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It felt like Lucia was never going to stop parading you around for pictures and interviews. Typically, these events are a breeze—just socializing and chatting about your favorite pieces from the show. You’re accustomed to being stared at, but tonight everyone is literally gawking at you and Chan with your hands intertwined.
You anticipated feeling unusually nervous and perhaps even a bit uncomfortable. But what you hadn’t expected was having Chan at your side cancel those feelings out.
Correct.
His final word echoes in your head all night. You don’t know how or why he’s so sure of himself, but his confidence calms you. You figure the least you can do is try to match the effort he’s putting into this and that helps you get through the night.
A whopping three hours of lies and fake smiles later, you’re both finally ushered outside the venue and into an awaiting car. Lucia stands next to the open door and hands your phones back. They’re both lighting up and vibrating like crazy.
“Trending already,” she beams.
You grab both phones since you’re closer and pass Chan his.
“Have you decided on Los Angeles or New York for your residence?” she asks, as if you’ve had ample time to consider your impending shared living arrangement and not just twenty-four hours.
“We haven’t talked about it yet,” you say, glancing at Chan.
“L.A. would make it easier to see my family.”
A pang of something you aren’t ready to deal with stabs at your chest.
His decision is based on family.
You were prepared to base your decision solely on weather.
“I’m good with that.”
“Perfect.” Lucia says. “We’ll send over a few options and schedule the engagement shoot there, too. Keep your phones close.”
She starts to close the door, then stops to add:
“And don’t forget to interact with some of the posts. Likes, comments—you know the drill.”
It isn’t until you and Chan verbally confirm you will that she closes the door.
You exhale heavily as the car takes off to the hotel, feeling absolutely drained from the evening. If it weren’t for this, you would have been on your way to the after-after party. But you can no longer attend such events on a whim by yourself without it being seen as trouble in paradise.
The shackles are already firmly in place.
And as your phone continues to ping with notification after notification, that fact really starts to sink in.
You’d much rather not acknowledge any of this right now, but you don’t have a choice. Maintaining this façade is now part of your job. So, you open Instagram and a video of you and Chan on Elle Magazine’s account is the first thing that greets you. The caption overhead reads: LOVE & FASHION IN THE AIR.
“You two left quite an impression on the runway. What was that moment?” the interviewer asks.
“I’d like to see anyone do better after turning around and seeing Chan in that outfit,” you answer with a small chuckle. “I was a little caught off guard, in the best way, and it doesn’t help that I had a lot on my mind . . . ”
You watch yourself step into Chan, pressing your side against him, and place your left-hand square on his chest.
You can still remember the rapid beating of his heart beneath your touch. How heat radiated from the spot on your waist where his hand rested.
She audibly gasps. “When did that happen? Unless I missed something, I didn’t even know you two were dating.”
“We worked hard to keep it between us until we were sure,” Chan answers. “The engagement was recent . . . I’m very lucky she said yes.”
You glance up at him.
He looks down at you and presses a quick kiss to your forehead.
It baffles you how natural it all comes off.
“When is the wedding?”
“All will be announced soon,” you smile coyly.
“Well, we look forward to hearing it. Congratulations,” the interviewer says. “Mind if we get another look at the ring?”
You pause the video there—you don’t need to see that part.
The damned thing is still on your finger.
You open the comments, wondering if the good or bad ones are having their turn at the top of the algorithm.
It turns out to be a mixture of everything.
OMG I'M SCREAMING 😭😭😭
Congratulations to her but I am currently in mourning
That forehead kiss was everything. Chan is so sweet. y/n is so lucky
THE RING?? HELLO??
Need somebody to explain this timeline to me
Their babies will be perfection
The way she smiles when he talks about her 🥰
Chan I'm free tomorrow if this doesn't work out
Y/N. GIRL. YOU WON.
If only they knew.
You double tap on the video out of pure obligation.
“It looks like you’ve got some backup options if this doesn’t work out,” you muse, setting your phone down, already over it.
Chan snorts, putting his phone down too.
You turn slightly to face him. This is the first time you’ve been alone since leaving the storage closet. The first time either of you have had a moment to think about all that’s coming next.
“Are we—”
“I know we—”
You both begin at the same time before pausing.
“You first,” you tell him.
“I know we have different reasons for not wanting this, but I think we should look at it as a business deal . . . a partnership with each other, if you will.”
Oh.
That’s not what you expected.
You wanted to ask how many rooms the apartment should have and call dibs on the master bedroom.
“There’s a lot of very real legal shit hanging over our heads and if we focus on that, we’ll be miserable,” he continues. “I don’t want that. We were friends before this and I’d like to say the same when this is over, yeah?”
You nod slowly, letting that sink in for a moment. The sentiment is certainly nice to hear after all that was said in his hotel room yesterday.
You probably wouldn’t have addressed it at all.
Chan clearly doesn’t have a problem expressing himself, though. And you can tell by the way he’s looking at you, he expects you to do the same.
“What are we telling our friends?” you ask instead.
He takes a beat before responding. “They get the same story as everyone else.”
“They wouldn’t tell anyone . . . ”
“I know, but we can’t risk them talking about it and someone overhearing. It’s easier to keep the narrative intact with fewer people knowing the truth.”
You can get away with lying to Seungmin via text, but you aren’t sure it will hold up in person.
“Okay,” you agree. “If they have follow up questions, I’m telling them to call you.”
Your phone vibrates again. Then again. And again.
Another article and a new round of commentary.
“It’s a good thing, y/n,” Chan reminds you. “We keep them talking, we keep Fendi happy, and Lucia stays off our back.”
Thousands of strangers discussing your personal life, even if contrived, doesn’t feel like a good thing. In terms of your current predicament, though, he’s right.
Keeping Lucia at bay is probably the only thing you have any control over right now. You can at least use that as some sort of motivation.
Between traveling, packing, choosing a new apartment, and fielding texts about the engagement, you’ve hardly had a moment to just breathe in days. Everything feels like it’s moving at warp speed and you’re just being pulled along on the ride.
Seungmin already called bullshit on the whole ordeal. You promised you’d explain more in person to buy yourself some time, but you have no idea what you can tell your best friend to make him believe this.
Your mother, on the other hand, is just dying to know when she’ll meet her future son-in-law. It doesn’t shock you that she asks nothing at all about him. Her main concern is how this will elevate your platform and, in turn, her social status amongst the other moms in the neighborhood.
That’s all any of your accomplishments have ever meant to her.
By the time you arrive at the high-rise residential building in Los Angeles that will be your home for the duration of the contract, you’re running on fumes.
You head to the 25th floor and stop at the front door, hands poised in front of the keypad as dread fills the pit of your stomach.
When Lucia sent a list of fully furnished rental options, you didn’t think you and Chan would ever come to an agreement on one. He wanted a place with ample kitchen space—you’re a DoorDash kind of girl and didn’t care too much about it. You wanted something in the city, he was okay living on the outskirts of town.
It was your first test of compromise as a fake couple.
Picking the place was easy. Actually being here? Not so much.
This is where you will live with Chan.
You’ve lived with roommates before.
Never a fiancé.
This is a new kind of domestic cohabitation.
“You just gonna stand there or you comin’ in?”
You jump at the sound of Chan’s disembodied voice disrupting your thoughts. Your eyes dart to the Ring camera on the side of the door.
He’s already connected to it?
You squint at the camera.
He laughs. “Shoes off, yeah?”
“Acting like you own the place already?”
You unlock the door and step inside, taking your shoes off as requested, before walking through the short hall and into the open living space. The afternoon light streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows. To your right is a couch, coffee table, and TV. And to your left, the kitchen.
Which is where Chan is.
“What are you doing?” you ask, bewildered.
He has all the cabinets open and every plate, cup, pot, pan on the island.
He glances over his shoulder. “Putting away the dishes.”
“Weren’t they already in the cabinet?”
“Yeah . . . but not the right ones,” he explains, resuming his task.
You inwardly flinch. Your mother is the only other person you’ve known to believe that some cabinets might be more correct than others. Everything has a place, she had always said. She ran a strict program, and you do not want the next few years to feel like you’re living with her.
You walk to the refrigerator. “I can order some food—"
You open it to find it fully stocked.
“You bought groceries already?” you close it and lean against the island.
“My bad. I knew your flight was coming in later than mine,” he says, putting a stack of plates in a cabinet near the stove. “Your boxes came. I put them in your room.”
“You didn’t unpack them for me?” you tease, brow quirked.
“Nah, that’s all you. But I will make dinner.”
You know it’s not his intention, but within the first few minutes of being here, it feels like you’re moving into his home.
You leave him to his organizing and walk back down the hall, entering the master bedroom on the right. All of your boxes are lined along the wall—a box cutter resting atop one of the stacks.
Of course he'd left one for you.
You slice through the tape on the nearest box and begin unpacking. Every so often you hear movement from the kitchen—cabinets closing, running water, the beeping of appliances.
By the time you’re halfway through the stacks, the smell of garlic and butter wafts into your room. Your stomach immediately growls.
To hell with unpacking. The boxes aren’t going anywhere.
You return to the kitchen. The island is now free of clutter and Chan is pan searing two steaks.
“Almost done,” he says. “Have a seat and I’ll bring it over.”
You opt for the seat facing the window and a few minutes later Chan is setting a plate down in front of you. The steak has already been sliced, with asparagus laid beside it.
The setting sun spilling through the windows is the kind of thing that would be romantic for a couple sharing their first night in their new apartment.
But the conversation over dinner is the opposite of that. It’s mundane and mechanical. You talk about household chores, preferred thermostat temperatures, your schedules, upcoming public appearances, and the type of content you can create for engagement.
On that note, he pushes his empty plate away and asks, “Where’s your ring?”
“In my room,” you answer. “We aren’t in public . . . ”
“Can you go grab it for a sec? We should probably take a picture.”
Your notifications had just started to quiet down.
You push away from the table reluctantly and go to your room. You find your purse and fish it out from the side pocket amidst bobby pins and gum wrappers. You slip the ring on as you return to the living room—stopping in the kitchen when you see Chan at the sink already rinsing your plates and putting them into the dishwasher.
He turns off the water and dries his hands before taking out his phone and walking to the window, motioning for you to join him. He takes your left hand in his, bringing you to his side. The gesture is smooth and feels natural, but that doesn’t stop a wave of heat from rolling through you at the contact.
He raises your hand, pointing the camera at it with the L.A. night sky as a backdrop. He then brings you to stand in front of him, hand still outstretched with the ring on your finger angled at the camera.
“Is my face in this?”
“Yeah, it’ll be out of focus, though.”
You both slip with ease into your professional personas. He snaps away, moving the camera around for higher and lower angles as you pose.
He airdrops you the photos when your mini photoshoot is over.
“We should probably talk about expectations and boundaries too,” he says.
“Like what?”
“Like how to make sure we’re both comfortable in public. Some level of PDA will be required.”
“You say that like you haven’t already shoved your tongue down my throat, Chan.”
“That was one time,” he flushes. “In private.”
You’ve been so caught up in packing for the move and lying to anyone who asked you about the engagement that you hadn’t thought about that aspect of shared living.
Okay, that’s not true.
You definitely thought about it a few times.
But what’s tripping you up is the way he said one time.
As if it won’t happen again.
“Will there be more of that in private?” you ask.
The question throws him. His flush deepens.
You weren’t sure if Bashful Bang had disappeared forever, but there he is.
You take a step closer as your preferred kind of tension fills the space between you.
“You do know what husbands and wives do, don’t you?” You take another step, wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders before pushing up onto your tiptoes. “Or are you expecting us to remain celibate this entire time?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“You.”
You lay your feet flat on the ground.
“If we have sex, it can’t just be casual for me.”
Well fuck.
Casual is exactly what you were hoping for. It has rules and doesn’t require anything more of you.
“Isn’t that smarter since we know it won’t last?” you ask, stroking the nape of his neck.
He places his hands on your hips, holding you firmly.
“Wouldn’t it be better if it meant something either way?”
You shrug.
He pulls you to him, pressing your body flush against him. Your breath catches in your throat.
“Believe me, I know it would feel good, too,” he begins softly. “And I’m not immune to you, y/n. But if we start adding sex to this, it could get messy without some level of mutual respect and trust holding it together.”
“Is this a hard line for you?”
He doesn’t answer.
His hands remain on your hips, thumbs absentmindedly brushing against the fabric of your shirt.
You’re not sure if he’s thinking or reconsidering.
Either way, he’s taking too long.
You rise up onto your tiptoes again, letting your lips brush against the corner of his jaw.
“You said kissing was okay before, right?” you murmur against his skin.
A quiet laugh escapes him.
“I did.”
Emboldened, you trail another kiss just below his ear.
His grip tightens ever so slightly.
“Let me take you on a date," he whispers.
You pull away from him, eyes locking with his.
For you, if you start adding that to the mix is when it would get messy.
It appears you’ve reached your second test of compromise.
And this one won’t be as easy to get through.
[ forever x fendi photobook ]
a/n: he wants it, she wants it, WE want it...ugh. sorry this is so short! we're going to push chans buttons and see seungmin in london for their fashion week next chapter. more coming soon :)
how are ya'll feeling with the world tour announcement? i'm so excited. i saved money this time around 😂
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary: Your life was perfect. You had the perfect fiance, the perfect house and the perfect ring on your finger. The only thing that wasn't perfect …. were the memories you lost years ago and the fact your parents won't talk about it.
Pairing: Yoongi x F. Reader
Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt-Comfort, Smut
Warnings: Memory Loss, Swearing, Blood Mention, Unprotected Sex, Mention Of Car Accident, Mention Of Drunk Driver. Will add as I go…
A/N: Posting Update!
There will not be any updates next week. I'm going on vacation and will not be bringing any of my stuff with me. I also have another little thing planned next month as well but I'll of course give you heads up when I skip that week.
The watercolor class is completely different from the charcoal workshop. Here, the only sounds are the soft, rhythmic scrape of brushes against textured paper and the gentle slosh of water in glass jars.
Soft music plays in the background. There are no sounds of whimpering anxiety from your fellow classmates. Just a serene, calming studio.
Yura had been right. Watercolor is entirely different. It doesn't demand the aggressive, physical presence that charcoal did. It doesn't leave you looking like a chimney sweep. Instead, it requires a strange, peaceful surrender. You watch a bloom of deep ultramarine bleed effortlessly into a wet wash of cobalt turquoise, the colors merging on the heavy cotton paper to create a seamless, dreamy twilight sky.
For the first time since everything happened, the frantic, buzzing static in your mind is completely quiet. You aren't forcing yourself to dig through the fog. You aren't desperately reaching for puzzle pieces. You are just watching the water do the work, building layers of color, feeling a profound sense of calm wash over you.
Your hands are steady. They feel like yours.
The serene silence is softly broken by the familiar ding of your phone resting on the edge of the wooden easel.
You set your brush down across the rim of your water jar, wiping your damp fingers on an apron before picking up the device. A smile already hitches at the corners of your lips before you even unlock the screen, anticipating the inevitable chaos.
When the notification pops up, it isn't a direct message. It’s a update from the collective group chat.
Jin changed the group name from "Operation Find Her Braincells" to "She's Back-ish"
A breathless laugh escapes you, drawing a curious but friendly glance from an elderly woman painting a bowl of fruit two easels over. You offer her a sheepish nod before quickly looking back down at the screen as the messages immediately begin to cascade.
Jin: It is a temporary title!
Jin: But after the Masterclass Demonstration of the Sacred Mussel Technique, I felt the previous name was insulting to her muscle memory.
Taehyung: I still have the shell on my nightstand. It radiates protective energy.
Jimin: Taehyung, please throw the garbage away, it smells like the pier at low tide.
Jungkook: I told you guys she’d stick the landing! (Even though Yoongi sabotaged our acrobatic routine because he has weak ankles).
Yoongi: My ankles are fine. Shut up.
Yura: Leave him alone, Yoongi.
Yura: Anyway, Y/N!! How is the watercolor class going?? Is it a masterpiece yet?
You lift your phone, framing the half-finished twilight sky on your easel. The colors look even better through the lens, the deep blues and soft, bleeding turquoises vivid against the white of the paper. You snap the photo and type out a quick reply.
You: Not a masterpiece yet but it’s a lot more relaxing than charcoal
You hit send, attaching the photo to the message.
Hobi: WAHHHH!! Look at those colors! Y/N, that looks so professional!! My artistic queen! 🎨✨
Namjoon: Really impressive blending, Y/N. The transitions are super smooth. You should be really proud of that, it’s looking beautiful.
The chat continues to scroll at lightning speed, a blur of emojis and enthusiastic punctuation, when a new message from Jin halts the art appreciation train completely.
Jin: Speaking of beautiful transitions!
Jin: Now that Y/N is reclaiming her braincells, we need to finalize the schedule for the Annual Summer Solstice Wilderness Spectacular. 🌲⛺🔥
Yoongi: Please don't call it that.
Hobi: OOOOOOOH IT’S TIME!!! 😍🎒
Your thumb hovers over the screen. The what?
Jungkook: RV #1. Yura and I already spent the weekend upgrading the sound system and installing the LED underglow. It looks like a spaceship. We are leading the convoy.
Yura: Can confirm. Also, I bought three industrial-sized bags of marshmallows. We're doing gourmet s'mores.
Taehyung: I get the loft bed in RV #1! I already packed my silk pajamas and my telescope.
Jungkook: Absolutely not, Tae, that’s the designated gaming zone. You’re in RV #2 with Jin and Namjoon.
Jin: Excuse me?! RV #2 is the Culinary Oasis! I have already pre-marinated forty pounds of short ribs. Namjoon is banned from touching any open flames, but he is permitted to chop vegetables under strict supervision.
Namjoon: I sliced one finger one time three years ago, Jin. But fine. I’ll stick to being the navigator. (Though last time we went, Yoongi took a wrong turn and we ended up in a tractor dealership parking lot for four hours).
Yoongi: I was avoiding a toll. And RV #3 is the quiet zone. No yelling, no LED lights, and absolutely no gaming after midnight.
You stare at the screen, your smile slowly faltering. You blink once. Twice. You look from the phone back to your serene, peaceful watercolor painting, then back to the chat, which is currently a chaotic flood of tent-emoji spam and arguments over who is responsible for bringing the bug spray.
You slowly type out a response, the steady feeling in your hands suddenly replaced by a mild sense of impending dread.
You: Wait... camping?
The rapid-fire scrolling of the group chat suddenly halts. The silence on the screen is almost deafening, lasting for three long, agonizing seconds before the text bubbles start popping up again, frantic and overlapping.
Yoongi: ...
Jimin: Oh, brilliant. Nice job, everyone.
Yura: 🤦♀️
Yoongi: Of course she doesn't remember the camping trip. She literally lost her memories, and we're throwing forty pounds of short ribs and LED spaceships at her.
Jin: Hey! I was trying to build excitement! Anticipation is the finest spice of life!
Namjoon: Yoongi is right, though. Sorry, Y/N. We overshot. The Annual Summer Solstice Wilderness Spectacular is just our wordy name for the group camping trip we take every year.
Jungkook: Wait, wait, don't panic! Y/N, you don't need to worry about anything. You’re in RV #1 with me and Yura. We have the best snacks, the best music.
Jungkook: I promise I won't let Taehyung bring his telescope into the gaming zone. It’s going to be perfect.
You stare at the screen, your thumb hovering over the glass. The peacefulness of the watercolor studio suddenly feels miles away, replaced by the mental image of being trapped in a moving vehicle that looks like a neon spaceship, surrounded by forty pounds of raw meat, competitive gaming, and smelly mussel shells.
Yoongi’s name pops up, separating his message from the chaos of the group chat.
Yoongi: Hey.
Yoongi: Don't feel pressured to go if you don't want to. I know this is a lot to take in at once, and honestly, the thought of being trapped in an RV with Jin’s ribs and Jungkook’s LED lights for three days is giving me a headache, too.
Yoongi: If you’d rather stay behind. I'll stay with you.
You let out a soft breath, the tension in your shoulders easing just a fraction as you read his words. Leaving the chaotic group chat burning in the background, you quickly type back to him.
You: I don't even know anything about camping... I don't remember what to pack or what to do.
A moment later, the three little dots appear.
Yoongi: You don't need to know anything. You're not expected to bring anything but yourself.
Yoongi: Honestly, you loved it. You're usually the one who insists on going every year, even if you spend half the time complaining about the mosquitoes.
Yoongi: Jin already bought enough food to feed a small army. Everything is covered.
Yoongi: But the offer still stands. If it feels like too much too fast, you say the word and I’ll tell them we're sitting this one out. No questions asked.
You stare at his messages for a long moment.
The knot of anxiety in your chest loosens, not because camping suddenly sounds less chaotic, but because of the simple certainty behind his words.
If it feels like too much, we'll stay.
Not you'll stay.
We'll.
Your thumb hovers over the keyboard.
You: You'd really stay behind?
The reply comes almost immediately.
Yoongi: Obviously.
Yoongi: The woods will still be there next year.
Yoongi: Besides, somebody has to protect civilization from Jin's experimental campfire recipes.
A laugh escapes you. Across the studio, the elderly woman glances over again. You quickly duck your head. You glance back at the group chat.
Thirty-seven unread messages.
Somehow, while you'd been talking to Yoongi, the conversation had devolved into an argument about whether raccoons could be trained to participate in capture-the-flag.
You honestly aren't sure which side is winning.
A small smile tugs at your lips.
Maybe camping sounds overwhelming. Maybe the idea of spending three days in the wilderness with seven human disasters and Yura should concern you.
But beneath all the chaos...
You can feel it.
The excitement.The strange sense that this is something important. Not because of the trip itself. Because it's theirs.
A tradition.
A memory.
Maybe one you don't remember. But maybe one you can make yours again. Before you can second-guess yourself, you back out of your conversation with Yoongi and jump into the main chat.
Jungkook: If Y/N is officially attending, we need to conduct the Orientation Ceremony.
You: The what?
Jin: Oh no.
Yura: Absolutely not.
Taehyung: ABSOLUTELY YES.
Jungkook: Every first day of camping starts with the Orientation Ceremony.
Jimin: That's not true.
Jungkook: It is now.
Jungkook: Y/N needs to know the rules.
You: There are rules?
Jungkook: MANY.
Jungkook: Rule #1: Never trust Jin when he says "I added a little extra spice."
Jin: That's slander.
Namjoon: It's actually excellent advice.
Jungkook: Rule #2: If Taehyung says "come look at this," prepare to lose at least two hours of your life.
Taehyung: Because beauty cannot be rushed.
Jungkook: Rule #3: Never challenge Jimin to any game involving balance.
Jimin: Correct.
Jimin: You will lose.
Jungkook: Rule #4: Never ask Yoongi if he's having fun.
You: Why
Jungkook: Because he'll say no.
Jungkook: Even while actively having fun.
A full ten seconds pass.
Yoongi: Shut up.
The chat explodes.
Hobi: HE ADMITTED IT!!!!
Taehyung: SCREENSHOTTED.
Jimin: Historic day.
Jin: Mark the calendar.
You find yourself laughing so hard your eyes start watering.The sound echoes softly through the quiet watercolor studio. For a moment, you don't feel like someone desperately trying to recover missing pieces of herself.
You feel like someone with plans.
A camping trip with friends who won't stop talking. In an RV apparently covered in LED lights. And a quiet man who had offered, without hesitation, to stay behind if you needed him to.
Your phone vibrates again with a message from Yoongi.
Yoongi: For the record.
Yoongi: You're going to have fun.
You smile at the screen and type back.
You: Is that your professional camping assessment?
Three dots appear.
Disappear.
Then return.
Yoongi: No.
Yoongi: That's me remembering.
The smile slowly fades into something softer.
Warmer.
Because Yoongi remembers enough for both of you.
The heavy, metallic thud of a storage bay door slamming shut echoes across the driveway, followed immediately by Jungkook cheering as he tests the LED underglow of RV #1. It’s early morning, the sun barely cresting the horizon, casting a crisp golden light over the three massive vehicles.
Everything is packed. Every square inch of storage has been meticulously checked, re-checked, and crossed off a master spreadsheet that Namjoon had printed out in a three-ring binder.
Jin is currently standing on the steps of RV #2, hands on his hips, wearing an apron over his travel clothes that says The Chef Is In. He looks like a general reviewing his troops, his eyes locked onto the massive cooler tucked safely inside the "Culinary Oasis."
"Everything is locked and loaded," Hobi announces, jogging back from the rear of Yoongi’s designated quiet zone, RV #3. "Tire pressure is perfect, the water tanks are full, and I’ve successfully stowed Taehyung's telescope in a heavily padded closet where it cannot turn into a gaming hazard."
"It's an instrument of science, Hobi!" Taehyung protests from the window of RV #1, already wearing his silk pajama shirt under a denim jacket.
Namjoon, however, isn't looking at the RVs. He’s standing near the edge of the driveway, looking over his clipboard with a slightly worried expression. He taps his pen against his chin, looking back toward the garage.
"Hey, Jin," Namjoon calls out, raising his voice over the low hum of the idling engines. "Come here for a second. Look at the weight distribution and the final route calculations."
"What is it, Joon? If you're going to tell me forty pounds of short ribs is a structural hazard, I don't want to hear it." Jin sighs dramatically, stepping down from the RV.
"No, it's not the meat," Namjoon says, waving a hand. "I’m thinking about the logistics once we actually get deep into the valley. Look at the camp layout. The nearest general store from our site is a forty-five-minute drive down a narrow, winding mountain pass. If we want to go pick up a bag of ice, it's going to be a nightmare."
"What are you proposing, Joon?" Yoongi walks over, a travel mug of black coffee gripped firmly in his hand, looking entirely too awake for someone who hates mornings.
"I think it’s a good idea if there are two smaller chase vehicles trailing us," Namjoon explains, pointing his pen toward the driveway. "One car for quick supply runs, and another just in case someone…and I'm not naming names…takes a wrong turn into a commercial machinery business again."
"It was one time," Yoongi mutters into his coffee.
Jin pauses, his dramatic demeanor suddenly shifting into serious calculation. He rubs his chin, looking back at the massive convoy, then nods slowly.
"Actually... Namjoon makes an excellent point. Last year was an absolute tragedy. We ran out of standard-issue sea salt by day two, and I had to resort to using coarse Himalayan pink salt on the sweet potatoes. It completely threw off the flavor profile. We almost starved." Jin states.
"We didn't almost starve, you drama queen, we had a mountain of food," Jimin chimes in, leaning his head out of the passenger side of RV #2. "But he's right about the supply runs. Driving an RV down those mountain roads just for a grocery run sounds miserable."
“I can drive one SUV,” Hobi says. “Yura, why don't you and Y/N…”
“No,” Yura cuts Hobi off quickly. Her voice has a sharp, sudden edge to it that makes the playful morning air instantly freeze.
The casual bickering about short ribs and telescopes completely stops.
She is still standing near the door of RV #1, her hand gripping the metal handle a little too tightly, her knuckles turning white. She tries to force a quick, dismissive smile to smooth over the awkward tension, but the shadow that crosses her face is unmistakable.
You know exactly why she said no.
You might not remember the sound of the shattering glass or the crushing weight of the impact, but you know the aftermath. You know Yura was behind the wheel when the drunk driver slammed into your car. You know she walked away with minor cuts and a devastating, suffocating mountain of guilt and blaming herself every single day for the fact that you woke up in a hospital bed with a blank slate where your life used to be. The mere thought of getting behind the wheel of a chase vehicle, navigating narrow, winding mountain roads with you in the passenger seat, is clearly sending a wave of panic straight through her.
Hobi blinks, his enthusiastic smile faltering slightly as he senses the sudden shift. He looks between Yura and you, his mouth opening to apologize for putting her on the spot. Before the silence can stretch out and become heavy, Jimin steps down from the passenger side of RV #2. His movements are casual and completely erasing the awkwardness. He slides his hands into his pockets, offering Yura a warm, incredibly reassuring smile.
"Actually, count me out of the RV rotation," Jimin says easily, throwing an arm around Hobi’s shoulder. "I'll drive the second SUV. Hobi needs a co-pilot on the walkie anyway to keep him awake, and frankly, if I have to spend the next four hours listening to Jin explain the chemical breakdown of a short rib marinade, my ears are going to bleed."
"Hey! My marinades are an educational experience!" Jin protests from the steps.
The collective laugh that follows Jin’s outrage ripples through the driveway, pulling everyone’s attention back to the caravan. Jungkook starts cheering again, trying to sync the LED lights to a heavy bassline, and Namjoon nods, crossing something off his clipboard with a satisfied click of his pen.
The heavy, suffocating weight in the air lifts for them. But for you, it settles deep into your chest, growing heavier by the second. You look back at Yura. She is trying so hard to blend back into the chaos, laughing at something Jungkook just said, but her shoulders are tense. Her hand is still resting near the door of RV #1, trembling just a fraction.
She’s terrified, you realize, a sudden, sharp ache blooming behind your ribs. She’s terrified of hurting you again.
You look at the massive, rumbling RVs. You look at the spreadsheets, the excitement, the years of tradition laid out so perfectly before you. And suddenly, the "She’s Back-ish" title of the group chat feels entirely wrong. You aren't back. You are a fragile puzzle someone is trying desperately to glue back together, and right now, your presence is making someone walk on eggshells.
Without a word, you back away from the noise of the driveway. You find him near the back of RV #3, adjusting a side mirror. Yoongi takes a sip from his travel mug, his eyes tracking you the moment you round the corner. He doesn't say anything right away. He just lowers the mug, his sharp gaze instantly taking in the tension in your jaw, the way your fingers are clutching the hem of your sweater, and the faint shine of tears threatening to blur your vision.
"Hey," he says softly. "What's wrong?"
"Yoongi..." Your voice cracks, the sound small and fragile. You swallow hard, forcing the words out before you lose your nerve. "I don't think I should go."
"Where is this coming from? We talked about this. You said you wanted to go." He sets his coffee mug down on the bumper of the RV, turning his full attention to you.
"That was before," you whisper, blinking rapidly as a hot tear finally escapes. You look back toward the front of the driveway. "Did you see her? Did you hear her voice when Hobi suggested she drive? Yoongi, Yura is so uncomfortable. She's terrified."
"Y/N…" He tries.
"No, listen to me," you interrupt, the distress finally bubbling over. "She’s carrying this massive, awful mountain of guilt because of the accident. Because of what happened to my head, to my memories. If I’m in that RV, if I’m on this trip, she’s going to spend this trip watching me like I’m made of glass. I’m ruining it for her before we even leave."
More tears fall, and you angrily wipe them away with the back of your hand, frustrated by how quickly the panic has overtaken the calm within you.
"I should just stay home. It’s better if I stay behind. I don't want to be the reason she’s upset. I’m upset that she’s upset, and it’s just... it’s too much." You shake your head.
Yoongi stands there, letting you get it all out. He doesn't try to cut you off, and he doesn't tell you you're being dramatic. Instead, he steps closer, closing the distance between you until the chaotic noise of the rest of the group feels entirely locked out.
"Look at me," he commands gently.
You hesitate, then lift your eyes to meet his.
"You're fine," Yoongi says."You aren't ruining anything. You are not a burden to Yura."
He reaches out, and pulls you into his chest. His arms wrap themselves around you.
"Yura carries a lot of weight for what happened," he says softly. "We all know that. But leaving you behind isn't going to fix her guilt, Y/N. It’ll just make her feel worse, because she’ll think her fear took this away from you. She wants you here. Everyone wants you here."
Yoongi’s chest rises and falls against your cheek, his heartbeat steady. His chin rests lightly on the top of your hair, his hands broad and warm against your back.
"If you stay behind, she's going to sit in that RV for four hours thinking she ruined your chance to make a new memory," Yoongi murmurs. "She loves you, Y/N. That's why she's terrified. But running away from each other isn't the answer."
"I just don't want to break the tradition. I feel like an imposter." You sniffle, your face still pressed into his dark sweatshirt.
"You're not an imposter," he says firmly, his hands sliding up to your shoulders as he gently pushes you back just enough to look into your eyes. He reaches up, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. "You're just recovering. And if you need to be treated like glass for a little bit while you heal, then we'll all just be really careful. Understand?"
Before you can answer, the heavy crunch of gravel signals someone approaching.
"Hey! Yoongi! Y/N!" Jungkook’s voice booms around the corner of the RV, full of morning energy. He skids to a halt, a bright pink walkie-talkie clamped in his hand and a massive grin on his face. "Jin says the short ribs are secured, Namjoon finished the final clipboard inspection, and…."
Jungkook stops mid-sentence, his eyes instantly catching your red-rimmed eyes and the way Yoongi still has you in his arms. The playful energy instantly drains from his face, replaced by a look of concern.
"What happened?" Jungkook asks. He looks at Yoongi, then at you, his brow furrowing. "Is it the chat? I can delete the chat."
"No, Kook, it's not the chat," Yoongi says. "We're just taking a minute."
"RV #1 is fully fired up, Y/N. The LED lights are set to a calming twilight blue because I remembered you liked that color. Yura already claimed the front passenger seat so she can manage the snacks, and we're just waiting on our last passenger. You ready?" Jungkook looks at you, his large, doe-like eyes softening. He steps closer, holding out a hand toward you.
You look at Jungkook's outstretched hand, then glance back toward the front of the driveway where you can hear Jin and Taehyung loudly arguing about whether a silk pajama shirt counts as proper wilderness attire. The panic from a moment ago tries to flare up again, a heavy weight pressing on your lungs. You look back at RV #1. You can see her silhouette through the tinted windshield, adjusting the sun visor, still looking rigid.
Yoongi watches the subtle shift in your expression, reading the hesitation in the line of your shoulders. He glances at Jungkook, then moves his gaze back to you.
"She's not riding in RV #1," Yoongi states calmly.
"Wait, why? We have the gaming zone setup! And the s'mores…" Jungkook blinks, looking caught off guard.
"She's riding with me," Yoongi interrupts smoothly, his voice leaving absolutely no room for argument. He reaches down and picks up his travel mug from the bumper of RV #3. “I want to spend some time with her alone before we don't get any.”
Jungkook opens his mouth to protest, but he looks at your face, notices the quiet gratitude in your eyes, and stops himself. A look of understanding dawns on him. He nods seriously, tapping his walkie-talkie against his palm.
"Copy that," Jungkook says softly, offering you a reassuring, slightly smaller smile. "But you're still getting gourmet s'mores when we arrive. I'll personally deliver them to RV #3. Don't let Yoongi eat them all, he acts like he doesn't like sugar but he's a liar."
With a quick, playful salute, Jungkook jogs back around the corner, his voice instantly crackling over the walkie-talkie as he alerts the rest of the group to the change in plans.
Yoongi walks over to the passenger side of RV #3, pulling the heavy door open for you. He looks over his shoulder, his dark eyes steady and entirely unbothered by the chaos of the morning.
"Go ahead," he says gently, nodding toward the RV. "It's quiet here. No LED lights, no forty pounds of meat, and definitely no raccoons."
A small, breathless laugh finally escapes you. You step up into the cabin of the RV, the interior smelling of clean upholstery and Yoongi's coffee. As you settle into the passenger seat, you look out the side mirror and see Yura stick her head out of the window of RV # 1. When she sees you look at her, you offer her a small, tentative wave. A look of profound relief washes over her face, and she throws you a fierce, blowing-a-kiss motion with both hands before disappearing back inside her vehicle.
Yoongi climbs into the driver's seat beside you, pulling the door shut with a solid, isolating thunk that instantly cuts out the noise of the driveway. He puts his coffee in the cup holder, starts the engine with a low, rumbling purr, and rests his hands comfortably on the steering wheel. He doesn't look at you immediately, giving you the space to just sit with your thoughts.
"Thank you, Yoongi," you say softly, leaning your head back against the headrest.
He shifts the massive vehicle into gear before reaching over and grabbing your hand. His thumb lightly rubs the ring on your middle finger.
“Always,” he whispers.
"WE HAVE ARRIVED!" Jin announces dramatically as he steps out of RV #2.
"Somebody help me unload the tables!" Jungkook yells from RV #1.
"The telescope comes out first!" Taehyung argues.
"The food comes out first!" Jin shrieks back.
Within minutes everyone falls into their usual routine. People who have done this dozens of times before. Namjoon unfolds maps and checks campsite markers. Jin begins inspecting the outdoor cooking setup. Jungkook and Hobi haul equipment from storage compartments while Jimin starts assembling folding chairs before anyone can sit on the ground and complain.
You step down from RV #3 and pause.
The air is cooler here and clean. Pine needles crunch softly beneath your shoes. The stream babbles over smooth stones nearby. Your feet automatically carry you a few steps toward the water's edge as you stare at the winding stream.
"Whoa, careful." Hobi appears beside you carrying two folding tables under one arm.
"The rocks get super slippery near the water.”
You glance toward the stream. Toward a large fallen log resting diagonally across the water.
The words leave your mouth before you even think about them.
"No," you say automatically. "Only by the fallen log over there."
Hobi freezes. The folding tables nearly slide out of his grip.
"What?" He asks.
"That's where Yura and I fell in." You point toward the weathered log.
Hobi completely stops adjusting the tables, his eyes widening to the size of saucers as he looks from you to the rotting, moss-covered log, and then back to you again.
"Y/N..." Hobi breathes, his voice barely a whisper, afraid that making too much noise might shatter whatever is happening.
You don't even realize you’re walking forward until your boots sink slightly into the damp earth closer to the bank.
"The water was so cold," you say, your voice remarkably steady even as a shiver runs down your spine. "It was freezing. We were laughing one second, and the next, the current just swept our feet right out from under us. It was so hard to catch our breath. We couldn't breathe, Hobi."
Behind you, the clattering of camping gear suddenly dies out. One by one, the boys freeze in their tracks. Jin drops a plastic container of utensils back onto the RV steps, and Namjoon’s clipboard lowers slowly to his side. Yura, who had been lifting a bag of marshmallows from the trunk of the SUV, lets her hands drop as she stares at you, her bottom lip trembling. Yoongi steps up right behind you, his presence warm at your back, though he doesn't speak.
"Yura tried to grab my jacket, but the fabric was too wet. We got separated," you whisper.
"And then what happened, Y/N?" Jimin asks.
You turn your head to look at him, a bright, genuine laugh bubbling up from your chest….the first real piece of your history locking perfectly into place. One that wasn't seen through fog. One that wasn't fragmented. One you didn't have questions about.
You knew this memory.
"Joonie and Kook came running over after hearing us scream. Kook dove off that boulder and grabbed Yura.” You look at the large rock. “Joonie was able to reach over and grab my hood and pull me in. Jin made Kook, Yura and I drink that… nasty tea so we wouldn't get sick.”
"It was an artisanal herbal infusion to prevent hypothermia!" Jin yells out automatically, but his voice cracks, as tears blink in his eyes.
"You..." Namjoon’s voice is barely a murmur, cracking slightly as the clipboard slips from his hand, landing with a soft thud on the pine needles. He steps forward, his long legs crossing the distance between you before he even seems to realize he's moving. He stops just a few feet away, looking down at you with an expression of pure, unfiltered vulnerability. "You called me Joonie."
"I think... I think I usually always called you Joonie." You offer him a soft nod, your eyes crinkling at the corners.
Namjoon swallows hard, a sudden, bright flush of emotion rushing over his face. He quickly looks down, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck as his shoulders shake with a silent, breathless laugh.
"Yeah. Yeah, you did. I... I really missed hearing that," he tells you.
Before Namjoon can say another word, a sharp, choked gasp cuts through the quiet of the clearing.
Yura stands a few feet away, the bag of marshmallows forgotten on the ground at her boots. Her hands are pressed hard against her mouth, trying and failing to stifle the sob that tears through her throat. The fragile composure she had been clinging to all morning completely shatters.
"Y/N..." she cries, running to you.
The guys instantly step back, opening the circle, their expressions softening with a collective, quiet understanding. Yoongi gives your shoulder a gentle, encouraging squeeze before stepping into the background beside Jimin, leaving the space open for her.
Yura closes the distance and throws her arms around you. The impact almost knocks you back a step, but you catch your balance, wrapping your arms tightly around her shaking shoulders. She buries her face into the crook of your neck, weeping openly, her entire body trembling against yours.
"I'm so sorry," she gasps out. "I'm so, so sorry, Y/N. I tried to hold on. I swear I tried to hold onto your jacket in the water, but it was just so slick, and the current was too fast... I let go of you. I let go."
"Yura, hey, look at me," you murmur, tightening your grip.
"And then the car... the accident," she sobs, her fingers digging desperately into the fabric of your sweater. "It was my fault. I should have seen him coming, I should have swerved sooner, I should have protected you! I broke you. I’m so sorry..."
"Yura. Listen to my voice," you say. "The accident wasn't your fault. A drunk driver is the only person responsible for what happened. You didn't break my memories, Yura. They're just hiding. And if I have to find them one piece at a time…then that's what I have to do. I don't blame you. So, please stop blaming yourself."
Yura stares at you for a long, silent beat, processing the words. Then, with a loud, watery sniffle, she buries her face back into your shoulder, hugging you so tightly it knocks the wind out of you. But this time, the heavy, rigid tension in her spine is completely gone. She is just holding you, letting the healing finally begin.
"Okay," she whimpers into your neck, her voice small but finally peaceful. "Okay. I'm sorry. I mean….I'm not sorry. I'm just glad you're here."
"Me too," you smile, rubbing her back.
"Alright, that's it, I can't take it anymore," Jin's voice suddenly breaks through the emotional fog, loud and aggressively cheerful. "This is a camping trip, not a tragedy marathon! Namjoon is crying, Hobi is crying, Taehyung is trying to use his telescope to look at his own tears…it is an absolute circus out here!"
You look up over Yura's shoulder, laughing as you see Namjoon frantically wiping his eyes with the edge of his clipboard, while Hobi is openly dabbing his face with a handful of napkins he pulled from a picnic basket.
"I am not crying," Yoongi mutters from the back, his hands safely tucked into his pockets, though the soft, incredibly proud look in his dark eyes tells an entirely different story. He catches your eye and gives you a slow, approving nod.
Yura finally pulls back from the hug, wiping her face completely, a genuine, radiant smile returning to her features. She links her arm tightly through yours, leaning her head against your shoulder as the group instantly bursts back into their familiar bickering.
You still don't have all the pieces, and the future is still an unpainted canvas. However, as you look at the mountains, the stream, and the people surrounding you, you realize you don't need to stress anymore.
You're already exactly where you belong.
Your memories will come.
Until then, like Yoongi said… you'll make new ones.
The roaring campfire crackled, sending lazy golden sparks floating up toward the stars, while the heavy, savory aroma of Jin’s pre-marinated short ribs filled the crisp night air.
Everyone was scattered around the fire on folding chairs, sticky-fingered and completely content. The initial chaos of the afternoon had finally mellowed out into a comfortable, warm haze. True to his word, Jungkook had even snuck over to give you a plate of gourmet s’mores, throwing a playful glare at Yoongi to make sure he didn't steal them.
Yoongi was sitting right next to you on a low wooden bench, his shoulder lightly brushing against yours. He was quietly nursing a fresh mug of black coffee, his legs stretched out toward the heat of the flames, looking more relaxed than he had all day. On your other side, Yura was leaning against you, her arm still loosely linked through yours, her earlier tears completely replaced by a soft, peaceful smile.
"I am a culinary god," Jin declares, gesturing with his tongs toward the empty platters. "Forty pounds of meat, completely demolished. Admit it, Yoongi, my secret marinade is the only reason you didn't lock yourself in RV #3 all evening."
"The ribs were fine," Yoongi murmurs into his coffee mug, though the corner of his mouth twitches upward.
"He likes them," Jungkook chimes in, poking a marshmallow with a stick.
A collective chuckle goes through the group, the shared laughter echoing softly against the backdrop of the bubbling stream nearby. For a moment, the bickering died down to a gentle murmur, the cozy quiet of the wilderness settling over everyone.
Hobi leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared into the dancing flames, his expression turning thoughtful. He glances across the fire, his eyes landing softly on you.
"Hey, Y/N," Hobi asks. "What memory do you want back the most?"
Everyone grows quiet, their attention shifting toward you with soft, supportive expressions. Namjoon pauses his idle doodling on his clipboard, and Jimin offers a quiet, encouraging nod.
The campfire suddenly seems to blur, and without even realizing it, your eyes immediately slide to the side, landing directly on Yoongi. You look at the sharp line of his jaw illuminated by the firelight, the quiet intensity in his dark eyes. You thought about the way his hand had felt in yours in the RV, the ring on your middle finger, and the simple, unwavering promise he had made to stay behind with you, no questions asked.
Yoongi feels your gaze and turns his head, his eyes meeting yours in the flickering light. For a fleeting second, the rest of the campsite seems to fade away. You swallow the sudden lump of warmth in your throat and tear your eyes away from him, looking back at Hobi and the rest of the waiting faces around the fire.
A small, gentle smile tugs at your lips.
"I don't know," you say softly, the firelight catching the small, genuine smile on your face. You look around the circle, Jin still holding his prized tongs, Namjoon's freshly discarded clipboard, Jungkook’s marshmallow-sticky fingers, and Yura’s head resting comfortably on your shoulder.
"Honestly," you continue, your voice carrying clearly over the gentle crackle of the burning logs, "I think there are probably just too many to choose from."
A collective, soft murmur of agreement ripples through the group.
"Spoken like a true intellectual," Jin says, though for once, his voice lacks its usual dramatic flair, replaced instead by a deep, affectionate warmth. He points his tongs at you approvingly. "Why settle for one when you used to have an entire vault of ridiculous stories starring us?"
"Like the time Hobi knocked down our tent because there was a lightning bug in there with us," Jungkook chimes in instantly, his eyes lighting up as he points his roasting stick at Hobi. “You had to catch it for him and release the scary thing back into the wild.”
"I did not knock it down. You didn't put it up right!" Hobi protests as he throws a marshmallow at Jungkook’s head. "And it was very aggressive. It tried to bite me!"
"It was a firefly. It didn't even have teeth," Jimin clarifies. "But Y/N did have to rescue you. She trapped it in an empty soda can and marched it out into the woods."
A chorus of laughter erupts around the circle. You lean back against the bench, the warmth of the fire seeping through your clothes. You don't remember the beetle, and you don't remember the collapsing tent, but looking at Hobi’s dramatic defensive gestures and Jimin’s teasing grin, you can see the scene play out perfectly anyway.
Above you, the sky stretches endlessly, crowded with stars. You glance sideways.
Yoongi was staring into the flames, coffee mug balanced loosely between both hands.
"What?" He asks suddenly.
"What?" You blink.
"You've been staring at me for like thirty seconds," he says.
"I have not." You shake your head.
"You have." He nods.
"I was thinking," you say.
"About me." A tiny smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
You laugh quietly. The sound seemed to please him. For a few moments, you both watch the fire again.
"Thank you." You whisper and Yoongi's gaze shifts toward you. "For today. I'm happy I came."
"You don't have to thank me." His expression softens immediately.
"I know," you say.
"Then stop doing it." He smirks.
"Hey! Look!" Taehyung’s sudden, ecstatic shout shatters the moment, pointing a long finger toward the clearing just beyond the trees. "The fireflies are back! Hobi, look out, they're organizing a counter-attack!"
"TAEHYUNG, STOP!" Hobi shrieks, nearly falling backward out of his folding chair as Jungkook starts making tiny, aggressive buzzing noises right in his ear.
The campsite immediately devolves into absolute chaos once more. Next to you, Yura lets out a loud, ringing laugh, her eyes meeting yours, bright and entirely free of the guilt that had weighed her down that morning. You smile back at her, leaning your head against Yoongi’s shoulder as he lets out a quiet, affectionate groan at the circus unfolding in front of you.
The soft glow of the twilight-blue LEDs casts long, dreamy shadows across the interior of RV #1. Outside, the crickets are a steady pulse in the dark, and the crackle of the campfire has finally died down to glowing embers.
Inside the cabin, everything is technically perfect. Jungkook had proudly unveiled the "gaming zone" loft bed, which Taehyung had successfully compromised on by setting his telescope up in the small corner window, its lens pointing toward a gap in the pine canopy. Yura is already curled up in the lower double bed, a plush blanket pulled up to her chin, looking sleepy and content.
You are sitting on the edge of the mattress across from her, your knees pulled into your chest.
The bed is incredibly comfortable. The sheets are crisp, the pillows are thick, and the steady hum of the RV’s climate control is supposed to be soothing. But every time you try to lie down, a strange, restless friction ripples under your skin. You shift to your left side. Then your right. You fluff the pillow. You flatten it.
Your mind is quiet, but your muscles are tightly coiled with a phantom tension you can’t quite figure out.
A floorboard creaks softly.
Jungkook, who had been quietly organizing a stack of Nintendo Switch controllers at the small table, pauses. He looks over his shoulder, his eyes tracking your restless movements in the blue light. Up in the loft, Taehyung leans his head over the edge of the mattress, his dark hair messy, his expression unusually observant.
Yura blinks her eyes open, shifting her gaze from the ceiling to your tense silhouette.
Nobody speaks for a moment. The three of them just look at you, then their eyes slowly meet one another’s in a silent, unspoken realization. A heavy, knowing understanding passes between Jungkook and Taehyung, a quiet dialogue that ends with Jungkook giving a subtle nod.
Yura slowly props herself up on one elbow, the fabric of her sleeping bag rustling in the quiet cabin.
"You can't get comfortable, can you?" She asks and you let out a frustrated, breathless sigh, dropping your forehead against your knees.
"I don't know what's wrong with me. The bed is fine. I'm exhausted. But my body just... it won't settle. It feels like I'm waiting for something, or like I forgot to lock a door," you tell them.
"Body memory is a weird thing, Y/N. The brain forgets, but the skin remembers." Taehyung rests his chin on his arms, looking down from the loft.
Yura offers you a small, wistful smile, her eyes shimmering with a deep warmth. She slides her legs out of her bed and moves to sit on the edge of yours, placing a gentle hand on your ankle.
"Well..." Yura begins softly, her thumb rubbing against the fabric of your sweatpants. "Maybe it's because you've never actually slept in RV #1 before."
"What do you mean?" You blink, looking up at her through the dim blue light.
"When you camped with us," Yura explains. "You didn't sleep with me." She glances up at Jungkook, who gives a small, encouraging smile. "Normally... you would sleep next to Yoongi in whatever RV we had then or even the same tent before that.”
The breath hitches in your throat. The cabin suddenly feels very still.
"You two were together, Y/N," Yura says gently. "Your body knows he's here. It knows he's just a few yards away in that other vehicle. It's used to his weight on the mattress, his warmth, the sound of his breathing. Right now, your system is probably wondering why he isn't there next to you."
Your heart thumps heavily against your ribs. Suddenly, the phantom restlessness makes sense. She was right. You don't know why you didn't think of that before. Taking a deep breath you slide out of bed.
"Y/N?" Yura murmurs, her eyes widening slightly as she watches you immediately reach for your oversized hoodie resting on the edge of the stool.
"I'm going to RV #3," you say. Your voice was surprisingly steady, devoid of the frantic panic from this morning. “I'm going to Yoongi.”
Jungkook freezes, a Nintendo Switch controller hovering mid-air. Up in the loft, Taehyung sits up completely, his head nearly bumping the low ceiling. A heavy silence falls over the three of them, replacing the casual warmth from a moment before.
"Wait, Y/N, hold on," Jungkook says quickly, setting the controller down with a soft click. He stands up, his large frame blocking the narrow aisle of the RV, his expression shifting into something intensely serious. "You don't have to go over there just because of what Yura said. Seriously."
"Yeah," Taehyung chimes . "If you're going because you feel like you have to, or because you think it's a rule you're supposed to follow... don't. You stay right here. We can change the lights, we can turn off the AC, I'll even give you my silk pillowcase. You don't have to force yourself into a memory you aren't ready for."
Yura stands up, her hand instantly finding your shoulder, her grip gentle but firm.
"Y/N, look at me. I shouldn't have put that on you. Just because that's how things used to be doesn't mean you have to rush into it tonight. Yoongi would be furious with us if he thought we were pressuring you. You're safe here. You can sleep right next to me," she tells you.
You look at the three of them. They are standing guard around you, fiercely protective of your comfort, willing to rewrite years of history just to ensure you don't feel forced into a corner.
A soft, breathless laugh escapes your lips, instantly breaking the heavy tension in the air.
"Guys," you say gently, placing your hand over Yura’s. "I don't feel pressured. I promise."
You look past Jungkook toward the dark window, where the silhouette of RV #3 sat quietly beneath the pine trees.
"I'm not going because of a rule, or because I feel like I have to," you explain, your eyes softening as you look back at your friends. "I'm going because I can't sleep. And... I think Yura is right. My brain might not fully remember yet, but my body knows exactly where it's supposed to be. I want to go."
Jungkook searches your face for a long, silent moment. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders melted away, replaced by that familiar, sweet smile. He steps aside, clearing the path to the door.
"Okay," Jungkook murmurs softly. "But if he snores, or if it's too quiet in there, you come right back. The gaming zone is always open."
"And take my flashlight," Taehyung adds, tossing a small, sleek cylinder down from the loft. "The gravel is uneven out there." Jungkook catches it and presses it into your hand.
"Go on. Get some sleep, Y/N." Yura squeezes your arm one last time.
"Goodnight," you whisper, clicking the flashlight on.
The gravel crunches softly under your shoes. The camp is settled now, the embers of the fire casting a final glow against the base of the pine trees.
As you approach the door of RV #3, your nerves flare up again, a sharp contrast to the steady certainty you had felt just moments ago inside the other vehicle. You reach out, your fingers hovering over the cold metal handle, before deciding to knock softly. Three light taps.
The lock clicks almost instantly. The heavy door swings inward, and instead of the quiet darkness you expected, a warm interior light spills out onto the grass.
Jimin stands in the doorway with a toothbrush hanging loosely from his mouth, and a towel slung over his shoulder. He freezes, his eyes widening in total surprise as he looks down at you, then down at the flashlight in your hand. He takes the toothbrush out of his mouth, an incredibly radiant smile breaking across his face.
"Y/N?" Jimin whispers. He steps back into the cabin, opening the door wider to let you in and out of the chill. "What are you doing over here? Did Jungkook’s spaceship underglow give you a migraine?"
"No," you say softly, stepping into the warm air of the quiet zone. You rub your arms, suddenly feeling a little shy under his perceptive gaze. "I just... I couldn't get comfortable over there."
Jimin smiles, understanding dawning on him instantly. He doesn't say a single word to make you feel self-conscious. Instead, he just gives your shoulder a gentle, encouraging squeeze as you pass him.
"I'm glad you came over," he murmurs, pointing a thumb toward the back of the RV. "Go on."
You toe off your shoes and walk down the narrow carpeted aisle of RV #3. The vehicle was completely peaceful, living up to its reputation. At the very back, the master curtain was pulled half-open.
Yoongi is sitting up against the headboard of the bed, a book resting in his lap, his reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He looks like he hasn't even attempted to sleep yet. The moment your silhouette appears in the doorway, his head snaps up.
He stills.
Yoongi’s dark eyes widen behind his glasses in a look of pure shock. He looks at you, then past you toward Jimin, who was currently standing near the front kitchenette, giving him a highly amused, thumbs-up before slipping into the small bathroom to finish brushing his teeth.
"Y/N..." He quickly takes off his glasses, setting them and the book onto the nightstand. He shifts, his legs swinging over the edge of the mattress as he stares at you through the dim light. "What... what's wrong? Are you okay? Did something happen in RV1?"
"Nothing happened," you say softly, taking a few steps closer until you were standing at the foot of his bed. "I just couldn't sleep. It felt like I was missing something."
Yoongi doesn't move, his breath hitching in his chest as he looks up at you, his sharp gaze tracing the lines of your face, looking for any sign of distress.
"Y/N, you don't have to stay here if it's too much. If they told you something that made you feel pressured…" he starts but you cut him off.
"Yoongi," you interrupt gently, stepping around the edge of the bed until your knees lightly brush against the mattress beside him. "They didn't pressure me. They actually tried to stop me from coming because they didn't want me to feel forced. But I wanted to come."
You look down at your hands, then back up into his dark, searching eyes.
He lets out a long, shaky breath, a tiny, incredibly soft smile finally tugging at the corners of his lips. He looks down for a fraction of a second, a silent, breathless laugh escaping him, before he looks back up at you.
Without another word, he slides backward onto the mattress, reaching out to pull the heavy, plush comforter back. He doesn't pull you in, and he doesn't rush the moment. He simply opens up the space beside him, leaving the choice entirely up to you.
You slide under the heavy comforter, the sudden shift from the chilly cabin air to the deep warmth of his bed making a soft sigh escape your lips. Yoongi lets the blanket fall back over you both, and then, almost instantly, a heavy, comical stillness settles over the mattress.
You both lie flat on your backs, staring straight up at the ceiling of the RV. You are as stiff as a board, your hands clamped tightly over your stomach, your shoulders tight. Beside you, Yoongi is equally frozen, staring fixedly upward, his arms pinned straight down at his sides. The mattress is completely motionless.
It was awkward.
You blink at the dark ceiling, the phantom tension under your skin still humming, though for a completely different reason now.
"Yoongi?" You ask, your voice deadpan and completely serious in the quiet cabin.
"Yeah?" He responds, his voice just as flat, not moving a single muscle.
"Is this how we always slept?" You question.
A beat passes. Then, Yoongi lets out a low, breathy chuckle that bounces softly off the walls. He finally turns his head on the pillow, looking at your stiff silhouette with a highly amused smirk.
"No," he says softly, his voice dropping into a deeper, warmer register. "Not even close."
"Then how did we sleep?" You turn your head to look back at him, shifting just a fraction.
"Usually?" Yoongi's smirk softens into something incredibly tender, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "You slept practically on top of me. Your leg thrown over mine, your face buried right into my neck, using my shoulder as a second pillow. I usually couldn't move my arm for the first twenty minutes after waking up."
You blink, genuinely trying to picture it. You look down at his chest, then back to his face. "Wouldn't that be uncomfortable for you? I mean... I don't exactly feel weightless, and you're not exactly a mattress." You look at him.
"I loved it," he says. The response is so immediate, so entirely devoid of hesitation or doubt. Yoongi finally breaks his rigid posture. He reaches out, his broad, warm hand catching your waist, and with a gentle tug, he pulls you flush against his side. He shifts his weight, rolling back onto his back to accommodate you, his movements so fluid and instinctive it’s as if his body is simply executing a routine it has performed a thousand times before.
Your breath hitches as you slide over, your chest resting against his, your hand automatically finding a home on his steady shoulder. Your nose presses into the familiar, comforting scent of his dark sweatshirt and clean skin.
Instantly, the tight, coiled spring of restlessness inside your muscles completely unravels. The phantom tension vanishes, replaced by a sense of safety. Your body sinks into his warmth with a deep, involuntary sigh, your muscles melting as if a missing puzzle piece has finally been locked into place. Your nervous system quietens completely. Yura had been right. Your brain didn't have the memories, but your skin knew exactly who this was.
Yoongi’s arm wraps securely around your back, his large hand resting flat between your shoulder blades, anchoring you to him. His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, his heartbeat steady in the quiet night.
You stay like that for a long, peaceful moment, just listening to the sound of his breathing. The quiet zone of the RV is entirely still, isolating the two of you from the rest of the world, from the fog in your mind, and from the chaotic excitement of the camp outside.
Slowly, you push yourself up just a fraction, sliding your hands up to his shoulders so you can look down at his face. Yoongi looks up at you through the dim light, his expression open, vulnerable, and entirely yours. There is no expectation in his eyes, no pressure…just a quiet patience that makes your heart ache.
"Goodnight, Yoongi," you whisper softly.
Before he can answer, you lean down and press your lips gently to his.
The kiss is soft, lingering, and warm. It's a quiet promise of the future overriding the blank spaces of the past. As you pull back, Yoongi's hand slides up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing against your hairline as he offers you a tiny, breathtakingly sweet smile.
"Goodnight, Y/N," he whispers back.
You settle back down against his chest, burying your face into his neck just the way he described. His arm tightens around you, holding you close against the chill of the wilderness, and for the first time since you woke up in that hospital bed, you fall into a deep, dreamless, and perfectly settled sleep.
Summary: Your life was perfect. You had the perfect fiance, the perfect house and the perfect ring on your finger. The only thing that wasn't perfect …. were the memories you lost years ago and the fact your parents won't talk about it.
Pairing: Yoongi x F. Reader
Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt-Comfort, Smut
Warnings: Memory Loss, Swearing, Blood Mention, Unprotected Sex, Mention Of Car Accident, Mention Of Drunk Driver. Will add as I go…
"The secret, Y/N, is respect," Jin says, wielding a wooden spoon. He taps it sharply against the rim of a massive copper pan. "You cannot rush the garlic. If you burn the garlic, you have insulted the dish. If you insult the dish, you have insulted me. And frankly, neither of us wants to live with that kind of negative energy."
You lean your hip against his immaculate marble island, a glass of white wine held between your fingers, watching him with an amused grin.
"I'm not rushing it," you defend yourself, taking a small sip of your wine. "I was just asking if we should turn the burner down. I've seen the video of you almost burning the dorm down."
Jin gasps, a hand flying to his chest in offense.
"Turn it down? This is medium-low, Y/N. It is a gentle simmer. Look at these shallots. They are translucent. They are crying out for the seafood, but we must wait for the exact moment of peak fragrance." He dramatically closes his eyes, inhaling the steam rising from the pan. "AND….We don't talk about that video! Ah. There it is. The symphony begins."
He moves with a fluid, effortless grace, dumping a large bowl of freshly cleaned clams and mussels into the pan. They hit the hot butter with a loud, violent sizzle, a cloud of steam billowing up toward the range hood.
"Now," Jin says, capping the pan with a heavy lid and turning to you with a wide, satisfied smile. "We let the steam do the heavy lifting for exactly four minutes. Do not touch it. Do not look at it. If you look at it, the heat escapes, and the clams get stubborn. What kind of food did you cook back at home?"
“We didn't really cook,” you answer. “We ordered out most nights.”
Jin gasps loudly. He drops his wooden spoon onto a ceramic rest with a dramatic clack that echoes through the pristine kitchen.
"Ordered out? Most nights?!" He looks at you in shock. He grips the edge of the marble island, leaning in looking at you seriously. "Y/N! A kitchen is a sanctuary. It is a stage! It is meant to be lived in, fought in, and absolutely covered well-executed sauce!"
He waves a hand dismissively in the air, his voice rising into an indignant squeak.
"And this... this Corbyn person hated a dirty kitchen? What kind of man fears a little splatter? You cannot make an omelet without breaking eggs, and you certainly cannot live a joyful life without having to scrub a frying pan at least once a day!" He exclaims.
"He just... preferred things orderly. If a single drop of marinara hit the backsplash, it was a whole ordeal. It just became easier to open an app and let someone else do the dishes." You offer a sheepish smile, swirling the remaining white wine in your glass.
"Tragic. Utterly tragic," Jin mutters, though the theatrical anger is already softening into something much more gentle. He checks his watch, his internal culinary clock ticking down the final seconds for the shellfish. "To live in fear of a mess is to live in fear of flavor. Look at your hands from the other day. Yura told us you were practically a charcoal statue! Did you die? No. You survived. The kitchen is no different."
He steps back to the stove, gripping the handle of the heavy lid.
"And besides... if you never get the kitchen dirty, it means you never get to do this." He smiles.
With a grand, sweeping motion, he lifts the lid. A magnificent, billowing cloud of garlic, white wine, and ocean-rich steam erupts into the space, instantly making your mouth water. The clams and mussels have opened perfectly, yawning wide to reveal plump, tender centers swimming in a shimmering, buttery broth.
"See?" Jin beams, his chest puffing out with pride as he grabs a handful of freshly chopped parsley and showers it over the pan like confetti. "Chaos yields perfection. Now, go grab the toasted sourdough from the oven. Let's see if we can break you of another bad habit."
He slides two wide, shallow bowls onto the island, his eyes crinkling into a warm, supportive crinkle.
"In this house, Y/N, we make a mess. And we enjoy every single bite of it." He nods. “Aaannd…. in this house we are also nosy.”
Jin's eyes go to your left hand where the thin silver band with the dark stone sits on your middle finger.
“What?” You question.
"I know your date with Yoongi went well," he says softly. "But..."
He pauses, the dramatic, theatrical chef completely vanishing. In his place is the friend who watches over everyone with a quiet, protective intensity. He sets the tongs down, his eyes locked on the thin silver band catching the light of the kitchen.
"I know what that ring meant to the both of you," Jin continues. He leans his forearms against the cool marble, looking at you with a gaze that is entirely stripped of jokes. "And because I love you both, I have to say this. Don't get his hopes up if you aren't certain, Y/N. Especially since you're not ready for the weight of what that ring actually carries."
The warmth of the steam between you suddenly feels heavy and extra warm.
"Yoongi... he wears his heart behind a steel vault, but you have always had the combination," Jin says gently, his eyes softening as he notices you instinctively tracing the dark stone with your thumb. "When you disappeared, a part of him just shut down. Seeing you wear that ring again? To him, it will look like a promise. It will look like a path back to exactly how things used to be."
He reaches across the island, his warm, solid hand briefly covering yours, stopping your nervous fidgeting.
"But you don't remember 'how things used to be' yet. And that is okay," Jin reassures you, giving your hand a light, supportive squeeze before drawing back to give you space. "You are allowed to just go on dates. You are allowed to move at a snail's pace. But that ring carries history you're still trying to piece together. Just... be careful with his heart while you're figuring out your own. He will wait a lifetime for you, but the suspense might actually kill him."
A small, bittersweet smile tugs at Jin's lips, breaking the heavy tension just enough for you to breathe. He taps the edge of your wine glass with his fingernail, a soft clink echoing between you.
"Now, retrieve the sourdough before it turns into the charcoal you modeled the other day," he orders, his tone shifting back to its familiar, lighthearted warmth. "The broth is perfect, the chef is hungry, and we have a lot of mess left to make.
Before you can even reach for the oven mitts, the front door flies open. The quiet, aromatic sanctuary Jin had so carefully constructed is instantly wrecked by a tidal wave of footsteps on the floor, overlapping voices, and the unmistakable, chaotic energy of a family arriving in full force.
"Is the food done! I'm hungry!" Taehyung’s voice echoes down the hall first. He catches sight of the marble island and drops his keys with a dramatic clatter. "Jin! Tell me the sea creatures are ready!"
"Wow. It smells like heaven in here." Jimin says right behind him.
"Hey, watch the elbows!" Namjoon grunts, navigating the doorway while trying to balance a giant cardboard box full of old vinyl records he must have dragged along from somewhere. He sets it precariously near the dining table, giving you a warm, dimpled smile. "Hey, Y/N. Don't let Jin boss you around too much."
"Excuse me! I am culturing her!" Jin defends himself, waving his wooden spoon at the incoming horde. "And who invited you all? This was a private masterclass! A culinary sanctuary! Look at you, tracking the outside world into my kitchen!"
"Oh, shut up, Jin, we brought dessert," Yura’s voice cuts through the noise and immediately slides into the space next to you at the island. But she isn't alone. Jungkook is attached to her hip, his arm wrapped firmly around her waist, his chin practically resting on her shoulder as he eyes the steaming pan of clams.
"Hey, Y/N. Tell me he made the garlic bread. If there's no garlic bread, Yura's going to make me drive to the bakery and I've been driving all day." Jungkook looks up, flashing you a massive grin.
"We're married, Jungkook, not glued at the hip, move your big head," Yura teases, though she leans back into his chest affectionately, reaching out to steal a sip of your white wine. She winks at you. "How's the brain-breaking going? Still got charcoal under your fingernails?"
"Washed most of it off," you laugh, the warmth of the room instantly bubbling up in your chest.
Yoongi walks into the kitchen. He doesn't make a loud entrance like the others. He just slips into the room, his dark eyes instantly scanning the chaos until they land on you. Your breath catches for a fraction of a second. The memory of the stone alcove, the scuffed headphones, and the quiet, deliberate pressure of his lips against yours on Saturday rushes back.
Yoongi steps closer to the island, stopping just a foot away from you. There's a subtle, careful hesitation in his posture. A quiet, mutual awareness that things have changed between you. He gives you a small, private nod, his eyes softening.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey," you reply softly, offering a tentative smile.
Your stomach does a nervous flip under Yoongi's gaze. Instinctively, your fingers find the familiar shape of the silver band on your middle finger. You twist it around your knuckle, the dark stone catching the light as it spins.
Yoongi’s eyes follow the movement.
The moment his gaze lands on the jewelry, he freezes. The subtle, relaxed warmth in his posture completely vanishes. His dark eyes zero in on the ring…the engagement ring he had chosen for you, the one you practically snatched from him.
You can see the gears turning in Yoongi's head. The different emotions cross his eyes. He doesn't say a word. He doesn't even breathe. He just stares at your hand, his jaw tightening slightly. The weight of it feels massive, exactly like Jin said it would.
"Is it... is it okay if I wear it?" You ask softly, trying not to draw attention to the two of you.
The question is timid, almost fragile. You want him to know you aren't trying to force a memory that isn't there yet, but you also want him to know that you want this…this connection, this piece of him…close to you.
Yoongi’s eyes slowly snap back up to yours. The raw vulnerability flashing across his face is staggering, but he forces a slow, deep exhale through his nose, purposefully relaxing his shoulders. A tiny, incredibly gentle smile tugs at the corner of his lips, erasing the sudden tension.
"Yeah," he murmurs, his voice a low, rough rumble that carries a depth of emotion that makes your chest ache. He steps just an inch closer, his eyes locked on yours. "Yeah, Y/N. It looks perfect exactly where it is."
"Min Yoongi!" Jin shouts from the stove, aggressively dishing out mounds of steaming pasta into wide bowls. "Instead of giving Y/N lovey dovey eyes, why don't you be useful? Get the sourdough out of the oven before it turns into charcoal!"
"I've got it," Yoongi says quickly, his hand moving to guide you out of Jin's immediate splash zone. His fingers briefly brush against the small of your back.
"Alright, clear the table!" Hobi cheers, appearing out of nowhere with a stack of cloth napkins, practically vibrating with hunger. "The feast has arrived! Move the records, Namjoon, or they're getting marinara on them!"
The kitchen erupts into a flurry of moving chairs, clinking silverware, and the collective, ravenous appetite of a group that clearly eats together often. You and Yoongi work side by side in a quiet, synchronized rhythm, transferring the hot bread to a cutting board, your shoulders brushing occasionally in the narrow space. It's careful, and it's a little delicate, but as you look around the loud, messy room, the hesitation starts to feel less like fear and more like anticipation.
The table is a magnificent, chaotic battleground of passing plates, clanking silverware, and overlapping voices. Jin’s "tragedy of a clean kitchen" has officially commenced, and nobody is holding back.
"Pass the clams, Namjoon…no, the other left!"
"Jungkook, if you eat the last piece of sourdough before I even get a bite, our marriage vows are legally null and void." Yura groans.
You laugh, taking a bite of the perfectly tender seafood, the rich, buttery white wine broth exploding with flavor. Yoongi is sitting right next to you, his thigh occasionally brushing against yours beneath the crowded table. He isn't talking much, content to quietly eat his pasta, but every time you reach for your wine or laugh at one of Jimin’s jokes, you can feel his eyes on you.
"So, Y/N," Yura says, leaning across the table and wiping a stray drop of sauce from the corner of her mouth. "I was looking up some stuff this morning and I stumbled across this watercolor class. It focuses on landscapes and blending techniques."
"Watercolor?" You blink, a sudden, familiar spark igniting in your chest.
"Yeah. I think the charcoal might have been a little too much to get you back into the swing of things," Yura continues, her eyes bright with encouragement. "But watercolor is gentler. It's all about letting the water do the work, building layers. I remember you used to say it was the easiest medium for you to lose yourself in. I thought... maybe it would feel easy now, too. A good way to just play around without any pressure."
"Actually, that sounds really amazing," you murmur, genuinely intrigued. The thought of vibrant pigments bleeding into wet paper feels like a comforting, distant song you almost know the words to. “I feel like….”
Directly right across from you, Taehyung lets out a frustrated, deeply pathetic whine. He is currently engaged in a losing battle with a particularly stubborn, tightly sealed mussel. His bottom lip is poked out, his knuckles white as he tries to pry the shell apart with his bare fingers. His grip slips, nearly sending a spray of broth directly into Jimin's face.
"Taehyung, stop wrestling with the seafood," Jin snaps.
"It won't open!" Taehyung groans, his oversized cardigan sleeves dipping dangerously close to his pasta bowl. "It's locking me out! It's a vault!"
Without even breaking eye contact with Yura, completely untethered from the conscious thought of what you are doing, your hands move on instinct.
"....I wouldn't need such a heavy hand," you finish your sentence smoothly.
In one fluid, seamless motion, you reach across the small gap between your placemats. Your left hand grabs Taehyung’s wrist to stabilize his slippery fingers, while your right hand slides an empty half-shell from your own plate right into the tiny crevice of his stubborn mussel. With a quick, practiced twist of your wrist, you use the shell as a lever.
Pop.
The stubborn mussel springs wide open, revealing the plump center. You slide your hands back to your own glass of wine, picking it up and taking a casual sip.
"Anyway, Yura, send me the link to the class. I'd love to look at it." You smile at her.
Yura doesn't answer.
In fact, nobody answers.
The clinking of forks against ceramic abruptly dies. The loud, boisterous chewing halts. The chaotic symphony of the dinner table is instantly sucked out of the room, replaced by a sudden, heavy, dead silence.
You freeze. Your wine glass halfway to your lips.
Slowly, you look around the table.
Taehyung is staring down at his perfectly opened mussel, his mouth slightly agape, his fingers still hovering in the air exactly where you had held his wrist. Next to him, Jimin’s fork is suspended halfway to his mouth. Jungkook has stopped chewing entirely, a piece of sourdough gripped in his hand, his eyes wide as he looks from Taehyung’s plate to you.
Even Jin has gone completely still, a serving spoon hovering over the pasta bowl.
Next to you, you feel Yoongi go rigid. His breath hitches, a sharp, quiet intake of air that cuts through the silence. You look at them, your heart suddenly hammering against your ribs as a cold prickle of self-consciousness washes over you.
"What?" You ask, your voice sounding small in the quiet room. "Did I... did I do something wrong?"
"No," Taehyung whispers, his voice unusually soft. He looks up at you, his large eyes shifting from a state of shock into something deeply vulnerable, almost fragile. "You... you always used to do that. Whenever I got a stubborn one. You wouldn't even look."
A wave of dizzying realization hits you. You hadn't thought about it. Your body had just known. Muscle memory, deep and buried, had bypassed your broken recollections and simply executed a routine you had performed dozens of times before. Namjoon clears his throat, his expression a mixture of profound awe and a quiet, aching sadness.
"Exactly like that," he echoes softly. "You’d keep talking to whoever, pop it open, and carry on."
"Your hands remember." Yura’s eyes are bright with unshed tears, a trembling but massive smile breaking across her face. She reaches across the tabletop, covering your hand with hers.
The heavy tension in the room breaks, dissolving not into sadness, but into a collective, warm burst of emotion.
"That was amazing," Jimin breathes, finally dropping his fork and shaking his head. "For a second, I thought I was having a hallucination. It was like a ghost just walked into the room and opened a shellfish."
"A ghost with excellent technique," Jin chimed in, though his voice was rougher than usual as he aggressively blinked away moisture. He pointed his wooden spoon at Taehyung. "See? That is what I mean by respect! Y/N has the touch!"
"I'm keeping this shell forever," Taehyung declares, holding up the empty half-shell you had used as a tool like it was a holy relic.
"Don't put garbage in your pocket, Taehyung," Jungkook groans, though he's smiling widely now, shoving the rest of his bread into his mouth.
The table instantly explodes back into motion, the sudden burst of noise a relief against the heavy silence that had just gripped the room. Taehyung carefully sets his holy relic shell next to his water glass with a stubborn, defensive glare at Jungkook, while Jin begins aggressively shoveling more clams onto everyone’s plates as if a surplus of seafood could heal a timeline.
"Eat, eat!" Jin demands, his ears slightly pink. "The emotional shock has burned through your calories. We need sustenance!"
Everyone descends back into their normal chaos, Jimin trying to steal a noodle from Namjoon, Yura enthusiastically texting you the watercolor link under the table. You feel the tight knot of panic in your chest slowly begin to unwind. Your hands are still trembling slightly against the stem of your wine glass. You look down at your fingers. They knew exactly what to do.
"Hey."
The murmur is right at your ear, so low it’s meant only for you.
You look over. Yoongi has shifted in his chair, turning his body slightly toward yours. The rigid tension you felt in him a moment ago has melted, replaced by an intensity in his dark eyes that makes your breath hitch all over again. He isn't looking at the table. He's looking entirely at you, his features soft, a quiet, fierce pride radiating from him.
Slowly, beneath the edge of the crowded table, his hand slides over yours. His palm is warm and slightly calloused. Instead of just a fleeting brush, his fingers slide between yours, locking his hand with yours in a firm. His fingers brushing against the ring sitting on your middle finger. It's hidden from the rest of the room.
"You okay?" He asks softly.
"Yeah," you breathe, a genuine smile finally breaking through your shock. "Yeah. It was just... weird. Like my brain got bypassed."
"Your brain tries too hard sometimes," Yoongi says, his mouth twitching into that faint, knowing gummy smile you’re quickly realizing is your favorite sight in the world. He squeezes your hand again, leaning in just a fraction closer. "Your heart and your hands have a better memory than you give them credit for. Trust them."
Before you can answer, a heavy piece of sourdough lands with a soft thud directly into Yoongi’s pasta bowl, splashing a drop of buttery broth onto his thumb.
"Yoongi, stop hoarding the bread basket and pass it down!" Jungkook calls out from down the table, completely oblivious to the quiet moment he just interrupted.
Yoongi lets out a low, irritated huff, but the warmth doesn't leave his eyes. He slowly lets go of your hand, though his fingers linger against yours until the very last second. He picks up the bread basket with his other hand and glares at the youngest.
"If you drop sauce on my shirt, Jungkook, you're doing Jin's dishes alone," Yoongi warns, though there's no real bite to it.
"I'll help you do the dishes, Y/N!" Taehyung chimes in, finally eating his hard-won mussel. "Since you saved my life from starvation."
"She's a guest, you freeloaders, none of you are making her do dishes!" Jin scolds, waving a napkin.
You lean back in your chair, taking another sip of your wine, the rich flavor settling over your tongue. The noise, the bickering, the warmth of Yoongi's leg resting firmly against yours under the table. It doesn't feel like a puzzle anymore.
It just feels like home.
"I am a martyr," Jin announces to the ceiling, his voice echoing off the tile backsplash over the sound of rushing water. He aggressively attacks a copper pan with a soapy sponge, bubbles flying in every direction. "A culinary saint trapped in a house of ungrateful, lazy heathens. I feed you, I culture you, I give you the gift of my presence, and how am I repaid? Desertion!"
"Jin, I literally just offered to dry," Jimin says, leaning against the counter with a dish towel draped over his shoulder, looking thoroughly amused.
"No! Get out of my workspace!" Jin snaps, waving a sudsy hand dismissively. "Your technique is sloppy, Jimin. You leave streaks. If anyone is going to touch my fine ceramic, it will be me. But that doesn't mean you all get to sit there and watch me suffer in silence!"
"He's in his element," Yoongi murmurs near your ear.
He’s standing right next to you, helping clear the last of the empty water glasses. A faint, lingering warmth remains on your skin from where his hand had been locked with yours under the table just minutes before. He gives you a subtle, lingering look before heading toward the living room to escape the splash zone.
You chuckle, grabbing a damp cloth to wipe down the immaculate marble island. The kitchen is exactly what Jin had wanted for you earlier. There are stray flecks of parsley, a ring of white wine on a coaster, and a faint smudge of marinara near the edge where Jungkook had aggressively defended his bread territory.
As you lean over to wipe a stubborn drop of buttery broth, a deep, crackling hiss echoes from the corner of the dining room. Namjoon has finally freed his vinyl records from the cardboard box. With meticulous, surprisingly delicate care, he places a heavy black disc onto the turntable. The needle drops with a soft, warm pop, and the room is instantly filled with the smooth sound of an old-school jazz track. The tempo is slow and romantic, cutting right through the clatter of Jin's dramatic dishwashing.
"Ah, now that is a classic," Namjoon says proudly, crossing his arms and admiring the sound spinning from the speakers.
"It's too slow! It's putting me to sleep!" Taehyung complains from the couch, though he's already half-buried under a throw blanket, looking thoroughly defeated by the massive amount of carbs he just consumed.
Before you can finish wiping down your section of the island, a whirlwind of energy materializes right beside you.
"Oh, absolutely not. We are not letting the post-dinner coma win tonight," Hobi declares. He appears out of nowhere, his bright eyes locked onto yours, a brilliant, blinding smile stretching across his face.
Before you can even register the laugh bubbling up in your throat, Hobi gently but firmly plucks the damp cloth right out of your fingers, tossing it onto the counter behind you. He grabs your right hand, his grip warm and full of infectious enthusiasm, and places his other hand lightly on your waist.
"Hobi, wait, I'm supposed to be helping…" you protest, laughing as he easily steers you away from the island and into the open space between the kitchen and the dining table.
"The table can wait, Y/N. The music is calling!" He exclaims.
He doesn't drag you into some high-energy dance. Instead, he perfectly adapts to the lazy, swaying rhythm of Namjoon's record. He guides you into a smooth, effortless slow dance, stepping in time with the deep thrum of the double bass.
Hobi moves with a natural, fluid rhythm that makes it impossible not to follow him. He leads you in a slow, elegant sway, his eyes sparkling with pure mischief and joy as he exaggerates a dramatic dip that makes you gasp-laugh, gripping his shoulder for balance.
"See? Perfect form!" Hobi beams, pulling you back up seamlessly into the lazy tempo of the jazz music. "You've got the rhythm in you, Y/N. You just have to let the music do the work."
Over Hobi’s shoulder, you glance back toward the kitchen island. The chaos has shifted into a quieter, domestic rhythm. Yoongi and Yura are working side by side, completely in their own world as they pack away the leftover clams and pasta. Yura is holding open a stack of glass tupperware containers, while Yoongi uses a large metal spoon to carefully transfer the remaining food, ensuring not a single drop of the precious buttery broth is wasted.
Even from across the room, you can see the relaxed slope of Yoongi’s shoulders. He says something in a low voice that makes Yura laugh out loud, shoving his shoulder playfully. He looks up then, his dark eyes instantly cutting through the room to find you. He watches you swaying with Hobi, a soft, incredibly tender expression crossing his face that makes your heart skip a beat.
Hobi catches the direction of your gaze, a knowing, brilliant smirk spreading across his lips. He doesn't miss a single beat of the music.
"Hey, Yoongi!" Hobi calls out, his voice ringing loud and clear over the brassy hum of the turntable. "You're slacking on your boyfriend duties! Come take over before I steal your dance partner for the rest of the night!"
Yoongi freezes, a plastic container lid hovering in his hand. His ears instantly turn a bright, telling shade of pink. Yura lets out a delighted squeal, snatching the lid out of his hand and giving him a hard shove toward the dining area.
"Go! Move your feet, Min Yoongi! Don't be a coward!" She laughs.
Before you can even prepare yourself, Hobi tightens his grip on your hand just enough to guide you into a smooth, sweeping spin. The room blurs for a fraction of a second. The gleaming copper pans, Jin's soapy suds, Namjoon's dimpled grin…and then, the spin slows.
Hobi releases your hand at the perfect moment, launching you right into Yoongi’s space.
Yoongi steps forward automatically, his hands coming up on instinct to catch you. His large, warm palms settle firmly against your waist, steadying your momentum as your chest bumps lightly against his chest.
"Gotcha," Yoongi murmurs as your palms land flat against his chest.
Suddenly, the living room erupts.
"Ooooooh!" Taehyung howls from the couch, throwing off his throw blanket and sitting up straight with a massive, boxy grin. "Look at him! He's blushing!"
"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" Jimin starts chanting rhythmically, slapping his hand against the kitchen counter in time with his words. Jungkook immediately joins in, banging a spoon against an empty glass.
"Yeah, come on, we missed it the first time!" Yura shouts, cupping her hands around her mouth with zero shame. "Give the people what they want!"
"Stop peer pressuring them, you animals!" Jin yells, though he has completely stopped scrubbing his pan, leaning over the sink with a massive, expectant grin plastered across his face.
Your face flushes incredibly hot, the heat blooming from your neck all the way to the tips of your ears. You look up at Yoongi, a helpless, embarrassed laugh escaping your lips.
"They are entirely shameless," you whisper, your eyes wide.
Yoongi is looking down at you, his own face flushed a deep, beautiful crimson that stretches all the way to the back of his neck. He lets out a breathless, flustered laugh, his head dropping for a second as he tries to hide his gummy smile from the roaring crowd.
Yoongi shakes his head, his shoulders rolling with a silent, breathless laugh as the tips of his ears burn an even deeper shade of crimson. He looks out over the living room, his small, knowing gummy smile completely giving away how flustered he actually is, despite his best efforts to look unbothered.
"You guys are absolute idiots," Yoongi calls out, his voice a low, raspy drawl that barely carries over Jimin’s rhythmic kitchen counter drumming.
Before the crowd can boo him for stalling, Yoongi’s eyes flash with a sudden, playful spark. His large hands shift from your waist, one sliding smoothly down to catch your right hand while the other gives you a gentle, surprisingly firm push. With a slick, effortless flick of his wrist, he mimics Hobi's earlier move and spins you right out of his personal space, sending you sailing across the polished floor toward the dining room.
You gasp, laughing as the room blurs again, only to be stopped by a broad, solid chest.
Two muscular arms catch you instantly, wrapping around you with a secure, heavy grip that halts your momentum perfectly. You look up, blinking back your dizziness, straight into Jungkook’s massive, mischievous boyish grin. He’s still holding his spoon in one hand, but he adjusts his hold on you seamlessly, tossing the spoon onto the table behind him.
"See? I told you he’d chicken out!" Jungkook brags loudly to the room, adjusting his stance and immediately moving you into a bouncy, overly energetic box-step that has absolutely nothing to do with Namjoon’s slow jazz record. He shoots a smug, challenging look over your head at Yoongi. "I'm a way better dancer than Yoongi anyway. He’s got no upper body strength."
"I have enough strength to throw a glass tupperware at your head, Jungkook." Yoongi scoffs from the kitchen island, folding his arms across his chest.
Jungkook completely ignores the threat, his eyes crinkling with that competitive energy that usually signals impending chaos. He looks down at you, his grin widening into something deeply menacing and full of adrenaline.
"Hey, Y/N," Jungkook says, his voice dripping with absolute confidence as he takes a deeper, sturdier stance on the hardwood floor. "Watch this. I bet I can flip you right over my shoulder. We can do a full acrobatic routine right into the living room."
"No!" The entire room screams in unison.
"Jungkook, do not drop her!" Yura shrieks, abandoning the leftovers entirely and lunging forward to point a threatening finger at her husband.
"Jeon Jungkook, if you break a single piece of furniture or the guest, I'll make sure you are sleeping in the garage!" Jin bellows from the sink, waving a soapy sponge so aggressively that a sudsy bubble flies across the room and lands directly on Namjoon’s vinyl player.
"Don't do it, Y/N, he has no sense of spatial awareness!" Jimin shouts, actively jumping over the back of the couch to intervene.
You look at Jungkook, your eyes wide with absolute terror and amusement as you feel his grip tighten on your waist, his knees bending as if he’s genuinely preparing for a lifting cue.
"I'm serious, I can do it!" Jungkook protests, a look of pure, stubborn determination. He shifts his weight, his large hands anchoring firmly at your waist as if he’s genuinely timing his launch to the slow, heavy thrum of the double bass. "It's all about leverage, Y/N! Just trust me, on three…"
"If you launch her into the ceiling fan, Jungkook, I will personally dissolve our marriage," Yura warns, sprinting around the marble island to swat at his arm with a dish towel.
"Don't you dare!" You yell, laughing so hard your stomach aches as you frantically grab onto Jungkook’s solid biceps. "Jungkook, put me down! I just ate three plates of pasta!"
"Put her down!" Jin screams from the kitchen, running out with a dry tea towel to rescue Namjoon’s turntable from the flying soap suds. "Namjoon! Move the record! The child is losing his mind!"
"I'm on it, I'm on it!" Namjoon says, his dimples vanishing in a flash of pure panic as he carefully lifts the needle, cutting the smooth jazz off with a sudden, tragic skrrrt.
“What if she hits her head again!” Hobi exclaims.
“What if that's a good thing!” Taehyung smiles. “It might knock some sense into her. Why didn't we think of that before?”
Taehyung starts throwing pillows from the couch to create a makeshift landing pad, while Jimin has successfully sprinted across the room, tackling Jungkook from behind in a chaotic, full-body hug to pin his arms down.
“Down, down,” Yoongi demands, pointing his finger.
"Abort mission! Abort!" Jimin grunts, wrapping his arms around Jungkook’s neck. "He’s too strong, Namjoon, grab his legs!"
"Get off me, I was going to stick the landing!" Jungkook laughs, his deep, boisterous cackle echoing through the house as he stumbles backward under Jimin’s sudden weight, safely letting go of your waist to prevent anyone from actually falling.
You stumble back a step, breathless and giggling, only to feel a warm, steady hand immediately grip your elbow, pulling you safely out of the pile of squirming, shouting boys.
You stumble back a step, breathless and giggling, only to feel a warm, steady hand immediately grip your elbow, pulling you safely out of the pile of squirming, shouting boys.
"Come on," Yoongi’s voice mutters right next to your ear, low and laced with quiet amusement. "Before Jungkook decides you’re a human projectile again."
While Jin is busy lecturing a tangled heap of Jimin, Taehyung, and a fiercely protesting Jungkook on the living room rug, Yoongi steers you towards the front door before anyone can even notice you're gone.
"Unbelievable," Yoongi huffs, a small, soft smile playing on his lips as he guides you down the driveway. "Give them five minutes and they'll realize they lost the guest of honor."
"I think Jin is too worried about his ceiling fan to notice," you laugh.
He steps back just an inch, leaning his hip against the side of your car. He looks at you, his dark eyes softening under the amber glow of the streetlamp.
"It's like old times," he says softly, a hint of nostalgia warming his usually quiet tone. "Sneaking out of the chaos. Just you and me. It's nice."
"Even though I don't remember... it felt really nice inside. It was comfortable." You nod.
Yoongi’s expression softens even further, a look of pure, unconditional tenderness crossing his face. He steps back into your space, tilting your chin up slightly with the gentle brush of his knuckles until you're looking at him.
"You don't have to force yourself to remember," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm. He takes your hand in his. His fingers straighten the ring on your finger. "We can just make new ones."
Before you can reply, he leans in. The kiss is slow, warm, and deeply reassuring…a perfect blend of a slightly muddy past and a promised future. It tastes like the quiet safety you always seem to find whenever he’s near.
“WOOOOO! GET IT, Yoongs!”
The loud, piercing screech of a whistle shatters the romantic silence.
You both freeze, breaking the kiss to look back toward the house. The large bay window is practically overflowing. Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung are pressed flat against the glass, their faces distorted into ridiculous, teasing grins. Behind them, Jin is shaking his head but grinning, while Yura, Hobi and Namjoon are waving enthusiastically. Yoongi lets out a deep, long-suffering sigh, dropping his forehead against yours with a soft groan as you burst out laughing.
“Trust me,” he whispers. “Nothing's changed.”
Everyone eventually disappears from the window one by one, dragged away by Jin yelling something about “fingerprints on the glass” and Namjoon panicking over the vinyl still sitting unattended on the turntable.
Jungkook is the last face pressed against the window.
He gives Yoongi an exaggerated thumbs up.
Yoongi flips him off without even turning around.
Somewhere inside the house, you can still hear muffled arguing, the clatter of dishes, Taehyung loudly insisting he could have caught you if Jungkook dropped you. Yoongi shakes his head fondly.
“Idiots,” he murmurs.
But there’s no real irritation in it. Only affection. Your laughter softens into something quieter as you look at him. The soft flush still lingering across his cheeks. The way his hair falls into his eyes. The tiny crinkle near his mouth from trying not to smile too hard.
And suddenly, the ache in your chest doesn’t feel empty anymore.
It feels full.
Not with memories…not all of them, anyway.
Just... with this.
With warmth.
With garlic and jazz records and overcrowded dinner tables.
With hands reaching for yours under the noise.
With people who stayed.
“What?” He asks quietly after a moment of watching you and you shake your head slowly, smiling.
“I think…” you murmur, glancing back at the glowing house behind him, “I think I finally understand why this place feels familiar.”
“Yeah?” His eyes soften instantly.
“Because it feels like home.” You nod.
For a second, Yoongi just stares at you. His entire expression breaks open into that small, devastating gummy smile.
The one that always feels honest.
He reaches for your hand again automatically, like it belongs there, threading his fingers through yours as naturally as breathing.
“IF NOBODY HELPS ME PUT THESE LEFTOVERS AWAY I’M THROWING THEM OUT THE WINDOW!” Jin shouts from inside the house and Yoongi sighs deeply.
“You hear that?” He deadpans. “Romance is dead.”
You burst into laughter again, and this time when he smiles back, there’s no hesitation left in it at all.
Together, hand in hand, you head back toward the noise.
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