Erien Types Nonsense

Pokemon!

Corbeau

The Hero of Lumiose (sfw, gender neutral)

Corbeau headcannons (sfw, gender neutral)

Endgame (angst,) part 1

Endgame (angst) part 2

Endgame (angst) part 3

Endgame (angst) part 4

Endgame (angst) final part

Volo

A merchants eyes..(fluff nonsense)

My God (nsfw but not all the way)

The Walking Dead Game

March On

ao3 link

Episode One Part 1

Episode One Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Episode 2

BTS

Kim Namjoon

Headphones (fluff)

Book Notes (Fluff)

NDA (fluff)

Kim Seokjin

Super Tuna (fluff)

Min Yoongi

The Subway (Angst with a happy ending)

NOVA (Min Yoongi x Idol! OC)

AO3 link

Prelude (before the fame)

Prelude (the audition)

Prelude (Acceptance)

Prelude (the studio)

Prelude (Min Yoongi)

Prelude (Cha Dae)

Prelude (Min Jee)

Prelude (Jeong Ju)

Chapter 1 - Afterthought

Jung Hoseok

Park Jimin

Kim Taehyung

The Photobooth (found-love)

Jeon Jungkook

Tension (fluff)

The 1998 Ford F-150 didn’t so much idle as it did shudder, a rhythmic metal-on-metal heartbeat that vibrated through the soles of Eden’s boots and up into her teeth. It was a farm truck through and through with dents, rust at the wheel wells, and a faint smell of damp hay and old coffee, but it was hers. It was the only thing in her life right now that felt solid. She sat in the driver’s seat, her knuckles white as she gripped the steering wheel at ten and two, staring through the windshield at the brick-and-mortar reality of Grover Cleveland Middle School.

The building looked like a fortress. Or a prison. It depended on the light.

Her phone, nestled in a cracked plastic cradle on the dash, buzzed with an incoming call. The name Prof. Hubble flashed across the screen. Eden let out a breath she felt like she’d been holding since three in the morning and hit speaker.

"Tell me you’re not still in bed," Hubble’s voice boomed, crackling through the truck's aging speakers. "I’m in the parking lot," Eden said, and even to her own ears, she sounded like she was about to face a firing squad. "I’ve been here for twenty minutes. I’m currently watching a kid in a neon green hoodie try to kick a locker open. Professor, I think I’ve made a terrible mistake."

Hubble laughed, that warm, academic chuckle that usually made Eden feel like everything was under control. Today, it just made her want to slide under the dashboard.

"The mid-semester jitters," he said. "Completely standard. Most people have the sense to start their student teaching in August when everyone is equally confused. You, Eden, decided to jump onto a moving train in mid-September. You pulled every string in the registrar's office to get here. Don't tell me you’re losing your nerve now."

"It’s not the science," Eden whispered, leaning her forehead against the cool glass of the window. "I can do the science. It’s the... the people. They’re thirteen, Professor. They have no mercy. I’m pretty sure they can smell the 'In-Progress' on my degree. They are going to eat me alive."

"Eden, listen to me," Hubble’s tone shifted, losing the playfulness. It was the voice he used when he was defending a thesis. "I’ve taught hundreds of students. Most of them are fine, a few are good, but you? You are a force to be reckoned with. You have a brain that sees the words in the marrow of the world and a heart that actually cares if the person next to you understands it. If a middle schooler is the scariest thing you encounter in your career, you’re going to have a very boring, very successful life."

Eden smiled, a small, genuine thing that finally reached her eyes. "A force to be reckoned with. Is that going to be on the final evaluation?"

"No spoilers," Hubble laughed. "Now, get out of that truck. Go find Mrs. Carmen. She’s expecting you, and from what I hear, she’s thrilled to have the help, even if it will mostly be picking up boxes for her, poor woman. Go be brilliant, Eden."

"Thanks, Professor. For everything."

"Don't thank me. Just go teach the world- or at least, survive first period."

The line went dead. Eden sat in the silence for a long moment, the only sound the tink-tink-tink of the engine cooling down. She took a deep, lung-expanding breath, grabbed her bag from the passenger seat, and shoved the door open. It gave a loud screee that made a nearby group of students look up.

Great start, she thought. Subtle. They already hate me.

She hopped down onto the pavement, the impact jarring her slightly. She turned to the side mirror, using the silvered, slightly distorted glass to do a final check.

The girl staring back looked… okay. Professional. Mostly. Her short brown hair was pulled into a half-up, half-down bun that felt secure for now, though she knew her bangs would probably start acting up by noon. She reached up, adjusting her glasses and smoothing the fringe so it sat just right above the frames. She’d chosen the outfit carefully. A crisp white blouse that made her feel like an adult, paired with black jeans because it was Friday and she didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard to be a "grown-up."

She hiked the strap of her messenger bag higher on her shoulder, feeling the weight of her notebooks and the red pens she’d bought in a fit of optimistic preparation. The air was crisp, that perfect mid-September sweet spot where the sun is warm but the breeze reminds you that winter is coming. She locked the truck manually, the heavy thunk of the lock sounding like a gavel.

"Force to be reckoned with," she muttered to herself, adjusting her glasses one last time. "Just a bunch of kids. They're like, 4 feet tall. You can do this."

She turned away from the safety of her truck and started toward the heavy double doors of the school. She didn't look back. She didn't know that in a few short months, middle schoolers would be the very least of her worries. She didn't know about the stars, or the ship, or the man in the science department who was about to change her life.

She just knew that she had to find Room 104, and she had to do it without tripping over her own feet.

The hallway of Grover Cleveland Middle School smelled exactly like Eden remembered middle school smelling: a combination of industrial floor wax, old locker gym shoes, and the faint, lingering scent of over-toasted cinnamon bagels from the cafeteria. She walked with a stiff posture, her messenger bag slapping against her hip in a rhythmic thud-thud-thud that felt like a countdown. She checked the room numbers again. 101. 102. 103.

And then, she saw it. Room 104. The door was painted a soft, calming eggshell blue, a stark contrast to the institutional beige of the rest of the hallway. But what stopped Eden in her tracks was the poster taped right at eye level. It was a watercolor painting of a very determined-looking bumblebee carrying a briefcase, with the words "YOU GOT THIS!" looping across the top in cheerful, hand-lettered calligraphy.

Eden stared at the bee. The bee stared back.

"Okay, little guy," she whispered, adjusting the bridge of her glasses. "If you can fly with those wings, I can survive a Monday morning."

She took a breath, smoothed her black jeans one last time, and gave the door a polite, three-beat knock. She didn't wait for a "come in" because her courage had a very short expiration date. She pushed the door open.

The room didn't feel like a classroom; it reminded Eden of her childhood bedroom. Instead of the harsh, buzzing fluorescent lights that usually defined public education, the room was bathed in the warm, golden glow of several floor lamps and string lights draped tastefully over the bookshelves. There were thick, colorful carpets in the reading corner, and the walls were covered in posters that focused more on "Kindness is a Superpower" than on standardized testing metrics. Homey.

"You must be Eden!"

A woman popped up from behind a large mahogany desk. She was shorter than Eden, with long bright blonde hair and a smile that felt like a physical hug. She wore a floral maternity dress that draped over a very prominent, seven-month baby bump, and moved with a sort of graceful energy that immediately made Eden think of Miss Honey from Matilda.

"I am," Eden said, her shoulders finally dropping an inch. "You’re Mrs. Carmen?"

"Oh, please! Not in this room," the woman laughed, rounding the desk and pulling Eden into a brief, gentle squeeze of a hug. "I’m Beth. We’ve done the email dance for three weeks now, but I am so thrilled to actually have a human adult in here with me. Welcome to the hive, Eden."

"Thank you, Beth. Your room is… it’s beautiful. I was expecting more, well, beige."

Beth waved a hand dismissively. "Beige is for people who have given up. I find that if I make the room feel like a living room, the kids act less like feral cats. History is already ‘boring enough’, as they say. Sit, sit! I’ve got your spot all ready."

Beth led her to the side of the main teacher’s desk, where a smaller but equally sturdy desk had been tucked in. It had a fresh blotter, a cup full of brand-new pens, and a small succulent in a ceramic pot.

"This is yours," Beth said, patting the desk before wincing slightly and resting a hand on her stomach. "Little one is doing gymnastics today. I’m seven months along, as you can see, so come January, you’re going to be the captain of this ship while I’m at home dealing with a different kind of sleep deprivation."

"I'm so excited for you," Eden said, sitting down and testing the chair. "And nervous for me, but mostly excited to work with you!."

"You’ll be great. You-"

THUMP.

The sound of a shoulder hitting the doorframe interrupted her. Eden spun around to see a tall, lean man with slightly disheveled sandy-blonde hair stumbling into the doorway. He was buried under a precarious tower of cardboard boxes filled with what looked like glass beakers, rolls of copper wire, and several very large magnets.

"Beth! Beth, I am a victim of my own ambition," the man gasped, his voice strained as the top box threatened to slide off. "I thought I could make it in one trip. I was wrong. I am a failure of physics. Can you get the door to my room? I’m locked out and I’m losing all sensation in my left thumb."

Beth started to push herself up from her chair, but she moved with the slow, labored caution of someone carrying a human being inside them.

"I’ve got it!" Eden blurted out, jumping to her feet before Beth could even get her feet under her. "Beth, stay. I’ll help him."

Eden darted across the room, slipping past the man who was currently trying to use his chin to keep the top box level, and stepped into the hallway.

"Opposite door?" she asked.

"That’s the one," he grunted, his eyes wide and focused entirely on not dropping fifty dollars' worth of glassware. "Key’s in my pocket, I promise I was responsible and propped it open before I left but the janitor must have kicked the wedge out,” the boxes under his chin shake with each word. If he kept talking (which he seemed to like doing, as he’s said more than 100 words in the five minutes Eden has known him) the boxes would fall and all the equipment would be broken.

Eden grabbed the handle of the science room across the hall, pushed it open, and held it wide. "Go, go, go!"

The man scurried inside, nearly tripping over a lab stool before successfully dumping the entire load onto a long black-top table with a cacophony of clicking glass and heavy cardboard. He let out a long, theatrical exhale, shaking his arms out like a marathon runner.

"Gravity," he panted, turning around. "My oldest enemy."

Then, he stopped. He looked at Eden, his brow furrowing in confusion. Eden also looked at him, he was younger than she expected, maybe mid-thirties, with a face that looked like it spent a lot of time smiling. He wore a rumpled button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a tie that featured tiny, cartoonish planets.

"You’re… not Beth," he said, his voice dropping an octave.

"I’m not," Eden agreed, feeling a sudden, annoying heat creep up her neck. "I’m Eden. Beth’s new student teacher."

The man’s expression shifted instantly from "exhausted scientist” to "charming colleague." He wiped a dusty hand on his trousers and stepped forward, offering it to her.

"Ryland Grace," he said, his smile bright and surprisingly infectious. "I help run the Science Department. But, in my opinion, they only made me a lead as a fancy way of saying I’m the one who accidentally sets off the smoke detectors once a semester. I am so sorry for the 'damsel in distress' entrance. Usually, I’m much more suave. Or at least, I tell myself that."

Eden took his hand. His grip was firm, and his skin was warm, and for some reason, her brain decided to stop processing English for three seconds. "It’s okay. I’m a student teacher, helping with boxes is basically in my job description."

"Well, you’re a life-saver, Eden," Ryland said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He didn't let go of her hand immediately, and Eden felt a jolt of something that definitely wasn't just "first-day jitters."

He was… well, he was handsome. In a nerdy, disorganized, 'I forgot to comb my hair because I was thinking about atoms' kind of way.

"I mean it," he continued, finally releasing her hand to gesture at the chaos on the table. "If you ever need anything- supplies, advice on which vending machine doesn't steal your dollar, or someone to vent to when the eighth graders inevitably start a revolution- my door is always open. I owe you one."

"I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Grace," Eden said, her voice a little breathier than she liked.

"Oh, it's Ryland. Save 'Mr. Grace' for the kids; it makes me feel like my own father is standing behind me."

Behind them, the hallway began to flood with the sound of slamming lockers and the high-pitched chatter of students. The first bell was about to ring.

"Better get back to the hive," Ryland said with a wink. "Beth’s a great mentor. You're in good hands."

Eden nodded, ducking her head as she hurried back across the hall. As she stepped back into Room 104, she saw Beth watching her with a knowing, mischievous glint in her eye.

Eden sat down at her new desk, her heart racing. She had been so worried about the students- about their judgment, their energy, their chaos- that she forgot that there would be older adults here as well. It seemed silly, it was a school afterall.. But as she watched Ryland Grace start to usher kids into his room across the hall, she realized her biggest distraction wasn't going to be the kids at all. It was going to be the man with the planet tie and the crooked smile.

"He's helpful, isn't he?" Beth whispered, leaning over with a grin.

Eden just cleared her throat and opened her notebook to a blank page, her pen hovering over the paper in order to fake being busy. Force to be reckoned with, she thought, though her hand was shaking just a little bit. You've got this.

The fluorescent lights of the prep clinic buzzed, a sharp, sterile hum that vibrated right through the soles of my shoes. I stood over the gurney, staring down at Ryland. He looked so small beneath the crisp white sheet, his chest rising and falling in a slow, medically induced rhythm.

"Get away from him, Eden."

Stratt’s voice cut through the quiet, cold and entirely devoid of apology. She stood in the doorway, two security guards flanking her like gargoyles. I spun around, my hands trembling, knuckles white as I gripped the metal railing of Ryland’s bed. "What did you do to him? Stratt, what did you do?"

"What was necessary," she said, stepping into the room. She didn’t even look at Ryland. Her eyes were fixed entirely on me like she was assessing a glitch in her machine. "Dr. Lokken and Dr. Lamonov are dead. Dr. Grace is the only remaining primary specialist on the Astrophage. The mission requires a biologist."

"He said no!" My voice cracked, a raw, ugly sound echoing off the tile walls. "He told you no! You can't just drug a man and ship him into deep space to die!"

"I can, and I have to," Stratt replied. "The survival of our species outweighs Ryland Grace’s cowardice. And it certainly outweighs your sentimentality. Move away from the gurney. We need to finalize his transport to the shuttle."

"No." I stepped in front of the bed, shielding him. "No, I won't let you do this. I have the logs, Stratt. I’ve written down everything. Every illegal seizure of property, every human rights violation, every single underhanded, totalitarian thing you’ve done for the last eight months. I will walk out those doors right now, I will find the media, I will find the international courts-"

"You won't make it past the courtyard," Stratt interrupted, her tone cold and strict. "Do you honestly think I care about the law, Eden? There won't be a legal system left to try me in fifty years if this ship doesn't launch."

"They'll stop the launch!" I screamed, the tears finally spilling over, hot and furious. "If the public knows you’re kidnapping your crew, they will tear this facility apart! I will burn this entire project to the ground, Stratt, I swear to God I will, unless you wake him up right now!"

Stratt stared at me for three agonizing seconds. The silence in the room was suffocating. Then, she let out a short, heavy breath and looked at the guards.

"She's a security leak," Stratt said, her voice dropping into that terrifyingly pragmatic register. "And a logistical liability. We don't have the time or the facility to detain her here without risking a breach."

My heart plummeted into my stomach. "Stratt... what?"

"You've spent months complaining that the Hail Mary needs an archivist to document the journey for whoever comes after us," Stratt said, taking a step toward me. "And you're right. It’s a shame the fourth coma berth was meant to be a spare. Prepare her."

"Are you insane?!" I lunged forward, but the guards were already moving.

A heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder, dragging me backward. I fought, kicking wildly, my sneakers scuffing violently against the floor as they shoved me into a heavy prep chair.

"Get off me! Let me go!" I shrieked, thrashing against the thick leather straps they snapped across my chest and arms. "Stratt, you can't do this! You can't!"

"I am saving humanity, Eden," Stratt said, looking down at me as a lab tech stepped forward, a syringe gleaming under the harsh lights. "If you're so desperate to protect this crew, you can go with them."

"No! No! Please!"

The tech grabbed my arm. I twisted my head, screaming at the top of my lungs, the sound tearing at my throat. "Yao! Ilyukhina! Yao!" Then, the double doors at the end of the hall burst open with a deafening crash.

"What the hell is going on in here?!" Commander Yao’s voice boomed, frantic and breathless as he charged into the room, his eyes widening in absolute horror as he saw me pinned to the chair. "Eden?! Eva what are you doing?"

"Yao, help me! She's sending-"

The cold, sharp bite of the needle pierced my neck. The world instantly tilted. The ceiling fan spun into a blur of grey and white. Yao’s face rushed toward me, his hands reaching out, his voice shouting something indistinguishable over the roaring in my ears.

I'm sorry, I tried to say, but my tongue felt like lead. I'm sorry, I couldn't save him.

The humidity of the Tampa Bey evening clung to the asphalt of the Raymond James Stadium loading dock, smelling of ocean salt and pyrotechnics. Inside the concrete belly of the arena, the air was still vibrating. You could feel the sub-bass of the final "Arirang Tour" encore echoing in your bone marrow, a rhythmic thrum that signaled the end of a three-hour marathon.

You stood in the "Dead Zone," a quiet corridor tucked behind a mountain of flight cases labeled  STAGE GEAR. You were a shadow in the corner, dressed in a staff-issued black windbreaker, a face mask, and a baseball cap pulled low. Your lanyard was real, but the name on it belonged to a production assistant currently grabbing coffee in the catering tent.

For six weeks, you had been a flickering image on a phone screen. You had watched Namjoon’s face grow leaner through FaceTime, seen the dark circles under his eyes deepen as the Arirang Tour kicked off its North American leg. You had listened to him talk about the pressure of the "Arirang" concept—how he wanted to weave traditional Korean soul into a modern stadium pop spectacle. He was exhausted, exhilarated, and, most of all, lonely.

"Final bows in sixty seconds!" a stage manager barked into his headset, sprinting past you.

The roar from the stadium changed. It shifted from a rhythmic chant into a singular, deafening wall of sound- the sound of seventy thousand people realizing the night was over. Ten minutes later, the heavy curtains separating the stage from the tunnel swung open. The air that rushed out was hot and smelled of ozone and sweat. The members appeared like ghosts through the haze. Jungkook was sprinting, his adrenaline still peaked, tossing a water bottle to a staff member. Hobi followed, trailing energy like a comet, his face drenched but glowing.

And then, you saw Namjoon.

He was walking slowly, his head tilted back as he caught his breath. He looked like a fallen god- wearing his own tour merch to end the night, forehead damp with perspiration, the silver chain on his pants catching the harsh fluorescent lights of the tunnel. He looked older than he had six weeks ago, his shoulders carrying the literal and metaphorical weight of the group's leadership.

He stopped near your stack of crates, reaching for a towel. He didn't look up. He just leaned his forehead against a flight case, his chest heaving.

"The bridge in 'Come Over' was a little pitchy tonight, Joon," you said softly.

Namjoon froze. The towel stopped halfway to his face. He didn't turn around immediately; he stayed perfectly still, as if he was afraid that by moving, he would break the hallucination. Slowly, he turned his head. When his eyes met yours over the top of your mask, the exhaustion seemed to vanish, replaced by a shock so pure it was almost comical.

"Y/N?" he breathed, his voice a gravelly wreck.

"I’m kidding about the pitch," you smiled, pulling your mask down. "You all were perfect."

He didn't care about the cameras for the tour documentary. He didn't care about the twenty staff members buzzing around him. He moved with a sudden, desperate speed, his large arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you off your feet. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his skin hot and damp against yours. He smelled like the stage—heat, hairspray, and the faint, earthy scent of the woodsy cologne he always wore.

"You're here," he whispered into your skin, his grip tightening until you could barely breathe. "How? The flights... the Seoul schedule..."

"I have a very good relationship with your manager," you laughed, clutching the damp fabric of his stage shirt. "Happy opening night, Joon."

The transition from the chaos of the stadium to the sanctuary of the blacked-out SUV was a blur of adrenaline. Usually, the members rode together in a convoy, but Namjoon had pulled a "Leader’s Prerogative," claiming he needed to discuss setlist adjustments with a "production lead" on the way to the hotel. Now, you were tucked into the plush leather backseat of a tinted Cadillac Escalade. The driver was a silent professional who had been briefed to keep his eyes on the road. Outside, the streets of Dale Mabry were lined with fans holding up their lightsticks, hoping for a glimpse of a window. Namjoon slumped into the seat, his hand immediately finding yours. He laced his fingers through yours, his thumb rubbing rhythmic circles over your knuckles.

"I feel like I’m breathing for the first time since Seoul," he murmured, looking out at the palm trees blurred by speed. "The tour is beautiful, Y/N. The fans... they’re incredible. But it’s loud. It’s so loud, all the time."

"I know," you said, resting your head on his shoulder. "I watched the whole set from the sound booth. You looked like you were carrying the whole world on your back during 'Mic Drop'."

He let out a short, self-deprecating laugh. "I was just trying not to slip on the water Taehyung and Jimin spilt during the first break, I didn’t realize i’d have to prepare for a water fight that early on.” He turned his head to look at you, his eyes soft in the intermittent glow of the passing streetlights. "Thank you for coming. I know the flight is brutal. I know being the secret girlfriend of a guy in a fishbowl isn't exactly a fairytale."

"It has its perks," you teased, gesturing to the luxury SUV. "Free food and a very handsome passenger? Sign me up"

As the car pulled into the underground garage of the hotel, Namjoon didn't let go of your hand. He led you through the service elevator, a move designed to avoid the fans camped out in the lobby. By the time the elevator dinged on the penthouse floor, the "RM" of the Arirang Tour had faded, replaced by just Namjoon.

The hotel suite was a glass box looking out over the glittering sprawl of Tampa. Namjoon had insisted on ordering "everything" from the late-night room service menu. By the time he emerged from the shower, smelling of sandalwood and fresh linen, the table was covered in steak, pasta, and a suspiciously expensive bottle of wine.

He was wearing his own clothes now- loose linen pants and a soft grey hoodie. He looked like the Namjoon who visited art galleries on rainy days, the Namjoon who read philosophy books in the park.

"I told them to leave the cart outside," he said, pulling out a chair for you. "I don't want anyone else in here tonight. Just us."

The dinner was a slow, indulgent affair. You talked about everything except the tour. You talked about the books you’d read, the way the light hit your apartment in Seoul, and the small things you missed about each other. Namjoon was a vivid storyteller, his hands moving animatedly as he described a small bookstore he’d found in Tokyo a few weeks prior. After dinner, the wine had left a warm hum in your veins. Namjoon dimmed the lights and sat on the oversized sofa, pulling you into his side. 

"Sometimes I look at all of this," he said, gesturing to the view and the luxury of the room, "and I feel like I’m living in a dream that belongs to someone else. Like I’m just holding the place for the 'RM' the world sees. But when you’re here... the dream feels like mine again."

You looked up at him, tracing the familiar line of his jaw. "You've worked so hard for this dream, Joon. Don't let the scale of it make you feel small."

He smiled, his dimples deepening, and leaned down. The kiss was slow and tasted of red wine and longing. It was the kind of kiss that made the six weeks of distance vanish in an instant. His hand moved to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

"I missed you," he whispered against your lips. "I missed you so much it felt like a physical ache."

"I'm not going anywhere," you breathed. "At least for the next three days."

The peace of the moment was shattered by a sound that definitely did not belong in a romantic penthouse suite: the muffled, hysterical wheezing of Kim Seokjin laughing in the hallway.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

The door to the suite didn't just open; it was practically kicked in.

"NAMJOON-AH! OPEN THE TWITTER! IMMEDIATELY!"

Seokjin burst into the room, still wearing his silk pajamas and holding his phone like a holy relic. Behind him, Jungkook was doubled over, clutching his stomach, his face a shade of red that looked dangerous. Namjoon scrambled to sit up, his hair mussed and his face flushed. "What the- we are BUSY! There’s a thing called knocking!"

"No time for knocking!" Seokjin gasped, wiping a tear from his eye. "The internet has decided your fate! You are no longer the Leader of BTS! You are the 'National Gift-Giver'!"

Jungkook finally managed to find his voice, though it was an octave higher than usual. "Hyung, they saw you! They saw you leaving the stadium with Y/N!"

Your heart dropped. "Wait, did we get caught? Are there pictures of my face?"

"No, no, no," Seokjin said, shoving his phone into Namjoon’s face. "Look! Look at the hashtag!"

Namjoon squinted at the screen. His eyes went wide, and then his head fell back against the sofa with a groan.

Trending Worldwide: #GiveMeANDAToo

"What is an 'ANDA'?" you asked, leaning in to look.

"It’s not an 'ANDA'," Jungkook squealed, falling onto the carpet. "It’s 'A N-D-A'. It stands for A Non-Disclosure Agreement!"

Seokjin started scrolling through the tweets at lightning speed. "Look at this one! 'I saw RM leaving in a black SUV with a lucky fan! He even held her hand! Why can't I win the lottery too? #GiveMeANDAToo'."

He swiped again. 'The Arirang Tour is truly for the people. Namjoon-ssi is literally taking fans back to his hotel to discuss the cultural significance of the setlist. A true king. #GiveMeANDAToo'.

"They think..." you started, the realization dawning on you. "They think I'm a fan? Like, a contest winner?"

"Not just a fan," Seokjin corrected, his shoulders shaking with fresh laughter. "They think you're a 'Lucky Representative.' There’s a whole theory going around that because the Arirang Tour is about 'The People’s Song,' Namjoon is choosing one 'soulmate fan' per city to give a private lecture to. They can’t believe that Namjoon would hook up with a fan and it be caught this easily"

Namjoon covered his face with his hands. "A private lecture? I was literally kissing her two minutes ago!"

"Well, according to Twitter user @JooniesBonsai, you were actually explaining the Joseon Dynasty's influence on 'Intro: Persona'," Jungkook teased, poking Namjoon’s leg. "She said, and I quote, 'Look at how intently she's looking at him. She's clearly a PhD student in Korean History. Namjoon found his match. #GiveMeANDAToo'."

Namjoon looked at you, then back at his chaotic members. The absurdity of it all finally broke through his embarrassment. He started to chuckle, then barked out a loud, genuine laugh that shook his whole frame.

"So," Namjoon said, pulling you back into his side while Seokjin and Jungkook started filming a TikTok to the hashtag in the background. "Since you’re my 'PhD student' for the night, do you want to hear my thesis on why I love you?"

"Only if it comes with more of that wine," you laughed.

The sun hadn’t even considered rising yet when the rhythmic thumping began on your front door. It wasn't a polite knock; it was a rhythmic, confident beat that suggested the person on the other side believed they were doing you a favor by waking you up before the birds.

You groaned, pulling the duvet over your head. "Go away, Seokjin," you mumbled into your pillow.

"I can hear you through the wood!" his voice rang out, clear and bright, entirely too energetic for four in the morning. "The fish are waking up! They’re brushing their scales! They’re waiting for the World Wide Handsome guest of honor! Are you really going to make them wait?"

You stumbled out of bed, your vision blurry, and swung the door open. Kim Seokjin stood there in a vibrant, neon-orange windbreaker that could likely be seen from the International Space Station. He had a bucket hat perched precariously on his head and a grin that was far too symmetrical for this hour.

"You look like a traffic cone," you croaked, squinting at the brightness of his jacket.

He gasped, leaning back and resting a hand on his chest. "A traffic cone? This is high-fashion maritime couture, Y/N. I have to look good. If the fish see me and realize how handsome I am, they’ll jump into the boat just to get a closer look. It’s science."

"I’m pretty sure that’s not how biology works," you sighed, but you were already stepping back to let him in.

"Coffee is in the thermos, the car is packed, and I’ve already named the first three fish we’re going to catch," he said, marching into your kitchen with the authority of a ship’s captain. "Move, move, move! The tide waits for no one, and neither does Kim Seokjin!"

The engine of Jin’s SUV hummed a low, steady bassline against the silence of the sleeping city. Inside the cabin, the air smelled like expensive cologne mixed with the faint, sharp tang of the instant coffee he’d pressed into your hands the moment you’d buckled your seatbelt.

You watched the streetlights flicker past, a blur of amber against the dark blue of the 4:00 AM sky. To your left, Seokjin looked like a character pulled straight from a high-budget travel vlog. Even in the dim light of the dashboard, his profile was sharp- the kind of bone structure that seemed unfair to witness so early in the morning. He was humming a melody you didn’t recognize, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the steering wheel.

"You're awfully quiet over there," he said, his voice a low vibration that seemed to fill the small space. "Is the coffee not working, or are you just overwhelmed by being in the presence of a legend so early in the day?"

"Option C," you yawned, shifting in the leather seat. "I’m wondering how you have this much energy. Did you even sleep?"

"Sleep is for people who aren't about to conquer the ocean," he declared, throwing a quick, playful wink your way. "And besides, I had to prepare. Do you know how long it takes to coordinate an outfit this vibrant? You can't just throw on neon orange; you have to earn it."

You looked at the jacket again. It really was blinding. "I’m worried the fish will see us coming from three miles away."

"That’s the point, Y/N! It’s psychological warfare. They’ll be so dazzled by the fashion that they’ll forget to swim away. It’s the Kim Seokjin Strategy."

He turned the radio up slightly- some pop song about biology was playing, who in their right mind sings about deoxyribonucleic acid this early- and for a while, the conversation drifted into the comfortable silence that only comes with years of friendship. You found yourself watching the way his expression softened when he wasn't trying to be "on." There was a quietness to him in these early hours, a version of Jin that the world rarely saw. It was the Jin who noticed when you were tired, who knew exactly how much sugar you liked in your coffee, and who had spent three weeks planning this trip just because you’d mentioned once, in passing, that you needed a break from the city.

~~~

Forty-five minutes later, you were standing on a damp wooden pier, watching Jin struggle with a massive plastic cooler. He had insisted on bringing enough food to feed a small navy, despite the fact that you were only going to be out for six hours. By the time you reached the marina, the world was beginning to wake up in shades of charcoal and violet. A thick mist rolled off the water, clinging to the docks like a damp blanket. The air was saltier here, cold enough that you could see your breath in little white puffs.

Jin was out of the car in a flash, his boots clattering on the pavement as he began unloading the "supplies."

"Stay there! Don't move!" he called out as you moved to help. "A captain does not let the guest of honor lift heavy objects. It’s bad for the aura."

You watched, leaning against the car, as he hauled a massive cooler, three tackle boxes, and four different fishing rods toward the boat. He looked ridiculous. A bright orange blur in the grey fog with a certain grace in his movements that caught you off guard. He was strong, his shoulders broad under the windbreaker, moving with a purposeful energy.

As he reached the boat, he realized the pier was slick with morning dew. He took one step, his foot slid, and for a terrifying second, he looked like a cartoon character trying to find balance on a banana peel.

"Jin!" you shouted, stepping forward.

He caught himself at the last second, gripping a wooden post with both hands, his chest heaving. Somehow, he had kept the tackleboxes safe in his arms and under his chin. He stayed frozen for a moment, then slowly turned his head to look at you. His bucket hat was slanted over one eye.

"I... I did that on purpose," he gasped, his voice cracking slightly. "I was checking the friction coefficient of the wood. It’s... it’s very low. Excellent data."

You couldn't help it. The laugh started deep in your chest and bubbled up until you were doubled over, leaning against the SUV for support. "You almost fell in before we even touched the boat!"

"Laughter is a sign of a healthy soul!" he shouted back, straightening his hat and puffing out his chest. "I’m glad I could provide you with such a high-quality soul-cleansing experience!". You finally take a look at what was so important to bring on this ship.

"Jin, do we really need a three-course meal for a fishing trip?" you asked, hoisting your own backpack.

"Fishing is 10% catching fish and 90% waiting for fish," he explained, pausing to wipe an imaginary bead of sweat from his forehead. "And if I am going to wait, I am going to wait with high-quality snacks. I have kimbap, I have fruit, and I have those little sausages you like. Don't complain when you're hungry in an hour."

"Careful," he murmured, his grip on your hand firm and warm. "The dock is slippery."

You can’t help but laugh at his pout, God how you wish you could just take his face in your hands and-

You catch yourself midthought, it is too early to be picturing that about your best friend...right?

~~~

He led you to a small, slightly weathered motorboat named The Silver Scale. Finally coming aboard, you could see that the boat itself was a modest motorboat, but to Jin, it might as well have been a luxury yacht. He spent ten minutes "inspecting" the hull, nodding solemnly as if he knew exactly what he was looking for.

"She’s sturdy," he concluded, patting the side of the boat. "She’s ready for the weight of my talent."

Helping him load the gear turned into a comedy of errors. The cooler was packed so tightly with food that the lid kept popping open, revealing his containers of kimbap, neatly sliced fruit, and- inexplicably- a bottle of sparkling cider.

"Is the cider for the fish?" you asked, handing him a tackle box.

"No, the cider is for the victory toast," he said, stowing it under a seat. "We have to manifest success, Y/N. If we act like we’ve already caught the biggest fish in the sea, the universe will provide."

Once everything was on board, he reached out his hand to help you down. The joking tone vanished for a split second. The mist was swirling around his ankles, and the first hint of orange sunlight was hitting the horizon behind him.

"The boat is a little wobbly," he warned, his voice suddenly soft and grounded. "Give me your hand."

His palm was large and warm, his grip steady as he guided you onto the deck. For a heartbeat, as you stepped down, you were standing very close to him- close enough to feel the heat radiating from his chest, close enough to see the tiny flecks of amber in his eyes.

"Got you," he whispered.

He didn't let go immediately. He waited until he was sure you had your balance, his thumb brushing almost imperceptibly against the back of your hand before he pulled away to start the engine.

"Alright!" he shouted, the engine roaring to life and breaking the spell. "Destination: Victory! Or at least, destination: Lunch!"

~~~

The Silver Scale moved further away from the coast, the shoreline becoming a thin, green ribbon against the horizon. The mist had completely burned off, replaced by a sky so blue it looked painted. Jin was at the helm, his hand resting casually on the throttle, humming along to the rhythmic slap-slap-slap of the waves against the hull.  The boat cut through the glassy water as the sky began to bleed into shades of bruised purple and gold. It was peaceful, truly. The air was cool, the water was calm, and for a few minutes, Jin was actually quiet, focused on navigating to his "secret spot."

Once the anchor was dropped, the real performance began.

"Okay, Y/N, watch the master," Jin said, picking up his expensive-looking rod. "Fishing is about grace. It’s about the flick of the wrist. It’s about-"

Thwack.

He swung the rod back with immense flair, but instead of the line soaring out into the water, there was a sharp tug. Jin stumbled forward, his neon-orange shoulder jerked backward.

"Jin?" you bit back a laugh. "What happened to the grace?"

He froze, looking over his shoulder. The hook was firmly embedded in the thick fabric of his own windbreaker, right between his shoulder blades. He looked like a moth pinned to a board.

"I was... testing the durability of the equipment," he said, his voice reaching that slightly higher pitch it hit when he was flustered. "It’s a safety check! Very important!"

"You hooked yourself," you deadpanned.

"I am the catch of the day!" he shot back, trying to reach behind his back to unhook himself. He looked like a cat chasing its own tail, spinning in small circles in the middle of the boat. "Don't just sit there laughing! Help your captain!"

You spent the next five minutes trying to extract the hook without tearing the expensive jacket, while Jin grumbled about the "aggressive aerodynamics" of the wind. By the time he was free, his hair was a mess and his bucket hat was crooked.

"Okay," he huffed, straightening his collar. "That was a warm-up. Now, for the bait."

"Now that we’re finally here," he paused for dramatic effect, "This is the spot. My grandfather told me that the fish in this specific patch of ocean are particularly sophisticated. They have refined palates. They’ll appreciate the squid."  He opened a small plastic container. The smell hit you instantly- a pungent, salty, slightly rotting aroma that made your nose crinkle.

"Ugh, Jin, what is that?"

"Premium fermented squid," he said, though even he looked a little disgusted. "The salesman said it’s irresistible."

He picked up a slimy piece of bait with two fingers, his face contorting into a mask of pure horror. "Oh... oh, it’s squishy. Why is it squishy, Y/N? It’s touching me. It’s holding my hand."

"You're the one who wanted to go fishing!"

"I wanted the aesthetic of fishing!" he cried, finally managed to impale the bait onto the hook. "I wanted the sun, the water, and the impressive photos! I didn't sign up for squid juice!"

He wiped his fingers aggressively on a rag, looking deeply offended by the entire process. "If I don't catch a shark after this, I'm suing the ocean."

"I still think they’ll just be confused by the smell," you teased, grabbing your rod.

For the next hour, it was surprisingly peaceful. You both sat on opposite sides of the boat, lines cast deep into the turquoise water. The sun was getting warmer, and Jin had shed his neon windbreaker, revealing a simple white t-shirt that showed off the impressive breadth of his shoulders- a stark reminder that beneath the "traffic cone" exterior was a man who worked incredibly hard.

"You know," Jin started, leaning back against his seat, "fishing is a lot like life. You cast your line, you wait, you hope... and most of the time, you just end up with a sunburn and a sense of regret."

"That’s surprisingly dark for you, Jin."

"I’m a deep thinker! I contain multitudes!" He gestured grandly with his free hand. "I’m like an onion. Layers, Y/N. Layers of handsomeness and wisdom."

Suddenly, his line moved. In fact, his rod didn't just twitch- it arched violently toward the water.

"OH! OH! IT’S HAPPENING!" Jin shrieked, his "deep thinker" persona evaporating instantly. He scrambled to his feet, the boat rocking precariously under his sudden movement. "It’s a monster! It’s the Kraken! It’s coming for revenge!"

He began to reel in with frantic, uncoordinated energy. The line was zipping through the water, cutting left and right. You stood up to help, but Jin waved you off with a wild look in his eyes. "No! I must face this beast alone! This is a battle of wills!"

The "beast" broke the surface about ten feet from the boat. It wasn't a shark. It wasn't even a large fish. It was a medium-sized, particularly muscular mackerel that seemed personally offended by being hooked. As Jin gave one final, Herculean heave-ho, and the fish didn't just fly out of the water- it launched itself like a silver missile.

SLAP.

The fish landed square across Jin's face, its tail flickering rapidly against his cheek.

"AHHHHHHHH!" Jin’s scream was a high-pitched, operatic masterpiece that probably could have been heard back at the marina. He stumbled backward, his arms flailing, as the wet, slimy fish slid down his face and landed with a damp thud on the deck. He froze, his hands hovering near his cheeks, his eyes wide with genuine shock.

"It... it slapped me," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Y/N. The fish. It physically assaulted the Mr. World Wide Handsome."

You were paralyzed. You were trying to breathe, but your lungs refused to work because you were laughing so hard. You had to grip the side of the boat to keep from falling overboard. "The... the look on your face..." you wheezed.

"I am a victim!" Jin shouted, though a grin was starting to break through his feigned trauma. He looked down at the mackerel, which was now flopping harmlessly near his boots. "Did you see that? It targeted me! It saw my face and thought, 'I must humiliate this beautiful man before I go.'"

He picked up a towel and wiped his face with exaggerated disgust, though he was finally starting to laugh along with you. "I'm retiring. This is it. The ocean has rejected me."

 ~~~

The sun was fully up now, turning the surface of the water into a sheet of hammered gold. The "Premium Fermented Squid" and the “Fish-ssault” incidents had been dealt with, and now, you were both settled into the rhythmic lull of the boat.

Jin sat across from you, his legs stretched out, looking surprisingly focused on his fishing line. The silence lasted exactly four minutes.

"Hey, Y/N," he said, not looking up.

"Yes, Jin?"

"Why did the fish get bad grades?"

You closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the edge of the boat. "I don't know, Jin. Why did the fish get bad grades?"

"Because he was below sea level!" He let out a loud, windshield-wiper laugh that echoed across the open water, startling a nearby seagull. "Get it? C-level? Sea level? Ah, I’m a genius. Even the birds are laughing."

"The birds are fleeing, Jin," you teased, but you couldn't help the smile tugging at your lips.

"They’re just going to tell their friends to come see the handsome comedian," he countered, reeling his line in an inch. "Okay, serious question. What do you call a fish with no eyes?"

"A fsh," you answered immediately.

He stopped, his mouth hanging open in mock outrage. "You’ve heard it. Someone told you. My material is being leaked! There is a spy in my circle!"

"It’s a classic, Jin! Everyone knows that one."

"Fine, fine. Try this: What do you call a wealthy fish?" He paused for dramatic effect. "A gold-fish."

"That’s actually terrible," you laughed, throwing a small piece of kimbap at his orange jacket.

"It's a masterpiece! Just like my face!" He caught the kimbap mid-air and popped it into his mouth. "See? I’m also a world-class athlete with lightning-fast reflexes."

Suddenly, your fishing rod jerked. Not a small nibble, but a genuine, heavy pull that nearly took the rod out of your hands.

"Jin! I think I have something!"

His eyes went wide, his own rod forgotten. "Wait, wait! Don't let go! Reel it in! Be the fish, Y/N! Feel its soul!" He scrambled over to your side of the boat, his hands hovering near yours on the grip. "Easy... easy... it’s a big one! It’s definitely a shark. Or a sunken treasure chest. Or a very heavy boot!"

You were laughing too hard to focus, your muscles straining against the pull. "It’s... it’s really strong!"

With one final, heave-ho tug, the line broke the surface. A small, shimmering silver fish, no longer than your hand, came flying out of the water. It landed with a wet thwack right on Jin's chest, sticking to his neon windbreaker for a split second before sliding down into his lap.

Both of you stared at the tiny creature. It flopped once, looking up at Jin with wide, unblinking eyes.

"Is... is that the shark?" you asked, breathless.

Jin looked down at the fish, then back at you. He looked genuinely moved. "Y/N... look at his face. He’s beautiful. He has my eyes."

"He's four inches long, Jin."

"He’s a fighter! He chose me!" Jin carefully cupped the fish in his hands, his expression softening into something incredibly sweet. "Hello, Little Seokjin. You are very brave to challenge the World Wide Handsome. But alas, our love is forbidden. You belong to the deep."

He leaned over the edge of the boat, gently lowering the fish back into the water. As it flicked its tail and disappeared, Jin sighed dramatically, wiping a phantom tear. "Go! Be free! Tell your friends of the man in the orange jacket who spared your life!"

~~~

The adrenaline of the "Big Catch" faded, leaving a comfortable, warm hum between you. The snacks had been eaten, the sun was high, and the boat swayed gently in the wake of a distant ship.

Jin had finally taken off the bucket hat, his dark hair messy and windswept. He looked less like a "maritime traffic cone" now and more like... just Seokjin. The man who made sure you had the best seat in the boat. The man who had been your best friend for years, hiding behind jokes so you wouldn't see how much he cared.

You realized you were staring.

"I know," he said softly, his voice dropping an octave. He wasn't looking at the water anymore; he was looking at you. "The view is incredible. It’s hard to look away from something this perfect."

Usually, this was where he’d make a joke about his own reflection. But he didn't. He just kept his eyes locked on yours.

"The water is nice, yeah," you whispered, your heart starting to race.

"I wasn't talking about the water, Y/N."

The humor that usually acted as a shield between you was gone. Jin moved closer, shifting his weight until he was sitting right next to you on the narrow bench. The boat rocked, bringing your shoulders together.

"You've been laughing at my jokes all morning," he murmured, his hand reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered there, warm against your skin. "Even the bad ones."

"Especially the bad ones," you breathed.

The sun continued its slow descent toward the afternoon, and the water turned a deeper, inkier blue. The jokes had run dry for a moment, replaced by the comfortable exhaustion that comes from too much laughter.

Jin sat down on the floor of the boat next to you, leaning his back against the side. He pulled out two sodas from the cooler, handing one to you.

"Hey," he said, his voice quiet, devoid of the usual theatricality.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for coming today. I know 4:00 AM is a lot to ask of someone."

"I wouldn't have done it for anyone else," you admitted, looking out at the horizon.

Jin took a slow sip of his drink, his gaze following yours. "I know I joke around a lot. I know I’m... a lot to handle sometimes. The 'WWH' stuff, the dad jokes, the screaming at fish..." He trailed off, a small, self-deprecating smile on his face. "Sometimes I think I use it as a way to make sure people are always smiling, so they don't look too closely at the person behind the noise."

You turned to look at him, surprised by the sudden vulnerability. "Jin, you don't have to perform for me. You know that, right?"

"I know," he murmured. He reached out, his fingers tracing the pattern on the boat's floor. "But it’s scary, isn't it? Being quiet. When it’s quiet, you have to actually say what’s on your mind. And what’s on my mind is usually... complicated."

He looked up at you then, and the intensity in his eyes made your breath hitch. The playful "traffic cone" was still gone. This was the man who stayed up late to practice his vocals until they were perfect, the man who felt the weight of being the eldest, the man who cared so deeply for his friends that it sometimes looked like it hurt.

"I brought you out here because it's the only place where the world feels small enough to manage," he said. "No cameras, no schedules, no expectations. Just the water. And you."

He paused, his thumb brushing against your wrist where it rested on the deck. "I’ve spent a lot of my life making sure everyone else is okay. Making sure the mood is light. But when I’m with you, I feel like I can just... be. I don't have to catch the biggest fish to impress you. I can get slapped in the face by a mackerel and know that you’ll still be here, laughing with me, not at me,” he said, his thumb now grazing your cheek. "I’m very good at catching things. I can catch fish. I can catch people's attention. But I’ve been trying to catch your heart for a long time, and I wasn't sure if I was using the right bait."

You let out a small, shaky laugh. "You don't need bait, Jin. You just need to be you."

Your heart felt like it was expanding, pressing against your ribs as you continued, "You never have to impress me, Seokjin. I’ve liked the 'person behind the noise' for a long time."

The silence that followed wasn't empty; it was heavy with everything neither of you had been brave enough to say in the city. The boat rocked gently, pushing you a few inches closer to him.

"For a long time?" he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. "How long?"

"Longer than the 'Analog Records' AU," you joked weakly, trying to break the tension.

Jin laughed, but it was a soft, breathy sound. He reached out, his hand cupping the side of your face. His skin was warm, smelling of salt and sun. "Y/N, I'm a very confident man. I tell the whole world how handsome I am every single day. But right now? My heart is beating so fast I’m worried it’s going to scare the fish away."

You leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut. "Let them be scared. I'm not going anywhere."

He leaned in, slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn't. When his lips finally met yours, it wasn't chaotic or loud like the rest of the morning. It was soft, tasting of salt air and the lingering sweetness of the fruit he’d shared with you. It was a "perfectly timed" moment that had nothing to do with luck and everything to do with the man who had been waiting for this as long as you had.

When he pulled back, just an inch, he rested his forehead against yours.

"So," he whispered, his breath warm against your lips. "Does this mean I get a second date? Or do I need to catch an actual shark next time?"

You laughed, pulling him back in by the collar of his ridiculous orange jacket. "No sharks. No traffic cone outfits. Just you."

“Okay, first of all,” you say into the camera, already annoyed, “if I die tonight, I want everyone to know this was entirely Jeon Jungkook’s fault.”

Behind the camera, Jungkook snorts.

“Dramatic.”

“You invited me to an abandoned psychiatric hospital at midnight.”

“It’s content.”

“It’s trespassing.”

“It’s spooky content.”

You glare directly into the lens.

“You see what I deal with?”

The camera shakes slightly with his laughter. Unfortunately, even through the viewfinder and terrible parking lot lighting, he still looks unfairly good. Black hoodie, dark beanie shoved over messy hair, silver rings flashing whenever he adjusts the camera settings.

It’s deeply irritating.

Mostly because your crush on Jungkook has become everyone’s favorite unspoken joke- not that anyone says it outright. But you notice things.

The knowing looks from his streamer friends whenever he automatically saves you a seat. The way Taehyung grins every time Jungkook gets possessive over your attention. The fact that Jimin once outright asked, “So how long are you two planning to act married before dating?”. You nearly choked on your drink. Jungkook turned red. And then both of you aggressively changed the subject.

Now here you are.

Standing in front of one of the creepiest buildings you’ve ever seen because Jungkook texted you three days ago saying “come ghost hunting with me!!” and for some reason your brain stopped functioning long enough to say yes. The hospital towers over you in eerie silence. Half the windows are shattered. Ivy crawls up cracked walls. Rusted fencing bends inward around the property like the building itself is trying to trap people.

You hate it already.

“I still think this is how horror movies start,” you mutter.

Jungkook finally lowers the camera enough to grin at you.

“You trust me though, right?”

And there it is. That stupid smile. Warm brown eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. Lip ring catching the parking lot light.

You immediately look away.

“Unfortunately.”

His grin widens.

“Cute.”

Your stomach betrays you instantly. You recover by narrowing your eyes.

“If I get possessed, I’m haunting you specifically.”

“That’s fair.”

He swings the camera back toward himself.

“Anyway, welcome back to the vlog. Tonight we’re investigating one of Korea’s most infamous abandoned hospitals-”

“Which allegedly has ghosts,” you interrupt.

“Allegedly.”

“You say allegedly now.”

“You don’t believe in ghosts?”

You stare at the building.

“…I believe in running away.”

He laughs again.

God.

You’re so doomed. If the ghosts don’t get you first, Jungkook could very well be the end of you.

~~~

Ten minutes later, you regret every decision you’ve ever made. The inside of the hospital is somehow worse.

The air smells damp and rotten. Flashlight beams cut across peeling wallpaper and overturned hospital beds. Graffiti stretches across nearly every wall in jagged colors. Every sound echoes. Your shoes crunch loudly over broken glass, causing you to jump again.

And Jungkook?

Jungkook thinks your suffering is hilarious.

“There was a noise,” you whisper harshly.

“You stepped on a bottle cap.”

“It sounded haunted.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It absolutely is.”

He’s laughing again. Meanwhile, you’re gripping your flashlight like it will protect you from any and all evil.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“You’re entertaining.”

“I’m terrified.”

“Exactly.”

You glare at him in annoyance but then immediately move closer when something clatters somewhere down the hallway. Jungkook notices instantly.

“You getting closer because you’re scared?”

“No.”

“You literally grabbed my sleeve.”

“That was a tactical move, I'm planning to throw you to the first ghost we see.”

“Mhm.”

“You’re annoyingly smug for someone who’s definitely dying first in a horror movie.”

“Absolutely not,” he says confidently. “I would so survive.”

“You’d open a cursed basement door.”

“You’d trip while running away.”

“That is so rude.”

“That is so accurate.”

You open your mouth to argue and freeze. Halfway down the hallway sits a wheelchair- facing directly toward you. You stop walking immediately.

“Nope.”

Jungkook turns. “What?”

“The wheelchair.”

“…What about it?”

“It’s looking at us.”

He stares for two seconds before dissolving into laughter.

“Oh my god.”

“Don’t laugh!”

“It’s a wheelchair!”

“It has bad energy!”

“You think it’s evil?”

“Yes!”

“You’re unbelievable.”

You point accusingly. “Go move it.”

“You move it.”

“I would rather pass away.”

Still grinning, Jungkook walks over and dramatically spins the wheelchair around.

“There,” he says proudly. “Now it’s not looking at you.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Then the wheelchair slowly creaks back toward you. Jungkook’s smile falters.

The wheelchair moves another inch.

Your voice comes out tiny.

“…Jungkook.”

“Yeah.”

“Why did it do that?”

“There’s probably a slope.”

The wheelchair rolls forward.

Fast.

Straight toward you.

You scream instantly and lunge toward the nearest source of safety- which unfortunately happens to be Jungkook. He catches you automatically with a startled noise as the wheelchair slams violently into the wall beside you. Silence crashes down. Your face is buried against his chest, one of his arms is wrapped tightly around your waist.

Neither of you move.

Then slowly-

Very slowly- 

You look up at him.

“…Slope?”

Jungkook stares at the wheelchair.

“…I don’t think it was a slope.”

“Oh my god.”

“Oh my god.”

You’re still clutching the front of his hoodie. He still hasn’t let go of your waist. The realization seems to hit both of you at the same time as you immediately step back  and he clears his throat.

“Okay,” he says weakly. “That was weird.”

“WEIRD?!”

Somewhere upstairs, footsteps echo loudly across the ceiling. Both of you freeze.

Another step.

Slow.

Dragging.

Back and forth overhead.

You whisper, “Tell me you hear that.”

“I hear it.”

“That’s not a person noise.”

“How do you know what a person noise sounds like?”

“That sounded haunted!”

Despite the situation, he snorts. The footsteps stop abruptly.

Silence. Your pulse pounds in your ears.

Then-

BANG.

Something slams upstairs hard enough to shake dust from the ceiling. You physically jump.

“Okay nope,” Jungkook says immediately. “Nope. We’re leaving.”

“Yes. Great. Excellent. Love that plan.”

He grabs your wrist without thinking and starts speed-walking down the hallway. You don’t point out that he’s still holding onto you, mostly because you don’t want him to stop. The camera shakes wildly as he moves.

“This is why white people in horror movies die,” you hiss.

“I’m not white.”

“You know what I mean!”

Another bang echoes somewhere behind you.

Closer.

Your grip tightens instinctively around his sleeve, Jungkook glances back at you.

“You okay?”

“No.”

“That’s fair.”

The flashlight flickers suddenly.

Once.

Twice.

Then dies completely.

Darkness swallows the hallway. You make a tiny horrified sound.

“Jungkook.”

“I’m here.”

“I hate this.”

“I know.”

Only the dim camera light remains now, casting weak illumination across your faces. The hospital feels different in the dark, heavier somehow, like something is standing just outside the edges of the light. 

A whisper curls through the hallway. You both stop breathing. It’s faint, too distorted to understand, but definitely there. Your fingers clamp around Jungkook’s arm hard enough to hurt.

“…Tell me that was you.”

“That was not me.”

The whisper comes again.

Closer.

Right behind you.

You spin instantly with a full-volume scream.

Nothing.

The hallway is empty. Jungkook’s face has gone pale now too.

Actually pale.

Which is terrifying because Jungkook never gets scared. He swallows hard.

“…Maybe it’s someone messing with us.”

“WHO WOULD LIVE HERE?”

Before he can answer, the camera glitches violently. Static flashes across the screen, the audio crackles- and for asplit second a figure appears at the end of the hallway.

Tall.

Motionless.

Watching.

Then the screen cuts black.

Silence.

Your stomach drops straight to hell. Jungkook slowly turns the camera back on.

“…Did you see that?”

“Yes.”

“Cool.”

“COOL?!”

“I’m trying not to panic!”

“Well panic faster!”

He laughs nervously despite himself. Then suddenly all the hallway lights slam on at once. Both of you scream. The fluorescent lights buzz violently overhead. Every wheelchair lining the hall begins moving.

Slowly.

In unison.

Toward you.

“NOPE,” Jungkook says immediately.

“NOPE.”

He grabs your hand this time- fully intertwining your fingers- and runs. You barely keep up as he drags you through the hospital corridors.

Everything feels chaotic. Flashlights swinging wildly, your breathing too loud, metal screeching somewhere behind you. You don’t look back.

Absolutely not.

“WHICH WAY IS THE EXIT?” you yell.

“I DON’T KNOW!”

“YOU SAID YOU LOOKED UP THE FLOOR PLAN!”

“I LIED!”

“JEON JUNGKOOK-”

A door slams nearby. You both nearly die on the spot. Jungkook yanks open the nearest stairwell door and pulls you inside, slamming the door shut behind you.

Silence.

You’re both breathing hard now. Your hand is still locked tightly in his. Neither of you notices at first. Then Jungkook looks down. You follow his eyes and suddenly the silence becomes very loud. His fingers tighten slightly before he lets go. Too quickly. Something weird twists in your chest. He clears his throat awkwardly.

“You okay?”

“No.”

“Same.”

You laugh weakly and somehow that small shared laugh makes things feel less terrifying for a second.

Until-

A child giggles downstairs. Both of you freeze solid. The sound echoes upward through the stairwell. High-pitched. Wrong.

Jungkook whispers, “Absolutely not.”

Another giggle.

Then-

Boing.

A ball bouncing downstairs. Your soul leaves your body.

“Nope.”

Boing.

Closer this time.

Boing.

Boing.

Something is coming up the stairs, Jungkook moves instinctively in front of you. Your heartbeat stutters. Not because of the ghost situation- well- partially because of the ghost situation. But also because Jungkook is standing between you and danger without hesitation, flashlight shaking slightly in his hand.

Another bounce.

Then a red ball slowly rolls into view.

Stopping on the stair below you.

Silence.

The ball sits there motionless.

Then shoots upward violently.

You both scream. Jungkook grabs your wrist again and bolts out of the stairwell.

At this point neither of you are pretending to be brave anymore. You sprint blindly through hallways, stumbling over debris and each other. Something crashes behind you. The camera catches fragmented images only-broken doors, flickering lights, terrified faces. Then suddenly-

Jungkook trips. You barely catch him before both of you slam into the floor. The camera skids away across the tiles.

“Shit-”

“Are you okay?!”

“I’m fine, I’m fine-”

A loud metallic screech echoes nearby.

Too close.

You panic instantly and grab his arm.

“Get up get up GET UP-”

“I’m trying!”

His hand catches yours accidentally while standing. Neither of you let go, it's not accidental anymore.

The hallway lights flicker violently overhead. You’re breathing too hard and he’s standing too close. Your chest brushes his for one brief second as another loud bang echoes somewhere nearby but neither of you move. Jungkook looks down at you.

You realize suddenly just how dark his eyes are in low light.

How soft his mouth looks slightly parted.

How warm his hand feels around yours despite the freezing hallway.

Your brain completely short-circuits. Then the lights go out again. You shriek, the moment ruined instantly. Jungkook bursts into startled laughter.

“You screamed directly into my ear!”

“I’m fighting for my life!”

“You almost deafened me!”

Something clatters nearby- You immediately cling to him again. He laughs harder.

“You’re literally attached to me now.”

“Survival instincts.”

“Sure.”

His voice sounds softer now though, gentler. The flashlight flickers back on weakly. For the first time all night, Jungkook stops filming entirely. The camera hangs forgotten at his side.

“You really scared?” he asks quietly.

You hesitate, then nod.

“A little.”

“A little?”

“Okay a lot.”

He smiles faintly, not teasing this time, just…fond.

“We can leave.”

Relief floods you.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re giving up ghost hunting?”

“Honestly?” He glances down the dark hallway. “I think the ghosts won.”

You both laugh unexpectedly as suddenly the fear feels manageable again. At least until you turn the next corner-

-and come face-to-face with a horned figure standing motionless at the end of the hall.

Tall.

Dark.

Watching.

You both stop instantly.

The figure then lunges forward with a horrible screeching sound. You and Jungkook scream.

…Then the figure trips over a bucket. A very human voice yells, “OW- OH FUCK!”

Silence. You blink. Jungkook blinks. The figure slowly untangles itself from the floor.

Then- 

“Taehyung?”

The flashlight beam lands directly on Kim Taehyung, who is wearing a terrifying black cloak.

And cat ears. It was never horns. It was cat ears.

Complete silence. Then, another figure steps out from behind a doorway.

Namjoon.

Holding a bluetooth speaker.

Yoongi follows with what looks like a ball of yarn.

Then Jimin and Hoseok, both wearing ridiculously heavy combat boots that stomp with each step they take.

Then Jin carrying the red ball from earlier.

You stare blankly. Jungkook stares blankly. 

Taehyung waves awkwardly.

“…Hi?”

Silence.

Then Jungkook’s voice cracks.

“What... the fuck..."

Jimin immediately loses composure laughing.

“You should’ve seen your faces!”

“You screamed SO loud,” Hoseok wheezes. Jin is literally crying laughing while your brain struggles to process reality.

“…You did this?”

Yoongi shrugs calmly. “The wheelchair idea was mine.”

“You THREW A HAUNTED BALL AT US!”

“In my defense,” Jin says, “it was really funny.”

Jungkook looks deeply betrayed.

“You made us think we were being chased?!”

Namjoon winces slightly. “Technically, Taehyung wanted realism.”

Taehyung points proudly at the bluetooth speaker. “The whispers were my idea.”

“You are all psychopaths,” you whisper.

Hoseok gasps between laughs. “No no wait- the best part was when Jungkook grabbed your hand-”

“HYUNG.”

“And when he stood in front of you in the stairwell-”

“HYUNG.”

“And when you almost kissed-”

“WHAT?!”

Silence.

Every BTS member freezes.

You freeze.

Jungkook freezes.

Jimin slowly looks between both of you.

“…You mean that wasn’t obvious?”

Your face feels approximately one thousand degrees too hot. Jungkook looks equally horrified, Namjoon sighs tiredly.

“For the record,” he says, “this entire thing was supposed to make you two confess.”

You stare.

“What.”

Yoongi shrugs. “You’re both stupid."

“Painfully stupid,” Jin agrees. Taehyung nods. “It’s been years."

Jungkook sputters helplessly. “You orchestrated a fake haunting because you thought we liked each other?!”

Six voices answer simultaneously:

“YOU DO LIKE EACH OTHER.”

The hallway echoes with the sound, silence follows immediately after. Your heart pounds wildly. Jungkook looks at you and suddenly all the joking disappears from his expression.

“…Do you?”

Your stomach flips violently. Every member immediately leans forward. Yoongi mutters, “Finally.”

You glare at him briefly before looking back at Jungkook who suddenly looks nervous- actually nervous- which somehow gives you courage.

“…Maybe,” you mumble.

Jungkook stares, then breaks into the softest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Cool.”

“Cool?”

“Cool,” he repeats, visibly trying not to grin too hard. Jimin screams in the background, Taehyung starts clapping aggressively, and Hoseok literally jumps up and down.  Meanwhile Jungkook steps slightly closer to you still smiling like he can’t help it.

“So,” he says carefully, “wanna maybe go on an actual date sometime?”

You glance around at the chaos behind him, at t six fully-grown men celebrating like they just won an Olympic medal, then back at Jungkook.

“…As long as it’s not haunted.”

His laugh comes warm and breathless and impossibly fond.

MARCH ON (luke x OC)

-This is a slowburn oc-insert fic following The Walking Dead Video Game's plot from season 1 to season 3. I am VERY excited to post this one!

ao3 link

Episode 1 Pt 1

Episode 1 PT 2

Episode 1 PT 3

Episode 1 PT 4

Episode 1 PT 5

Episode 1 PT 6

KIM NAMJOON

Headphones (fluff)

Book Notes (fluff)

NDA (fluff)

KIM SEOKJIN

Super Tuna (fluff)

MIN YOONGI

The Subway (angst with a happy ending)

NOVA (MYG/OC) full story on ao3! all 57 parts!

Prelude (Before the Fame)

The Audition

The Studio

Min

Cha-Dae

Min-Jee

Jeong-Ju

Chapter 1- Afterthought

JUNG HOSEOK

Dance 'til you're dead

PARK JIMIN

KIM TAEHYUNG

The Photobooth (found-love, strangers to lovers)

JEON JUNGKOOK

Tension (fluff, idol!reader)

Three weeks later, Seoyeon forgot about the audition for exactly fourteen minutes- that was how long peace lasted before the phone rang.

It happened on a Thursday evening while her father was burning garlic in the kitchen. Not intentionally. He just got distracted halfway through cooking because Seoyeon had wandered in holding her notebook and started arguing with him about whether a chorus needed to repeat emotionally or melodically to feel satisfying.

“It’s repetitive,” he complained, stirring the pan distractedly.

“It’s thematic.”

“It’s the same sentence.”

“It’s evolving.”

“That’s a fancy word for repetition.”

Before Seoyeon could defend herself further, the apartment phone rang from the living room. None of them moved immediately, mostly because nobody ever called the apartment line anymore. Her father frowned toward the sound while Holly looked up from the couch.

“…Are we being audited?” she asked.

“That’s not how audits work,” Seoyeon muttered.

The phone rang again. Her father finally abandoned the stove with visible suspicion and disappeared into the living room. Seoyeon could still hear him clearly from the kitchen.

“Hello?”

A pause.

Then silence.

Not normal silence either.

The dangerous kind.

Seoyeon looked toward Holly slowly. Holly looked back.

“Oh no,” she whispered immediately.

“Yes, this is her father”, from the other room her father continued speaking.Another pause. Seoyeon’s stomach dropped instantly. Her father appeared in the kitchen doorway a few seconds later still holding the phone, expression unreadable in the specific way that meant he was trying very hard not to react emotionally in front of her- which obviously made it worse.

“They want to speak with you too,” he said.

Seoyeon blinked.

“…Me?”

“They said congratulations first.”

Holly made a noise so loud it startled all three of them.

“What?”

Seoyeon stared at her father. “What does that mean?”

His expression did something complicated.

“It probably means,” he said carefully, “that you passed.”

The world stopped for half a second. Not metaphorically. Actually. Everything in Seoyeon’s body went completely still before panic hit all at once.

“No.”

Holly whipped toward her. “Why are you saying it like that?”

“No because- no.” Seoyeon pointed vaguely at nothing. “No.”

“That’s not a sentence.”

Her father held the phone out slowly.

“Seoyeon.”

She looked at it like it might explode. Then somehow she was taking the receiver with both hands while Holly hovered nearby practically vibrating through the floorboards.

“…Hello?”

The voice on the other end sounded warm and professional.

“Hello, Seoyeon. This is Assistant Manager Kim from BigHit Entertainment.”

Her knees nearly gave out. Across the room Holly silently clutched her own face in horror.

“We wanted to thank you again for attending the audition last month,” the woman continued. “After reviewing your evaluations, we’d like to offer you a trainee position with the company.”

Seoyeon forgot every language she had ever learned.

“…Sorry?”

Her father covered his mouth with one hand. The woman laughed softly.

“We were very impressed with your musicality and songwriting potential,” she explained gently. “Your vocal evaluation was also exceptionally strong for someone without formal training.”

Holly mouthed exceptionally strong at Seoyeon like she’d just witnessed divine intervention.

Seoyeon barely heard her.

Trainee.

The word echoed strangely in her head.

Real now- terrifyingly real.

“There would, of course, be discussions regarding scheduling, parental consent, and training structure considering your age,” the woman continued. “Nothing needs to be decided immediately. We’d simply like to arrange a meeting with you and your guardian sometime next week if possible.”

Guardian.

Her eyes drifted toward her father automatically. He looked calm- too calm- which meant he was absolutely not calm at all.

“…Okay,” Seoyeon managed quietly.

The woman gave a few more details about scheduling before ending the call politely. The second the line disconnected, silence swallowed the apartment whole.

Nobody moved.

Then Holly screamed.

Not words.

Just a full-volume shriek while grabbing Seoyeon by the shoulders hard enough to nearly shake her off balance.

“You passed?!”

“I think so?!”

“You think so?!”

“They used a lot of professional vocabulary!”

Her aunt spun toward Seoyeon’s father immediately.

“She passed!”

“I heard the conversation.”

“She passed!”

“Yes, Holly.”

“She’s going to become famous!”

“She still trips over flat surfaces.”

“That’s fixable!”

Seoyeon stood frozen in the center of the kitchen while her thoughts completely collapsed in on themselves.

Passed.

Trainee.

BigHit.

The words felt impossible beside things as normal as burnt garlic and Aunt Holly being obnoxiously loud. Her father finally stepped forward and took the phone from her hands gently before setting it back in its cradle. He looked at her, not just as a child, but as his daughter.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

Seoyeon opened her mouth.

Nothing came out- which answered the question pretty effectively. Holly was still pacing in frantic circles nearby.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Wait until your school finds out.”

“I don’t think they legally have to.”

“Wait until your future fans find out.”

“Holly,” her father warned immediately.

“What? I’m manifesting.”

Seoyeon laughed weakly despite herself before suddenly pressing both hands against her face.

Everything hit at once after that. Excitement, fear, the memory of falling during the dance evaluation. The fact that actual professionals still wanted her anyway. Her father noticed the shift in her expression almost immediately.

“Hey.”

She looked up slowly.

“You don’t have to decide everything tonight.”

“I know.”

“You can still say no.”

That surprised her.

“…You’d really let me?”

His face softened instantly.

“Seoyeon,” he said quietly, “this only matters if it’s what you want.”

And there it was again. That terrible tenderness that always made her emotional when she least expected it. Holly looked between them before dramatically wiping fake tears from beneath her eyes.

“This family is disgusting emotionally.”

“Sit down,” her father muttered.

“I’m experiencing a moment.”

“You’re experiencing attention-seeking.”

“Same thing.”

Seoyeon laughed harder that time, the tension in her chest finally cracking enough to let air back into her lungs. Her father watched her carefully for another second before speaking again.

“…Did they really say they liked your songwriting?”

The question sounded quieter than the others had- more personal somehow. Seoyeon nodded once. Something in his expression shifted again after that.

Pride.

Pure and aching and almost disbelieving.

Like part of him still couldn’t understand how something he loved had somehow grown separately inside someone else. He smiled faintly.

“You hid that notebook from me for months,” he said.

“It wasn’t good yet.”

“And now?”

Seoyeon hesitated, then quietly,

“…Maybe it could be someday.”

For a moment nobody spoke.

Outside, rain started tapping softly against the apartment windows again, blurring the city lights beyond the glass into streaks of gold and white. The kitchen still smelled faintly like burnt garlic. Holly eventually broke the silence first.

“So,” she said carefully, “should we celebrate?”

Her father sighed immediately.

“With what money?”

“We have ramen.”

“That’s not a celebration.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Seoyeon smiled before she could stop herself. For the first time since the audition, the future stopped feeling terrifying long enough to feel possible instead.

The first photostrip showed up folded neatly inside a library book she was fairly sure she hadn’t opened before. Four frames, a photo booth curtain in the background, slightly wrinkled like it had been pulled too fast.

In the first frame, she was looking straight at the camera with a blank expression, like she hadn’t decided how to feel yet. In the second, she was mid-laugh. In the third, she was leaning slightly toward someone just out of frame. In the fourth, she was smiling in a way she didn’t recognize as practiced, like it had slipped out without permission. She stared at it for a long time, not because it was strange, but because it felt… familiar in a way that made her uneasy. She didn’t remember taking it, she didn’t remember him, but she did remember feeling happy.

That was the first problem.

— — —

The second strip appeared taped inside her dorm mirror. She didn’t notice it until she was brushing her teeth and something white caught her reflection. Same booth. Same lighting. But closer this time.

In the first frame, she was already sitting beside him instead of across from him. In the second, their shoulders were touching. In the third, she was holding up a small sticker or prop inside the booth while he leaned closer to look. In the fourth, her head was tilted toward his shoulder like it belonged there without question.

She stood very still for a moment, toothbrush halfway to her mouth. She didn’t remember this either. But her face in the strip didn’t look like a stranger’s. It looked like someone who had stopped asking questions a long time ago.

— — —

The third strip was inside her bag, which would have been normal if she had put it there.

But she hadn’t.

She only realized it was there when she reached for her notebook and her fingers brushed glossy photo paper instead of fabric. She pulled it out slowly. The booth again, now the space between them had almost disappeared.

In the first frame, she was looking at him like she was listening. In the second, she was laughing with her head tilted back. In the third, he was holding something up between them—maybe a phone, maybe a note, she couldn’t tell. In the fourth She was looking at him instead of the camera. He was already looking at her like this was normal, like she had always looked at him like that.

Her chest tightened slightly. The strangest part wasn’t the intimacy, it was how natural it felt.

— — — 

The fourth strip appeared in the pocket of a jacket she hadn’t worn in weeks, she found it by accident while reaching for her keys. The booth looked different this time. Not in structure, but in mood. It looked warmer, more lived in, like something that had been used more than once by the same people.

In the first frame, she was arguing about something- her expression sharp, animated. In the second, he was smiling like he wasn’t winning the argument but didn’t mind. In the third, she was pointing at him like she was proving a point she fully believed in. In the fourth he was leaning in slightly, forehead almost touching hers, both of them frozen in a moment that felt like it should have ended in silence or laughter. She didn’t understand why her stomach dropped a little looking at it.

It wasn’t fear.

It wasn’t sadness.She didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t good.

— — — 

The fifth strip didn’t arrive where the others did.

It was on her desk when she came back from class. No sound, no warning, just there- and this one was different immediately.

Not because of what was inside the frames, but because of what wasn’t.

There was no interaction yet- No closeness.No ease. Just two people sitting inside a photo booth that looked slightly too small for how much tension existed between them.

In the first frame, she was looking at him like she didn’t know why she was there. In the second, he was looking back at her like he expected her to recognize something. In the third, neither of them were smiling. And in the fourth, she was staring at the corner of the booth. At something small.

A logo printed in the top right corner of the frame border.

PHOTO TIME

Her breath caught. She knew that logo. Not from the strip. From real life.

There was a booth like that in the older district near campus. She had passed it before without thinking about it- neon sign, slightly flickering, tucked between buildings like it didn’t fully belong in the present. She had even wondered once if it still worked. She hadn’t gone in. Not once. But her fingers tightened around the strip anyway. Now she understood something that made her stomach twist:

She had been there. Or at least, she was supposed to be.

— — —

She didn’t wait for another photostrip, not this time. The walk there felt too long and too short at the same time, like her thoughts were moving faster than her body could keep up. Every few steps, she checked the strip again.

PHOTO TIME.

Same logo.

Same booth.

Same impossible familiarity.

By the time she turned the corner into the narrow street, her pulse had already started to feel too loud, too present. And then she saw it.

The booth.

Small.

Almost tucked away like an afterthought.

Neon sign buzzing faintly above it.

PHOTO TIME.

Her feet stopped without permission. It looked exactly like the strip. Exactly. She stepped closer slowly. The door was slightly open. Inside, the booth curtain was drawn, light on like it was waiting.

Her hand hovered near the door.

Then-

It opened from the inside.

They both froze.

A second of silence.

Then another.

He looked just as confused as she felt, which somehow made it worse. The face in the strips hadn’t been confused. He was real, and he didn’t know her either.

“…Do I know you?” he asked first.

Her throat went dry immediately.

“I- I don’t think so.”

A pause. He glanced past her at the booth behind him like he was checking if something was wrong with it.

“I’ve been getting-” He stopped, shook his head slightly. “Never mind.”

She hesitated, then pulled the fifth strip from her bag without thinking and showed him what had been taunting her for weeks now. His expression shifted immediately. He might not have any recognition of her, but he did recognize the booth and the photos.

“You too?” he said quietly.

That was worse, it meant this wasn’t one-sided- it wasn’t hallucination or her imagination.

It was shared. They both stood there for a moment, looking at the strip like it might explain itself if stared at long enough. It didn’t. Finally, he exhaled slowly.

“I’ve never taken this before,” he said.

“Me neither,” she replied immediately.

Another pause, then he looked at the booth again like it was the answer, then back at her.

“…Do you want to try?” he asked.

She should have said no.

She should have walked away.

Instead, she found herself nodding once and that was how they ended up standing inside it together.

The curtain closed, the lights turned on, and yet these strangers had no idea what was happening, no idea who either of them were supposed to be to each other.

The machine hummed. The camera clicked once. And in that small enclosed space, reality felt like it was holding its breath.

The first flash went off. He looked at her. She looked at him.

For some unknown reason- maybe the nonsensical situation they were in- she started to laugh. The second flash went off, and the man looked confused.

“What’s so funny?”

She just kept laughing, which then caused him to slightly smile just as the forth flash went off.

“I feel like this was always supposed to happen”, she finally said with a soft smile. Somewhere between the silence and the next shutter click, the feeling settled in, not as a future memory or a random coincidence.

“I feel like you’re right about that… How do you feel about coffee?”