the metal surface. The ray of sunlight reflected off the metal in such an exquisite way, and Taehyung angled the sword slightly. 

“What are you doing?” Yoongi called. “We have to get going. It’s getting late and the Elders will think we’re sparring with our other swords.”

Taehyung snorted at Yoongi’s crude comment, ignoring the way his words caused heat to ignite in the pit of his stomach, and angled the sword a little more under the sun’s rays—and then he was blinded, and he stepped back, stumbling into Yoongi’s waiting arms as the sword fell to the ground.

“Taehyung—”

“Wait,” Taehyung snapped, bounding forward on his knees to grab the sword again. He angled it the same way he had before, praying that the sun hadn’t gone down significantly. He prepared to be blinded again, bracing himself for the bright light, and when it happened, he realized why. He angled it a different way to test his theory. Sure enough, the light bounced back, just as it had before. 

“Yoongi, look at this.” Taehyung ushered Yoongi over, who looked perplexed as ever. 

“What am I looking at?”

“The light,” Taehyung said. “Watch. It hits the sword, and then bounces into the waterfall. But…” Taehyung angled the sword, demonstrating to Yoongi what he noticed. Yoongi narrowed his eyes. 

“Wait a second—“

The ray of light seemed to hit something behind the waterfall, which was the cause of the gleaming, and the light bent right back to them.

Taehyung shot his gaze to Yoongi, lips slowly pulling into a wide grin. “There’s something behind that waterfall.”

Yoongi blinked. And then he turned his face to the sky, offering up a quick prayer to the Gods that Taehyung knew was meant to mock him more than anything. 

“Let’s go see what it is,” Yoongi sighed, defeat weighing his words down. 

Taehyung was surprised Yoongi had agreed even before he could propose the idea of looking, because he knew Yoongi just wanted to get home and get dry and eat. But there was something behind that waterfall—maybe a cave of some sort, and the gleaming couldn’t be a coincidence. 

So the two of them carefully trekked their way to the edge of the waterfall, stepping over rocks and avoiding gnarled roots of tree branches. It wasn’t dark yet, but in a couple hours the sun would be down completely and they’d be left navigating their way back home without a torch to light their path, so he understood Yoongi’s concern. 

But Taehyung’s curiosity was a beast whose thirst could never be quenched.

The roar of the waterfall as they approached was enough to render Taehyung deaf while they searched for an opening that they could get through—there was a cave behind the waterfall, that much Taehyung knew, but he had never thought to explore it until now. It wasn’t as if Yoongi would have allowed him to, anyway. He was surprised Yoongi had offered to go explore.

Taehyung grabbed onto Yoongi’s arm for support as he felt the pressure of the water the closer they got to the fall—the two of them holding each other tight. And then they held their breaths and dove in, emerging in a cave on the other side. 

Taehyung rubbed at his face to clear his eyes, and saw that they had already reached a crossroads. There were two openings, each equally as dark and equally as uninviting. The sun had gone down even more while they had made their way to the cave, and now it was level with the entrance, providing them with enough light to see, but not enough to travel far into the openings without being functionally blind. 

“We don’t have any torches.”

“No shit,” Taehyung grumbled, unsheathing his sword. 

“Are you going to do some magic shit with the sun and your sword again?” Yoongi said, tone mocking. 

“Ha-ha,” Taehyung deadpanned.

He stared at the walls of the cave, at the dampness of the ceiling and the way water dripped onto the ground. He slowly dragged his eyes all across the openings and the entrance, turning around and carefully scanning the entire area, and soon Yoongi got the hint too, and they both spent a good few minutes looking for anything that could have been the source of that gleam.

“There’s nothing shiny here,” Yoongi mumbled. “At least, I don’t see anything.”

They both turned to look at the two openings.

“There’s no way the light reached all the way inside there,” Yoongi said. “Right?”

Taehyung turned his back to the entrance, lifting his sword again. “I wonder…”

He was able to catch one of the sun’s setting rays on his sword, angling it first into the opening on the right—which yielded no results. 

“Taehyung, we should go,” Yoongi urged, tugging at his sleeve. “I’m cold and wet and hungry, and I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

“Wait.”

“Waiting.” Yoongi tapped his foot impatiently, crossing his arms to get his point across. And Taehyung realized how dark it had gotten, and he prayed he could catch the final stretch of the sun’s rays before it disappeared over the horizon. He angled his sword again, wanting desperately to know if there was indeed something shiny in that opening somewhere. 

But he didn’t catch the sun in time.

“Shit,” he hissed, throwing his sword to the ground out of frustration. 

The ground rumbled, and the two of them looked at each other in uncertainty. Pointing to the sword, Taehyung mumbled, “Did—did I do that?”

Yoongi shook his head fervently, drawing his own sword and suddenly taking an offensive stance, aiming it at the right entrance—the one Taehyung hadn’t been able to shine a light in. 

“I think there is something in here, Tae. Something alive.” 

Taehyung warily stepped forward to the opening, his hand trailing along the walls of the cave. His eyes registered a flash of light, and he blinked, sure he had imagined it and this was just a side effect of being blinded from the sun earlier. 

But then he heard a low growl—soft and guttural. From something that was decidedly not human. 

“Tae,” Yoongi warned, enunciating each word. “We should leave.” 

“That’s not human,” Taehyung whispered, rubbing his arms. Goose flesh had covered his skin, and he shivered—not entirely from the cool atmosphere.

“I know it’s not,” Yoongi hissed, “which is why we need to leave.”

“You can leave,” Taehyung snapped. “I want to know what this thing is.”

Taehyung stepped forward again, and his foot caused a rock to skitter along the floor of the cave—and the rumbling became slightly louder.

“Taehyung,” Yoongi called again, more desperate this time. Taehyung turned to give Yoongi an obscene gesture, but when he turned back, there were eyes staring back at him—eyes that glowed in the dark, making it seem as if they were floating in the blackness. 

Taehyung stilled, and he didn’t think he was breathing as he processed what he was seeing. Two yellow eyes that glowed, with thin slits of black acting as the pupils. The longer he stood there, the stronger he felt the rumbling, and the sounds of breathing that came closer to him after every second.

“Taehyung,” Yoongi murmured, voice so soft. “Don’t move. I’m coming up behind you. Just grab my arm and back away, slowly.”

Taehyung nodded, knowing that Yoongi couldn’t see in the dark that continued to envelop them and plunge them further into blindness. He reached his arm out behind him, feeling around for Yoongi, and he almost cried out of relief when he felt Yoongi’s calloused fingers gripping his own, interlocking them together as he slowly pulled him back. And then Yoongi was shoving his sword in his hand, his voice quieter than even the stealthiest of hawks as he whispered, “In case it attacks. Be ready.”

He didn’t even know what it was. And he didn’t think he wanted to know anymore. 

Then there was a growl, and it caused the both of them to jump.

“Yoongi, if we die, I’m sorry.”

“If we live, I’ll kill you myself,” Yoongi hissed.

Taehyung flinched, but he knew deserved that one. 

They managed to back up enough to be able to touch the waterfall with their fingertips, and Taehyung watched as the eyes staring at them blinked and then backed away with a final growl. Yoongi and Taehyung were silent as they gripped each other, fumbling their way back out of the cave and onto the riverbank. Luckily the sky was clear and the moon lit the way for them so they could at least see enough not to trip over their own feet, but the pointed silence between them was awkward and deafening, and Taehyung knew Yoongi was mad. 

“So, um… what do you think that was?” Taehyung tried, trailing alongside Yoongi and haphazardly hacking at tree branches with his sword. 

Yoongi grumbled something under his breath, but ultimately ignored him. 

“Yoongi, come on.”

“We could have died, Taehyung.” His voice was clipped, and Taehyung could see his jaw was set. 

“But… we didn’t. And might I remind you, it was your idea to go explore.”

Yoongi quickened his pace, and Taehyung found he was having trouble keeping up. His legs were a little sore, and his injured arm was making itself apparent to him again—the pain had lessened to a dull throbbing, but it was starting to spread to the rest of his arm too, making any small movement painful. 

Taehyung tried to rack his brain, thinking of what that creature in the cave could have been, why it was there, and what it could have been guarding.

How many times had they fooled around in that grove without knowing there was something like that lurking behind a waterfall in a cave they were wholly unaware of until today?

“What do you think it’s protecting?”

“Who says it’s protecting anything?” Yoongi snapped, not even turning to look at Taehyung. “It probably just wanted to kill us. It was a beast. I don’t care if it’s guarding something or not. That thing is most likely a monster. Who knows how many skeletons are lying in that cave as we speak?”

“Yoongi, you’re overreacting.”

Yoongi whirled on Taehyung, pointing his sheathed sword at him, and Taehyung skidded to a halt. “Just…” 

Taehyung raised a brow. 

“...don’t tell the Elders,” Yoongi finished with a sigh.

Taehyung grinned. “Who said anything about telling them?”

  Taehyung and Yoongi got quite the beating from the Elders once they returned home, and Madam Min, Yoongi’s grandmother—the leader of their village—was the harshest of them all. She was usually kind to them and encouraged their antics, but she was in a foul mood tonight. Yoongi hadn’t dared ask what had soured his benevolent grandmother’s mood so easily, and had silently accepted the punishment she saw fit for the both of them—five lashes to each of their backs, with the thin wooden sticks specially carved for beating troubled young kids into line. They even received a lengthy lecture afterwards, but he supposed they got off easy for being Madam Min’s favourites.

Their backs ached after the entire ordeal, and they held onto each other for support as they trudged their way back to Taehyung’s home. Madam Min hadn’t allowed Yoongi to stay with her, so Taehyung had no choice but to offer up what little space he had in his hut. 

He had to share his rather small room with Yoongi, and the two of them groaned as they tripped over their feet and Taehyung’s mother grabbed the both of them, pulling them by their ears and giving them yet another scolding worthy of Madam Min’s praise.

The two of them lay in silence after retreating to Taehyung’s room—which couldn’t even be considered a room because of how small it was. They stared at the ceiling in wait, expecting each other to initiate a conversation and address what they had seen and whether or not they deserved to be beaten so harshly over coming home after sundown. 

Taehyung was the one to break the silence first. 

“They want us to start training the kids next week, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t, but thank you.”

The silence stretched out for a little longer after Yoongi’s cold dismissal, and Taehyung scoffed, shoving him with his elbow. “You’ve been exactly like the Matron lately.” By Matron , he meant Yoongi’s grandmother herself—Madam Min. They referred to her as the Matron— a name that had started out as a joke between the two of them, but had soon spread to the youngsters of the village, and soon every young man and woman was calling Madam Min the Matron .

Yoongi shrugged. “She is my grandmother.”

“Do you have any idea why she was so angry today?”

“No. And we’re not telling her about the cave, Taehyung.”

“I’m going to look into it.”

“What?”

The cogs in Taehyung’s mind had started turning. He knew there was an underground restricted section in the village’s small library—a section that the Elders told them contained ancient scrolls and texts full of dangerous spells. The restricted section was warded and locked up every night to prevent anyone from getting in, and it was said to hold the secrets of their ancestors’ utilization of magic as well. 

Taehyung had always been curious about it, but had never dared try to get in. He wasn’t much of a reader, but he had a feeling there was something down there that would tell him about the cave behind the waterfall, and the creature that currently resided there.

A creature that he and Yoongi may very well have woken from a prolonged slumber. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll let you know what I find,” Taehyung whispered, turning on his side, his back to Yoongi as he began hatching up a plan to sneak into the library tomorrow night. 

“Taehyung, you better not be getting us into trouble,” Yoongi murmured. There was a rustling sound, and Yoongi turned over as well so their backs were to each other, and Taehyung made sure to finalize the details of his plan in his head before the two of them drifted off to sleep. 

The next morning, though, they were told by Taehyung’s mother that they were to report straight to Madam Min—so they dressed and ate breakfast in a rush, stuffing their cheeks full of pieces of bread as they rushed to see her, knowing if they were even a second late they would again be beaten.    

The Matron wasn’t happy, and she had them kneel before her in the main room of her brightly decorated hanok as she stood with her hands behind her back, pacing in front of the both of them. Even for a wizened old lady who seemed ready to move on to the next life any day, she had a temper. And she was terrifying, and absolutely marvelous with a sword—she had taught Yoongi everything he knew, and Taehyung saw many of her qualities in him. 

Taehyung and Yoongi were bowing at the Matron’s feet out of respect, and Taehyung’s back seemed to ache more than it had last night—as if it was remembering the pain it had endured from the Elders’ sticks. Nose to the wooden floor, he glanced over at Yoongi, whose eyes were closed as he breathed deeply.

“Sit up,” she demanded, and Yoongi and Taehyung got up, perfectly in sync, their backs straight and rigid as they looked ahead.

“Relax yourselves. I didn’t call the two of you here to chastise you again.”

Taehyung released a heavy breath and relaxed his back, but he noticed Yoongi stayed sitting straight. 

“His Imperial Majesty visited yesterday while you boys were out frolicking in the fields. I won’t ask why you were out for so long,” she grumbled, and Taehyung had to scoff as a jolt of pain ran through his arm—where Yoongi had stabbed him by accident yesterday. 

“He—he was here?” Yoongi sputtered.

Taehyung knew how much Yoongi seemed to idolize Emperor Kwon, while at the same time being very critical of his way of ruling the Empire. Sometimes he spoke as if he were Emperor, and Taehyung loved to entertain his delusions, because they were just that—delusions.

The Matron huffed, clearly agitated. “Yes, Yoongi. Don’t piss yourself.”

Taehyung had to bite his tongue to resist the urge to laugh, and he could feel Yoongi’s glare as Madam Min continued. 

“He was unhappy.” 

The two of them went rigid at her curt statement.

“Unhappy, grandmother?” Yoongi murmured. 

Emperor Kwon was known for his unexpected moods, and there were rumours of a room in his palace built especially for him to set things on fire in order to release his anger and frustrations—a better alternative and improvement from his youth of setting small animals on fire instead. Yoongi had read all about the Emperor—knew every detail about him, from where he was born to the scholars that taught him, right down to the meals he liked and disliked. The only reason Taehyung knew so much about Emperor Kwon was because Yoongi never shut up about him. Taehyung thought it was an unhealthy obsession, but a strange part of him felt as if it might be useful one day.

Yoongi insisted that knowing whose rule they were under was crucial for them. But Taehyung didn’t think he needed to know the Emperor hated kids. Though, he supposed it made sense that there were no heirs to the throne because of it.

Madam Min looked around nervously, before heading over to draw the curtains closed, blocking out any sunlight and shielding them from outside view.

“I’m sure you boys have heard of Bangamgi. ”

Taehyung’s blood went cold, and he gave Yoongi a concerned look. Bangamgi was a myth in their village—one which no one ever spoke too fondly about. It was a type of magic used by their ancestors, and some thought it was what had been their downfall. 

“What about it, grandmother?” Yoongi spoke slowly.

The Matron took a deep breath. “Its essence has been trapped in a sword by the same name.” 

Taehyung’s mind was racing. The cave they had found… could it be possible that the creature in there was guarding Bangamgi? 

Taehyung snuck a glance at Yoongi, who also looked at him—they were definitely thinking the same thing.

“The Emperor believes the sword is hidden somewhere around or in our village. He demanded I hand it over.”

“But… we don’t know where it is,” Taehyung spoke slowly.

Madam Min turned her back to them, hands clasped behind her back as she paced.

“That’s why I called you boys here. I know how invested you two are in researching the past.”

Taehyung gaped. “Madam, it’s just Yoon—“

Yoongi smacked his arm, effectively shutting Taehyung up. 

“I need you to find out everything you can about Bangamgi. His Imperial Majesty threatened to sack our village to get that sword himself if need be. Who knows what will happen if it gets in the wrong hands? We need to find it before he can get that far.”

“He threatened to sack our village?” Yoongi’s face turned sour. “Grandmother, with all due respect, he has no grounds to do that. We know just as well as he does that Bangamgi was locked up for a reason.”

“And why do you want us to do this?” Taehyung asked, a little skeptical.

“I would do it myself, but it’s a time sensitive task. Time that I don’t have. I know you boys are always wasting your days by the waterfall doing the Gods know what. Consider it a punishment for coming home so late last night.”

“We already received our punishment, grandmother,” Yoongi grumbled.

“If I’m honest… I trust you two the most. I need you to find Bangamgi and make sure it’s either locked up or, preferably, destroyed. Anything to make sure it doesn’t reign destruction like it once did in the past.”

“What about our village, grandmother? Do you really think Emperor Kwon is that understanding?”

“We will survive. We always have.”

Taehyung placed a hand on his chin and took a moment to process this information.

After a while he came to the conclusion that they were doomed, whether they found Bangamgi or not.

But… there was another idea floating around in his mind. If that cave from yesterday really did happen to be the resting place of Bangamgi, and the Matron was asking them to go looking for it…

“We need access to the library’s restricted section,” Taehyung blurted.

“No, we don’t,” Yoongi snapped, shooting Taehyung a glare.

“Access granted,” Madam Min said.

Taehyung grinned while a flabbergasted Yoongi began arguing with his grandmother about why they shouldn’t be snooping around the restricted section of the library, but all Taehyung could think about was the creature they had encountered yesterday. 

PROLOGUE: WRAITH

Kim Seokjin was a storyteller.  

It was the way he weaved his words together, the way he took on countless roles at once and played them to perfection—his facial expressions conveying even the tiniest of emotions through a single muscle shift, a raised brow. 

The stories he told were tales of grandeur, of men fighting monsters thought to have gone extinct thousands of years ago, and magic dark and powerful enough to raise an army of the dead. The stories he told were brutal, and unkind even to those who were listening, drawn in to his captivating gestures and precise way of spinning together narratives that Taehyung sometimes had trouble believing were true.

“They’re all true,” Seokjin would insist, “I would never scare you diligent young men with such useless anecdotes.”

Taehyung came to learn that Seokjin only ever gave them firsthand accounts of the tales he told his guild—and used a special sort of sorcery to make each scene come alive in their minds. And despite his stories that more often than not contained enough violence and horror to instill fear even in the fearless, Seokjin would always remind them of one thing.

“Do as I say. Not as I do.”

Because Kim Seokjin was a man full of recklessness, covered in scars that each had a story of their own. Taehyung admired him for his bravery, for his caring and fatherly nature in spite of it, and wondered just how far that quality of his could be stretched before he snapped.

And a part of him knew he was reliving one of Seokjin’s stories now, but this one was different. It was a tale that hardly consisted of any violence—but Seokjin insisted that it was by far the most bone-chilling story he had ever heard from his good friend Hobi, who was something of a myth in their guild. The man supposedly moved like water, which had earned him the nickname of the Wraith. Taehyung didn’t even think Hobi was his real name. He had never seen or met him to ask for himself, but he trusted Seokjin’s accounts nonetheless.

“I don’t doubt the credibility of this story at all,” Seokjin was saying, “because I think you men need to hear it. As a reminder of the evils that reside in our world.”

Kim Seokjin was a storyteller, which gave him the ability to make his words come alive. Taehyung was so vividly able to picture every detail Seokjin laid bare, every nuance and texture he described, as if he was there himself. 

There was a cloaked, hooded man, a little on the shorter side, walking with a gait that screamed confidence and cockiness—perhaps a little too much. 

Taehyung could picture the scenery perfectly—a bustling market, vendors selling their wares, a butcher slicing meat—hands stained red from the blood of the creature—and he could even smell the aromas of fresh stew being boiled, of spices he didn’t even know the names of. It smelled wonderful, and reminded him of home. There were young men and women in colourful garments strolling along the streets, couples arm-in-arm and young children begging their parents to buy them the handmade wooden toys that were crafted with such care by the elders in the town.

The hooded man walked through it all, seeming so out of place in his dark cloak, not bothering to pay any mind to the townsfolk that gawked at him as he brushed past.

He seemed to be… in a hurry. 

And somewhere far away, Taehyung could hear Seokjin narrating the entire scene as it played out in his mind. As if he was simply a spectator in a time long past. 

And maybe he was.

He followed the hooded man, watching as he hastily stepped out of the market, now heading to what Taehyung assumed was the wealthier part of the empire. The tall buildings and colourful decorations were characteristic of the Emperor’s hometown, and Taehyung knew there must be some sort of celebration happening.

He wasn’t sure where the hooded man was headed, not understanding why he turned into a dark alleyway, one that reeked—the stench pungent enough that it burned Taehyung’s nose, and he had to hold his breath to avoid breathing it in.

He heard Seokjin’s gentle laughter from far away, muffled.

“It isn’t real,” Seokjin said, breaking the story for a moment. 

Taehyung released his breath, and found he couldn’t smell anymore. He didn’t allow himself to dwell on the powerful magic Seokjin used to enable him to use all of his senses in a story being told—instead focusing on what the hooded man was up to.

He approached a little girl sitting on the cracked and dirty ground—a little girl who seemed to live in the worst end of the slums—Taehyung didn’t make the connection until he noticed there were homes in the narrow street lined with gutters that acted as waste disposal for all these poor people.

And then the hooded man pulled out an apple from a sack hidden inside his cloak, throwing it up in the air a couple of times. An apple in a sack that Taehyung thought looked all too familiar. 

Did he know this man?

“You might,” Seokjin called out. Taehyung hadn’t realized he said the words aloud until Seokjin answered him. He wanted to ask how Seokjin was so sure, but he decided to wait and listen—see the rest of the story play out.

The hooded man held out the apple to the little girl, who eagerly took it and immediately took a bite out of it, devouring the fruit until even the core was gone. And all the man did was watch her. 

Taehyung couldn’t see his face, or hear what he was saying very clearly, but he seemed to be making some sort of a promise to the girl. He placed the sack in her hands—her face lighting up at the gesture. Taehyung was able to glimpse a smile before he turned his back and headed into the main square once more.

In fact, he was headed to the wooden job board mounted in the middle of the town square—where there was a group of people swarming around it as a young man dressed in a uniform of the Imperial Guard hammered a notice into the board. A second man with bright eyes stood guard beside him, hand dutifully resting at the pommel of his sword while people whispered as to what the announcement could be about.

The hooded man stepped forward, trying to push his way into the crowd to see what the commotion was about. He made eye contact with one of the guards—who gave him a wide grin that resembled a heart.

“His Imperial Majesty is looking for a professional swordmaster to help him hone his skills,” a young man read. 

The guard who was hammering the notice into the board gave the crowd a demeaning look before stepping down and walking away, motioning for the other to follow. 

But the other guard stood still for a moment, grin faltering as he studied the hooded man, who Taehyung noticed was reaching for a sword at his side. And somehow, Taehyung knew that the other guard was Hobi. 

This vision—this story—was being told from Hobi’s perspective. 

Taehyung stayed silent while Seokjin continued to weave the tale. The landscapes changed so naturally, homes and sloped roofs giving way to rows of autumn trees—brilliantly washing the atmosphere in hues of reds and oranges, leaves falling into the nearby pond. The pavilion overlooking the pond was breathtaking—built above the ground and supported only by wooden stilts. Taehyung guessed it to be the Emperor’s private residence away from the palace—his space for relaxation.

He realized Hobi was standing watch alongside the other guard from earlier—and he noticed they were both eyeing each other strangely.

But Taehyung wasn’t interested in them. He was focused on that same hooded man from earlier, who was seated on the floor with the Emperor—a low, wooden table separating the two of them. Taehyung took a moment to admire the flowing silk curtains—embroidered in golden filigree that glittered under the sun, swaying in the breeze that he could feel on his face. The entire atmosphere was rather calm and peaceful, but even Taehyung could feel the electric uncertainty that fizzled in the air around the pavilion.

The Emperor seemed to be conversing with the hooded man, who reached forward to grab his cup of tea. He hesitantly sipped at it, and Taehyung focused in on what the Emperor was saying.

“...realize you do not have the qualifications.”

Taehyung blinked. So the hooded man had signed up to be a swordmaster then. But why was he discussing it privately with the Emperor? Had he been chosen?

The man took another sip of his tea, and Taehyung wished he would take his hood off so he could confirm this was who he thought it was—though he desperately wanted to be wrong. “Your Excellency,” the man started, voice smooth as he finally, finally reached forward to remove his hood.

“I believe I am overqualified for this job.”

Taehyung’s heart stopped in his chest.

He did know this man.

But he wished he didn’t. 

He didn’t need Seokjin to tell him the rest of the story, because he knew the rest. Or could infer well enough what would happen. 

“Stop,” Taehyung said, and suddenly the lush pond cracked around him, Hobi and the young man and the Emperor evaporating into thin air as he came face to face with a stone-faced Seokjin. “I don’t need to hear the end of it,” Taehyung murmured. “I know how it ends.”

There was barely any reaction from Seokjin, save for the slightest twitch of his brow. “I told you there’s no violence in this—“

“I don’t want to hear it.”

And that was that. Seokjin didn’t bother him about it again, and Taehyung didn’t ask, as much as he wanted to.

He didn’t know how to live with the fact that his best friend had killed the Emperor with the very sword that he was after. 

He couldn’t live with it. Every day, it drove him slightly insane just thinking about how he could have saved him, could have brought him here, to Seokjin’s mercenary guild, where they could have happily spent their lives doing dirty jobs and collecting money instead of exacting revenge on someone who had destroyed their lives.

He could have confessed his love for him.

And now he was trapped in between his own conscience and the ever pressing guilt gnawing at him to go and find him.

To save him.

To cherish him.

To Taehyung, the world seemed rather pointless.

He knew there was something wrong. Something wrong with his family, something wrong with himself.

Something wrong with the world.

But despite it all, he didn’t know why he cared so much. Why he hid behind false smiles. 

He didn’t think he was fooling anyone. 

Yet, he was unknowingly fooling six of his best friends.

To them, he was Kim Taehyung, the bright student who didn’t so much as utter a negative word in their presence. Kim Taehyung, the student who was often considered innocent, whose grades were mediocre at best, whose lively personality made up for his lack of confidence in his academic skills.

He didn’t know why he cared so much for his six unlikely friends, who had bonded after having detention together.

Their summers were always filled with laughter and fooling around. It was a time when Taehyung didn’t need to think of much else aside from his six best friends, who spent enough time together that they could be considered family. 

They encouraged him not to stay away from home so often, not to hang around by himself in the streets with his hood pulled up to cover his face. 

He may have been fooling them, but he felt as if they were fooling themselves even more so.

Maybe he was even fooling himself.

He wished it was still summer.

“Taehyung-ah,” a deep, melodic voice called out, piercing through the silence.

Taehyung’s eyes shot open. He lay still, unmoving on the mattress sprawled on the rough grass in an abandoned park they had found a couple years ago.

“Taehyung-ah,” the voice called again.

Taehyung’s lips twitched, forcing a small smile onto his face. 

Taehyung held up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun’s rays as he sat up, groaning as he stretched his legs.

The ringing of a bell sounded as a bike collided with the ground, and red shoes approached the mattress he was lying on.

“Taehyung-ah.” 

Taehyung would recognize that voice anywhere. 

“Namjoon-hyung,” he murmured, a fond expression softening his features.

He didn’t bother to look at Namjoon as the other boy ran up to him, seating himself down on the mattress, which looked very out of place in a park filled with weeds. Though, it wouldn’t fit in anywhere else either. Truthfully, the thing belonged in a dump—its springs were poking through the rough material, and it was covered in stains that Taehyung knew he was better off not knowing the origins of.

But Taehyung was never one to care about such trivial things.

Namjoon, on the other hand, frowned when he sat down. He had expressed his disdain for this mattress on multiple occasions, and Taehyung had always teased him for hating it so much.

Namjoon literally lived in a trailer.

Taehyung pulled his legs to his chest, hugging them close as he regarded Namjoon with the smallest of smiles. He watched Namjoon twirl a lollipop in his mouth, the clacking of the candy against his teeth producing a sound that Taehyung shivered at.

“What are you doing here?” Namjoon asked, removing the lollipop from his mouth, voice soft.

“I wanted to be alone,” Taehyung said, fingers toying with the fraying material of the mattress. 

Namjoon’s gaze fell down to Taehyung’s exposed wrist. The sleeve of his hoodie was pulled up slightly, but Taehyung made sure to cover it up before the older boy could see the beginnings of bruises that were beginning to blossom on his skin.

Bruises in the shape of fingerprints—from when his father had grabbed him with an iron grip this morning, nearly breaking his bones in the process.

“You weren’t in class today,” Namjoon said slowly, dragging his gaze back up to Taehyung’s face. “We thought you were sick.” 

Namjoon was looking at him with confusion written on his lovely features, his full lips turned down into a frown. Taehyung hated that look, because he knew exactly what it meant and what Namjoon was about to ask him.

Are you okay?

So he put on his boxy smile, the one he knew they all loved—the one Namjoon had admitted to loving more than any of theirs.

Had he ever been okay?

“I’m fine, Namjoon-hyung. Really.” 

He didn’t really know.

Namjoon huffed, and then slid his backpack off his shoulders, sliding the lollipop back into his mouth. Taehyung kept his focus on Namjoon, eyes following his fingers as the other boy carefully unzipped his bag. He reached his arm inside, digging around for something before producing a lopsided juicebox.

“Aha! I found it.”

But Namjoon scrunched his nose, making a small sound of frustration when he realized there was no straw.

Taehyung raised a brow as Namjoon shoved his arm inside again, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek in concentration. And then he pulled out a straw. 

The entire scene was rather comical and Taehyung had to snort. 

“Here. I brought strawberry juice for you today, and I was going to give it to you at school. But you didn’t come, so it’s your fault that it’s… messed up.” Namjoon made a face, the stick of the lollipop looking rather funny poking out of his mouth like that. He handed the juicebox to Taehyung, along with the straw, and Taehyung gave him a fond smile.

“I love strawberry,” Taehyung murmured as he took the juice. 

“I know you do, Tae.”

Taehyung glanced at Namjoon, adjusting his legs so he was sitting cross-legged. He unwrapped the straw in silence, poking it through the juicebox and taking a sip.

Messed up juicebox or not, the juice was juice. And Taehyung was not one to complain.

“Thank you, hyung.”

Namjoon nodded, the stick of the lollipop seeming to dance between his teeth, as if he was in thought. 

Taehyung knew Namjoon did things for him not because he wanted to be thanked, but because he was truly a selfless person. However, Taehyung couldn’t help but wonder whether there was another motive behind his actions.

“Is this why you were looking for me?” Taehyung asked, sipping at the remnants of his juice.

“Ah, no, actually.”

Taehyung watched as Namjoon removed the stick, surprised to find he had eaten the entire lollipop in the short time he had been here. He then proceeded to chuck the stick across the forest, and it flew and landed by a tree a few feet away. 

Taehyung waited patiently, squeezing the rest of the juice out of the box as Namjoon fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, his fingers seeming to have a restless energy. 

He noticed the older boy was making it a point to avoid his gaze. 

“I wanted to ask you if you’re okay, Taehyung-ah.”

Taehyung regarded him with wide eyes, lips sucking the life out of the juicebox—there was no more juice left, but he squeezed the thing until it became crumpled and empty in his fingers.

A few drops of juice landed on his fingers, and Taehyung frowned as he licked at them.

They looked strangely like blood.

“I’m fine, hyung. I told you.” 

Taehyung then proceeded to blow up the juicebox, filling it with air—he filled it until it was about to burst. 

Namjoon watched him curiously.

Taehyung grinned at the older boy as he stood—gave him that boxy, toothy smile again.

Taehyung dropped the juicebox on the ground and straightened it with the toe of his shoe. He lined his foot up, calculating just how hard he would need to press his on the end of it and how much force he would need to apply for it to explode the way he wanted it to.

And then he brought his foot down.

The pop of air as it exploded was loud enough to sound like a gunshot, and Namjoon flinched slightly—birds flew out of the trees in a flurry, startled by the sudden disturbance of the forest’s silence.

Taehyung laughed.

“Taehyung-ah,” Namjoon said again with that deep voice that rattled through his bones.

Taehyung’s smile fell. 

He didn’t move as Namjoon stood and walked up behind him, as Namjoon placed his hands on the younger boy’s shoulders and gently turned him around.

Taehyung braced himself for that question he despised—he knew Namjoon was about to ask him to confirm if he was really okay.

The reality of it was that Taehyung was afraid to admit that he wasn’t okay.

“Don’t stay here for too long,” Namjoon said after what felt like an eternity.

Taehyung let out a deep breath, nodding slightly as he lowered his gaze, bangs falling forward.

“And…” Namjoon moved Taehyung’s hair out of the way with his fingers, bending down slightly to look him in the eyes.

“You have my number. You know, in case you want to talk or need someone to walk home with you.” 

Taehyung nodded again and Namjoon backed away, grabbing his backpack off the ground and slinging it over his shoulder.

Namjoon gave him a closed-lipped smile, a smile that showed off the deep—lovely dimples embedded in his cheeks—before he lifted a hand in farewell and turned to grab his bike, hefting it upright and wheeling it away, and Taehyung was left alone in the forest once more.

It wasn’t long before he heeded Namjoon’s advice and left.

He wasn’t going home, though. His father had probably returned home by now, and it was better if Taehyung wasn’t there to provoke him. It was why he tried to stay away from home as much as possible.

So Taehyung walked around the streets tonight, spending his leftover change on street food and munching on tteokbokki as he silently meandered through the streets that came alive when the sun went down, when the shopkeepers turned on the lights of their stores and when people came out with their loved ones for soju and chicken.

Taehyung debated going home after all. There wasn’t much for him to do other than wander around aimlessly.

But he stumbled across a discarded spray paint can on the ground in a street that was mostly empty at this hour, lit only by the flashing streetlamps that had certainly seen better days. 

Upon shaking it and spraying it on the asphalt, Taehyung realized the can wasn’t entirely empty yet. As if the owner had finished whatever they were using it for and became lazy, so they decided to throw it away it instead of storing it in a safe place for later.

The sun had gone down hours ago, and there were a few people milling about in the street—people who were mostly just students hanging around for a late-night smoke. There were train tracks not too far away, and Taehyung watched the cars of the train whiz by, its headlights so impossibly bright, the rattling of its wheels on the rails grating on his ears. 

His fingers tightened around the can and he glanced around before heading deeper into the street, looking for a flat surface he could paint on. 

He settled on what looked to be an abandoned shop, the metal shutters drawn shut. 

With surprisingly steady fingers, Taehyung pulled out his phone from his pocket. The battery was about to die, but he carefully set the can on the ground and slumped to the ground, back against the metal shutters that reached to the asphalt. 

He opened the messages app, and clicked on Namjoon’s name.

He began typing a message, thumbs flying across the screen.

  [Kim Taehyung] 9:53 PM

Hyung. You asked me if I was ok earlier today.

  He pressed send.

His fingers tapped the side of his phone. Taeyhung thought for a moment, and then typed out a second message.

  The truth is. Well. i’m not.

  He pressed backspace.

  The truth is. Theres a lot going on at home, so things have been a bit hard lately. But im ok! I promise :)) i’ll alawys be the taetae you know!

  He stared and stared at the message. He didn’t even bother fixing his spelling errors.

His thumb hovered over the send button, and then he was clicking on a screen that had gone blank.

His phone had died.

Taehyung let out a frustrated growl, forcefully shoving his phone in his pocket and praying that his second message had gone through.

But for now, he buried those thoughts in the back of his mind and picked up the can of spray paint from where he had left it on the ground.

And Taehyung began to paint. 

He was never much of an artist, but he did have an appreciation for the arts. He often found himself studying people’s faces or staring at weeds, concentrating on how the light hit certain objects or how it was swallowed by darker colours. 

He had always wanted to try his hand in painting, but he never had the chance to. 

So as Taehyung shook the can and pressed on the knob, the metal canvas came alive with spots of red, with all his raw feelings and emotions being laid bare the more he added to it, the more strokes he made with his wrist.

Granted, it was only one colour—red. There wasn’t much he could do with it, but he sure as hell was having a grand time.

That was, until someone interrupted him.

“Hey.”

Taehyung didn’t stop spraying, instead choosing to ignore whoever had called out to him.

“Hey!”

“What,” Taehyung grumbled, shaking the can before spraying on an empty spot near the bottom of the shutters.

“This shop isn’t abandoned, you know.” 

Taehyung paused, turning to get a look at who had interrupted him. It was one of the guys he had passed earlier—the one who had been smoking. 

He must have followed him here.

Taehyung scoffed. “So, what?” He rolled his eyes, pointer finger ready to press the nozzle of the can, but then there was a hand at his wrist, stopping him before he could add more colour to the boring metal shutters.

“So, this shop belongs to somebody, and you’re vandalizing it.” 

“No one’s going to see the fucking colour anyway,” Taehyung mumbled, pulling his arm out of the young man’s grip. 

“You could at least paint a nice picture,” the stranger said, but Taehyung once again ignored him, shaking the can with a barely contained rage. 

“Fuck off,” Taehyung growled.

He only got one spot painted onto the shutters—the red dripping like blood—before he was being shoved against the shutters with a force hard enough to rattle his skull. Taehyung grit his teeth at the impact, the can of spray paint falling out of his hand and clattering onto the ground.

“I think you should respect other people’s property,” the young man snarled, fists grabbing at Taehyung’s sweater. “If you can’t do that, I’ll call the cops on you.”

“What do you care?” Taehyung spat, nose wrinkling in disgust. “It’s not like it belongs to you.”

Taehyung groaned as he was pushed into the shutters again, but he relished in the pain.

He deserved it. He was a coward. And a liar.

And then came the fist. 

It was quick and sharp, and numbed his face for a second before sending a jolt of hot pain through the side of his cheek, spreading to his jaw and all the way up to his head.

Taehyung froze, dazed from the knuckles that had collided with bone.

And then he slowly turned his head to face the young man, eyes hooded and sparkling with danger. He grinned, tongue poking the inside of his cheek.

“I dare you to do that again.”

“I’m calling the cops.”

And then the young man was loosening his hold to grab his phone, and despite himself, Taehyung laughed.

  ————

  “My phone is dead, officer. There’s someone I need to contact.”

The middle-aged man stared and stared at him, and then rubbed at his eyes, taking a prolonged sigh that Taehyung knew meant he would much rather not be dealing with him at the moment.

Taehyung knew he was just as tired as he was.

He hissed as he adjusted the ice bag on his bruised cheek—as he glanced over at the young man on the other side of the room, in a similar position as him—the young man who was being charged for assaulting him.

But then the officer looked at him again, and Taehyung lifted a tired gaze to meet his eyes.

The officer seemed to ease up slightly.

“You said your name was Kim Taehyung?”

Taehyung shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, sinking further into the chair beside the officer’s desk. He nodded reluctantly, and the officer sighed again, turning in his chair to the computer sitting on his desk.

The officer tapped some keys—most likely typing Taehyung’s name into a database to look him up and gather some personal information on him.

In the short moment that it took to load up his profile, Taehyung decided to look around the station. 

There were desks in rows, and there were detectives and officers working diligently at each of them, some with cups of coffee in their hands as they looked over files, others dealing with law-breakers—much like himself—sitting in chairs beside their desks.

There was an office on one end of the room, and a small jail cell on the other, which held people waiting to be bailed out by their loved ones.

They hadn’t cuffed him, but Taehyung felt like more of a prisoner than the small group of people standing behind the bars on the other side of the room. 

“Here we are,” the officer announced, diverting Taehyung’s attention to him. “You’re sixteen?”

“Yes, officer.”

The man scanned over Taehyung’s information, his eyes narrowing as he brought up his elbow to lean on the desk, cheek resting on his hand.

Taehyung watched his every move, and he noticed the way the officer’s beard was a bit scraggly, as if he had forgotten to shave this morning.

Taehyung almost felt bad for him.

“You seem like a good kid, Taehyung.”

Taehyung stayed silent. Good kid or not, he didn’t think his father would agree with this officer at all.

He fingers made his way to the phone in his pocket, and he clicked repeatedly on the power button in hopes that it would make the signature startup sound and he could text Namjoon, telling him where he was and what he had done. 

He didn’t want to go back home. He didn’t want this officer to call his father.

He couldn’t.

“Officer, this was my first time doing something like this. It was reckless, and it was a mistake. I’m really sorry. I’ll go clean it all up myself first thing tomorrow morning—“

The officer gave him a warm smile, and Taehyung stuttered for a moment.

“My son was a few years older than you, you know. He did these kinds of things all the time and thought that just because he was the son of a cop he could get away with just about anything.”

“Was, sir?”

“He took his life last year. I didn’t realize he needed help until it was too late.”

Something inside Taehyung broke at the way the officer grabbed his shoulder. 

“You’re not in trouble, son, though there will be a small fine to pay for the vandalism. And I’m giving you the responsibility to go back and clean your graffiti tomorrow morning. If it happens again, the consequences will be much more serious, okay?”

At the soft, gentle tone he used, Taehyung took a shaky breath, eyes stinging with the threat of tears, throat closing up as he refused to cry.

“I just hope you’re able to get the help you need, hm?”

Taehyung nodded, inhaling sharply and furiously rubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater.

He did need help. But he didn’t know who to ask. He didn’t trust anybody.

Except for Namjoon. But what could his best friend do for him? Taehyung contemplated the officer’s words, knowing that the way his life was going, maybe he was better off leaving. Maybe not taking his own life, but… leaving. Running away from home.

He glanced at the officer, and realized this man could very well be the solution to his hell at home, and all he had to do was tell him.

But he couldn’t bring himself to admit to the abuse he suffered at home.

“—yes, he’s here, at the station. He’ll be waiting for you.”

He didn’t realize the officer was dialing his father’s number until it was too late.

“Officer, please don’t—“

The officer turned to Taehyung, hanging up the call, and Taehyung was left gaping. He had forgotten to mention to the officer that he didn’t want his father to come.

He had forgotten to mention that his father was the reason why he was so messed up, why he wore hoodies even in the summertime—to cover up bruises and any evidence of the pain he endured on a daily basis, why he had fabricated a lie about being clumsy at school so his six friends wouldn’t question them either. 

He knew that was what Namjoon had really wanted to ask him about today.

Taehyung didn’t know what to think. 

“Is there a problem, son?”

Taehyung was in shock. Because he knew if his father caught wind of this, he’d be beaten alive.

His father might even punish his sister on his behalf.

Taehyung shook his head, assuring the officer he was fine.

“Can I—can I please get a charger for my phone?” he murmured, pulling out his phone with shaking hands.

The officer glanced at the phone and then at him, and nodded once, curtly. “I‘ll see if I can get one for you.”

And then he left Taehyung sitting alone in the chair, wandering off into the back of the station somewhere, and Taehyung was fidgeting like crazy, anxious to know whether his father had decided to get drunk tonight or whether he was actually sober for once—wanting to know if he was as mad as Taehyung thought he’d be.

He didn’t seem to be sounding mad on the phone with the officer, but he was talking to a cop, after all. Taehyung didn’t want to push his luck.

He knew he was about to get the beating of a lifetime when he got home.

He tapped his foot in a steady rhythm against the floor, chewing on his thumb in restless wait, sitting up straight at every person who walked through the door—expecting to see a stern face adorned with frown lines and wrinkles. 

He was expecting his father to come crashing through and slap him right across the face, with no regard for the fact that he was in a police station. 

Taehyung forced himself to pull those thoughts out of his mind, and realized the officer had returned with the phone charger he had asked for.

He even plugged it in for him, handing him the phone as it booted up, playing the startup sound that Taehyung had missed. 

“Thank you,” Taehyung murmured, setting down the ice bag he had been using to numb the pain in his cheek.

The officer nodded his head in acknowledgement, and then sat in his chair in silence, typing away on his keyboard—most likely filling in some information about this case.

Taehyung knew this would go on his criminal record, despite the officer saying he wasn’t in trouble for it.

Taehyung’s fingers clenched around the phone as it slowly started up again, and the first thing he noticed was that he had at least 20 messages and 10 missed calls from Namjoon.

But none from his father.

He tapped into the messages app, scrolling through Namjoon’s messages to the beginning of the thread.

  [Kim Taehyung] 9:53 PM

Hyung. You asked me if I was ok earlier today.

  [Kim Namjoon] 9:56 PM

Yeah??

  Taehyung realized his second message had never been sent, and Namjoon was left with that first message from him, which was rather ominous without any context. He frantically read through the rest of his friend’s messages, his phone buzzing in his hands as Namjoon continued to send messages to him even now.

  [Kim Namjoon] 9:57 PM

Ye I did tae what’s up?

  [Kim Namjoon] 9:59 PM

hellooooo tae where are u

  [Kim Namjoon] 10:01 PM

Look, I’m sorry if I overstepped in asking that

I didn’t mean to hurt u

If you’re mad at me I get it

Not everyone wants to talk about their issues

But I’m here for u

I care about you tae

  [Kim Namjoon] 10:02 PM

Way more than I should sometimes I think haha

  [Kim Namjoon] 10:15 PM

Ok now I’m rlly worried. Where are u???

Are u okay??

  [Kim Namjoon] 10:17 PM

I’m gonna check if ur at home. 

  [Kim Namjoon] 10:43 PM

Your father said you didn’t come home yet?

Tae, please, I’m really worried about you. 

  [Kim Namjoon] 10:48 PM

Your father just got a call from the police station. You’re there???

Is your phone dead or something?

ANSWER ME YOU SON OF A BITCH WHAT DID U DO

  [Kim Namjoon] 10:51 PM

I really hope you didn’t kill someone, because if that’s why you’re not answering me……

I’m coming with your father to the station.

  Taehyung bit his lip, praying for Namjoon’s sake that his father was sober enough to drive safely.

  [Kim Namjoon] 10:55 PM

Your father hasn’t said a word to me this entire drive. He seems kinda pissed

I mean I would be too

I AM pissed you asshole

I CAN SEE YOU READING MY MESSAGES

  That was the end of the thread, and even in spite of the situation he was in, Taehyung couldn’t help but smile.

  [Kim Namjoon] 10:57 PM

THANK GOD ur typing omg where the fuck have u been all night 

DO YOU KNOW HOW FUCKING WORRIED I WAS?

  Taehyung let out a sigh as his fingers quickly typed up a message to reassure Namjoon he was okay and that he did not kill a man.

  [Kim Taehyung] 10:58 PM

Relax, hyung

Nothing happened

Just a misunderstanding.

  He knew his father was going to be here—knew he was going to have brand new bruises to be sporting after this, but just knowing Namjoon was going to be here too  made him feel so much better, helped his muscles relax and a strange calm to wash over him as he thought about that dimpled smile and the clumsy fingers that held his entire heart. 

His phone buzzed.

  [Kim Namjoon] 11:00 PM

Good

We’re a couple minutes away

Be there soon

  Taehyung turned his phone off and set it aside, letting it charge for a bit as he nervously watched the clock on the wall. 

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, counting each second that passed, eyes watching the door as he anticipated his father and Namjoon walking in.

The feeling was so overwhelming, he didn’t even notice when they actually walked in, and the officer sitting at his desk got up to greet them.

Taehyung stayed seated, sliding down further on his chair as his father looked him up and down, a death glare in his eyes that Taehyung knew meant he was anything but happy.

Like he even knew what happiness was.

Taehyung was surprised to see his father look… somewhat put-together. Although his hair was messy and flying every which way and his beard was unkempt, he seemed… clean, otherwise. 

He would have had to be sober to have made it here safely, though Taehyung didn’t doubt he smelled of alcohol despite it.

At the sight of Namjoon, the ruined cap he always insisted on wearing, the hair tie he was always stretching between his fingers, at the red shoes and the worried gait…

Taehyung sat up a little taller as Namjoon excused himself from his father and the officer and hurriedly made his way over to him, bumping into people on the way and quickly apologizing to them.

Taehyung scoffed.

“Taehyung-ah,” Namjoon breathed when he reached him, wide-eyed and a little breathless. “Vandalism? Really?”

Taehyung didn’t know what to say. He didn’t think he could explain his way out of this one.

Namjoon merely shook his head, crossing his arms.

“I heard someone assaulted you, though.” He pointed to Taehyung’s bruised cheek and the split lip. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He hated that question. 

“I told you a million fucking times, I’m fi—“

“Cut the bullshit.”

Taehyung flinched, and the station audibly quieted down. Taehyung felt the stares of officers on them as Namjoon hastily apologized for snapping at him. But he knew Namjoon wasn’t actually sorry.

The older boy pulled a chair over and sat down in front of him, staring at him intently, angling his head so he could look him in the eye—Taehyung was currently trying and failing to hide under his hood. 

“Taehyung-ah,” Namjoon said quietly, almost lovingly. Taehyung felt something inside his chest flare up and warm him, spreading to his neck and limbs and filling him with a strange feeling.

Taehyung still didn’t meet his gaze.

“I know there’s something going on,” Namjoon continued, his hand reaching out to rest on his knee. “You don’t have to tell me what it is, but you also don’t have to lie about it, either.” 

Taehyung didn’t dare say a word, for he knew he would break down into a sobbing mess the second he opened his mouth.

The reassuring squeeze Namjoon gave to his knee followed by that lovely, dimpled smile had Taehyung wanting to tell him everything. 

Taehyung inhaled deeply, attempting to calm his racing nerves. 

“Actually, hyung, I’ve been meaning to—“

He saw his father approach out of the corner of his eye, the officer trailing close behind, and immediately shut his mouth.

Namjoon’s brows furrowed in confusion, but he also seemed to notice Taehyung’s father approaching, so he stood from his chair and returned it to the desk he had gotten it from.

Taehyung could feel his father’s stare burning into him, even as he pretended to focus on brushing some dust from the thighs of his pants.

“Come,” he demanded, and Taehyung scurried to his feet even before his father had uttered the word.

Taehyung followed like an obedient dog following its owners orders, knowing that if he stepped out of place he’d just be digging himself a deeper hole than he was already stuck in.

“Thank you, sir,” he heard Namjoon saying from somewhere behind him.

As soon as they stepped outside of the station, his father whirled, finger pointing accusingly at him, and Taehyung backed up so abruptly he bumped into Namjoon’s chest, the older boy grabbing his arms to steady him. 

“What the hell were you thinking, Taehyung? Vandalism?”

“I’m sorry.”

“‘Sorry’? You think a simple ‘sorry’ is going to fucking cut it? Who's going to have to fucking pay those fines? Sure as hell not you because you don'tknow how to be a fucking grateful son!”

“Mr. Kim,” Namjoon interrupted, “it was a simple mistake. He didn’t know the shop belonged to somebody.”

“According to the witness, he did. You fucking knew, didn’t you?” His father laughed a mirthless laugh, fingers combing through his hair, and something about the wild look in his eyes or the way he stumbled slightly had Taehyung thinking that maybe his father had just begun to drink when Namjoon arrived at their flat.

“You got into a fight, for fuck’s sake!”

“He punched me first!” Taehyung snapped. “You would know that if you listened to the officer instead of glaring at me like you want to kill me every chance you get!” 

He didn’t realize he was struggling to get to his father, didn’t realize Namjoon was forcefully holding him back, pulling at his sweater and pleading with him not to make a scene in front of the police station.

He didn’t realize there were hot tears streaming down his face as he begged with his father to listen to him, and act like a father for once.

His father scoffed, spitting at his feet. “Ungrateful bastard,” he mumbled, turning on his heels.

“Come home if you want, I don’t care. Just make sure you don’t see me or maybe I will actually kill you.”

Taehyung didn’t move.

“I’m not driving you or your friend home, by the way. Get a taxi, take the bus, I couldn’t care less.” 

He stalked to his car and tried to open the door, kicking it when it didn’t open.

“It’s locked, you smartass,” Taehyung yelled. He shoved Namjoon’s arms aside and stepped forward as his father unlocked the door and slipped into the driver’s seat.

“And for the record, I don’t want to see you either. You’re not my father. You could never be a father even if you wanted to be!”

Taehyung was hysterical, and he could feel his emotions unravelling like a spool of thread coming undone in his fingers, and he sank to the ground as his father pulled out of the parking lot, not even sparing him or Namjoon a second glance as he drove away.

Taehyung was a wreck, bracing himself against the ground as his body shook with the force of his sobs, as he tried to make sense of the past couple of hours and why he had decided to be so stupid to resort to vandalism.

A gentle pair of arms wrapped around him, pulling him close and letting him sob until he had no tears left, until he was heaving and breathing heavy.

Taehyung was so unbelievably grateful that Namjoon was here for him. 

“Do you have somewhere else to stay, Taehyung-ah?” Namjoon murmured as Taehyung wrapped his arms tighter around him, squeezing him for any small semblance of comfort the other boy could offer. 

Taehyung shook his head, finding it incredibly difficult to form words at the moment.

“That’s okay. You can stay with me in my trailer box,” Namjoon murmured.

Something inside Taehyung shattered at the way Namjoon stroked his back, his head, at the way he so gently took his fingers in his own and stroked the backs of them with his thumbs, as he assured him with that soothingly deep voice he loved listening to.

“You’ll be okay, Tae.”

“Y-your bike,” Taehyung whispered, realizing that Namjoon must have left his bike at his flat, and would now have to walk back to get it.

Namjoon grinned at him. “Don’t worry about that. I called—“

The honking of a horn caught their attention, and as Namjoon’s face became illuminated by the headlights of a pickup truck, Taehyung shot to his feet to stare at the driver of the truck, at the person sitting in the passenger seat and the three young boys jumping up and waving to them from the open back.

Taehyung’s lips forced themselves into the widest grin—a genuine one as he realized the rest of his friends had come to get them.

Namjoon shoved his shoulder as he walked past him. 

“You should smile like that more often, Taehyung-ah.”

And as Namjoon opened the door to the pickup truck, as Yoongi and Seokjin greeted him from inside, Taehyung bounded around to the back, where Hoseok, Jungkook, and Jimin were waiting for him.

“Hyung!” Jungkook grinned, holding out a hand to help him up. Taehyung gladly took it, lifting his foot onto the back wheel of the truck for leverage as he climbed in, joining the three of his friends in the back.

As Seokjin started driving, Taehyung curled up, his back against the window of the truck as he gazed at his friends, who were laughing among each other, as Hoseok lay his head on Taehyung’s lap, claiming to be tired.

“We were so worried about you, Taehyung,” Jimin said softly, grabbing his hand. 

“Namjoon-hyung texted and called us like crazy, so we got Jin-hyung to come get you guys with his truck. Yoongi-hyung didn’t want to come, but I convinced him.” Jungkook seemed to grin proudly at this.

Taehyung knew Yoongi had a soft spot for Jungkook. 

“You got in trouble?” Hoseok murmured, looking up at him from where he was lying down. 

“It’s… not a big deal.”

Hoseok crossed his arms, humming to himself, and Taehyung wondered whether he had actually fallen asleep.

“I’m just glad you’re okay, Taehyung,” Jimin said, squeezing his hands.

Taehyung grinned at them, showcasing his signature smile. “Me too.”

“You have to hear what happened at school today, hyung,” Jungkook said excitedly, practically making the back of the truck bounce with his restless energy.

“Tell me.”

And so Taehyung listened to his friends laugh and tell him stories as Seokjin drove them through the streets, laughing with them and forgetting about his abusive father, if only for a little while.

And then he decided to take his hood off.

  ———— 

  The fire was so warm.

Taehyung watched it intently as it crackled and danced every which way, beckoning him to come closer to its warmth.

Taehyung hadn’t pulled his hood up this whole time.

The seven of them were cuddled up together outside of Namjoon’s trailer box, drinking out of plastic red cups and stargazing together.

“Where’s Namjoon?” Hoseok asked as he grabbed a pretzel from Seokjin, munching on it as he offered the rest to Jimin.

“Here,” Namjoon called out, and the six of them looked over to see Namjoon… writing something on the window of his trailer.

He walked over to them, taking a seat beside Taehyung, who offered him his drink.

Taehyung looked over to see what he had written on the window.

I must survive. 

“Joon-hyung, what—“

“Yoongi-yah!” Seokjin interrupted, getting up to grab the sparklers from where Namjoon had left them on the ground. “You’re telling me you didn’t bring your lighter? You bring that shit everywhere!”

“He’s joking, hyung,” Jungkook laughed, shoving Yoongi’s shoulder, who was grinning from ear-to-ear—gums on display for them all.

“I have a lighter in my trailer, Jin-hyung,” Namjoon pointed out, chuckling softly. He gave Taehyung a sidelong glance, rolling his eyes—fondly.

Taehyung smiled as he watched his best friends tease and shove each other, as Yoongi pulled out his lighter and Seokjin bit his head off for fooling him, as Hoseok slowly fell asleep on Jimin’s shoulder. 

As Yoongi lit the sparklers and they all shouted in glee, waving them around and brightening the dark with them.

And their smiles.

Because Taehyung loved his friends, and he didn’t want them to worry about him. 

Namjoon looped an arm around Taehyung’s neck, pulling him close as they watched the sparklers fizzle and die out, unlike their energy.

As they laughed and fell over each other, as Seokjin snapped pictures of them with his Polaroid camera—which looked red under the night sky, Taehyung allowed himself to once again be lost in the euphoric feeling of these people who were so different, yet all the same.

And when they calmed down, when the moon was high in the sky and sure to make its descent soon, they cuddled around the fire in silence, relishing in each other, and there was a moment of peace.

Yoongi played with his lighter and Taehyung watched him do so, in a trance as he followed the movements of Yoongi’s fingers, as he flipped it, opened the lid and shut it, as he dragged his thumb across the wheel to create a small spark flame.

He did it again and again, and Taehyung realized Yoongi was in just as much of a trance as he was.

Taehyung looked to the window of Namjoon’s trailer again, where he had written those words earlier.

I must survive.

Jungkook leaned on Yoongi’s shoulder, and when Yoongi opened the flame again, he leaned forward and blew it out.

Yoongi scoffed, and his thumb rolled over the wheel to bring the flame back.

Even when blown out, a flame could still survive.

I must survive.

That thought stayed with Taehyung the entire night, even after everyone left, leaving Namjoon and Taehyung to pack things up and head inside his trailer. 

Taehyung spared a quick glance at the window where Namjoon had written that little phrase earlier.

He cocked his head, foot halfway through the door as he stared and stared at the window, which had long since been cleared of those words, instead leaving behind smudges and the remnants of Namjoon’s fingertip.

“Taehyung-ah!”

Taehyung was brought back to his senses as Namjoon called his name, and he quickly gathered up the last of the snacks they had left outside and brought them in, diligently putting everything away according to Namjoon’s instructions.

It was late. Taehyung wasn’t sure how late, but he was sure the sun must be coming up in a few hours. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time.

The clock read 4:23 AM.

They had spent hours together, the way they would on a summer night. And while it was a Friday night, they had never done this during the school year.

“You know, they did this for you,” Namjoon said softly as he put the drinks away and closed his ice box. He brushed his hands together and closed the curtains, covering the window he had written on earlier.

I must survive.

Namjoon leaned against the countertop, and Taehyung jumped up onto it beside him, swinging his legs off the edge.

“For me?”

Namjoon nodded, inspecting his nails as Taehyung mulled the thought over. “We were worried today, when you didn’t come to class. There wasn’t even a reported absence, so we weren’t sure whether you were sick or not.”

“I see.”

“So I told the rest of the guys....” Namjoon seemed to trail off, shaking his head slightly.

“What did you tell them, Joon-hyung?”

Joon-hyung. 

Taehyung rarely ever called him that. He only ever referred to him that way when he was teasing him or joking around. He felt so close with Namjoon sometimes that he didn’t think the other ever really minded.

Namjoon laughed, a small sound that brought joy to Taehyung. 

“I told them I was worried about you, and that I thought something was going on.” The way Namjoon turned to him with nothing but concern and… and love in his eyes…

“So we decided to get together tonight. For you. But when I heard you ended up at the police station tonight… well…” Namjoon chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Our plans got a little derailed, but we ended up saving it.”

“You did that for me?”

Taehyung was shocked. He didn’t think his friends would ever notice if he was down, but one day of him skipping classes had them all worried beyond belief, especially Namjoon.

He was blind to their caring instincts, blind to the fact that they all loved him immensely.

Namjoon grabbed Taehyung’s hand. “I understand if you don’t want to talk or if it’s hard to talk about, but… if you want to tell me what’s going on, you can. I’m here for you, Taehyung-ah.”

Taehyung bit his lip. “It’s nothing.”

Namjoon scoffed, disbelief dripping from his words. “Don’t say that. I already told you you don’t need to lie to me. I know there’s something happening, but you don’t need to pretend like it’s okay if it isn’t.”

Taehyung was silent as Namjoon continued. 

“Don’t think I don’t notice when your smiles don’t have their usual light, Tae. It feels off to me. Some days it seems like you’re purposely acting goofy. It seems like an act sometimes. Like you’re trying to be happy to convince yourself that you are, when in reality you’re suffering inside.”

Namjoon was much more observant than Taehyung originally thought—and much more thoughtful. Taehyung hadn’t even thought of it that way. 

Maybe the older boy had a point.

“Your father’s abusive.”

Taehyung inhaled sharply.

“I’m right, aren’t I, Tae?”

Suddenly the love that he had seen sparkling in Namjoon’s dragon-shaped eyes turned to anger and frustration, and Taehyung saw them darken before Namjoon pulled him close and grabbed his wrist, forcing his sleeve down as he inspected the ring of bruises on his skin.

The same bruises he had caught a glimpse of earlier in the forest.

“Your father did this, didn’t he?”

“Namjoon-hyung, I—” 

Taehyung was a little baffled to see the way Namjoon looked at him now. He had never seen him so livid before. There was practically steam shooting from his ears. But Taehyung knew Namjoon wasn’t mad at him, for some strange reason. Even though he had every right to be. 

Because he was a lying bastard.

Taehyung must have said that aloud, because Namjoon softened almost immediately, his long fingers reaching up to brush his hair out of his face, his thumb caressing his bruised cheek as he gently brushed his fingers over his jaw, cupping the side of his face in such a heartbreakingly gentle manner.

“You’re not,” Namjoon murmured, and Taehyung couldn’t help but lean into his touch. 

“I’m so sorry, hyung.”

“Don’t be sorry, Tae.” 

Namjoon pulled him in close, and Taehyung collapsed against his chest, breathing in his scent—which smelled strangely of oil and grease, like he had just stepped out of a garage. It made sense, considering Namjoon could be found milling about the abandoned train tracks behind their school, and that he worked at a gas station.

The smell was strangely comforting, and reminded him of a father he didn’t have.

“I… I don’t want any of you to see me any differently because of this,” he said, voice muffled against the fabric of Namjoon’s sweatshirt. “I’m not any less because my father hits me.”

“Of course not,” Namjoon reassured him. “You’ll always be our Taehyung. You’ll always be my Taehyung, hm?”

Taehyung was silent, relishing in this feeling, in the undeniable love he felt for his friend, who may have been more than a friend. 

“Namjoon-hyung,” Taehyung mumbled, speaking right into his shirt. 

He might have said something that sounded like I love you, might have purposefully muffled it even further to avoid Namjoon from hearing it clearly, but Namjoon simply laughed, patting his back in a reassuring gesture. 

Just like the text from earlier, Taehyung wasn’t sure whether Namjoon had gotten the message or not.

So he sat up straight, arms wrapping around Namjoon’s neck and tugging him close, burying his nose in the spot between Namjoon’s neck and shoulder.

“Thank you, Joon-hyung.”

They stayed like that for a while longer, and Taehyung wondered whether Namjoon had heard those muffled three words he had said to him.

He liked to think he did, so he allowed himself to believe it as Namjoon pulled him in closer and stroked the back of his head, and even when he pulled away, planting a ghost of a kiss on his forehead. 

It surprised him even further—and maybe solidified his belief that Namjoon had heard those three words—when Namjoon actually leaned forward slightly, and Taehyung closed the gap, placing his lips on Namjoon’s.

It could hardly be called a kiss—but the sensation was wonderful. Namjoon had the softest lips, softer than he could ever imagine, and he never would have thought he’d be ending the night with a kiss from his best friend.

They both froze for a moment before pulling away, and for a second Taehyung thought Namjoon might kiss him again, but then he backed away, stumbling over his own feet and almost knocking a glass over.

“S-sorry,” Namjoon chuckled breathlessly, trembling fingers grabbing the glass before it crashed to the ground.

“It’s okay,” Taehyung said, head spinning and confusion beginning to take the place of the sensation he felt when he kissed Namjoon.

“I’ll—um.” Namjoon swallowed, and Taehyung could see the lump pass through his throat. He was sure his own cheeks and ears were blazing red, much like Namjoon’s lips, which he now licked as he backed away further.

“I’ll go grab some pillows and blankets.” 

And Namjoon gave him one last dimpled smile before he disappeared on the other side of the trailer. 

All of their awkwardness dissipated into thin air when Namjoon suggested Taehyung take the single bed, to which he had strongly denied. 

So they both ended up sleeping on the floor of Namjoon’s trailer, because Namjoon was almost as stubborn as he was and refused to sleep on a bed while Taehyung was on the floor.

They lay in silence for a while, Taehyung’s mind racing with thoughts of how he was going to face his father after all this, and the fact that he had kissed Namjoon.

He thought back to earlier at the station, at how his father had yelled at him so mercilessly.

Just make sure you don’t see me or maybe I will actually kill you.

And then Namjoon was there, offering up a place to stay, sacrificing his own comfort for Taehyung’s.

Because he was selfless.

Taehyung was just now realizing there was never a motive behind Namjoon’s selfless actions. It was because he truly cared for him.

Maybe even loved him.

“I can help you clean up the graffiti tomorrow,” Namjoon offered, interrupting the silence and shattering through Taehyung’s thoughts like a bullet through glass.

Taehyung shook his head. “I have to do it myself, Joon-hyung. I can’t let them think I’m taking it easy.”

Namjoon closed his eyes, seeming to drift into sleep.

“Then let me come with you, at least.”

It was a while before Taehyung responded, but Namjoon was already asleep.

Taehyung couldn’t. He tossed and turned all night until he decided enough was enough.

He tried his best to avoid stepping on Namjoon’s body as he moved his blankets aside and stood, careful not to wake Namjoon as he tip-toed his way around him and to the bathroom.

He stared at himself in the mirror, ran a hand over his face, and asked himself who he was and who he wanted to be.

He hated leaving his sister home by herself with their father. Knew she would be worried sick for him. But he also knew his sister could at least get along with him without Taehyung there to provoke him—to get mad and drunk and then hit him.

Sometimes both of them. 

So would it be better to stay away?

Taehyung narrowed his eyes at the young boy who stared back.

He tried smiling—wanted to see for himself what his friends saw when he gave them that boxy, toothy grin.

Taehyung shook his head. It felt so strange to see himself smile. 

His finger traced over his lips in the mirror, and as he dragged it across the glass, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward and breathing on it, creating a patch of fog that he then traced his finger through.

As he left the bathroom, he gave one last look to the words staring back at him as they slowly faded away.

I must survive.

———— 

  “You should take a break,” Namjoon mumbled as he sat back on a chair, as Taehyung was elbow-deep in soap and suds.

“The young man is right,” the owner of the shop shouted.

Taehyung grumbled a string of curses under his breath as he pulled the sponge out from the bucket and trudged over to the metal shutter.

“Don’t be like that, Taehyung-ah.” Namjoon stood and walked over to him, hands in his pockets as Taehyung scrubbed as hard as he could, trying to remove the red paint that held an entire childhood’s worth of emotions.

He had been scrubbing for almost an hour now, and the paint wasn’t even halfway gone yet.

Namjoon had offered to help multiple times, but Taehyung insisted he had to do this himself. He did feel bad for vandalizing a poor man’s shop, after all, and wanted to make up for it himself. 

So he turned his face to Namjoon, and gave him the biggest smile he could muster. Granted, it was a rather sarcastic smile, but Taehyung saw Namjoon physically falter.

“I—take a break, Tae,” Namjoon murmured. “The Ahjussi is worried you’ll get exhausted if you keep working non-stop like this.”

“I’m— fine,” Taehyung grunted as he scrubbed with all the energy he could muster in his arms.

“Where have I heard that before?” Namjoon grumbled, grabbing Taehyung’s arms and forcefully stopping him, his arms stretched out on the sponge, soap dripping into the grooves of the shutter and slowly sliding down to the ground below.

“I brought juice. So come sit with me and drink it.”

“Strawberry?” 

“Your favourite.”

With that, Namjoon gave him a cheeky smirk and walked off, taking a seat on the ground by the end of the shop. And Taehyung had no choice but to drop his sponge back in the bucket and dry his hands, and the owner of the shop—the Ahjussi that Namjoon seemed to have familiarized himself with—clapped him on the back, thanking him for cleaning up his mess.

Taehyung offered a weak smile in response—a smile that was more like a grimace than anything.

Taehyung took a seat beside Namjoon, who pulled out a juicebox for him from inside the bag he had brought. He mumbled a thanks as he took it, unwrapping the straw and sticking it into the box, immediately taking a sip and letting the fruity flavour of the juice explode on his tongue.

“Ahjussi also made us kimbap,” Namjoon said, a grin lighting up his features as he pulled out a container and some chopsticks. “He gave it to me earlier when you were grabbing the soap and sponges.”

Taehyung gaped at the old man, who was heading inside his shop to take a break as well. He felt even worse now, knowing what a kindhearted person this man really was. 

“I need to pay him back somehow,” he said quietly, grabbing one of the pieces of kimbap and shoving it into his mouth.

Namjoon shook his head, mouth full of rice and sushi as he pointed at Taehyung with his chopsticks. 

“He specifically said you cleaning up this mess is more than enough for him.”

The people walking past gave them strange looks, surely wondering why the shop hadn’t opened yet, why it was covered in spray paint and why two young men were sitting on the ground outside, one of them soaking wet and covering in soap bubbles as they shared kimbap and juice.

“Still…”

“Why did you do it?”

Taehyung mulled over Namjoon’s question. Why had he picked up that half-empty can of spray paint? 

“I… I wanted to learn how to paint.”

“I can teach you.” 

Taehyung studied Namjoon, looked him up and down as the other grabbed another piece of kimbap, as he greedily popped it into his mouth and then grabbed another.

“What?”

“Spray painting is fun,” Namjoon said around his food, “when you do it right.”

Taehyung nodded, about to say something, but he was interrupted by Namjoon.

“I have a bunch of spray paints in my trailer. I never really had a reason to use them, but maybe we can try tonight. Together.” 

Taehyung nodded, sipping at his juice. “Sure.”

Namjoon shoved him lightly, and Taehyung faked an injury, giggling as Namjoon told him to get lost, and for a moment they were back to being the silly high school boys they always were.

As Taehyung blew up the empty juice box in his fist again and Namjoon pulled out a red lollipop, sticking it into his mouth, he wondered whether they would ever be normal. 

But maybe their definition of normal was just different.

Taehyung contemplated it, and then shook his head, deciding to get lost in his thoughts another day. Today, despite the task he was set to accomplish, he felt a lot more like himself.

Like he did in the forest yesterday, Taehyung threw the empty, air-filled juicebox to the ground and lined it up carefully with his shoe. 

And then he stepped on it, and Namjoon covered his ears, startled by the loud noise, and passersby jumped, exclaiming in surprise and then heaving sighs of relief when they realized it was just a boy with a hood messing around.

Taehyung laughed, glee dancing along every chuckle that escaped his lips.

“Let’s get back to work.”

And for some reason, Taehyung found it a lot easier to clean up the red spray paint after that, the red that marked the pain he had endured all his life, as if he was cleaning it up to move on and find a way to live with his demons, physical or not. 

Something bloomed inside his chest. He didn’t want to give it a name, but it felt a lot like… hope. 

And this time, Namjoon was there to help him. The Ahjussi brought our more sponges, more soap, and some longer brushes and more buckets.

He had friends. He had help. He had everything he needed. 

So when the sun went down, when the shopkeeper’s store was sparkling, not a speck of red left behind, Taehyung and Namjoon thanked the Ahjussi for the kimbap and for being so incredibly kind to them.

They returned to Namjoon’s trailer, where they quickly grabbed Namjoon’s spray paints—a variety of colours that Taehyung marveled over, because it was a hell of a lot more variety than what he had to work with yesterday.

And then Namjoon brought him to the train tracks behind their school, the very same train tracks that they loved to hang around, the train tracks where the seven of them often got told off by teachers and authority to not be around, but the seven of them were never ones to listen so easily.

There was a train parked on those very tracks now, the numbers on the sides of its cars chipping and fading and looking a little bit sad. 

“Namjoon-hyung,” Taehyung said as the older boy dropped his bag, as it hit the rough ground with a loud clang—the metal of the cans hitting against each other.

“Hm?” Namjoon looked at him then, and Taehyung swore he had never seen someone’s eyes sparkling the way Namjoon’s were in this moment. 

“Have you done this before?”

“I used to. Back in my old hometown. I brought all my paints here, but I’m not sure why I stopped painting. Making art on walls and surfaces like this was a lot of fun and brought me so much joy.”

“Well, you can do it again now.” Namjoon grinned at him, and then they began painting.

The colours Namjoon brought were wonderful. They blended so nicely together, and Namjoon really seemed to know what he was doing with them. They were graffitiing—painting a phrase that by now Taehyung was all too familiar with, a phrase that had haunted him since he had first seen Namjoon write it on the window of his trailer yesterday night.

I must survive.

Now, Taehyung had more or less come to terms with that phrase. It brought him comfort, because it reminded him of his best friend who worked at a gas station, who wore a ripped hat because it was his favourite, who could always be seen with a lollipop in his mouth and wearing red shoes, who always brought him strawberry juice because it cheered him up.

Taehyung knew for a fact that he loved Namjoon. 

They had just begun adding some darker shadows to their graffiti when lights shone on the train, and then they heard shouting, and Taehyung realized too soon the cops had found them. 

For a second, the two of them hurriedly looked at each other, and he knew they were both thinking the same thing.

Run.

There wasn’t anywhere they could run.

They had been cornered.

But another thought was swimming through Taehyung’s mind, almost parallel to that one.

I must survive.

So Taehyung grabbed Namjoon’s hand, squeezing it lightly as they both dropped the cans they were holding and held their hands up as the police approached them

Maybe Namjoon had known they were going to be caught. And maybe deep down inside, Taehyung knew it, too. 

Getting in trouble two days in a row for the same crime seemed a tad bit exciting to him.

Maybe inside that was who they’d always be. Maybe they’d always crave fun and excitement.

As the cops took Taehyung and Namjoon, as they shoved them against their cars hard enough to have Taehyung’s teeth rattling in his skull, he looked over to Namjoon to see him grinning widely, and Taehyung couldn’t help but smile back at him.

And then he knew without a doubt that they would never lose their youth.

All he could see was red.

Taehyung didn’t think he hated the colour more.

It reminded him of hurt.

Of shoes worn by his best friend. Who was more than just a friend.

Of spray paint he had used to express his emotions, to let go of his frustration and anger.

It reminded him of lollipops and drops of strawberry juice on his finger—a polaroid camera and sparklers underneath a starry sky. 

The colour red reminded him of the blood now coating his fingers, his shirt, his phone as he pulled it out and tried to dial a familiar number, fingers trembling.

He dropped the phone once, twice.

Shattered the screen the way his heart had been shattered.

Somehow, his blood-coated fingers managed to click on the phone icon, and his thumb scrolled hastily on the screen as he wiped his mouth—smearing blood over his lips.

His thumb stopped on a name. A name he hadn’t seen in years, one that belonged to someone he yearned for, who he wished he could see again one day, and tell him how he truly felt

But Taehyung knew he had a lot of explaining to do before he could even begin on something as simple as his feelings.

He stared and stared at the name, which taunted him even through the dirty, cracked screen of his phone.

Kim Namjoon.

He didn’t have anyone but him.

Please pick up, Taehyung pleaded in his mind. I need you. 

He glanced around the empty alleyway, pulling his hood tighter around his head, hoping to stay as inconspicuous as possible.

I must survive.

To Taehyung, the world was rather pointless.

There had always been something wrong. 

And despite it all, he cared. So much. He had stopped hiding behind false smiles.

He had stopped fooling himself.

Taehyung counted to ten. Took a deep breath.