Rainy Days, I'm thinking 'bout you

Warnings : reader being chased in the street by a cop, lots of unsaid stuff and some characters making weird threats, lots of running and jumping on trains and skating (no shit), bits of mystery because that's one of my fics duh, reader is hit by a train at some point, a converse high joke hidden somewhere, hobi is the sweetest as always, mention of oral (f) and sex, dry humping, riding, it's pretty soft to be honest, minors dni!

Authors note : For anyone wondering, yes, I got a bit carried away and wrote a whole lore around a mobile game. I had fun tho :') I don't think you need to be familiar with said game to understand this fic by the way, just trust me and give it a chance ! (pretty please)

Gentle reminder that all rights are reserved, so please do not copy, translate or repost my stories under your name. Also I do not own BTS or their actions, the stories are entirely fictionnal and does not depict real-life events or involve any actual member of BTS.

This city stinks. Literally and figuratively.

Heaving a soul-deep sigh, you shake a spray can half-heartedly, not even checking the color beforehand.

When you first arrived in Southline a few months ago, you genuinely thought you were going to love it here. Genuinely. You couldn't wait to explore the different neighborhoods you'd seen in the brochures —to learn all their secrets, maybe even meet people who could help you discover this city that seemed to overflow with mystery. God knows there's no shortage of that here.

And you did meet people —all of them completely unhinged. Most are overfit lunatics who, sure, know every back street like the back of their hand, but move way too fast for you to ever keep up. And they all have this way of talking, of carrying themselves, that's just a little… off. Not to mention that hanging around with them hasn't helped you uncover a single one of those famous mysteries —if anything, you got the distinct impression it was the opposite. Like they were actively steering you away from them.

So now you're the one keeping your distance. Wandering on your own, trying to find the hidden spots without getting lost along the way. Which, needless to say, isn't going great.

This is how, as the afternoon winds down, you've ended up stranded in the middle of the Docks, standing between two parked trains, messing around with some abandoned spray cans to keep yourself busy.

One stroke. Then another. Then another again, until a ridiculously lopsided smiley face takes shape, as though looking down on you. You stare at your masterpiece with a dubious pout. Yeah. Definitely not your thing, tagging.

What are you even doing here? Something is clearly escaping you. When, a few hours ago, you decided to stray from the tourist streets you usually stuck to, it was driven by an irresistible urge to get closer to the water. As if every part of you was screaming to do it, as if the answers to your questions would be waiting there.

Next time, you'll ignore that stupid feeling —because this place is nothing more than an old commercial port, and it's answering absolutely none of your questions.

Sighing again, you grab another can and focus on your lines, trying not to think about the little group of lunatics that took you under their wing when you first arrived. About ten boys and girls, a little older than you, completely out of their minds but kind enough, who welcomed you in. You thought they'd help you, at first, but you quickly understood that road was going nowhere. If only Jimin didn't go so cold every time you asked him anything…

“Hey! You, over there!” A voice yanks you sharply out of your thoughts. You startle, rooted to the spot by the fury in that bark. The spray can slips from your hand, rolls to your feet, but you barely register it —your eyes have already found the source of the voice: a man in his forties, a few meters away, pointing straight at you with a furious expression as he blows as hard as he can into a whistle. A monstrous dog stands at his feet, grey and hairless —but with plenty of teeth— eyeing you like you're a problem to be dealt with.

“You're under arrest!” The man bellows, closing in, blowing into his whistle again, and only then do you notice with dread what he's wearing —a green uniform with yellow insignia. City police.

“We're not exactly allowed to tag, which is what makes it so fun,” Jimin had explained with a wide grin, when you'd asked him why he and his crew got such a kick out of vandalizing walls and train cars. His grin had quickly turned into a grimace. “Not allowed at all, actually. The cops have been trying to nail us for vandalism for years. If one of them ever catches you in the act, uh… Run, I guess?”

Now would probably be a good time to kick yourself for keeping such terrible company, people who are utterly incapable of giving decent advice —and yet you do exactly what he said: you run.

You've only just arrived here, and you still haven't found the answers to your questions —there's no way you're ending up behind bars already.

You bolt before you've even had time to think about it  —and you've barely taken two steps when that piercing whistle sounds again behind you, followed by barking. You glance back over your shoulder —only to discover with horror that the officer has broken into a run after you.

And gosh, this hairless dog really is ugly.

“Come back here!” He roars, beside himself with rage, as his brute of a dog strains against the leash to get to you.

“You've got to be kidding me!” You gasp, pushing your legs harder to pick up the pace. Jimin could have warned you their cops were unhinged too, seriously !

Refocusing on your feet and where you're going, you try to recall the city map —the priority is getting out of the Docks as fast as possible. You barely know this area, but if you can make it back to the city center, you could manage on the main roads…

Fat chance. The main reason you ended up spray-painting some poor train in the first place is that you were completely lost —an urgent chase isn't exactly the moment you're going to find your bearings.

So you just follow your instincts. You run and run, your shoes sending dull thuds into the air as they pound against the metal rails. Except luck isn't on your side —you go right at an intersection, only to find yourself in a dead end, blocked by more train cars and a blue shipping container. Out of breath, you scramble up a small wagon that comes up to your shoulders, then climb onto a larger one. You're nowhere near as fit as Jimin and his friends —that one move costs you a considerable amount of time, and by the time you make it onto the roof, the furious officer and his dog have caught up. You swear that wretched animal smirks at you before spitting on the ground.

“You!” He jabs a finger at you, seething. Your stomach drops —you don't waste a second asking for mercy. You run.

You can hear him screaming in rage behind you through your ragged breathing —not a good sign, given how loud he is— and you clench your fists to force yourself to push harder, because if this maniac is doing what you think he's doing and climbing up onto the wagons after you, then you're in serious trouble.

You reach the end of the wagon before you've figured out where to go, and nearly have a heart attack when you get to the edge. The ground is two meters below —not far enough to die —or so you hope— but far enough to break something if you land badly, and then it's all over for you.

Unless maybe you…

Your legs are eating up the distance to the edge too fast. Seven meters. Five. Three…

I’m out of my mind, you think, eyes locking onto another train parked a few meters away. Completely and utterly insane —Two meters, one…

Tell my parents I love them, you beg silently, just before launching yourself off the edge of the wagon with everything you have…

…Just in time to land on the roof of the next one, catching yourself as best you can on your trembling legs. You pause, frozen with your breath heaving, as if moving just an inch would make you fall over.

You can't believe that worked.

Without even looking, you can hear the officer still coming, and his beast of a dog snarling. You glance at a point far ahead, toward the mass of containers being shifted by cranes toward the cargo ships and the perfectly aligned moving trains —and as you straighten up, hacking up your lungs in the polluted Docks air, a clear path takes shape in front of you.

Right. You must have genuinely lost your mind —that's the only explanation for the decision you're about to make. Or maybe a furious cop breathing down your neck is all the motivation you need. You don't stop to decide which —you run.

Again and again, with everything you've got —and when you reach the end of the wagon, you clench your fists and jump. You managed it once, you can do it again —and sure enough, you can. You catch yourself clumsily, scraping your knees in the process, but you make it, and you barely spare a thought for what you just did before you're  running again.

You leap from wagon to wagon despite the stitch building and spreading in your side —glancing back now and then to make sure the old man is still following, and God, his stamina. Why are you nearly dying when this seems like nothing more than a pleasant stroll to him?!

You cry out in fright when a tunnel looms on the horizon, just high enough to graze the rooftops of the train cars without scraping —but not high enough for you to pass through standing. You're coming in too fast, and there's no room to climb back down without getting caught —so you do the only thing that comes to mind. You jump, grab the roof of the tunnel entrance, and haul yourself up with the last strength left in your arms.

Suddenly the ground beneath your feet is concrete, not dirt and rails, but you don't stop to dwell on it —you run, on autopilot. The ground shakes underfoot, the barking echoes behind you, but you —

Wait. The barking?

You throw a glance over your shoulder, and if you weren't running as fast as your legs can carry you, you would definitely have stopped dead. The old man still is right there with his dog, whistle going, keeping pace without slowing for even a second.

And that's when you understand —he's done this kind of chase before, and he knows you haven't. He's just waiting for you to take a wrong turn. Tears of panic prick at your eyes at the thought —because you don't know the way, and you can't keep up this speed for much longer. You’re going to get lost, or you're gonna have to stop to cough up your lungs, or you'll…

A cry tears out of you when the ground disappears from under your feet. Not disappears exactly —vanishes as the tunnel ends. You drop hard onto a wagon, a sharp yelp of pain escaping as your knees slam into the metal, but you catch yourself just in time to avoid also going face-first into the ground —because this train is very much in motion, moving fast enough that you can barely get your footing.

Your legs are shaking by the time you manage it, and despite barely being able to keep your balance, you somehow find it in you to throw yourself sideways onto another train —this one stationary.

The barking keeps ringing in your ears, suddenly close enough to make you flinch —you stumble, startled, and slip over the rounded edge of the wagon. You yelp, your hand catching a metal bar that slows your fall, but hitting the ground only makes things worse. Your head is spinning, you can't catch your breath, and you have absolutely no idea where you are.

You only know two things: you're no longer in the Docks, and a train is hurtling straight toward you.

Everything crashes together in your head. You have no strength left, no idea where you are, and no idea how to get out of the way of the wagon bearing down on you, because you're hemmed in on all sides by stationary trains. Your legs are shaking so badly you nearly crumple again, your hair whipped up by the wind the approaching wagon is pushing ahead of it, growing bigger by the second…

The driver sees you, a sharp, alarm-like whistle suddenly blaring, but it’s not like he can stop the train altogether. Behind you, you hear the officer shout, triumphant, but you’re too frozen to move —only able to watch as the train gets closer, and closer…

You suddenly hear the officer call, way much closer than before —but it's not his voice that snaps you out of your daze.

No, it's the other one —far calmer and steadier, cutting through the chaos from your left.

“Hey, psst! Over here!”

The time seems to stop, the train to slow, as if giving you a moment while you turn your head toward the source of the voice, dazed.

At first you see nothing —just a blinding light that makes you squint. Then something takes shape. A silhouette, hooded, perched on the roof of a wagon, and a hand, outstretched toward you. “Quick!” the voice thunders, more urgent now, and you don't think. You grab the hand.

Everything snaps back to life in a fraction of a second. You're hauled off the ground by what feels like superhuman strength, and you barely have time to process what's happening before you collide with a solid, steady body —just as the train tears through the exact spot where you was standing less than a quarter of a second ago, moving fast enough that the wind it produces nearly knocks you both over. In the distance, you hear the officer's whistle, but you barely have time to worry about how close he is before the silhouette suddenly tips backward, taking you with it, one hand placed protectively at your back, ignoring your cry of fright. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut, helpless, as the unknown figure takes the brunt of the impact when you land on a surface that is painfully hard and unstable.

For a few seconds, you can't move. Literally. You're frozen in place, as much from the terror of what just happened —you almost got hit by a train, for God's sake— as from everything happening around you. The ground shakes beneath your body, so violently that you feel every vibration in each of your limbs, and the wind roars so loudly in your ears that you can't hear anything else. When you manage to open your eyes again, you're blinded once more by a bright light that wasn't there in the Docks —that wasn't anywhere in this city that you'd ever been.

You don't have time to question that, though. “Now,” that same voice thunders again, calm and self-assured —and you barely have time to try to understand what it means before two hands lift you by the waist and you're suddenly carried into the air before you can react. You try to grab onto the silhouette, panicked, and only now do you understand that the ‘ground’ you'd been standing on was actually a fast-moving train, and that your new companion has literally just jumped off it while it was still in motion.

You scream uncontrollably. You're going to die. This time, you're sure of it —you're going to die, you're going to die, you're going to die, you're going to —

Your companion lands on a wooden platform, so lightly that you barely feel the impact. He then sets you down calmly, with a gentleness that surprises you so much your legs give out, and you crumple to the ground, too weak to hold you up.

In a near-daze, you draw your knees to your chest, tears blurring your vision.

This is insane. In the span of a few minutes, you almost got arrested by a cop, almost got hit by a train, almost died smashed into the ground… and you're fine.

It takes you a few seconds to calm down enough to realize it. Apart from your palms and knees being a little scraped up, and a deep ache in your leg muscles, you're fine.

Slowly, you lift your head and take in your surroundings. You freeze all over again when you notice how far up you are — much higher than when you stupidly climbed onto that wagon earlier —before relaxing once it becomes clear that the wooden platform beneath you is more than solid. It's attached to some kind of green crane, but that isn't what catches you off guard.

No —it's everything around it. Trees. Dozens of trees in a stunning, lush green, gleaming in the brilliant sunlight that floods the perfectly blue sky above your head. In the distance, the same landscape stretches out, except those trees are a vivid, shocking pink — swaying gently in the breeze like candy floss at a fairground.

You had never seen this place before —and God, it takes your breath away. Where on earth have you landed?

“Anything broken?” You startle when the silhouette crouches down in front of you, suddenly reminding you you're not alone. Here, beneath this perfectly blue sky, you can make him out more clearly —a guy around your age, wearing ridiculously colorful sneakers, baggy blue jeans and a grey hoodie pulled up over his face that hides his features. He reaches a hand toward you, looking almost worried, but everything in front of you makes so little sense that you can barely process his question.

“What is this place?” You ask instead, your eyes drifting across the surrounding landscape with a mix of nerves and fascination. “This isn't the Docks anymore, is it?”

The guy pauses, caught off guard by your response, before a small laugh escapes him. You may not be able to see his face under that hood, but you'd swear a huge smile has just split it in two. “No, definitely not the Docks. That's almost an insult, honestly.”

“So where are we?” You press, your curiosity —and that damned feeling, the same one that drove you to the Docks earlier— pushing you forward. That voice screaming at you that the answers to your questions are here.

“You're in Dolorean Park, sweetheart,” he answers, sounding so proud he's almost smug as he tucks his hands into his pockets. “The old guy won't follow you here —different crew takes over in this neighborhood, and even if that weren't the case, I’m pretty sure we lost him. He's getting tougher by the day, I'll give him that…”

You're barely listening —your brain short-circuited the moment he said the words Dolorean and Park.

It simply isn't possible —he must be mistaken. He's talking about Dolorean Park, the thriving neighborhood that houses the largest history museums in the entire country, that shelters endangered plant species, the one they talk about so much in the brochures, online… everywhere?!

“That can't be true,” you murmur, stunned, barely managing to keep the excitement out of your voice.

“Of course it can,” he replies, oblivious to the joy exploding inside you. “Quietest part of it, sure —all the action happens further west, but you'd better not go near there while the old man's after you. What on earth did you do to wind him up that badly? I haven't seen him like that in a long time…”

Jimin had told you it was impossible to get there. That it was too far, that with the new museum that had recently opened it was too risky… Had he lied to you? All it took was jumping off a moving train?

“I, uh… tagged a parked train,” you mutter, bewildered. You have to shake your head to remember the guy is talking to you, honestly, and when you manage to refocus on him —ignoring your heart hammering at the thought of finally being in Dolorean Park— he bursts out laughing.

He puts a hand on his stomach to steady himself, shaking his head as if it's nothing more than an old joke. “Yeah, doesn't surprise me with him. Watch yourself next time, the old guy doesn't take kindly to anyone messing with his precious trains.”

He must read the confusion on your face, because he tilts his head to one side, that wide smile peeking out from under his hood. “You're new here?”

You frown slightly, but nod anyway, brushing off your palms. “Mm-hmm. You? Who are you?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, but something shifts in him. His smile seems to fade, and he turns almost distant, even though he hasn't moved an inch. “Oh, nobody important. Will you be able to find your way home?” He changes the subject, glancing off into the distance. “If you want to get back to the Docks, just follow the road east, trains are quiet at this hour. If it's the city center you're after, head toward—”

“What's your name?” You cut him off, barely paying attention to the directions. As if you're leaving Dolorean Park now that you've finally found it.

You’ve entered full detective mode, at this point —meh, not your fault your curiosity gets picked when people try and hide things from you— and if you weren't so focused on trying to make out his face, you might not catch the way he sighs. A tiny, discreet little sigh, but a sigh all the same.

“Why do you want to know?” He mutters, almost grumbling.

“To thank you, obviously,” you shoot back, annoyed by his sudden change in tone. “You saved my life, it's the least I can do.”

“No need to. Anyone would have done it.”

“Still. I insist.”

“Just tell yourself it was fate,” he grumbles, and you swear he rolls his eyes under that hood —but when you wobble trying to get back to your feet, he holds out a hand to help you anyway. His hand is warm and calloused in yours, and he surprises you again by pulling you toward him at a startling speed, as if you weigh nothing at all. “I told you, I'm no—”

You stumble, caught off guard by how quickly you find yourself upright, grabbing onto his chest to keep from falling. He hastily plants his other hand in the small of your back, planting one foot behind him to steady you both and stop you from toppling off the platform. You don't even want to think about what would have happened without that, because at that very moment a train tears past at full speed just below you —it would have hit you for certain.

It passes so fast it throws the air into motion behind it, sending the trees swaying and the lampposts swinging —but more than anything, it sends the hood of the boy holding you carefully in his arms slowly sliding back, until it gently plops down on his shoulders.

Your breath catches when a perfectly straight nose, a sharp jaw and two bright eyes framed by a sweep of dark hair come into view. His mouth forms a small surprised oh as your gazes meet and lock. The tops of his cheeks —and certainly yours too, if you’re being honest— flush from the sudden closeness.

This boy has a perfect face, with high cheekbones and fine features, and God, you want to pinch his cheeks so badly.

You must be blushing even more than he is, because a slow smile spreads across his lips, a spark of mischief lighting up his eyes. You watch those bright eyes move across your face, his smile growing wider with every second, leaving you completely unable to move or speak. His smile is seriously dazzling. He seems to be thinking, attentive, taking his time with every detail of your face, then shrugs one shoulder as if reaching a quiet decision.

“You know what?” he breathes, all smiles, and you flush even deeper when his breath grazes your cheek and sends a trail of shivers down your spine. “Let's start over.” His hand presses more firmly against your waist, as if he's suddenly holding you to feel you against him rather than to keep you from falling. His eyes are so bright you can't look anywhere else. “I'm Hoseok, but all my friends call me Hobi. You ?”

His fingers slowly trace the small of your back, a quiet invitation, and you have to force yourself to swallow before you murmur your name, your chest tight from how your heart is beating its way out of your ribs —because of a very different and new kind of excitement now.

He smiles, repeating your name in a murmur, as if testing how it tastes on his tongue. Then, with yet another sideways grin, “So… I heard you're new here?”

The hours that followed were enough for you to understand two things. 

The first, that the Dolorean Park neighborhood is even better than anything you could have imagined. More lush, more beautiful, more full of hidden corners just waiting to be explored. More alive, more full of beauty and dreams that seem to come to life before your eyes, and so much more besides.

Full of wonders that did nothing but make your eyes light up and leave your mouth hanging open in awe.

"This is incredible," you couldn't help but breathe, overwhelmed, when Hoseok took you into the district's biggest museum and you found yourself standing before the skeleton of the largest dinosaur that ever lived —a nine-meter T-rex, its skeleton displayed in full, which is nothing short of a feat.

Hoseok just shrugged, a small, smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he draped his arm over your shoulder. “Not really. It wasn't even found here, the city just had enough money to buy it first.”

“You're completely ruining the fun for me,” you grumbled in response, shooting him a withering look. That made him laugh, and he tickled your ribs in revenge.

“If that's all it takes to impress you, you're not ready for what's coming,” he said lightly, but with his eyes fixed on yours, full of promise.

Jung Hoseok then made it his mission to show you every last detail of the city. He took you through secret cellars, accessed through trapdoors hidden in the middle of parks. Introduced you to every piece in the museums as if he owned them, every shop on the main streets as if he ran them himself, all while pointing out every hidden corner and showing you which trains to climb onto to quickly get from point A to point B.

That was when you understood the second thing : that Hoseok had clearly lied to you earlier when he claimed not to be anyone important.

He seemed to want to talk about anything but that, so you said nothing —yet you did notice how he knows this neighborhood like the back of his hand. Not the way Jimin does, having learned to navigate it to survive with his crew, but as if he had a genuine interest in this place, a real connection to it. You noticed how, while he got you into every museum for free, it was never through the main entrance —always through a door at the back of the building. And the way he always takes care to glance over his shoulder when guiding you through the streets, just before placing his hand in the small of your back and smiling at you as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

Maybe you should have said something —probably. But how could you have focused on that, when every smile he threw your way was softer than the last, each one sending your poor heart into a flutter? How, when every word that left his mouth had you hanging on his lips, hungry for more, when everything you said seemed to fill him with such immense joy that sometimes he'd double over laughing?

You've only known him for a few hours —if you can even call it knowing someone, after meeting like this by chance— and yet it feels like a lifetime. In the way your sentences bounce off each other, the way your thoughts run in the same direction. In the way his steps fall perfectly in time with yours, the way his hand always finds the small of your back, where your fingers ache to tuck themselves into his. In the smiles you exchange, the knowing glances that could almost make you believe you share some secret.

Maybe you should be asking questions. You probably should. But being with him, even for just a few short hours, is so simple, so peaceful, that all you want is to forget that one tiny, minuscule detail that doesn't quite add up.

So instead of asking questions, you lose yourself in his chocolate eyes, in his tousled hair and his irresistible heart-shaped smile —without even being frightened by how easy it is.

“Why was that police officer so angry, anyway ?” You ask suddenly as we watch the violet hues spreading across the sky as the sun goes down, sitting on the edge of a bridge with your legs dangling over nothing. Your head has somehow ended up resting on his shoulder —you're not usually the type to take risks like this, sitting over open air that way, but with him beside you, his chest rising and falling gently with each breath and his warm thigh against yours, you suddenly don't have a single worry.

“Hmm ? Who ?” he asks, lifting his head with a confused expression like a lost little animal. “Oh, the old guy? No idea,” he shrugs the shoulder that isn't holding your head. “As far as I know, he's always been more or less like that. With him, you don't touch the trains —that's a guaranteed way to end up in trouble.”

“But everyone tags trains, don't they? I've seen loads of people do it, and those spray cans weren't even mine, I found them there,” you explain, puzzled. That makes him laugh softly.

“Yeah, but usually people do it in more out-of-the-way spots. What were you doing at the Docks anyway? There's nothing there but cargo ships.”

You shrug. “I grew sick of the city center, I was looking for something different. If you knew how long I'd been dreaming of finding Dolorean Park…”

“Well, why didn't you just go ?”

“You think I didn't try ?” You sit up to face him, your pride stung. “How is it that everyone talks about nothing else online, that this neighborhood is the pride of the whole city, and yet once you're here, not a single sign or map leads you to it ? And nobody seems to even know where it is, for God's sake.”

“Where's the fun in reading a map ?” He replies, all smiles. “That's what makes it cool : you either discover this place because someone shows you, or because you stumble onto it by accident.”

“That's ridiculous,” you shoot back, crossing your arms like a sulky child, which makes him laugh even harder.

“And you haven't seen anything yet,” he replies with a grin, tapping the tip of your nose with his index finger before stretching and getting to his feet. You stifle a yawn as you do the same, but freeze when you notice a small object that's fallen from his pocket in the movement. You grab it on instinct, holding it up in front of your eyes to get a better look.

It's a small metal ring, more oval than round, cut in two by a rounded x. The edges are a little worn, as if the ring has a few years of life behind it, but the metal is strangely warm between your fingers.

You frown, confused. “What’s this ?”

“Hmm?”

Hoseok, mid-stretch, turns distractedly at the sound of your voice —only to freeze when he recognizes the object in your hand. He doesn't even try to hide it this time: he stays completely still for a few seconds, eyes slightly wide and fixed on the ring, arms still half-raised from his interrupted stretch.

It only adds to your confusion, but you don't get the chance to tell him so —because he surprises you by suddenly shrugging. A little too sharply, perhaps, shaking his head more forcefully than necessary —as if he's fighting some internal voice and making a decision in spite of it.

You expect to find him frowning, maybe even guarded, when he looks back up at you —but instead, a wide smile splits his face in two, and a spark of amusement lights up his eyes.

“A fun little gadget,” he says, cryptically —and seeming very pleased with himself, an almost childlike snicker escaping him at your baffled expression. He steps closer, reaches out to take the ring back, but closes his hand before you've placed it in his palm. “You know what ? It might actually come in handy for you. Get up, there's one last thing I want to show you.”

“Stop, stop, please, SLOW DOWN!”

“Focus on a fixed point,” Hoseok tries to advise you, despite it being abundantly clear that he's desperately trying not to laugh, completely unmoved by your terrified screaming.

When he brought you down from the bridge and asked you to stand on the rails with the ring, you honestly thought he was having you on. Then he pulled another ring from his pocket —bigger, and looking even older— and stood beside you on the next track over. You started complaining, because he refused to explain anything —and then the idiot grabbed your hand, started running, dragging you with him, then grabbed your ring, pushed the x inward and threw it to the ground. You barely had time to jump before a metal hoverboard appeared beneath your feet.

You nearly went flying onto the rails —not only because the thing is in no way optimized for balance, but because it goes fast. Much faster than you could ever run —faster than some of the trains that cross the city, you'd bet.

Hoseok caught up quickly, his own board beneath his feet, and from the ease with which he does it, it's clear this isn't his first time. Grabbing you by the arm, he somehow managed to get you up to a speed where the landscape blurs before your eyes, and a nameless panic takes hold of you.

If you hit something, you'd be crushed for certain.

“It's okay, we can't fall,” Hoseok says then, catching your eye as if he can read your thoughts. “If we hit something, the board sends out a shockwave that cushions the impact. Like an airbag.”

You nod automatically, but you're not really there —in fact, you can barely hear what he's saying. Everything is moving too fast, the board pitching too much, and all you can picture is slipping and snapping your neck on the rails. The same feeling as when the officer chased you takes hold, and you feel tears of panic welling in your eyes —immediately swept away by the fierce wind battering your face.

“Hey, it's okay,” Hoseok repeats, softer and firmer at once, taking your hands in his. His gaze meets yours, dark and steady, and you cling to it like a lifeline, an anchor.

A sharper turn forces Hoseok to steer the board with his feet, sending you lurching sideways in a swerve that shakes you both and tears a cry of fright from you. You grab onto Hoseok like your life depends on it, crushing his fingers, and he lets you without flinching, his thumb tracing soft circles on the back of your hand.

“Look at me,” he says firmly, meeting your eyes again. “Don't worry about the rest, just focus on me, okay? Y/n, look at me,” he insists, keeps talking to you gently until your eyes don't leave his, fixed and determined.

And only then, with your gazes locked on each other, does he smile. A proud, amused smile, but above all an incredibly free one, as the wind narrows his eyes and whips his hair around his head, making him look a little wild. Free as the wind itself.

Faced with him, with that unbounded smile and those joy-filled eyes, everything suddenly feels so much simpler. As if anything were within reach, as if nothing could stop you.

So you let go. Just a little. Your grip loosens in his, and he gives you his big heart-shaped smile when he notices. You can only smile shyly back, a little more at ease than before.

At least, until he fixes his gaze on something in the distance.

“We're almost there,” he says, pressing your fingers gently in encouragement. “Ready?”

“What?” Your eyes follow his gaze, only to find an elevated bridge running perpendicular to your rails, leaving nothing but two parallel tunnels —too narrow to pass through side by side. Panic rises when you understand what that means. “You're kidding, right?!”

The tension is unmistakable in your voice, and he smiles softly, his thumb drawing small circles on the back of your hand —which does nothing to change the fact that the tunnel is getting closer by the second. “You'll manage, it's only for a few seconds…”

“Hoseok, no, I can't—”

“Fix a point in front of you —not the ground! A point ahead of you!”

“HOSEOK!” you panic, try to hold on to him, but he's far more skilled than you on his board, and pulls away without effort.

“And bend your knees!” You hear him shout, just before he falls back and disappears into his own tunnel, a concrete wall splitting you apart.

The wind hammers your ears, drumming in your skull as you try as best you can to follow his advice —bend your knees, even though you're already struggling to stay upright, and fix a point ahead. Useless. You can't see anything, and it makes you dizzier than anything else. You squeeze your eyes shut instead, tightly, as if that could magically bring you back safe to your bed.

At some point the wind eases in your ears, and from the cool air around you you understand you've come out of the tunnel —but that's not what makes you open your eyes. No, it's the light that surrounds you then, filtering through your eyelids —a light that is at once soft and dazzling, shifting from pink to violet to blue, irresistible and beckoning in the night. Neon light.

You open one eye hesitantly, then the other, and you're immediately dazzled by enormous futuristic buildings, vehicles and pedestrians moving in every direction, and above all, everywhere, giant screens blazing in the night.

“Y/n, jump!” Hoseok's voice rings out close beside you, pulling you from your daze, just before he shouts a word in a language you don't understand and the board retracts under your feet.

He could have maybe given you time to jump first.

You brace yourself, expecting to hit the ground hard and probably look ridiculous doing it —but instead a cry escapes you as you're launched into the air, arms and legs flailing.

For one instant, you feel like you’re flying through a dream, surrounded by beautiful blue, pink, violet lights that give everything an almost magical quality —the next, you land on a solid body and two strong arms close around you, catching you as if you weigh nothing.

“Told you you'd manage,” Hoseok says smugly, all smiles, and you ruffle his wild hair in retaliation, drawing a delighted laugh from him.

He says that word you don't understand again and steps off his board —far more gracefully than you did— before gently setting you down, making sure you're steady on your feet before stepping back. Seeing you wobble slightly, he keeps a hand on your waist regardless, oblivious to the blush spreading across your cheeks at the warmth of his palm so close to your skin, separated only by a few thin layers of fabric.

He holds out his hand, palm facing the ground, and says another word in that strange language —both rings reappear and glow azure blue at the sound of Hoseok's voice, before literally lifting themselves into the air and flying back into his hand.

“Okay, seriously, what are those things?!” you exclaim, staring.

He just gives a sideways smile. “Don't you want to focus on the scenery instead? You're ruining my whole surprise.”

You raise your eyebrows, startled, before tearing your gaze away to let it drift across said scenery. And God, what a sight.

Here, the trains running the rails are immaculate, all smooth lines and neon light. The buildings are a perfect white, dressed in giant screens at every angle —strings of lights hanging from lampposts line the pavements and bathe the street in a warm glow, so that despite the darkness, it's as bright as daylight. Beautiful palm trees are lined up along the curbs, cats lounge in front of the glittering entrances of restaurants and casinos…

“Welcome to Sunrise Boulevard,” Hoseok murmurs in your ear, proud of his surprise and the obvious effect it's having on you.

Sunrise Boulevard. The city's final neighborhood —the neighborhood of the future. At the cutting edge of technology. They say that the people who live here no longer die of old age, because medicine has advanced far enough to do away with that problem, and that's why there are so many places of pleasure and leisure here. You don't die anymore, so you pass the time having fun.

Normally, you might have laughed at that. But what's in front of you is so beautiful you can't even manage it.

“It's stunning,” you breathe, overwhelmed.

“Isn't it?” Hoseok replies in the same tone, like a secret shared between just the two of you. When you turn to look at him, stars in your eyes, you find him already watching you, with an intensity that makes you wonder if he ever stopped. You smile at him, something catching in your throat, and open your mouth to say something, anything —anything at all that might explain the color in your cheeks, or the intensity of his gaze as his eyes leave yours and drift to your lips instead.

Your voice dies in your throat when he gently raises his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, before cupping your cheek with the lightest touch, unaware of the shivers racing down your spine.

Then, slowly —slowly enough to give you all the time you could want to pull away— he leans in, bringing his face close to yours, lips slightly parted. His eyes suddenly uncertain, almost shy, and hungry at the same time.

A tender smile spreads across your lips —and then you rise onto your toes, and close the distance between your mouth and his.

Hoseok kisses you slowly, taking the time to taste your lips and savor them. His hands find your waist with the greatest care and press you against him, slip under your t-shirt to explore your skin, his tongue mapping your mouth tirelessly. His scent wraps around you as you loop your arms around his neck and he draws you closer still, always closer, until your body is pressed so tightly against his that you feel nothing but him, and he nothing but you.

When your mouths finally part, it's purely for lack of air, and he sighs against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours as if even the smallest separation costs him.

“Even better than I'd imagined,” he murmurs, covering you with that wide, dazzling smile, and he kisses you again as a joyful laugh escapes you.

He tastes like summer —sunlight and honey on the tip of your tongue.

That same taste that refuses to leave your tongue as he takes you through his favorite corners of the neighborhood, the ones he thinks you'll love, and all the others too, simply because we can. Always surrounded by blinding neon lights, often slipping in through the back door, but always laughing, smiling so hard your cheeks ache.

That same taste as he refuses to let go of your waist all evening, holding you against him as though the separation would kill him. Even when you tease him about it, when he pretends it's to make sure you don't get lost or to guide you —though you can clearly see his small, satisfied smile, and the way his hand fits perfectly in the curve of your hip as if it had been molded to rest there.

That same taste as he looks at you, each time, with that soft and warm gaze, protective and longing. With his enormous smile, so beautiful and dazzling and sincere.

That same taste as he kisses you in an alley, sheltered from prying eyes, devouring you as though it were his last meal.

Still that same taste as his hands trace a path across your skin for his mouth to kiss every inch of it, as he whispers promises in the shell of your ear while your hands explore his skin. He maps your body with his lips, as delicate in his kisses as if you were made of porcelain, yet as direct and urgent as a man who hasn't eaten in weeks as he buries his head between your legs, teases your bud with his tongue, slides his fingers inside you until your whole body burns with desire, until you writhe beneath him, clutching his hair.

When he enters you, it's with a kiss, his lips leaving yours only to make sure one more time that you're certain, before diving back in, as though even the smallest distance between you cost him —even as the movements grow more urgent, clumsier as the tension builds, until your names are the only thing you manage to cry out.

Still that same taste of honey and sunlight as he laughs against your mouth, your sweat-slicked bodies pressed against each other under the thin hotel room blanket, grinning like two idiots.

He plays with a strand of your hair, twisting it between his fingers, thoughtful as his eyes drift across your face, as though filled with wonder.

You wrinkle your nose and hide your face so he won't see how much it makes you blush. “Stop that,” you mumble, embarrassed, and it only makes him smile wider.

He gently catches your wrist, drawing it away from your face to press his lips to the inside of it. “I can't help it when you're this beautiful.”

This time you turn your head entirely to hide in the pillow, and his delighted laugh is enough to spread a wide, blissful smile across your face.

Your gazes lose themselves in their admiration, too busy marveling at the sight your content faces and tired bodies have to offer, the soft silence doing nothing to stop the words your eyes exchange every time they meet. A quiet stillness, broken only by the sound of his gentle hands moving across your skin, in contrast with the wild evening that preceded it.

“How do you know all of this ?” You whisper after a moment, as if afraid to break the serenity of it. “All these secret spots, these beautiful places, these ways into any museum or casino... How do you…”

“I explored,” he answers with a slow, almost lazy smile, though no less sincere. “I was like you, at first, and then I explored —spent days and nights wandering around hoping to find something, and... one thing led to another. It'll come to you, you'll see.”

He laughs at your unconvinced pout, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before letting his fingertips brush your cheek —a gesture of infinite tenderness that never fails to make you blush, and one he never seems to tire of.

“Why had I never seen you before?” you ask then. “I've been here for over a month, and Jimin had never mentioned you…”

And yet Jimin had made a point of introducing you to everyone, and God knows he has a lot of friends.

At that, he seems to hesitate. Not the same way he did earlier in the day, when he would freeze completely and his eyes would widen in horror —no, this time he simply takes a moment before answering, his fingers lightly grazing your cheek as his gaze drifts into the distance, lost in thought.

His brows twitch, as if he's frowning before catching himself, and you can't quite tell whether he sighs or takes a deep breath before breaking the silence again.

“I'm not really—”

He doesn't finish his sentence. He doesn't get the chance —because just then, the stillness of the night is suddenly shattered by the very distinct sound of an explosion.

Not very loud —you'd bet they didn't hear a thing in the casinos or clubs down the street— but the silence in the room had been so complete that it seemed deafening. Not a normal explosion: more like the sound of metal twisting, of earth caving in and air being suddenly sucked away. All at once.

You flinch, caught off guard —because the sound doesn't seem to be coming from very far— but Hoseok sits bolt upright, as if struck by lightning. Driven by some reflex you can't name, he turns toward the window, and while you see nothing but the neon-lit city beyond it, whatever he sees there drains the color from his face.

“Shit,” you hear him mutter to himself, “Shit, shit, shit, shit!” He swears as he leaps out of bed, scanning the room for his things.

“What, what?!” you sit up too, panicked, clutching the sheet against you as if it might protect you from some potential attack. “What's going on?”

He doesn't answer, too busy clumsily pulling on his jeans while throwing glance after glance at the window, looking every bit as panicked as you are, if not more —worried, even.

In fact, he goes so suddenly quiet as he pulls his hood up and gathers the few things that had slipped from his pockets that it almost frightens you. What the hell is going on? “Hoseok?” you press, your tone making the unspoken question plain, and he finally seems to hear you, biting his lip as his eyes dart back and forth between you and the window, struggling to lace up his shoes.

He bites his lip so hard you're afraid blood might start to bead. “I have to go,” he finally breathes, and his eyes go wide, full of remorse and guilt, so much so that you almost forget the ache in your chest at his words. Almost.

The disappointment must be written across your face, your mouth twisting into an oh you can't even assign an emotion to, because he limps over to you, visibly hesitating, clearly hating himself for it. “I'm sorry,” his voice is so steady you can't even bring yourself to doubt his sincerity, which is probably worse. “I really would have wanted to stay, or at least walk you home, but I…”

Again, his eyes snap back to the window, where another dull sound can be heard, and he flinches too, his features twisting into something you can't quite read —all you know is that it looks like fear.

“I promise this isn't just an excuse to leave,” he turns back to you, pleading with you to believe him, and you realize with some surprise that you do —as simply as that. “Y/n, I'm so sorry, I…”

“It's okay,” you cut him off gently, almost moved watching him glance at the window again with a hard swallow, clearly frightened. “It's fine. Go. Go on.”

You pair your words with the most sincere smile you can manage, and while it isn't very wide, it seems to reassure him a little nonetheless. “You're sure? I hate leaving you here like this…”

“I'll find my way home, Hobi, don't worry,” you assure him, warmly, and after a few seconds he finally nods, even if it's still plain from his face that he hates the way things have turned out and is blaming himself.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” he says again, just before leaning in to kiss you, one hand resting in the curve of your waist. You let him, kissing him back with the same force, and he sighs against your lips when you slide your hand into his hair. He eventually pulls back to look at you, wetting his lips as though hesitating, and you pat his cheek gently to encourage him.

His dark eyes meet yours with an unspoken question —just like before, all you have to do is hold his gaze for him to understand your answer, and he nods, pressing his lips to your cheek before straightening up, as hurried as before.

As simple as that. One look, a small nod, and you understand each other.

Once at the door, though, he stops, still hesitating, and before you can urge him to leave again he turns back toward you, digging frantically through his pocket.

“What are you—”

“Keep this,” he cuts you off, without room for argument, extending his hand toward you. In his palm sits the small ring with the x, the little magic board he had you try out earlier. You stare at it, incredulous.

“Are you sure?”

He nods furiously. “I'd rather you have one. But,” he closes his hand around the ring just as you reach for it, pointing a finger at you with a seriousness that surprises you a little. “Only for emergencies. Are we clear ?”

You don't quite understand why he's insisting on this, or even why he's being so careful, but you'd never seen him this serious, and whatever that explosion is that's worrying him so much, it has him genuinely shaken, so you'd rather not argue.

“Promise,” you nod, almost solemnly, and he does the same before opening his hand to let you take the ring.

He leans in one more time, pressing the quickest, lightest of kisses to your lips.

“I love you,” he lets out in a whisper, before disappearing —almost literally.

By the time you open your eyes again, heart hammering after that last confession, the door has already clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the flat, heavy silence.

Through the window, you hear the strange explosion sound again, a little louder this time, and then nothing.

Nothing at all.

You’re a little ashamed to admit it, but you spend the days that follow trying to find Hoseok.

In your defense, it's not as if you have anything else to do. Before, your days were spent trying to convince Jimin to show you the way to Dolorean Park, or trying to get there on your own. You're fairly good with directions —it only took Hoseok bringing you there once for you to remember the route and find your way back by myself. Same for Sunrise Boulevard.

You started going back the day after he left. You retraced the spots and shops he'd introduced you to as ‘his favorite places,’ then went back to Dolorean Park to do the same, before, out of desperation, returning to where you'd first met him at the Docks. All for nothing.

Day after day, it became a routine: you'd start by going to all the places we'd been together, then go off exploring on your own before heading home in the evening. The whole time, you kept the little ring tucked in your palm, at the bottom of your pocket —but it's evidently not a lucky charm, because the days quickly turned into weeks, and still no news of the tall, dark-haired guy. In fact, not the slightest trace of his existence. Nothing to prove you didn't imagine him, his heart-shaped smile and the taste of honey that lingers on your tongue.

“Who?”

“A tall guy with dark hair, kind of messy, and, uh… a huge smile ? He smiles all the time,” you try to explain to Jackson, a tall guy with white hair who's part of Jimin's crew, well aware that describing what Hoseok was wearing wouldn't be much help, given that it was weeks ago and his outfit was pretty unremarkable.

He thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “Doesn't ring a bell, sorry. I don't really know the new people.”

You nod, stopping yourself from pointing out that you're fairly sure Hoseok is anything but new around here. Not with the ease with which he moved through the streets, the way he knew everything and everyone.

Jackson apologizes again and walks away —you don't push it, because behind him, Namjoon is eyeing you with a sour look. Like everyone else, actually. The whole crew has been avoiding you a little —they're not outright unkind, but it's clear they'd prefer you kept your distance. It's been like this for a few days —since you talked to Jimin, actually.

He was the one who came to find you one evening, looking almost worried at what was bordering on a small depression, because you'd been searching relentlessly every day and turning up not a single trace of Hoseok. Sweet, really —so sweet that you cracked open. And you're so used to Jimin's warmth that you told him everything.

Everything: the old officer who chased you, Hoseok saving you before taking you to Dolorean Park and then Sunrise Boulevard, his hasty departure… You don't think you've ever regretted opening up to someone so quickly.

While he was empathetic at first, sorry even, his expression closed off more and more as you spoke, and by the time you'd finished, he could barely look you in the eye, a distinct chill having settled between you. It was plain that Jimin wasn't a very good liar, and that he preferred to say nothing —but you had the sense that he was very good at keeping secrets.

“You really don't know anything?” you'd asked anyway, out of desperation.

He took a long time before answering —and throughout, his eyes stayed fixed on the metal ring with its x in the middle, which you were holding in your hands after taking it out to prove you weren't making things up. The way he stared at it told you he didn't think you were —and that he was taking you very seriously.

“I know one thing, Y/n,” he said at last, in a voice so cold compared to his usual warmth that it barely sounded like him. “And that's that you should be very careful.”

Since then, radio silence —you only catch glimpses of him from a distance, and very rarely at that, so much so that you're starting to wonder whether it's just a habit in this wretched city, to avoid you the moment something goes wrong.

But you don't give up hope —you met Hoseok without Jimin's help, you'll manage to find him again without it— and you keep searching, day after day. Until you can't anymore.

You have a train leaving tonight, to go back to your parents. It wasn't planned, but honestly, nothing that has happened was, and it's becoming increasingly clear that you're wasting your time. You've combed through this city so thoroughly looking for Hoseok that you know it by heart now too —maybe not like the back of your hand, but you're fairly certain you know a good number of its hidden corners— and it saddens you to say it, but you've seen all there is to see. You're not going to spend your life searching for a guy you haven't seen in so long that you're almost convinced you dreamed him.

So that day, rather than looking for Hoseok, you decide to make the most of the hours you have left here. You feel a little guilty at first —but when your self-pity starts to annoy even you, you tell yourself that if he'd wanted to find you, he wouldn't have waited two months to do it. Right?

So in the morning, you head to the Docks to watch the cargo ships come in and unload their containers. You go for lunch on Sunrise Boulevard, in a restaurant full of celebrities and paparazzi, then wander through Dolorean Park, treating yourself to one last visit to the museum before buying yourself an ice cream to lift your spirits —seeing that wretched T-rex without Hoseok beside you to make fun of it is more painful than you would have thought.

In the evening, you find yourself in the city center where you spent so much time, perched on a train roof at one of the highest points, watching the golden rays of the setting sun spread across the city. From here you can see the lush green trees of Dolorean Park, the mountains of containers at the Docks and the giant screens of Sunrise Boulevard, all within reach, close enough to touch if you just stretched out your arm.

You lose yourself in the view. That's probably why you startle so badly when footsteps approach and someone comes to sit beside you.

You look up in surprise at the fair-haired boy with fine features sitting very upright —Jimin. You're struck silent for a moment. He who had been avoiding you so carefully, here he is coming to find you of his own accord. He breaks the silence before the questions in your head get too loud.

“I heard you're leaving ?” he says in his soft voice, without ever taking his eyes off the city in the distance. His light eyes look almost translucent in the glinting sunlight.

Slowly, you nod. “There's nothing left for me here.”

He looks at you, and it's your turn to glance away. You clench your fists, stare at your dangling feet. That admission hurts more than you would have thought. You didn't find what you were looking for, in the end.

“Are you still looking for him ?”

It shouldn't, it really shouldn't —but that question infuriates you. So much so that you're not even moved by Jimin's soft, hesitant voice, or the guilty look he gives you. No, you're just angry —because he was so welcoming, and the one time you truly came to him for help, he left you to fend for yourself with some useless advice. You're leaving tonight —it's a little late to make up for it now.

“Oh, so now you want to talk about him ?” You say, perhaps a little more sharply than necessary. He doesn't hold it against you —if anything, he looks a little ashamed. Just a little.

“Listen, Y/n, there's…” He scratches the back of his neck, lets his gaze drift into the distance as he sighs and hesitates. “No offense, but you're relatively new here. Things happened that I'd rather not see happen again. Things you have no idea about.”

He doesn't shrink back, ashamed, or flare up, furious like you: no, he stays calm, upright and measured, almost composed as he explains things to you, even though it's clearly costing him.

“And so ?”

“Let's just say I… do my best to make sure certain things don't happen again.”

“Why you ?”

“Because it's my role. And apparently, I'm much less good at getting people to listen to me than the one whose role it was before,” he grumbles, sounding almost bitter. An emotion you'd never seen on his face —but given how terribly well it suits him, you suspect it isn't new, and that he's simply learned to hide it.

“And what does that have to do with me ?” You try, well aware that it's not every day he'll answer your questions like this.

He turns to face you then, his gaze finding yours with an intensity that reminds you so much of Hoseok's eyes that it twists something in your chest.

“Because you're about to make exactly the same mistakes.”

“What? How? How would you know?” You exclaim, almost offended. You don't want to cause any trouble —you just want to find the one guy who ever made you feel this good, this free, who told you I love you right before disappearing, is that really so much to ask?!

“That,” Jimin simply answers, pointing at the ring you'd been absent-mindedly fidgeting with between your fingers. He still pulls a slight grimace looking at it, but this time you can also read a trace of sorrow in it. “We used to have them. Except ours were single-use. We'd activate them during runs on the rails, to protect ourselves in case of a fall, then the boards would dematerialize and that was it —you had to get another one. I didn't believe your story at first, I'll admit, but when you said he'd made it go back to its ring form, I…” Something breaks in his expression, and he shakes his head. “If that's true, then it changes everything.”

Silence. You have no idea what you're supposed to say to that —all you know is that Jimin's gaze is heavier than you've ever seen it. Heavy with meaning, but heavy with grief and remorse too. Whatever happened before you arrived, it touched him more than anyone else.

“You know where he is, don't you ?” You try gently, doing your best to hide the excitement in your voice. Jimin knows where Hoseok is. You're sure of it.

He hears it anyway, of course. “It was a long time ago,” he grumbles, looking like he regrets every word already. “Several years… And I'm warning you now, I’m not coming with you. There's no way I'm setting foot back there.”

“That's fine, just tell me—”

“No, Y/n, listen to me,” he insists, taking hold of your wrist to calm you down. “You need to know that… We all thought he was dead.” His words hit you like a blade, rooting you to the spot. He holds your gaze, gripping your wrist tightly as if clinging to an anchor, his eyes suddenly glassy. As if he's on the verge of tears. He swallows with difficulty, without letting go of your gaze.

“If you're telling the truth, and he really is alive, I…” He scratches the back of his neck, tears gathering in his eyes. “I never would have thought… Could you… bring him back? Or at least try ?”

You nod, resolute —even more so in the face of his hopeful look. “I promise. Just tell me where I need to go.”

“That thing took my best friend from me, Y/n,” the tears don't stop him from keeping that painfully serious expression. He's scared —that much, at least, is clear. “Be careful, please, I…”

“I promise.”

He looks at you for a few seconds, as if he can't quite believe you're willing to take such a risk —then he sighs, resigned. “I have a feeling I'm going to regret this… Alright. There's a bridge, right on the boundary between the Docks and Sunrise Boulevard…”

“He could have made more of an effort with his handwriting,” you grumble, turning the sheet of paper every which way to try and decipher the scribbles Jimin made on your city map. The bridge he pointed you to is on a street where, surprisingly, you'd never set foot —for the simple reason that there's nothing there. It's just the tail end of Sunrise Boulevard and the beginning of the Docks: a kind of no-man's land that's neither truly modern and clean like one nor dirty and industrial like the other, just… a little empty.

Jimin's terrible handwriting doesn't stop you from finding the bridge in question, though, and you fidget nervously with the ring in your pocket as you approach it.

It's a bridge fairly similar to the one Hoseok had you cross to get from Dolorean Park to Sunrise Boulevard: a road one level up, running perpendicular above the rails you're standing on, supported by a thick tunnel. Except this one is twice as wide as the first one you saw, and so long you can't see where it ends. In fact, you doubt it does.

One of the signs at the tunnel entrance collapsed long ago, lying dented and dust-covered across the rails, and a train stands motionless, waiting for someone to come and start it up again. Jimin didn't say anything about this, but just seeing it —or the lights inside the tunnel, completely dead— tells you this tunnel hasn't been used in a long time. And honestly, you get it. You don't really want to go in there.

Taking a deep breath, you close your fingers around the cold metal ring. This is where Jimin last saw Hoseok. If you have any chance of finding him, it's here.

So despite the hesitation and the small voice in your head screaming at you to turn back, you move forward. Slowly, carefully, watching exactly where you put your feet and pulling out your phone for light when the darkness grows too thick around you.

After a few minutes of walking in complete silence —ears straining, purely because the thought of someone coming up behind you is making your blood run cold— something catches your eye from the corner: a bluish glint on one of the thick pillars in the middle of the track.

You point your flashlight toward it —and freeze when you understand where the glint is coming from. A huge metal circle, more oval than round, about your height, cut through the middle by an enormous X. Exactly the same symbol as on the ring Hoseok gave you. It shimmers under the light of your torch, like a silent taunt —and yet that's enough to root you to the spot.

This can't be a coincidence. Jimin recognized that symbol immediately, it was on Hoseok's ring too —and now here it is, right in front of you, waiting in the dark…

This time, your curiosity is too strong: you want answers, and you want them now. So, no longer bothering to be quiet, you make your way along the rails toward it, determined to understand. Maybe if you press the X, like with the small rings, it'll activate something? What if it were a secret passage?…

Except you never get the answer to your question —at least not the way you'd expected. Because before you even have time to reach the enormous ring, cursing when you trip on the rail and have to grab a barrier to stop yourself falling, the thing you were dreading most happens.

A sound echoes behind you.

Not the kind of sound a can might make if you'd accidentally kicked it, or the wind snapping between the walls —no, a very distinct sound of footsteps. The footsteps of someone who isn't trying to hide.

You freeze, stunned, sweat running down your back as your blood turns to ice. On instinct, you lower your phone to conceal myself, before realizing that if someone is behind you, they've clearly seen you for a long time. So, holding your breath, you finally pivot, turning your back on the ring on the wall to face whoever has just arrived —and you'll be honest, at this point, you're terrified.

At the entrance to the tunnel, perfectly still, hands in his pockets, stands a man whose face you cannot see. All you can make out is that he's not much taller than you —but his stillness, and above all the mask he's wearing, are enough to make your skin crawl. A perfectly smooth mask covering his entire face, with two cat ears on top and two large red eyes that glow in the darkness.

Every instinct is screaming at you to leave, but you can't —you can't move.

The man's voice reaches your ears then —soft, but low and measured. Almost delicate, as if he were whispering in your ear, but he's speaking in a language you don't understand, one you've only heard once before —from Hoseok's lips. You recognize it in the intonation, in the strange, guttural way the words are shaped, but just like when you met the dark-haired boy, you have no idea what any of it means.

“Jimin told me to get here,” you manage to stammer, without your voice shaking too badly. The cat doesn't seem pleased by your answer —he goes suddenly quiet, his large red eyes narrowing to two slits that chill your blood. You vaguely see him draw a hand from his pocket, holding something that looks dangerously like a remote control between his fingers —but you're too busy trying to contain the panic rising inside you to pay it much attention. “I'm looking for—”

He doesn't let you finish —he presses a button on the remote, and a second later, the wall explodes behind you.

No —it doesn't explode. It's as if it's swallowed and pushed back at the same time.

A cry leaves your lips, terror seizing you as you spin around and see the enormous ring on the wall blazing with a blinding azure light that forces you to squint, one hand raised in front of your face. It glows so intensely the tunnel is lit up like broad daylight, and soon it begins to vibrate, making the walls, the ground, everything hum.

The first crack spreads from the pillar where the ring is fixed, inching dangerously close to your feet. Dozens more follow almost immediately, and you understand with horror that the ground is fracturing under the force of the explosion. The tunnel is going to collapse.

You stumble over your own feet trying to flee, ignoring the debris ricocheting around you. The man with the cat mask is still standing there, motionless in the middle of all this chaos. You try to get closer, reaching your arms toward him and crying out for help, but he doesn't move, and the ground literally gives way beneath your feet, opening into a gaping hole that takes you down with it.

As you fall into the crack, swept along by the pull of air, the man's voice is the last thing you hear, carried on a strong accent you don't recognize —but his words, those, are perfectly clear.

“Jimin should have minded his own business.”

You fall, and fall, for what feels like an eternity —tossed by the wind, dozens of meters perhaps, struggling to keep your eyes open against the force of it.

After a few seconds, the air grows warmer beneath you, thicker —you understand with horror that you're approaching what might be a floor, and panic sets in. You reach for something to grab onto, anything, and as the wind roars and thunders in your ears, it's Hoseok's voice that echoes in your mind for reasons you can't explain —as if he were right beside you.

“I'd rather you have one. But only for emergencies.”

You snap your eyes back open, a gulp of freezing air forcing its way into your lungs —and driven by some force you can't name, you grab the ring, which has miraculously not fallen from your pocket, and, remembering what Hoseok did, press down on the engraved X.

The ring vibrates in your hand, lights up with the same azure glow as the tunnel earlier, and the board materializes in seconds, taking shape beneath your feet just in time as a stone-tiled floor appears barely three meters below.

You land hard, and without the board and your reflex to bend your knees, you would certainly have broken something. Enormous chunks of rubble and concrete continue to rain down around you, but the board seems to have switched to autopilot, carrying you away from the collapse without any effort on your part.

It's only once calm returns that you notice how ragged and heavy your breathing is. The collapse slowly dies down to just a few stray pieces of debris, and you nearly choke when an enormous trapdoor opens beneath the mountain of concrete chunks, letting them slide gently somewhere you can't see before swinging shut and leaving a pristine floor —as if nothing had happened.

As you stare at the now perfectly clean spot, stunned, you only then notice that it's actually a strange platform of stone and metal —but that all the walls are made of the same enormous material, and above all, there is no sky.

Whatever this place is, it's dark like the tunnel, and that same ring with an X is engraved into the stone floor. With the silence restored, you pick up a sound of running water coming from everywhere at once, and a quick look around is all it takes to understand the source. Waterfalls. Enormous ones, seeming to pour down from the sky and disappear beneath the floor —except it isn't quite water. It's thicker, like molten lava, but azure in color, and bright enough to light the whole place.

You don't have time to marvel at it. You don't even have time to wonder where on earth you've landed, in fact —above you, another explosion rings out. You flinch, terrified that another collapse is coming —and as if in echo, the circle and X engraved in the floor light up with that same azure glow: but to your great surprise, it doesn't crack the ground the way you saw before. No, instead, the X splits in two, revealing beneath it an enormous fan so powerful that the current it creates lifts your hair. Light appears above, as if the ceiling is fracturing, and you brace for more rubble —but none comes.

Instead, you see two people appear from nowhere, each on a board, hurtling toward the fan —and you barely have time to scream before it launches them into the air at a dizzying speed, so high they vanish from sight entirely. They don't come back down.

All of this happens in a fraction of a second —and the next, the whole thing plays out again. The ceiling collapses, the rubble falls, then the circle in the floor splits open like a trapdoor, swallowing the debris before closing again, and you stand there like an idiot in front of a spotless concrete floor.

What on earth is—

Someone shouts behind you —screams, in fact, so loudly that you flinch, the movement sending the board shooting off at full speed. Now it's your turn to scream in terror —but when you spin around to call for help, you understand that it's pointless. A giant —there's really no other word for it— is running toward you, something that looks dangerously like a baton in his hand, expression furious. But more than that, behind him, what appear to be drones are hurtling toward you, trailing beams of the same vivid red as the cat's eyes earlier, which have every appearance of being lasers.

You panic, scream, and plunge deeper into this strange city lit by its cascades, doing your best not to fall off the board —because those metal platforms will clearly break your neck if you hit them.

You take a corner, sure you've lost them, but doubt creeps in when the tone of the shouting behind you shifts completely. You don't understand their language, but you swear they sound almost… worried. The drones are still circling you, but less to catch you than to block your path and force you to turn back —and it takes you too many long seconds to understand why.

The board has, without your meaning it to, placed itself on a track with rails, and they've just turned a vivid azure, vibrating so intensely you feel every tremor through your entire body. You don't have time to react before an enormous train, appearing to be made of azure-blue smoke, materializes directly in front of you, bearing down at a speed clearly far greater than mine.

You don't have time to react, to decide to swerve, even if you knew how to steer these boards —dozens of people are shouting, screaming words you can't understand, but one voice in particular cuts through all the noise.

A voice you would recognize anywhere.

It's too late to turn, or even jump —the train is so close that in one more second, you'd only have to reach out to touch it…

Something slams into you violently from the side, sending you flying to the left with a force that knocks the breath clean out of your ribs. The board explodes beneath your feet —an airbag, you remember— and the shockwave cushions your fall slightly, making you bounce off the ground rather than smash into the wall with no softness whatsoever. Which doesn't stop every single bounce from sending a sharp pain through your bones. At this point, you don't even have the strength to grab onto anything, and even once you've lost all momentum and come to a stop lying on your side on the ground, it takes long minutes before you can see clearly —and catch your breath.

You can hear shouting. In that same language you don't understand, mostly, but something else too —in a voice you know well. your name, again and again, getting closer.

“Y/n! Y/N!”

The ground begins to vibrate gently beneath your ribs —hurried footsteps, drawing nearer. Someone drops to their knees beside you, and two hands take you carefully and turn you onto your back. Cool air hits your face, but not as hard as the panicked breath of the boy leaning over you, cupping your face in his hands.

“Y/n!” He seems to light up the moment your eyes meet his, and double in worry at the same time. “Y/n, sweetheart, can you hear me ?!”

“Hobi,” you breathe, more faintly than you would have expected. His breath hits your cheek again, as though he'd been holding it until hearing your voice was enough to reassure him. He pulls you closer, pressing his hands to your cheeks and your neck, his fingers trembling frantically.

“Does anything hurt? Are you bleeding? The wagon didn't have time to touch you, did it?!” His wide, frantic eyes make him look almost wild, and the panic in his voice makes it clear he's the one who pushed you out of the train's path.

You want to ask if he's hurt, but he straightens abruptly, shouting something at someone behind him in words you can't understand, with an intonation that sounds a great deal like ‘Get a doctor!’ He fires back again when someone answers —you don't understand the language, but you watch almost with a kind of wonder at the movement of his jaw and his throat as he calls out, the worry and fear palpable in every word.

He's nearly shouting now, trembling like mad —but goes still the moment your hand slides into his hair, pushing the wild strands back from his face.

His mouth hangs open for a moment, his head turning slowly toward you, eyes bright with emotion. He catches your wrist between his slender fingers as you brush his cheek, still gentle despite his panic.

“You're here,” you murmur, giving him the smallest smile.

“Of course I'm here,” he murmurs back, smiling softly before burying his nose in your palm and pressing a kiss there. “How on earth did you get here?” He frets, as if it were somehow his fault.

“I was looking for you,” you find the strength to shrug, with a small smile. He says nothing, unconvinced, but kisses your palm again as if to reassure himself that you're really there.

“Please tell me you're not hurt, I—”

“I'm fine,” you cut him off gently, squeezing his hand in yours. He furrows his brows, not believing you for a second, and you grimace. “Just a bit of pain in my leg. I can't really move it,” you mumble, almost grumble, and his expression hardens. He squeezes your hand in answer, nodding slowly.

His lips are a thin line as he slides one arm beneath your knees and the other around your shoulders. He rises as if you weigh nothing, moving as carefully as he can so as not to jostle you. You hear him speak to someone, his voice dropping to those low tones that suit him so well, but you no longer have the strength to try and follow what he's saying —you let yourself be carried, resting your head against his chest, and close your eyes. Just for a second. Only a second.

One small second to let yourself be lulled by the rapid beating of his heart and his soft scent filling your lungs. A smell of honey, and summer.

“You're absolutely insane for doing that,” Hoseok grumbles for what must be the eleventh time, massaging your leg almost furiously despite the gentleness of his fingers. “You never should have gone near that bridge.”

He pairs his words with a small reproachful look, eyes narrowed, and you sit up, outraged. “It's not like you left me much choice. I looked for you everywhere!”

“That's not—” he starts, indignant, before cutting himself off, looking guilty. He ruffles his own hair and clicks his tongue. “I didn't have a choice, alright? I tried to come back. I really did,” he insists, holding your gaze. “You have no idea how much I blamed myself.” He looks so guilty, so resigned and at the same time so desperate for you to believe him, that all you can do is press your lips together and say nothing. That seems to frustrate him even more —he sighs sharply, letting go of your ointment-covered leg to scrub both hands through his hair. When he snaps his head back up, it's with an absolute chaos of hair in its place. “And how did you even hear about the bridge? Nobody goes there!”

You shrug, unmoved by the accusatory edge that's crept into his voice. Lately, you've done everything to find him —going under a bridge is far from the worst of it.

“Jimin told me where to find it.”

“Jimin ?!” you jump when he nearly chokes. “Please tell me he didn't come with you.”

“… No, why?”

“Good,” he nods, relieved, before shaking his head slowly, eyes slightly wide. “Yoongi would have completely lost it.”

Frowning, you tilt your head a little, lost. You don't know if it's the fact that you hit your head, but Hoseok is talking way too fast for you. “Yoongi ?”

“The guy who opens the portal…” he mutters distractedly, pacing the room. “How am I gonna explain this…”

“Hoseok,” you cut him off gently, sitting up straighter and ignoring him when he tells you to sit back down. “I don't understand anything. Where are we? Why was Jimin so determined not to talk about you, why does everyone shut down the moment—”

“Oh, I bet Namjoon was furious,” he exclaims, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Uh… Well, he's been giving me dirty looks ever since I mentioned you, yeah, but why—”

“He hates me. His girlfriend was hitting on me back when I still lived up top.”

Too much information at once —your brain short-circuits, before rebooting to sort through it. “Up top ?”

He stops pacing and opens his mouth, hesitant, only to close it again after a few seconds. His eyes don't leave mine, resolute, and you can read the reluctance in his gaze even as he scratches the back of his neck and sighs. “Are you sure you want to know? Because it's quite—”

“Whether I want to know why you disappeared overnight?” You cut him off gently, your voice softer than you would have expected. You have no desire to rush him —especially not with the adorable guilty-puppy look he's giving you right now— but you've waited long enough. You want to understand.”Why nothing seems to make sense in this city? Yeah, I'd say so.”

His eyes don't leave you as you get up and walk toward him, and when you're close enough that your feet are touching and you have to tilt your chin up to look at him, a slow smile spreads across his lips.

“…I was going to say it's quite a long story, but since you insist —your wish is my command, sweetheart.” He snickers at the surprise that crosses your face, gently taking your elbow to pull you toward the bed, where he sits down beside you. Let's just ignore what that simple gesture does to your poor heart.

His eyes drift across your face, hesitant, and you squeeze his hand to encourage him. He gives you a smile that you return before sighing. “Back then, a few years ago now, I lived in the city, up on the surface. I was part of the whole crew you met, and Jimin and I were… very close. Inseparable.” His voice is a little strained, and he clears his throat before going on. “He probably explained to you that they barely use boards up there. That's because they don't know how to make them. They can only be made here, in the Undertracks…”

“The Undertracks ?” you can't help but ask, curious. He points a finger at the metal walls surrounding you, the wall lamps blazing in brilliant azure blue.

“That's what we call the underground district. The material needed to make boards —and a lot of other things— is produced here. Anyway. Back then, it was Yoongi who led all the runners, up on the surface. He always loved pushing back against authority… Except Yoongi got tired of having to pay a fortune for boards that only lasted one use. Nobody knew how to get into the Undertracks, and because of all these stupid rumors and rules, nobody even tried to get close. It's like Star Wars —if you go near the Undertracks, you've gone to the dark side. It's forbidden.”

“Seems ridiculous, but okay.”

That makes him laugh. “Wait until you hear the rest. Anyway, Yoongi was of the opinion that it was our right to go there, to make our own boards, and so on… And he convinced a lot of people. Like, a lot,” he breathes, eyebrows raised, and you picture an entire crowd falling through the hole under the bridge. You shudder, but Hoseok looks almost admiring for a moment. “Except a lot of others disagreed, and it escalated into street fights… That's when the police started showing up in greater numbers.”

“Isn't that to stop us from tagging?”

“No,” he laughs softly, amused, and you give him a small shove on the shoulder that makes him snicker. “Originally it's to stop us from causing chaos in the city. Because even though Yoongi and his crew wanted to reach the Undertracks, they still didn't know how, and the other side was ready for them. They drove them out of the city —literally. Yoongi, God knows how, managed to make it into the Undertracks when things were starting to turn bloody. His whole crew took refuge down here, and since then, nobody except Yoongi knows how to activate the portal that leads to it —he's always the one who does it, still.” His eyes drop to your joined hands, thoughtful, and he gently strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. “But the surface clan kept hunting down the ones who'd fled, and they showed no mercy whenever they came back up.”

“So why did they ? Come back up.”

“Because you can't be completely self-sufficient down here. You can produce incredible gadgets and weapons here, but not food or clothes, for example. So every month, a few people go up for a day to get what's needed. We spread it out so nobody goes up more than four times a year, to avoid drawing attention. Once every three months.”

You nod slowly as he watches you with that serious expression. That explains the long disappearance, you suppose. “And so you were part of Yoongi's crew ?”

“Not from the start,” he grimaces. “But you've seen it yourself —by trying so hard to keep people on the 'right' side, they tell us nothing, up on the surface. I guess I was bored, I needed more. Jimin didn't agree, but all I wanted was answers,” he sighs, and you hold your breath as his words echo inside you. You just want answers. “I went to find Yoongi under the bridge, and he offered to explain everything once we were down below. Jimin tried to stop me, but I went anyway, and since then… Here I am.”

“So when you left in a rush, in Sunrise Boulevard, it was because…”

He nods vigorously as you leave your sentence hanging, hesitant. “Yoongi only opens the portal once a month —three times in the first minute of the day, three times in the last. If you miss it, you can't get back in, which means you have to wait until the following month.” His fingers tighten around yours, and his eyes carry the deepest grief you've ever seen as he leans toward you, his lower lip caught between his teeth. "I'm sorry, I should have explained,” he murmurs, looking guilty —and still so sad. You open your mouth to contradict him, to reassure him, anything to bring his adorable smile back, but he grimaces before you get the chance. “To be honest, I didn't think you'd look for me.”

You freeze, arching a brow. “Now that's a little hurtful.”

“I thought after three months, you'd have moved on, given up,” he defends himself, waving his free hand. “I never would have thought… seeing you there was…” Again, he squeezes your hand, and his mouth twists into an emotional, slightly worried expression. “You have no idea how scared I was.”

You shrug, a small smile playing on your lips. “I had to find you, you still owe me hoverboard lessons. I nearly died because of that thing !”

That's enough to break the tension —he bursts out laughing. “I noticed. Your balance is absolutely terrible.”

He holds his stomach laughing, the memory of your fall apparently hilarious to him, and leans slightly toward you in the movement, his face only a few centimeters from mine.

You pretend to be annoyed, pulling a face. “Shut up.” Then, as his laughter dies down, “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

He freezes mid-laugh, his lips forming a small surprised oh, his eyes wide. You swear he even holds his breath, looking at you nervously, and you can't help but smile at the sight.

“Are you serious?” he breathes, as if he can't quite believe his ears. A flush of red appears on his upper cheeks, and he scratches the back of his neck nervously, avoiding your gaze as he stumbles over his words. “Because after everything that happened, I would have thought…”

“Hobi? Shut up and kiss me.”

He doesn't need to be told twice —a spark lights up in his eyes, as though now it's them he can't believe, just before he places his free hand at the back of your neck, as gentle as ever as his thumb comes to brush your cheek. He leans in, his eyes flickering between yours and your lips —and when he closes the distance between you, a shared sigh escapes you both, a smile forming against your mouth.

It feels so good. To feel him close again, that aura so soft and protective and so utterly him, to hear his voice, to have that sweetness on your tongue —like freshly gathered honey gleaming in sunlight.

His lips part, warm and full and welcoming, and you lose yourself in his embrace.

Your arms wind around his shoulders, drawing him closer, letting him pull you against him with hands that come to wrap around your waist —your lips move together, heads tilting slightly to deepen the kiss, and soon his tongue ventures forward, timidly, as if asking permission to enter.

You moan against his mouth when his hands slip beneath your t-shirt, tenderly tracing your burning skin. His mouth leads the kiss, alternating between languidly pulling at your tongue and dancing with it… He presses you closer, the hand at the small of your back flattening your chest against his, making you clutch at his shoulders from the sheer need to be close, always closer…

It's you who breaks the kiss, breathless, and he chases your mouth for a few seconds before pressing his forehead to yours, just as out of breath. Your breathing mingles, his hands roaming your back and along your ribs, unaware of the trails of shivers he leaves in his wake.

“Hobi,” you breathe, your voice much higher than usual, panting. Your noses brush as he leans in to catch your lower lip, sucking and pulling gently at it with a deep sigh.

“God, I love it when you call me that.”

Your lips find his again, a desperate moan lost in his mouth as you pull him toward you, closer, always closer, wanting nothing more than to feel his burning skin against yours.

He's no better, sighing against your lips before his hands slide from your waist to your hips, slipping beneath your thighs to lift you and settle you astride his lap, careful not to jostle your bad leg. In this position, everything feels magnified —his hips directly beneath yours, your chests pressed together, his lips against yours

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” he whispers, groaning when your hands slip beneath his t-shirt and down his back. His fingers grip your hips more firmly, pressing you against the bulge in his jeans, large enough that a cry of surprise escapes you, swallowed by his lips. 

You roll against his hips, legs trembling. He groans, his hands on your hips guiding the movement as his lips leave your mouth and trail kisses along your cheek, your jaw, down to where your neck meets your shoulder —he presses his lips to that precise spot, alternating between grazing and sucking, never once stopping the motion of your hips against him until your head is spinning.

“There, like that,” you moan, tilting your neck to offer him more to kiss —an invitation he accepts immediately. Your eyelids flutter, drooping under the overwhelming sensation of him hard against you —it's as if the clothes between you have ceased to exist, a barely-there barrier between your urgent movements. 

“Let me show you how good I can be for you, sweetheart,” he grazes your earlobe with his teeth, then finds your lips again, all without ever stopping the movement of his hips against mine.

“Hobi, I…” you can only breathe, trembling against him.

“Almost there ?” he murmurs in the same tone, and you can hear in the tension in his voice that he isn't far either. As if sensing it won't quite be enough, he shifts you so you're straddling his thigh, one hand sliding along your body to cup a breast through your clothes, kneading it softly between his fingers. Your back arches, your chest pressing into his, and your eyes nearly roll back when he flexes the muscle of his thigh beneath you —it's so firm, so solid, it feels like he's everywhere at once, even more so with his hand at your chest pulling a moan of pleasure from your lips.

“God,” you breathe, higher than usual, and you feel him smile against your skin.

“Take what you need, sweetheart,” he murmurs like a promise, flexing in rhythm with the movement of your hips against him to press exactly where it counts, until you have to cling to him just to hold on.

He's everywhere at once, entirely focused on bringing you undone —he startles completely when you take him in hand through his jeans, a low groan leaving his lips when you stroke him in urgent back-and-forth motions, matching the pace of your hips on his thigh. He pants, your breath mingling as his forehead drops to yours, breathless, and soon his hand covers yours against him, guiding the movement deeper. You feel him twitch against you, just as close to the edge as you are, just as much of a trembling, moaning mess.

He kisses you as he feels you tense, your eyes rolling back as one last stroke hits exactly where it needs to, making you come apart with a desperate cry. He shudders beneath you, a low groan lost against your lips, and soon it's your name he murmurs as your movements slow and finally stop altogether, leaving only your chests rising and falling as we try to catch your breath, panting.

When you open your eyes, he's smiling at you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear —a smile so tender and sincere that something tightens in your chest. Beneath his soft gaze, you feel like we're wrapped in a bubble made only for you, sheltered from everything as long as he keeps smiling at you like that.

“Thank you,” he murmurs at last, emotion in his voice. “For looking for me. For coming, even if I nearly had a heart attack from how scared you made me.”

You laugh softly, and he smiles, pleased with himself. “You'll make it up to me,” you grumble for form's sake, ruffling his hair.

“Hmm-hmm? What would my princess like?” He rubs his nose against mine, teasing.

“That wasn't bad,” you pretend to think, drawing another snicker from him. “Or… you could come up to the surface with me to see Jimin?”

“What?” He goes still suddenly, though more in surprise than displeasure.

“Just one day?” you press, eyes wide. “He really misses you, you know. He doesn't say it, but he's genuinely hurting from losing you.”

His expression closes off a little, but you can see him wavering. “Yoongi will never agree. He'd kill me,” he says, shaking his head slightly.

“Let him try,” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow.

“Y/n…”

“Just one day. Please,” you plead again, pushing out your lower lip in a pout, giving him your best pleading eyes. His gaze flickers to your mouth, hesitant, and he scratches the back of his neck, studying you, torn.

You press closer to him, arms around his neck, and he gives in. “Alright, I suppose it could be arranged,” he sighs dramatically, but smiles anyway when you lean in to kiss him, delighted. When you pull back, he keeps you close with a lazy smile. He looks at you for a moment, as if lost in contemplation, before closing his eyes, a small crease forming between his brows. “God, what am I going to say to him…”

“He was your best friend, you'll figure it out.”

“No, he was like my brother. Which makes it worse,” he's back to his pained expression when he opens his eyes, and the smile he attempts twists into a grimace. “I'm better at goodbyes than reunions.”

“I noticed,” you laugh softly, before explaining at his indignant look, “You pushed me off a railway to keep me from getting hit by a train…”

“I call that saving your life, but if you'd rather be ungrateful—”

“…Whereas on your way out, you told me you loved me.”

He goes still, his hands freezing on your waist. “…I said that?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod vigorously, delighted, smiling even wider as his cheeks flush red, his gaze dropping for just a second.

The small laugh that escapes you makes him pout, even though he's still just as red. “You know what? Laugh all you want, it's true,” he says, his gaze more intense than ever. “The day we spent together was probably the best of my entire life. I've never felt that with anyone. And when you appeared down there earlier, I was more scared than the day I nearly got hit by a—”

“I wasn't laughing at that. It's the same for me.”

He goes still again, turning crimson.

“…Really?” He finally asks, with so much hesitation in his voice you'd think he didn't believe it for a second.

“Mm-hmm,” you nod, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. “I love you too, I think.” Even you can feel the top of your cheeks warming —but it's worth it for the spark of pure joy that appears in his eyes, and the dazzling smile he gives you.

“God,” he breathes, just before pulling you to him and crushing you against his chest. Literally. You protest, tap his shoulder to make him let go, but he just leans in to kiss you instead. "I love you so much."

Then he holds you against him again, so tightly your heart threatens to burst. He buries his nose in your hair, sighing with contentment, and you let your head fall onto his shoulder, your face tucked into the curve of his neck. Engulfed in his embrace, as much as in his scent that is so entirely him and wraps itself around you completely.

A smell of honey, and freedom.

“Hey, Hobi ?”

“Mm-hmm ?”

“Will you show me around the city ?”

His laugh makes his chest vibrate beneath your head, spreading a quiet smile across your lips. “God, you're relentless.”

Thanks for reading lovelies ! Don't hesitate to reblog, like or comment ! I always love to hear 'bout what you guys thought of it :) Also don't hesitate to ask if you wanna be tagged in my next posts !

You can find all my other writings here <3

Warnings : Miscommunication, lots of angst and bits of fluff (not kidding like 75% angst 15% smut 10% fluff), annoying side characters but Hobi is the sweetest, smut (oral (both but m more described) sex in different positions, vanilla (kinda ???? Idek), some fingering and lots of whining, I kinda suck at writing smut pls don't come at me), minors dni!

Authors note : Le me on a random thursday night : "hey let's write something short real quick" (... ;n;)

An2 : anyway lol hope you'll love this fic for my precious Mini as much as I do :)

Gentle reminder that all rights are reserved, so please do not copy, translate or repost my stories under your name. Also I do not own BTS or their actions, the stories are entirely fictionnal and does not depict real-life events or involve any actual member of BTS.

“Mia’s got a thing for Jimin,” Noelle leans in to whisper in your ear right in the middle of an awkward silence during physiology class.

Of course, she says it at the exact moment you're wondering —for the hundredth time this hour— what the hell you're even doing here, while the professor has ordered complete silence so you can work on an exercise you don’t —unsurprisingly— understand at all.

You never should’ve ended up in physiology in the first place. You got stuck in this class because of a registration error at the start of freshman year —and out of sheer loyalty, Noelle signed up for it the following semester just to be with you. Probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for you. You don’t think she realizes how grateful you are —you wouldn’t last a minute in this hell on your own.

“What?” you mumble back, completely lost. Rubbing your eyes, you silently pray she doesn’t take offense at your frown and suddenly blurt something out way too loudly, like she usually does. Noelle isn’t exactly subtle, and if she accidentally shouted right now, you’d both be stuck in detention every evening for the rest of the week.

“Mia. The new girl,” she whispers, like it’s obvious. As she leans over to scribble a calculation on your paper —the one you’ve been pretending to work on for at least twenty minutes— your gaze drifts toward the front row, landing on Mia’s perfectly tight red bun.

From where you're sitting, you only see her back and the side of her face, but it’s enough to make out her lifted chin, straight nose, and soft, rounded cheeks. Like always, she’s sitting perfectly straight, her neck slightly tilted as she looks down at her sheet. You can’t see her eyes, but you know she’s completely focused on the exercise. She’s probably the only one.

“A crush on Jimin? Seriously?” You murmur, unconvinced, frowning. Mia shares most of her classes with you and Noelle, which is already odd enough, but since she showed up a month ago, you’ve barely paid attention to her —and nothing about her has ever suggested she might be into Jimin.

Then again, she’s pretty discreet. Always polite, so small and slight you barely notice her most of the time, and constantly buried in her notes —you’ve probably exchanged, what, seven words with her at most.

You’ve seen her with a few friends here and there, but never with guys —or even just Jimin— and she’s clearly not the type to show up at parties. Honestly, she strikes you as the kind of girl who puts her studies first and everything else second. Aside from her notebooks, she doesn’t really look at anyone, anyway.

“Mhm,” Noelle nods quickly, completely certain. Eyebrows raised, she absentmindedly picks at her nail with the cap of a Bic pen. “Trust me, I’m never wrong about this stuff.”

You raise an eyebrow, unconvinced. She just rolls her eyes in response.

“Okay, fine,” she finally sighs. “I heard her telling her friend during the break that she wants to ask him to the movies. But shh,” she adds, a hint of a grin tugging at her lips.

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. She really is such a little snoop.

The rest of the class goes by in relative silence —much to Noelle’s frustration. She doesn’t have any more information on Mia and her crush, which, for someone as nosy as her, is practically an insult. She keeps muttering that she’ll investigate on her own, frowning.

It makes you smile faintly, but you just nod and stifle a yawn. Like everyone, you like gossip —but you much prefer it when Noelle does the digging and brings it to you.

Still, when the professor finally dismisses the class, you find yourself lingering. And before you can stop it, your gaze drifts back to Mia.

You’d think, after spending this long with Noelle, you’d have learned that curiosity only leads to trouble —you’ve lost count of how many times she’s dragged you into a mess chasing the latest rumor— but you can’t help it.

You don’t know how to explain it, but there’s something about this girl that unsettles you. Intrigues you.

As usual, she doesn’t pay attention to anyone —not even her supposed crush. She barely glances at him. Doesn’t look at you either, even though you're standing right there in the middle of the room. She just packs her things and disappears into the hallway.

You lean slightly to follow her with your eyes, but within seconds she’s gone, and soon you can’t even hear her footsteps anymore.

That’s when Jimin catches your attention instead.

He didn’t look at Mia —but he must’ve felt you staring, because two rows ahead of you, he turns and glances over his shoulder. At first, he looks surprised to find you already watching him, but then his face breaks into a wide smile that crinkles his eyes.

You don’t smile back. You just nod when he gives you a small wave —and somehow, his grin only grows wider as he shakes his head.

Not the least bit bothered, he heads out with his friends.

You stay there for a moment, leaning against the table, staring into space.

Mia and Jimin. It’s… weird. Normally, you're the last person to care about this kind of thing, but this time, it’s like you keep getting stuck on it. They’re so mismatched you can’t even picture it.

“What were you doing?” Noelle asks when you finally join her in the hallway.

Your eyes fall on Jimin again, a little further ahead, smiling at something one of his friends said.

“Nothing,” You answer absentmindedly, frowning.

In your head, you try to imagine what a Jimin-and-Mia relationship would even look like. You can barely form a clear picture —and when you do, you end up grimacing. It feels even less believable.

But then again… why not?

“Where did you put your chemistry notes again?” Noelle grumbles, lifting piles of papers one after the other.

“You took them like… two days ago.”

She looks up, frowning when she sees you glued to your phone. Finals are less than a month away, and let’s just say you wouldn’t exactly suffer from doing some serious studying. “What? No way.”

“Yes way. I remember.”

She clicks her tongue, then turns to Hoseok. “Give me your notes.”

At least he makes the effort to look up from his screen. “What notes? I’m always asking you for yours.”

“I suck at chemistry, I always take Y/N’s,” she shoots back, pointing at you. Hoseok shrugs, and you sigh, already opening your mouth to explain that you probably left them at the apartment —but you're cut off by a sudden throat clearing.

In unison, the three of you look up at the newcomer —and you have to summon all your self-control to keep your eyebrows from shooting into your hairline when you realize it’s none other than Mia standing there, her round glasses perched high on her nose, just big enough to hide the redness of her cheeks.

Behind her, looking almost nervous, is another girl about her height with short brown hair —you quickly recognize her as one of the friends Mia usually hangs out with.

Her eyes land on you, and she offers a soft smile. “Are you studying for the chemistry finals? Would you mind if we joined you?” she asks, her voice full of hope. “We just transferred into the section, and we wouldn’t mind a little help…”

Behind her, her friend nods vigorously. You stay frozen like an idiot, unsure what to say. When the silence stretches a little too long, Noelle turns toward you, lips parted, brows slightly drawn together —the exact look she gets when she smells gossip. You only notice because you know that look by heart, though : to anyone else, she just looks surprised.

Hoseok, on the other hand, is terrible at poker face: when he turns to you, he looks downright horrified, and you wince without meaning to.

It’s not that you don’t like Mia —she unsettles you, and you can’t quite figure her out, but you're not about to refuse her a seat at your table. And Hoseok’s never even met her, so it’s not like he has a reason to dislike her.

What you don’t like, though, is the idea that she came over expecting you all to magically guarantee her a good grade.

Someone should probably tell her that Noelle and Hoseok systematically copy your notes because they understand absolutely nothing —despite the fact that your own grades are barely enough to scrape through the semester. And judging by the look Hoseok’s giving you, you get the feeling that someone is supposed to be you.

Except Mia flashes the shyest yet brightest smile you’ve ever seen —and you cave. “Of course. No problem!”

They sit down with you, relieved. Hoseok shoots you a death glare, while Noelle looks delighted, like she’s already plotting the best way to pry information out of Mia. Because for all the talk she never stops about it, days have passed, and Mia and Jimin haven’t spoken —or even crossed paths— once.

At first, you actually try. Noelle “coaches” them on how to take proper notes —which turns out to be completely useless, since Mia’s notes are ten times cleaner and more relevant than yours— and Hoseok tries to answer a few of their questions, before inevitably turning to you for silent help.

Barely ten minutes in, you realize they’re both adorable —and Mia even helps you understand a few points you’d completely missed. Hoseok and Noelle just nod politely, fully aware they’ll just “borrow” your notes later anyway.

You're still proud of the three of you —you last almost two hours before giving up. Mia and her friend keep working quietly, but you and Hoseok have long since gone back to your phones, resuming that stupid game you’re obsessed with, while Noelle is back to squealing about some senior girl and whatever “insane thing” she supposedly did at the last party…

At some point, Mia’s friend surprises everyone by offering to go grab sandwiches —despite having been silent until now. You start to get up, but quickly notice Mia doesn’t move at all. Feeling oddly sympathetic, you sit back down and send Noelle and Hoseok with her instead, after making them promise to bring you something.

They walk off chatting, and silence settles over the table again, broken only by the low hum of studying around you. The lounge in Building D isn’t your favorite place on campus, but you’ll admit —it’s the calmest spot if you actually want to focus. You’d never get this kind of quiet at your apartment, especially with J—

“You know if Jimin has a girlfriend?”

Mia’s voice shatters the silence, and you freeze.

On your phone screen, the dumb mobile game keeps running on its own —because you're too stunned to move a single muscle.

Slowly, very slowly, you lift your head.

On Friday afternoons, these lounges are always half-empty —that’s why you come here— but suddenly, the room doesn’t just feel quiet. It feels mute. Like everyone else has disappeared, leaving you alone with Mia and no way out of answering.

“Uh… no idea,” You mutter after a moment, nervously chewing on the end of your pen. “Why are you asking?”

Behind her oversized green glasses, Mia blushes, a shy smile tugging at her lips. Clearly, she hasn’t noticed your heel bouncing under the table. “Oh, um… just wondering,” she says, and you frown. Why do you hate that tone? And why do you get the feeling she waited for Noelle and Hoseok to leave for this?

“I mean… he’s so handsome, and nice, but I never see him with any girls, so I—”

“Maybe he’s just gay,” You cut in, annoyed, letting your pen drop onto the table with a sharp clack. You hate people with assumptions like that.

She freezes. Even from the corner of your eye, you can see her go pale. “Oh,” she says after a few seconds —more than enough time for you to lose interest and go back to your game.

When she speaks again, her small, shaky voice almost makes you roll your eyes. “You… really think…?”

“No,” You sigh. “Mia, why are you asking me?”

It’s not like you’re friends. Honestly, this might be the most you’ve ever spoken.

You can see her twisting her fingers under the table, but you say nothing. Partly because your own restless foot isn’t much better. Partly because you already know why she’s nervous. Mostly because you just don’t care.

Mia isn’t your friend. Not even close. You're already being nice letting her use your notes —you're not about to give her flirting advice too.

Still, she doesn’t give you much choice.

“Well, I heard you were friends…”

She pauses, waiting for you to confirm it. You just raise an eyebrow. “We had the same classes in first year,” you mutter. That’s all. That’s enough.

She looks surprised, like she expected more —but you don’t have more to give. Your relationship with Jimin could be summed up like that: you had the same classes in first year.

“I’d like to ask him out,” she finally admits, her face turning so red you briefly wonder if she’s having an allergic reaction. She bites her lip, nervous. “But it scares me… every time I see him, I completely lose it. Seriously, he must think I’m an idiot —I can’t even get three words out. Do you think I have a chance?”

For a second, Mia softens you. Just a little. She’s almost endearing like that —clearly flustered, clearly sincere. The way her eyes light up, the blush on her cheeks… she really likes him.

She looks like a teenager with her first crush.

It would be cute —if you were still in high school.

But you’re not. You have finals in less than a month, and if someone has to play cupid, you’d much rather it be Noelle. You have absolutely no time for this.

Still, you choose your words carefully.

“If he does have someone, he’s keeping it secret,” you shrug. “Because I haven’t heard anything.”

You almost regret it —because her whole face lights up.

She opens her mouth to speak, suddenly excited —but right then Noelle and the others come back, and she freezes.

You don’t know if it’s your expression Mia misses or just her own excitement, but Noelle looks at you suspiciously. You subtly shake your head, exasperated, and take the sandwich Hoseok hands you as a distraction.

They barely sit down before Mia starts whispering with her friend, both of them giggling with sparkling eyes —and this time, you can’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

You knew you shouldn’t have answered.

Noelle and Hoseok obviously notice, and Hoseok lets out a quiet snort, one eyebrow arching in amusement. Noelle, realizing she’s missed part of the story, looks personally offended and nudges you with her elbow, her eyes firing off a very obvious silent question —unlucky for her, subtlety has never really been her thing.

Mia’s friend catches the exchange. Her hand immediately comes down over Mia’s, and Mia’s mouth snaps shut.

Noelle smiles sweetly like nothing happened, but an odd chill settles over the table, leaving all of you too awkward to speak —and Mia’s friend doesn’t look remotely ready to stop glaring daggers at you.

You spend the rest of the hour in silence. You clear three levels on your game before getting bored.

“Call later?” Noelle throws over her shoulder as you step out of the building, already heading off toward her place —in the exact opposite direction of yours. You nod automatically, flashing her a thumbs-up before going your own way. Hoseok left earlier to pick up his boyfriend at the bus stop, and by the time you decided to call it a day and head home, the whole ridiculous situation had completely slipped your mind.

Which, clearly, isn’t the case for Mia.

Like any self-respecting model student, she lives right on campus. That part, you already knew —it’s not exactly hard to figure out. The only people who manage to show up every single day and actually be on time are the ones who live there.

What you didn’t know, though, is that the path to her building just so happens to be the same one that leads to yours. You’ve barely taken a step when she slips her arm through yours.

“So…” she starts, before you even have time to process the sudden closeness. “The girls he dated before —what were they like? Should I be direct, or take it slow? And do you think—”

“Hey, hey, relax. Breathe,” you grumble, your irritation snapping back in under a second. She takes it as a joke and laughs softly, but she does calm down a little.

She has a pretty laugh —the kind that rings like something straight out of a TV show— and as much as that alone annoys you, you still prefer it to her endless stream of questions.

She keeps firing them at you until you can’t even remember what she started with. You grit your teeth and answer them one by one, reminding yourself over and over that in five minutes you’ll be home, everything will be fine, and she won’t be glued to your side anymore.

Honestly, you can help her a little, right ? A few tips here and there never killed anyone —and it’s not like you're personally invested. Like you keep telling her, you don’t even know Jimin that well, and everything you're saying could be found in under a minute on Google.

Once she’s satisfied with your pathetic answers, she’ll leave you alone, you guess.

“I was thinking of asking him to the movies —what do you think?” she finally asks, looking at you with wide, uncertain eyes.

Internally, you sigh. You're tempted to explain that for a first date, sitting in a dark room for two hours without being able to talk is the worst idea possible —you speak from experience— but you don’t. Because suddenly, the student housing building is just a few meters away, like salvation finally within reach. So you take a deep breath.

“Yeah. A movie sounds perfect.”

Your small smile seems to convince her. She beams back at you, lighting up entirely, and you almost feel bad. She looks like a kid full of dreams.

“Oh my God, thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re saving my life!” she gushes, over and over. For a second, you're afraid she’s going to throw herself at you for a hug —but she doesn’t. She just flashes you one last huge smile before disappearing into the building.

You wait until she’s out of sight before letting out a long breath.

Automatically, you head home, distracting yourself by replying to the memes Hoseok sent you —each one accompanied by about ten completely nonsensical emojis.

Coming home always feels like freedom, but today, after Mia’s forced interrogation, it feels even better. Noelle’s already bribed you over text to spill everything, which you fully intend to do after a shower —but for now, you just want to unwind. You're not particularly antisocial, but you really don’t enjoy being dragged into other people’s drama like this.

The sound of the door slamming behind you, the feeling of finally kicking off your shoes —it’s heaven.

A very short-lived heaven.

Barely ten minutes later, your phone buzzes on the couch.

Mia added you as a friend! the notification chirps cheerfully, like it’s mocking you.

You sigh slowly. Then, after a brief moment of deliberation, you follow her back —if only because Noelle already does.

Deep down, she’s not a bad person. Just… a little too much.

You don’t even have time to put your phone down before a message pops up.

Hello Unnie! Thanks again for ur advice, u have no idea how much it reassured me! I’ll try to ask him tomorrow, fingers crossed! <3 <3 <3

You hate that you smile at it. Hate that you care enough to read it twice. Hate that you're already starting to type a reply. You hate playing hypocrites.

But you don’t even get the chance.

Before your thumb can hit send, someone pounds on the apartment door so hard you jump like an idiot.

You grumble under your breath —can’t even get a moment of peace at home, for God’s sake— before setting your phone down and slipping on your slippers to go open it.

The door swings open, and there he is: messy brown hair, angel face. His eyes darken the second they meet yours, a smile tugging at the corner of his perfectly plump lips.

Slowly, he leans against the doorframe, closing the distance until your faces are just inches apart, your noses almost brushing. You sigh softly —almost on instinct. It’s always the same, and somehow you're still surprised to find him here.

“Your roommate home?” he asks, like he always does, his voice rougher than usual. A little breathless, too.

You shake your head slowly. “He’s at his boyfriend’s. Won’t be back until tomorrow.”

A wicked smile spreads across his lips, his eyes narrowing into crescents. He doesn’t need to hear it twice.

You barely finish speaking before his hand finds your waist, and then Jimin is kissing you —full on.

He exhales against your lips like he’s been waiting for it all day, and the reprimand you had ready dies on the spot. You let yourself go instead.

You let him take the lead as he pulls you closer, his tongue dragging yours into a frantic kiss. Let him take over as he kicks the door shut behind him and lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist.

He doesn’t need directions. Eyes closed, he crosses the short distance to your room —he’s walked this apartment so many times he could do it blind.

Your phone keeps buzzing on the table where you left it —but then Jimin tosses you onto the bed and buries his lips in your neck, and nothing else matters.

Nothing but his mouth, his warmth against you, the scent of him wrapping around your senses.

“Safeword?” he murmurs against your skin, his hands already finding every spot that makes you shiver.

A smile slips out before you can stop it.

“Same as always.”

“Well, looks like her little situation is going pretty well…”

“Hm?”

You lift your head, frowning. Across from you, Noelle is lazily sucking on a lollipop, her gaze drifting over the courtyard. It almost makes you snap.

Your binder sits open on your lap, filled with notes and scattered exercises she hasn’t even glanced at. You know math isn’t her thing and she’s already accepted she’s going to fail her finals, but she could at least pretend.

You ? You’ve been doing nothing but studying —for days. At first, you thought you had time —but it caught up with you fast, and now you’d settle for just passing. Even barely passing would be fine, honestly.

With all that, you barely get time to breathe —except for the nights you see Jimin.

“What situation?” you mutter, scratching your chin, trying to refocus. Thinking about him definitely won’t help your grades.

“Mia’s situation,” Noelle shoots back, pulling the lollipop from her mouth to point in Mia’s direction.

You follow her gaze easily —Mia and her friends are sitting by the fountain, giggling. And yeah, the redhead looks thrilled.

You hate how fast your mood drops.

“Oh, that? Yeah… it’s going somewhere,” you mumble, dropping your eyes back to your notes, a heavy feeling settling in your stomach. It takes you less than a second to decide you hate it.

Noelle perks up instantly. “Wait, you know something?”

A hint of a smile tugs at your lips, but you have to force it into existence. “Yeah. Though I’d be surprised if I know more than you.”

“Go on.”

You make a face, thinking back to all the late nights she kept you up texting for advice. All the times she caught up with you after class just to gush about the latest update. All the times —almost every time— she made you reassure her for minutes on end that her outfit was fine, that she wouldn’t say something stupid…

Just thinking about it gives you a headache.

You shrug. “She asked him to the movies, then for ice cream. I think he walked her back after class, and… they went to the fair, I think?”

Noelle’s eyes practically pop out of her head. “Wow, seriously?!”

When you nod, she turns back to the group with an impressed whistle. “Damn, that was fast… Honestly, when I heard she wanted to go for it, I didn’t believe it. I mean, I’ve never seen Jimin in a relationship, ever —but hey, good for her. She’ll have to teach me her technique…”

You could just ask me, you almost say —but you bite your tongue in time. You've passed the age for being petty.

“So what do you think?” Noelle asks after a few seconds.

Sighing, you hesitate.

For a split second, you want to admit that your stomach twists every time you picture Mia and Jimin together —so badly it’s hard to swallow.

But you don’t. Partly because that would take way too much explaining. Partly because you're ashamed of it.

So instead, you mumble, “She really seems to like him. Good for her, I guess.”

Noelle nods, still watching the girls, slowly sucking on her candy.

You wait a few seconds, then drop your gaze back to your notes, ignoring the dull ache tightening in your chest.

Later that afternoon, as you leave your last lecture, Noelle suddenly freezes —then shoves you against the wall, out of sight.

You groan, already starting to complain, but one look at her face tells you this isn’t the time —so instead you lean in to see what has her so shaken. You don’t have to search long.

A few steps away, there’s a redhead you know very well now —and a tall, lanky boy with messy brown hair.

She says something you can’t hear, nervously pushing her glasses up her nose. Even from here, you can see her cheeks flushing ridiculously fast.

But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is the way Jimin smiles back.

A huge, genuine smile that stretches across his entire face —paired with a soft laugh that’s usually just for you.

“I can’t believe it, they’re so cute…” Noelle whispers, completely smitten as something in you breaks.

All you can do is nod, jaw tight as you ignore the punch sinking deep into your stomach.

“Mind if I join you?”

“Are you kidding? Of course not!” Noelle blurts out before you even get the chance to react, pushing her bag aside so Mia can sit with you.

If Hoseok notices the way you tense up, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he leans closer, his voice soft as he keeps trying to walk you through this stupid math lesson. You keep your eyes firmly fixed on his notebook, on the words he points at, doing your best to ignore how his shoulder brushing yours here and there feels like some kind of protective shield.

Unfortunately, Hoseok’s quiet voice isn’t enough to drown out Noelle and Mia’s chatter.

“Honestly, I could really use some help with chapter six in chemistry. I joined late, and it’s complete gibberish to me!”

Your best friend falters for half a second —but Noelle being Noelle, she recovers instantly. “No one gets it, don’t worry. I was already planning to ask one of the nerds in our group for their revision notes. Namjoon probably won’t agree, but with a bit of luck, Jimin might…”

You can practically hear her face lighting up.

“Now that I think about it, you could even put in a good word for me! You two have gotten pretty close, right…?”

Hoseok’s finger freezes on the page, and you both look up at the same time. Once again, if he notices your leg bouncing under the table, he doesn’t comment.

“Well…” Mia smiles, flushing with obvious pleasure. “Yeah, I guess you could say that…”

Noelle’s grin is so bright it could blind someone. “Come on, spill the tea!”

Mia has the decency to hesitate for a second —though it’s pointless, because the very next moment she’s already rambling.

“He’s so sweet, seriously! Like, perfect! Every conversation with him is super interesting, he’s funny, polite, and thoughtful —oh my God! The other day, I told him I had this super stressful test, and he remembered! He asked me how it went that same evening! And when we went to the fair, it was insane, he practically fought me so I wouldn’t have to pay!”

They both dissolve into excited giggles, completely wound up —Noelle going on about how completely smitten Jimin must be, and Mia marveling at how lucky she is.

They clearly don’t give a damn about the poor students at the nearby tables who are actually trying to study for finals, because soon enough, the two girls are all you can hear —and they don’t even seem bothered by it.

What bothers you is that you can’t breathe —and that you can’t stop listening to Mia at the same time.

You thought you knew how far things had gone between them. 

Clearly, you were wrong.

A warm hand suddenly presses down on your knee, holding it still, and that’s when you realize your leg has started bouncing twice as fast. The look Hoseok gives you is just as warm and steady as his hand —but it’s not enough to calm the storm in your chest or the punches landing in your stomach.

He raises an eyebrow, a silent question in his eyes, and seeing his confusion makes you realize just how bad you feel.

You feel sick.

“Honestly, I owe it all to Y/N. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her advice, really.”

The storm inside you doesn’t settle —and yet you're swept into another the very moment you hear Mia say your name.

The next second, Noelle’s inquisitive gaze is locked onto you, and you feel like you’ve just been shoved under a spotlight. “Really? I had no idea…”

“I didn’t do much,” you mutter quickly, brushing it off with a wave of your hand.

“Are you kidding?” Mia exclaims, almost offended. “If you hadn’t suggested it, it never would’ve crossed my mind to take him to a romantic movie. He loved it!”

Next to you, Hoseok frowns —you can tell he’s holding back a comment. Anyone who knows Jimin knows he loves romance stories. His favorite movie’s The Notebook, after all…

“And that time you told me to go stargazing after the fair! Seriously, genius idea —I still get butterflies just thinking about it!”

Mia keeps going, listing every single suggestion you gave her —fully aware Jimin would love them— and you feel like you're trapped in an endless tunnel.

Like you can’t move, can’t do anything except stare at the exit without ever reaching it.

Hoseok’s hand tightens slightly on your knee. You know he’s trying to catch your eye again, to ask you that silent question —but you can’t.

All you can see is Jimin smiling at Mia, laughing at something she says. All you can hear is her listing all the perfectly romantic things they’ve done together.

And you feel like you're going to throw up.

You need to get out of here. Now.

As if answering your silent plea, your phone vibrates in your pocket. Once. Then twice.

Hoseok says something you don’t catch, joining the conversation, and you take the opportunity to pull your phone out under the table and unlock it.

For a second, you're almost glad he’s not looking at you —because you're ashamed of the way you react to the message on your screen.

Jimin – 8:42 PM I’m alone at the apartment tonight. Jimin – 8:42 PM Wanna come over?

You know, just from the way something bursts to life in your stomach reading those words, that it’s a bad idea.

But you feel awful. Truly awful. Your chest aches with something you can’t shake —and all you want is a distraction.

And so far, Jimin has always been the best one.

“I’ve gotta go,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself, making everyone jump as you suddenly stand up. “I just remembered I need to do some shopping. You can keep my notes if you want,” you add distractedly to Noelle, already gathering your things and grabbing your bag.

Confused, Noelle says something —a string of surprised questions— but you barely hear it.

Instead, your eyes find Hoseok’s.

And there it is —that familiar look. The one that says he understands something no one else has even suspected. The one that made him your closest confidant.

But he doesn’t say anything about it.

“Text me when you get there,” he murmurs as you lean down to kiss his cheek, too quiet for the girls to hear. “And call me if you want me to come get you.”

“Deal,” you reply simply before waving at the girls and walking away.

It’s only when you reach the other end of the hall, pushing the door open to slip out, that you hear Noelle’s voice behind you—

“What shopping? I thought you did that yesterday?”

It’s almost ridiculous how you don’t even need to look where you're going to take the right path.

You’ve walked it so many times over the past three years —either because Jimin invited you, or because you asked if you could come over— that you could probably do it with your eyes closed.

Once you get off at the usual bus stop, you just have to walk up the street until you reach the small residence a few meters to the left. Punch in the same code that hasn’t changed in three years —613— then climb the thirteen stone steps, until you land on the soft doormat outside Jimin’s apartment.

And yet tonight, your steps are slower. Almost hesitant.

When you finally reach that familiar doormat, you just stand there like an idiot, not daring to ring the bell.

As if this time were different from the hundreds before.

Back in first year, it used to be almost every night —you at his place, or him at yours— and yet you're just as nervous as if it were the first time.

So much so that when your phone vibrates in your bag, it takes you a moment to gather the courage to pull it out —and once you do, you almost regret it.

Mia – 8:59 PM Noelle seemed a bit worried earlier, I hope everything’s okay. Also, sorry to bother you so late when you looked really tired, but I was wondering if you could help me. I’d like to invite Jimin to a restaurant, but I’m not sure wha—

You sigh louder than necessary, not even bothering to read the rest.

You literally ran away right in front of her —and she’s still bombarding you with questions. If she knew where you are right now…

As if summoned by the thought, the pain in your chest comes rushing back, sharp and sudden, twisting your stomach.

God, if she knew…

You're a terrible person. Listening to her talk about her crush, then coming here… you feel awful. Maybe you should just leave…?

You swallow and shake your head.

You're just trying to be nice to her. You’ve done nothing wrong.

But if talking to her means feeling like this every single time tho, then maybe it’d be better to cut it off now. You're sure she’ll be fine without your advice…

Except when you don’t reply, she just keeps sending messages. Over and over, until you snap.

You – 9:03 PM He loves Paris-Brest pastries.

You bite your tongue, immediately regretting typing the first thing that came to mind just to get her off your back —but as you start writing another message, the door suddenly swings open in front of you .

“I knew I heard something,” Jimin says, a wide grin spreading across his face when he sees you jump back in surprise. Then his eyes linger on your face, softening. “You okay?”

You stand there, frozen, as breathless as if you’d just run a marathon. Slowly, you let your phone drop back into your bag, forcing a small smile.

“Of course. Why?”

He runs a hand through his messy hair, making it even worse —which only makes you want to reach out and fix it. You already know how soft it is.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly, stepping aside to let you in. “You seem… somewhere else.”

Immediately, you're wrapped in the scent of cinnamon and wood smoke that fills his apartment. That scent that’s so him you’d recognize it anywhere.

You sigh softly, setting down your bag and slipping off your shoes with such ease you’d think you lived here. He watches you, arms crossed, his oversized hoodie practically swallowing him whole —something that would look ridiculous on anyone else, but on him just makes him look… cozy.

Suddenly, it’s hard to remember why you felt so nervous before coming in.

“It’s nothing, it’s just…” you shake your head, wrinkling your nose. “Finals. I’m stressed, I guess.”

Something flickers in his eyes as you shrug, playing it off, and he steps closer, smiling. “I’m sure you’ll get the best grades in the whole class.”

You raise an eyebrow at his teasing grin, studying him as he gets so close you have to tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. “Yeah, right.”

“No, seriously! I believe it.” He laughs, and you roll your eyes, letting him.

“Funny, because I know a certain pain in the ass who never studies and still gets straight A’s.”

“Are you talking about Namjoon?”

“No. I’m talking about you,” you grumble, pinching his cheek. He bursts out laughing.

“Hey, don’t be like that —it’s not my fault I’m a genius!”

“Oh, please,” you sigh, pretending to step away —but he just laughs harder, hooking his fingers into your belt loops to pull you back toward him.

“Don’t be like that,” he repeats, smiling —and somehow, without you noticing how, he’s suddenly so close your chests brush, you can feel the warmth of his hips against yours —yet you don’t want to pull away.

“You know, even geniuses get stressed about finals…”

“…Is that so…”

“But if you insist…” he murmurs, his voice dropping, something darkening slightly in his gaze. “I could help you relax.”

Slowly, his hands slide from your waist to your hips, tracing every curve so gently it sends shivers blooming under your clothes. He’s so close his breath grazes your skin, waking every nerve —and suddenly, it’s not enough. You want to get rid of these stupid clothes, feel his hands everywhere.

“You’re pretty bold tonight…” you murmur against his lips, eyebrow raised —though you can’t quite hide your smile.

“What can I say? I missed you,” he breathes, right before crushing his lips against yours.

A soft sound escapes you, caught off guard —but you don’t hesitate for a second before matching the urgent, almost desperate rhythm of his kiss.

Trapping your lip between his teeth to gently pull, he takes advantage of the moan that escapes you to slide his tongue in until it meets yours. You follow the movement as he licks, sucks, your tongues dancing while your hands explore. His hands slip under your top to find your ribs and graze your breasts, drawing delicious shivers from you, while yours grip his shoulders before sliding down his back.

Then his hands find your hips, making them sway against his, and suddenly you need more.

"Fuck, babe," he curses, right as the bulge against your abdomen makes you gasp.

"Your room. Now." Hurried, you grab the collar of his sweatshirt and help him take it off, drooling as he pulls it over his head and reveals he’s wearing nothing underneath —nothing but his perfectly sculpted torso and nipples hardened by arousal.

Slowly, you swallow. You want to take one in your mouth, just to see his reaction. As if he can read your thoughts, he smiles, winking at you . "Who’s being bold now, hmm?"

You don’t have time to answer —because then he kisses you again, so deliciously that you even forget what you were talking about. Without breaking the kiss, he gently pushes you toward his bedroom, his hands caressing everywhere they can reach —your ribs, your breasts, your lower back, your butt, as if he’s trying to map the area. His skin is burning against yours, electrifying, and every caress so light that the shivers they create only make you want to snuggle against him, to feel your body fit with his, to have more, more, more.

Your knees hit the edge of his bed, making you fall back with a gasp of surprise, and he leans down to follow you onto the mattress. You stop him, licking your lips.

His mouth opens in a silent question, but your hands have already found the hem of his belt, and you hear him hold his breath, his lip caught between his teeth.

"Take off your top," he sighs as his jeans fall around his ankles. You obey, grabbing your t-shirt and pulling it over your head before tossing it randomly into the room, his gaze almost immediately lost in your bra. As you get on your knees, one hand on his thigh, the sight of his Adam’s apple moving up and down in his throat as he swallows is enough to make your thighs rub against each other.

The air is cold against your skin, but at this moment, you feel like you're burning.

Sliding your fingers under the elastic, you lower his boxers and let it fall with his jeans, salivating at the sight of his member —proudly standing before you, already red and begging for a little attention. Jimin swallows again when you take him gently in one hand, trembling against you as you make a few small up-and-down motions to prepare him.

With your thumb, you spread the drop of pre-cum that escaped before, never leaving his gaze, licking from bottom to top. He groans, already trembling as you’ve barely started, and almost gasps when you finally wrap your lips around the tip, taking him in. You suck, gently.

One hand gripping his thigh to steady yourself, you take him in your mouth a little deeper, again and again every second, until your nose brushes the hair at the base of his belly and you have to relax your jaw so you don’t choke.

Then you start again.

Again and again. Slowly at first, taking your time to hollow your cheeks, to slide your tongue underneath just like you know he loves —then, as his legs tremble and his breathing gets louder, his moans more frequent, you go faster and faster, deeper and deeper.

"Fuck, yes, babe, right there," he hisses, lip caught between his teeth. You can see his abs flex as he slides a hand into your hair, ruining your hairstyle to instead tangle his fingers in the strands and press on your scalp to guide your movements. Pushing on your head, the pace becomes more urgent, clumsier, but better too —his moans get louder, so sincere and breathless that you can feel your panties dampening.

With your eyes closed, you slide a hand between your closed thighs and sway your hips, welcome the heat pooling there —just trying to get a tiny bit of friction, to…

"Shit, shit, shit, stop," he suddenly hisses, pushing you away as gently as he can. You look up at him, thighs trembling and lips shiny with saliva, just fast enough to see him swallow, his gaze dark as he devours you with his eyes.

"What?" you blurt out, surprising yourself at how trembling your breath is.

"On the bed," he simply replies, panting. "I need to be inside," he rushes to add, grabbing you by the waist to pull you up before placing you on the bed.

He joins you there as you bounce on the mattress —his mouth finds your neck, already sucking on a sweet spot under your jaw. While one hand caresses your hip, slides into your back to unhook your bra, the other finds its way between your thighs to your clit, drawing thigh circles on it with his thumb, drawing a surprised moan from you.

"Fuck, Jimin…"

"I know, I know, babe," he sighs against your neck, licking then biting that exact spot between your neck and collarbone that makes you see stars. As he lifts your hips to take off the last few pieces of clothing you have left, he reaches into a drawer with his other hand to pull out a condom. You take it from his hands, opening it with hurried movements to put it on, and he smiles softly when you groan as he slips two fingers inside you, a muffled moan escaping you.

"Jimin," you whisper, your voice trembling. Your walls tighten around him, wanting —no, needing— nothing more than to finally feel him inside you, filling you completely —but he gently cuts you off, placing a series of small kisses along your jawline.

"Need to prep’ you," he whispers, looking just as tense and impatient as you, but still so attentive even in moments like this.

"I don’t care, just go," you urge, and he hesitates just a second before obeying.

You moan together as he enters —so thick you can feel your walls shaking around him. He curses, burying his head in the crook of your neck as an anchor, and you can only cling to his shoulders, one hand lost in his messy hair as he sways his hips, pulling out gently before slamming back in, almost hitting your cervix.

Rapidly, the up-and-down of his hips accelerates, encouraged by yours rising and swaying to meet his movements. He grips your hips harder, so hard it’ll surely leave a bruise, and leans on his knees for more leverage, hitting points that make you scream against his neck. He just speeds up, goes harder, deeper every time, until you see stars, until you grip his bicep so hard your nails will surely leave marks.

He goes further, faster, deeper every time. Slides a hand between your bodies to tease your clit with his thumb, eyes down to where your bodies meet as if he can’t look away, mesmerized. Your walls swallow him harder and tighter each time as the knot tightens in your lower belly, again, again…

Until it snaps.

You scream his name, arching your back as your head falls back, stars before your eyes, and he joins you quickly, stifling his moans in the crook of your neck, holding himself up on his forearms.

Your chests fall and rise again and again, in unison, and only when his breathing has returned to a roughly normal rhythm does he let himself fall back onto the bed beside you, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Slowly, when you prop yourself up on one elbow to look at him, he smiles. "Stay the night?" he asks softly, as if saying it out loud would ruin everything.

You smile gently, just before coming to snuggle against him, your head nestled in his neck —and he welcomes you with open arms, holding you tight against him as if his life depends on it.

When you close your eyes that night, you are enveloped in a scent of cinnamon and woodsmoke, and you can’t help but smile.

Waking up at Jimin’s place has always been a little unsettling for you.

Not because you're scared of what it means, or worried you might mess something up —no, it’s unsettling because of how natural it feels.

Like you belong here —in his arms, in this house that’s far too big for a bunch of broke students. And honestly, it’s almost true. There’s a pair of slippers in your size by the door, ridiculously small next to the guys’ shoes, and part of Jimin’s closet is basically yours now, filled with as many of your clothes as there are hoodies and sweatpants you’ve stolen from him.

It’s not that you don’t like it —quite the opposite. That’s exactly what scares you.

The idea that one day, just like that, all of this could disappear. Just because one of you meets someone else.

“Here.” He hands you a steaming mug of tea before dropping down beside you on the floor, his thigh brushing lightly against yours. With his own cup in hand, he stretches an arm behind you, eyes still heavy with sleep. “Seriously? You’re already back at it?”

It takes you a few seconds to react, too distracted by the warmth between your fingers —raspberry tea, your favorite— and the look on your face when you finally turn to him makes him laugh softly.

“I don’t have a choice,” you mutter, feigning annoyance, which only makes him laugh harder. “Sleeping in is great and all, but I’ve got a semester to pass,” you grumble, sighing as you glance at the dozens of revision sheets spread out in front of you. You're never going to make it in time.

He doesn’t answer, and you jump slightly when, a few seconds later, he rests his head on your shoulder, his half-asleep eyes scanning your notes.

For a moment, you're thrown off by how comfortable it feels to have him this close. His warm breath against your skin, steady and soothing. The way you can trace the clean line of his profile without even trying.

“You know, if you’re really struggling with physio, I can help,” he says after a while, pulling you abruptly out of your thoughts.

“What?” you mumble, then quickly recover. “Oh. Yeah —I mean, if you don’t mind, ‘course.” He smiles, and you shoot a slightly embarrassed glance at the mess of papers in front of you. “I don’t understand a single thing that prof says. It’s a disaster.”

That earns you a quiet laugh before he straightens up —so fast you almost miss the warmth of his head on your shoulder. “It’s easier than it looks. You’ll see.”

If there’s one thing that’s clear, it’s that Jimin should become a teacher someday. Sure, half his students would probably end up hopelessly in love with him —if not all of them— but no one would ever fail.

There’s something about the way he explains things, the way he catches your attention and holds onto it, that’s honestly impressive. He doesn’t show off or talk down to you —he just reframes things, tries every possible angle until something finally clicks.

And even if it’s not instant, by the time the sun rises high enough to flood the living room with light, he’s pulled off a small miracle: you actually understand the chapter. Not perfectly —but enough that you might, maybe, survive finals.

He’s stretching —bare torso, low-slung sweatpants, the whole unfair package on display— when the front door slams open and muffled electro music spills in with it. A giant with messy hair falling over his eyes steps inside, unbothered.

He freezes when he sees you, then arches a brow as he pulls his headphones off. “Oh? The girlfriend’s back?”

“Taehyung,” Jimin clicks his tongue at the exact same moment you groan, “Please, not you…”

Taehyung takes advantage of Jimin getting up to wash your mugs to stick his tongue out at you while kicking off his shoes. You flip him off in return, which he completely ignores.

“Jesus, guys, how many times do I have to tell you to air the place out when you hook up?” he complains loudly, wrinkling his nose. “It stinks in here!”

“Oops!” Jimin calls back from the kitchen. “Sorry, man. You might wanna open your bedroom window, then.”

You nearly choke when you see Taehyung ’s face fall. “You’re kidding me?! I said not in my room!”

He storms upstairs two steps at a time, yelling something unintelligible from up there that sends you both into laughter.

When he comes back down, he’s sulking —and even grumpier. “What’s wrong, your hookup from last night kicked you out once sober she saw your face?” Jimin teases, unable to help himself.

“Shut up. And put a shirt on, asshole —you two look like some childless married couple.”

“You’re just jealous,” you singsong, just to get on his nerves. This time he flips you off without hesitation, which only makes you laugh harder —especially when Jimin comes back and smacks him on the back of the head.

“You guys went to a party last night?” Taehyung suddenly asks.

You blink at the abrupt change of subject, but Jimin doesn’t even react. You’ve always thought Taehyung had serious attention issues, but according to Jimin, he just thinks faster than everyone else. The idea is oddly endearing —and cute— so you don’t dare contradict.

“No, why?”

By the coffee machine, Taehyung shrugs, pulling his phone out. “Saw you on some girl’s story. Looked like a party. Here.”

Jimin takes the phone, biting into a cookie, but glances at the picture for less than a second before shaking his head. “That wasn’t last night. That was the fair.”

And just like that, you freeze.

Something about Jimin and a fair makes your stomach twist almost instantly.

You don’t hear the rest of their conversation —it doesn’t really matter, you're not part of it anymore. But you do follow the movement when Jimin sets the phone down on the coffee table after Taehyung disappears into the kitchen.

Nowou can see the picture clearly —and you're not sure you like it.

Jimin, grinning wider than you’ve ever seen him. Happier than you’ve ever seen him. And next to him, a petite redhead, just as radiant.

Mia.

Your stomach knots tighter and tighter until it feels like something’s about to snap. You can’t look away. They look so happy. So at ease. You’d had trouble picturing them together before —but now…

Now, seeing them like this, Jimin looking better than ever, you start to think maybe… maybe…

“You’d tell me if you wanted to stop, right?”

When you finally look up, it’s just Jimin in the living room —Taehyung’s gone somewhere. Jimin stares at you, completely caught off guard.

“Stop what? Us?” he asks after a second, clearly confused.

You nod, swallowing.

Your chest hurts. Like your lungs don’t have enough room to expand.

“Why would I want to stop?”

It hurts. God, it hurts.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, your voice suddenly empty. You can’t meet his eyes anymore. “I just figure it would suck if one of us started feeling… stuck. In our —whatever this is.”

You swallow hard.

You've never put a name on this. It just happened. You woke up in the same bed after a party, realized it had been the best sex of your lives, and decided to keep going. No rules, no labels. Just… this.

And it used to be enough. Now it terrifies you .

“Well… that’s not how I feel,” he says slowly, almost hesitant —but with that soft smile he uses to reassure people. “But if it ever is, trust me —you’ll be the first to know.”

You force a smile and nod.

It hurts so much.

You open your mouth to say something else —because from the look on his face, he knows something’s wrong and he’s about to ask— but Taehyung’s voice cuts in from upstairs, calling for him.

Jimin hesitates, eyes flicking between you and the stairs before deciding. “He never yells like that. I should check,” he mutters, frowning. “I’ll be right back, just a minute.”

You barely have time to respond before he leans down and kisses you, quick and easy, then disappears up the stairs, leaving you alone —with flushed cheeks and thoughts that won’t line up into anything coherent.

And in the quiet that follows, you realize something. What scares you most… …It’s how natural that felt.

The way he leaned in and kissed you, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

It scares you.

No —it terrifies you.

And God… why does your chest hurt so much?

“I can’t do this,” you declare, your head in your hands.

Sitting across from you on the edge of the fountain, Hoseok looks up sharply, one eyebrow raised. “Chapter thirteen. I don’t understand a single thing,” you explain, sighing.

He thinks for a second, then glances over the overwhelming spread of notes in front of you and wrinkles his nose. “Oh, that one. Yeah, I skipped it. It’s on my sacrifice list.”

“Your what list?”

“Mhm. All the chapters I know I’ll never learn in time, so I ditch them and focus on the rest,” he proudly explains, leaving you confused for a few seconds.

Slowly, you nod. “Right. Makes sense. I should probably do the same… Any chance you could explain the chapter on exponential functions?”

“Sacrificed. That crap is straight out of high school, I don’t even get why we have to go through it again.”

“Chemistry, chapter three?”

“Sacrificed.”

“Four?”

“Sacrificed.”

“Okay… and, uh, let’s say, all of this semester’s physio?”

He grimaces. That’s your answer.

“Sacrificed, got it,” you sigh. “So… is there anything you didn’t sacrifice, or—”

“Of course there is! The very first one, about cell structure, well fun fact—”

“Hoseok! Y/N! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!”

Mia cuts him off, bursting into the courtyard at full speed —so fast she has to dig her heels into the ground to keep from face-planting into the massive fountain. Hoseok jumps up instinctively, startled, while you throw your arms over your head on reflex —but she manages to stop just a couple steps away from you.

“You are never gonna believe this!” she gasps, hands on her knees, more out of breath than you’ve ever seen her. Hoseok shoots you a quick, concerned glance.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Mia run, and definitely not with a smile like that. Her cheeks are flushed, her glasses are slipping down her nose —but you’ve never seen her look so radiant.

“You won the lottery?” you mumble at the exact same time Hoseok blurts out, “You found a valid excuse to skip finals?”

“No!” she beams. “Jimin agreed to come to the party on Friday with me!”

…What?

You and Hoseok go completely still —him in surprise, you, though you hate to admit it, in something closer to horror.

“The Friday party? Like the ones that happen every week in the campus building?” Hoseok finally asks, upbeat and curious, just before the silence turns awkward.

“Exactly!” Mia practically bounces in place, totally oblivious to the global —your, really— discomfort. “He hesitated at first, but I convinced him! I still can’t believe it!”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Hoseok frown, and when your gazes meet, you know he’s thinking the same thing you are. Jimin never goes to those parties. They suck, they get shut down by the police half the time, and his frat already throws the best ones around. So for Mia to convince him…

“Really? How’d you pull that off?” Hoseok asks, still smiling uncertainly as he high-fives her.

“Oh, I just told him one of my friends was bringing Paris-Brest,” she says proudly, then turns to you. “By the way, thank you so much for the tip!”

She looks like she’s about to throw herself at you for a hug, and all you can do is blink at her, just as confused as Hoseok when he turns to you, completely lost.

“Me? Why are you thanking me?” you mumble, pointing at yourself.

“For telling me it’s his favorite,” she says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Behind her, you can practically see the moment Hoseok connects the dots. “I didn’t think it’d work that easily —seriously, thank you!”

She laughs, bright and carefree —and you smile back.

Inside, though, you're frozen solid.

You vaguely remember mentioning it in a message, yeah, but you can’t recall the context —and you don’t see how a cake would be enough to convince him. That’s ridiculous… right?

No. Deep down, he probably already meant to say yes. Yeah. Jimin wanted to go to that party with Mia. Maybe they’ve gotten closer than you thought —maybe he wants them to get even closer, maybe—

“Don’t thank me, I had no idea he liked it that much,” you protest, uneasy. The hollow in your chest has never felt this wide.

“Are you kidding? You guys used to eat it every day when you were kids!”

This time, it’s not just you —Mia freezes too at Hoseok’s words.

Standing behind her, he sees your face fall apart, realizes instantly that he messed up —but she doesn’t need to see him. Your expression is enough.

“What?” she asks softly, all the joy gone from her voice in less than a second.

You're frozen —completely unable to move. As she turns toward him, all you can do is beg Hoseok with your eyes, nausea rising in your throat.

“Uh… we knew each other. Before. The three of us —with Jimin,” he tries, but his voice is way too hesitant, and he gives up with a grimace. “Well —I got there in middle school, but Jimin and Y/N knew each other before that.”

You barely have time to shoot him a death glare before Mia turns back to you —and as soon as her back is to him, he sends you the most apologetic look you’ve ever seen.

Behind her round glasses, Mia’s gaze is sharp. It makes you sigh —but also irritates you, just a little.

“Is that true?” she asks, her voice low. You fight the urge to roll your eyes.

You seriously don’t see why she’s reacting like this. Sure, this whole thing brought you a bit closer —but not nearly enough for you to spill your entire life story. The way she’s acting like you owe her something, like you’ve betrayed her —seriously…

“Our moms were friends, so we were too in elementary school. Then Hoseok showed up in middle school, and Jimin met his group of friends around ninth grade, and after that we stopped talking until we ended up at the same college,” you say in one breath, your tone flat. “It doesn’t change anything, you know.”

She seems to think you have a point, because she softens. And it’s true —from her perspective, your past with Jimin changes nothing. If anything, it explains why you know so much about him.

“You could’ve told me,” she mutters one last time, then moves on almost immediately.

She starts asking what she should wear, how she should act around him —and Hoseok, amused and mostly relieved to have dodged a disaster, answers her, matching her excitement until she has to head back to class.

When she’s gone and silence settles back in, you're left alone under Hoseok’s heavy gaze.

“You didn’t tell her,” he says simply, but that’s all it takes for you to know exactly what he means.

You shrug, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I didn’t tell anyone. You’re the only one who knows —you and Jimin’s friends, I guess.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Should I feel special?”

“Obviously,” you nod —but he clicks his tongue.

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“I know you.” He sighs, almost pained.

“Yeah, and?”

He hesitates, discouraged by your evasive gaze, but pushes on anyway. “What does Jimin say about it?”

You let out a short laugh —there’s no humor in it. “He doesn’t say anything, what do you think? That I’m gonna go tell him I’ve been helping some girl from physio flirt with him? That if she knows all those details about him, it’s because I can’t keep my mouth shut?”

He doesn’t answer, and you pull your knees up to your chest, resting your chin on them, bitterness creeping in. “No. Of course not. Anyway, I don’t think I’m the person he’d want to talk about that with. He never talks about Mia when we’re together,” you add when you catch his surprised look.

Out of all your friends, Hoseok’s the only one who knows about you and Jimin. Being inseparable since middle school probably helped —but truth is, you never planned on telling him until he literally walked in on you two halfway through freshman year. Perks of having roommates.

He gave you hell for it at first, but honestly, it worked out for him too. When you went over to Jimin’s, he could invite Yoongi, his boyfriend. And when Jimin came over, Hoseok would disappear for the night. Convenient.

He’s also covered for you more times than you can count when Noelle questioned your constant absences —but the downside is, between knowing everything and being annoyingly good at reading you without words, he’s gotten very good at dragging things out of you.

“Maybe he doesn’t see things the same way?” he tries gently —but even he must hear how unsure he sounds.

You just shrug, your gaze drifting to the rippling water of the fountain. It takes him a moment before he speaks again —and when he does, his voice is softer.

“And you? What do you think?”

Another shrug. It takes more effort than you’d like to ignore the ache in your chest and fall back on your usual answer.

“I think it’s good for them. Mia really likes him. And when they’re together, Jimin looks… happy.”

“Y/N,” Hoseok clicks his tongue, almost scolding —and you snap.

“What do you want me to think?! I don’t get to think anything about it! I’m not his girlfriend, and we never even said it was just the two of us! If he wants to try something with her, I don’t see what right I’d have to—”

“That’s not true, and you know it. It’s more than just a sex arrangement —Jimin isn’t the kind of guy to—”

“Even if it is, it doesn’t change anything. Mia’s funny, cute, and four times smarter and more interesting than the girl he’s been sleeping with for three years just because it was easier than finding someone else!”

The words spill out all at once —and you don’t know if you feel lighter or worse when you realize something in your chest has shifted.

“Honestly, Hoseok, I… I think I’d understand if he wanted to end things with me to focus on her. I mean, we’re not going anywhere with our—”

“Okay, no. That’s enough.”

He cuts you off, and he looks angrier than you’ve seen him in months.

“I’m not sitting here listening to you talk about yourself like that. I don’t know what he said —or didn’t say— to make you believe this crap, but I swear I’m this close to going to have a word with him.”

He exhales, calming down when he notices you’ve gone quiet. “When’s the last time you saw him?”

You press your lips together, trying to remember. “Last week? When I stayed over, I think.”

His eyebrow lifts, surprised. “And you haven’t talked since?”

In another context, you might’ve smiled. First year, you saw each other like four times a week. Second year, almost every night. Not seeing each other this long is practically a miracle.

“He texted a couple times, I think, but with finals I didn’t really have the headspace for it…”

You don’t need to finish. And with Mia, you didn’t want to deal with it.

He thinks for a long moment, then sighs. “I really think you should go talk to him. Not to tell him you basically helped Mia get close to him,” he adds, rolling his eyes when you open your mouth to interrupt. “Just to clear things up. Tell him this whole situation makes you uncomfortable. That you don’t think you can keep doing this. And most importantly—”

He taps your nose with his finger, his tone turning serious again.

“Make it very clear that my best friend is not a second choice. And if he messes with you, I’ll personally punch his face in —and have Yoongi slash his tires.”

You groan, pushing his hand away —but you can’t quite stop the smile pulling at your lips.

He grins back, that soft, heart-shaped smile of his, so reassuring.

“Thanks, Hobi. I’ll try.”

You didn’t try.

You could have —worse, you know you should have. But it didn’t take long to realize it was too delicate, too hard for you to handle. Just thinking about texting him we need to talk makes you feel sick. And showing up at his place? Not even an option.

You know it makes you weak. You should’ve pulled yourself together sooner —because now it’s too late, and it’s a disaster.

A disaster, because you missed your chance. And now it’s only a matter of time before Mia and Jimin get together.

“Tonight, I’m asking him out! I hope he kisses me —oh my god, do you think he’ll kiss me?!”

Mia and her friends hang around us so much these days you’d think you were all best friends. Maybe from their perspective, you are. From ours… it’s obvious even Noelle is starting to get fed up with the constant chatter, and Hoseok —well, he can tell it’s dragging you down, so he’s not thrilled either.

Then again, Mia only ever talks about one thing —Jimin, Jimin, Jimin. It was cute at first. Now it’s exhausting. Even Noelle, who usually lives for this kind of gossip, has asked them to change the subject more than once —and when the break barely lasted a few minutes before Mia circled back to him, she officially labeled her as an annoying pick-me. A little harsh… but not wrong.

You and Noelle keep telling yourselves that after tonight, it’ll calm down. That maybe they’ll make things official, and Mia won’t need your advice anymore —maybe she’ll finally leave you alone.

You don’t know if that thought comforts you… or destroys you.

“I’m so excited for you!” one of her friends squeals. “Do you know what he’s gonna wear?”

“No, but I know what I’m wearing! I planned my whole outfit to match the bracelet he gave me!”

That one sentence doesn’t faze Noelle in the slightest —but you and Hoseok both snap your heads up at the same time, and suddenly your throat goes dry.

“You’re so lucky your guy gives you cute little gifts like that… mine won’t even buy me flowers for Valentine’s,” another girl grumbles, eyeing the thin braided bracelet on Mia’s wrist. Soft orange and green —colors that suit her perfectly.

Slowly, Hoseok turns toward you —and he doesn’t even need to see your face to go pale.

For your birthday in first year, Jimin gave you a delicate gold bracelet with tiny stones set into it. Probably fake —he was broke then, still is— but it meant everything to you. You wore it every day. And whenever he spotted it in the halls, he’d get this small, knowing smile —like it was a little secret just for the two of you.

You hate how quickly you tug your sleeve down to hide the chain you haven’t taken off in three years. You can’t help it.

“I can’t wait for tonight!” Mia gushes, practically vibrating with excitement —and for once, you agree.

You can’t wait either.

Because maybe after tonight… You’ll finally know where you stand. Maybe you’ll finally be able to move on.

The upside of taking biology as an elective is that almost no one else did —so you spend most of the afternoon without Mia’s running commentary threatening to make you cry.

The downside is that you end up alone in the university halls as night falls, when all you want is to crawl into bed.

The few students in your class seem to feel the same way. The second the professor dismisses you, everyone scatters, heading for the nearest exit that leads back home. You, unfortunately, have to pass through the main hall —and let’s just say it’s not exactly comforting when the corridors are dark and completely empty.

You pull out your phone to distract yourself, replying to the messages Noelle and Hoseok sent during class, walking fast without even needing to look where you're going. You're so focused on your screen, on typing back to yet another one of Noelle’s dumb comments, that you barely notice when you step into the large hall —or that there are people already there.

Their voices reach you, but you don’t bother making sense of them, too tired for that.

A quick glance to avoid walking straight into them is enough to register two guys —and without missing a beat, thumbs still flying across your screen, you shift to the left to pass by.

As you draw level with them, you glance again, ignoring Taehyung ’s raised eyebrow and the unimpressed look he throws your way, focusing instead on—

Wait.

Taehyung ?

Taehyung is never on campus this late. Actually, you were pretty sure Taehyung didn’t go to class at all —so what the hell is he doing here?

And then it clicks.

The party.

Taehyung must’ve agreed to come after Mia invited Jimin…

Shit.

Before you can stop yourself, your pace quickens. You just need to get out of this damn hall —once you're outside, you can run, catch the first bus you see, just get away from here.

But you barely have time to grab the handle of the massive front door before a voice you know all too well calls out behind you —splitting your chest open in the process.

“Y/N! Hey —wait!”

You freeze.

Footsteps echo behind you, quick and urgent, and then Jimin is there beside you, barely out of breath. His dark eyes lock onto yours instantly, his lips parting as he runs a hand through his perpetually messy hair —and the ache in your chest triples.

Like one word from him could break you.

Behind him, the hall is empty. Taehyung’s gone —probably headed straight to the party. Which leaves you alone with Jimin and a gaze that’s far too gentle for how much this hurts.

“Hey,” he says finally, still a little breathless. “You’re leaving?”

He looks genuinely surprised. Almost disappointed.

It takes you a full minute to answer, cornered, confused. “Uh—I… yeah,” you stammer, hating how stupid you sound. Hating how easily he throws you off balance. “I’m already late, I need to get home…”

“Oh… okay,” he murmurs, nodding slowly —and for some reason, he almost looks relieved.

He steps closer.

For a split second, you hesitate —should you move toward him, or step back? In the end, you just stand there like an idiot, frozen in the middle of a mental battle you can’t win.

“I was thinking…” he starts, wetting his lips nervously, and it’s obvious he’s tense —though you don’t understand why. “After the party, do you maybe want to come over? The guys won’t be there. I would’ve asked earlier, but you seemed… busy. So I figured…”

He trails off, the question hanging between you.

But you don’t answer.

You can’t.

He fidgets with his keys, his eyes flicking over your face like he can’t quite settle, waiting.

You grip the strap of your bag tighter, forcing yourself to swallow.

For a second, you almost say yes.

Then you think of Mia. Her excitement. Her smile. The bracelet. The fact that she’s going to ask him out.

And suddenly, all you can think is that you're a horrible person.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself, your voice shaking so badly it sounds like you're about to cry.

Jimin goes still, frowning.

“What?”

You swallow again, panic tangling with the pain in your chest. You search for the right words —but they don’t come.

“I have to study for finals,” you say instead, gripping your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white. “B-But you should ask Mia. I’m sure she’d love to.”

This time, he looks at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“What? What are you even talking about?”

For a second, Hoseok’s advice flashes through your mind —be honest. Advice you should’ve followed a long time ago.

“I—I just mean…” Your voice breaks, hitching as tears well up. “If things get serious between you two, then I… I think it’d be better if we—”

“Y/N, you’re scaring me. What are you talking about?!” he cuts in, panic creeping into his voice. His hand comes to rest on your shoulder, his eyes careful, searching —and it breaks you all over again. Even now, he’s trying to be gentle. Why does that hurt so much? “What’s going on with Mia?”

“She’s going to ask you out!” you burst out, not even trying to wipe the tears streaming down your face.

He recoils slightly —but now that you’ve started, the words won’t stop.

“And it’s obvious you’re going to say yes, and I am not going to be the girl who ruins your relationship, so it’s better if we just stop!”

You're practically shouting now, but you can’t hold it in anymore. You’ve been bottling this up for too long.

“I want us to stop.”

The words fall flat between you.

You're out of breath. He just stares at you, unreadable. Your vision is blurred —you don’t see the hurt in his eyes, or the way his lips part and close again as he searches for something to say.

What you do notice is the silence.

And the fact that his hand has left your shoulder.

The hollow in your chest burns —twists— like something’s tearing you apart from the inside. You want to scream. You want to cry.

You feel so ashamed.

Ashamed for reacting like this when it’s obvious Jimin only ever saw this as something convenient. Obvious he doesn’t feel the same.

Your vision swimming, you take a step back, looking away.

He reaches out, saying your name —but you can’t listen. Not when it hurts this much.

You need to leave.

“Babe, please, look at m—”

“I have to go,” you mumble, wiping your nose with the back of your hand as you push the door open.

The cold evening air hits your face, sharp and unforgiving —but you turn your back on him anyway, walking away without trying to stop the tears streaming down your cheeks.

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

So much that you don’t even hear him call your name as he runs after you.

“Finally free!”

“How’d it go for you guys?”

“Seriously, who actually studied that garbage chapter?! No one!”

“Anyone up for a drink to celebrate? First round’s on me!”

“They’re idiots,” Noelle snorts, watching students lose their minds outside Building A, where all the exams took place. “I bet not even half of them passed their semester, but hey, let's celebrate!”

“Careful,” you point out, earning a small laugh from her. “You weren’t so confident when you saw the physio exam.”

“Please. Physio’s been on my sacrifice list for ages, so…”

“Oh, great. So Hoseok really did infect everyone.”

“Speaking of, wanna grab a drink?” she cuts in with a bright grin, ignoring your exasperated sigh. “We should celebrate. Our personal hell is finally over!”

“Yeah… until next semester,” you mutter, which earns you an elbow to the ribs.

With another sigh, you let your gaze drift over the groups of smiling students heading off together. Just imagining yourself out there with them gives you a headache.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass. I need a nap. A long one.”

She gives you the kind of disappointed look only a mom can pull off. “I keep telling you, you handle stress terribly. Hoseok refuses to believe me. When’s the last time you actually slept through the night?”

“No one sleeps properly in college, Noelle.”

That gets you smacked on the back of the head. “Go home. And don’t let me catch you saying that again! Call me when you wake up, we’ll go out!”

You promise, even though you both know you probably won’t, and you split up —her heading toward the nearest bar with the others, you toward your apartment.

It’s empty when you get there —Hoseok’s gone out to celebrate with Yoongi— and the silence is just enough for you to collapse onto the couch and fall asleep within minutes.

When you wake up, you feel like you’ve got a hangover, that heavy, dull kind of exhaustion —and the mess around you doesn’t help. It’s dark outside, leaving the apartment half in shadow, but you can still make out the dozens of revision sheets scattered across the living room, the sticky notes on the fridge, the clothes you left lying around this morning.

Hoseok still isn’t back —considering the late hour, he probably decided to stay the night at Yoongi’s— so you grab your phone from the floor and turn it on.

The simple motion sends a sharp pang through your chest.

Friday night, the first thing you did when you got home was turn it off —because Jimin was flooding you with messages you couldn’t bring yourself to read. You spent the night crying until exhaustion knocked you out. The days after that, you refused to let yourself fall apart like that again —so you kept it off, shoved under the couch so you wouldn’t be tempted, and buried yourself in studying.

Hoseok noticed something was wrong, of course —but after trying and failing to get you to talk, he stopped pushing and just stayed with you. Silent support. Like he was saying, whether you’re ready or not, I’m here.

But Hoseok isn’t here tonight.

And as your screen lights up —9:27 PM in glaring numbers— the notifications from the entire weekend start vibrating in your hand, one after another, relentless, and you don’t have his shoulder to lean on this time.

Slowly, you scroll.

Noelle – 7:07 PM You awake? Noelle – 7:12 PM Okay prolly not, sleep well :D

Team Rocket – 2 days  No_L sent seven videos.  Hoba._. sent eight videos.

Hobi – 8:24 PM Noelle said you went home don’t stay alone if you don’t have to, okkkk? call me if you need Yoongi said you can come over if you want

Automatically, you swipe away Mia’s notifications. You're not that much of a masochist.

But there’s one you can’t bring yourself to delete.

Your thumb hovers over the screen for a long time before you finally give in —already hating the way your eyes sting with tears.

Jimin – 3 days ago – 9:03 PM Y/N please can we talk pls I just want to explain Y/N Y/N pls it’s late don’t be like this I’m worried

Jimin – 3 days ago – 9:32 PM pls just tell me you got home safe

Jimin – 2 days ago – 2:42 PM Hey can we talk? pls

Jimin – yesterday – 5:28 PM I just want to see you and talk pls doesn’t have to be at my place we can grab coffee if you want pls just tell me you’re okay

Every day, dozens of messages like that. All unanswered.

He sounds genuinely worried —and guilt twists in your chest. You shouldn’t have left like that. You shouldn’t have shut him out.

Wiping at the tears threatening to fall, you scroll further —down to the most recent ones. The ones from this morning.

And you have to clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from sobbing.

Jimin – 7:35 AM don’t stress too much about exams, okay? you know your stuff, you’ll do great you always do

Your phone slips from your fingers, landing on your thigh.

Why does it hurt so much?

Jimin has always been like this. Always putting others first, never worrying about himself as long as the people around him were okay. It’s just who he is —and how many times did Hoseok and you get on his case for losing himself in the process?

And now all you can think about is him.

Jimin, who has the softest, most reassuring smile I’ve ever seen. Jimin, who knows your favorite tea without asking. Jimin, who sat through hours of a show he hates just because you love it. Jimin, who always welcomed you into his place like you already lived there. Jimin, who dropped everything more times than you can count just to be there when you were having a bad day.

Jimin, who used to light up when you bought him a slice of Paris-Brest after school —so much that you decided it was worth spending your allowance just to see that smile.

Jimin, who makes everything feel so easier just by being there.

It hurts.

God, it hurts.

To realize you’ll never be the girl he falls asleep holding again. The one he smiles at first thing in the morning. The one he curls up with on the couch, rambling nonsense just to make her laugh.

You should get up. Go for a walk. Clear your head.

But you don’t move.

You just want to stay here, curled up on this empty couch, waiting for sleep to take you again. For time to pass. For it to hurt less.

You just—

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Silence.

You freeze, staring toward the front door, faintly lit by the lamp near the coat rack. Slowly, wiping your cheeks, you frown.

No one ever comes by this late. The building’s mostly older people and students with schedules like yours —after seven, it’s dead quiet.

Hoseok’s at Yoongi’s. Noelle’s probably out partying. You didn’t order anything…

Your hands tremble as you reach for the handle —but you don’t stop. Your throat tightens even before you open the door, like you already know who’s standing on the other side.

And then he’s there.

His eyes lock onto yours instantly —like a shipwrecked man finally finding land.

It must be raining —his hood is up, strands of damp hair clinging to his forehead. But that’s not what hits you.

It’s the way his shoulders seem weighed down. The exhaustion on his face.

Has he been crying?

You’ve never seen him like this. Never without that easy, playful smile he always wears. And seeing him here —soaked, worn down, standing at your door— pulls at something in your chest until it aches.

“Hey,” Jimin rasps, his voice rougher than usual. He clears his throat. “Can I come in?”

You should say no.

You should.

But you can’t.

You're still too weak when it comes to him —too incapable of shutting the door in his face when he looks like that.

So you step aside.

He doesn’t give you time to change your mind before walking in, kicking off his sneakers by the door out of habit. You watch as he stands stiffly in the living room, glancing around, clearly uncomfortable.

“Hoseok’s not here,” you mutter.

He looks back at you, his gaze locking onto yours again, making you swallow hard. He nods. “I know. He’s the one who told me to come.”

You blink. “What?”

“Yeah, I—uh…” He scratches the back of his neck, forcing a small smile. “Ran into him this morning while I was looking for you. He told me to come see you. I didn’t at first, then I went for a walk to clear my head, got lost, and… anyway. I’m here.” He smiles again, barely giving you time to process before adding, “So —how was your day?”

You stare at him, thrown by the sudden shift.

“I… managed,” you say eventually. “With a bit of luck, I’ll pass.”

“Cool,” he replies quickly —too quickly.

“And you?”

“Me? Oh, a disaster. I’ll probably have to retake. It’s fine,” he shrugs.

You frown.

Jimin? Retakes? Impossible.

Sensing your reaction, he keeps up the act for a second before letting it drop, grimacing as he rubs his neck. “I haven’t really slept these past few days. Hard to focus.”

The look he gives you is so heavy with something —guilt? hurt?— that you want to pull him into a hug and tell him he doesn’t have to explain anything.

You don’t.

Instead, you take a breath and cross your arms.

“Jimin, what are you doing here?”

“I told you, Hoseok said I should—”

“Jimin,” you cut in, exhausted. “Just… answer.”

His Adam apple rolls in his throat. “I wanted to see you,” he says, his voice trembling enough to make you freeze. “You weren’t answering, so I thought maybe something happened to you.” He stops, watching you like he’s waiting for something that never comes. Then he looks away with a sigh. “That was stupid. Forget it.”

Before you can react, he straightens and heads for the door. You reach out —but too late, he’s already there.

So this is how it ends. Maybe… maybe it’s for the best.

You tried.

But just as you brace yourself for the sound of the door slamming shut, it doesn’t come.

He’s still there. Standing in front of it, back to you, tense and unmoving.

When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“Are you okay, at least?”

Thank God he’s not looking at you —because the tears are back, and suddenly you have to bite on your lip not to let out a cry.

“Mm-hm,” you mumble, your throat tight. “Exams are over. Break’s coming. Everything’s great.”

You don’t sound like yourself.

He hears it too —because he turns, and his eyes are just as shiny from tears as yours are.

“Oh.” His gaze finds yours, pleading —but he doesn’t say it. “Okay. I mean, otherwise I know a guy studying psych, he could maybe—”

“Jimin,” you cut in, forcing a tight smile. “I’m fine.”

“Great. Then maybe we could go out?” He takes a step closer, fidgeting with his sleeve. “There’s this new restaurant downtown, I went with Taehyung, it was—”

His eyes shine with unshed tears.

Your chest aches.

“Jimin. Go home.”

“Are you sure?” His voice is so soft, so hopeful, it hurts. “We could go to a movie, or just walk. There’s birds that sing at night in the park, it’s—”

Until it hurts too much.

And you snap.

“Jimin, just go home, damn it! You shouldn’t be here!”

“Since when shouldn’t I be here?!” he fires back, louder than you —and suddenly he’s right in front of you, so close you could reach out and touch him. “Y/N, I’ve spent almost every night here since freshman year —what the hell suddenly changed?!”

“What changed is that there’s Mia now!” Your voice breaks.

His face freezes —then shifts from desperation to confusion.

“What does Mia have to do with anything? Why do you keep talking about her like—”

“Because if I were your girlfriend, I’d hate knowing you’re spending the night with someone else —so just leave!”

Silence.

You regret yelling instantly —but he doesn’t even seem to register the tone.

“What?”

You sigh, exhausted. “What do you mean, what?”

“Mia’s not my girlfriend,” he says suddenly, frowning. “Wait —is that what you’ve been thinking this whole time?”

Silence.

You freeze.

Did you hear that right?

“Of course she is,” you stammer. “She confessed to you Friday at the—”

“I didn’t see her Friday,” he cuts in. “I left as soon as Taehyung told me you weren’t there. I was too worried.”

“I… I thought you really wanted to go because she said she’d bring Paris-Brest…?”

He blinks. “Wow. Didn’t realize you thought that little of me.”

“It’s not—”

“What the hell would I even go do at one of their stupid parties?” he insists, shaking his head, and your mouth snaps shut. “I only said yes because Mia told me you were bringing some, and we’ve never really gone to parties together, so I just thought… it’d be an excuse. Damn, did you really think…?”

You stay silent, stunned. This has to be a hallucination. There’s no way.

“B-But you’ve gotten so close these past few weeks…”

He shrugs. “Yeah. She’s nice.”

“You went to the movies together?”

“I was gonna see that film anyway. I just didn’t dare ask you,” he mutters, his cheeks flushing slightly.

“And the fair?!”

“Jungkook and Seokjin were going with their girlfriends —it was more of a group thing than anything else,” he explains, starting to look almost panicked under your relentless questions.

“I don’t get it,” you shake your head. “You even gave her a bracelet!”

“What? That?” He stares at you, incredulous, then bursts out laughing, almost relieved. “Y/N, I’ve been making bracelets for people since I was a kid! Taehyung has so many he keeps them all like paper cranes, like if he gets a thousand he’ll earn a wish! I had one on me, she liked it, so I gave it to her. That’s it. Wait —does that have a romantic meaning or something?” he adds suddenly, eyes widening. “‘Cause if it does, someone should warn Taehyung—he’s got a whole box…”

You stand there, unable to process a word, and slowly, a shy smile starts forming on his lips as he refuses to look away from you.

This is impossible. Have you really misunderstood everything… this whole time?

“I… I can’t believe this… I thought you were interested in her! I thought—”

“Y/N, I spent the entire week trying to see you,” he cuts in, gently reaching out to take your fingers in his. “Like every other week before that. Did you really think I didn’t care about you?”

You swallow, then shake your head stubbornly. “What I thought was that you were finally getting close to someone after three years without anything serious, so yeah…”

“Yeah, because I didn’t care about seeing anyone else as long as I had you!”

His words hang in the air between us as he freezes, biting his tongue, his whole face tightening. Slowly, you raise an eyebrow, your heart hammering against your ribs, and he lifts his hands in surrender.

“Okay, hang on, that sounded way better in my head.”

You narrow your eyes, feigning offense. “It better have.”

The truth is, your heart is pounding so hard it’s ringing in your ears.

Softly, he smiles. “What I mean is… yeah, Mia’s adorable, and I liked helping her settle in since she’s new, but…” His fingers find yours again, gripping them like his life depends on it. “She’s not you. She doesn’t have the most addictive smile I’ve ever seen. She doesn’t tease me every time I say something stupid, or look at me the way you do, or… I don’t think about her all the time. I don’t want to see her every single day.”

“…And me? You do?” You whisper, convinced you must be dreaming.

“Y/N, I always want to see you,” he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, squeezing your hand tighter as if to prove it’s real. “Talk to you. Make you laugh. Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to be in the same room as you and not be able to sit next to you because Noelle would start asking questions? To see the way Hoseok looks at me every time, knowing he’s judging me because I’m too scared to make the first move?”

“…Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this?”

He swallows, running a hand through his hair. His palm is warm against yours —so warm, so familiar, you wonder how you managed this long without it. “Because it terrifies me. It’s just… we never put a name on… us. And I swear, I was okay with that… until that asshole started hitting on you last year and I realized I couldn’t stand the idea of you being with someone else.”

“…Dave?” You blink, surprised. Dave had been in your math class, and yeah, he’d tried something —but you’d shut it down fast, and he didn’t insist. You never thought—

“At that point, I really thought… I was going to lose you,” Jimin stumbles a little, searching for words, but this time he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t let you look away. “So when he left, I told myself I’d tell you —or at least ask you out— but I… I was too scared you’d push me away. I thought maybe you wanted it to stay just physical, and I freaked out at the idea that telling you everything would make you leave, so I… I stayed like this instead.”

“But… why? You—”

“Because I’d rather have a little of you, in secret, than nothing at all,” he says, and your heart skips a beat. Your lips part, tears burning your eyes, but he shakes his head. “Even if it’s cowardly. I don’t care.”

His fingers tighten around yours, threading through them, and you can’t speak —too overwhelmed by his confession. You just stare at him, at the hope in his eyes growing when you don’t pull away.

“Y/N… say something, please…”

You clench your jaw, pressing your lips together to keep the tears from spilling.

“You’re an idiot.”

Now it’s his turn to freeze, stunned. “Uh… thanks?” he tries. “But, uh… why?”

“Jimin, I’ve had a crush on you since at least fifth grade. I thought you didn’t want anything more than sex!”

“What ?” He stares at you, completely wrecked. “…Shit,” he finally mutters, and you can’t help but laugh softly.

Seeing you smile seems to bring him back to life. His face lights up, and he lifts his free hand to wipe your tears away with his thumb, while the other slides up your arm to settle at your waist.

His touch is gentle, deliberate —like he’s made it his mission to chase away every single tear that dared fall. You could pull away.

You don’t.

You let him.

Lost in the way his eyes focus on you, your hands find their place on his shoulders naturally.

“So… Mia…” you whisper after a moment, barely daring to break the silence.

“And what if we just stopped talking about Mia, hmm?” he clicks his tongue, mock-scolding. “She was barely even a friend anyway.”

“Was?” you echo softly, eyebrow raised, a smile tugging at your lips.

He frowns —but smiles anyway. “She definitely isn’t anymore, if she made you cry like that.”

“Jimin…”

He doesn’t give you time to finish. His hand cups your cheek, and he leans down, kissing you.

His lips meet yours —soft, full, tasting faintly of the soda he drank earlier— and you sigh into the kiss, into that closeness finally reclaimed. Your arms wrap around his shoulders as he pulls you against him, until your body is pressed to his and you're held securely in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs between kisses, desperate, your mouths moving slower, deeper. “I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot, you’re right. I should’ve told you everything when that jerk showed up. Forgive me,” he breathes, leaving your lips to kiss your cheek, then your eyes —like he’s apologizing for every tear.

Softly, you smile, tightening your arms around him. “I should’ve talked to you too. I’m sorry I made you worry.”

Your hand slides into his hair, pulling him back to you. He smiles against your lips.

“It’s forgotten,” he murmurs, his cold fingers tracing your waist. “Next time, just promise you’ll talk to me directly instead of asking impossible questions, hmm?”

You huff, thinking back to your disastrously awkward conversation at his place, but you still tug his hair a little for good measure.

“Deal. And you stop being so nice to everyone. People get the wrong idea.”

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “If you hadn’t helped her, we wouldn’t be here.”

He laughs softly when you stick your tongue out, but you end up smiling too. When his laughter fades, he lingers, eyes lost in yours.

“But I promise. Whatever you want, love.”

He kisses you before you can answer, your lips moving together like a promise finally sealed.

This kiss feels different.

Not rushed, not stolen like before —like you knew your time together was limited. No.

This one is slow. Deep. Certain. This time, you take your time.

His hands slip under your shirt. Yours drag lightly down his back. You both shiver.

This time, he lingers —mapping your skin with kisses, learning you all over again. Your neck, your collarbone, every place that makes you gasp his name like it matters.

When he carries you to the bed, it’s not in a hurry —but with care. Like he has all the time in the world. Clothes fall away slowly. Reverently.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, with such intensity it feels like the first time he’s ever seen you.

That same intensity when he moves between your thighs —kissing, tasting, worshipping like it’s the only thing that exists.

Until you're pulling at his hair, arching so hard it hurts, whispering his name like a plea, like a prayer.

“Jimin, please…”

“Tell me what you want, love,” he murmurs against your skin, soft as if he’s handling something fragile.

“You,” you breathe, burning. “Just you.”

He doesn't answer with words, doesn't need to —your mixed breaths are sufficient proof of your desire, your need for each other. He moves up your body, leaving a trail of kisses behind him that make you shiver. His hands trace furrows of fire on your skin, unstoppable as they graze your breasts before grabbing your hips to place you flat on the mattress, back to him.

He props a pillow under your pelvis, not failing to massage it with his agile fingers, smiling at the hungry look you shoot him over your shoulder and the strangled moan that escapes your breath as he brushes against your entrance.

You spread your thighs, wet and tight and impatient as he rubs against you to moisten himself, making you moan just from the sensation of his hard member against your entrance —then he leans down to kiss your shoulder, one hand on your hip, the other by your head, and enters.

He finds that same fervor as he pushes until he bottoms, until you moan together as your walls clamp down so tight, as he is so hard, as the wet sounds escaping you echo in your ears.

He whispers praises in your ear as he starts again, again and again, until your hips match the slow, deep rhythm of his, until every meeting of your pelvises draws a moan of pleasure from you, makes you pant together. Until you feel only him, until you have no idea where your body ends and his begins.

"I love you," he murmurs against your skin, panting, his forehead resting on your shoulder. "I'm so sorry I let you think otherwise. I love you."

He kisses your shoulder, your neck, again and again until you turn your head and his lips meet yours. He sings those little words like a prayer, repeating them over and over, until his hand slides down your abdomen and slips between your legs. Until the tight circles of his thumb against you make you moan so loud you can't answer, until your walls clamp down so hard around him that his movements become livelier, clumsier, more urgent.

"Jimin," you moan, out of breath, "I-I'm gonna..."

"I know, love," he breathes, just as tense as you. "Do it for me, go on..."

The knot snaps in your stomach, and your head buries itself in the pillows as a cry escapes you, stars dancing before your eyes. You can feel him tense inside you, his head nestling in your neck, and soon he joins you, his lips articulating your name against your skin.

Suddenly, there's only your hurried breaths to break the silence around you, and it's so perfect that you're almost disappointed when he pulls away to fall beside you, breathless. The separation is so quick that you're suddenly chilled, shivering under your thin layer of sweat without his body to warm you.

Perfectly sensing this, he smiles calmly before extending an arm to pull you against him, even grabbing the duvet to cover you both as you snuggle against his chest.

His arms surround you protectively, and he sighs with contentment, nestling his head in your neck and inhaling your shampoo with a smile on his lips.

You watch him, holding him tight against you, your fingers playing with his hair softly.

"Shouldn't you go home?" You whisper after long minutes, another attempt to make sure all of this isn't just a waking dream.

In response, he rubs his nose against your neck, his fingers drawing small circles on your lower back. "I'm home," he murmurs, smiling softly.

In your chest, your heart swells, and beats so loud it seems like it's going to burst out of your ribcage. Jimin must feel it, because he lifts his head to look at you, his eyes softer than ever.

"I love you," I whisper, smiling so hard it hurts your cheeks.

"I love you too."

No_L : Apparently Mia has a new crush – 9:27 I swear it’s true – 9:27 She won’t stop talking about it – 9:27 Lookkkk – 9:27 [Screenshot sent] – 9:28

You squint, trying to make sense of what you're reading even though you're still half asleep.

You let out a small yelp when Jimin leans in to read over your shoulder, his warm breath brushing against your neck.

When you woke up, it took you a few seconds to figure out what the solid thing pressed against your back was, and what that weight resting on your waist could be. It was the scent that gave it away —the thing was his body, and the weight his arms wrapped securely around you. Only Jimin smells like cinnamon and wood smoke like that.

Then the memory of last night came rushing back, and your cheeks burned instantly.

You must’ve woken him up trying to turn around and face him, because since then, he’s refused to let go, holding you tight like you might disappear the second he does.

Not that you're complaining. Those moments are your favorite.

“Hey, girlfriend,” he mumbled when he opened his eyes —only to find yours right in front of him.

“Please, don’t you start too!” You shot back in horror, which only made him burst out laughing.

“Show me, I can’t see,” he whines softly against your shoulder, grabbing your hand to tilt the phone toward him.

“Hey, that’s a private conversation!” you protest, but still lift the screen.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies absentmindedly, already reading as more messages pop up.

You : Honestly, that surprises me – 9:31 No_L : Same – 9:31 No_L : Especially since I don’t get how you can go from Jimin to Taehyung that fast, but okay – 9:31 Hoba._. : Nah, I get it, it’s practical – 9:31 Hoba._. : She can just ask Y/N for flirting advice again – 9:31 No_L : Huh?

Jimin snorts against your shoulder, earning himself an elbow to the ribs that only makes him laugh harder.

“Don't laugh,” you click your tongue, even though you can’t quite hide your smile.

He just chuckles. “I forgot how funny Hoseok is.”

You smile too, then exit the conversation, remembering something Hoseok showed you a few days ago.

“Speaking of, look what he found.”

“Hm?”

Jimin lifts his head, curious —then freezes when he sees what’s on your screen.

“How did he get that?” he asks, stunned, leaning closer.

You smile.

On the screen is a picture of the both of you —eight, maybe nine years old— stuffing your faces with a pastry that looks suspiciously like a Paris-Brest. Hoseok didn’t live in your village back then, but he gets along really well with your mom, so you're guessing she sent it to him.

Honestly, it doesn’t even matter. Just seeing that picture is enough to warm your chest.

“No idea, but I love it,” you smile, looking at your little faces. Jimin looks so young in it, cheeks puffed full of cake, hair just as messy as it is now. “I forgot how cute we were.”

“Mhm, especially you,” Jimin agrees, grabbing your phone to zoom in on your face. “Gosh, you’re so cute —I was seriously blind,” he sighs, sounding almost disappointed in himself.

“Hey! Give that back!” You protest, reaching for your phone, which only earns you a fit of laughter.

“Too cute, too cute, too cute,” he sings, peppering your face with kisses while holding the phone just out of reach.

A second later, his other hand moves to tickle you and you brace yourself to scream —but you both stop when the phone vibrates again in his hand, your heads snapping up at the same time.

Hoseok – 9:37 So You guys know I love you both But I have zero want to walk in on you two going at it right after my breakfast, so I figured I’d ask Should I wait a bit longer, or can I come over ?

Slowly, Jimin turns to you, and you stare at each other like two kids caught red-handed —then burst out laughing, completely unable to stop.

“I love you,” you blurt out once our laughter fades, caught off guard by your own honesty —but unable to hold it back any longer. His laugh warms you, his smile softens everything, and in this moment, you're just… happy.

If he’s surprised, it doesn’t last.

A huge smile spreads across his face, his eyes crinkling into soft crescents that make you melt.

And right then, you think you’ve never been happier.

“I love you too.”

Thanks for reading lovelies ! Don't hesitate to reblog, like or comment ! I always love to hear 'bout what you guys thought of it :) Also don't hesitate to ask if you wanna be tagged in my next posts !

You can find all my other writings here <3

Warnings : reader being chased in the street by a cop, lots of unsaid stuff and some characters making weird threats, lots of running and jumping on trains and skating (no shit), bits of mystery because that's one of my fics duh, reader is hit by a train at some point, a converse high joke hidden somewhere, hobi is the sweetest as always, mention of oral (f) and sex, dry humping, riding, it's pretty soft to be honest, minors dni!

Authors note : For anyone wondering, yes, I got a bit carried away and wrote a whole lore around a mobile game. I had fun tho :') I don't think you need to be familiar with said game to understand this fic by the way, just trust me and give it a chance ! (pretty please)

Gentle reminder that all rights are reserved, so please do not copy, translate or repost my stories under your name. Also I do not own BTS or their actions, the stories are entirely fictionnal and does not depict real-life events or involve any actual member of BTS.

This city stinks. Literally and figuratively.

Heaving a soul-deep sigh, you shake a spray can half-heartedly, not even checking the color beforehand.

When you first arrived in Southline a few months ago, you genuinely thought you were going to love it here. Genuinely. You couldn't wait to explore the different neighborhoods you'd seen in the brochures —to learn all their secrets, maybe even meet people who could help you discover this city that seemed to overflow with mystery. God knows there's no shortage of that here.

And you did meet people —all of them completely unhinged. Most are overfit lunatics who, sure, know every back street like the back of their hand, but move way too fast for you to ever keep up. And they all have this way of talking, of carrying themselves, that's just a little… off. Not to mention that hanging around with them hasn't helped you uncover a single one of those famous mysteries —if anything, you got the distinct impression it was the opposite. Like they were actively steering you away from them.

So now you're the one keeping your distance. Wandering on your own, trying to find the hidden spots without getting lost along the way. Which, needless to say, isn't going great.

This is how, as the afternoon winds down, you've ended up stranded in the middle of the Docks, standing between two parked trains, messing around with some abandoned spray cans to keep yourself busy.

One stroke. Then another. Then another again, until a ridiculously lopsided smiley face takes shape, as though looking down on you. You stare at your masterpiece with a dubious pout. Yeah. Definitely not your thing, tagging.

What are you even doing here? Something is clearly escaping you. When, a few hours ago, you decided to stray from the tourist streets you usually stuck to, it was driven by an irresistible urge to get closer to the water. As if every part of you was screaming to do it, as if the answers to your questions would be waiting there.

Next time, you'll ignore that stupid feeling —because this place is nothing more than an old commercial port, and it's answering absolutely none of your questions.

Sighing again, you grab another can and focus on your lines, trying not to think about the little group of lunatics that took you under their wing when you first arrived. About ten boys and girls, a little older than you, completely out of their minds but kind enough, who welcomed you in. You thought they'd help you, at first, but you quickly understood that road was going nowhere. If only Jimin didn't go so cold every time you asked him anything…

“Hey! You, over there!” A voice yanks you sharply out of your thoughts. You startle, rooted to the spot by the fury in that bark. The spray can slips from your hand, rolls to your feet, but you barely register it —your eyes have already found the source of the voice: a man in his forties, a few meters away, pointing straight at you with a furious expression as he blows as hard as he can into a whistle. A monstrous dog stands at his feet, grey and hairless —but with plenty of teeth— eyeing you like you're a problem to be dealt with.

“You're under arrest!” The man bellows, closing in, blowing into his whistle again, and only then do you notice with dread what he's wearing —a green uniform with yellow insignia. City police.

“We're not exactly allowed to tag, which is what makes it so fun,” Jimin had explained with a wide grin, when you'd asked him why he and his crew got such a kick out of vandalizing walls and train cars. His grin had quickly turned into a grimace. “Not allowed at all, actually. The cops have been trying to nail us for vandalism for years. If one of them ever catches you in the act, uh… Run, I guess?”

Now would probably be a good time to kick yourself for keeping such terrible company, people who are utterly incapable of giving decent advice —and yet you do exactly what he said: you run.

You've only just arrived here, and you still haven't found the answers to your questions —there's no way you're ending up behind bars already.

You bolt before you've even had time to think about it  —and you've barely taken two steps when that piercing whistle sounds again behind you, followed by barking. You glance back over your shoulder —only to discover with horror that the officer has broken into a run after you.

And gosh, this hairless dog really is ugly.

“Come back here!” He roars, beside himself with rage, as his brute of a dog strains against the leash to get to you.

“You've got to be kidding me!” You gasp, pushing your legs harder to pick up the pace. Jimin could have warned you their cops were unhinged too, seriously !

Refocusing on your feet and where you're going, you try to recall the city map —the priority is getting out of the Docks as fast as possible. You barely know this area, but if you can make it back to the city center, you could manage on the main roads…

Fat chance. The main reason you ended up spray-painting some poor train in the first place is that you were completely lost —an urgent chase isn't exactly the moment you're going to find your bearings.

So you just follow your instincts. You run and run, your shoes sending dull thuds into the air as they pound against the metal rails. Except luck isn't on your side —you go right at an intersection, only to find yourself in a dead end, blocked by more train cars and a blue shipping container. Out of breath, you scramble up a small wagon that comes up to your shoulders, then climb onto a larger one. You're nowhere near as fit as Jimin and his friends —that one move costs you a considerable amount of time, and by the time you make it onto the roof, the furious officer and his dog have caught up. You swear that wretched animal smirks at you before spitting on the ground.

“You!” He jabs a finger at you, seething. Your stomach drops —you don't waste a second asking for mercy. You run.

You can hear him screaming in rage behind you through your ragged breathing —not a good sign, given how loud he is— and you clench your fists to force yourself to push harder, because if this maniac is doing what you think he's doing and climbing up onto the wagons after you, then you're in serious trouble.

You reach the end of the wagon before you've figured out where to go, and nearly have a heart attack when you get to the edge. The ground is two meters below —not far enough to die —or so you hope— but far enough to break something if you land badly, and then it's all over for you.

Unless maybe you…

Your legs are eating up the distance to the edge too fast. Seven meters. Five. Three…

I’m out of my mind, you think, eyes locking onto another train parked a few meters away. Completely and utterly insane —Two meters, one…

Tell my parents I love them, you beg silently, just before launching yourself off the edge of the wagon with everything you have…

…Just in time to land on the roof of the next one, catching yourself as best you can on your trembling legs. You pause, frozen with your breath heaving, as if moving just an inch would make you fall over.

You can't believe that worked.

Without even looking, you can hear the officer still coming, and his beast of a dog snarling. You glance at a point far ahead, toward the mass of containers being shifted by cranes toward the cargo ships and the perfectly aligned moving trains —and as you straighten up, hacking up your lungs in the polluted Docks air, a clear path takes shape in front of you.

Right. You must have genuinely lost your mind —that's the only explanation for the decision you're about to make. Or maybe a furious cop breathing down your neck is all the motivation you need. You don't stop to decide which —you run.

Again and again, with everything you've got —and when you reach the end of the wagon, you clench your fists and jump. You managed it once, you can do it again —and sure enough, you can. You catch yourself clumsily, scraping your knees in the process, but you make it, and you barely spare a thought for what you just did before you're  running again.

You leap from wagon to wagon despite the stitch building and spreading in your side —glancing back now and then to make sure the old man is still following, and God, his stamina. Why are you nearly dying when this seems like nothing more than a pleasant stroll to him?!

You cry out in fright when a tunnel looms on the horizon, just high enough to graze the rooftops of the train cars without scraping —but not high enough for you to pass through standing. You're coming in too fast, and there's no room to climb back down without getting caught —so you do the only thing that comes to mind. You jump, grab the roof of the tunnel entrance, and haul yourself up with the last strength left in your arms.

Suddenly the ground beneath your feet is concrete, not dirt and rails, but you don't stop to dwell on it —you run, on autopilot. The ground shakes underfoot, the barking echoes behind you, but you —

Wait. The barking?

You throw a glance over your shoulder, and if you weren't running as fast as your legs can carry you, you would definitely have stopped dead. The old man still is right there with his dog, whistle going, keeping pace without slowing for even a second.

And that's when you understand —he's done this kind of chase before, and he knows you haven't. He's just waiting for you to take a wrong turn. Tears of panic prick at your eyes at the thought —because you don't know the way, and you can't keep up this speed for much longer. You’re going to get lost, or you're gonna have to stop to cough up your lungs, or you'll…

A cry tears out of you when the ground disappears from under your feet. Not disappears exactly —vanishes as the tunnel ends. You drop hard onto a wagon, a sharp yelp of pain escaping as your knees slam into the metal, but you catch yourself just in time to avoid also going face-first into the ground —because this train is very much in motion, moving fast enough that you can barely get your footing.

Your legs are shaking by the time you manage it, and despite barely being able to keep your balance, you somehow find it in you to throw yourself sideways onto another train —this one stationary.

The barking keeps ringing in your ears, suddenly close enough to make you flinch —you stumble, startled, and slip over the rounded edge of the wagon. You yelp, your hand catching a metal bar that slows your fall, but hitting the ground only makes things worse. Your head is spinning, you can't catch your breath, and you have absolutely no idea where you are.

You only know two things: you're no longer in the Docks, and a train is hurtling straight toward you.

Everything crashes together in your head. You have no strength left, no idea where you are, and no idea how to get out of the way of the wagon bearing down on you, because you're hemmed in on all sides by stationary trains. Your legs are shaking so badly you nearly crumple again, your hair whipped up by the wind the approaching wagon is pushing ahead of it, growing bigger by the second…

The driver sees you, a sharp, alarm-like whistle suddenly blaring, but it’s not like he can stop the train altogether. Behind you, you hear the officer shout, triumphant, but you’re too frozen to move —only able to watch as the train gets closer, and closer…

You suddenly hear the officer call, way much closer than before —but it's not his voice that snaps you out of your daze.

No, it's the other one —far calmer and steadier, cutting through the chaos from your left.

“Hey, psst! Over here!”

The time seems to stop, the train to slow, as if giving you a moment while you turn your head toward the source of the voice, dazed.

At first you see nothing —just a blinding light that makes you squint. Then something takes shape. A silhouette, hooded, perched on the roof of a wagon, and a hand, outstretched toward you. “Quick!” the voice thunders, more urgent now, and you don't think. You grab the hand.

Everything snaps back to life in a fraction of a second. You're hauled off the ground by what feels like superhuman strength, and you barely have time to process what's happening before you collide with a solid, steady body —just as the train tears through the exact spot where you was standing less than a quarter of a second ago, moving fast enough that the wind it produces nearly knocks you both over. In the distance, you hear the officer's whistle, but you barely have time to worry about how close he is before the silhouette suddenly tips backward, taking you with it, one hand placed protectively at your back, ignoring your cry of fright. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut, helpless, as the unknown figure takes the brunt of the impact when you land on a surface that is painfully hard and unstable.

For a few seconds, you can't move. Literally. You're frozen in place, as much from the terror of what just happened —you almost got hit by a train, for God's sake— as from everything happening around you. The ground shakes beneath your body, so violently that you feel every vibration in each of your limbs, and the wind roars so loudly in your ears that you can't hear anything else. When you manage to open your eyes again, you're blinded once more by a bright light that wasn't there in the Docks —that wasn't anywhere in this city that you'd ever been.

You don't have time to question that, though. “Now,” that same voice thunders again, calm and self-assured —and you barely have time to try to understand what it means before two hands lift you by the waist and you're suddenly carried into the air before you can react. You try to grab onto the silhouette, panicked, and only now do you understand that the ‘ground’ you'd been standing on was actually a fast-moving train, and that your new companion has literally just jumped off it while it was still in motion.

You scream uncontrollably. You're going to die. This time, you're sure of it —you're going to die, you're going to die, you're going to die, you're going to —

Your companion lands on a wooden platform, so lightly that you barely feel the impact. He then sets you down calmly, with a gentleness that surprises you so much your legs give out, and you crumple to the ground, too weak to hold you up.

In a near-daze, you draw your knees to your chest, tears blurring your vision.

This is insane. In the span of a few minutes, you almost got arrested by a cop, almost got hit by a train, almost died smashed into the ground… and you're fine.

It takes you a few seconds to calm down enough to realize it. Apart from your palms and knees being a little scraped up, and a deep ache in your leg muscles, you're fine.

Slowly, you lift your head and take in your surroundings. You freeze all over again when you notice how far up you are — much higher than when you stupidly climbed onto that wagon earlier —before relaxing once it becomes clear that the wooden platform beneath you is more than solid. It's attached to some kind of green crane, but that isn't what catches you off guard.

No —it's everything around it. Trees. Dozens of trees in a stunning, lush green, gleaming in the brilliant sunlight that floods the perfectly blue sky above your head. In the distance, the same landscape stretches out, except those trees are a vivid, shocking pink — swaying gently in the breeze like candy floss at a fairground.

You had never seen this place before —and God, it takes your breath away. Where on earth have you landed?

“Anything broken?” You startle when the silhouette crouches down in front of you, suddenly reminding you you're not alone. Here, beneath this perfectly blue sky, you can make him out more clearly —a guy around your age, wearing ridiculously colorful sneakers, baggy blue jeans and a grey hoodie pulled up over his face that hides his features. He reaches a hand toward you, looking almost worried, but everything in front of you makes so little sense that you can barely process his question.

“What is this place?” You ask instead, your eyes drifting across the surrounding landscape with a mix of nerves and fascination. “This isn't the Docks anymore, is it?”

The guy pauses, caught off guard by your response, before a small laugh escapes him. You may not be able to see his face under that hood, but you'd swear a huge smile has just split it in two. “No, definitely not the Docks. That's almost an insult, honestly.”

“So where are we?” You press, your curiosity —and that damned feeling, the same one that drove you to the Docks earlier— pushing you forward. That voice screaming at you that the answers to your questions are here.

“You're in Dolorean Park, sweetheart,” he answers, sounding so proud he's almost smug as he tucks his hands into his pockets. “The old guy won't follow you here —different crew takes over in this neighborhood, and even if that weren't the case, I’m pretty sure we lost him. He's getting tougher by the day, I'll give him that…”

You're barely listening —your brain short-circuited the moment he said the words Dolorean and Park.

It simply isn't possible —he must be mistaken. He's talking about Dolorean Park, the thriving neighborhood that houses the largest history museums in the entire country, that shelters endangered plant species, the one they talk about so much in the brochures, online… everywhere?!

“That can't be true,” you murmur, stunned, barely managing to keep the excitement out of your voice.

“Of course it can,” he replies, oblivious to the joy exploding inside you. “Quietest part of it, sure —all the action happens further west, but you'd better not go near there while the old man's after you. What on earth did you do to wind him up that badly? I haven't seen him like that in a long time…”

Jimin had told you it was impossible to get there. That it was too far, that with the new museum that had recently opened it was too risky… Had he lied to you? All it took was jumping off a moving train?

“I, uh… tagged a parked train,” you mutter, bewildered. You have to shake your head to remember the guy is talking to you, honestly, and when you manage to refocus on him —ignoring your heart hammering at the thought of finally being in Dolorean Park— he bursts out laughing.

He puts a hand on his stomach to steady himself, shaking his head as if it's nothing more than an old joke. “Yeah, doesn't surprise me with him. Watch yourself next time, the old guy doesn't take kindly to anyone messing with his precious trains.”

He must read the confusion on your face, because he tilts his head to one side, that wide smile peeking out from under his hood. “You're new here?”

You frown slightly, but nod anyway, brushing off your palms. “Mm-hmm. You? Who are you?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, but something shifts in him. His smile seems to fade, and he turns almost distant, even though he hasn't moved an inch. “Oh, nobody important. Will you be able to find your way home?” He changes the subject, glancing off into the distance. “If you want to get back to the Docks, just follow the road east, trains are quiet at this hour. If it's the city center you're after, head toward—”

“What's your name?” You cut him off, barely paying attention to the directions. As if you're leaving Dolorean Park now that you've finally found it.

You’ve entered full detective mode, at this point —meh, not your fault your curiosity gets picked when people try and hide things from you— and if you weren't so focused on trying to make out his face, you might not catch the way he sighs. A tiny, discreet little sigh, but a sigh all the same.

“Why do you want to know?” He mutters, almost grumbling.

“To thank you, obviously,” you shoot back, annoyed by his sudden change in tone. “You saved my life, it's the least I can do.”

“No need to. Anyone would have done it.”

“Still. I insist.”

“Just tell yourself it was fate,” he grumbles, and you swear he rolls his eyes under that hood —but when you wobble trying to get back to your feet, he holds out a hand to help you anyway. His hand is warm and calloused in yours, and he surprises you again by pulling you toward him at a startling speed, as if you weigh nothing at all. “I told you, I'm no—”

You stumble, caught off guard by how quickly you find yourself upright, grabbing onto his chest to keep from falling. He hastily plants his other hand in the small of your back, planting one foot behind him to steady you both and stop you from toppling off the platform. You don't even want to think about what would have happened without that, because at that very moment a train tears past at full speed just below you —it would have hit you for certain.

It passes so fast it throws the air into motion behind it, sending the trees swaying and the lampposts swinging —but more than anything, it sends the hood of the boy holding you carefully in his arms slowly sliding back, until it gently plops down on his shoulders.

Your breath catches when a perfectly straight nose, a sharp jaw and two bright eyes framed by a sweep of dark hair come into view. His mouth forms a small surprised oh as your gazes meet and lock. The tops of his cheeks —and certainly yours too, if you’re being honest— flush from the sudden closeness.

This boy has a perfect face, with high cheekbones and fine features, and God, you want to pinch his cheeks so badly.

You must be blushing even more than he is, because a slow smile spreads across his lips, a spark of mischief lighting up his eyes. You watch those bright eyes move across your face, his smile growing wider with every second, leaving you completely unable to move or speak. His smile is seriously dazzling. He seems to be thinking, attentive, taking his time with every detail of your face, then shrugs one shoulder as if reaching a quiet decision.

“You know what?” he breathes, all smiles, and you flush even deeper when his breath grazes your cheek and sends a trail of shivers down your spine. “Let's start over.” His hand presses more firmly against your waist, as if he's suddenly holding you to feel you against him rather than to keep you from falling. His eyes are so bright you can't look anywhere else. “I'm Hoseok, but all my friends call me Hobi. You ?”

His fingers slowly trace the small of your back, a quiet invitation, and you have to force yourself to swallow before you murmur your name, your chest tight from how your heart is beating its way out of your ribs —because of a very different and new kind of excitement now.

He smiles, repeating your name in a murmur, as if testing how it tastes on his tongue. Then, with yet another sideways grin, “So… I heard you're new here?”

The hours that followed were enough for you to understand two things. 

The first, that the Dolorean Park neighborhood is even better than anything you could have imagined. More lush, more beautiful, more full of hidden corners just waiting to be explored. More alive, more full of beauty and dreams that seem to come to life before your eyes, and so much more besides.

Full of wonders that did nothing but make your eyes light up and leave your mouth hanging open in awe.

"This is incredible," you couldn't help but breathe, overwhelmed, when Hoseok took you into the district's biggest museum and you found yourself standing before the skeleton of the largest dinosaur that ever lived —a nine-meter T-rex, its skeleton displayed in full, which is nothing short of a feat.

Hoseok just shrugged, a small, smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he draped his arm over your shoulder. “Not really. It wasn't even found here, the city just had enough money to buy it first.”

“You're completely ruining the fun for me,” you grumbled in response, shooting him a withering look. That made him laugh, and he tickled your ribs in revenge.

“If that's all it takes to impress you, you're not ready for what's coming,” he said lightly, but with his eyes fixed on yours, full of promise.

Jung Hoseok then made it his mission to show you every last detail of the city. He took you through secret cellars, accessed through trapdoors hidden in the middle of parks. Introduced you to every piece in the museums as if he owned them, every shop on the main streets as if he ran them himself, all while pointing out every hidden corner and showing you which trains to climb onto to quickly get from point A to point B.

That was when you understood the second thing : that Hoseok had clearly lied to you earlier when he claimed not to be anyone important.

He seemed to want to talk about anything but that, so you said nothing —yet you did notice how he knows this neighborhood like the back of his hand. Not the way Jimin does, having learned to navigate it to survive with his crew, but as if he had a genuine interest in this place, a real connection to it. You noticed how, while he got you into every museum for free, it was never through the main entrance —always through a door at the back of the building. And the way he always takes care to glance over his shoulder when guiding you through the streets, just before placing his hand in the small of your back and smiling at you as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

Maybe you should have said something —probably. But how could you have focused on that, when every smile he threw your way was softer than the last, each one sending your poor heart into a flutter? How, when every word that left his mouth had you hanging on his lips, hungry for more, when everything you said seemed to fill him with such immense joy that sometimes he'd double over laughing?

You've only known him for a few hours —if you can even call it knowing someone, after meeting like this by chance— and yet it feels like a lifetime. In the way your sentences bounce off each other, the way your thoughts run in the same direction. In the way his steps fall perfectly in time with yours, the way his hand always finds the small of your back, where your fingers ache to tuck themselves into his. In the smiles you exchange, the knowing glances that could almost make you believe you share some secret.

Maybe you should be asking questions. You probably should. But being with him, even for just a few short hours, is so simple, so peaceful, that all you want is to forget that one tiny, minuscule detail that doesn't quite add up.

So instead of asking questions, you lose yourself in his chocolate eyes, in his tousled hair and his irresistible heart-shaped smile —without even being frightened by how easy it is.

“Why was that police officer so angry, anyway ?” You ask suddenly as we watch the violet hues spreading across the sky as the sun goes down, sitting on the edge of a bridge with your legs dangling over nothing. Your head has somehow ended up resting on his shoulder —you're not usually the type to take risks like this, sitting over open air that way, but with him beside you, his chest rising and falling gently with each breath and his warm thigh against yours, you suddenly don't have a single worry.

“Hmm ? Who ?” he asks, lifting his head with a confused expression like a lost little animal. “Oh, the old guy? No idea,” he shrugs the shoulder that isn't holding your head. “As far as I know, he's always been more or less like that. With him, you don't touch the trains —that's a guaranteed way to end up in trouble.”

“But everyone tags trains, don't they? I've seen loads of people do it, and those spray cans weren't even mine, I found them there,” you explain, puzzled. That makes him laugh softly.

“Yeah, but usually people do it in more out-of-the-way spots. What were you doing at the Docks anyway? There's nothing there but cargo ships.”

You shrug. “I grew sick of the city center, I was looking for something different. If you knew how long I'd been dreaming of finding Dolorean Park…”

“Well, why didn't you just go ?”

“You think I didn't try ?” You sit up to face him, your pride stung. “How is it that everyone talks about nothing else online, that this neighborhood is the pride of the whole city, and yet once you're here, not a single sign or map leads you to it ? And nobody seems to even know where it is, for God's sake.”

“Where's the fun in reading a map ?” He replies, all smiles. “That's what makes it cool : you either discover this place because someone shows you, or because you stumble onto it by accident.”

“That's ridiculous,” you shoot back, crossing your arms like a sulky child, which makes him laugh even harder.

“And you haven't seen anything yet,” he replies with a grin, tapping the tip of your nose with his index finger before stretching and getting to his feet. You stifle a yawn as you do the same, but freeze when you notice a small object that's fallen from his pocket in the movement. You grab it on instinct, holding it up in front of your eyes to get a better look.

It's a small metal ring, more oval than round, cut in two by a rounded x. The edges are a little worn, as if the ring has a few years of life behind it, but the metal is strangely warm between your fingers.

You frown, confused. “What’s this ?”

“Hmm?”

Hoseok, mid-stretch, turns distractedly at the sound of your voice —only to freeze when he recognizes the object in your hand. He doesn't even try to hide it this time: he stays completely still for a few seconds, eyes slightly wide and fixed on the ring, arms still half-raised from his interrupted stretch.

It only adds to your confusion, but you don't get the chance to tell him so —because he surprises you by suddenly shrugging. A little too sharply, perhaps, shaking his head more forcefully than necessary —as if he's fighting some internal voice and making a decision in spite of it.

You expect to find him frowning, maybe even guarded, when he looks back up at you —but instead, a wide smile splits his face in two, and a spark of amusement lights up his eyes.

“A fun little gadget,” he says, cryptically —and seeming very pleased with himself, an almost childlike snicker escaping him at your baffled expression. He steps closer, reaches out to take the ring back, but closes his hand before you've placed it in his palm. “You know what ? It might actually come in handy for you. Get up, there's one last thing I want to show you.”

“Stop, stop, please, SLOW DOWN!”

“Focus on a fixed point,” Hoseok tries to advise you, despite it being abundantly clear that he's desperately trying not to laugh, completely unmoved by your terrified screaming.

When he brought you down from the bridge and asked you to stand on the rails with the ring, you honestly thought he was having you on. Then he pulled another ring from his pocket —bigger, and looking even older— and stood beside you on the next track over. You started complaining, because he refused to explain anything —and then the idiot grabbed your hand, started running, dragging you with him, then grabbed your ring, pushed the x inward and threw it to the ground. You barely had time to jump before a metal hoverboard appeared beneath your feet.

You nearly went flying onto the rails —not only because the thing is in no way optimized for balance, but because it goes fast. Much faster than you could ever run —faster than some of the trains that cross the city, you'd bet.

Hoseok caught up quickly, his own board beneath his feet, and from the ease with which he does it, it's clear this isn't his first time. Grabbing you by the arm, he somehow managed to get you up to a speed where the landscape blurs before your eyes, and a nameless panic takes hold of you.

If you hit something, you'd be crushed for certain.

“It's okay, we can't fall,” Hoseok says then, catching your eye as if he can read your thoughts. “If we hit something, the board sends out a shockwave that cushions the impact. Like an airbag.”

You nod automatically, but you're not really there —in fact, you can barely hear what he's saying. Everything is moving too fast, the board pitching too much, and all you can picture is slipping and snapping your neck on the rails. The same feeling as when the officer chased you takes hold, and you feel tears of panic welling in your eyes —immediately swept away by the fierce wind battering your face.

“Hey, it's okay,” Hoseok repeats, softer and firmer at once, taking your hands in his. His gaze meets yours, dark and steady, and you cling to it like a lifeline, an anchor.

A sharper turn forces Hoseok to steer the board with his feet, sending you lurching sideways in a swerve that shakes you both and tears a cry of fright from you. You grab onto Hoseok like your life depends on it, crushing his fingers, and he lets you without flinching, his thumb tracing soft circles on the back of your hand.

“Look at me,” he says firmly, meeting your eyes again. “Don't worry about the rest, just focus on me, okay? Y/n, look at me,” he insists, keeps talking to you gently until your eyes don't leave his, fixed and determined.

And only then, with your gazes locked on each other, does he smile. A proud, amused smile, but above all an incredibly free one, as the wind narrows his eyes and whips his hair around his head, making him look a little wild. Free as the wind itself.

Faced with him, with that unbounded smile and those joy-filled eyes, everything suddenly feels so much simpler. As if anything were within reach, as if nothing could stop you.

So you let go. Just a little. Your grip loosens in his, and he gives you his big heart-shaped smile when he notices. You can only smile shyly back, a little more at ease than before.

At least, until he fixes his gaze on something in the distance.

“We're almost there,” he says, pressing your fingers gently in encouragement. “Ready?”

“What?” Your eyes follow his gaze, only to find an elevated bridge running perpendicular to your rails, leaving nothing but two parallel tunnels —too narrow to pass through side by side. Panic rises when you understand what that means. “You're kidding, right?!”

The tension is unmistakable in your voice, and he smiles softly, his thumb drawing small circles on the back of your hand —which does nothing to change the fact that the tunnel is getting closer by the second. “You'll manage, it's only for a few seconds…”

“Hoseok, no, I can't—”

“Fix a point in front of you —not the ground! A point ahead of you!”

“HOSEOK!” you panic, try to hold on to him, but he's far more skilled than you on his board, and pulls away without effort.

“And bend your knees!” You hear him shout, just before he falls back and disappears into his own tunnel, a concrete wall splitting you apart.

The wind hammers your ears, drumming in your skull as you try as best you can to follow his advice —bend your knees, even though you're already struggling to stay upright, and fix a point ahead. Useless. You can't see anything, and it makes you dizzier than anything else. You squeeze your eyes shut instead, tightly, as if that could magically bring you back safe to your bed.

At some point the wind eases in your ears, and from the cool air around you you understand you've come out of the tunnel —but that's not what makes you open your eyes. No, it's the light that surrounds you then, filtering through your eyelids —a light that is at once soft and dazzling, shifting from pink to violet to blue, irresistible and beckoning in the night. Neon light.

You open one eye hesitantly, then the other, and you're immediately dazzled by enormous futuristic buildings, vehicles and pedestrians moving in every direction, and above all, everywhere, giant screens blazing in the night.

“Y/n, jump!” Hoseok's voice rings out close beside you, pulling you from your daze, just before he shouts a word in a language you don't understand and the board retracts under your feet.

He could have maybe given you time to jump first.

You brace yourself, expecting to hit the ground hard and probably look ridiculous doing it —but instead a cry escapes you as you're launched into the air, arms and legs flailing.

For one instant, you feel like you’re flying through a dream, surrounded by beautiful blue, pink, violet lights that give everything an almost magical quality —the next, you land on a solid body and two strong arms close around you, catching you as if you weigh nothing.

“Told you you'd manage,” Hoseok says smugly, all smiles, and you ruffle his wild hair in retaliation, drawing a delighted laugh from him.

He says that word you don't understand again and steps off his board —far more gracefully than you did— before gently setting you down, making sure you're steady on your feet before stepping back. Seeing you wobble slightly, he keeps a hand on your waist regardless, oblivious to the blush spreading across your cheeks at the warmth of his palm so close to your skin, separated only by a few thin layers of fabric.

He holds out his hand, palm facing the ground, and says another word in that strange language —both rings reappear and glow azure blue at the sound of Hoseok's voice, before literally lifting themselves into the air and flying back into his hand.

“Okay, seriously, what are those things?!” you exclaim, staring.

He just gives a sideways smile. “Don't you want to focus on the scenery instead? You're ruining my whole surprise.”

You raise your eyebrows, startled, before tearing your gaze away to let it drift across said scenery. And God, what a sight.

Here, the trains running the rails are immaculate, all smooth lines and neon light. The buildings are a perfect white, dressed in giant screens at every angle —strings of lights hanging from lampposts line the pavements and bathe the street in a warm glow, so that despite the darkness, it's as bright as daylight. Beautiful palm trees are lined up along the curbs, cats lounge in front of the glittering entrances of restaurants and casinos…

“Welcome to Sunrise Boulevard,” Hoseok murmurs in your ear, proud of his surprise and the obvious effect it's having on you.

Sunrise Boulevard. The city's final neighborhood —the neighborhood of the future. At the cutting edge of technology. They say that the people who live here no longer die of old age, because medicine has advanced far enough to do away with that problem, and that's why there are so many places of pleasure and leisure here. You don't die anymore, so you pass the time having fun.

Normally, you might have laughed at that. But what's in front of you is so beautiful you can't even manage it.

“It's stunning,” you breathe, overwhelmed.

“Isn't it?” Hoseok replies in the same tone, like a secret shared between just the two of you. When you turn to look at him, stars in your eyes, you find him already watching you, with an intensity that makes you wonder if he ever stopped. You smile at him, something catching in your throat, and open your mouth to say something, anything —anything at all that might explain the color in your cheeks, or the intensity of his gaze as his eyes leave yours and drift to your lips instead.

Your voice dies in your throat when he gently raises his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, before cupping your cheek with the lightest touch, unaware of the shivers racing down your spine.

Then, slowly —slowly enough to give you all the time you could want to pull away— he leans in, bringing his face close to yours, lips slightly parted. His eyes suddenly uncertain, almost shy, and hungry at the same time.

A tender smile spreads across your lips —and then you rise onto your toes, and close the distance between your mouth and his.

Hoseok kisses you slowly, taking the time to taste your lips and savor them. His hands find your waist with the greatest care and press you against him, slip under your t-shirt to explore your skin, his tongue mapping your mouth tirelessly. His scent wraps around you as you loop your arms around his neck and he draws you closer still, always closer, until your body is pressed so tightly against his that you feel nothing but him, and he nothing but you.

When your mouths finally part, it's purely for lack of air, and he sighs against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours as if even the smallest separation costs him.

“Even better than I'd imagined,” he murmurs, covering you with that wide, dazzling smile, and he kisses you again as a joyful laugh escapes you.

He tastes like summer —sunlight and honey on the tip of your tongue.

That same taste that refuses to leave your tongue as he takes you through his favorite corners of the neighborhood, the ones he thinks you'll love, and all the others too, simply because we can. Always surrounded by blinding neon lights, often slipping in through the back door, but always laughing, smiling so hard your cheeks ache.

That same taste as he refuses to let go of your waist all evening, holding you against him as though the separation would kill him. Even when you tease him about it, when he pretends it's to make sure you don't get lost or to guide you —though you can clearly see his small, satisfied smile, and the way his hand fits perfectly in the curve of your hip as if it had been molded to rest there.

That same taste as he looks at you, each time, with that soft and warm gaze, protective and longing. With his enormous smile, so beautiful and dazzling and sincere.

That same taste as he kisses you in an alley, sheltered from prying eyes, devouring you as though it were his last meal.

Still that same taste as his hands trace a path across your skin for his mouth to kiss every inch of it, as he whispers promises in the shell of your ear while your hands explore his skin. He maps your body with his lips, as delicate in his kisses as if you were made of porcelain, yet as direct and urgent as a man who hasn't eaten in weeks as he buries his head between your legs, teases your bud with his tongue, slides his fingers inside you until your whole body burns with desire, until you writhe beneath him, clutching his hair.

When he enters you, it's with a kiss, his lips leaving yours only to make sure one more time that you're certain, before diving back in, as though even the smallest distance between you cost him —even as the movements grow more urgent, clumsier as the tension builds, until your names are the only thing you manage to cry out.

Still that same taste of honey and sunlight as he laughs against your mouth, your sweat-slicked bodies pressed against each other under the thin hotel room blanket, grinning like two idiots.

He plays with a strand of your hair, twisting it between his fingers, thoughtful as his eyes drift across your face, as though filled with wonder.

You wrinkle your nose and hide your face so he won't see how much it makes you blush. “Stop that,” you mumble, embarrassed, and it only makes him smile wider.

He gently catches your wrist, drawing it away from your face to press his lips to the inside of it. “I can't help it when you're this beautiful.”

This time you turn your head entirely to hide in the pillow, and his delighted laugh is enough to spread a wide, blissful smile across your face.

Your gazes lose themselves in their admiration, too busy marveling at the sight your content faces and tired bodies have to offer, the soft silence doing nothing to stop the words your eyes exchange every time they meet. A quiet stillness, broken only by the sound of his gentle hands moving across your skin, in contrast with the wild evening that preceded it.

“How do you know all of this ?” You whisper after a moment, as if afraid to break the serenity of it. “All these secret spots, these beautiful places, these ways into any museum or casino... How do you…”

“I explored,” he answers with a slow, almost lazy smile, though no less sincere. “I was like you, at first, and then I explored —spent days and nights wandering around hoping to find something, and... one thing led to another. It'll come to you, you'll see.”

He laughs at your unconvinced pout, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before letting his fingertips brush your cheek —a gesture of infinite tenderness that never fails to make you blush, and one he never seems to tire of.

“Why had I never seen you before?” you ask then. “I've been here for over a month, and Jimin had never mentioned you…”

And yet Jimin had made a point of introducing you to everyone, and God knows he has a lot of friends.

At that, he seems to hesitate. Not the same way he did earlier in the day, when he would freeze completely and his eyes would widen in horror —no, this time he simply takes a moment before answering, his fingers lightly grazing your cheek as his gaze drifts into the distance, lost in thought.

His brows twitch, as if he's frowning before catching himself, and you can't quite tell whether he sighs or takes a deep breath before breaking the silence again.

“I'm not really—”

He doesn't finish his sentence. He doesn't get the chance —because just then, the stillness of the night is suddenly shattered by the very distinct sound of an explosion.

Not very loud —you'd bet they didn't hear a thing in the casinos or clubs down the street— but the silence in the room had been so complete that it seemed deafening. Not a normal explosion: more like the sound of metal twisting, of earth caving in and air being suddenly sucked away. All at once.

You flinch, caught off guard —because the sound doesn't seem to be coming from very far— but Hoseok sits bolt upright, as if struck by lightning. Driven by some reflex you can't name, he turns toward the window, and while you see nothing but the neon-lit city beyond it, whatever he sees there drains the color from his face.

“Shit,” you hear him mutter to himself, “Shit, shit, shit, shit!” He swears as he leaps out of bed, scanning the room for his things.

“What, what?!” you sit up too, panicked, clutching the sheet against you as if it might protect you from some potential attack. “What's going on?”

He doesn't answer, too busy clumsily pulling on his jeans while throwing glance after glance at the window, looking every bit as panicked as you are, if not more —worried, even.

In fact, he goes so suddenly quiet as he pulls his hood up and gathers the few things that had slipped from his pockets that it almost frightens you. What the hell is going on? “Hoseok?” you press, your tone making the unspoken question plain, and he finally seems to hear you, biting his lip as his eyes dart back and forth between you and the window, struggling to lace up his shoes.

He bites his lip so hard you're afraid blood might start to bead. “I have to go,” he finally breathes, and his eyes go wide, full of remorse and guilt, so much so that you almost forget the ache in your chest at his words. Almost.

The disappointment must be written across your face, your mouth twisting into an oh you can't even assign an emotion to, because he limps over to you, visibly hesitating, clearly hating himself for it. “I'm sorry,” his voice is so steady you can't even bring yourself to doubt his sincerity, which is probably worse. “I really would have wanted to stay, or at least walk you home, but I…”

Again, his eyes snap back to the window, where another dull sound can be heard, and he flinches too, his features twisting into something you can't quite read —all you know is that it looks like fear.

“I promise this isn't just an excuse to leave,” he turns back to you, pleading with you to believe him, and you realize with some surprise that you do —as simply as that. “Y/n, I'm so sorry, I…”

“It's okay,” you cut him off gently, almost moved watching him glance at the window again with a hard swallow, clearly frightened. “It's fine. Go. Go on.”

You pair your words with the most sincere smile you can manage, and while it isn't very wide, it seems to reassure him a little nonetheless. “You're sure? I hate leaving you here like this…”

“I'll find my way home, Hobi, don't worry,” you assure him, warmly, and after a few seconds he finally nods, even if it's still plain from his face that he hates the way things have turned out and is blaming himself.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” he says again, just before leaning in to kiss you, one hand resting in the curve of your waist. You let him, kissing him back with the same force, and he sighs against your lips when you slide your hand into his hair. He eventually pulls back to look at you, wetting his lips as though hesitating, and you pat his cheek gently to encourage him.

His dark eyes meet yours with an unspoken question —just like before, all you have to do is hold his gaze for him to understand your answer, and he nods, pressing his lips to your cheek before straightening up, as hurried as before.

As simple as that. One look, a small nod, and you understand each other.

Once at the door, though, he stops, still hesitating, and before you can urge him to leave again he turns back toward you, digging frantically through his pocket.

“What are you—”

“Keep this,” he cuts you off, without room for argument, extending his hand toward you. In his palm sits the small ring with the x, the little magic board he had you try out earlier. You stare at it, incredulous.

“Are you sure?”

He nods furiously. “I'd rather you have one. But,” he closes his hand around the ring just as you reach for it, pointing a finger at you with a seriousness that surprises you a little. “Only for emergencies. Are we clear ?”

You don't quite understand why he's insisting on this, or even why he's being so careful, but you'd never seen him this serious, and whatever that explosion is that's worrying him so much, it has him genuinely shaken, so you'd rather not argue.

“Promise,” you nod, almost solemnly, and he does the same before opening his hand to let you take the ring.

He leans in one more time, pressing the quickest, lightest of kisses to your lips.

“I love you,” he lets out in a whisper, before disappearing —almost literally.

By the time you open your eyes again, heart hammering after that last confession, the door has already clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the flat, heavy silence.

Through the window, you hear the strange explosion sound again, a little louder this time, and then nothing.

Nothing at all.

You’re a little ashamed to admit it, but you spend the days that follow trying to find Hoseok.

In your defense, it's not as if you have anything else to do. Before, your days were spent trying to convince Jimin to show you the way to Dolorean Park, or trying to get there on your own. You're fairly good with directions —it only took Hoseok bringing you there once for you to remember the route and find your way back by myself. Same for Sunrise Boulevard.

You started going back the day after he left. You retraced the spots and shops he'd introduced you to as ‘his favorite places,’ then went back to Dolorean Park to do the same, before, out of desperation, returning to where you'd first met him at the Docks. All for nothing.

Day after day, it became a routine: you'd start by going to all the places we'd been together, then go off exploring on your own before heading home in the evening. The whole time, you kept the little ring tucked in your palm, at the bottom of your pocket —but it's evidently not a lucky charm, because the days quickly turned into weeks, and still no news of the tall, dark-haired guy. In fact, not the slightest trace of his existence. Nothing to prove you didn't imagine him, his heart-shaped smile and the taste of honey that lingers on your tongue.

“Who?”

“A tall guy with dark hair, kind of messy, and, uh… a huge smile ? He smiles all the time,” you try to explain to Jackson, a tall guy with white hair who's part of Jimin's crew, well aware that describing what Hoseok was wearing wouldn't be much help, given that it was weeks ago and his outfit was pretty unremarkable.

He thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “Doesn't ring a bell, sorry. I don't really know the new people.”

You nod, stopping yourself from pointing out that you're fairly sure Hoseok is anything but new around here. Not with the ease with which he moved through the streets, the way he knew everything and everyone.

Jackson apologizes again and walks away —you don't push it, because behind him, Namjoon is eyeing you with a sour look. Like everyone else, actually. The whole crew has been avoiding you a little —they're not outright unkind, but it's clear they'd prefer you kept your distance. It's been like this for a few days —since you talked to Jimin, actually.

He was the one who came to find you one evening, looking almost worried at what was bordering on a small depression, because you'd been searching relentlessly every day and turning up not a single trace of Hoseok. Sweet, really —so sweet that you cracked open. And you're so used to Jimin's warmth that you told him everything.

Everything: the old officer who chased you, Hoseok saving you before taking you to Dolorean Park and then Sunrise Boulevard, his hasty departure… You don't think you've ever regretted opening up to someone so quickly.

While he was empathetic at first, sorry even, his expression closed off more and more as you spoke, and by the time you'd finished, he could barely look you in the eye, a distinct chill having settled between you. It was plain that Jimin wasn't a very good liar, and that he preferred to say nothing —but you had the sense that he was very good at keeping secrets.

“You really don't know anything?” you'd asked anyway, out of desperation.

He took a long time before answering —and throughout, his eyes stayed fixed on the metal ring with its x in the middle, which you were holding in your hands after taking it out to prove you weren't making things up. The way he stared at it told you he didn't think you were —and that he was taking you very seriously.

“I know one thing, Y/n,” he said at last, in a voice so cold compared to his usual warmth that it barely sounded like him. “And that's that you should be very careful.”

Since then, radio silence —you only catch glimpses of him from a distance, and very rarely at that, so much so that you're starting to wonder whether it's just a habit in this wretched city, to avoid you the moment something goes wrong.

But you don't give up hope —you met Hoseok without Jimin's help, you'll manage to find him again without it— and you keep searching, day after day. Until you can't anymore.

You have a train leaving tonight, to go back to your parents. It wasn't planned, but honestly, nothing that has happened was, and it's becoming increasingly clear that you're wasting your time. You've combed through this city so thoroughly looking for Hoseok that you know it by heart now too —maybe not like the back of your hand, but you're fairly certain you know a good number of its hidden corners— and it saddens you to say it, but you've seen all there is to see. You're not going to spend your life searching for a guy you haven't seen in so long that you're almost convinced you dreamed him.

So that day, rather than looking for Hoseok, you decide to make the most of the hours you have left here. You feel a little guilty at first —but when your self-pity starts to annoy even you, you tell yourself that if he'd wanted to find you, he wouldn't have waited two months to do it. Right?

So in the morning, you head to the Docks to watch the cargo ships come in and unload their containers. You go for lunch on Sunrise Boulevard, in a restaurant full of celebrities and paparazzi, then wander through Dolorean Park, treating yourself to one last visit to the museum before buying yourself an ice cream to lift your spirits —seeing that wretched T-rex without Hoseok beside you to make fun of it is more painful than you would have thought.

In the evening, you find yourself in the city center where you spent so much time, perched on a train roof at one of the highest points, watching the golden rays of the setting sun spread across the city. From here you can see the lush green trees of Dolorean Park, the mountains of containers at the Docks and the giant screens of Sunrise Boulevard, all within reach, close enough to touch if you just stretched out your arm.

You lose yourself in the view. That's probably why you startle so badly when footsteps approach and someone comes to sit beside you.

You look up in surprise at the fair-haired boy with fine features sitting very upright —Jimin. You're struck silent for a moment. He who had been avoiding you so carefully, here he is coming to find you of his own accord. He breaks the silence before the questions in your head get too loud.

“I heard you're leaving ?” he says in his soft voice, without ever taking his eyes off the city in the distance. His light eyes look almost translucent in the glinting sunlight.

Slowly, you nod. “There's nothing left for me here.”

He looks at you, and it's your turn to glance away. You clench your fists, stare at your dangling feet. That admission hurts more than you would have thought. You didn't find what you were looking for, in the end.

“Are you still looking for him ?”

It shouldn't, it really shouldn't —but that question infuriates you. So much so that you're not even moved by Jimin's soft, hesitant voice, or the guilty look he gives you. No, you're just angry —because he was so welcoming, and the one time you truly came to him for help, he left you to fend for yourself with some useless advice. You're leaving tonight —it's a little late to make up for it now.

“Oh, so now you want to talk about him ?” You say, perhaps a little more sharply than necessary. He doesn't hold it against you —if anything, he looks a little ashamed. Just a little.

“Listen, Y/n, there's…” He scratches the back of his neck, lets his gaze drift into the distance as he sighs and hesitates. “No offense, but you're relatively new here. Things happened that I'd rather not see happen again. Things you have no idea about.”

He doesn't shrink back, ashamed, or flare up, furious like you: no, he stays calm, upright and measured, almost composed as he explains things to you, even though it's clearly costing him.

“And so ?”

“Let's just say I… do my best to make sure certain things don't happen again.”

“Why you ?”

“Because it's my role. And apparently, I'm much less good at getting people to listen to me than the one whose role it was before,” he grumbles, sounding almost bitter. An emotion you'd never seen on his face —but given how terribly well it suits him, you suspect it isn't new, and that he's simply learned to hide it.

“And what does that have to do with me ?” You try, well aware that it's not every day he'll answer your questions like this.

He turns to face you then, his gaze finding yours with an intensity that reminds you so much of Hoseok's eyes that it twists something in your chest.

“Because you're about to make exactly the same mistakes.”

“What? How? How would you know?” You exclaim, almost offended. You don't want to cause any trouble —you just want to find the one guy who ever made you feel this good, this free, who told you I love you right before disappearing, is that really so much to ask?!

“That,” Jimin simply answers, pointing at the ring you'd been absent-mindedly fidgeting with between your fingers. He still pulls a slight grimace looking at it, but this time you can also read a trace of sorrow in it. “We used to have them. Except ours were single-use. We'd activate them during runs on the rails, to protect ourselves in case of a fall, then the boards would dematerialize and that was it —you had to get another one. I didn't believe your story at first, I'll admit, but when you said he'd made it go back to its ring form, I…” Something breaks in his expression, and he shakes his head. “If that's true, then it changes everything.”

Silence. You have no idea what you're supposed to say to that —all you know is that Jimin's gaze is heavier than you've ever seen it. Heavy with meaning, but heavy with grief and remorse too. Whatever happened before you arrived, it touched him more than anyone else.

“You know where he is, don't you ?” You try gently, doing your best to hide the excitement in your voice. Jimin knows where Hoseok is. You're sure of it.

He hears it anyway, of course. “It was a long time ago,” he grumbles, looking like he regrets every word already. “Several years… And I'm warning you now, I’m not coming with you. There's no way I'm setting foot back there.”

“That's fine, just tell me—”

“No, Y/n, listen to me,” he insists, taking hold of your wrist to calm you down. “You need to know that… We all thought he was dead.” His words hit you like a blade, rooting you to the spot. He holds your gaze, gripping your wrist tightly as if clinging to an anchor, his eyes suddenly glassy. As if he's on the verge of tears. He swallows with difficulty, without letting go of your gaze.

“If you're telling the truth, and he really is alive, I…” He scratches the back of his neck, tears gathering in his eyes. “I never would have thought… Could you… bring him back? Or at least try ?”

You nod, resolute —even more so in the face of his hopeful look. “I promise. Just tell me where I need to go.”

“That thing took my best friend from me, Y/n,” the tears don't stop him from keeping that painfully serious expression. He's scared —that much, at least, is clear. “Be careful, please, I…”

“I promise.”

He looks at you for a few seconds, as if he can't quite believe you're willing to take such a risk —then he sighs, resigned. “I have a feeling I'm going to regret this… Alright. There's a bridge, right on the boundary between the Docks and Sunrise Boulevard…”

“He could have made more of an effort with his handwriting,” you grumble, turning the sheet of paper every which way to try and decipher the scribbles Jimin made on your city map. The bridge he pointed you to is on a street where, surprisingly, you'd never set foot —for the simple reason that there's nothing there. It's just the tail end of Sunrise Boulevard and the beginning of the Docks: a kind of no-man's land that's neither truly modern and clean like one nor dirty and industrial like the other, just… a little empty.

Jimin's terrible handwriting doesn't stop you from finding the bridge in question, though, and you fidget nervously with the ring in your pocket as you approach it.

It's a bridge fairly similar to the one Hoseok had you cross to get from Dolorean Park to Sunrise Boulevard: a road one level up, running perpendicular above the rails you're standing on, supported by a thick tunnel. Except this one is twice as wide as the first one you saw, and so long you can't see where it ends. In fact, you doubt it does.

One of the signs at the tunnel entrance collapsed long ago, lying dented and dust-covered across the rails, and a train stands motionless, waiting for someone to come and start it up again. Jimin didn't say anything about this, but just seeing it —or the lights inside the tunnel, completely dead— tells you this tunnel hasn't been used in a long time. And honestly, you get it. You don't really want to go in there.

Taking a deep breath, you close your fingers around the cold metal ring. This is where Jimin last saw Hoseok. If you have any chance of finding him, it's here.

So despite the hesitation and the small voice in your head screaming at you to turn back, you move forward. Slowly, carefully, watching exactly where you put your feet and pulling out your phone for light when the darkness grows too thick around you.

After a few minutes of walking in complete silence —ears straining, purely because the thought of someone coming up behind you is making your blood run cold— something catches your eye from the corner: a bluish glint on one of the thick pillars in the middle of the track.

You point your flashlight toward it —and freeze when you understand where the glint is coming from. A huge metal circle, more oval than round, about your height, cut through the middle by an enormous X. Exactly the same symbol as on the ring Hoseok gave you. It shimmers under the light of your torch, like a silent taunt —and yet that's enough to root you to the spot.

This can't be a coincidence. Jimin recognized that symbol immediately, it was on Hoseok's ring too —and now here it is, right in front of you, waiting in the dark…

This time, your curiosity is too strong: you want answers, and you want them now. So, no longer bothering to be quiet, you make your way along the rails toward it, determined to understand. Maybe if you press the X, like with the small rings, it'll activate something? What if it were a secret passage?…

Except you never get the answer to your question —at least not the way you'd expected. Because before you even have time to reach the enormous ring, cursing when you trip on the rail and have to grab a barrier to stop yourself falling, the thing you were dreading most happens.

A sound echoes behind you.

Not the kind of sound a can might make if you'd accidentally kicked it, or the wind snapping between the walls —no, a very distinct sound of footsteps. The footsteps of someone who isn't trying to hide.

You freeze, stunned, sweat running down your back as your blood turns to ice. On instinct, you lower your phone to conceal myself, before realizing that if someone is behind you, they've clearly seen you for a long time. So, holding your breath, you finally pivot, turning your back on the ring on the wall to face whoever has just arrived —and you'll be honest, at this point, you're terrified.

At the entrance to the tunnel, perfectly still, hands in his pockets, stands a man whose face you cannot see. All you can make out is that he's not much taller than you —but his stillness, and above all the mask he's wearing, are enough to make your skin crawl. A perfectly smooth mask covering his entire face, with two cat ears on top and two large red eyes that glow in the darkness.

Every instinct is screaming at you to leave, but you can't —you can't move.

The man's voice reaches your ears then —soft, but low and measured. Almost delicate, as if he were whispering in your ear, but he's speaking in a language you don't understand, one you've only heard once before —from Hoseok's lips. You recognize it in the intonation, in the strange, guttural way the words are shaped, but just like when you met the dark-haired boy, you have no idea what any of it means.

“Jimin told me to get here,” you manage to stammer, without your voice shaking too badly. The cat doesn't seem pleased by your answer —he goes suddenly quiet, his large red eyes narrowing to two slits that chill your blood. You vaguely see him draw a hand from his pocket, holding something that looks dangerously like a remote control between his fingers —but you're too busy trying to contain the panic rising inside you to pay it much attention. “I'm looking for—”

He doesn't let you finish —he presses a button on the remote, and a second later, the wall explodes behind you.

No —it doesn't explode. It's as if it's swallowed and pushed back at the same time.

A cry leaves your lips, terror seizing you as you spin around and see the enormous ring on the wall blazing with a blinding azure light that forces you to squint, one hand raised in front of your face. It glows so intensely the tunnel is lit up like broad daylight, and soon it begins to vibrate, making the walls, the ground, everything hum.

The first crack spreads from the pillar where the ring is fixed, inching dangerously close to your feet. Dozens more follow almost immediately, and you understand with horror that the ground is fracturing under the force of the explosion. The tunnel is going to collapse.

You stumble over your own feet trying to flee, ignoring the debris ricocheting around you. The man with the cat mask is still standing there, motionless in the middle of all this chaos. You try to get closer, reaching your arms toward him and crying out for help, but he doesn't move, and the ground literally gives way beneath your feet, opening into a gaping hole that takes you down with it.

As you fall into the crack, swept along by the pull of air, the man's voice is the last thing you hear, carried on a strong accent you don't recognize —but his words, those, are perfectly clear.

“Jimin should have minded his own business.”

You fall, and fall, for what feels like an eternity —tossed by the wind, dozens of meters perhaps, struggling to keep your eyes open against the force of it.

After a few seconds, the air grows warmer beneath you, thicker —you understand with horror that you're approaching what might be a floor, and panic sets in. You reach for something to grab onto, anything, and as the wind roars and thunders in your ears, it's Hoseok's voice that echoes in your mind for reasons you can't explain —as if he were right beside you.

“I'd rather you have one. But only for emergencies.”

You snap your eyes back open, a gulp of freezing air forcing its way into your lungs —and driven by some force you can't name, you grab the ring, which has miraculously not fallen from your pocket, and, remembering what Hoseok did, press down on the engraved X.

The ring vibrates in your hand, lights up with the same azure glow as the tunnel earlier, and the board materializes in seconds, taking shape beneath your feet just in time as a stone-tiled floor appears barely three meters below.

You land hard, and without the board and your reflex to bend your knees, you would certainly have broken something. Enormous chunks of rubble and concrete continue to rain down around you, but the board seems to have switched to autopilot, carrying you away from the collapse without any effort on your part.

It's only once calm returns that you notice how ragged and heavy your breathing is. The collapse slowly dies down to just a few stray pieces of debris, and you nearly choke when an enormous trapdoor opens beneath the mountain of concrete chunks, letting them slide gently somewhere you can't see before swinging shut and leaving a pristine floor —as if nothing had happened.

As you stare at the now perfectly clean spot, stunned, you only then notice that it's actually a strange platform of stone and metal —but that all the walls are made of the same enormous material, and above all, there is no sky.

Whatever this place is, it's dark like the tunnel, and that same ring with an X is engraved into the stone floor. With the silence restored, you pick up a sound of running water coming from everywhere at once, and a quick look around is all it takes to understand the source. Waterfalls. Enormous ones, seeming to pour down from the sky and disappear beneath the floor —except it isn't quite water. It's thicker, like molten lava, but azure in color, and bright enough to light the whole place.

You don't have time to marvel at it. You don't even have time to wonder where on earth you've landed, in fact —above you, another explosion rings out. You flinch, terrified that another collapse is coming —and as if in echo, the circle and X engraved in the floor light up with that same azure glow: but to your great surprise, it doesn't crack the ground the way you saw before. No, instead, the X splits in two, revealing beneath it an enormous fan so powerful that the current it creates lifts your hair. Light appears above, as if the ceiling is fracturing, and you brace for more rubble —but none comes.

Instead, you see two people appear from nowhere, each on a board, hurtling toward the fan —and you barely have time to scream before it launches them into the air at a dizzying speed, so high they vanish from sight entirely. They don't come back down.

All of this happens in a fraction of a second —and the next, the whole thing plays out again. The ceiling collapses, the rubble falls, then the circle in the floor splits open like a trapdoor, swallowing the debris before closing again, and you stand there like an idiot in front of a spotless concrete floor.

What on earth is—

Someone shouts behind you —screams, in fact, so loudly that you flinch, the movement sending the board shooting off at full speed. Now it's your turn to scream in terror —but when you spin around to call for help, you understand that it's pointless. A giant —there's really no other word for it— is running toward you, something that looks dangerously like a baton in his hand, expression furious. But more than that, behind him, what appear to be drones are hurtling toward you, trailing beams of the same vivid red as the cat's eyes earlier, which have every appearance of being lasers.

You panic, scream, and plunge deeper into this strange city lit by its cascades, doing your best not to fall off the board —because those metal platforms will clearly break your neck if you hit them.

You take a corner, sure you've lost them, but doubt creeps in when the tone of the shouting behind you shifts completely. You don't understand their language, but you swear they sound almost… worried. The drones are still circling you, but less to catch you than to block your path and force you to turn back —and it takes you too many long seconds to understand why.

The board has, without your meaning it to, placed itself on a track with rails, and they've just turned a vivid azure, vibrating so intensely you feel every tremor through your entire body. You don't have time to react before an enormous train, appearing to be made of azure-blue smoke, materializes directly in front of you, bearing down at a speed clearly far greater than mine.

You don't have time to react, to decide to swerve, even if you knew how to steer these boards —dozens of people are shouting, screaming words you can't understand, but one voice in particular cuts through all the noise.

A voice you would recognize anywhere.

It's too late to turn, or even jump —the train is so close that in one more second, you'd only have to reach out to touch it…

Something slams into you violently from the side, sending you flying to the left with a force that knocks the breath clean out of your ribs. The board explodes beneath your feet —an airbag, you remember— and the shockwave cushions your fall slightly, making you bounce off the ground rather than smash into the wall with no softness whatsoever. Which doesn't stop every single bounce from sending a sharp pain through your bones. At this point, you don't even have the strength to grab onto anything, and even once you've lost all momentum and come to a stop lying on your side on the ground, it takes long minutes before you can see clearly —and catch your breath.

You can hear shouting. In that same language you don't understand, mostly, but something else too —in a voice you know well. your name, again and again, getting closer.

“Y/n! Y/N!”

The ground begins to vibrate gently beneath your ribs —hurried footsteps, drawing nearer. Someone drops to their knees beside you, and two hands take you carefully and turn you onto your back. Cool air hits your face, but not as hard as the panicked breath of the boy leaning over you, cupping your face in his hands.

“Y/n!” He seems to light up the moment your eyes meet his, and double in worry at the same time. “Y/n, sweetheart, can you hear me ?!”

“Hobi,” you breathe, more faintly than you would have expected. His breath hits your cheek again, as though he'd been holding it until hearing your voice was enough to reassure him. He pulls you closer, pressing his hands to your cheeks and your neck, his fingers trembling frantically.

“Does anything hurt? Are you bleeding? The wagon didn't have time to touch you, did it?!” His wide, frantic eyes make him look almost wild, and the panic in his voice makes it clear he's the one who pushed you out of the train's path.

You want to ask if he's hurt, but he straightens abruptly, shouting something at someone behind him in words you can't understand, with an intonation that sounds a great deal like ‘Get a doctor!’ He fires back again when someone answers —you don't understand the language, but you watch almost with a kind of wonder at the movement of his jaw and his throat as he calls out, the worry and fear palpable in every word.

He's nearly shouting now, trembling like mad —but goes still the moment your hand slides into his hair, pushing the wild strands back from his face.

His mouth hangs open for a moment, his head turning slowly toward you, eyes bright with emotion. He catches your wrist between his slender fingers as you brush his cheek, still gentle despite his panic.

“You're here,” you murmur, giving him the smallest smile.

“Of course I'm here,” he murmurs back, smiling softly before burying his nose in your palm and pressing a kiss there. “How on earth did you get here?” He frets, as if it were somehow his fault.

“I was looking for you,” you find the strength to shrug, with a small smile. He says nothing, unconvinced, but kisses your palm again as if to reassure himself that you're really there.

“Please tell me you're not hurt, I—”

“I'm fine,” you cut him off gently, squeezing his hand in yours. He furrows his brows, not believing you for a second, and you grimace. “Just a bit of pain in my leg. I can't really move it,” you mumble, almost grumble, and his expression hardens. He squeezes your hand in answer, nodding slowly.

His lips are a thin line as he slides one arm beneath your knees and the other around your shoulders. He rises as if you weigh nothing, moving as carefully as he can so as not to jostle you. You hear him speak to someone, his voice dropping to those low tones that suit him so well, but you no longer have the strength to try and follow what he's saying —you let yourself be carried, resting your head against his chest, and close your eyes. Just for a second. Only a second.

One small second to let yourself be lulled by the rapid beating of his heart and his soft scent filling your lungs. A smell of honey, and summer.

“You're absolutely insane for doing that,” Hoseok grumbles for what must be the eleventh time, massaging your leg almost furiously despite the gentleness of his fingers. “You never should have gone near that bridge.”

He pairs his words with a small reproachful look, eyes narrowed, and you sit up, outraged. “It's not like you left me much choice. I looked for you everywhere!”

“That's not—” he starts, indignant, before cutting himself off, looking guilty. He ruffles his own hair and clicks his tongue. “I didn't have a choice, alright? I tried to come back. I really did,” he insists, holding your gaze. “You have no idea how much I blamed myself.” He looks so guilty, so resigned and at the same time so desperate for you to believe him, that all you can do is press your lips together and say nothing. That seems to frustrate him even more —he sighs sharply, letting go of your ointment-covered leg to scrub both hands through his hair. When he snaps his head back up, it's with an absolute chaos of hair in its place. “And how did you even hear about the bridge? Nobody goes there!”

You shrug, unmoved by the accusatory edge that's crept into his voice. Lately, you've done everything to find him —going under a bridge is far from the worst of it.

“Jimin told me where to find it.”

“Jimin ?!” you jump when he nearly chokes. “Please tell me he didn't come with you.”

“… No, why?”

“Good,” he nods, relieved, before shaking his head slowly, eyes slightly wide. “Yoongi would have completely lost it.”

Frowning, you tilt your head a little, lost. You don't know if it's the fact that you hit your head, but Hoseok is talking way too fast for you. “Yoongi ?”

“The guy who opens the portal…” he mutters distractedly, pacing the room. “How am I gonna explain this…”

“Hoseok,” you cut him off gently, sitting up straighter and ignoring him when he tells you to sit back down. “I don't understand anything. Where are we? Why was Jimin so determined not to talk about you, why does everyone shut down the moment—”

“Oh, I bet Namjoon was furious,” he exclaims, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Uh… Well, he's been giving me dirty looks ever since I mentioned you, yeah, but why—”

“He hates me. His girlfriend was hitting on me back when I still lived up top.”

Too much information at once —your brain short-circuits, before rebooting to sort through it. “Up top ?”

He stops pacing and opens his mouth, hesitant, only to close it again after a few seconds. His eyes don't leave mine, resolute, and you can read the reluctance in his gaze even as he scratches the back of his neck and sighs. “Are you sure you want to know? Because it's quite—”

“Whether I want to know why you disappeared overnight?” You cut him off gently, your voice softer than you would have expected. You have no desire to rush him —especially not with the adorable guilty-puppy look he's giving you right now— but you've waited long enough. You want to understand.”Why nothing seems to make sense in this city? Yeah, I'd say so.”

His eyes don't leave you as you get up and walk toward him, and when you're close enough that your feet are touching and you have to tilt your chin up to look at him, a slow smile spreads across his lips.

“…I was going to say it's quite a long story, but since you insist —your wish is my command, sweetheart.” He snickers at the surprise that crosses your face, gently taking your elbow to pull you toward the bed, where he sits down beside you. Let's just ignore what that simple gesture does to your poor heart.

His eyes drift across your face, hesitant, and you squeeze his hand to encourage him. He gives you a smile that you return before sighing. “Back then, a few years ago now, I lived in the city, up on the surface. I was part of the whole crew you met, and Jimin and I were… very close. Inseparable.” His voice is a little strained, and he clears his throat before going on. “He probably explained to you that they barely use boards up there. That's because they don't know how to make them. They can only be made here, in the Undertracks…”

“The Undertracks ?” you can't help but ask, curious. He points a finger at the metal walls surrounding you, the wall lamps blazing in brilliant azure blue.

“That's what we call the underground district. The material needed to make boards —and a lot of other things— is produced here. Anyway. Back then, it was Yoongi who led all the runners, up on the surface. He always loved pushing back against authority… Except Yoongi got tired of having to pay a fortune for boards that only lasted one use. Nobody knew how to get into the Undertracks, and because of all these stupid rumors and rules, nobody even tried to get close. It's like Star Wars —if you go near the Undertracks, you've gone to the dark side. It's forbidden.”

“Seems ridiculous, but okay.”

That makes him laugh. “Wait until you hear the rest. Anyway, Yoongi was of the opinion that it was our right to go there, to make our own boards, and so on… And he convinced a lot of people. Like, a lot,” he breathes, eyebrows raised, and you picture an entire crowd falling through the hole under the bridge. You shudder, but Hoseok looks almost admiring for a moment. “Except a lot of others disagreed, and it escalated into street fights… That's when the police started showing up in greater numbers.”

“Isn't that to stop us from tagging?”

“No,” he laughs softly, amused, and you give him a small shove on the shoulder that makes him snicker. “Originally it's to stop us from causing chaos in the city. Because even though Yoongi and his crew wanted to reach the Undertracks, they still didn't know how, and the other side was ready for them. They drove them out of the city —literally. Yoongi, God knows how, managed to make it into the Undertracks when things were starting to turn bloody. His whole crew took refuge down here, and since then, nobody except Yoongi knows how to activate the portal that leads to it —he's always the one who does it, still.” His eyes drop to your joined hands, thoughtful, and he gently strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. “But the surface clan kept hunting down the ones who'd fled, and they showed no mercy whenever they came back up.”

“So why did they ? Come back up.”

“Because you can't be completely self-sufficient down here. You can produce incredible gadgets and weapons here, but not food or clothes, for example. So every month, a few people go up for a day to get what's needed. We spread it out so nobody goes up more than four times a year, to avoid drawing attention. Once every three months.”

You nod slowly as he watches you with that serious expression. That explains the long disappearance, you suppose. “And so you were part of Yoongi's crew ?”

“Not from the start,” he grimaces. “But you've seen it yourself —by trying so hard to keep people on the 'right' side, they tell us nothing, up on the surface. I guess I was bored, I needed more. Jimin didn't agree, but all I wanted was answers,” he sighs, and you hold your breath as his words echo inside you. You just want answers. “I went to find Yoongi under the bridge, and he offered to explain everything once we were down below. Jimin tried to stop me, but I went anyway, and since then… Here I am.”

“So when you left in a rush, in Sunrise Boulevard, it was because…”

He nods vigorously as you leave your sentence hanging, hesitant. “Yoongi only opens the portal once a month —three times in the first minute of the day, three times in the last. If you miss it, you can't get back in, which means you have to wait until the following month.” His fingers tighten around yours, and his eyes carry the deepest grief you've ever seen as he leans toward you, his lower lip caught between his teeth. "I'm sorry, I should have explained,” he murmurs, looking guilty —and still so sad. You open your mouth to contradict him, to reassure him, anything to bring his adorable smile back, but he grimaces before you get the chance. “To be honest, I didn't think you'd look for me.”

You freeze, arching a brow. “Now that's a little hurtful.”

“I thought after three months, you'd have moved on, given up,” he defends himself, waving his free hand. “I never would have thought… seeing you there was…” Again, he squeezes your hand, and his mouth twists into an emotional, slightly worried expression. “You have no idea how scared I was.”

You shrug, a small smile playing on your lips. “I had to find you, you still owe me hoverboard lessons. I nearly died because of that thing !”

That's enough to break the tension —he bursts out laughing. “I noticed. Your balance is absolutely terrible.”

He holds his stomach laughing, the memory of your fall apparently hilarious to him, and leans slightly toward you in the movement, his face only a few centimeters from mine.

You pretend to be annoyed, pulling a face. “Shut up.” Then, as his laughter dies down, “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

He freezes mid-laugh, his lips forming a small surprised oh, his eyes wide. You swear he even holds his breath, looking at you nervously, and you can't help but smile at the sight.

“Are you serious?” he breathes, as if he can't quite believe his ears. A flush of red appears on his upper cheeks, and he scratches the back of his neck nervously, avoiding your gaze as he stumbles over his words. “Because after everything that happened, I would have thought…”

“Hobi? Shut up and kiss me.”

He doesn't need to be told twice —a spark lights up in his eyes, as though now it's them he can't believe, just before he places his free hand at the back of your neck, as gentle as ever as his thumb comes to brush your cheek. He leans in, his eyes flickering between yours and your lips —and when he closes the distance between you, a shared sigh escapes you both, a smile forming against your mouth.

It feels so good. To feel him close again, that aura so soft and protective and so utterly him, to hear his voice, to have that sweetness on your tongue —like freshly gathered honey gleaming in sunlight.

His lips part, warm and full and welcoming, and you lose yourself in his embrace.

Your arms wind around his shoulders, drawing him closer, letting him pull you against him with hands that come to wrap around your waist —your lips move together, heads tilting slightly to deepen the kiss, and soon his tongue ventures forward, timidly, as if asking permission to enter.

You moan against his mouth when his hands slip beneath your t-shirt, tenderly tracing your burning skin. His mouth leads the kiss, alternating between languidly pulling at your tongue and dancing with it… He presses you closer, the hand at the small of your back flattening your chest against his, making you clutch at his shoulders from the sheer need to be close, always closer…

It's you who breaks the kiss, breathless, and he chases your mouth for a few seconds before pressing his forehead to yours, just as out of breath. Your breathing mingles, his hands roaming your back and along your ribs, unaware of the trails of shivers he leaves in his wake.

“Hobi,” you breathe, your voice much higher than usual, panting. Your noses brush as he leans in to catch your lower lip, sucking and pulling gently at it with a deep sigh.

“God, I love it when you call me that.”

Your lips find his again, a desperate moan lost in his mouth as you pull him toward you, closer, always closer, wanting nothing more than to feel his burning skin against yours.

He's no better, sighing against your lips before his hands slide from your waist to your hips, slipping beneath your thighs to lift you and settle you astride his lap, careful not to jostle your bad leg. In this position, everything feels magnified —his hips directly beneath yours, your chests pressed together, his lips against yours

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” he whispers, groaning when your hands slip beneath his t-shirt and down his back. His fingers grip your hips more firmly, pressing you against the bulge in his jeans, large enough that a cry of surprise escapes you, swallowed by his lips. 

You roll against his hips, legs trembling. He groans, his hands on your hips guiding the movement as his lips leave your mouth and trail kisses along your cheek, your jaw, down to where your neck meets your shoulder —he presses his lips to that precise spot, alternating between grazing and sucking, never once stopping the motion of your hips against him until your head is spinning.

“There, like that,” you moan, tilting your neck to offer him more to kiss —an invitation he accepts immediately. Your eyelids flutter, drooping under the overwhelming sensation of him hard against you —it's as if the clothes between you have ceased to exist, a barely-there barrier between your urgent movements. 

“Let me show you how good I can be for you, sweetheart,” he grazes your earlobe with his teeth, then finds your lips again, all without ever stopping the movement of his hips against mine.

“Hobi, I…” you can only breathe, trembling against him.

“Almost there ?” he murmurs in the same tone, and you can hear in the tension in his voice that he isn't far either. As if sensing it won't quite be enough, he shifts you so you're straddling his thigh, one hand sliding along your body to cup a breast through your clothes, kneading it softly between his fingers. Your back arches, your chest pressing into his, and your eyes nearly roll back when he flexes the muscle of his thigh beneath you —it's so firm, so solid, it feels like he's everywhere at once, even more so with his hand at your chest pulling a moan of pleasure from your lips.

“God,” you breathe, higher than usual, and you feel him smile against your skin.

“Take what you need, sweetheart,” he murmurs like a promise, flexing in rhythm with the movement of your hips against him to press exactly where it counts, until you have to cling to him just to hold on.

He's everywhere at once, entirely focused on bringing you undone —he startles completely when you take him in hand through his jeans, a low groan leaving his lips when you stroke him in urgent back-and-forth motions, matching the pace of your hips on his thigh. He pants, your breath mingling as his forehead drops to yours, breathless, and soon his hand covers yours against him, guiding the movement deeper. You feel him twitch against you, just as close to the edge as you are, just as much of a trembling, moaning mess.

He kisses you as he feels you tense, your eyes rolling back as one last stroke hits exactly where it needs to, making you come apart with a desperate cry. He shudders beneath you, a low groan lost against your lips, and soon it's your name he murmurs as your movements slow and finally stop altogether, leaving only your chests rising and falling as we try to catch your breath, panting.

When you open your eyes, he's smiling at you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear —a smile so tender and sincere that something tightens in your chest. Beneath his soft gaze, you feel like we're wrapped in a bubble made only for you, sheltered from everything as long as he keeps smiling at you like that.

“Thank you,” he murmurs at last, emotion in his voice. “For looking for me. For coming, even if I nearly had a heart attack from how scared you made me.”

You laugh softly, and he smiles, pleased with himself. “You'll make it up to me,” you grumble for form's sake, ruffling his hair.

“Hmm-hmm? What would my princess like?” He rubs his nose against mine, teasing.

“That wasn't bad,” you pretend to think, drawing another snicker from him. “Or… you could come up to the surface with me to see Jimin?”

“What?” He goes still suddenly, though more in surprise than displeasure.

“Just one day?” you press, eyes wide. “He really misses you, you know. He doesn't say it, but he's genuinely hurting from losing you.”

His expression closes off a little, but you can see him wavering. “Yoongi will never agree. He'd kill me,” he says, shaking his head slightly.

“Let him try,” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow.

“Y/n…”

“Just one day. Please,” you plead again, pushing out your lower lip in a pout, giving him your best pleading eyes. His gaze flickers to your mouth, hesitant, and he scratches the back of his neck, studying you, torn.

You press closer to him, arms around his neck, and he gives in. “Alright, I suppose it could be arranged,” he sighs dramatically, but smiles anyway when you lean in to kiss him, delighted. When you pull back, he keeps you close with a lazy smile. He looks at you for a moment, as if lost in contemplation, before closing his eyes, a small crease forming between his brows. “God, what am I going to say to him…”

“He was your best friend, you'll figure it out.”

“No, he was like my brother. Which makes it worse,” he's back to his pained expression when he opens his eyes, and the smile he attempts twists into a grimace. “I'm better at goodbyes than reunions.”

“I noticed,” you laugh softly, before explaining at his indignant look, “You pushed me off a railway to keep me from getting hit by a train…”

“I call that saving your life, but if you'd rather be ungrateful—”

“…Whereas on your way out, you told me you loved me.”

He goes still, his hands freezing on your waist. “…I said that?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod vigorously, delighted, smiling even wider as his cheeks flush red, his gaze dropping for just a second.

The small laugh that escapes you makes him pout, even though he's still just as red. “You know what? Laugh all you want, it's true,” he says, his gaze more intense than ever. “The day we spent together was probably the best of my entire life. I've never felt that with anyone. And when you appeared down there earlier, I was more scared than the day I nearly got hit by a—”

“I wasn't laughing at that. It's the same for me.”

He goes still again, turning crimson.

“…Really?” He finally asks, with so much hesitation in his voice you'd think he didn't believe it for a second.

“Mm-hmm,” you nod, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. “I love you too, I think.” Even you can feel the top of your cheeks warming —but it's worth it for the spark of pure joy that appears in his eyes, and the dazzling smile he gives you.

“God,” he breathes, just before pulling you to him and crushing you against his chest. Literally. You protest, tap his shoulder to make him let go, but he just leans in to kiss you instead. "I love you so much."

Then he holds you against him again, so tightly your heart threatens to burst. He buries his nose in your hair, sighing with contentment, and you let your head fall onto his shoulder, your face tucked into the curve of his neck. Engulfed in his embrace, as much as in his scent that is so entirely him and wraps itself around you completely.

A smell of honey, and freedom.

“Hey, Hobi ?”

“Mm-hmm ?”

“Will you show me around the city ?”

His laugh makes his chest vibrate beneath your head, spreading a quiet smile across your lips. “God, you're relentless.”

Thanks for reading lovelies ! Don't hesitate to reblog, like or comment ! I always love to hear 'bout what you guys thought of it :) Also don't hesitate to ask if you wanna be tagged in my next posts !

You can find all my other writings here <3

Warnings : reader being chased in the street by a cop, lots of unsaid stuff and some characters making weird threats, lots of running and jumping on trains and skating (no shit), bits of mystery because that's one of my fics duh, reader is hit by a train at some point, a converse high joke hidden somewhere, hobi is the sweetest as always, mention of oral (f) and sex, dry humping, riding, it's pretty soft to be honest, minors dni!

Authors note : For anyone wondering, yes, I got a bit carried away and wrote a whole lore around a mobile game. I had fun tho :') I don't think you need to be familiar with said game to understand this fic by the way, just trust me and give it a chance ! (pretty please)

Gentle reminder that all rights are reserved, so please do not copy, translate or repost my stories under your name. Also I do not own BTS or their actions, the stories are entirely fictionnal and does not depict real-life events or involve any actual member of BTS.

This city stinks. Literally and figuratively.

Heaving a soul-deep sigh, you shake a spray can half-heartedly, not even checking the color beforehand.

When you first arrived in Southline a few months ago, you genuinely thought you were going to love it here. Genuinely. You couldn't wait to explore the different neighborhoods you'd seen in the brochures —to learn all their secrets, maybe even meet people who could help you discover this city that seemed to overflow with mystery. God knows there's no shortage of that here.

And you did meet people —all of them completely unhinged. Most are overfit lunatics who, sure, know every back street like the back of their hand, but move way too fast for you to ever keep up. And they all have this way of talking, of carrying themselves, that's just a little… off. Not to mention that hanging around with them hasn't helped you uncover a single one of those famous mysteries —if anything, you got the distinct impression it was the opposite. Like they were actively steering you away from them.

So now you're the one keeping your distance. Wandering on your own, trying to find the hidden spots without getting lost along the way. Which, needless to say, isn't going great.

This is how, as the afternoon winds down, you've ended up stranded in the middle of the Docks, standing between two parked trains, messing around with some abandoned spray cans to keep yourself busy.

One stroke. Then another. Then another again, until a ridiculously lopsided smiley face takes shape, as though looking down on you. You stare at your masterpiece with a dubious pout. Yeah. Definitely not your thing, tagging.

What are you even doing here? Something is clearly escaping you. When, a few hours ago, you decided to stray from the tourist streets you usually stuck to, it was driven by an irresistible urge to get closer to the water. As if every part of you was screaming to do it, as if the answers to your questions would be waiting there.

Next time, you'll ignore that stupid feeling —because this place is nothing more than an old commercial port, and it's answering absolutely none of your questions.

Sighing again, you grab another can and focus on your lines, trying not to think about the little group of lunatics that took you under their wing when you first arrived. About ten boys and girls, a little older than you, completely out of their minds but kind enough, who welcomed you in. You thought they'd help you, at first, but you quickly understood that road was going nowhere. If only Jimin didn't go so cold every time you asked him anything…

“Hey! You, over there!” A voice yanks you sharply out of your thoughts. You startle, rooted to the spot by the fury in that bark. The spray can slips from your hand, rolls to your feet, but you barely register it —your eyes have already found the source of the voice: a man in his forties, a few meters away, pointing straight at you with a furious expression as he blows as hard as he can into a whistle. A monstrous dog stands at his feet, grey and hairless —but with plenty of teeth— eyeing you like you're a problem to be dealt with.

“You're under arrest!” The man bellows, closing in, blowing into his whistle again, and only then do you notice with dread what he's wearing —a green uniform with yellow insignia. City police.

“We're not exactly allowed to tag, which is what makes it so fun,” Jimin had explained with a wide grin, when you'd asked him why he and his crew got such a kick out of vandalizing walls and train cars. His grin had quickly turned into a grimace. “Not allowed at all, actually. The cops have been trying to nail us for vandalism for years. If one of them ever catches you in the act, uh… Run, I guess?”

Now would probably be a good time to kick yourself for keeping such terrible company, people who are utterly incapable of giving decent advice —and yet you do exactly what he said: you run.

You've only just arrived here, and you still haven't found the answers to your questions —there's no way you're ending up behind bars already.

You bolt before you've even had time to think about it  —and you've barely taken two steps when that piercing whistle sounds again behind you, followed by barking. You glance back over your shoulder —only to discover with horror that the officer has broken into a run after you.

And gosh, this hairless dog really is ugly.

“Come back here!” He roars, beside himself with rage, as his brute of a dog strains against the leash to get to you.

“You've got to be kidding me!” You gasp, pushing your legs harder to pick up the pace. Jimin could have warned you their cops were unhinged too, seriously !

Refocusing on your feet and where you're going, you try to recall the city map —the priority is getting out of the Docks as fast as possible. You barely know this area, but if you can make it back to the city center, you could manage on the main roads…

Fat chance. The main reason you ended up spray-painting some poor train in the first place is that you were completely lost —an urgent chase isn't exactly the moment you're going to find your bearings.

So you just follow your instincts. You run and run, your shoes sending dull thuds into the air as they pound against the metal rails. Except luck isn't on your side —you go right at an intersection, only to find yourself in a dead end, blocked by more train cars and a blue shipping container. Out of breath, you scramble up a small wagon that comes up to your shoulders, then climb onto a larger one. You're nowhere near as fit as Jimin and his friends —that one move costs you a considerable amount of time, and by the time you make it onto the roof, the furious officer and his dog have caught up. You swear that wretched animal smirks at you before spitting on the ground.

“You!” He jabs a finger at you, seething. Your stomach drops —you don't waste a second asking for mercy. You run.

You can hear him screaming in rage behind you through your ragged breathing —not a good sign, given how loud he is— and you clench your fists to force yourself to push harder, because if this maniac is doing what you think he's doing and climbing up onto the wagons after you, then you're in serious trouble.

You reach the end of the wagon before you've figured out where to go, and nearly have a heart attack when you get to the edge. The ground is two meters below —not far enough to die —or so you hope— but far enough to break something if you land badly, and then it's all over for you.

Unless maybe you…

Your legs are eating up the distance to the edge too fast. Seven meters. Five. Three…

I’m out of my mind, you think, eyes locking onto another train parked a few meters away. Completely and utterly insane —Two meters, one…

Tell my parents I love them, you beg silently, just before launching yourself off the edge of the wagon with everything you have…

…Just in time to land on the roof of the next one, catching yourself as best you can on your trembling legs. You pause, frozen with your breath heaving, as if moving just an inch would make you fall over.

You can't believe that worked.

Without even looking, you can hear the officer still coming, and his beast of a dog snarling. You glance at a point far ahead, toward the mass of containers being shifted by cranes toward the cargo ships and the perfectly aligned moving trains —and as you straighten up, hacking up your lungs in the polluted Docks air, a clear path takes shape in front of you.

Right. You must have genuinely lost your mind —that's the only explanation for the decision you're about to make. Or maybe a furious cop breathing down your neck is all the motivation you need. You don't stop to decide which —you run.

Again and again, with everything you've got —and when you reach the end of the wagon, you clench your fists and jump. You managed it once, you can do it again —and sure enough, you can. You catch yourself clumsily, scraping your knees in the process, but you make it, and you barely spare a thought for what you just did before you're  running again.

You leap from wagon to wagon despite the stitch building and spreading in your side —glancing back now and then to make sure the old man is still following, and God, his stamina. Why are you nearly dying when this seems like nothing more than a pleasant stroll to him?!

You cry out in fright when a tunnel looms on the horizon, just high enough to graze the rooftops of the train cars without scraping —but not high enough for you to pass through standing. You're coming in too fast, and there's no room to climb back down without getting caught —so you do the only thing that comes to mind. You jump, grab the roof of the tunnel entrance, and haul yourself up with the last strength left in your arms.

Suddenly the ground beneath your feet is concrete, not dirt and rails, but you don't stop to dwell on it —you run, on autopilot. The ground shakes underfoot, the barking echoes behind you, but you —

Wait. The barking?

You throw a glance over your shoulder, and if you weren't running as fast as your legs can carry you, you would definitely have stopped dead. The old man still is right there with his dog, whistle going, keeping pace without slowing for even a second.

And that's when you understand —he's done this kind of chase before, and he knows you haven't. He's just waiting for you to take a wrong turn. Tears of panic prick at your eyes at the thought —because you don't know the way, and you can't keep up this speed for much longer. You’re going to get lost, or you're gonna have to stop to cough up your lungs, or you'll…

A cry tears out of you when the ground disappears from under your feet. Not disappears exactly —vanishes as the tunnel ends. You drop hard onto a wagon, a sharp yelp of pain escaping as your knees slam into the metal, but you catch yourself just in time to avoid also going face-first into the ground —because this train is very much in motion, moving fast enough that you can barely get your footing.

Your legs are shaking by the time you manage it, and despite barely being able to keep your balance, you somehow find it in you to throw yourself sideways onto another train —this one stationary.

The barking keeps ringing in your ears, suddenly close enough to make you flinch —you stumble, startled, and slip over the rounded edge of the wagon. You yelp, your hand catching a metal bar that slows your fall, but hitting the ground only makes things worse. Your head is spinning, you can't catch your breath, and you have absolutely no idea where you are.

You only know two things: you're no longer in the Docks, and a train is hurtling straight toward you.

Everything crashes together in your head. You have no strength left, no idea where you are, and no idea how to get out of the way of the wagon bearing down on you, because you're hemmed in on all sides by stationary trains. Your legs are shaking so badly you nearly crumple again, your hair whipped up by the wind the approaching wagon is pushing ahead of it, growing bigger by the second…

The driver sees you, a sharp, alarm-like whistle suddenly blaring, but it’s not like he can stop the train altogether. Behind you, you hear the officer shout, triumphant, but you’re too frozen to move —only able to watch as the train gets closer, and closer…

You suddenly hear the officer call, way much closer than before —but it's not his voice that snaps you out of your daze.

No, it's the other one —far calmer and steadier, cutting through the chaos from your left.

“Hey, psst! Over here!”

The time seems to stop, the train to slow, as if giving you a moment while you turn your head toward the source of the voice, dazed.

At first you see nothing —just a blinding light that makes you squint. Then something takes shape. A silhouette, hooded, perched on the roof of a wagon, and a hand, outstretched toward you. “Quick!” the voice thunders, more urgent now, and you don't think. You grab the hand.

Everything snaps back to life in a fraction of a second. You're hauled off the ground by what feels like superhuman strength, and you barely have time to process what's happening before you collide with a solid, steady body —just as the train tears through the exact spot where you was standing less than a quarter of a second ago, moving fast enough that the wind it produces nearly knocks you both over. In the distance, you hear the officer's whistle, but you barely have time to worry about how close he is before the silhouette suddenly tips backward, taking you with it, one hand placed protectively at your back, ignoring your cry of fright. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut, helpless, as the unknown figure takes the brunt of the impact when you land on a surface that is painfully hard and unstable.

For a few seconds, you can't move. Literally. You're frozen in place, as much from the terror of what just happened —you almost got hit by a train, for God's sake— as from everything happening around you. The ground shakes beneath your body, so violently that you feel every vibration in each of your limbs, and the wind roars so loudly in your ears that you can't hear anything else. When you manage to open your eyes again, you're blinded once more by a bright light that wasn't there in the Docks —that wasn't anywhere in this city that you'd ever been.

You don't have time to question that, though. “Now,” that same voice thunders again, calm and self-assured —and you barely have time to try to understand what it means before two hands lift you by the waist and you're suddenly carried into the air before you can react. You try to grab onto the silhouette, panicked, and only now do you understand that the ‘ground’ you'd been standing on was actually a fast-moving train, and that your new companion has literally just jumped off it while it was still in motion.

You scream uncontrollably. You're going to die. This time, you're sure of it —you're going to die, you're going to die, you're going to die, you're going to —

Your companion lands on a wooden platform, so lightly that you barely feel the impact. He then sets you down calmly, with a gentleness that surprises you so much your legs give out, and you crumple to the ground, too weak to hold you up.

In a near-daze, you draw your knees to your chest, tears blurring your vision.

This is insane. In the span of a few minutes, you almost got arrested by a cop, almost got hit by a train, almost died smashed into the ground… and you're fine.

It takes you a few seconds to calm down enough to realize it. Apart from your palms and knees being a little scraped up, and a deep ache in your leg muscles, you're fine.

Slowly, you lift your head and take in your surroundings. You freeze all over again when you notice how far up you are — much higher than when you stupidly climbed onto that wagon earlier —before relaxing once it becomes clear that the wooden platform beneath you is more than solid. It's attached to some kind of green crane, but that isn't what catches you off guard.

No —it's everything around it. Trees. Dozens of trees in a stunning, lush green, gleaming in the brilliant sunlight that floods the perfectly blue sky above your head. In the distance, the same landscape stretches out, except those trees are a vivid, shocking pink — swaying gently in the breeze like candy floss at a fairground.

You had never seen this place before —and God, it takes your breath away. Where on earth have you landed?

“Anything broken?” You startle when the silhouette crouches down in front of you, suddenly reminding you you're not alone. Here, beneath this perfectly blue sky, you can make him out more clearly —a guy around your age, wearing ridiculously colorful sneakers, baggy blue jeans and a grey hoodie pulled up over his face that hides his features. He reaches a hand toward you, looking almost worried, but everything in front of you makes so little sense that you can barely process his question.

“What is this place?” You ask instead, your eyes drifting across the surrounding landscape with a mix of nerves and fascination. “This isn't the Docks anymore, is it?”

The guy pauses, caught off guard by your response, before a small laugh escapes him. You may not be able to see his face under that hood, but you'd swear a huge smile has just split it in two. “No, definitely not the Docks. That's almost an insult, honestly.”

“So where are we?” You press, your curiosity —and that damned feeling, the same one that drove you to the Docks earlier— pushing you forward. That voice screaming at you that the answers to your questions are here.

“You're in Dolorean Park, sweetheart,” he answers, sounding so proud he's almost smug as he tucks his hands into his pockets. “The old guy won't follow you here —different crew takes over in this neighborhood, and even if that weren't the case, I’m pretty sure we lost him. He's getting tougher by the day, I'll give him that…”

You're barely listening —your brain short-circuited the moment he said the words Dolorean and Park.

It simply isn't possible —he must be mistaken. He's talking about Dolorean Park, the thriving neighborhood that houses the largest history museums in the entire country, that shelters endangered plant species, the one they talk about so much in the brochures, online… everywhere?!

“That can't be true,” you murmur, stunned, barely managing to keep the excitement out of your voice.

“Of course it can,” he replies, oblivious to the joy exploding inside you. “Quietest part of it, sure —all the action happens further west, but you'd better not go near there while the old man's after you. What on earth did you do to wind him up that badly? I haven't seen him like that in a long time…”

Jimin had told you it was impossible to get there. That it was too far, that with the new museum that had recently opened it was too risky… Had he lied to you? All it took was jumping off a moving train?

“I, uh… tagged a parked train,” you mutter, bewildered. You have to shake your head to remember the guy is talking to you, honestly, and when you manage to refocus on him —ignoring your heart hammering at the thought of finally being in Dolorean Park— he bursts out laughing.

He puts a hand on his stomach to steady himself, shaking his head as if it's nothing more than an old joke. “Yeah, doesn't surprise me with him. Watch yourself next time, the old guy doesn't take kindly to anyone messing with his precious trains.”

He must read the confusion on your face, because he tilts his head to one side, that wide smile peeking out from under his hood. “You're new here?”

You frown slightly, but nod anyway, brushing off your palms. “Mm-hmm. You? Who are you?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, but something shifts in him. His smile seems to fade, and he turns almost distant, even though he hasn't moved an inch. “Oh, nobody important. Will you be able to find your way home?” He changes the subject, glancing off into the distance. “If you want to get back to the Docks, just follow the road east, trains are quiet at this hour. If it's the city center you're after, head toward—”

“What's your name?” You cut him off, barely paying attention to the directions. As if you're leaving Dolorean Park now that you've finally found it.

You’ve entered full detective mode, at this point —meh, not your fault your curiosity gets picked when people try and hide things from you— and if you weren't so focused on trying to make out his face, you might not catch the way he sighs. A tiny, discreet little sigh, but a sigh all the same.

“Why do you want to know?” He mutters, almost grumbling.

“To thank you, obviously,” you shoot back, annoyed by his sudden change in tone. “You saved my life, it's the least I can do.”

“No need to. Anyone would have done it.”

“Still. I insist.”

“Just tell yourself it was fate,” he grumbles, and you swear he rolls his eyes under that hood —but when you wobble trying to get back to your feet, he holds out a hand to help you anyway. His hand is warm and calloused in yours, and he surprises you again by pulling you toward him at a startling speed, as if you weigh nothing at all. “I told you, I'm no—”

You stumble, caught off guard by how quickly you find yourself upright, grabbing onto his chest to keep from falling. He hastily plants his other hand in the small of your back, planting one foot behind him to steady you both and stop you from toppling off the platform. You don't even want to think about what would have happened without that, because at that very moment a train tears past at full speed just below you —it would have hit you for certain.

It passes so fast it throws the air into motion behind it, sending the trees swaying and the lampposts swinging —but more than anything, it sends the hood of the boy holding you carefully in his arms slowly sliding back, until it gently plops down on his shoulders.

Your breath catches when a perfectly straight nose, a sharp jaw and two bright eyes framed by a sweep of dark hair come into view. His mouth forms a small surprised oh as your gazes meet and lock. The tops of his cheeks —and certainly yours too, if you’re being honest— flush from the sudden closeness.

This boy has a perfect face, with high cheekbones and fine features, and God, you want to pinch his cheeks so badly.

You must be blushing even more than he is, because a slow smile spreads across his lips, a spark of mischief lighting up his eyes. You watch those bright eyes move across your face, his smile growing wider with every second, leaving you completely unable to move or speak. His smile is seriously dazzling. He seems to be thinking, attentive, taking his time with every detail of your face, then shrugs one shoulder as if reaching a quiet decision.

“You know what?” he breathes, all smiles, and you flush even deeper when his breath grazes your cheek and sends a trail of shivers down your spine. “Let's start over.” His hand presses more firmly against your waist, as if he's suddenly holding you to feel you against him rather than to keep you from falling. His eyes are so bright you can't look anywhere else. “I'm Hoseok, but all my friends call me Hobi. You ?”

His fingers slowly trace the small of your back, a quiet invitation, and you have to force yourself to swallow before you murmur your name, your chest tight from how your heart is beating its way out of your ribs —because of a very different and new kind of excitement now.

He smiles, repeating your name in a murmur, as if testing how it tastes on his tongue. Then, with yet another sideways grin, “So… I heard you're new here?”

The hours that followed were enough for you to understand two things. 

The first, that the Dolorean Park neighborhood is even better than anything you could have imagined. More lush, more beautiful, more full of hidden corners just waiting to be explored. More alive, more full of beauty and dreams that seem to come to life before your eyes, and so much more besides.

Full of wonders that did nothing but make your eyes light up and leave your mouth hanging open in awe.

"This is incredible," you couldn't help but breathe, overwhelmed, when Hoseok took you into the district's biggest museum and you found yourself standing before the skeleton of the largest dinosaur that ever lived —a nine-meter T-rex, its skeleton displayed in full, which is nothing short of a feat.

Hoseok just shrugged, a small, smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he draped his arm over your shoulder. “Not really. It wasn't even found here, the city just had enough money to buy it first.”

“You're completely ruining the fun for me,” you grumbled in response, shooting him a withering look. That made him laugh, and he tickled your ribs in revenge.

“If that's all it takes to impress you, you're not ready for what's coming,” he said lightly, but with his eyes fixed on yours, full of promise.

Jung Hoseok then made it his mission to show you every last detail of the city. He took you through secret cellars, accessed through trapdoors hidden in the middle of parks. Introduced you to every piece in the museums as if he owned them, every shop on the main streets as if he ran them himself, all while pointing out every hidden corner and showing you which trains to climb onto to quickly get from point A to point B.

That was when you understood the second thing : that Hoseok had clearly lied to you earlier when he claimed not to be anyone important.

He seemed to want to talk about anything but that, so you said nothing —yet you did notice how he knows this neighborhood like the back of his hand. Not the way Jimin does, having learned to navigate it to survive with his crew, but as if he had a genuine interest in this place, a real connection to it. You noticed how, while he got you into every museum for free, it was never through the main entrance —always through a door at the back of the building. And the way he always takes care to glance over his shoulder when guiding you through the streets, just before placing his hand in the small of your back and smiling at you as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

Maybe you should have said something —probably. But how could you have focused on that, when every smile he threw your way was softer than the last, each one sending your poor heart into a flutter? How, when every word that left his mouth had you hanging on his lips, hungry for more, when everything you said seemed to fill him with such immense joy that sometimes he'd double over laughing?

You've only known him for a few hours —if you can even call it knowing someone, after meeting like this by chance— and yet it feels like a lifetime. In the way your sentences bounce off each other, the way your thoughts run in the same direction. In the way his steps fall perfectly in time with yours, the way his hand always finds the small of your back, where your fingers ache to tuck themselves into his. In the smiles you exchange, the knowing glances that could almost make you believe you share some secret.

Maybe you should be asking questions. You probably should. But being with him, even for just a few short hours, is so simple, so peaceful, that all you want is to forget that one tiny, minuscule detail that doesn't quite add up.

So instead of asking questions, you lose yourself in his chocolate eyes, in his tousled hair and his irresistible heart-shaped smile —without even being frightened by how easy it is.

“Why was that police officer so angry, anyway ?” You ask suddenly as we watch the violet hues spreading across the sky as the sun goes down, sitting on the edge of a bridge with your legs dangling over nothing. Your head has somehow ended up resting on his shoulder —you're not usually the type to take risks like this, sitting over open air that way, but with him beside you, his chest rising and falling gently with each breath and his warm thigh against yours, you suddenly don't have a single worry.

“Hmm ? Who ?” he asks, lifting his head with a confused expression like a lost little animal. “Oh, the old guy? No idea,” he shrugs the shoulder that isn't holding your head. “As far as I know, he's always been more or less like that. With him, you don't touch the trains —that's a guaranteed way to end up in trouble.”

“But everyone tags trains, don't they? I've seen loads of people do it, and those spray cans weren't even mine, I found them there,” you explain, puzzled. That makes him laugh softly.

“Yeah, but usually people do it in more out-of-the-way spots. What were you doing at the Docks anyway? There's nothing there but cargo ships.”

You shrug. “I grew sick of the city center, I was looking for something different. If you knew how long I'd been dreaming of finding Dolorean Park…”

“Well, why didn't you just go ?”

“You think I didn't try ?” You sit up to face him, your pride stung. “How is it that everyone talks about nothing else online, that this neighborhood is the pride of the whole city, and yet once you're here, not a single sign or map leads you to it ? And nobody seems to even know where it is, for God's sake.”

“Where's the fun in reading a map ?” He replies, all smiles. “That's what makes it cool : you either discover this place because someone shows you, or because you stumble onto it by accident.”

“That's ridiculous,” you shoot back, crossing your arms like a sulky child, which makes him laugh even harder.

“And you haven't seen anything yet,” he replies with a grin, tapping the tip of your nose with his index finger before stretching and getting to his feet. You stifle a yawn as you do the same, but freeze when you notice a small object that's fallen from his pocket in the movement. You grab it on instinct, holding it up in front of your eyes to get a better look.

It's a small metal ring, more oval than round, cut in two by a rounded x. The edges are a little worn, as if the ring has a few years of life behind it, but the metal is strangely warm between your fingers.

You frown, confused. “What’s this ?”

“Hmm?”

Hoseok, mid-stretch, turns distractedly at the sound of your voice —only to freeze when he recognizes the object in your hand. He doesn't even try to hide it this time: he stays completely still for a few seconds, eyes slightly wide and fixed on the ring, arms still half-raised from his interrupted stretch.

It only adds to your confusion, but you don't get the chance to tell him so —because he surprises you by suddenly shrugging. A little too sharply, perhaps, shaking his head more forcefully than necessary —as if he's fighting some internal voice and making a decision in spite of it.

You expect to find him frowning, maybe even guarded, when he looks back up at you —but instead, a wide smile splits his face in two, and a spark of amusement lights up his eyes.

“A fun little gadget,” he says, cryptically —and seeming very pleased with himself, an almost childlike snicker escaping him at your baffled expression. He steps closer, reaches out to take the ring back, but closes his hand before you've placed it in his palm. “You know what ? It might actually come in handy for you. Get up, there's one last thing I want to show you.”

“Stop, stop, please, SLOW DOWN!”

“Focus on a fixed point,” Hoseok tries to advise you, despite it being abundantly clear that he's desperately trying not to laugh, completely unmoved by your terrified screaming.

When he brought you down from the bridge and asked you to stand on the rails with the ring, you honestly thought he was having you on. Then he pulled another ring from his pocket —bigger, and looking even older— and stood beside you on the next track over. You started complaining, because he refused to explain anything —and then the idiot grabbed your hand, started running, dragging you with him, then grabbed your ring, pushed the x inward and threw it to the ground. You barely had time to jump before a metal hoverboard appeared beneath your feet.

You nearly went flying onto the rails —not only because the thing is in no way optimized for balance, but because it goes fast. Much faster than you could ever run —faster than some of the trains that cross the city, you'd bet.

Hoseok caught up quickly, his own board beneath his feet, and from the ease with which he does it, it's clear this isn't his first time. Grabbing you by the arm, he somehow managed to get you up to a speed where the landscape blurs before your eyes, and a nameless panic takes hold of you.

If you hit something, you'd be crushed for certain.

“It's okay, we can't fall,” Hoseok says then, catching your eye as if he can read your thoughts. “If we hit something, the board sends out a shockwave that cushions the impact. Like an airbag.”

You nod automatically, but you're not really there —in fact, you can barely hear what he's saying. Everything is moving too fast, the board pitching too much, and all you can picture is slipping and snapping your neck on the rails. The same feeling as when the officer chased you takes hold, and you feel tears of panic welling in your eyes —immediately swept away by the fierce wind battering your face.

“Hey, it's okay,” Hoseok repeats, softer and firmer at once, taking your hands in his. His gaze meets yours, dark and steady, and you cling to it like a lifeline, an anchor.

A sharper turn forces Hoseok to steer the board with his feet, sending you lurching sideways in a swerve that shakes you both and tears a cry of fright from you. You grab onto Hoseok like your life depends on it, crushing his fingers, and he lets you without flinching, his thumb tracing soft circles on the back of your hand.

“Look at me,” he says firmly, meeting your eyes again. “Don't worry about the rest, just focus on me, okay? Y/n, look at me,” he insists, keeps talking to you gently until your eyes don't leave his, fixed and determined.

And only then, with your gazes locked on each other, does he smile. A proud, amused smile, but above all an incredibly free one, as the wind narrows his eyes and whips his hair around his head, making him look a little wild. Free as the wind itself.

Faced with him, with that unbounded smile and those joy-filled eyes, everything suddenly feels so much simpler. As if anything were within reach, as if nothing could stop you.

So you let go. Just a little. Your grip loosens in his, and he gives you his big heart-shaped smile when he notices. You can only smile shyly back, a little more at ease than before.

At least, until he fixes his gaze on something in the distance.

“We're almost there,” he says, pressing your fingers gently in encouragement. “Ready?”

“What?” Your eyes follow his gaze, only to find an elevated bridge running perpendicular to your rails, leaving nothing but two parallel tunnels —too narrow to pass through side by side. Panic rises when you understand what that means. “You're kidding, right?!”

The tension is unmistakable in your voice, and he smiles softly, his thumb drawing small circles on the back of your hand —which does nothing to change the fact that the tunnel is getting closer by the second. “You'll manage, it's only for a few seconds…”

“Hoseok, no, I can't—”

“Fix a point in front of you —not the ground! A point ahead of you!”

“HOSEOK!” you panic, try to hold on to him, but he's far more skilled than you on his board, and pulls away without effort.

“And bend your knees!” You hear him shout, just before he falls back and disappears into his own tunnel, a concrete wall splitting you apart.

The wind hammers your ears, drumming in your skull as you try as best you can to follow his advice —bend your knees, even though you're already struggling to stay upright, and fix a point ahead. Useless. You can't see anything, and it makes you dizzier than anything else. You squeeze your eyes shut instead, tightly, as if that could magically bring you back safe to your bed.

At some point the wind eases in your ears, and from the cool air around you you understand you've come out of the tunnel —but that's not what makes you open your eyes. No, it's the light that surrounds you then, filtering through your eyelids —a light that is at once soft and dazzling, shifting from pink to violet to blue, irresistible and beckoning in the night. Neon light.

You open one eye hesitantly, then the other, and you're immediately dazzled by enormous futuristic buildings, vehicles and pedestrians moving in every direction, and above all, everywhere, giant screens blazing in the night.

“Y/n, jump!” Hoseok's voice rings out close beside you, pulling you from your daze, just before he shouts a word in a language you don't understand and the board retracts under your feet.

He could have maybe given you time to jump first.

You brace yourself, expecting to hit the ground hard and probably look ridiculous doing it —but instead a cry escapes you as you're launched into the air, arms and legs flailing.

For one instant, you feel like you’re flying through a dream, surrounded by beautiful blue, pink, violet lights that give everything an almost magical quality —the next, you land on a solid body and two strong arms close around you, catching you as if you weigh nothing.

“Told you you'd manage,” Hoseok says smugly, all smiles, and you ruffle his wild hair in retaliation, drawing a delighted laugh from him.

He says that word you don't understand again and steps off his board —far more gracefully than you did— before gently setting you down, making sure you're steady on your feet before stepping back. Seeing you wobble slightly, he keeps a hand on your waist regardless, oblivious to the blush spreading across your cheeks at the warmth of his palm so close to your skin, separated only by a few thin layers of fabric.

He holds out his hand, palm facing the ground, and says another word in that strange language —both rings reappear and glow azure blue at the sound of Hoseok's voice, before literally lifting themselves into the air and flying back into his hand.

“Okay, seriously, what are those things?!” you exclaim, staring.

He just gives a sideways smile. “Don't you want to focus on the scenery instead? You're ruining my whole surprise.”

You raise your eyebrows, startled, before tearing your gaze away to let it drift across said scenery. And God, what a sight.

Here, the trains running the rails are immaculate, all smooth lines and neon light. The buildings are a perfect white, dressed in giant screens at every angle —strings of lights hanging from lampposts line the pavements and bathe the street in a warm glow, so that despite the darkness, it's as bright as daylight. Beautiful palm trees are lined up along the curbs, cats lounge in front of the glittering entrances of restaurants and casinos…

“Welcome to Sunrise Boulevard,” Hoseok murmurs in your ear, proud of his surprise and the obvious effect it's having on you.

Sunrise Boulevard. The city's final neighborhood —the neighborhood of the future. At the cutting edge of technology. They say that the people who live here no longer die of old age, because medicine has advanced far enough to do away with that problem, and that's why there are so many places of pleasure and leisure here. You don't die anymore, so you pass the time having fun.

Normally, you might have laughed at that. But what's in front of you is so beautiful you can't even manage it.

“It's stunning,” you breathe, overwhelmed.

“Isn't it?” Hoseok replies in the same tone, like a secret shared between just the two of you. When you turn to look at him, stars in your eyes, you find him already watching you, with an intensity that makes you wonder if he ever stopped. You smile at him, something catching in your throat, and open your mouth to say something, anything —anything at all that might explain the color in your cheeks, or the intensity of his gaze as his eyes leave yours and drift to your lips instead.

Your voice dies in your throat when he gently raises his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, before cupping your cheek with the lightest touch, unaware of the shivers racing down your spine.

Then, slowly —slowly enough to give you all the time you could want to pull away— he leans in, bringing his face close to yours, lips slightly parted. His eyes suddenly uncertain, almost shy, and hungry at the same time.

A tender smile spreads across your lips —and then you rise onto your toes, and close the distance between your mouth and his.

Hoseok kisses you slowly, taking the time to taste your lips and savor them. His hands find your waist with the greatest care and press you against him, slip under your t-shirt to explore your skin, his tongue mapping your mouth tirelessly. His scent wraps around you as you loop your arms around his neck and he draws you closer still, always closer, until your body is pressed so tightly against his that you feel nothing but him, and he nothing but you.

When your mouths finally part, it's purely for lack of air, and he sighs against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours as if even the smallest separation costs him.

“Even better than I'd imagined,” he murmurs, covering you with that wide, dazzling smile, and he kisses you again as a joyful laugh escapes you.

He tastes like summer —sunlight and honey on the tip of your tongue.

That same taste that refuses to leave your tongue as he takes you through his favorite corners of the neighborhood, the ones he thinks you'll love, and all the others too, simply because we can. Always surrounded by blinding neon lights, often slipping in through the back door, but always laughing, smiling so hard your cheeks ache.

That same taste as he refuses to let go of your waist all evening, holding you against him as though the separation would kill him. Even when you tease him about it, when he pretends it's to make sure you don't get lost or to guide you —though you can clearly see his small, satisfied smile, and the way his hand fits perfectly in the curve of your hip as if it had been molded to rest there.

That same taste as he looks at you, each time, with that soft and warm gaze, protective and longing. With his enormous smile, so beautiful and dazzling and sincere.

That same taste as he kisses you in an alley, sheltered from prying eyes, devouring you as though it were his last meal.

Still that same taste as his hands trace a path across your skin for his mouth to kiss every inch of it, as he whispers promises in the shell of your ear while your hands explore his skin. He maps your body with his lips, as delicate in his kisses as if you were made of porcelain, yet as direct and urgent as a man who hasn't eaten in weeks as he buries his head between your legs, teases your bud with his tongue, slides his fingers inside you until your whole body burns with desire, until you writhe beneath him, clutching his hair.

When he enters you, it's with a kiss, his lips leaving yours only to make sure one more time that you're certain, before diving back in, as though even the smallest distance between you cost him —even as the movements grow more urgent, clumsier as the tension builds, until your names are the only thing you manage to cry out.

Still that same taste of honey and sunlight as he laughs against your mouth, your sweat-slicked bodies pressed against each other under the thin hotel room blanket, grinning like two idiots.

He plays with a strand of your hair, twisting it between his fingers, thoughtful as his eyes drift across your face, as though filled with wonder.

You wrinkle your nose and hide your face so he won't see how much it makes you blush. “Stop that,” you mumble, embarrassed, and it only makes him smile wider.

He gently catches your wrist, drawing it away from your face to press his lips to the inside of it. “I can't help it when you're this beautiful.”

This time you turn your head entirely to hide in the pillow, and his delighted laugh is enough to spread a wide, blissful smile across your face.

Your gazes lose themselves in their admiration, too busy marveling at the sight your content faces and tired bodies have to offer, the soft silence doing nothing to stop the words your eyes exchange every time they meet. A quiet stillness, broken only by the sound of his gentle hands moving across your skin, in contrast with the wild evening that preceded it.

“How do you know all of this ?” You whisper after a moment, as if afraid to break the serenity of it. “All these secret spots, these beautiful places, these ways into any museum or casino... How do you…”

“I explored,” he answers with a slow, almost lazy smile, though no less sincere. “I was like you, at first, and then I explored —spent days and nights wandering around hoping to find something, and... one thing led to another. It'll come to you, you'll see.”

He laughs at your unconvinced pout, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before letting his fingertips brush your cheek —a gesture of infinite tenderness that never fails to make you blush, and one he never seems to tire of.

“Why had I never seen you before?” you ask then. “I've been here for over a month, and Jimin had never mentioned you…”

And yet Jimin had made a point of introducing you to everyone, and God knows he has a lot of friends.

At that, he seems to hesitate. Not the same way he did earlier in the day, when he would freeze completely and his eyes would widen in horror —no, this time he simply takes a moment before answering, his fingers lightly grazing your cheek as his gaze drifts into the distance, lost in thought.

His brows twitch, as if he's frowning before catching himself, and you can't quite tell whether he sighs or takes a deep breath before breaking the silence again.

“I'm not really—”

He doesn't finish his sentence. He doesn't get the chance —because just then, the stillness of the night is suddenly shattered by the very distinct sound of an explosion.

Not very loud —you'd bet they didn't hear a thing in the casinos or clubs down the street— but the silence in the room had been so complete that it seemed deafening. Not a normal explosion: more like the sound of metal twisting, of earth caving in and air being suddenly sucked away. All at once.

You flinch, caught off guard —because the sound doesn't seem to be coming from very far— but Hoseok sits bolt upright, as if struck by lightning. Driven by some reflex you can't name, he turns toward the window, and while you see nothing but the neon-lit city beyond it, whatever he sees there drains the color from his face.

“Shit,” you hear him mutter to himself, “Shit, shit, shit, shit!” He swears as he leaps out of bed, scanning the room for his things.

“What, what?!” you sit up too, panicked, clutching the sheet against you as if it might protect you from some potential attack. “What's going on?”

He doesn't answer, too busy clumsily pulling on his jeans while throwing glance after glance at the window, looking every bit as panicked as you are, if not more —worried, even.

In fact, he goes so suddenly quiet as he pulls his hood up and gathers the few things that had slipped from his pockets that it almost frightens you. What the hell is going on? “Hoseok?” you press, your tone making the unspoken question plain, and he finally seems to hear you, biting his lip as his eyes dart back and forth between you and the window, struggling to lace up his shoes.

He bites his lip so hard you're afraid blood might start to bead. “I have to go,” he finally breathes, and his eyes go wide, full of remorse and guilt, so much so that you almost forget the ache in your chest at his words. Almost.

The disappointment must be written across your face, your mouth twisting into an oh you can't even assign an emotion to, because he limps over to you, visibly hesitating, clearly hating himself for it. “I'm sorry,” his voice is so steady you can't even bring yourself to doubt his sincerity, which is probably worse. “I really would have wanted to stay, or at least walk you home, but I…”

Again, his eyes snap back to the window, where another dull sound can be heard, and he flinches too, his features twisting into something you can't quite read —all you know is that it looks like fear.

“I promise this isn't just an excuse to leave,” he turns back to you, pleading with you to believe him, and you realize with some surprise that you do —as simply as that. “Y/n, I'm so sorry, I…”

“It's okay,” you cut him off gently, almost moved watching him glance at the window again with a hard swallow, clearly frightened. “It's fine. Go. Go on.”

You pair your words with the most sincere smile you can manage, and while it isn't very wide, it seems to reassure him a little nonetheless. “You're sure? I hate leaving you here like this…”

“I'll find my way home, Hobi, don't worry,” you assure him, warmly, and after a few seconds he finally nods, even if it's still plain from his face that he hates the way things have turned out and is blaming himself.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” he says again, just before leaning in to kiss you, one hand resting in the curve of your waist. You let him, kissing him back with the same force, and he sighs against your lips when you slide your hand into his hair. He eventually pulls back to look at you, wetting his lips as though hesitating, and you pat his cheek gently to encourage him.

His dark eyes meet yours with an unspoken question —just like before, all you have to do is hold his gaze for him to understand your answer, and he nods, pressing his lips to your cheek before straightening up, as hurried as before.

As simple as that. One look, a small nod, and you understand each other.

Once at the door, though, he stops, still hesitating, and before you can urge him to leave again he turns back toward you, digging frantically through his pocket.

“What are you—”

“Keep this,” he cuts you off, without room for argument, extending his hand toward you. In his palm sits the small ring with the x, the little magic board he had you try out earlier. You stare at it, incredulous.

“Are you sure?”

He nods furiously. “I'd rather you have one. But,” he closes his hand around the ring just as you reach for it, pointing a finger at you with a seriousness that surprises you a little. “Only for emergencies. Are we clear ?”

You don't quite understand why he's insisting on this, or even why he's being so careful, but you'd never seen him this serious, and whatever that explosion is that's worrying him so much, it has him genuinely shaken, so you'd rather not argue.

“Promise,” you nod, almost solemnly, and he does the same before opening his hand to let you take the ring.

He leans in one more time, pressing the quickest, lightest of kisses to your lips.

“I love you,” he lets out in a whisper, before disappearing —almost literally.

By the time you open your eyes again, heart hammering after that last confession, the door has already clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the flat, heavy silence.

Through the window, you hear the strange explosion sound again, a little louder this time, and then nothing.

Nothing at all.

You’re a little ashamed to admit it, but you spend the days that follow trying to find Hoseok.

In your defense, it's not as if you have anything else to do. Before, your days were spent trying to convince Jimin to show you the way to Dolorean Park, or trying to get there on your own. You're fairly good with directions —it only took Hoseok bringing you there once for you to remember the route and find your way back by myself. Same for Sunrise Boulevard.

You started going back the day after he left. You retraced the spots and shops he'd introduced you to as ‘his favorite places,’ then went back to Dolorean Park to do the same, before, out of desperation, returning to where you'd first met him at the Docks. All for nothing.

Day after day, it became a routine: you'd start by going to all the places we'd been together, then go off exploring on your own before heading home in the evening. The whole time, you kept the little ring tucked in your palm, at the bottom of your pocket —but it's evidently not a lucky charm, because the days quickly turned into weeks, and still no news of the tall, dark-haired guy. In fact, not the slightest trace of his existence. Nothing to prove you didn't imagine him, his heart-shaped smile and the taste of honey that lingers on your tongue.

“Who?”

“A tall guy with dark hair, kind of messy, and, uh… a huge smile ? He smiles all the time,” you try to explain to Jackson, a tall guy with white hair who's part of Jimin's crew, well aware that describing what Hoseok was wearing wouldn't be much help, given that it was weeks ago and his outfit was pretty unremarkable.

He thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “Doesn't ring a bell, sorry. I don't really know the new people.”

You nod, stopping yourself from pointing out that you're fairly sure Hoseok is anything but new around here. Not with the ease with which he moved through the streets, the way he knew everything and everyone.

Jackson apologizes again and walks away —you don't push it, because behind him, Namjoon is eyeing you with a sour look. Like everyone else, actually. The whole crew has been avoiding you a little —they're not outright unkind, but it's clear they'd prefer you kept your distance. It's been like this for a few days —since you talked to Jimin, actually.

He was the one who came to find you one evening, looking almost worried at what was bordering on a small depression, because you'd been searching relentlessly every day and turning up not a single trace of Hoseok. Sweet, really —so sweet that you cracked open. And you're so used to Jimin's warmth that you told him everything.

Everything: the old officer who chased you, Hoseok saving you before taking you to Dolorean Park and then Sunrise Boulevard, his hasty departure… You don't think you've ever regretted opening up to someone so quickly.

While he was empathetic at first, sorry even, his expression closed off more and more as you spoke, and by the time you'd finished, he could barely look you in the eye, a distinct chill having settled between you. It was plain that Jimin wasn't a very good liar, and that he preferred to say nothing —but you had the sense that he was very good at keeping secrets.

“You really don't know anything?” you'd asked anyway, out of desperation.

He took a long time before answering —and throughout, his eyes stayed fixed on the metal ring with its x in the middle, which you were holding in your hands after taking it out to prove you weren't making things up. The way he stared at it told you he didn't think you were —and that he was taking you very seriously.

“I know one thing, Y/n,” he said at last, in a voice so cold compared to his usual warmth that it barely sounded like him. “And that's that you should be very careful.”

Since then, radio silence —you only catch glimpses of him from a distance, and very rarely at that, so much so that you're starting to wonder whether it's just a habit in this wretched city, to avoid you the moment something goes wrong.

But you don't give up hope —you met Hoseok without Jimin's help, you'll manage to find him again without it— and you keep searching, day after day. Until you can't anymore.

You have a train leaving tonight, to go back to your parents. It wasn't planned, but honestly, nothing that has happened was, and it's becoming increasingly clear that you're wasting your time. You've combed through this city so thoroughly looking for Hoseok that you know it by heart now too —maybe not like the back of your hand, but you're fairly certain you know a good number of its hidden corners— and it saddens you to say it, but you've seen all there is to see. You're not going to spend your life searching for a guy you haven't seen in so long that you're almost convinced you dreamed him.

So that day, rather than looking for Hoseok, you decide to make the most of the hours you have left here. You feel a little guilty at first —but when your self-pity starts to annoy even you, you tell yourself that if he'd wanted to find you, he wouldn't have waited two months to do it. Right?

So in the morning, you head to the Docks to watch the cargo ships come in and unload their containers. You go for lunch on Sunrise Boulevard, in a restaurant full of celebrities and paparazzi, then wander through Dolorean Park, treating yourself to one last visit to the museum before buying yourself an ice cream to lift your spirits —seeing that wretched T-rex without Hoseok beside you to make fun of it is more painful than you would have thought.

In the evening, you find yourself in the city center where you spent so much time, perched on a train roof at one of the highest points, watching the golden rays of the setting sun spread across the city. From here you can see the lush green trees of Dolorean Park, the mountains of containers at the Docks and the giant screens of Sunrise Boulevard, all within reach, close enough to touch if you just stretched out your arm.

You lose yourself in the view. That's probably why you startle so badly when footsteps approach and someone comes to sit beside you.

You look up in surprise at the fair-haired boy with fine features sitting very upright —Jimin. You're struck silent for a moment. He who had been avoiding you so carefully, here he is coming to find you of his own accord. He breaks the silence before the questions in your head get too loud.

“I heard you're leaving ?” he says in his soft voice, without ever taking his eyes off the city in the distance. His light eyes look almost translucent in the glinting sunlight.

Slowly, you nod. “There's nothing left for me here.”

He looks at you, and it's your turn to glance away. You clench your fists, stare at your dangling feet. That admission hurts more than you would have thought. You didn't find what you were looking for, in the end.

“Are you still looking for him ?”

It shouldn't, it really shouldn't —but that question infuriates you. So much so that you're not even moved by Jimin's soft, hesitant voice, or the guilty look he gives you. No, you're just angry —because he was so welcoming, and the one time you truly came to him for help, he left you to fend for yourself with some useless advice. You're leaving tonight —it's a little late to make up for it now.

“Oh, so now you want to talk about him ?” You say, perhaps a little more sharply than necessary. He doesn't hold it against you —if anything, he looks a little ashamed. Just a little.

“Listen, Y/n, there's…” He scratches the back of his neck, lets his gaze drift into the distance as he sighs and hesitates. “No offense, but you're relatively new here. Things happened that I'd rather not see happen again. Things you have no idea about.”

He doesn't shrink back, ashamed, or flare up, furious like you: no, he stays calm, upright and measured, almost composed as he explains things to you, even though it's clearly costing him.

“And so ?”

“Let's just say I… do my best to make sure certain things don't happen again.”

“Why you ?”

“Because it's my role. And apparently, I'm much less good at getting people to listen to me than the one whose role it was before,” he grumbles, sounding almost bitter. An emotion you'd never seen on his face —but given how terribly well it suits him, you suspect it isn't new, and that he's simply learned to hide it.

“And what does that have to do with me ?” You try, well aware that it's not every day he'll answer your questions like this.

He turns to face you then, his gaze finding yours with an intensity that reminds you so much of Hoseok's eyes that it twists something in your chest.

“Because you're about to make exactly the same mistakes.”

“What? How? How would you know?” You exclaim, almost offended. You don't want to cause any trouble —you just want to find the one guy who ever made you feel this good, this free, who told you I love you right before disappearing, is that really so much to ask?!

“That,” Jimin simply answers, pointing at the ring you'd been absent-mindedly fidgeting with between your fingers. He still pulls a slight grimace looking at it, but this time you can also read a trace of sorrow in it. “We used to have them. Except ours were single-use. We'd activate them during runs on the rails, to protect ourselves in case of a fall, then the boards would dematerialize and that was it —you had to get another one. I didn't believe your story at first, I'll admit, but when you said he'd made it go back to its ring form, I…” Something breaks in his expression, and he shakes his head. “If that's true, then it changes everything.”

Silence. You have no idea what you're supposed to say to that —all you know is that Jimin's gaze is heavier than you've ever seen it. Heavy with meaning, but heavy with grief and remorse too. Whatever happened before you arrived, it touched him more than anyone else.

“You know where he is, don't you ?” You try gently, doing your best to hide the excitement in your voice. Jimin knows where Hoseok is. You're sure of it.

He hears it anyway, of course. “It was a long time ago,” he grumbles, looking like he regrets every word already. “Several years… And I'm warning you now, I’m not coming with you. There's no way I'm setting foot back there.”

“That's fine, just tell me—”

“No, Y/n, listen to me,” he insists, taking hold of your wrist to calm you down. “You need to know that… We all thought he was dead.” His words hit you like a blade, rooting you to the spot. He holds your gaze, gripping your wrist tightly as if clinging to an anchor, his eyes suddenly glassy. As if he's on the verge of tears. He swallows with difficulty, without letting go of your gaze.

“If you're telling the truth, and he really is alive, I…” He scratches the back of his neck, tears gathering in his eyes. “I never would have thought… Could you… bring him back? Or at least try ?”

You nod, resolute —even more so in the face of his hopeful look. “I promise. Just tell me where I need to go.”

“That thing took my best friend from me, Y/n,” the tears don't stop him from keeping that painfully serious expression. He's scared —that much, at least, is clear. “Be careful, please, I…”

“I promise.”

He looks at you for a few seconds, as if he can't quite believe you're willing to take such a risk —then he sighs, resigned. “I have a feeling I'm going to regret this… Alright. There's a bridge, right on the boundary between the Docks and Sunrise Boulevard…”

“He could have made more of an effort with his handwriting,” you grumble, turning the sheet of paper every which way to try and decipher the scribbles Jimin made on your city map. The bridge he pointed you to is on a street where, surprisingly, you'd never set foot —for the simple reason that there's nothing there. It's just the tail end of Sunrise Boulevard and the beginning of the Docks: a kind of no-man's land that's neither truly modern and clean like one nor dirty and industrial like the other, just… a little empty.

Jimin's terrible handwriting doesn't stop you from finding the bridge in question, though, and you fidget nervously with the ring in your pocket as you approach it.

It's a bridge fairly similar to the one Hoseok had you cross to get from Dolorean Park to Sunrise Boulevard: a road one level up, running perpendicular above the rails you're standing on, supported by a thick tunnel. Except this one is twice as wide as the first one you saw, and so long you can't see where it ends. In fact, you doubt it does.

One of the signs at the tunnel entrance collapsed long ago, lying dented and dust-covered across the rails, and a train stands motionless, waiting for someone to come and start it up again. Jimin didn't say anything about this, but just seeing it —or the lights inside the tunnel, completely dead— tells you this tunnel hasn't been used in a long time. And honestly, you get it. You don't really want to go in there.

Taking a deep breath, you close your fingers around the cold metal ring. This is where Jimin last saw Hoseok. If you have any chance of finding him, it's here.

So despite the hesitation and the small voice in your head screaming at you to turn back, you move forward. Slowly, carefully, watching exactly where you put your feet and pulling out your phone for light when the darkness grows too thick around you.

After a few minutes of walking in complete silence —ears straining, purely because the thought of someone coming up behind you is making your blood run cold— something catches your eye from the corner: a bluish glint on one of the thick pillars in the middle of the track.

You point your flashlight toward it —and freeze when you understand where the glint is coming from. A huge metal circle, more oval than round, about your height, cut through the middle by an enormous X. Exactly the same symbol as on the ring Hoseok gave you. It shimmers under the light of your torch, like a silent taunt —and yet that's enough to root you to the spot.

This can't be a coincidence. Jimin recognized that symbol immediately, it was on Hoseok's ring too —and now here it is, right in front of you, waiting in the dark…

This time, your curiosity is too strong: you want answers, and you want them now. So, no longer bothering to be quiet, you make your way along the rails toward it, determined to understand. Maybe if you press the X, like with the small rings, it'll activate something? What if it were a secret passage?…

Except you never get the answer to your question —at least not the way you'd expected. Because before you even have time to reach the enormous ring, cursing when you trip on the rail and have to grab a barrier to stop yourself falling, the thing you were dreading most happens.

A sound echoes behind you.

Not the kind of sound a can might make if you'd accidentally kicked it, or the wind snapping between the walls —no, a very distinct sound of footsteps. The footsteps of someone who isn't trying to hide.

You freeze, stunned, sweat running down your back as your blood turns to ice. On instinct, you lower your phone to conceal myself, before realizing that if someone is behind you, they've clearly seen you for a long time. So, holding your breath, you finally pivot, turning your back on the ring on the wall to face whoever has just arrived —and you'll be honest, at this point, you're terrified.

At the entrance to the tunnel, perfectly still, hands in his pockets, stands a man whose face you cannot see. All you can make out is that he's not much taller than you —but his stillness, and above all the mask he's wearing, are enough to make your skin crawl. A perfectly smooth mask covering his entire face, with two cat ears on top and two large red eyes that glow in the darkness.

Every instinct is screaming at you to leave, but you can't —you can't move.

The man's voice reaches your ears then —soft, but low and measured. Almost delicate, as if he were whispering in your ear, but he's speaking in a language you don't understand, one you've only heard once before —from Hoseok's lips. You recognize it in the intonation, in the strange, guttural way the words are shaped, but just like when you met the dark-haired boy, you have no idea what any of it means.

“Jimin told me to get here,” you manage to stammer, without your voice shaking too badly. The cat doesn't seem pleased by your answer —he goes suddenly quiet, his large red eyes narrowing to two slits that chill your blood. You vaguely see him draw a hand from his pocket, holding something that looks dangerously like a remote control between his fingers —but you're too busy trying to contain the panic rising inside you to pay it much attention. “I'm looking for—”

He doesn't let you finish —he presses a button on the remote, and a second later, the wall explodes behind you.

No —it doesn't explode. It's as if it's swallowed and pushed back at the same time.

A cry leaves your lips, terror seizing you as you spin around and see the enormous ring on the wall blazing with a blinding azure light that forces you to squint, one hand raised in front of your face. It glows so intensely the tunnel is lit up like broad daylight, and soon it begins to vibrate, making the walls, the ground, everything hum.

The first crack spreads from the pillar where the ring is fixed, inching dangerously close to your feet. Dozens more follow almost immediately, and you understand with horror that the ground is fracturing under the force of the explosion. The tunnel is going to collapse.

You stumble over your own feet trying to flee, ignoring the debris ricocheting around you. The man with the cat mask is still standing there, motionless in the middle of all this chaos. You try to get closer, reaching your arms toward him and crying out for help, but he doesn't move, and the ground literally gives way beneath your feet, opening into a gaping hole that takes you down with it.

As you fall into the crack, swept along by the pull of air, the man's voice is the last thing you hear, carried on a strong accent you don't recognize —but his words, those, are perfectly clear.

“Jimin should have minded his own business.”

You fall, and fall, for what feels like an eternity —tossed by the wind, dozens of meters perhaps, struggling to keep your eyes open against the force of it.

After a few seconds, the air grows warmer beneath you, thicker —you understand with horror that you're approaching what might be a floor, and panic sets in. You reach for something to grab onto, anything, and as the wind roars and thunders in your ears, it's Hoseok's voice that echoes in your mind for reasons you can't explain —as if he were right beside you.

“I'd rather you have one. But only for emergencies.”

You snap your eyes back open, a gulp of freezing air forcing its way into your lungs —and driven by some force you can't name, you grab the ring, which has miraculously not fallen from your pocket, and, remembering what Hoseok did, press down on the engraved X.

The ring vibrates in your hand, lights up with the same azure glow as the tunnel earlier, and the board materializes in seconds, taking shape beneath your feet just in time as a stone-tiled floor appears barely three meters below.

You land hard, and without the board and your reflex to bend your knees, you would certainly have broken something. Enormous chunks of rubble and concrete continue to rain down around you, but the board seems to have switched to autopilot, carrying you away from the collapse without any effort on your part.

It's only once calm returns that you notice how ragged and heavy your breathing is. The collapse slowly dies down to just a few stray pieces of debris, and you nearly choke when an enormous trapdoor opens beneath the mountain of concrete chunks, letting them slide gently somewhere you can't see before swinging shut and leaving a pristine floor —as if nothing had happened.

As you stare at the now perfectly clean spot, stunned, you only then notice that it's actually a strange platform of stone and metal —but that all the walls are made of the same enormous material, and above all, there is no sky.

Whatever this place is, it's dark like the tunnel, and that same ring with an X is engraved into the stone floor. With the silence restored, you pick up a sound of running water coming from everywhere at once, and a quick look around is all it takes to understand the source. Waterfalls. Enormous ones, seeming to pour down from the sky and disappear beneath the floor —except it isn't quite water. It's thicker, like molten lava, but azure in color, and bright enough to light the whole place.

You don't have time to marvel at it. You don't even have time to wonder where on earth you've landed, in fact —above you, another explosion rings out. You flinch, terrified that another collapse is coming —and as if in echo, the circle and X engraved in the floor light up with that same azure glow: but to your great surprise, it doesn't crack the ground the way you saw before. No, instead, the X splits in two, revealing beneath it an enormous fan so powerful that the current it creates lifts your hair. Light appears above, as if the ceiling is fracturing, and you brace for more rubble —but none comes.

Instead, you see two people appear from nowhere, each on a board, hurtling toward the fan —and you barely have time to scream before it launches them into the air at a dizzying speed, so high they vanish from sight entirely. They don't come back down.

All of this happens in a fraction of a second —and the next, the whole thing plays out again. The ceiling collapses, the rubble falls, then the circle in the floor splits open like a trapdoor, swallowing the debris before closing again, and you stand there like an idiot in front of a spotless concrete floor.

What on earth is—

Someone shouts behind you —screams, in fact, so loudly that you flinch, the movement sending the board shooting off at full speed. Now it's your turn to scream in terror —but when you spin around to call for help, you understand that it's pointless. A giant —there's really no other word for it— is running toward you, something that looks dangerously like a baton in his hand, expression furious. But more than that, behind him, what appear to be drones are hurtling toward you, trailing beams of the same vivid red as the cat's eyes earlier, which have every appearance of being lasers.

You panic, scream, and plunge deeper into this strange city lit by its cascades, doing your best not to fall off the board —because those metal platforms will clearly break your neck if you hit them.

You take a corner, sure you've lost them, but doubt creeps in when the tone of the shouting behind you shifts completely. You don't understand their language, but you swear they sound almost… worried. The drones are still circling you, but less to catch you than to block your path and force you to turn back —and it takes you too many long seconds to understand why.

The board has, without your meaning it to, placed itself on a track with rails, and they've just turned a vivid azure, vibrating so intensely you feel every tremor through your entire body. You don't have time to react before an enormous train, appearing to be made of azure-blue smoke, materializes directly in front of you, bearing down at a speed clearly far greater than mine.

You don't have time to react, to decide to swerve, even if you knew how to steer these boards —dozens of people are shouting, screaming words you can't understand, but one voice in particular cuts through all the noise.

A voice you would recognize anywhere.

It's too late to turn, or even jump —the train is so close that in one more second, you'd only have to reach out to touch it…

Something slams into you violently from the side, sending you flying to the left with a force that knocks the breath clean out of your ribs. The board explodes beneath your feet —an airbag, you remember— and the shockwave cushions your fall slightly, making you bounce off the ground rather than smash into the wall with no softness whatsoever. Which doesn't stop every single bounce from sending a sharp pain through your bones. At this point, you don't even have the strength to grab onto anything, and even once you've lost all momentum and come to a stop lying on your side on the ground, it takes long minutes before you can see clearly —and catch your breath.

You can hear shouting. In that same language you don't understand, mostly, but something else too —in a voice you know well. your name, again and again, getting closer.

“Y/n! Y/N!”

The ground begins to vibrate gently beneath your ribs —hurried footsteps, drawing nearer. Someone drops to their knees beside you, and two hands take you carefully and turn you onto your back. Cool air hits your face, but not as hard as the panicked breath of the boy leaning over you, cupping your face in his hands.

“Y/n!” He seems to light up the moment your eyes meet his, and double in worry at the same time. “Y/n, sweetheart, can you hear me ?!”

“Hobi,” you breathe, more faintly than you would have expected. His breath hits your cheek again, as though he'd been holding it until hearing your voice was enough to reassure him. He pulls you closer, pressing his hands to your cheeks and your neck, his fingers trembling frantically.

“Does anything hurt? Are you bleeding? The wagon didn't have time to touch you, did it?!” His wide, frantic eyes make him look almost wild, and the panic in his voice makes it clear he's the one who pushed you out of the train's path.

You want to ask if he's hurt, but he straightens abruptly, shouting something at someone behind him in words you can't understand, with an intonation that sounds a great deal like ‘Get a doctor!’ He fires back again when someone answers —you don't understand the language, but you watch almost with a kind of wonder at the movement of his jaw and his throat as he calls out, the worry and fear palpable in every word.

He's nearly shouting now, trembling like mad —but goes still the moment your hand slides into his hair, pushing the wild strands back from his face.

His mouth hangs open for a moment, his head turning slowly toward you, eyes bright with emotion. He catches your wrist between his slender fingers as you brush his cheek, still gentle despite his panic.

“You're here,” you murmur, giving him the smallest smile.

“Of course I'm here,” he murmurs back, smiling softly before burying his nose in your palm and pressing a kiss there. “How on earth did you get here?” He frets, as if it were somehow his fault.

“I was looking for you,” you find the strength to shrug, with a small smile. He says nothing, unconvinced, but kisses your palm again as if to reassure himself that you're really there.

“Please tell me you're not hurt, I—”

“I'm fine,” you cut him off gently, squeezing his hand in yours. He furrows his brows, not believing you for a second, and you grimace. “Just a bit of pain in my leg. I can't really move it,” you mumble, almost grumble, and his expression hardens. He squeezes your hand in answer, nodding slowly.

His lips are a thin line as he slides one arm beneath your knees and the other around your shoulders. He rises as if you weigh nothing, moving as carefully as he can so as not to jostle you. You hear him speak to someone, his voice dropping to those low tones that suit him so well, but you no longer have the strength to try and follow what he's saying —you let yourself be carried, resting your head against his chest, and close your eyes. Just for a second. Only a second.

One small second to let yourself be lulled by the rapid beating of his heart and his soft scent filling your lungs. A smell of honey, and summer.

“You're absolutely insane for doing that,” Hoseok grumbles for what must be the eleventh time, massaging your leg almost furiously despite the gentleness of his fingers. “You never should have gone near that bridge.”

He pairs his words with a small reproachful look, eyes narrowed, and you sit up, outraged. “It's not like you left me much choice. I looked for you everywhere!”

“That's not—” he starts, indignant, before cutting himself off, looking guilty. He ruffles his own hair and clicks his tongue. “I didn't have a choice, alright? I tried to come back. I really did,” he insists, holding your gaze. “You have no idea how much I blamed myself.” He looks so guilty, so resigned and at the same time so desperate for you to believe him, that all you can do is press your lips together and say nothing. That seems to frustrate him even more —he sighs sharply, letting go of your ointment-covered leg to scrub both hands through his hair. When he snaps his head back up, it's with an absolute chaos of hair in its place. “And how did you even hear about the bridge? Nobody goes there!”

You shrug, unmoved by the accusatory edge that's crept into his voice. Lately, you've done everything to find him —going under a bridge is far from the worst of it.

“Jimin told me where to find it.”

“Jimin ?!” you jump when he nearly chokes. “Please tell me he didn't come with you.”

“… No, why?”

“Good,” he nods, relieved, before shaking his head slowly, eyes slightly wide. “Yoongi would have completely lost it.”

Frowning, you tilt your head a little, lost. You don't know if it's the fact that you hit your head, but Hoseok is talking way too fast for you. “Yoongi ?”

“The guy who opens the portal…” he mutters distractedly, pacing the room. “How am I gonna explain this…”

“Hoseok,” you cut him off gently, sitting up straighter and ignoring him when he tells you to sit back down. “I don't understand anything. Where are we? Why was Jimin so determined not to talk about you, why does everyone shut down the moment—”

“Oh, I bet Namjoon was furious,” he exclaims, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Uh… Well, he's been giving me dirty looks ever since I mentioned you, yeah, but why—”

“He hates me. His girlfriend was hitting on me back when I still lived up top.”

Too much information at once —your brain short-circuits, before rebooting to sort through it. “Up top ?”

He stops pacing and opens his mouth, hesitant, only to close it again after a few seconds. His eyes don't leave mine, resolute, and you can read the reluctance in his gaze even as he scratches the back of his neck and sighs. “Are you sure you want to know? Because it's quite—”

“Whether I want to know why you disappeared overnight?” You cut him off gently, your voice softer than you would have expected. You have no desire to rush him —especially not with the adorable guilty-puppy look he's giving you right now— but you've waited long enough. You want to understand.”Why nothing seems to make sense in this city? Yeah, I'd say so.”

His eyes don't leave you as you get up and walk toward him, and when you're close enough that your feet are touching and you have to tilt your chin up to look at him, a slow smile spreads across his lips.

“…I was going to say it's quite a long story, but since you insist —your wish is my command, sweetheart.” He snickers at the surprise that crosses your face, gently taking your elbow to pull you toward the bed, where he sits down beside you. Let's just ignore what that simple gesture does to your poor heart.

His eyes drift across your face, hesitant, and you squeeze his hand to encourage him. He gives you a smile that you return before sighing. “Back then, a few years ago now, I lived in the city, up on the surface. I was part of the whole crew you met, and Jimin and I were… very close. Inseparable.” His voice is a little strained, and he clears his throat before going on. “He probably explained to you that they barely use boards up there. That's because they don't know how to make them. They can only be made here, in the Undertracks…”

“The Undertracks ?” you can't help but ask, curious. He points a finger at the metal walls surrounding you, the wall lamps blazing in brilliant azure blue.

“That's what we call the underground district. The material needed to make boards —and a lot of other things— is produced here. Anyway. Back then, it was Yoongi who led all the runners, up on the surface. He always loved pushing back against authority… Except Yoongi got tired of having to pay a fortune for boards that only lasted one use. Nobody knew how to get into the Undertracks, and because of all these stupid rumors and rules, nobody even tried to get close. It's like Star Wars —if you go near the Undertracks, you've gone to the dark side. It's forbidden.”

“Seems ridiculous, but okay.”

That makes him laugh. “Wait until you hear the rest. Anyway, Yoongi was of the opinion that it was our right to go there, to make our own boards, and so on… And he convinced a lot of people. Like, a lot,” he breathes, eyebrows raised, and you picture an entire crowd falling through the hole under the bridge. You shudder, but Hoseok looks almost admiring for a moment. “Except a lot of others disagreed, and it escalated into street fights… That's when the police started showing up in greater numbers.”

“Isn't that to stop us from tagging?”

“No,” he laughs softly, amused, and you give him a small shove on the shoulder that makes him snicker. “Originally it's to stop us from causing chaos in the city. Because even though Yoongi and his crew wanted to reach the Undertracks, they still didn't know how, and the other side was ready for them. They drove them out of the city —literally. Yoongi, God knows how, managed to make it into the Undertracks when things were starting to turn bloody. His whole crew took refuge down here, and since then, nobody except Yoongi knows how to activate the portal that leads to it —he's always the one who does it, still.” His eyes drop to your joined hands, thoughtful, and he gently strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. “But the surface clan kept hunting down the ones who'd fled, and they showed no mercy whenever they came back up.”

“So why did they ? Come back up.”

“Because you can't be completely self-sufficient down here. You can produce incredible gadgets and weapons here, but not food or clothes, for example. So every month, a few people go up for a day to get what's needed. We spread it out so nobody goes up more than four times a year, to avoid drawing attention. Once every three months.”

You nod slowly as he watches you with that serious expression. That explains the long disappearance, you suppose. “And so you were part of Yoongi's crew ?”

“Not from the start,” he grimaces. “But you've seen it yourself —by trying so hard to keep people on the 'right' side, they tell us nothing, up on the surface. I guess I was bored, I needed more. Jimin didn't agree, but all I wanted was answers,” he sighs, and you hold your breath as his words echo inside you. You just want answers. “I went to find Yoongi under the bridge, and he offered to explain everything once we were down below. Jimin tried to stop me, but I went anyway, and since then… Here I am.”

“So when you left in a rush, in Sunrise Boulevard, it was because…”

He nods vigorously as you leave your sentence hanging, hesitant. “Yoongi only opens the portal once a month —three times in the first minute of the day, three times in the last. If you miss it, you can't get back in, which means you have to wait until the following month.” His fingers tighten around yours, and his eyes carry the deepest grief you've ever seen as he leans toward you, his lower lip caught between his teeth. "I'm sorry, I should have explained,” he murmurs, looking guilty —and still so sad. You open your mouth to contradict him, to reassure him, anything to bring his adorable smile back, but he grimaces before you get the chance. “To be honest, I didn't think you'd look for me.”

You freeze, arching a brow. “Now that's a little hurtful.”

“I thought after three months, you'd have moved on, given up,” he defends himself, waving his free hand. “I never would have thought… seeing you there was…” Again, he squeezes your hand, and his mouth twists into an emotional, slightly worried expression. “You have no idea how scared I was.”

You shrug, a small smile playing on your lips. “I had to find you, you still owe me hoverboard lessons. I nearly died because of that thing !”

That's enough to break the tension —he bursts out laughing. “I noticed. Your balance is absolutely terrible.”

He holds his stomach laughing, the memory of your fall apparently hilarious to him, and leans slightly toward you in the movement, his face only a few centimeters from mine.

You pretend to be annoyed, pulling a face. “Shut up.” Then, as his laughter dies down, “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

He freezes mid-laugh, his lips forming a small surprised oh, his eyes wide. You swear he even holds his breath, looking at you nervously, and you can't help but smile at the sight.

“Are you serious?” he breathes, as if he can't quite believe his ears. A flush of red appears on his upper cheeks, and he scratches the back of his neck nervously, avoiding your gaze as he stumbles over his words. “Because after everything that happened, I would have thought…”

“Hobi? Shut up and kiss me.”

He doesn't need to be told twice —a spark lights up in his eyes, as though now it's them he can't believe, just before he places his free hand at the back of your neck, as gentle as ever as his thumb comes to brush your cheek. He leans in, his eyes flickering between yours and your lips —and when he closes the distance between you, a shared sigh escapes you both, a smile forming against your mouth.

It feels so good. To feel him close again, that aura so soft and protective and so utterly him, to hear his voice, to have that sweetness on your tongue —like freshly gathered honey gleaming in sunlight.

His lips part, warm and full and welcoming, and you lose yourself in his embrace.

Your arms wind around his shoulders, drawing him closer, letting him pull you against him with hands that come to wrap around your waist —your lips move together, heads tilting slightly to deepen the kiss, and soon his tongue ventures forward, timidly, as if asking permission to enter.

You moan against his mouth when his hands slip beneath your t-shirt, tenderly tracing your burning skin. His mouth leads the kiss, alternating between languidly pulling at your tongue and dancing with it… He presses you closer, the hand at the small of your back flattening your chest against his, making you clutch at his shoulders from the sheer need to be close, always closer…

It's you who breaks the kiss, breathless, and he chases your mouth for a few seconds before pressing his forehead to yours, just as out of breath. Your breathing mingles, his hands roaming your back and along your ribs, unaware of the trails of shivers he leaves in his wake.

“Hobi,” you breathe, your voice much higher than usual, panting. Your noses brush as he leans in to catch your lower lip, sucking and pulling gently at it with a deep sigh.

“God, I love it when you call me that.”

Your lips find his again, a desperate moan lost in his mouth as you pull him toward you, closer, always closer, wanting nothing more than to feel his burning skin against yours.

He's no better, sighing against your lips before his hands slide from your waist to your hips, slipping beneath your thighs to lift you and settle you astride his lap, careful not to jostle your bad leg. In this position, everything feels magnified —his hips directly beneath yours, your chests pressed together, his lips against yours

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” he whispers, groaning when your hands slip beneath his t-shirt and down his back. His fingers grip your hips more firmly, pressing you against the bulge in his jeans, large enough that a cry of surprise escapes you, swallowed by his lips. 

You roll against his hips, legs trembling. He groans, his hands on your hips guiding the movement as his lips leave your mouth and trail kisses along your cheek, your jaw, down to where your neck meets your shoulder —he presses his lips to that precise spot, alternating between grazing and sucking, never once stopping the motion of your hips against him until your head is spinning.

“There, like that,” you moan, tilting your neck to offer him more to kiss —an invitation he accepts immediately. Your eyelids flutter, drooping under the overwhelming sensation of him hard against you —it's as if the clothes between you have ceased to exist, a barely-there barrier between your urgent movements. 

“Let me show you how good I can be for you, sweetheart,” he grazes your earlobe with his teeth, then finds your lips again, all without ever stopping the movement of his hips against mine.

“Hobi, I…” you can only breathe, trembling against him.

“Almost there ?” he murmurs in the same tone, and you can hear in the tension in his voice that he isn't far either. As if sensing it won't quite be enough, he shifts you so you're straddling his thigh, one hand sliding along your body to cup a breast through your clothes, kneading it softly between his fingers. Your back arches, your chest pressing into his, and your eyes nearly roll back when he flexes the muscle of his thigh beneath you —it's so firm, so solid, it feels like he's everywhere at once, even more so with his hand at your chest pulling a moan of pleasure from your lips.

“God,” you breathe, higher than usual, and you feel him smile against your skin.

“Take what you need, sweetheart,” he murmurs like a promise, flexing in rhythm with the movement of your hips against him to press exactly where it counts, until you have to cling to him just to hold on.

He's everywhere at once, entirely focused on bringing you undone —he startles completely when you take him in hand through his jeans, a low groan leaving his lips when you stroke him in urgent back-and-forth motions, matching the pace of your hips on his thigh. He pants, your breath mingling as his forehead drops to yours, breathless, and soon his hand covers yours against him, guiding the movement deeper. You feel him twitch against you, just as close to the edge as you are, just as much of a trembling, moaning mess.

He kisses you as he feels you tense, your eyes rolling back as one last stroke hits exactly where it needs to, making you come apart with a desperate cry. He shudders beneath you, a low groan lost against your lips, and soon it's your name he murmurs as your movements slow and finally stop altogether, leaving only your chests rising and falling as we try to catch your breath, panting.

When you open your eyes, he's smiling at you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear —a smile so tender and sincere that something tightens in your chest. Beneath his soft gaze, you feel like we're wrapped in a bubble made only for you, sheltered from everything as long as he keeps smiling at you like that.

“Thank you,” he murmurs at last, emotion in his voice. “For looking for me. For coming, even if I nearly had a heart attack from how scared you made me.”

You laugh softly, and he smiles, pleased with himself. “You'll make it up to me,” you grumble for form's sake, ruffling his hair.

“Hmm-hmm? What would my princess like?” He rubs his nose against mine, teasing.

“That wasn't bad,” you pretend to think, drawing another snicker from him. “Or… you could come up to the surface with me to see Jimin?”

“What?” He goes still suddenly, though more in surprise than displeasure.

“Just one day?” you press, eyes wide. “He really misses you, you know. He doesn't say it, but he's genuinely hurting from losing you.”

His expression closes off a little, but you can see him wavering. “Yoongi will never agree. He'd kill me,” he says, shaking his head slightly.

“Let him try,” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow.

“Y/n…”

“Just one day. Please,” you plead again, pushing out your lower lip in a pout, giving him your best pleading eyes. His gaze flickers to your mouth, hesitant, and he scratches the back of his neck, studying you, torn.

You press closer to him, arms around his neck, and he gives in. “Alright, I suppose it could be arranged,” he sighs dramatically, but smiles anyway when you lean in to kiss him, delighted. When you pull back, he keeps you close with a lazy smile. He looks at you for a moment, as if lost in contemplation, before closing his eyes, a small crease forming between his brows. “God, what am I going to say to him…”

“He was your best friend, you'll figure it out.”

“No, he was like my brother. Which makes it worse,” he's back to his pained expression when he opens his eyes, and the smile he attempts twists into a grimace. “I'm better at goodbyes than reunions.”

“I noticed,” you laugh softly, before explaining at his indignant look, “You pushed me off a railway to keep me from getting hit by a train…”

“I call that saving your life, but if you'd rather be ungrateful—”

“…Whereas on your way out, you told me you loved me.”

He goes still, his hands freezing on your waist. “…I said that?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod vigorously, delighted, smiling even wider as his cheeks flush red, his gaze dropping for just a second.

The small laugh that escapes you makes him pout, even though he's still just as red. “You know what? Laugh all you want, it's true,” he says, his gaze more intense than ever. “The day we spent together was probably the best of my entire life. I've never felt that with anyone. And when you appeared down there earlier, I was more scared than the day I nearly got hit by a—”

“I wasn't laughing at that. It's the same for me.”

He goes still again, turning crimson.

“…Really?” He finally asks, with so much hesitation in his voice you'd think he didn't believe it for a second.

“Mm-hmm,” you nod, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. “I love you too, I think.” Even you can feel the top of your cheeks warming —but it's worth it for the spark of pure joy that appears in his eyes, and the dazzling smile he gives you.

“God,” he breathes, just before pulling you to him and crushing you against his chest. Literally. You protest, tap his shoulder to make him let go, but he just leans in to kiss you instead. "I love you so much."

Then he holds you against him again, so tightly your heart threatens to burst. He buries his nose in your hair, sighing with contentment, and you let your head fall onto his shoulder, your face tucked into the curve of his neck. Engulfed in his embrace, as much as in his scent that is so entirely him and wraps itself around you completely.

A smell of honey, and freedom.

“Hey, Hobi ?”

“Mm-hmm ?”

“Will you show me around the city ?”

His laugh makes his chest vibrate beneath your head, spreading a quiet smile across your lips. “God, you're relentless.”

Thanks for reading lovelies ! Don't hesitate to reblog, like or comment ! I always love to hear 'bout what you guys thought of it :) Also don't hesitate to ask if you wanna be tagged in my next posts !

You can find all my other writings here <3

Warnings : reader being chased in the street by a cop, lots of unsaid stuff and some characters making weird threats, lots of running and jumping on trains and skating (no shit), bits of mystery because that's one of my fics duh, reader is hit by a train at some point, a converse high joke hidden somewhere, hobi is the sweetest as always, mention of oral (f) and sex, dry humping, riding, it's pretty soft to be honest, minors dni!

Authors note : For anyone wondering, yes, I got a bit carried away and wrote a whole lore around a mobile game. I had fun tho :') I don't think you need to be familiar with said game to understand this fic by the way, just trust me and give it a chance ! (pretty please)

Gentle reminder that all rights are reserved, so please do not copy, translate or repost my stories under your name. Also I do not own BTS or their actions, the stories are entirely fictionnal and does not depict real-life events or involve any actual member of BTS.

This city stinks. Literally and figuratively.

Heaving a soul-deep sigh, you shake a spray can half-heartedly, not even checking the color beforehand.

When you first arrived in Southline a few months ago, you genuinely thought you were going to love it here. Genuinely. You couldn't wait to explore the different neighborhoods you'd seen in the brochures —to learn all their secrets, maybe even meet people who could help you discover this city that seemed to overflow with mystery. God knows there's no shortage of that here.

And you did meet people —all of them completely unhinged. Most are overfit lunatics who, sure, know every back street like the back of their hand, but move way too fast for you to ever keep up. And they all have this way of talking, of carrying themselves, that's just a little… off. Not to mention that hanging around with them hasn't helped you uncover a single one of those famous mysteries —if anything, you got the distinct impression it was the opposite. Like they were actively steering you away from them.

So now you're the one keeping your distance. Wandering on your own, trying to find the hidden spots without getting lost along the way. Which, needless to say, isn't going great.

This is how, as the afternoon winds down, you've ended up stranded in the middle of the Docks, standing between two parked trains, messing around with some abandoned spray cans to keep yourself busy.

One stroke. Then another. Then another again, until a ridiculously lopsided smiley face takes shape, as though looking down on you. You stare at your masterpiece with a dubious pout. Yeah. Definitely not your thing, tagging.

What are you even doing here? Something is clearly escaping you. When, a few hours ago, you decided to stray from the tourist streets you usually stuck to, it was driven by an irresistible urge to get closer to the water. As if every part of you was screaming to do it, as if the answers to your questions would be waiting there.

Next time, you'll ignore that stupid feeling —because this place is nothing more than an old commercial port, and it's answering absolutely none of your questions.

Sighing again, you grab another can and focus on your lines, trying not to think about the little group of lunatics that took you under their wing when you first arrived. About ten boys and girls, a little older than you, completely out of their minds but kind enough, who welcomed you in. You thought they'd help you, at first, but you quickly understood that road was going nowhere. If only Jimin didn't go so cold every time you asked him anything…

“Hey! You, over there!” A voice yanks you sharply out of your thoughts. You startle, rooted to the spot by the fury in that bark. The spray can slips from your hand, rolls to your feet, but you barely register it —your eyes have already found the source of the voice: a man in his forties, a few meters away, pointing straight at you with a furious expression as he blows as hard as he can into a whistle. A monstrous dog stands at his feet, grey and hairless —but with plenty of teeth— eyeing you like you're a problem to be dealt with.

“You're under arrest!” The man bellows, closing in, blowing into his whistle again, and only then do you notice with dread what he's wearing —a green uniform with yellow insignia. City police.

“We're not exactly allowed to tag, which is what makes it so fun,” Jimin had explained with a wide grin, when you'd asked him why he and his crew got such a kick out of vandalizing walls and train cars. His grin had quickly turned into a grimace. “Not allowed at all, actually. The cops have been trying to nail us for vandalism for years. If one of them ever catches you in the act, uh… Run, I guess?”

Now would probably be a good time to kick yourself for keeping such terrible company, people who are utterly incapable of giving decent advice —and yet you do exactly what he said: you run.

You've only just arrived here, and you still haven't found the answers to your questions —there's no way you're ending up behind bars already.

You bolt before you've even had time to think about it  —and you've barely taken two steps when that piercing whistle sounds again behind you, followed by barking. You glance back over your shoulder —only to discover with horror that the officer has broken into a run after you.

And gosh, this hairless dog really is ugly.

“Come back here!” He roars, beside himself with rage, as his brute of a dog strains against the leash to get to you.

“You've got to be kidding me!” You gasp, pushing your legs harder to pick up the pace. Jimin could have warned you their cops were unhinged too, seriously !

Refocusing on your feet and where you're going, you try to recall the city map —the priority is getting out of the Docks as fast as possible. You barely know this area, but if you can make it back to the city center, you could manage on the main roads…

Fat chance. The main reason you ended up spray-painting some poor train in the first place is that you were completely lost —an urgent chase isn't exactly the moment you're going to find your bearings.

So you just follow your instincts. You run and run, your shoes sending dull thuds into the air as they pound against the metal rails. Except luck isn't on your side —you go right at an intersection, only to find yourself in a dead end, blocked by more train cars and a blue shipping container. Out of breath, you scramble up a small wagon that comes up to your shoulders, then climb onto a larger one. You're nowhere near as fit as Jimin and his friends —that one move costs you a considerable amount of time, and by the time you make it onto the roof, the furious officer and his dog have caught up. You swear that wretched animal smirks at you before spitting on the ground.

“You!” He jabs a finger at you, seething. Your stomach drops —you don't waste a second asking for mercy. You run.

You can hear him screaming in rage behind you through your ragged breathing —not a good sign, given how loud he is— and you clench your fists to force yourself to push harder, because if this maniac is doing what you think he's doing and climbing up onto the wagons after you, then you're in serious trouble.

You reach the end of the wagon before you've figured out where to go, and nearly have a heart attack when you get to the edge. The ground is two meters below —not far enough to die —or so you hope— but far enough to break something if you land badly, and then it's all over for you.

Unless maybe you…

Your legs are eating up the distance to the edge too fast. Seven meters. Five. Three…

I’m out of my mind, you think, eyes locking onto another train parked a few meters away. Completely and utterly insane —Two meters, one…

Tell my parents I love them, you beg silently, just before launching yourself off the edge of the wagon with everything you have…

…Just in time to land on the roof of the next one, catching yourself as best you can on your trembling legs. You pause, frozen with your breath heaving, as if moving just an inch would make you fall over.

You can't believe that worked.

Without even looking, you can hear the officer still coming, and his beast of a dog snarling. You glance at a point far ahead, toward the mass of containers being shifted by cranes toward the cargo ships and the perfectly aligned moving trains —and as you straighten up, hacking up your lungs in the polluted Docks air, a clear path takes shape in front of you.

Right. You must have genuinely lost your mind —that's the only explanation for the decision you're about to make. Or maybe a furious cop breathing down your neck is all the motivation you need. You don't stop to decide which —you run.

Again and again, with everything you've got —and when you reach the end of the wagon, you clench your fists and jump. You managed it once, you can do it again —and sure enough, you can. You catch yourself clumsily, scraping your knees in the process, but you make it, and you barely spare a thought for what you just did before you're  running again.

You leap from wagon to wagon despite the stitch building and spreading in your side —glancing back now and then to make sure the old man is still following, and God, his stamina. Why are you nearly dying when this seems like nothing more than a pleasant stroll to him?!

You cry out in fright when a tunnel looms on the horizon, just high enough to graze the rooftops of the train cars without scraping —but not high enough for you to pass through standing. You're coming in too fast, and there's no room to climb back down without getting caught —so you do the only thing that comes to mind. You jump, grab the roof of the tunnel entrance, and haul yourself up with the last strength left in your arms.

Suddenly the ground beneath your feet is concrete, not dirt and rails, but you don't stop to dwell on it —you run, on autopilot. The ground shakes underfoot, the barking echoes behind you, but you —

Wait. The barking?

You throw a glance over your shoulder, and if you weren't running as fast as your legs can carry you, you would definitely have stopped dead. The old man still is right there with his dog, whistle going, keeping pace without slowing for even a second.

And that's when you understand —he's done this kind of chase before, and he knows you haven't. He's just waiting for you to take a wrong turn. Tears of panic prick at your eyes at the thought —because you don't know the way, and you can't keep up this speed for much longer. You’re going to get lost, or you're gonna have to stop to cough up your lungs, or you'll…

A cry tears out of you when the ground disappears from under your feet. Not disappears exactly —vanishes as the tunnel ends. You drop hard onto a wagon, a sharp yelp of pain escaping as your knees slam into the metal, but you catch yourself just in time to avoid also going face-first into the ground —because this train is very much in motion, moving fast enough that you can barely get your footing.

Your legs are shaking by the time you manage it, and despite barely being able to keep your balance, you somehow find it in you to throw yourself sideways onto another train —this one stationary.

The barking keeps ringing in your ears, suddenly close enough to make you flinch —you stumble, startled, and slip over the rounded edge of the wagon. You yelp, your hand catching a metal bar that slows your fall, but hitting the ground only makes things worse. Your head is spinning, you can't catch your breath, and you have absolutely no idea where you are.

You only know two things: you're no longer in the Docks, and a train is hurtling straight toward you.

Everything crashes together in your head. You have no strength left, no idea where you are, and no idea how to get out of the way of the wagon bearing down on you, because you're hemmed in on all sides by stationary trains. Your legs are shaking so badly you nearly crumple again, your hair whipped up by the wind the approaching wagon is pushing ahead of it, growing bigger by the second…

The driver sees you, a sharp, alarm-like whistle suddenly blaring, but it’s not like he can stop the train altogether. Behind you, you hear the officer shout, triumphant, but you’re too frozen to move —only able to watch as the train gets closer, and closer…

You suddenly hear the officer call, way much closer than before —but it's not his voice that snaps you out of your daze.

No, it's the other one —far calmer and steadier, cutting through the chaos from your left.

“Hey, psst! Over here!”

The time seems to stop, the train to slow, as if giving you a moment while you turn your head toward the source of the voice, dazed.

At first you see nothing —just a blinding light that makes you squint. Then something takes shape. A silhouette, hooded, perched on the roof of a wagon, and a hand, outstretched toward you. “Quick!” the voice thunders, more urgent now, and you don't think. You grab the hand.

Everything snaps back to life in a fraction of a second. You're hauled off the ground by what feels like superhuman strength, and you barely have time to process what's happening before you collide with a solid, steady body —just as the train tears through the exact spot where you was standing less than a quarter of a second ago, moving fast enough that the wind it produces nearly knocks you both over. In the distance, you hear the officer's whistle, but you barely have time to worry about how close he is before the silhouette suddenly tips backward, taking you with it, one hand placed protectively at your back, ignoring your cry of fright. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut, helpless, as the unknown figure takes the brunt of the impact when you land on a surface that is painfully hard and unstable.

For a few seconds, you can't move. Literally. You're frozen in place, as much from the terror of what just happened —you almost got hit by a train, for God's sake— as from everything happening around you. The ground shakes beneath your body, so violently that you feel every vibration in each of your limbs, and the wind roars so loudly in your ears that you can't hear anything else. When you manage to open your eyes again, you're blinded once more by a bright light that wasn't there in the Docks —that wasn't anywhere in this city that you'd ever been.

You don't have time to question that, though. “Now,” that same voice thunders again, calm and self-assured —and you barely have time to try to understand what it means before two hands lift you by the waist and you're suddenly carried into the air before you can react. You try to grab onto the silhouette, panicked, and only now do you understand that the ‘ground’ you'd been standing on was actually a fast-moving train, and that your new companion has literally just jumped off it while it was still in motion.

You scream uncontrollably. You're going to die. This time, you're sure of it —you're going to die, you're going to die, you're going to die, you're going to —

Your companion lands on a wooden platform, so lightly that you barely feel the impact. He then sets you down calmly, with a gentleness that surprises you so much your legs give out, and you crumple to the ground, too weak to hold you up.

In a near-daze, you draw your knees to your chest, tears blurring your vision.

This is insane. In the span of a few minutes, you almost got arrested by a cop, almost got hit by a train, almost died smashed into the ground… and you're fine.

It takes you a few seconds to calm down enough to realize it. Apart from your palms and knees being a little scraped up, and a deep ache in your leg muscles, you're fine.

Slowly, you lift your head and take in your surroundings. You freeze all over again when you notice how far up you are — much higher than when you stupidly climbed onto that wagon earlier —before relaxing once it becomes clear that the wooden platform beneath you is more than solid. It's attached to some kind of green crane, but that isn't what catches you off guard.

No —it's everything around it. Trees. Dozens of trees in a stunning, lush green, gleaming in the brilliant sunlight that floods the perfectly blue sky above your head. In the distance, the same landscape stretches out, except those trees are a vivid, shocking pink — swaying gently in the breeze like candy floss at a fairground.

You had never seen this place before —and God, it takes your breath away. Where on earth have you landed?

“Anything broken?” You startle when the silhouette crouches down in front of you, suddenly reminding you you're not alone. Here, beneath this perfectly blue sky, you can make him out more clearly —a guy around your age, wearing ridiculously colorful sneakers, baggy blue jeans and a grey hoodie pulled up over his face that hides his features. He reaches a hand toward you, looking almost worried, but everything in front of you makes so little sense that you can barely process his question.

“What is this place?” You ask instead, your eyes drifting across the surrounding landscape with a mix of nerves and fascination. “This isn't the Docks anymore, is it?”

The guy pauses, caught off guard by your response, before a small laugh escapes him. You may not be able to see his face under that hood, but you'd swear a huge smile has just split it in two. “No, definitely not the Docks. That's almost an insult, honestly.”

“So where are we?” You press, your curiosity —and that damned feeling, the same one that drove you to the Docks earlier— pushing you forward. That voice screaming at you that the answers to your questions are here.

“You're in Dolorean Park, sweetheart,” he answers, sounding so proud he's almost smug as he tucks his hands into his pockets. “The old guy won't follow you here —different crew takes over in this neighborhood, and even if that weren't the case, I’m pretty sure we lost him. He's getting tougher by the day, I'll give him that…”

You're barely listening —your brain short-circuited the moment he said the words Dolorean and Park.

It simply isn't possible —he must be mistaken. He's talking about Dolorean Park, the thriving neighborhood that houses the largest history museums in the entire country, that shelters endangered plant species, the one they talk about so much in the brochures, online… everywhere?!

“That can't be true,” you murmur, stunned, barely managing to keep the excitement out of your voice.

“Of course it can,” he replies, oblivious to the joy exploding inside you. “Quietest part of it, sure —all the action happens further west, but you'd better not go near there while the old man's after you. What on earth did you do to wind him up that badly? I haven't seen him like that in a long time…”

Jimin had told you it was impossible to get there. That it was too far, that with the new museum that had recently opened it was too risky… Had he lied to you? All it took was jumping off a moving train?

“I, uh… tagged a parked train,” you mutter, bewildered. You have to shake your head to remember the guy is talking to you, honestly, and when you manage to refocus on him —ignoring your heart hammering at the thought of finally being in Dolorean Park— he bursts out laughing.

He puts a hand on his stomach to steady himself, shaking his head as if it's nothing more than an old joke. “Yeah, doesn't surprise me with him. Watch yourself next time, the old guy doesn't take kindly to anyone messing with his precious trains.”

He must read the confusion on your face, because he tilts his head to one side, that wide smile peeking out from under his hood. “You're new here?”

You frown slightly, but nod anyway, brushing off your palms. “Mm-hmm. You? Who are you?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, but something shifts in him. His smile seems to fade, and he turns almost distant, even though he hasn't moved an inch. “Oh, nobody important. Will you be able to find your way home?” He changes the subject, glancing off into the distance. “If you want to get back to the Docks, just follow the road east, trains are quiet at this hour. If it's the city center you're after, head toward—”

“What's your name?” You cut him off, barely paying attention to the directions. As if you're leaving Dolorean Park now that you've finally found it.

You’ve entered full detective mode, at this point —meh, not your fault your curiosity gets picked when people try and hide things from you— and if you weren't so focused on trying to make out his face, you might not catch the way he sighs. A tiny, discreet little sigh, but a sigh all the same.

“Why do you want to know?” He mutters, almost grumbling.

“To thank you, obviously,” you shoot back, annoyed by his sudden change in tone. “You saved my life, it's the least I can do.”

“No need to. Anyone would have done it.”

“Still. I insist.”

“Just tell yourself it was fate,” he grumbles, and you swear he rolls his eyes under that hood —but when you wobble trying to get back to your feet, he holds out a hand to help you anyway. His hand is warm and calloused in yours, and he surprises you again by pulling you toward him at a startling speed, as if you weigh nothing at all. “I told you, I'm no—”

You stumble, caught off guard by how quickly you find yourself upright, grabbing onto his chest to keep from falling. He hastily plants his other hand in the small of your back, planting one foot behind him to steady you both and stop you from toppling off the platform. You don't even want to think about what would have happened without that, because at that very moment a train tears past at full speed just below you —it would have hit you for certain.

It passes so fast it throws the air into motion behind it, sending the trees swaying and the lampposts swinging —but more than anything, it sends the hood of the boy holding you carefully in his arms slowly sliding back, until it gently plops down on his shoulders.

Your breath catches when a perfectly straight nose, a sharp jaw and two bright eyes framed by a sweep of dark hair come into view. His mouth forms a small surprised oh as your gazes meet and lock. The tops of his cheeks —and certainly yours too, if you’re being honest— flush from the sudden closeness.

This boy has a perfect face, with high cheekbones and fine features, and God, you want to pinch his cheeks so badly.

You must be blushing even more than he is, because a slow smile spreads across his lips, a spark of mischief lighting up his eyes. You watch those bright eyes move across your face, his smile growing wider with every second, leaving you completely unable to move or speak. His smile is seriously dazzling. He seems to be thinking, attentive, taking his time with every detail of your face, then shrugs one shoulder as if reaching a quiet decision.

“You know what?” he breathes, all smiles, and you flush even deeper when his breath grazes your cheek and sends a trail of shivers down your spine. “Let's start over.” His hand presses more firmly against your waist, as if he's suddenly holding you to feel you against him rather than to keep you from falling. His eyes are so bright you can't look anywhere else. “I'm Hoseok, but all my friends call me Hobi. You ?”

His fingers slowly trace the small of your back, a quiet invitation, and you have to force yourself to swallow before you murmur your name, your chest tight from how your heart is beating its way out of your ribs —because of a very different and new kind of excitement now.

He smiles, repeating your name in a murmur, as if testing how it tastes on his tongue. Then, with yet another sideways grin, “So… I heard you're new here?”

The hours that followed were enough for you to understand two things. 

The first, that the Dolorean Park neighborhood is even better than anything you could have imagined. More lush, more beautiful, more full of hidden corners just waiting to be explored. More alive, more full of beauty and dreams that seem to come to life before your eyes, and so much more besides.

Full of wonders that did nothing but make your eyes light up and leave your mouth hanging open in awe.

"This is incredible," you couldn't help but breathe, overwhelmed, when Hoseok took you into the district's biggest museum and you found yourself standing before the skeleton of the largest dinosaur that ever lived —a nine-meter T-rex, its skeleton displayed in full, which is nothing short of a feat.

Hoseok just shrugged, a small, smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he draped his arm over your shoulder. “Not really. It wasn't even found here, the city just had enough money to buy it first.”

“You're completely ruining the fun for me,” you grumbled in response, shooting him a withering look. That made him laugh, and he tickled your ribs in revenge.

“If that's all it takes to impress you, you're not ready for what's coming,” he said lightly, but with his eyes fixed on yours, full of promise.

Jung Hoseok then made it his mission to show you every last detail of the city. He took you through secret cellars, accessed through trapdoors hidden in the middle of parks. Introduced you to every piece in the museums as if he owned them, every shop on the main streets as if he ran them himself, all while pointing out every hidden corner and showing you which trains to climb onto to quickly get from point A to point B.

That was when you understood the second thing : that Hoseok had clearly lied to you earlier when he claimed not to be anyone important.

He seemed to want to talk about anything but that, so you said nothing —yet you did notice how he knows this neighborhood like the back of his hand. Not the way Jimin does, having learned to navigate it to survive with his crew, but as if he had a genuine interest in this place, a real connection to it. You noticed how, while he got you into every museum for free, it was never through the main entrance —always through a door at the back of the building. And the way he always takes care to glance over his shoulder when guiding you through the streets, just before placing his hand in the small of your back and smiling at you as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

Maybe you should have said something —probably. But how could you have focused on that, when every smile he threw your way was softer than the last, each one sending your poor heart into a flutter? How, when every word that left his mouth had you hanging on his lips, hungry for more, when everything you said seemed to fill him with such immense joy that sometimes he'd double over laughing?

You've only known him for a few hours —if you can even call it knowing someone, after meeting like this by chance— and yet it feels like a lifetime. In the way your sentences bounce off each other, the way your thoughts run in the same direction. In the way his steps fall perfectly in time with yours, the way his hand always finds the small of your back, where your fingers ache to tuck themselves into his. In the smiles you exchange, the knowing glances that could almost make you believe you share some secret.

Maybe you should be asking questions. You probably should. But being with him, even for just a few short hours, is so simple, so peaceful, that all you want is to forget that one tiny, minuscule detail that doesn't quite add up.

So instead of asking questions, you lose yourself in his chocolate eyes, in his tousled hair and his irresistible heart-shaped smile —without even being frightened by how easy it is.

“Why was that police officer so angry, anyway ?” You ask suddenly as we watch the violet hues spreading across the sky as the sun goes down, sitting on the edge of a bridge with your legs dangling over nothing. Your head has somehow ended up resting on his shoulder —you're not usually the type to take risks like this, sitting over open air that way, but with him beside you, his chest rising and falling gently with each breath and his warm thigh against yours, you suddenly don't have a single worry.

“Hmm ? Who ?” he asks, lifting his head with a confused expression like a lost little animal. “Oh, the old guy? No idea,” he shrugs the shoulder that isn't holding your head. “As far as I know, he's always been more or less like that. With him, you don't touch the trains —that's a guaranteed way to end up in trouble.”

“But everyone tags trains, don't they? I've seen loads of people do it, and those spray cans weren't even mine, I found them there,” you explain, puzzled. That makes him laugh softly.

“Yeah, but usually people do it in more out-of-the-way spots. What were you doing at the Docks anyway? There's nothing there but cargo ships.”

You shrug. “I grew sick of the city center, I was looking for something different. If you knew how long I'd been dreaming of finding Dolorean Park…”

“Well, why didn't you just go ?”

“You think I didn't try ?” You sit up to face him, your pride stung. “How is it that everyone talks about nothing else online, that this neighborhood is the pride of the whole city, and yet once you're here, not a single sign or map leads you to it ? And nobody seems to even know where it is, for God's sake.”

“Where's the fun in reading a map ?” He replies, all smiles. “That's what makes it cool : you either discover this place because someone shows you, or because you stumble onto it by accident.”

“That's ridiculous,” you shoot back, crossing your arms like a sulky child, which makes him laugh even harder.

“And you haven't seen anything yet,” he replies with a grin, tapping the tip of your nose with his index finger before stretching and getting to his feet. You stifle a yawn as you do the same, but freeze when you notice a small object that's fallen from his pocket in the movement. You grab it on instinct, holding it up in front of your eyes to get a better look.

It's a small metal ring, more oval than round, cut in two by a rounded x. The edges are a little worn, as if the ring has a few years of life behind it, but the metal is strangely warm between your fingers.

You frown, confused. “What’s this ?”

“Hmm?”

Hoseok, mid-stretch, turns distractedly at the sound of your voice —only to freeze when he recognizes the object in your hand. He doesn't even try to hide it this time: he stays completely still for a few seconds, eyes slightly wide and fixed on the ring, arms still half-raised from his interrupted stretch.

It only adds to your confusion, but you don't get the chance to tell him so —because he surprises you by suddenly shrugging. A little too sharply, perhaps, shaking his head more forcefully than necessary —as if he's fighting some internal voice and making a decision in spite of it.

You expect to find him frowning, maybe even guarded, when he looks back up at you —but instead, a wide smile splits his face in two, and a spark of amusement lights up his eyes.

“A fun little gadget,” he says, cryptically —and seeming very pleased with himself, an almost childlike snicker escaping him at your baffled expression. He steps closer, reaches out to take the ring back, but closes his hand before you've placed it in his palm. “You know what ? It might actually come in handy for you. Get up, there's one last thing I want to show you.”

“Stop, stop, please, SLOW DOWN!”

“Focus on a fixed point,” Hoseok tries to advise you, despite it being abundantly clear that he's desperately trying not to laugh, completely unmoved by your terrified screaming.

When he brought you down from the bridge and asked you to stand on the rails with the ring, you honestly thought he was having you on. Then he pulled another ring from his pocket —bigger, and looking even older— and stood beside you on the next track over. You started complaining, because he refused to explain anything —and then the idiot grabbed your hand, started running, dragging you with him, then grabbed your ring, pushed the x inward and threw it to the ground. You barely had time to jump before a metal hoverboard appeared beneath your feet.

You nearly went flying onto the rails —not only because the thing is in no way optimized for balance, but because it goes fast. Much faster than you could ever run —faster than some of the trains that cross the city, you'd bet.

Hoseok caught up quickly, his own board beneath his feet, and from the ease with which he does it, it's clear this isn't his first time. Grabbing you by the arm, he somehow managed to get you up to a speed where the landscape blurs before your eyes, and a nameless panic takes hold of you.

If you hit something, you'd be crushed for certain.

“It's okay, we can't fall,” Hoseok says then, catching your eye as if he can read your thoughts. “If we hit something, the board sends out a shockwave that cushions the impact. Like an airbag.”

You nod automatically, but you're not really there —in fact, you can barely hear what he's saying. Everything is moving too fast, the board pitching too much, and all you can picture is slipping and snapping your neck on the rails. The same feeling as when the officer chased you takes hold, and you feel tears of panic welling in your eyes —immediately swept away by the fierce wind battering your face.

“Hey, it's okay,” Hoseok repeats, softer and firmer at once, taking your hands in his. His gaze meets yours, dark and steady, and you cling to it like a lifeline, an anchor.

A sharper turn forces Hoseok to steer the board with his feet, sending you lurching sideways in a swerve that shakes you both and tears a cry of fright from you. You grab onto Hoseok like your life depends on it, crushing his fingers, and he lets you without flinching, his thumb tracing soft circles on the back of your hand.

“Look at me,” he says firmly, meeting your eyes again. “Don't worry about the rest, just focus on me, okay? Y/n, look at me,” he insists, keeps talking to you gently until your eyes don't leave his, fixed and determined.

And only then, with your gazes locked on each other, does he smile. A proud, amused smile, but above all an incredibly free one, as the wind narrows his eyes and whips his hair around his head, making him look a little wild. Free as the wind itself.

Faced with him, with that unbounded smile and those joy-filled eyes, everything suddenly feels so much simpler. As if anything were within reach, as if nothing could stop you.

So you let go. Just a little. Your grip loosens in his, and he gives you his big heart-shaped smile when he notices. You can only smile shyly back, a little more at ease than before.

At least, until he fixes his gaze on something in the distance.

“We're almost there,” he says, pressing your fingers gently in encouragement. “Ready?”

“What?” Your eyes follow his gaze, only to find an elevated bridge running perpendicular to your rails, leaving nothing but two parallel tunnels —too narrow to pass through side by side. Panic rises when you understand what that means. “You're kidding, right?!”

The tension is unmistakable in your voice, and he smiles softly, his thumb drawing small circles on the back of your hand —which does nothing to change the fact that the tunnel is getting closer by the second. “You'll manage, it's only for a few seconds…”

“Hoseok, no, I can't—”

“Fix a point in front of you —not the ground! A point ahead of you!”

“HOSEOK!” you panic, try to hold on to him, but he's far more skilled than you on his board, and pulls away without effort.

“And bend your knees!” You hear him shout, just before he falls back and disappears into his own tunnel, a concrete wall splitting you apart.

The wind hammers your ears, drumming in your skull as you try as best you can to follow his advice —bend your knees, even though you're already struggling to stay upright, and fix a point ahead. Useless. You can't see anything, and it makes you dizzier than anything else. You squeeze your eyes shut instead, tightly, as if that could magically bring you back safe to your bed.

At some point the wind eases in your ears, and from the cool air around you you understand you've come out of the tunnel —but that's not what makes you open your eyes. No, it's the light that surrounds you then, filtering through your eyelids —a light that is at once soft and dazzling, shifting from pink to violet to blue, irresistible and beckoning in the night. Neon light.

You open one eye hesitantly, then the other, and you're immediately dazzled by enormous futuristic buildings, vehicles and pedestrians moving in every direction, and above all, everywhere, giant screens blazing in the night.

“Y/n, jump!” Hoseok's voice rings out close beside you, pulling you from your daze, just before he shouts a word in a language you don't understand and the board retracts under your feet.

He could have maybe given you time to jump first.

You brace yourself, expecting to hit the ground hard and probably look ridiculous doing it —but instead a cry escapes you as you're launched into the air, arms and legs flailing.

For one instant, you feel like you’re flying through a dream, surrounded by beautiful blue, pink, violet lights that give everything an almost magical quality —the next, you land on a solid body and two strong arms close around you, catching you as if you weigh nothing.

“Told you you'd manage,” Hoseok says smugly, all smiles, and you ruffle his wild hair in retaliation, drawing a delighted laugh from him.

He says that word you don't understand again and steps off his board —far more gracefully than you did— before gently setting you down, making sure you're steady on your feet before stepping back. Seeing you wobble slightly, he keeps a hand on your waist regardless, oblivious to the blush spreading across your cheeks at the warmth of his palm so close to your skin, separated only by a few thin layers of fabric.

He holds out his hand, palm facing the ground, and says another word in that strange language —both rings reappear and glow azure blue at the sound of Hoseok's voice, before literally lifting themselves into the air and flying back into his hand.

“Okay, seriously, what are those things?!” you exclaim, staring.

He just gives a sideways smile. “Don't you want to focus on the scenery instead? You're ruining my whole surprise.”

You raise your eyebrows, startled, before tearing your gaze away to let it drift across said scenery. And God, what a sight.

Here, the trains running the rails are immaculate, all smooth lines and neon light. The buildings are a perfect white, dressed in giant screens at every angle —strings of lights hanging from lampposts line the pavements and bathe the street in a warm glow, so that despite the darkness, it's as bright as daylight. Beautiful palm trees are lined up along the curbs, cats lounge in front of the glittering entrances of restaurants and casinos…

“Welcome to Sunrise Boulevard,” Hoseok murmurs in your ear, proud of his surprise and the obvious effect it's having on you.

Sunrise Boulevard. The city's final neighborhood —the neighborhood of the future. At the cutting edge of technology. They say that the people who live here no longer die of old age, because medicine has advanced far enough to do away with that problem, and that's why there are so many places of pleasure and leisure here. You don't die anymore, so you pass the time having fun.

Normally, you might have laughed at that. But what's in front of you is so beautiful you can't even manage it.

“It's stunning,” you breathe, overwhelmed.

“Isn't it?” Hoseok replies in the same tone, like a secret shared between just the two of you. When you turn to look at him, stars in your eyes, you find him already watching you, with an intensity that makes you wonder if he ever stopped. You smile at him, something catching in your throat, and open your mouth to say something, anything —anything at all that might explain the color in your cheeks, or the intensity of his gaze as his eyes leave yours and drift to your lips instead.

Your voice dies in your throat when he gently raises his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, before cupping your cheek with the lightest touch, unaware of the shivers racing down your spine.

Then, slowly —slowly enough to give you all the time you could want to pull away— he leans in, bringing his face close to yours, lips slightly parted. His eyes suddenly uncertain, almost shy, and hungry at the same time.

A tender smile spreads across your lips —and then you rise onto your toes, and close the distance between your mouth and his.

Hoseok kisses you slowly, taking the time to taste your lips and savor them. His hands find your waist with the greatest care and press you against him, slip under your t-shirt to explore your skin, his tongue mapping your mouth tirelessly. His scent wraps around you as you loop your arms around his neck and he draws you closer still, always closer, until your body is pressed so tightly against his that you feel nothing but him, and he nothing but you.

When your mouths finally part, it's purely for lack of air, and he sighs against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours as if even the smallest separation costs him.

“Even better than I'd imagined,” he murmurs, covering you with that wide, dazzling smile, and he kisses you again as a joyful laugh escapes you.

He tastes like summer —sunlight and honey on the tip of your tongue.

That same taste that refuses to leave your tongue as he takes you through his favorite corners of the neighborhood, the ones he thinks you'll love, and all the others too, simply because we can. Always surrounded by blinding neon lights, often slipping in through the back door, but always laughing, smiling so hard your cheeks ache.

That same taste as he refuses to let go of your waist all evening, holding you against him as though the separation would kill him. Even when you tease him about it, when he pretends it's to make sure you don't get lost or to guide you —though you can clearly see his small, satisfied smile, and the way his hand fits perfectly in the curve of your hip as if it had been molded to rest there.

That same taste as he looks at you, each time, with that soft and warm gaze, protective and longing. With his enormous smile, so beautiful and dazzling and sincere.

That same taste as he kisses you in an alley, sheltered from prying eyes, devouring you as though it were his last meal.

Still that same taste as his hands trace a path across your skin for his mouth to kiss every inch of it, as he whispers promises in the shell of your ear while your hands explore his skin. He maps your body with his lips, as delicate in his kisses as if you were made of porcelain, yet as direct and urgent as a man who hasn't eaten in weeks as he buries his head between your legs, teases your bud with his tongue, slides his fingers inside you until your whole body burns with desire, until you writhe beneath him, clutching his hair.

When he enters you, it's with a kiss, his lips leaving yours only to make sure one more time that you're certain, before diving back in, as though even the smallest distance between you cost him —even as the movements grow more urgent, clumsier as the tension builds, until your names are the only thing you manage to cry out.

Still that same taste of honey and sunlight as he laughs against your mouth, your sweat-slicked bodies pressed against each other under the thin hotel room blanket, grinning like two idiots.

He plays with a strand of your hair, twisting it between his fingers, thoughtful as his eyes drift across your face, as though filled with wonder.

You wrinkle your nose and hide your face so he won't see how much it makes you blush. “Stop that,” you mumble, embarrassed, and it only makes him smile wider.

He gently catches your wrist, drawing it away from your face to press his lips to the inside of it. “I can't help it when you're this beautiful.”

This time you turn your head entirely to hide in the pillow, and his delighted laugh is enough to spread a wide, blissful smile across your face.

Your gazes lose themselves in their admiration, too busy marveling at the sight your content faces and tired bodies have to offer, the soft silence doing nothing to stop the words your eyes exchange every time they meet. A quiet stillness, broken only by the sound of his gentle hands moving across your skin, in contrast with the wild evening that preceded it.

“How do you know all of this ?” You whisper after a moment, as if afraid to break the serenity of it. “All these secret spots, these beautiful places, these ways into any museum or casino... How do you…”

“I explored,” he answers with a slow, almost lazy smile, though no less sincere. “I was like you, at first, and then I explored —spent days and nights wandering around hoping to find something, and... one thing led to another. It'll come to you, you'll see.”

He laughs at your unconvinced pout, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before letting his fingertips brush your cheek —a gesture of infinite tenderness that never fails to make you blush, and one he never seems to tire of.

“Why had I never seen you before?” you ask then. “I've been here for over a month, and Jimin had never mentioned you…”

And yet Jimin had made a point of introducing you to everyone, and God knows he has a lot of friends.

At that, he seems to hesitate. Not the same way he did earlier in the day, when he would freeze completely and his eyes would widen in horror —no, this time he simply takes a moment before answering, his fingers lightly grazing your cheek as his gaze drifts into the distance, lost in thought.

His brows twitch, as if he's frowning before catching himself, and you can't quite tell whether he sighs or takes a deep breath before breaking the silence again.

“I'm not really—”

He doesn't finish his sentence. He doesn't get the chance —because just then, the stillness of the night is suddenly shattered by the very distinct sound of an explosion.

Not very loud —you'd bet they didn't hear a thing in the casinos or clubs down the street— but the silence in the room had been so complete that it seemed deafening. Not a normal explosion: more like the sound of metal twisting, of earth caving in and air being suddenly sucked away. All at once.

You flinch, caught off guard —because the sound doesn't seem to be coming from very far— but Hoseok sits bolt upright, as if struck by lightning. Driven by some reflex you can't name, he turns toward the window, and while you see nothing but the neon-lit city beyond it, whatever he sees there drains the color from his face.

“Shit,” you hear him mutter to himself, “Shit, shit, shit, shit!” He swears as he leaps out of bed, scanning the room for his things.

“What, what?!” you sit up too, panicked, clutching the sheet against you as if it might protect you from some potential attack. “What's going on?”

He doesn't answer, too busy clumsily pulling on his jeans while throwing glance after glance at the window, looking every bit as panicked as you are, if not more —worried, even.

In fact, he goes so suddenly quiet as he pulls his hood up and gathers the few things that had slipped from his pockets that it almost frightens you. What the hell is going on? “Hoseok?” you press, your tone making the unspoken question plain, and he finally seems to hear you, biting his lip as his eyes dart back and forth between you and the window, struggling to lace up his shoes.

He bites his lip so hard you're afraid blood might start to bead. “I have to go,” he finally breathes, and his eyes go wide, full of remorse and guilt, so much so that you almost forget the ache in your chest at his words. Almost.

The disappointment must be written across your face, your mouth twisting into an oh you can't even assign an emotion to, because he limps over to you, visibly hesitating, clearly hating himself for it. “I'm sorry,” his voice is so steady you can't even bring yourself to doubt his sincerity, which is probably worse. “I really would have wanted to stay, or at least walk you home, but I…”

Again, his eyes snap back to the window, where another dull sound can be heard, and he flinches too, his features twisting into something you can't quite read —all you know is that it looks like fear.

“I promise this isn't just an excuse to leave,” he turns back to you, pleading with you to believe him, and you realize with some surprise that you do —as simply as that. “Y/n, I'm so sorry, I…”

“It's okay,” you cut him off gently, almost moved watching him glance at the window again with a hard swallow, clearly frightened. “It's fine. Go. Go on.”

You pair your words with the most sincere smile you can manage, and while it isn't very wide, it seems to reassure him a little nonetheless. “You're sure? I hate leaving you here like this…”

“I'll find my way home, Hobi, don't worry,” you assure him, warmly, and after a few seconds he finally nods, even if it's still plain from his face that he hates the way things have turned out and is blaming himself.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” he says again, just before leaning in to kiss you, one hand resting in the curve of your waist. You let him, kissing him back with the same force, and he sighs against your lips when you slide your hand into his hair. He eventually pulls back to look at you, wetting his lips as though hesitating, and you pat his cheek gently to encourage him.

His dark eyes meet yours with an unspoken question —just like before, all you have to do is hold his gaze for him to understand your answer, and he nods, pressing his lips to your cheek before straightening up, as hurried as before.

As simple as that. One look, a small nod, and you understand each other.

Once at the door, though, he stops, still hesitating, and before you can urge him to leave again he turns back toward you, digging frantically through his pocket.

“What are you—”

“Keep this,” he cuts you off, without room for argument, extending his hand toward you. In his palm sits the small ring with the x, the little magic board he had you try out earlier. You stare at it, incredulous.

“Are you sure?”

He nods furiously. “I'd rather you have one. But,” he closes his hand around the ring just as you reach for it, pointing a finger at you with a seriousness that surprises you a little. “Only for emergencies. Are we clear ?”

You don't quite understand why he's insisting on this, or even why he's being so careful, but you'd never seen him this serious, and whatever that explosion is that's worrying him so much, it has him genuinely shaken, so you'd rather not argue.

“Promise,” you nod, almost solemnly, and he does the same before opening his hand to let you take the ring.

He leans in one more time, pressing the quickest, lightest of kisses to your lips.

“I love you,” he lets out in a whisper, before disappearing —almost literally.

By the time you open your eyes again, heart hammering after that last confession, the door has already clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the flat, heavy silence.

Through the window, you hear the strange explosion sound again, a little louder this time, and then nothing.

Nothing at all.

You’re a little ashamed to admit it, but you spend the days that follow trying to find Hoseok.

In your defense, it's not as if you have anything else to do. Before, your days were spent trying to convince Jimin to show you the way to Dolorean Park, or trying to get there on your own. You're fairly good with directions —it only took Hoseok bringing you there once for you to remember the route and find your way back by myself. Same for Sunrise Boulevard.

You started going back the day after he left. You retraced the spots and shops he'd introduced you to as ‘his favorite places,’ then went back to Dolorean Park to do the same, before, out of desperation, returning to where you'd first met him at the Docks. All for nothing.

Day after day, it became a routine: you'd start by going to all the places we'd been together, then go off exploring on your own before heading home in the evening. The whole time, you kept the little ring tucked in your palm, at the bottom of your pocket —but it's evidently not a lucky charm, because the days quickly turned into weeks, and still no news of the tall, dark-haired guy. In fact, not the slightest trace of his existence. Nothing to prove you didn't imagine him, his heart-shaped smile and the taste of honey that lingers on your tongue.

“Who?”

“A tall guy with dark hair, kind of messy, and, uh… a huge smile ? He smiles all the time,” you try to explain to Jackson, a tall guy with white hair who's part of Jimin's crew, well aware that describing what Hoseok was wearing wouldn't be much help, given that it was weeks ago and his outfit was pretty unremarkable.

He thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “Doesn't ring a bell, sorry. I don't really know the new people.”

You nod, stopping yourself from pointing out that you're fairly sure Hoseok is anything but new around here. Not with the ease with which he moved through the streets, the way he knew everything and everyone.

Jackson apologizes again and walks away —you don't push it, because behind him, Namjoon is eyeing you with a sour look. Like everyone else, actually. The whole crew has been avoiding you a little —they're not outright unkind, but it's clear they'd prefer you kept your distance. It's been like this for a few days —since you talked to Jimin, actually.

He was the one who came to find you one evening, looking almost worried at what was bordering on a small depression, because you'd been searching relentlessly every day and turning up not a single trace of Hoseok. Sweet, really —so sweet that you cracked open. And you're so used to Jimin's warmth that you told him everything.

Everything: the old officer who chased you, Hoseok saving you before taking you to Dolorean Park and then Sunrise Boulevard, his hasty departure… You don't think you've ever regretted opening up to someone so quickly.

While he was empathetic at first, sorry even, his expression closed off more and more as you spoke, and by the time you'd finished, he could barely look you in the eye, a distinct chill having settled between you. It was plain that Jimin wasn't a very good liar, and that he preferred to say nothing —but you had the sense that he was very good at keeping secrets.

“You really don't know anything?” you'd asked anyway, out of desperation.

He took a long time before answering —and throughout, his eyes stayed fixed on the metal ring with its x in the middle, which you were holding in your hands after taking it out to prove you weren't making things up. The way he stared at it told you he didn't think you were —and that he was taking you very seriously.

“I know one thing, Y/n,” he said at last, in a voice so cold compared to his usual warmth that it barely sounded like him. “And that's that you should be very careful.”

Since then, radio silence —you only catch glimpses of him from a distance, and very rarely at that, so much so that you're starting to wonder whether it's just a habit in this wretched city, to avoid you the moment something goes wrong.

But you don't give up hope —you met Hoseok without Jimin's help, you'll manage to find him again without it— and you keep searching, day after day. Until you can't anymore.

You have a train leaving tonight, to go back to your parents. It wasn't planned, but honestly, nothing that has happened was, and it's becoming increasingly clear that you're wasting your time. You've combed through this city so thoroughly looking for Hoseok that you know it by heart now too —maybe not like the back of your hand, but you're fairly certain you know a good number of its hidden corners— and it saddens you to say it, but you've seen all there is to see. You're not going to spend your life searching for a guy you haven't seen in so long that you're almost convinced you dreamed him.

So that day, rather than looking for Hoseok, you decide to make the most of the hours you have left here. You feel a little guilty at first —but when your self-pity starts to annoy even you, you tell yourself that if he'd wanted to find you, he wouldn't have waited two months to do it. Right?

So in the morning, you head to the Docks to watch the cargo ships come in and unload their containers. You go for lunch on Sunrise Boulevard, in a restaurant full of celebrities and paparazzi, then wander through Dolorean Park, treating yourself to one last visit to the museum before buying yourself an ice cream to lift your spirits —seeing that wretched T-rex without Hoseok beside you to make fun of it is more painful than you would have thought.

In the evening, you find yourself in the city center where you spent so much time, perched on a train roof at one of the highest points, watching the golden rays of the setting sun spread across the city. From here you can see the lush green trees of Dolorean Park, the mountains of containers at the Docks and the giant screens of Sunrise Boulevard, all within reach, close enough to touch if you just stretched out your arm.

You lose yourself in the view. That's probably why you startle so badly when footsteps approach and someone comes to sit beside you.

You look up in surprise at the fair-haired boy with fine features sitting very upright —Jimin. You're struck silent for a moment. He who had been avoiding you so carefully, here he is coming to find you of his own accord. He breaks the silence before the questions in your head get too loud.

“I heard you're leaving ?” he says in his soft voice, without ever taking his eyes off the city in the distance. His light eyes look almost translucent in the glinting sunlight.

Slowly, you nod. “There's nothing left for me here.”

He looks at you, and it's your turn to glance away. You clench your fists, stare at your dangling feet. That admission hurts more than you would have thought. You didn't find what you were looking for, in the end.

“Are you still looking for him ?”

It shouldn't, it really shouldn't —but that question infuriates you. So much so that you're not even moved by Jimin's soft, hesitant voice, or the guilty look he gives you. No, you're just angry —because he was so welcoming, and the one time you truly came to him for help, he left you to fend for yourself with some useless advice. You're leaving tonight —it's a little late to make up for it now.

“Oh, so now you want to talk about him ?” You say, perhaps a little more sharply than necessary. He doesn't hold it against you —if anything, he looks a little ashamed. Just a little.

“Listen, Y/n, there's…” He scratches the back of his neck, lets his gaze drift into the distance as he sighs and hesitates. “No offense, but you're relatively new here. Things happened that I'd rather not see happen again. Things you have no idea about.”

He doesn't shrink back, ashamed, or flare up, furious like you: no, he stays calm, upright and measured, almost composed as he explains things to you, even though it's clearly costing him.

“And so ?”

“Let's just say I… do my best to make sure certain things don't happen again.”

“Why you ?”

“Because it's my role. And apparently, I'm much less good at getting people to listen to me than the one whose role it was before,” he grumbles, sounding almost bitter. An emotion you'd never seen on his face —but given how terribly well it suits him, you suspect it isn't new, and that he's simply learned to hide it.

“And what does that have to do with me ?” You try, well aware that it's not every day he'll answer your questions like this.

He turns to face you then, his gaze finding yours with an intensity that reminds you so much of Hoseok's eyes that it twists something in your chest.

“Because you're about to make exactly the same mistakes.”

“What? How? How would you know?” You exclaim, almost offended. You don't want to cause any trouble —you just want to find the one guy who ever made you feel this good, this free, who told you I love you right before disappearing, is that really so much to ask?!

“That,” Jimin simply answers, pointing at the ring you'd been absent-mindedly fidgeting with between your fingers. He still pulls a slight grimace looking at it, but this time you can also read a trace of sorrow in it. “We used to have them. Except ours were single-use. We'd activate them during runs on the rails, to protect ourselves in case of a fall, then the boards would dematerialize and that was it —you had to get another one. I didn't believe your story at first, I'll admit, but when you said he'd made it go back to its ring form, I…” Something breaks in his expression, and he shakes his head. “If that's true, then it changes everything.”

Silence. You have no idea what you're supposed to say to that —all you know is that Jimin's gaze is heavier than you've ever seen it. Heavy with meaning, but heavy with grief and remorse too. Whatever happened before you arrived, it touched him more than anyone else.

“You know where he is, don't you ?” You try gently, doing your best to hide the excitement in your voice. Jimin knows where Hoseok is. You're sure of it.

He hears it anyway, of course. “It was a long time ago,” he grumbles, looking like he regrets every word already. “Several years… And I'm warning you now, I’m not coming with you. There's no way I'm setting foot back there.”

“That's fine, just tell me—”

“No, Y/n, listen to me,” he insists, taking hold of your wrist to calm you down. “You need to know that… We all thought he was dead.” His words hit you like a blade, rooting you to the spot. He holds your gaze, gripping your wrist tightly as if clinging to an anchor, his eyes suddenly glassy. As if he's on the verge of tears. He swallows with difficulty, without letting go of your gaze.

“If you're telling the truth, and he really is alive, I…” He scratches the back of his neck, tears gathering in his eyes. “I never would have thought… Could you… bring him back? Or at least try ?”

You nod, resolute —even more so in the face of his hopeful look. “I promise. Just tell me where I need to go.”

“That thing took my best friend from me, Y/n,” the tears don't stop him from keeping that painfully serious expression. He's scared —that much, at least, is clear. “Be careful, please, I…”

“I promise.”

He looks at you for a few seconds, as if he can't quite believe you're willing to take such a risk —then he sighs, resigned. “I have a feeling I'm going to regret this… Alright. There's a bridge, right on the boundary between the Docks and Sunrise Boulevard…”

“He could have made more of an effort with his handwriting,” you grumble, turning the sheet of paper every which way to try and decipher the scribbles Jimin made on your city map. The bridge he pointed you to is on a street where, surprisingly, you'd never set foot —for the simple reason that there's nothing there. It's just the tail end of Sunrise Boulevard and the beginning of the Docks: a kind of no-man's land that's neither truly modern and clean like one nor dirty and industrial like the other, just… a little empty.

Jimin's terrible handwriting doesn't stop you from finding the bridge in question, though, and you fidget nervously with the ring in your pocket as you approach it.

It's a bridge fairly similar to the one Hoseok had you cross to get from Dolorean Park to Sunrise Boulevard: a road one level up, running perpendicular above the rails you're standing on, supported by a thick tunnel. Except this one is twice as wide as the first one you saw, and so long you can't see where it ends. In fact, you doubt it does.

One of the signs at the tunnel entrance collapsed long ago, lying dented and dust-covered across the rails, and a train stands motionless, waiting for someone to come and start it up again. Jimin didn't say anything about this, but just seeing it —or the lights inside the tunnel, completely dead— tells you this tunnel hasn't been used in a long time. And honestly, you get it. You don't really want to go in there.

Taking a deep breath, you close your fingers around the cold metal ring. This is where Jimin last saw Hoseok. If you have any chance of finding him, it's here.

So despite the hesitation and the small voice in your head screaming at you to turn back, you move forward. Slowly, carefully, watching exactly where you put your feet and pulling out your phone for light when the darkness grows too thick around you.

After a few minutes of walking in complete silence —ears straining, purely because the thought of someone coming up behind you is making your blood run cold— something catches your eye from the corner: a bluish glint on one of the thick pillars in the middle of the track.

You point your flashlight toward it —and freeze when you understand where the glint is coming from. A huge metal circle, more oval than round, about your height, cut through the middle by an enormous X. Exactly the same symbol as on the ring Hoseok gave you. It shimmers under the light of your torch, like a silent taunt —and yet that's enough to root you to the spot.

This can't be a coincidence. Jimin recognized that symbol immediately, it was on Hoseok's ring too —and now here it is, right in front of you, waiting in the dark…

This time, your curiosity is too strong: you want answers, and you want them now. So, no longer bothering to be quiet, you make your way along the rails toward it, determined to understand. Maybe if you press the X, like with the small rings, it'll activate something? What if it were a secret passage?…

Except you never get the answer to your question —at least not the way you'd expected. Because before you even have time to reach the enormous ring, cursing when you trip on the rail and have to grab a barrier to stop yourself falling, the thing you were dreading most happens.

A sound echoes behind you.

Not the kind of sound a can might make if you'd accidentally kicked it, or the wind snapping between the walls —no, a very distinct sound of footsteps. The footsteps of someone who isn't trying to hide.

You freeze, stunned, sweat running down your back as your blood turns to ice. On instinct, you lower your phone to conceal myself, before realizing that if someone is behind you, they've clearly seen you for a long time. So, holding your breath, you finally pivot, turning your back on the ring on the wall to face whoever has just arrived —and you'll be honest, at this point, you're terrified.

At the entrance to the tunnel, perfectly still, hands in his pockets, stands a man whose face you cannot see. All you can make out is that he's not much taller than you —but his stillness, and above all the mask he's wearing, are enough to make your skin crawl. A perfectly smooth mask covering his entire face, with two cat ears on top and two large red eyes that glow in the darkness.

Every instinct is screaming at you to leave, but you can't —you can't move.

The man's voice reaches your ears then —soft, but low and measured. Almost delicate, as if he were whispering in your ear, but he's speaking in a language you don't understand, one you've only heard once before —from Hoseok's lips. You recognize it in the intonation, in the strange, guttural way the words are shaped, but just like when you met the dark-haired boy, you have no idea what any of it means.

“Jimin told me to get here,” you manage to stammer, without your voice shaking too badly. The cat doesn't seem pleased by your answer —he goes suddenly quiet, his large red eyes narrowing to two slits that chill your blood. You vaguely see him draw a hand from his pocket, holding something that looks dangerously like a remote control between his fingers —but you're too busy trying to contain the panic rising inside you to pay it much attention. “I'm looking for—”

He doesn't let you finish —he presses a button on the remote, and a second later, the wall explodes behind you.

No —it doesn't explode. It's as if it's swallowed and pushed back at the same time.

A cry leaves your lips, terror seizing you as you spin around and see the enormous ring on the wall blazing with a blinding azure light that forces you to squint, one hand raised in front of your face. It glows so intensely the tunnel is lit up like broad daylight, and soon it begins to vibrate, making the walls, the ground, everything hum.

The first crack spreads from the pillar where the ring is fixed, inching dangerously close to your feet. Dozens more follow almost immediately, and you understand with horror that the ground is fracturing under the force of the explosion. The tunnel is going to collapse.

You stumble over your own feet trying to flee, ignoring the debris ricocheting around you. The man with the cat mask is still standing there, motionless in the middle of all this chaos. You try to get closer, reaching your arms toward him and crying out for help, but he doesn't move, and the ground literally gives way beneath your feet, opening into a gaping hole that takes you down with it.

As you fall into the crack, swept along by the pull of air, the man's voice is the last thing you hear, carried on a strong accent you don't recognize —but his words, those, are perfectly clear.

“Jimin should have minded his own business.”

You fall, and fall, for what feels like an eternity —tossed by the wind, dozens of meters perhaps, struggling to keep your eyes open against the force of it.

After a few seconds, the air grows warmer beneath you, thicker —you understand with horror that you're approaching what might be a floor, and panic sets in. You reach for something to grab onto, anything, and as the wind roars and thunders in your ears, it's Hoseok's voice that echoes in your mind for reasons you can't explain —as if he were right beside you.

“I'd rather you have one. But only for emergencies.”

You snap your eyes back open, a gulp of freezing air forcing its way into your lungs —and driven by some force you can't name, you grab the ring, which has miraculously not fallen from your pocket, and, remembering what Hoseok did, press down on the engraved X.

The ring vibrates in your hand, lights up with the same azure glow as the tunnel earlier, and the board materializes in seconds, taking shape beneath your feet just in time as a stone-tiled floor appears barely three meters below.

You land hard, and without the board and your reflex to bend your knees, you would certainly have broken something. Enormous chunks of rubble and concrete continue to rain down around you, but the board seems to have switched to autopilot, carrying you away from the collapse without any effort on your part.

It's only once calm returns that you notice how ragged and heavy your breathing is. The collapse slowly dies down to just a few stray pieces of debris, and you nearly choke when an enormous trapdoor opens beneath the mountain of concrete chunks, letting them slide gently somewhere you can't see before swinging shut and leaving a pristine floor —as if nothing had happened.

As you stare at the now perfectly clean spot, stunned, you only then notice that it's actually a strange platform of stone and metal —but that all the walls are made of the same enormous material, and above all, there is no sky.

Whatever this place is, it's dark like the tunnel, and that same ring with an X is engraved into the stone floor. With the silence restored, you pick up a sound of running water coming from everywhere at once, and a quick look around is all it takes to understand the source. Waterfalls. Enormous ones, seeming to pour down from the sky and disappear beneath the floor —except it isn't quite water. It's thicker, like molten lava, but azure in color, and bright enough to light the whole place.

You don't have time to marvel at it. You don't even have time to wonder where on earth you've landed, in fact —above you, another explosion rings out. You flinch, terrified that another collapse is coming —and as if in echo, the circle and X engraved in the floor light up with that same azure glow: but to your great surprise, it doesn't crack the ground the way you saw before. No, instead, the X splits in two, revealing beneath it an enormous fan so powerful that the current it creates lifts your hair. Light appears above, as if the ceiling is fracturing, and you brace for more rubble —but none comes.

Instead, you see two people appear from nowhere, each on a board, hurtling toward the fan —and you barely have time to scream before it launches them into the air at a dizzying speed, so high they vanish from sight entirely. They don't come back down.

All of this happens in a fraction of a second —and the next, the whole thing plays out again. The ceiling collapses, the rubble falls, then the circle in the floor splits open like a trapdoor, swallowing the debris before closing again, and you stand there like an idiot in front of a spotless concrete floor.

What on earth is—

Someone shouts behind you —screams, in fact, so loudly that you flinch, the movement sending the board shooting off at full speed. Now it's your turn to scream in terror —but when you spin around to call for help, you understand that it's pointless. A giant —there's really no other word for it— is running toward you, something that looks dangerously like a baton in his hand, expression furious. But more than that, behind him, what appear to be drones are hurtling toward you, trailing beams of the same vivid red as the cat's eyes earlier, which have every appearance of being lasers.

You panic, scream, and plunge deeper into this strange city lit by its cascades, doing your best not to fall off the board —because those metal platforms will clearly break your neck if you hit them.

You take a corner, sure you've lost them, but doubt creeps in when the tone of the shouting behind you shifts completely. You don't understand their language, but you swear they sound almost… worried. The drones are still circling you, but less to catch you than to block your path and force you to turn back —and it takes you too many long seconds to understand why.

The board has, without your meaning it to, placed itself on a track with rails, and they've just turned a vivid azure, vibrating so intensely you feel every tremor through your entire body. You don't have time to react before an enormous train, appearing to be made of azure-blue smoke, materializes directly in front of you, bearing down at a speed clearly far greater than mine.

You don't have time to react, to decide to swerve, even if you knew how to steer these boards —dozens of people are shouting, screaming words you can't understand, but one voice in particular cuts through all the noise.

A voice you would recognize anywhere.

It's too late to turn, or even jump —the train is so close that in one more second, you'd only have to reach out to touch it…

Something slams into you violently from the side, sending you flying to the left with a force that knocks the breath clean out of your ribs. The board explodes beneath your feet —an airbag, you remember— and the shockwave cushions your fall slightly, making you bounce off the ground rather than smash into the wall with no softness whatsoever. Which doesn't stop every single bounce from sending a sharp pain through your bones. At this point, you don't even have the strength to grab onto anything, and even once you've lost all momentum and come to a stop lying on your side on the ground, it takes long minutes before you can see clearly —and catch your breath.

You can hear shouting. In that same language you don't understand, mostly, but something else too —in a voice you know well. your name, again and again, getting closer.

“Y/n! Y/N!”

The ground begins to vibrate gently beneath your ribs —hurried footsteps, drawing nearer. Someone drops to their knees beside you, and two hands take you carefully and turn you onto your back. Cool air hits your face, but not as hard as the panicked breath of the boy leaning over you, cupping your face in his hands.

“Y/n!” He seems to light up the moment your eyes meet his, and double in worry at the same time. “Y/n, sweetheart, can you hear me ?!”

“Hobi,” you breathe, more faintly than you would have expected. His breath hits your cheek again, as though he'd been holding it until hearing your voice was enough to reassure him. He pulls you closer, pressing his hands to your cheeks and your neck, his fingers trembling frantically.

“Does anything hurt? Are you bleeding? The wagon didn't have time to touch you, did it?!” His wide, frantic eyes make him look almost wild, and the panic in his voice makes it clear he's the one who pushed you out of the train's path.

You want to ask if he's hurt, but he straightens abruptly, shouting something at someone behind him in words you can't understand, with an intonation that sounds a great deal like ‘Get a doctor!’ He fires back again when someone answers —you don't understand the language, but you watch almost with a kind of wonder at the movement of his jaw and his throat as he calls out, the worry and fear palpable in every word.

He's nearly shouting now, trembling like mad —but goes still the moment your hand slides into his hair, pushing the wild strands back from his face.

His mouth hangs open for a moment, his head turning slowly toward you, eyes bright with emotion. He catches your wrist between his slender fingers as you brush his cheek, still gentle despite his panic.

“You're here,” you murmur, giving him the smallest smile.

“Of course I'm here,” he murmurs back, smiling softly before burying his nose in your palm and pressing a kiss there. “How on earth did you get here?” He frets, as if it were somehow his fault.

“I was looking for you,” you find the strength to shrug, with a small smile. He says nothing, unconvinced, but kisses your palm again as if to reassure himself that you're really there.

“Please tell me you're not hurt, I—”

“I'm fine,” you cut him off gently, squeezing his hand in yours. He furrows his brows, not believing you for a second, and you grimace. “Just a bit of pain in my leg. I can't really move it,” you mumble, almost grumble, and his expression hardens. He squeezes your hand in answer, nodding slowly.

His lips are a thin line as he slides one arm beneath your knees and the other around your shoulders. He rises as if you weigh nothing, moving as carefully as he can so as not to jostle you. You hear him speak to someone, his voice dropping to those low tones that suit him so well, but you no longer have the strength to try and follow what he's saying —you let yourself be carried, resting your head against his chest, and close your eyes. Just for a second. Only a second.

One small second to let yourself be lulled by the rapid beating of his heart and his soft scent filling your lungs. A smell of honey, and summer.

“You're absolutely insane for doing that,” Hoseok grumbles for what must be the eleventh time, massaging your leg almost furiously despite the gentleness of his fingers. “You never should have gone near that bridge.”

He pairs his words with a small reproachful look, eyes narrowed, and you sit up, outraged. “It's not like you left me much choice. I looked for you everywhere!”

“That's not—” he starts, indignant, before cutting himself off, looking guilty. He ruffles his own hair and clicks his tongue. “I didn't have a choice, alright? I tried to come back. I really did,” he insists, holding your gaze. “You have no idea how much I blamed myself.” He looks so guilty, so resigned and at the same time so desperate for you to believe him, that all you can do is press your lips together and say nothing. That seems to frustrate him even more —he sighs sharply, letting go of your ointment-covered leg to scrub both hands through his hair. When he snaps his head back up, it's with an absolute chaos of hair in its place. “And how did you even hear about the bridge? Nobody goes there!”

You shrug, unmoved by the accusatory edge that's crept into his voice. Lately, you've done everything to find him —going under a bridge is far from the worst of it.

“Jimin told me where to find it.”

“Jimin ?!” you jump when he nearly chokes. “Please tell me he didn't come with you.”

“… No, why?”

“Good,” he nods, relieved, before shaking his head slowly, eyes slightly wide. “Yoongi would have completely lost it.”

Frowning, you tilt your head a little, lost. You don't know if it's the fact that you hit your head, but Hoseok is talking way too fast for you. “Yoongi ?”

“The guy who opens the portal…” he mutters distractedly, pacing the room. “How am I gonna explain this…”

“Hoseok,” you cut him off gently, sitting up straighter and ignoring him when he tells you to sit back down. “I don't understand anything. Where are we? Why was Jimin so determined not to talk about you, why does everyone shut down the moment—”

“Oh, I bet Namjoon was furious,” he exclaims, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Uh… Well, he's been giving me dirty looks ever since I mentioned you, yeah, but why—”

“He hates me. His girlfriend was hitting on me back when I still lived up top.”

Too much information at once —your brain short-circuits, before rebooting to sort through it. “Up top ?”

He stops pacing and opens his mouth, hesitant, only to close it again after a few seconds. His eyes don't leave mine, resolute, and you can read the reluctance in his gaze even as he scratches the back of his neck and sighs. “Are you sure you want to know? Because it's quite—”

“Whether I want to know why you disappeared overnight?” You cut him off gently, your voice softer than you would have expected. You have no desire to rush him —especially not with the adorable guilty-puppy look he's giving you right now— but you've waited long enough. You want to understand.”Why nothing seems to make sense in this city? Yeah, I'd say so.”

His eyes don't leave you as you get up and walk toward him, and when you're close enough that your feet are touching and you have to tilt your chin up to look at him, a slow smile spreads across his lips.

“…I was going to say it's quite a long story, but since you insist —your wish is my command, sweetheart.” He snickers at the surprise that crosses your face, gently taking your elbow to pull you toward the bed, where he sits down beside you. Let's just ignore what that simple gesture does to your poor heart.

His eyes drift across your face, hesitant, and you squeeze his hand to encourage him. He gives you a smile that you return before sighing. “Back then, a few years ago now, I lived in the city, up on the surface. I was part of the whole crew you met, and Jimin and I were… very close. Inseparable.” His voice is a little strained, and he clears his throat before going on. “He probably explained to you that they barely use boards up there. That's because they don't know how to make them. They can only be made here, in the Undertracks…”

“The Undertracks ?” you can't help but ask, curious. He points a finger at the metal walls surrounding you, the wall lamps blazing in brilliant azure blue.

“That's what we call the underground district. The material needed to make boards —and a lot of other things— is produced here. Anyway. Back then, it was Yoongi who led all the runners, up on the surface. He always loved pushing back against authority… Except Yoongi got tired of having to pay a fortune for boards that only lasted one use. Nobody knew how to get into the Undertracks, and because of all these stupid rumors and rules, nobody even tried to get close. It's like Star Wars —if you go near the Undertracks, you've gone to the dark side. It's forbidden.”

“Seems ridiculous, but okay.”

That makes him laugh. “Wait until you hear the rest. Anyway, Yoongi was of the opinion that it was our right to go there, to make our own boards, and so on… And he convinced a lot of people. Like, a lot,” he breathes, eyebrows raised, and you picture an entire crowd falling through the hole under the bridge. You shudder, but Hoseok looks almost admiring for a moment. “Except a lot of others disagreed, and it escalated into street fights… That's when the police started showing up in greater numbers.”

“Isn't that to stop us from tagging?”

“No,” he laughs softly, amused, and you give him a small shove on the shoulder that makes him snicker. “Originally it's to stop us from causing chaos in the city. Because even though Yoongi and his crew wanted to reach the Undertracks, they still didn't know how, and the other side was ready for them. They drove them out of the city —literally. Yoongi, God knows how, managed to make it into the Undertracks when things were starting to turn bloody. His whole crew took refuge down here, and since then, nobody except Yoongi knows how to activate the portal that leads to it —he's always the one who does it, still.” His eyes drop to your joined hands, thoughtful, and he gently strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. “But the surface clan kept hunting down the ones who'd fled, and they showed no mercy whenever they came back up.”

“So why did they ? Come back up.”

“Because you can't be completely self-sufficient down here. You can produce incredible gadgets and weapons here, but not food or clothes, for example. So every month, a few people go up for a day to get what's needed. We spread it out so nobody goes up more than four times a year, to avoid drawing attention. Once every three months.”

You nod slowly as he watches you with that serious expression. That explains the long disappearance, you suppose. “And so you were part of Yoongi's crew ?”

“Not from the start,” he grimaces. “But you've seen it yourself —by trying so hard to keep people on the 'right' side, they tell us nothing, up on the surface. I guess I was bored, I needed more. Jimin didn't agree, but all I wanted was answers,” he sighs, and you hold your breath as his words echo inside you. You just want answers. “I went to find Yoongi under the bridge, and he offered to explain everything once we were down below. Jimin tried to stop me, but I went anyway, and since then… Here I am.”

“So when you left in a rush, in Sunrise Boulevard, it was because…”

He nods vigorously as you leave your sentence hanging, hesitant. “Yoongi only opens the portal once a month —three times in the first minute of the day, three times in the last. If you miss it, you can't get back in, which means you have to wait until the following month.” His fingers tighten around yours, and his eyes carry the deepest grief you've ever seen as he leans toward you, his lower lip caught between his teeth. "I'm sorry, I should have explained,” he murmurs, looking guilty —and still so sad. You open your mouth to contradict him, to reassure him, anything to bring his adorable smile back, but he grimaces before you get the chance. “To be honest, I didn't think you'd look for me.”

You freeze, arching a brow. “Now that's a little hurtful.”

“I thought after three months, you'd have moved on, given up,” he defends himself, waving his free hand. “I never would have thought… seeing you there was…” Again, he squeezes your hand, and his mouth twists into an emotional, slightly worried expression. “You have no idea how scared I was.”

You shrug, a small smile playing on your lips. “I had to find you, you still owe me hoverboard lessons. I nearly died because of that thing !”

That's enough to break the tension —he bursts out laughing. “I noticed. Your balance is absolutely terrible.”

He holds his stomach laughing, the memory of your fall apparently hilarious to him, and leans slightly toward you in the movement, his face only a few centimeters from mine.

You pretend to be annoyed, pulling a face. “Shut up.” Then, as his laughter dies down, “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

He freezes mid-laugh, his lips forming a small surprised oh, his eyes wide. You swear he even holds his breath, looking at you nervously, and you can't help but smile at the sight.

“Are you serious?” he breathes, as if he can't quite believe his ears. A flush of red appears on his upper cheeks, and he scratches the back of his neck nervously, avoiding your gaze as he stumbles over his words. “Because after everything that happened, I would have thought…”

“Hobi? Shut up and kiss me.”

He doesn't need to be told twice —a spark lights up in his eyes, as though now it's them he can't believe, just before he places his free hand at the back of your neck, as gentle as ever as his thumb comes to brush your cheek. He leans in, his eyes flickering between yours and your lips —and when he closes the distance between you, a shared sigh escapes you both, a smile forming against your mouth.

It feels so good. To feel him close again, that aura so soft and protective and so utterly him, to hear his voice, to have that sweetness on your tongue —like freshly gathered honey gleaming in sunlight.

His lips part, warm and full and welcoming, and you lose yourself in his embrace.

Your arms wind around his shoulders, drawing him closer, letting him pull you against him with hands that come to wrap around your waist —your lips move together, heads tilting slightly to deepen the kiss, and soon his tongue ventures forward, timidly, as if asking permission to enter.

You moan against his mouth when his hands slip beneath your t-shirt, tenderly tracing your burning skin. His mouth leads the kiss, alternating between languidly pulling at your tongue and dancing with it… He presses you closer, the hand at the small of your back flattening your chest against his, making you clutch at his shoulders from the sheer need to be close, always closer…

It's you who breaks the kiss, breathless, and he chases your mouth for a few seconds before pressing his forehead to yours, just as out of breath. Your breathing mingles, his hands roaming your back and along your ribs, unaware of the trails of shivers he leaves in his wake.

“Hobi,” you breathe, your voice much higher than usual, panting. Your noses brush as he leans in to catch your lower lip, sucking and pulling gently at it with a deep sigh.

“God, I love it when you call me that.”

Your lips find his again, a desperate moan lost in his mouth as you pull him toward you, closer, always closer, wanting nothing more than to feel his burning skin against yours.

He's no better, sighing against your lips before his hands slide from your waist to your hips, slipping beneath your thighs to lift you and settle you astride his lap, careful not to jostle your bad leg. In this position, everything feels magnified —his hips directly beneath yours, your chests pressed together, his lips against yours

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” he whispers, groaning when your hands slip beneath his t-shirt and down his back. His fingers grip your hips more firmly, pressing you against the bulge in his jeans, large enough that a cry of surprise escapes you, swallowed by his lips. 

You roll against his hips, legs trembling. He groans, his hands on your hips guiding the movement as his lips leave your mouth and trail kisses along your cheek, your jaw, down to where your neck meets your shoulder —he presses his lips to that precise spot, alternating between grazing and sucking, never once stopping the motion of your hips against him until your head is spinning.

“There, like that,” you moan, tilting your neck to offer him more to kiss —an invitation he accepts immediately. Your eyelids flutter, drooping under the overwhelming sensation of him hard against you —it's as if the clothes between you have ceased to exist, a barely-there barrier between your urgent movements. 

“Let me show you how good I can be for you, sweetheart,” he grazes your earlobe with his teeth, then finds your lips again, all without ever stopping the movement of his hips against mine.

“Hobi, I…” you can only breathe, trembling against him.

“Almost there ?” he murmurs in the same tone, and you can hear in the tension in his voice that he isn't far either. As if sensing it won't quite be enough, he shifts you so you're straddling his thigh, one hand sliding along your body to cup a breast through your clothes, kneading it softly between his fingers. Your back arches, your chest pressing into his, and your eyes nearly roll back when he flexes the muscle of his thigh beneath you —it's so firm, so solid, it feels like he's everywhere at once, even more so with his hand at your chest pulling a moan of pleasure from your lips.

“God,” you breathe, higher than usual, and you feel him smile against your skin.

“Take what you need, sweetheart,” he murmurs like a promise, flexing in rhythm with the movement of your hips against him to press exactly where it counts, until you have to cling to him just to hold on.

He's everywhere at once, entirely focused on bringing you undone —he startles completely when you take him in hand through his jeans, a low groan leaving his lips when you stroke him in urgent back-and-forth motions, matching the pace of your hips on his thigh. He pants, your breath mingling as his forehead drops to yours, breathless, and soon his hand covers yours against him, guiding the movement deeper. You feel him twitch against you, just as close to the edge as you are, just as much of a trembling, moaning mess.

He kisses you as he feels you tense, your eyes rolling back as one last stroke hits exactly where it needs to, making you come apart with a desperate cry. He shudders beneath you, a low groan lost against your lips, and soon it's your name he murmurs as your movements slow and finally stop altogether, leaving only your chests rising and falling as we try to catch your breath, panting.

When you open your eyes, he's smiling at you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear —a smile so tender and sincere that something tightens in your chest. Beneath his soft gaze, you feel like we're wrapped in a bubble made only for you, sheltered from everything as long as he keeps smiling at you like that.

“Thank you,” he murmurs at last, emotion in his voice. “For looking for me. For coming, even if I nearly had a heart attack from how scared you made me.”

You laugh softly, and he smiles, pleased with himself. “You'll make it up to me,” you grumble for form's sake, ruffling his hair.

“Hmm-hmm? What would my princess like?” He rubs his nose against mine, teasing.

“That wasn't bad,” you pretend to think, drawing another snicker from him. “Or… you could come up to the surface with me to see Jimin?”

“What?” He goes still suddenly, though more in surprise than displeasure.

“Just one day?” you press, eyes wide. “He really misses you, you know. He doesn't say it, but he's genuinely hurting from losing you.”

His expression closes off a little, but you can see him wavering. “Yoongi will never agree. He'd kill me,” he says, shaking his head slightly.

“Let him try,” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow.

“Y/n…”

“Just one day. Please,” you plead again, pushing out your lower lip in a pout, giving him your best pleading eyes. His gaze flickers to your mouth, hesitant, and he scratches the back of his neck, studying you, torn.

You press closer to him, arms around his neck, and he gives in. “Alright, I suppose it could be arranged,” he sighs dramatically, but smiles anyway when you lean in to kiss him, delighted. When you pull back, he keeps you close with a lazy smile. He looks at you for a moment, as if lost in contemplation, before closing his eyes, a small crease forming between his brows. “God, what am I going to say to him…”

“He was your best friend, you'll figure it out.”

“No, he was like my brother. Which makes it worse,” he's back to his pained expression when he opens his eyes, and the smile he attempts twists into a grimace. “I'm better at goodbyes than reunions.”

“I noticed,” you laugh softly, before explaining at his indignant look, “You pushed me off a railway to keep me from getting hit by a train…”

“I call that saving your life, but if you'd rather be ungrateful—”

“…Whereas on your way out, you told me you loved me.”

He goes still, his hands freezing on your waist. “…I said that?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod vigorously, delighted, smiling even wider as his cheeks flush red, his gaze dropping for just a second.

The small laugh that escapes you makes him pout, even though he's still just as red. “You know what? Laugh all you want, it's true,” he says, his gaze more intense than ever. “The day we spent together was probably the best of my entire life. I've never felt that with anyone. And when you appeared down there earlier, I was more scared than the day I nearly got hit by a—”

“I wasn't laughing at that. It's the same for me.”

He goes still again, turning crimson.

“…Really?” He finally asks, with so much hesitation in his voice you'd think he didn't believe it for a second.

“Mm-hmm,” you nod, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. “I love you too, I think.” Even you can feel the top of your cheeks warming —but it's worth it for the spark of pure joy that appears in his eyes, and the dazzling smile he gives you.

“God,” he breathes, just before pulling you to him and crushing you against his chest. Literally. You protest, tap his shoulder to make him let go, but he just leans in to kiss you instead. "I love you so much."

Then he holds you against him again, so tightly your heart threatens to burst. He buries his nose in your hair, sighing with contentment, and you let your head fall onto his shoulder, your face tucked into the curve of his neck. Engulfed in his embrace, as much as in his scent that is so entirely him and wraps itself around you completely.

A smell of honey, and freedom.

“Hey, Hobi ?”

“Mm-hmm ?”

“Will you show me around the city ?”

His laugh makes his chest vibrate beneath your head, spreading a quiet smile across your lips. “God, you're relentless.”

Thanks for reading lovelies ! Don't hesitate to reblog, like or comment ! I always love to hear 'bout what you guys thought of it :) Also don't hesitate to ask if you wanna be tagged in my next posts !

You can find all my other writings here <3

Taglist (open, don't hesitate to ask me): @calmyourtitts7 @toskaesuriennt @ohnothisnameisalreadytaken

Gentle reminder that all rights are reserved, so please do not copy, translate or repost my stories. Also I do not own BTS or their actions, the stories are entirely fictionnal and does not depict real-life events or involve any actual member of BTS.

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There was a time when I loved going into battle.

The excitement that made my fingers tremble. The intoxicating feeling of cold steel in my hand, the thunder of hooves against the earth. The pride of riding out with your men, knowing that coming back anything less than victorious was simply not an option.

I remember the day my father agreed to take me with him to the warring lands of Leohan and Usuryn —how I had screamed with joy. The memories of those days are among the ones I love and hate the most. And right now, they're all I can seem to recall.

Our army, taut with apprehension. Dust rising with every step, thick enough to swallow us whole, the ground so parched it had cracked like old skin. The horses pawing and shifting, impatient and unnerved all at once. And in the distance, ahead of us, a fortress to be taken.

Granted, the crumbling old tower lost in the Plains of Fire bears no real resemblance to the vast castle where the Usuryn royal family resides —but the idea is there.

Later, I understood that my father had chosen me as his companion on the Southern Lands purely as a lesson. To show me the lush, abundant kingdom of Leohan first —and then the harsh reality of life in Usuryn. There, people have one single purpose : to survive —whether through cunning or through force. Some would call them barbarians, others savages —but what I saw were men and women who simply wanted to protect what little they had, whatever the cost might be.

Taegeun and Jigeun don't talk much about it —but given the terror that flashes in their eyes whenever the subject comes up, the Brurian soldiers must be cut from the same cloth, if not worse. According to my father, they shouldn't exist —according to Jimin, they're cold, impassive creatures who follow orders to the letter. More organized, then, but also less autonomous, which makes them more predictable. I also allow myself to factor in the climate, which is hardly in their favor —I've never set foot on the Northern Lands, had never even suspected they existed, which only means they're far from the Irinian coasts, and therefore deep in the ice. That would certainly explain why Harin loved the cold winds so much —

Gallien's voice pulls me from my thoughts before the hollow in my chest has time to grow too deep. “I have a bad feeling about this.” His voice barely carries over the rumble of the horses, but I still catch the tremor beneath it, barely concealed.

I glance over my shoulder at the kid. Perched on a horse that was probably handed to him at random, the little redhead looks terrified. Honestly, I don't even understand what he's doing here —he would have been better off waiting back at camp for us to return with those bastards' heads. But for reasons beyond me, he insisted on coming.

Beneath the cloth covering my nose and mouth, I set my jaw. If anything happens to him, I'm locking him in the Capital's stables for the rest of his days. “You can still turn back,” I say without looking at him, eyes fixed on our target straight ahead.

I catch him lifting his head from the corner of my eye —while Jimin, wearing the same makeshift mask as me on my left, barely reacts. His eyes are narrowed against the dust swirling in thick eddies around us, but it's the purest determination I've ever seen that burns in them as he keeps his gaze locked ahead. On his goal. Our goal —the Tower.

Within a few hours, I swear it will fall —and I'll tear it down with my own hands if I have to.

Under me, Xylos snorts and surges forward, throwing every ounce of herself into closing the distance between us and that damned tower, as though she can feel, just as keenly as every soldier around us, what this battle truly means.

This isn't only about avenging a betrayal —it's about saving our two Kingdoms from a dark future.

“No,” Gallien finally answers, shaking his head slowly through the cloud of dust. “I want to be there.”

His voice is so resolute, so certain and so unsteady all at once, that I fall silent for a moment. All I can think of are the great violet creatures —and the only thought that crosses my mind is that he's chosen a terrible moment to find his patriotism.

I don't get the chance to tell him so, though not even the time to open my mouth, or think of anything else. Because the tower is closer now, looming larger, and I can hear the sharp cry of an alarm horn cut through the air.

“Raise your weapons!” Saer and a Hestidian soldier shout, immediately answered by the hiss of dozens of swords sliding free of their scabbards.

The clean steel of my blade cuts bright against the dark fur of my coat, streaked with dirt where the dust has clung —but it doesn't stop me from gripping it harder than I ever have.

“For Hestidia!” Jigeun cries, answered by a perfectly unified chorus of soldiers.

“For Irinian!” My father's voice rings out, quickly swallowed by the cry of his men —and my own.

Before us, the old tower looms, so crumbling that a single blow against its walls seems like it would be enough to bring it down. And yet —behind my eyelids, a pair of hazel eyes looks back at me.

I push forward and raise my weapon as the tower is taken by storm. For Irinian.

I hear our attackers before I see them.

There’s no way you’d miss them, really —even without any training. As I'm dragged through a maze of corridors, the floor, the walls begin to shake, shouts ring out —thunderous— and then the blows.

With a violence unlike anything I've known.

A tremendous crash tears through the air —the great door is forced open, and judging by its size, it must have taken a good twenty men to get it to move. Then the screaming, as swords meet scythes and fists strike —unending, seething with fury— and reverberating inside my skull with terrifying force.

The Borenars are silent. Of course they are —they weren't trained to make noise. They are silent as they return blow for blow, silent as they cut through skin and skewer their enemies, silent as they are thrown into walls and crumble them to dust. Silent as they carry me away, not even letting my feet touch the ground in some last desperate attempt to flee —as silent as the tears that spill down my cheeks.

“Stop,” I can only manage in a broken whisper. “Please, stop…”

They don't listen. Whatever force had made them obey me just minutes ago is gone —replaced by a tide of desperation that could move a mountain to pity. But not them. Never them.

They weren't trained to take pity.

Taehui is nowhere in sight —even Eosu had vanished before they dragged me out of the great hall. That bastard fled the fight to go hide somewhere —waiting for the Borenars to do his dirty work and bring him the crown he won't hesitate to claim.

Maybe then he'll let me go. Or maybe he'll force me to watch as he tramples over their bodies to take the throne.

They drop me against a wall and let me crumple to the floor of a room I don't recognize. Not one of the black rooms, but not a bedroom either —just four walls draped in tapestries, and the foxes embroidered on them judging me without so much as blinking.

It's when the ice-cold hands release my arms and the two Borenars turn their backs to me that I understand. They're going to lock me in.

Nothing compares to the flash of panic that seizes me at the thought. I don't even know where it comes from, where the energy it lends me comes from —but suddenly I'm on my feet, as though struck by lightning. My left ankle screams, but I ignore the pain and reach out toward the looming violet figure —only to catch my feet in the torn hem of my dress, barely catching myself against the wall.

“Don't do this,” I beg, clenching my scraped fists against the thick tapestry, my tongue so thick and heavy I feel like I'm choking. “Please, I—”

The door falls shut with a soft whisper —so soft, and yet deafening as it crushes the last of my hope beyond repair.

I'm finished. This room has no way out and the door is far too solid for me to force. If I had my picks, I'd deal with the lock myself —but I have nothing, nothing but a tattered dress and a cut amethyst resting against my chest. I'm finished. All I can do is wait —wait for someone to come, whether to take my head or to save it.

I let myself sink to the floor, helpless. What good were all those years of training? How did I let things unravel this far?

Seated on the ground, my ankle throbs and swells before my eyes. Being locked in here has at least one advantage —I don't think I could run in this state ; let alone fight. So I wait, in silence, for my fate to fall.

At first, I manage it. Perhaps because of the tapestries, the room is strangely quiet compared to the chaos outside. I can barely hear anything —only the furious beating of my heart and a faint commotion beyond the walls.

Then it grows. The commotion swells —louder, rawer, so vivid to my ears that I can pick out each blow landed, each cry of rage and pain, like the rhythmic pulse of some terrible music. It builds, until I can feel the floor shudder beneath every footfall, until I can hear —can almost recognize— certain voices, until my mind begins to match faces to them.

This is no longer a commotion —it's a merciless storm, roaring louder than the blood pounding in my temples and the pain that steals my breath, each time a voice sounds just a little too much like the one I'm afraid to hear. A storm without limit, that makes me gasp as dark spots bloom at the edges of my vision. A storm that seems to deeply amuse the little voices in my head.

The ones that never stop reminding me of that cursed night.

I see my father's body on the floor. The pools of blood, as daggers flew and the people around me crumpled one by one. I feel again the panic, the raw terror that had flooded through me —that still floods through me when I think of it. I see Yoongi, doing his best to reassure me even as he couldn't keep the tears of fear from his own eyes.

And in the middle of all of it —of that storm of screams and tears and ragged breaths— a voice.

Just one. Clear, absolute, beyond question —and enough to shatter my world to pieces.

“Find me those bastards! I WANT THEM ALIVE!”

My heart stops. My gasping cuts off.

Taehyung.

He's shouting —loud enough for his men to hear him through the chaos— and all I can take from it is that he's here, close. So close.

Far too close.

His soft face, his dark eyes alive with light, superimpose themselves over Yoongi's terrified ones in my memory, overshadowed by thick plum-coloured cloaks and the empty eyes that peer from beneath their hoods. I see the blood again, the sharp blades —I see myself running, running, until my legs gave out, until I couldn't anymore.

I'm suffocating.

The walls close in. My vision blurs, so quickly that soon there's nothing left but endless darkness closing in around me. It's as though my throat has been sealed shut —no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to pull the smallest breath into my compressed lungs. I gasp, and gasp again, and nothing helps.

The embroidered foxes' eyes gleam as bright as scythe blades on untouched snow —and they never stop watching me. Not for a single second.

Before my eyes, the dark spots swell and multiply, until my field of vision narrows to a small, darkening circle. Air still refuses to fill my chest —and in my head, the voices find it all very amusing.

“King’s orders,” they seem to say —the only words I have ever truly seen them speak.

I need to get out of here. I need to do something —anything. Still gasping, starved of air for so long now that I can hear my pulse hammering in my temples as though my skull might implode if I don't get oxygen soon, I try as best I can to haul myself upright, to throw myself at the door —but my swollen ankle fails me.

I've barely found my footing when the pain in my left leg becomes unbearable —my knee buckles, and I have to grab the tapestry with both hands to keep from collapsing. But even that isn't enough —under my weight, the tapestry is wrenched free, sliding entirely from the rod where it had been hanging, near the ceiling —and suddenly, my colourless face is flooded with sunlight.

I'm blinded, dazzled as though I'd just been pulled from one of the black rooms, and it takes me far too long to understand what I'm actually looking at. The tapestry had been hiding a window.

A very small window —barely large enough for me to squeeze through, but enough if I contort myself. Flooded with a surge of hope, I manage to loosen my seized throat and draw a tiny breath —just enough to make me move, but too thin to allow for any real thinking.

I do the first thing that comes to mind.

Seizing the cut stone hanging at my chest, I scrape it hard against the stone floor, over and over —until small sparks begin to fly with each strike. I'm choking, coughing, but I don't stop —not until a spark larger than the rest lands on a corner of the tapestry and catches.

I throw myself at it —grab it and hurl it at the wooden door, somewhere between desperation and autopilot. Nose buried in the crook of my elbow, barely balanced on both feet, I squint past the dark spots crowding my vision to watch the door catch fire, until the hinges give and it swings open on its own with a thunderous crack.

On the other side, at the far end of the corridor, someone spots me. A King's soldier or a Borenar, I can't tell —all I see is a shadow lurching toward me, and my instincts screaming at me to run.

Then everything explodes.

The dust suspended in the air ignites —not unusual in a region this arid— and the force of the blast is so powerful that I'm hurled backwards with nothing I can do about it. Only, I'm not the only one thrown.

My back has barely struck it when the stone wall cracks, shuddering under the impact —the window glass shatters outward, sending a sudden rush of air howling through the gap, which doesn't help in the slightest. The old building can't withstand the force of the blow —the stone quite literally gives way beneath my weight.

I only have time to see a hand reaching toward me before I'm carried backwards, helpless. The blue sky fills my vision, clearer and more blinding than I have ever seen it. Back home, the sky was grey —or white, if we were lucky. I don't think Irinians ever truly realize how fortunate they are to see it like this almost every day.

The air that fills my lungs is clean, almost gentle —right before it's suddenly driven out of them as my back meets the ground. All I can do is watch that vast stretch of blue above me —and then my eyes close as everything goes dark.

My men are winning.

Of course they're winning, I almost want to say —they're my men, after all— but I had held such a vivid memory of the plum monsters that this outcome still strikes me as unreal. And yet, there it is.

We're winning.

The old tower I dared compare to the vast Usuryn fortress is nothing but a crumbling, ridiculous fort that seems to be begging to fall. Every blow sends stone cascading down in avalanches, and for all their menace, it only takes a handful of soldiers to bring one of the monsters to its knees in a matter of minutes. They seem slower than I remember —their scythes duller— and yet it wasn't so long ago that those same creatures had us surrounded at Ebonwick, forcing us to retreat. They were invincible then. Right now, they look almost like impostors, violet decoys set out to lure us in.

Just as my men finish off the last few monsters standing, an explosion tears through somewhere deep in the tower —shaking the building so violently that almost everyone staggers. Sword in hand, at the far end of the hall, Jimin spins around and finds my gaze, apprehension plain in his eyes.