house of ddaeng

⧖⧗Circa Opal⧗⧖

The Darlaean uniform weighs heavily on your body. You reason it’ll take time to grow accustomed to the tight and hueless fabric paired with the stiff leather boots. The silver and purple stitchings that run up your limbs are an exception, but they’re nothing like the scarlet red and vivid gold of the Solarian uniform. 

Jungkook promptly picks you up from your door at 6 o’clock, and the two of you begin to venture to the training grounds. The morning greets you with cool mist and the sweet smell of grass. The sun is just barely peeking over the horizon, ready to make its debut and splash the sky with color. It’s still chilly from the night—your cold breaths materialize in the air. 

The cadets are already lined up in perfect formation, ready to take orders. They all salute in the presence of you and Jungkook. You fidget with your trinket, always having felt uncomfortable with formal military norms. Jungkook, on the other hand, is pleased. He shouts instructions to them, their morning drills, and gestures to them to begin. As the sun continues its ascent, the soldiers dance across the training ground, busy with strenuous exercise, their exertion keeping them warm despite the biting air. You and Jungkook walk around and survey the soldiers, encouraging them when their fatigue hampers their pace. By the time the sun climbs to its peak in the sky, the cadets are finished with their drills. Jungkook orders them to take their lunch break. The two of you have spoken minimally this morning, and you believe it has everything to do with how your conversation ended last night. You’re unsure now if Jungkook trusts you anymore. At what point will he fall completely out of love with you? Will he protect you then?

“—eat?”

You blink. “Oh, I’m sorry… I missed what you said,” you admit to Jungkook, but he probably knew that you were distracted anyway.

“I asked if you wanted a bite to eat,” he says. “Best to eat now when you have the time. I’ll go get us some—”

“SIR!” 

Your and Jungkook’s heads simultaneously whip around to the sight of Lieutenant Kim Seokjin running in the distance. He’s panting, frantically waving an ivory envelope in his hand. Seokjin skids to a stop in front of you and Jungkook, presenting his urgent delivery. It’s adorned with a delicate, scarlet seal. You immediately recognize it as the one Solarian officers use. 

“Sir,” Seokijin says, gasping for air. “I took the first carriage to the 12th city when I received this. A phoenix delivered it overnight.”

Without a change in expression, Jungkook takes the envelope, turning it over and inspecting it with scrutiny. “Ah, from the Solarian General. Addressed to the Darlaean General.”

Your heart shatters into a million pieces. Yoongi? Your Yoongi? Acquiring the assistance of a phoenix? No, it must be a fire bird—a sol. Your mind begins to race.

“What a surprise,” Jungkook says, dryly. “It’s too early for him to bring up talks for a winter truce. Perhaps he is finally coming around. He must know that his helluvian nation can never win this war.” 

Jungkook breaks the wax seal and slips out a letter. You can recognize Yoongi’s handwriting through the thin material where the ink had bled through. The letter is short—only several sentences long. But it’s provocative enough for Jungkook’s expression to morph into anger. “How dare he!” he yells, his fist immediately crumpling up the paper.

Your stomach sinks.

“What did it say, sir?” Seokjin asks, seemingly startled at one of Jungkook’s rare outbursts. Even he’s aware that it takes a lot for Jungkook to express his emotions.

“He wants to bargain war prisoners.”

Seokjin’s brows furrow. “Isn’t that… in our favor, sir?”

“Y/N’s on the list.”

Your jaw falls open. “Me?” you gasp in disbelief. 

“Temporary Lieutenant General Kwang???” Seokjin mirrors your disbelief. “What—”

“Absolutely not!” Jungkook scoffs. “Who the fuck does he think he is?”

All you can think about is that Yoongi thinks you’re a war prisoner. Does he think you’re stuck in Darlae against your will? Does he not suspect you to be Darlaean at all? He wrote a letter to get you back. He doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t think you betrayed him at all! Relief floods into your system, breathing life into every muscle in your body, until you realize Yoongi might be lying. He has to know you’re not a prisoner. There were too many obvious clues pointing to your true identity. So is he sending this letter because he doesn’t care that you’re a betrayer? Is he sending you a message? Does he know you used to be the Darlaean General? No, he must have taken a leap of faith—that whoever is the General would relay the message to you. It worked, you’ll give him that. 

“Seokjin,” Jungkook says sharply, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Write a letter to the Solarian General for me. Tell this treehugger that we will not partake in any exchange of war prisoners. Send it off using that phoenix of his. Those fucking helluvians! Stealing our animals, too.”

You bite your tongue to keep yourself from rattling off that there is a difference between a phoenix and a fire bird. But it’s not enough to keep you from asking, “Wasn’t the letter addressed to you, Jungkook? Maybe you should write it. General to General.”

“No,” he replies curtly. “It’d only be a waste of time.”

Your eyes close momentarily to help compose yourself. It’s okay, you repeat in your mind. Yoongi wants you back—even after indubitably knowing you’re Darlaean. Perhaps this is his method of contacting you, testing the waters to see if you’ll respond. Your heart pulls its shattered pieces back together. 

Giddiness settles in. 

He’s looking for you. He wants to communicate with you. It’s like the weight of a thousand fire sols has been lifted from your shoulders. Now all you have to do is figure out how to contact him back.

The answer comes after a long day of following Jungkook around to meetings and cadet surveillance. You collapse on your bed, exhausted, not even bothering to get out of your uniform. Enyx lands on your pillow, cocking his head.

“I’m okay,” you tell him. “I have a lot to think about… just didn’t get the time to do it all day.”

Enyx ruffles his feathers. 

“Well, for starters, I think… someone I care about from um, far away, tried to contact me.”

Enyx lets out a trill.

“Yes, I know! I couldn’t believe it either, Enyx, and I want to tell him that I’m alive and I’m well and I don’t want him to worry, but I…”

The phoenix hops over to you, clearly invested in your troubles. ‘But what?’ he seems to say.

“But I… it’s complicated. I don’t know where he is. No, that’s not true. I do know where he is, but I don’t know how I’d ever write him back. I have no means to… I just…” Your heart feels heavy. “I just want to tell him I’m okay.”

Enyx nudges you. ‘Perhaps I may be of assistance.’

“You?” you say, smiling sadly. “I appreciate the offer, Enyx, but he isn’t exactly from Darlae.”

Enyx cocks his head. ‘An even more interesting development!’ he concludes.

“So, unless you magically know the way to the nation we’re at war with, it’s just not possible,” you sigh, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hands. “Thanks, though… For the offer.”

There’s a flutter of wings, then you feel Enyx’s claws grip around your wrist. He trills loudly, insistently. Your hands come off your eyes. “How?”

Enyx chortles. 

“Okay, fine, you don’t have to tell me. But you’re serious? You can go there? I mean, isn’t it dangerous…? You’re not exactly um… Well, to put it lightly… No, there’s no way to put this lightly. You’re a delicacy around here.” If Enyx could roll his eyes, you imagine he would’ve right then and there. “I’m sorry! Don’t risk your life over this. Remember? I saved you from the royal butcher years ago. What if I’m unable to do it this time?”

Enyx ruffles his feathers in annoyance. ‘Do you desire my assistance or not?’

“I do, I do! I’m just… I trust you. I trust you! Maybe I’m also nervous, deep down inside. This man… Yoongi… I mean, I’ve mentioned him to you before. I’m assuming he wants to communicate with me, but there’s also a small chance that I’m wrong, you know? That he really thinks I’m a war prisoner, and he doesn’t know that I’ve betrayed him and Solaria.”

‘Ah,’ Enyx seems to say. ‘But it doesn’t hurt to try, child. I have friends in that nation. I’ll visit them on the way. And I won’t be eaten. I promise.’

You don’t need any more urging. Quickly, you rip out a page in a random notebook and scrawl, I’m fine. Please don’t worry. Things are complicated and I don’t know how much I’m allowed to say. Your hand hovers over the paper, quill pen in hand. Do you write more? Can you even say more? An ‘I miss you’ feels incriminating—if the message is intercepted, they’ll have evidence of your treason. You set the quill pen down. You’ll keep it short and simple. 

Enyx nuzzles you as you tie the rolled-up message to his leg. ‘I’ll see to it that it’s delivered,’ his bright eyes tell you.

“Thank you,” you say. “Truly.”

You watch the phoenix fly off into a red sunset, blending in with the blazing sky, and for the first time since you’ve come back home, you feel hope.

There’s a knock on the door at 8 o’clock as promised. Punctual as always. You’ve washed and changed, and Jooeun and her team had already set up dinner in your chambers a few minutes prior. 

“Come in,” you tell Jungkook.

He emerges from behind your door, dressed fashionably, with his sword attached to his belt as usual. The blue birthstone glints in the warm candlelight. “Thank you for agreeing to have dinner with me tonight.” He glances at your pale green silk gown. “Elegant as always.”

You nod, sitting in the seat that Jungkook pulls out for you. “Thank you. I didn’t want to break tradition.”

The corner of his lips pulls up in a small smile. “Good, good,” he comments, sitting in his own seat across from you. The food looks delectable, whipped ricotta with herbs and honey paired with a basket of fresh bread, a tomato and cucumber salad tossed with fragrant seasoning and the main course: peppered pumpkin risotto topped with sage and thyme. “Let’s eat.”

Over food, Jungkook makes small talk with you. He asks you how your day was, that he tried to keep your schedule light since it was your first day back on the training grounds. You reply honestly, that it was a lot. He nods. “You’ll get used to it,” he says. “Eventually, I’d like to get you back into training, instead of watching others do it.”

You hum. Reasonable enough.

There’s a bit of silence. The food is delicious, the risotto melting in your mouth, the savory pepperiness contrasting beautifully with the sweetness of the honey and ricotta spread. Then, Jungkook speaks up again.

“Did the Solarian General know you personally?”

Your spoon freezes halfway through its journey to your mouth. You set it down. You knew this was coming; it’s rare that nations exchange war prisoners—they’re usually sentenced to death—and it’s suspicious enough that Yoongi suggests this now of all times. But you can’t blame him. He did it for you. He wants you back, regardless of your allegiance. 

“He cherished all of his soldiers,” you say, hoping the response is neutral enough to placate Jungkook’s suspicions. 

He raises an eyebrow. It’s futile. You cannot possibly deceive a divinist, and especially not a divinist who knows you as well as Jungkook does. “I see…”

The rest of the dinner proceeds in silence. You have trouble looking up to Jungkook’s face. He must know you’re keeping something from him, but he doesn’t pry. Instead, when he leaves, he bids you a polite goodnight. You can feel him pulling away from you, but what can you do? Your heart reaches for someone else, and you await his reply.

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⨰ a/n: shorter chapter but the next one will make up for it! (side note, i love autumn so much)

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Hoseok bounces lightly on the balls of his feet, steadying his breathing as he hears the crowd cheer for the artist on the stage. His dressing room is finally empty; his manager had poked his head in a few minutes ago, informing him that backstage pictures and pep talks with the dancers would begin soon, before withdrawing and leaving Hoseok to his devices.

His team is waiting right outside; as he walks out of his dressing room and starts down the outdoor trail to the stage, his bodyguards and his manager flank him, with the head stylist catching up to them and tripping over herself to straighten his artfully messy hair. He grins at the “J-hope, J-hope!”s that pass him by, waving at shaking hands with staff and crew and a few fans that have managed to make it this far back to the arena. His bodyguards are skilled, though, keeping them politely at bay, until a grown man appears in his line of vision for a flash before he’s pushed back by the bodyguards.

“Hey, wait, wait -” Hoseok halts and peers around the bodyguard towards the man. “Minho hyung?” As the older man grins and nods, Hoseok gasps dramatically before stepping forward and meeting him in a half-hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Just hanging out,” says Minho good-naturedly as he walks alongside Hoseok, cradling a Nikon camera hanging around his neck. “I heard you were here - you’ve become a big star! But we knew you would be,” he adds, clapping him on the shoulder as though they’ve been friends for years.

Hoseok gapes, for in his wildest dreams he wouldn’t have imagined Kwon Minho, the senior he and Chanyeol used to worship in middle school, would be saying this to his face. “Oh, I’m not - I mean, I’m, you know - like, there’s a lot of luck -” He dithers on for a few seconds, somewhat aware that all the coolness and swagger he’d been building up in his dressing room is disappearing. 

“I’m actually here with Chaerin,” says Minho, as they finally reach the backstage area where staff and dancers mill around, with sound technicians marching purposefully in various directions. “Her group is performing soon and I’m hoping to get a good view of the stage from out here.”

“Chaerin - oh.” Hoseok remembers now. The group performing right after the current one is a legacy k-pop group; they’d debuted a couple of years before Hoseok, creating a blueprint for every girl group of his generation and after. There had been a rumour a few years ago that one of the members, after the group had gone on a long hiatus, had got engaged to someone from Gwangju - the fact that it might be Minho boggles Hoseok’s mind.

“Yeah - I kept it for the last minute when they performed in London last week and I didn’t get any good pictures,” he laments, running a hand through his hair as the crowd cheers again and they both turn to look. “Learnt my lesson after that,” he adds, a bit louder over the noise.

“Of course. So - I’m sorry, it’s so great to see you after so long,” says Hoseok, grinning when Minho laughs. “I still see you in the football jersey with that sideways fringe that the rest of us were trying to copy.”

“Ah, that was the Justin Bieber era - I remember now.” He chuckles without a hint of self-consciousness. “We were all trying something. Including your friend - Chanyeol? Are you guys still friends?”

“Best friends,” confirms Hoseok, practically giddy at the fact that Kwon Minho remembers them. “He’s an investment banker now, I think.”

“Oh, yeah, he was a couple years below me in SNU as well.”

“Right! I heard you got a scholarship after SNU to - was it Harvard?” 

“Stanford,” he corrects. “But, yeah, that was a really good experience. It was a while ago, though. I got hired by Google after that and worked in San Francisco for a couple years, before I quit and moved back to Korea.” He shrugs. “Wanted to try doing my own thing.”

“Wow. So - so, what do you do now?” Hoseok asks with interest, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning sideways against the wall. “Do you, like, have your own business?” he asks, unable to keep the admiration out of his voice.

“I did for a while,” he admits, and his smile fades slightly. “After I finished service, I started a sports marketing firm and it was - it was good. But, you know.” He pauses. “Couldn’t do it remotely for too long. So I sold it and - anyway, I’m a travel vlogger now,” he says, waving a hand. “Going around the world, reviewing cities - it’s cool. You should check out my Instagram.”

“Oh. I mean, yeah, of course,” says Hoseok quickly. “And - I mean, that sounds really cool. But -” Hoseok cringes inwardly, hoping his surprise at Minho - Minho - choosing to be a travel vlogger when he was a merit scholar at seventeen years old, isn’t too apparent. “I always pictured you as a CEO or a world famous football player or something,” he admits sheepishly. “We all did. Sorry - I hope that doesn’t sound bad,” he adds apologetically.

“No, no. Don’t worry about it.” Minho shrugs again, and this time it looks more relaxed. “Like I said, the company was going well and everything but… I want to be with Chaerin. And she travels a lot - you know, acting in Los Angeles and her group just reunited and now they’re touring the world… It was hard, being back home and seeing her only once every couple of months. So… now I’m travelling with her. And I’m still a minor shareholder of the company, so it isn’t all that bad.”

Hoseok nods slowly, not quite knowing what to say. “That’s… really good,” he manages finally, hoping it doesn’t sound as half-hearted as it does in his head.

“Yeah. It was an adjustment but… you know.” Minho takes a deep breath, looking in the other direction of the backstage area where Chaerin’s group is standing together with a couple of stylists, sipping on bottled water and marking dance steps. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything, though,” he says after a few moments, sounding wistful. 

“Right,” murmurs Hoseok, the sentiment warming heart slightly, for Minho does sound genuine. He sneaks a look at his phone while Minho fiddles with the settings on his camera, scrolling to his chat with her where his thumb pauses on the selfie she’d sent him a few hours ago before heading to work (wavy hair, clean make-up, shiny pink lip gloss and a white lace blouse). All of a sudden, Minho’s decision to be with Chaerin makes complete sense. 

—

Across the world, Chaeyoung nibbles on a carrot stick while peering over her coworker’s shoulder at the laptop screen.

“Let me know if anyone’s coming, okay?” Her coworker, Eunji, reminds her in a low voice as she maximises the window to fit the whole screen.

“Did I miss it?” Jia, another coworker, hurries over to them and pulls up a beanbag next to Chaeyoung with one hand, the other laden with bottles of water and snacks from the vending machine.

“No, they haven’t even started yet. Ooh, soy chips.” Eunji eagerly rips open a packet and offers some to Chaeyoung, who smiles and shakes her head.

“Should we call Duri as well?” she asks, looking through the glass doors at their open floor plan to spot the last member of their little group. “He was pretty excited to watch it, too.”

“I texted him - he needs to send out a copy and then he’ll be here,” says Jia, settling down on the beanbag and tucking their haul under the small table where the laptop is perched. “Come on, what’s taking him so long?” she whines softly.

“Technical issues,” supplies Chaeyoung, before catching herself. “I mean, I presume. The rest of the show has been on time so far, hasn’t it?”

Thankfully, she’s spared from the conversation continuing when Duri exits through the glass doors and makes a beeline for them, pushing his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose.

“All clear,” he declares with a flourish, clapping his hands and sitting on the floor next to Chaeyoung’s ottoman. “All the managers are going to be in an hour-long meeting with New York so we can crank up the volume!”

“We’re not cranking anything,” says Eunji, as Chaeyoung and Jia snort. “But we can increase it a bit,” she allows after a moment, pressing the volume up key on her Macbook just as the cheers ascend to welcome J-Hope on stage.

Chaeyoung bites her lip to keep from smiling too widely, although she needn’t bother; next to her, Jia muffles a squeal into her fists as Hoseok appears on the screen in a cloud of smoke, hair gelled up and one exposed shoulder gleaming as he immediately launches into one of his hits.

“I can’t believe they’re all going solo now. I mean, they’re not going solo,” Eunji corrects herself quickly, as though having uttered a taboo word. “But they’re - they’re -”

“They’re thriving solo,” breathes Duri, his eyes gleaming with admiration. “He was made to dance. How much of his life do you think he’s spent just dancing?”

At least the last twenty years, Chaeyoung thinks with pride. At least since Chanyeol’s tenth birthday party when he danced to a Seo Taiji song and did a jazz split in front of about twenty other people and even though he ripped his pants doing it, all anyone remembered was how good he was. 

But all she says is, “Probably a long time.”

The others nod and they enjoy the show for a while, singing along under their breaths. Eventually, a handful of other people join them until it’s a little over half a dozen people in the floor’s creative room, watching J-Hope perform in New York.

“I can’t believe they’ll all be gone soon,” murmurs Jia wistfully, so only Chaeyoung can hear her. “What are we going to do?”

Chaeyoung bites her lip, resisting the urge to correct Jia’s we. It isn’t as though she hasn’t thought about it - it’s impossible not to think about it, the fact that just like Chanyeol left years ago and Seokjin left a couple of months ago, that Hoseok will, too. In fact, part of her expects him to announce it at the end of this performance, although she hasn’t worked up the courage to outright ask him about it yet.

As she watches him perform his heart out, now a BTS song she remembers listening to when she was still in high school, she can’t help but think about it. Her phone feels like a tiny window through which she can see him - the real Hoseok, the one who texted her just before she sat down with her friends with a picture from backstage saying wish you were here, caterpillar - and tightens her hold on it, determined to enjoy the performance he’s worked so hard for. 

When the performance is done and Hoseok waves as he leaves the stage, Chaeyoung grabs her phone and immediately scrolls to their chat as everyone starts heading back to their desks. She’s beginning to type out a long message gushing about his performance when she’s interrupted.

“Hey,” says Duri, sidling up to her.

Jumping slightly, she instantly locks her phone and lets her hand fall to her side. “Hey. You scared me.”

“Oh, sorry! Just - are you okay?”

“Um… yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” she asks, nervously fluffing out her hair.

“No, you just looked a little off, that’s all.” He raises his eyebrows, looking amused. “I thought he was your favourite member.”

You have no idea. “Yeah, no…. I’m just stressed about work.” She waves a hand vaguely, her gaze shifting to the meeting room where all the managers are still in a meeting. “A lot of deliverables coming up.”

“Oh. You know,” he continues, stopping at her desk and lowering his voice, “you didn’t hear it from me, but your name is actively up there for the overseas e-commerce project.”

Chaeyoung’s eyes widen. “The one in London? Really?”

Duri nods conspiratorially. “Again - you didn’t hear it from me. But if all goes well -” He shrugs hugely as he backs away “- you might be on a long-distance flight pret-ty soon.”

The rest of the day is a blur, even with Chaeyoung’s active efforts to not get her hopes up. She isn’t stupid; she knows it’s only a chance and even that, through the grapevine, but if it happens… She imagines telling Hosoek, and Chanyeol and Sooah, seeing her father be as excited as he was when Chanyeol got his dream job out of university. It makes her smile every time, followed by an active attempt to suppress it.

Hoseok returns the next day and as happy as she is to see him, she can’t bring herself to tell him, not when it isn’t even confirmed. Thankfully, actually seeing each other after this long takes precedence, and she can finally get her mind off it for a while. Lying next to him in the dark, naked under the covers while he sleeps off his exhaustion and jetlag, Chaeyoung resolves to keep it to herself until she actually has real news to tell him.

He beats her to it, though. The next night, after a nice date of catching up and spending some much needed time together, they return to her apartment for ice cream and a movie. Casual snogging leads to something more, and they retreat to her bedroom so as to not be caught by Sooah.

“Chae,” he says after a while, his head propped up on his hand and tracing his finger lightly along her back as she turns to face him, blissfully post-coital. “I, uh…” He bites his lip, but doesn’t avert his gaze. “I got a date. I need to report at the end of the month.”

Chaeyoung’s half-smile fades, and she says nothing for a few moments. She’d expected this at some point, but there’s an uncertainty that creeps up now, although she isn’t immediately sure what it’s about.

“Um… okay. Do you know where you’ll be posted?” she asks, and she notices the mild relief on his face at her question.

“Gangwon. To start with. They haven’t given me a lot of details,” he adds.

“Except a date.”

“Except a date.” He shuffles closer to her and gently tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Look, I wanted you to be the first to know. I have to tell the company tomorrow and… I guess they’ll have me announce it at the Goyang concert next week.”

Chaeyoung nods. It would certainly make for a headline and while Chaeyoung had had every intention of going to that concert with Sooah, she isn’t sure she wants to hear him tell the world he’ll be gone for the next eighteen months.

“I don’t… I don’t really know what else to say,” she admits, a bit sheepishly. “I mean, I’ll miss you. Obviously. And, uh… it’ll be weird not coming over and seeing you, I guess. But I will miss you,” she repeats. “And, um… I know we’ll still text and stuff and we’ll see each other on holidays… and it’ll end eventually. But I’ll still miss… this and I’ll miss - I’ll miss -”

Her throat catches and she blinks back tears. Next to her, Hoseok nods as she speaks, his eyes filling up as well and the moment she breaks off, he reaches over and pulls her to him.

“I’ll miss you, too, caterpillar,” he murmurs into her shoulder. She sniffles and he tightens his embrace, pressing a kiss to her skin. “I love you,” he adds.

Chaeyoung nods and bites her lip. She doesn’t want to cry out loud but she’s afraid if she does open her mouth, that’s exactly what she’ll do. So she simply wraps her arm around him and hugs him tighter.

—

Almost two weeks after he met Minho in New York, Hoseok finds himself getting ready to go on stage at yet another concert. This backstage layout is familiar, though; he’s performed here so many times that the green room, the sound check and even some of the staff from the venue are known to him. 

Not just him, as it turns out; glancing sideways, he spots Yoongi talking to one of the producers, while Jimin and Jungkook are fooling around in his green room, laughing up a storm. It’s a contrast to the one in New York, where the only familiar person had been Minho (popular, handsome, capable, high-potential graduate who gave up his career to follow his idol girlfriend). Hoseok had wasted no time gossiping about it to Chanyeol after the concert, who seemed to be the only other person who could grasp the magnitude of this revelation.

Hoseok looks back at his friends again, wishing Chaeyoung were here. Ever since he’d told her about his plans for enlistment, she’d been subdued. They still spent time together but he could sense her holding back, as though hesitating to tell him something. 

She was supposed to be here tonight as well but she’d backed out yesterday, needing to stay late at work. He’d tried not to be disappointed; it sounded like an important interview so he’d swallowed any complaints and wished her luck, reminding her that he believed in her.

He’s marking the steps to his first song and testing his earpiece when he looks up to see Jimin jogging towards him, holding up his phone.

“Hyung,” he calls, coming to a stop. “Sooah wants to talk to you.”

“Okay,” says Hoseok uncertainly, taking the phone. “Hey, Sooah?”

“Oppa! What’s up?”

“Um -“ He looks around. “About to go up on stage in front of about ten thousand people. You?”

“Sounds rad,” she says breezily. “Listen, I wanted to ask about your after party tonight - is it going to be, like, a rager?”

“A rager? No, I highly doubt it. Why? You two are still coming, right?”

“Yeah, of course we are. I’m in the car outside her office right now,” she chirps. “But, no - I’m asking if it’s going to be, like, hundreds of people on drugs or just friends.”

“Definitely not hundreds and definitely not drugs,” he clarifies immediately, rather confused now. “Just about thirty people in the Hybe building. What’s going on?”

“Will it be okay if I bring a cake?”

“A cake? Oh, Sooah, that’s really sweet of you,” he says warmly. “But you really don’t have to.”

There’s a pause. “Um… we’re all very sad you’re leaving,” she says slowly, “but the cake’s not for you.”

Hoseok frowns, stumped. Then something clicks. “Wait, is it for Chae? Did she get the job?”

There’s a deep sigh on the other end. “Okay, yes - but she probably wants to tell you herself so you have to act surprised! But… yeah, she just texted me and it looks like she got it!”

“Oh, my god! That’s amazing!” Hoseok catches sight of his reflection in a nearby window and tries to suppress his wide grin.

“Yeah, so I thought if it’s a small-ish group, then maybe I could get a cake - low-fat and gluten-free, obviously -“ He can almost hear her roll her eyes “- if you’re okay with it?”

“Yeah! I’ll get someone to bring champagne and chocolates - no, apricot pie! Wait, I’ll ask her if she wants those Japanese rice balls as well -“

“What - no! Oppa!” Sooah exclaims urgently, cutting him off. “You can’t tell her you know! And I don’t even know if she’d want all that - she said she’s not even sure if she’s going to take it. So until we know for sure -“

“Wait - why wouldn’t she?”

“I dunno, I guess because of your enlistment and stuff. But I’m sure she’ll still go - I guess that’s what they’re still discussing in there. But anyway, so about the cake - oh, wait, she’s calling me. Oppa, I have to go.”

“Wait - Sooah!” 

But there’s a click and Sooah hangs up. Hoseok stays frozen for a second before frantically trying to call her back, looking at Jimin’s lockscreen blankly when he’s called by his manager and in the next few minutes, he’s ushered out on stage.

—

Chaeyoung and Sooah reach the after party at Hybe a few hours later, soon after Hoseok and the rest of them reach. It’s late - made even more so by the fact that Chaeyoung’s team at work, who’d been there when she’d got the news, had taken her out to a nearby restaurant to celebrate. With Sooah in attendance as well, the whole thing had felt a bit like a fever dream. 

It’s a bit surreal, even after they enter the party. She knows she’s happy, and all the scenarios she’d been cooking up in her head over the last few days can finally fade away, but there’s a whole new emotion taking over now. The scenarios, very vague at the moment, have taken on a new form altogether and it’s making her stomach hurt a little.

“Not much of a party,” declares Sooah, scanning the room critically as Jungkook comes over. “Hey. Is it just me or did your parties used to be cooler?”

“I mean -“ He looks a bit taken aback and whips his head around, seeming a bit panicked. “I guess it’s not our best,” he admits humbly. “But it wasn’t meant to be. Hobi hyung said he didn’t want a huge deal to be made over him leaving and stuff so it’s just the production team and close staff.”

“Oh, yeah. He announced it tonight, didn’t he?” she muses, glancing at Chaeyoung. “By the way - guess who’s so mindblowing at her job that she’s going to London on a secondment?”

Jungkook’s face freezes in a half-excited expression and he raises his eyebrows, until Sooah smacks his shoulder.

“It’s Chaeyoung! Duh!”

“Oh!” Jungkook steps forward and hugs Chaeyoung, who returns it, a bit dazed. “You’ll love London. Very fashion forward - oh, and you can hang out with Dilara, too! She’s totally -“ He pauses abruptly. “I mean. She’s cool. You’ll meet her.”

Chaeyoung nods mutely, a new variable being introduced to the chaos of scenarios. “Can’t wait,” she manages, nodding as though she meets world famous athletes who model for Calvin Klein all the time. 

Somewhere behind Jungkook, she spots Hoseok talking to Namjoon in a corner, both of them looking deep in conversation. Namjoon holds a glass of wine, but Hoseok has only a bottle of water he’s turning in his hands, as though absently.

“Can we get a drink?” Chaeyoung asks, interrupting Sooah and Jungkook.

“Of course, babe,” answers Sooah, and they all glide towards the makeshift bar. “Ooh, Prosecco. Would’ve gone great with the strawberry cheesecake I almost got,” she adds innocently.

Chaeyoung gives her a look, glad for a distraction from the strange anticipatory pit in her stomach. “I didn’t say you couldn’t get it, unnie. I just said I’d have only a bite.”

“No, no - we’ll get you the cake you want. Even if it’s some no-fat, no-carb, gluten-free vegan crap.” Sooah makes a face but then smiles, throwing an arm around her shoulder and squeezing it. “Your celebration, your cake.”

Chaeyoung smiles back weakly. Now that they’re at the bar, she discovers she doesn’t feel like a drink after all. She looks around again and this time, she meets Hoseok’s eyes. They light up as if out of habit and she waits for him to make his way to her.

But he doesn’t, and neither does she. Instead, he cocks his head in the direction of the balcony - a small crevice to the side where she can see someone with a cigarette in hand - and waits until she starts walking to follow her. When they reach, she realises the person she’d seen was Taehyung and he’s on the phone, speaking in English.

“- don’t get it. You said it wasn’t a big deal so I just don’t see why - no, but that’s not even what I -” He stops abruptly when he sees Hoseok and Chaeyoung and purses his lips, his jaw hard.

Hoseok raises his eyebrows. “Sorry,” he mouths, taking a step back. “We’ll just -”

But Taehyung shakes his head and puts out his cigarette in the ash tray before brushing past them and heading back out. “Hold on,” she can hear him say as he leaves. A couple of minutes later, she spots him exiting the building downstairs, phone still to his ear.

“Wow,” she mutters.

“Yeah. Par for the course, though,” adds Hoseok, although Chaeyoung isn’t quite sure what he means. She turns to face him and suddenly, all thoughts of Taehyung leave her mind.

“Hey,” he says softly, smiling. He looks tired but happy, a very specific post-concert look she’s come to love. But there’s something else in the way he looks at her, and she knows he knows.

“Did Sooah tell you?”

He winces slightly. “Not on purpose. She wanted to bring a cake,” he explains, a bit sheepishly.

She chuckles. “Yeah, she did. I finally convinced her not to.” She bites her lip.

“I’m so proud of you,” he murmurs, walking towards her with his arms open. 

Chaeyoung knows it’s an image she’ll remember for a long, long time: Hoseok, his proud smile, arms wide and generous, holding the world open for her. She meets him halfway and wraps her arms around his waist as he hugs her, squeezing her shoulders.

“I knew you’d get it. I just knew it,” he says against her hair, and he actually sounds like he believes it. “I’m so proud of you, caterpillar,” he repeats, kissing the side of her head.

She nods against his shoulder, the smile returning to her face. He sounds so genuine; it makes her feel guilty almost, but she doesn’t know why. “Thanks,” is all she manages before they separate.

“Are you pissed that Sooah told me before you could?” he asks, tugging lightly at a lock of her hair.

“You would think… but, no,” she admits, taking a seat on the small granite bench. “I’m actually kind of glad she didn’t. I wasn’t really sure how to tell you.”

He frowns. “Why? You know I would’ve been happy.”

“No, of course you would’ve been happy. It’s just… I don’t know, there are a lot of moving parts,” she says vaguely. “It’s six months to start with but when I asked about the leave policy, they said there are usually events and stuff on the weekends, too… but I guess if we really plan it well - your holidays back and my free weekends…” She shrugs, dropping her gaze to her lap.

Hoseok is silent for a moment. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he says quietly. “We can work that out any way you want.”

“Yeah, but we still need to plan,” she repeats. “And if I get the additional six month extension and I’m gone for a year - although, that may not even happen so no point thinking about it now, I guess.”

The strange anxiety is still building in her stomach. Part of it feels good, the part that peaked when he hugged her. But when she observes Hoseok now, how he’s uncharacteristically quiet, how his happiness and pride seems clouded by something else, she isn’t even sure what she’s supposed to be feeling now.

“Chae,” he says, and then pauses. He walks over slowly and takes a seat next to her before exhaling slowly, his gaze on his hands in his lap. “You know when I left for Seoul, right? I was barely out of high school and I had to pitch my parents to even let me go… and then they did. And after that it was just… pure support - from them, from my sister, Chan, even you. I didn’t have to worry about anything except debuting. And then training and performing and touring,” he adds, sighing a bit as though he knows he’s beating around the bush. “I had nothing holding me back.”

He finally turns to her, but Chaeyoung finds she can’t quite meet his eyes. It’s coming, and she knows it.

“Chae, I don’t want to be the thing that holds you back,” he says gently. “I can’t be. Everything you’ve worked for, getting an international assignment… none of it can be about me. None of it should. Being an idol is a challenge in itself but now I have a limitation that I can’t do anything about - maybe if I didn’t have to enlist it would be different but -“

“Are you breaking up with me?” She interrupts him, somewhat relieved to hear she doesn’t sound angry. “Because that would be kind of lame, considering I’m not sure we’re technically dating yet.”

He half-chuckles, without humour. Then he lowers himself off the bench and turns towards her, resting a forearm lightly on her knee.

“Yeah. Technically we aren’t. Don’t you think it’s for a reason?” he asks. “Maybe it’s for a reason you’ve hesitated this whole time to call me your boyfriend? Maybe it’s for a reason that you haven’t been able to say -“

Chaeyoung’s heart skips a beat. She meets his eyes, relieved when he doesn’t say the words out loud either. “Why do you think you’re holding me back?” she murmurs.

“Because you shouldn’t have to be thinking about how you’re going to take vacation days or whether or not you’ll take an extension based on where I am,” he answers earnestly. “You’re too young to be making decisions based on anything other than what you want for your future. That’s what I did. I was out there, making  music and touring, having new experiences completely unencumbered, untethered to anything. I want that for you, baby,” he says, squeezing her hand.

Chaeyoung is silent for a moment. “Is this some kind of knee jerk reaction before you enlist?” she asks quietly. “Or are you really…”

“No, it’s not,” he says immediately, shaking his head. “I’m not scared, or trying to get out of anything. This is your time,” he urges. “And I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to be right here, cheering you on the whole time. And when I’m out and if you’re still here - in this place… I’ll follow you wherever you are.”

She swallows. It’s all so unexpected, and she doesn’t want to admit that the churning in her stomach is slowing down. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean it,” he says, his eyes wide. “I don’t want to end this. I just think we have to… for now. I don’t want to be with anyone else or - or date or anything.”

She sniffles and looks away. “Yeah, I’m sure your dating options in the military will be just fierce.”

He cracks a smile. “Even if they are, it won’t matter.” He scooches closer to her and rests both his forearms on her knees. “It took me twenty years to realise that the girl I’m supposed to be with was right next door. A couple years of service isn’t going to change that.”

Twenty years. She thinks of how hesitantly she’d asked her boss about taking holidays, wanting desperately not to sound like she was shirking her responsibilities but also wanting to know… 

“What if I meet someone there? If we’re not together, if you want me to have new experiences… I’m not saying I will, but what if?”

Hoseok’s eyes flicker and it’s clear he hasn’t considered this a possibility. His eyes fall for a moment before he raises them again to meet hers, his eyes just slightly red, and she suddenly wishes she hadn’t said anything.

“If you do… then you do,” he says softly. “Like I said… you have your whole life ahead of you. This is part of it.” He pauses, lowering his eyes slightly again and biting his lip. Chaeyoung’s hand itches to touch him - on his cheek, his hand, anywhere - but she stays motionless. “I’m just letting you know that… I’m not going anywhere. I love you, Chae. You’re the one.”

She nods, pressing her knuckle to the corner of her eye before anything spills out. “You know that I also -” But the words catch in her throat and she looks away guiltily because he’s right. She still can’t say it.

“I know,” he mutters, and she can hear how he’s trying to reassure her of the fact. “It’s really okay, Chae. I’m so proud of you. I really am,” he adds, squeezing her hand and pressing a kiss to her fingers.

Chaeyoung’s vision is blurring now. It’s overwhelming, the stress of the day, the exhilaration at getting the assignment, the strange anxiety after and Hoseok’s bombshell of a confession. She knows if she stays here any longer, with him, she’s going to break down. Despite everything he’s said, something’s changed now and she can’t quite expect the same comfort she could have a few minutes ago.

“I’m going to -” She clears her throat and sniffs, before getting to her feet. “It’s been a long day and… I think I’m going to head home.” 

Hoseok stands up with her, nodding but looking worried. “Okay. Um… listen, we’ll - we’ll talk later, right? Before I leave?”

“Yeah, totally,” she says, making a show of gathering her back and adjusting her cardigan. 

“Okay. Congratulations, again. On the assignment.” He reaches for her, probably her arm or her waist, but Chaeyoung turns around to face him before he can. 

“Thanks. And congrats to you, too, on your… concert. And the other thing.” She sighs inwardly but can’t find it in her to be embarrassed, not now. To avoid the awkwardness, she leans over for a quick half-hug before she turns back around and leaves.

—

The next few days are busier than Hoseok can ever remember his life being. Between long meetings with the company about his mid-service album release and other appearances during service, going back to Gwangju to visit his parents and actually getting ready to leave for a year and a half, he feels like he barely has any energy left to eat and sleep.

The entire time, however, a part of his attention is constantly on his phone, waiting for some sign from Chaeyoung. He’d given her some space the day after his concert and would’ve given her more but with every passing day, he comes closer and closer to leaving and the fear that he won’t hear from her at all becomes more and more real.

He texts her a few times but receives only short replies, ones that typically end with her being busy with work. He thought he’d been able to read her mood that night reasonably well. She’d been taken off guard but he thought she’d seemed understanding as well. There had been no anger whatsoever but now he can’t be sure.

He tries to remind himself that she, too, is getting ready to leave for a long assignment but every time he picks up his phone to see nothing from her, his heart breaks just a little bit more at the thought that he might have to leave without a goodbye from her.

The morning he is finally at the base, ready to leave, he looks around with remaining dregs of hope that Chaeyoung might be here. His parents are, and his sister and the other members - and Chanyeol, who’s driven down just to see him off like Hoseok had half a dozen years ago.

“Hey, man.” Chanyeol comes over now, clapping him on the back. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Hoseok nods, exhaling deeply and trying to calm his nerves. “Was it like this for you, too?”

“Worse. You’re handling it remarkably well,” he replies. “Especially the hair and everything. I remember I cried the night I had to shave my head.” He shakes his head, apparently reliving the memory.

Hoseok nods, running a hand nervously over the short bristles on his head. “Least of my problems, honestly,” he mutters. “Thanks for being here, though. You know if your sister’s coming, too?” he asks after a moment, unable to resist.

“My sister? Doubt it,” says Chanyeol, looking around at the rest of the site. “That must be your sergeant. Looks friendly.”

Hoseok follows his line of sight and manages a snort. “Yeah, about as friendly as that tutor you had in eleventh grade.”

Chanyeol shudders as Hoseok rewinds back to the fact that Chaeyoung won’t be coming. He’d stopped by her place last night but Sooah had informed him that she wasn’t home yet. It didn’t seem like a lie, but it hadn’t stopped Hoseok from feeling disappointed all over again.

“Can you ask her to call me?” he’d asked Sooah in a low voice, trying to keep the pleading out of it. “After tomorrow, I - I don’t know when I’ll be able to -“

“Yeah, I know. I’ll tell her.” Sooah had seemed particularly sympathetic and only let him leave after giving him a tight hug, telling him to get used to military life so he could look out for Jimin when he joined.

It was a bleak farewell but it was something. He pulls out his phone and stares at the screen like he had been all week, hoping for it to come to life with the Chaeyoung’s contact picture filling the screen. When it doesn’t, his mind goes down the same rabbit hole it has the entire week as well, as to whether he’d made the right decision in ending it.

She would be here, if he hadn’t ended it. Granted, with his parents and Chanyeol present, they wouldn’t have been able to have the tearful, romantic parting he’d daydreamed numerous times. There would be no lingering hugs, no wiping the tears from her rosy cheeks, no lame jokes to ease the tension, no last savouring the scent of her hair. 

This is all my fault. But he can’t find it in himself to regret his decision. She’d probably be here if he hadn’t ended it, and he’d see her standing next to her brother as he left, eyes shining but brave… and spending the next year and a half figuring out ways to fly back and forth to be with him, making decisions about her career based on where he was.

The moment he imagines it, his heart slows. It was the right thing to do. She would go, she would work hard and be successful, she would have fun, Dilara would look out for her (after a heartfelt text he’d sent her a couple days ago), and in two years, Hoseok would see her happy. I’m sorry, Chae, he thinks, glancing around at the people seeing him off, but hopefully you’ll understand it someday.

With that, Hoseok exhales shakily, hoping the wave of emotion overcoming him is just about leaving. Next to him, Chanyeol keeps up a stream of encouragement.

“Trust me, it goes by way faster than you’d think,” he remarks seriously. “And you’re older and eventually you’ll have at least a couple of your friends join you. If you get a decent bunch of bunkmates and you’ll have - hey, you know what? You’re a morning person. That fresh air, out in the barracks, away from the city? Top tier. It almost made me a morning person. And they’ve relaxed the phone policy a lot so that’ll be better, too. And they’ll probably let you eat properly as well - oh, speaking of phones,” he mutters suddenly, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “Hey. Yeah?”

Hoseok tries to internalise all of Chanyeol’s commentary while he answers his call, trying hard to stay positive. All your family and friends are here, Hobi, he tells himself urgently. That should be enough.

“Uh, I don’t know, it’s probably still at home? How would I know where your letterman jacket from ten years ago is, Chae?” Chanyeol listens, giving Hoseok a silent look of bewilderment while the latter’s heart stops. “No, I’m not at home. I’m not even in Gwangju - I’m out at the military site, seeing off Hoseok oppa. Did you say bye to him?” He raises his eyebrows deliberately before nodding and handing Hoseok the phone. “Her royal highness would like to say bye to you,” he tells him.

Hoseok lets out a sound somewhere between a chuckle and choke. He makes sure Chanyeol is looking away before putting the phone to his ear, his heart hammering. Turning away slightly, he finally speaks. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

The moment he hears her voice, he squeezes his eyes shut, for it feels as though she’s right here. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to remember where he is. “How - how are you?”

“I’ve been better,” she replies. “Am I on speaker?”

“No.”

“Is my brother with you?”

Hoseok glances sideways to see Chanyeol now talking to Jungkook. “Kind of.”

She hums. There’s a few moments of silence during which he clutches the phone tighter, wishing more than anything she was here right now.

“I know I’ve been avoiding you the last few days,” she says finally, sighing quietly and - Hoseok suspects - a little guiltily. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t know how to… or what to…” 

“It’s okay,” he says automatically. “I’m glad you called now,” he adds softly, taking a couple of steps away from Chanyeol.

“I want you to know that… I get it,” she admits. “I’m not entirely sure what you were imagining I was going to do and I’m not saying I completely agree with you,” she clarifies, “but I get it. And I’m not mad at you.”

Hoseok clenches his teeth and nods, not trusting himself to speak. This wouldn’t be a good time to be overheard for his voice is sure to tremble or crack if he does try.

“I guess my brother is still around,” she guesses. “It’s fine. I just wanted to tell you to take care and be safe… and don’t be a stranger, okay?”

Her voice is getting thick now, and Hoseok imagines for a moment he’s hugging her. “Yeah,” he manages tightly. “You, too.”

An announcement booms from somewhere across the site, and dozens of new recruits around the area whip around towards the direction of the sound. Hoseok’s heart skips a beat; this can’t be how they leave this. He takes a couple of steps away from Chanyeol so as to not be overheard, aware of how he’s running out of time.

“Chae, I -” Hoseok panics as his mind goes blank; now that he’s finally speaking to her, it’s hard to choose what to say to her. “Have an amazing time in London,” he says, all his effort going into keeping his voice steady. “You’ll be fantastic.”

“Yeah.” She exhales shakily when another announcement sounds and the movement increases. A couple of feet away, Chanyeol turns to him and frowns in what looks like confusion, presumably at how long this phone call is taking. 

“Do you have to go?”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Yeah, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just - just take care of yourself and, um…” She sniffles just as Chanyeol begins approaching Hoseok, hand half-raised for his phone. Hoseok holds up a finger and takes an automatic step back.

“I will,” he promises, nodding before he remembers she can’t see him. “You, too. Please.”

“Yeah. And Hobi?” She pauses until he hums tightly in response. “I love you, too. Just so you know.”

Hoseok has to turn around this time, biting his lip to keep a straight face and squeezing his eyes shut, feeling the tears threatening to spill out as the third announcement comes on.

“I’ll let you go now,” she murmurs, clearing her throat. “Take care, oppa.”

He nods again, turning back to see Chanyeol approaching him again, motioning to the other recruits who are all making their way through the gates. On the other side of the phone, Chaeyoung waits for him.

Just as her brother nears him, Hoseok swallows. “You, too, Chae.”

They hang up at the same time, and Hoseok hurries to hand Chanyeol his phone before bustling around and picking up his back, subtly wiping his eyes on his sleeve at the same time. When he straightens up, he’s surrounded by five of his group members and his parents right in front. Several hugs take place, each blurring into the next with one stark absence throughout.

At the end, it’s just Chanyeol left. His oldest friend walks him to the gates, beyond which Hoseok will have to continue on alone.

“You okay?” he asks gently, squeezing his shoulder. 

“Yeah. Just hitting me now, is all.” He rubs his eyes before turning to Chanyeol. “I should go. And, uh, email me any tips you have.”

“Will do. Eat well and sleep the best you can. Helps more than you know.”

There’s a moment when they nod at each other, before stepping forward in a hug. “Take care of yourself, Hoba,” mutters Chanyeol, patting his shoulder. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

“Can’t wait. You take care, too.” Hoseok bites his lip. “Take care of your sister, too,” he adds, wishing for the first time that Chanyeol knew about them.

Chanyeol chuckles as they part. “Don’t worry.” He takes a step back and smiles, shoving his hands inside his pockets. With one last look at his best friend, parents and members (and a girl he imagines in a neat sweater with shiny hair and a playful beret), Hoseok steps through the gates.

—

⧖⧗Circa Opal⧗⧖

There is not a second to lose in the grand castle in the 12th city. Before the first rays of sunlight grace the dark skies, maids and royal chefs pace up and down the halls, busying themselves with cooking, cleaning, and decorating all for the ceremony of your long-awaited return. You hear them through the thick doors of your chambers, chatting excitedly about your arrival, the only good news the kingdom has heard of in years. It reminds you again that you must perform perfectly. You’ve already disappointed the Solarians; you cannot bear to disappoint your own people.

So by the time your lady-in-waiting comes to wake you up, you’ve already bathed, having doused yourself in fragrant oils, and have attempted to apply the appropriate cosmetics to enhance your features, though compared to your sense in fashion, these skills pale in comparison. 

Jooeun finds you sitting before your grand vanity, setting down a powder puff and putting it away. She looks rather surprised, but that look morphs into one of relief.

“Miss!” she says, rushing into the toilet room, nearly tripping over the hems of her gray frock. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten my name!” She embraces you tightly, and you can’t help but return it. She smells of fresh linen and a hint of lemon, and the scents thaw the memories of her that felt so distant. She used to hold you like this when you first lost Hajin. As the princess’s former lady-in-waiting, she practically raised Hajin, watched her develop into a beautiful young woman and sent her to war, where your incompetence got her killed. Jooeun never blamed you, though. In fact, she didn’t have to stay in the 12th city after Hajin passed, but she did anyway. It was a wise choice; she and you had needed each other. And so, your bond served, serves, as a proxy for a relationship you both had with Hajin.

“Oh, Jooeun,” you whisper as she sobs, cradling the back of your head. “I’m so sorry… I wasn’t myself. But I’m much better now. I simply needed a few days to adjust after being away from home for so long.”

“No, no, Miss,” she says, pulling away and wiping her tears on her sleeve. She gently squeezes your arms with affection. “I can’t fathom what you’ve been through all these years…” She shudders. “It must’ve been so hard all alone out there in enemy territory. I’m glad you feel better now. So, so glad, Miss.”

“I’m glad to be back.” You offer her a smile, but that’s only a part of your performance, a performance that seems to be convincing enough.

“And you’ve already gotten ready!” Jooeun says. “You’re so generous, Miss, giving me less to do.”

“I didn’t want to stress you out more than I already have,” you say. “The gown I’d like to wear for the occasion is on my bed, and I only need assistance with my hair. That’ll certainly win you back more time. I know the post-ceremony cleaning will be demanding, so you need all the rest you can get beforehand.”

Jooeun nods. “Ever the considerate lady, Miss. I’ll fetch the gown and we’ll get started on your hair.” Your lady-in-waiting disappears from the toilet room, reappearing seconds later with the beautiful dress you had chosen for the event. “Is this new, Miss? I’ve never seen you wear it.”

The gown is the cotton, garnet-hued one you masked in the quiet aftermath of your first victory as the Darlaean General. Originally, the dress had been a cry for help. You created it to cope with your fears after experiencing the violent frontlines of the war. Those fears had manifested into a gown subconsciously inspired by the Solarian uniform—cotton to be breathable and freeing, and red to represent the spilled blood and raging fires on the battlefield. You had always found shame in this imitation. The gown stayed hidden in your wardrobe.

But things are different now. The gown no longer reeks of death. Instead, it reminds you of the Solarian people, of their warmth and love, their humanity, their spirits and sols and food and land. A piece of Solaria will accompany you to the ceremony. You won’t feel so alone. The gown is now your beacon of hope. After all, when you were dying, hopeless and bleeding out on the battlefield, it was the Solarian uniform that had saved you. It’s true that you wore the enemy’s clothes to live to see another day. And yes, even if that had been unintentional, what you did was shameful and cowardly and weak. But you don’t regret it. You can’t. Even if that meant you signed up to shift your alliance for three years. You will never regret the experiences you’ve lived on Solarian land, and you will never give it up. And if Solaria is a part of you, you will wear it proudly, though you suppose your people will interpret your choice of wardrobe as a statement: you’ve infiltrated the Solarian Army with tactful camouflage and have come back to exploit their secrets.

“I fashioned it years ago,” you tell Jooeun. “I thought it’d want to see some daylight.”

“Red,” she says. “It’ll certainly stand out amongst the crowd.” She runs her fingers through the thick gold ribbon around the waist of the gown. “A ribbon like that would look beautiful in your hair. I imagine it’d tie the look together, Miss.”

It’s a wonderful idea. You mask a thinner gold ribbon from a few scraps of fabric you store, and Jooeun works it into your stunning hairdo. She then helps you into the beautiful dress and meticulously touches up your cosmetics. Thankfully, she doesn’t notice the extra product you slathered on to hide your dark circles—or she chooses not to comment on it. The entire process takes a few hours, and by the time you’ve finished getting ready, the ceremony is only minutes away. 

Jooeun smooths out your gown as the two of you stare at your reflection in the mirror. “You look divine, Miss,” she says. “You’re ready to meet your people.”

“I’m nervous,” you say, scrutinizing every detail on your face before moving on to do the same with your gown. 

“I understand, Miss,” Jooeun says. “But you don’t need to be. It’s a celebration. Everyone there will be overjoyed. We have waited years for your arrival.”

You tug at the trinket around your neck. “I suppose so…” Before you can ask your lady-in-waiting whether she’ll be at the ceremony, there’s a knock on your door.

“Ah,” Jooeun says. “That must be the General. He will escort you to the ceremony, Miss. You’ll have him by your side the entire time, so you won’t need to worry.” 

She rushes to greet Jungkook by the door, and you hear them exchange quick salutations. “Thank you,” Jungkook tells Jooeun. “You’re dismissed.” You hear Jooeun leave your chambers, closing the door behind her. 

Now it’s just you and Jungkook. There’s a pit in your stomach, knowing that things will never be the same between the two of you. You’re nervously twisting your trinket, gaze lowering to your feet, avoiding eye contact at all costs. It’s silent for an uncomfortable period of time. Then, you hear him step beside you, but he’s respectful enough to leave you some room. He’s watching you through the mirror; you know he is. What will he think of your dress? Surely, he knows the true reason you’re wearing it. Will that be his last straw? Perhaps now that he knows you cannot love him the same, he has no reason to protect you. 

Jungkook lets out a small sigh. “I went back for you, you know.” He says it so softly, so quietly, it’s as if the wind had whispered in your ear. Guilt settles in your stomach. For Sooht’s sake, he’s a divinist; you need to be more careful about what you think around him. His single phrase demolishes any previous doubt of his motivations. “I told you I’d never leave you again. Did you really think I’d break my promise?”

Your throat is dry.

“We won that battle,” he says. “Just like I predicted, but I was blinded. No victory is worth losing you. I searched and searched for you for years,” he says. “I was successful, of course, but I see that has come with a price.” He pauses, no doubt examining your countenance. A lump forms in your throat as you struggle to form a coherent response. “You may no longer love me. I know the memory potion has its limits. But I’m only glad to have you back.”

You’re silent for so long, unable to react, that he speaks again. “You don’t have to respond. I just wanted you to know before we made our public appearance together. Now,” he sighs, “the ceremony. I will be by your side the entire time; I’m sure you’ve already calculated the benefits of that. There are only a handful of people who know of your memory loss, and I intend on keeping it that way. I have made it clear to those people that if there is a whistleblower, I will not hesitate to execute them. But it shall be made public knowledge that you were indeed injured on the battlefield, and when you saw Solarian forces from afar, you intentionally masked your uniform to infiltrate the enemy’s army, climbed their ranks, earned their trust until they deployed you on the battlefield. Do you follow?”

You nod.

“Wonderful. I’ve been in contact with your parents. They did express interest in attending the ceremony, but you know them. It’s difficult for them to show up to a military-backed event as scholars. I hope you understand.”

“It’s all right.”

“Well then,” Jungkook says, gesturing toward the door. “Shall we head out?”

You nod. “Yes. Thank you,” you add hastily—and you mean it. You’re ready to put on a performance.

The royal courtyard has hosted hundreds of events during your time in the castlegrounds. You recall the celebrations quite well: the annual Harvest Ball, the birthdays, occasional festivals and military promotions. There was always plenty of food and interesting people to converse with, though most of the time, you, Hajin and Jungkook snuck out to the Sapphire Lake for some peace. But the courtyard didn’t only celebrate—it mourned as well. You had given a eulogy here, honoring the death of General Son and accepting your promotion as his successor, with thousands in attendance. From Jungkook, you learn that there had been a period of mourning held in the same space when you’d disappeared in battle, too. Even now, though this ceremony is a celebration, you can’t help but feel a little somber.

The courtyard bustles with all sorts of people. You recognize a good deal of them—faces that have looked up at you when you gave your speeches, faces scrunched in pain as you attended to their injuries in the infirmary and faces grim and serious as you laid out the new battle plans during meetings. The same faces light up whenever they see you, and they rush over to exchange words. You meet so many of them—active and retired soldiers, royal workers and even citizens from the other cities, who traveled all this way to see you. The word quickly gets out of your spy work, and that becomes the focus of all conversations. After a while, dialogues begin to blend together. 

There is bountiful food and pleasant music, but it’s difficult to enjoy them when everybody wants to pull you in for a conversation. As promised, Jungkook stays by your side the entire time, and instead of that feeling overbearing, you’re thankful. He begins answering questions for you, especially when they become invasive, and he makes sure to call Seokjin from time to time to fetch you a drink. Hours pass, and your feet scream in pain, having become unaccustomed to the tight Darlaean shoes after years of wearing comfortable, cotton boots. When you think there can’t possibly be more people to greet, your parents are ushered in.

You’re surprised they managed to come. You suspected they must have cut ties, considering they didn’t bother to visit you before the ceremony. But here they are, in their best clothes, waving at you and Jungkook as they glide across the courtyard. 

“Sweetheart!” Ma cries, her familiar, sparkling earrings swaying to and fro. Mother is right behind her, her golden circlet shining in the light. 

They embrace you, and it’s warm and comforting and nice. You can’t remember the last time they’ve done this. 

“We can’t say that we foresaw you coming back to us alive at all,” Mother says, taking a step back to take you in. 

“But we’re so glad,” Ma says. “And so very indebted to General Jungkook for bringing our daughter back to the nation.”

Jungkook smiles politely. “You’re too kind, Sura, but it was really Y/N’s plan to come back.”

“Oh, but I can’t imagine the pain, General,” Ma sighs. “For your lover to be missing for three years and to not know if she was alive and well!”

“Yes, and to have to take her place,” Mother says, shaking her head. “It must have been so hard.”

You’re finding it hard to control your falling expression. 

“It was difficult, yes,” Jungkook acknowledges, but he presses a gentle hand on your shoulder to bring you back into the conversation. “Yet it doesn’t compare to the tribulations your daughter has gone through for her nation.”

You attempt a smile. “I’m just happy to be back home.”

Your parents are too distracted by Jungkook’s presence to realize you’re not telling the truth. They offer you pity and condolences, but train their focus right back on your former lover, asking him divination-related questions that are outside of your scope of knowledge. Jungkook answers each inquiry eloquently, sparing no detail. He seems to bask in the attention of your parents, and you let him have it just like you always have. 

Soon, your parents leave, claiming they have time-sensitive research matters to attend to. Jungkook is apologetic about their behavior, but strangely, you’re not as upset as you thought you’d be. Your relationship with your parents was already frail, and after having consumed the memory potion, the few happy emotions you associated with them have faded. What’s left are memories of their absence. 

“It’s all right,” you tell him. “I’ve accepted it.”

“You’ve been doing well,” Jungkook whispers. “It’ll be over soon. Once His Majesty comes and delivers his speech, the ceremony is expected to end.”

Guilt seizes your chest as you think about the implications of reuniting with the King of Darlae. All these years, he treated you like his own daughter, and you repaid him by getting his only daughter killed and betraying his nation. You meant to ask Jungkook why Hoseok didn’t attend the event earlier—you thought he, of all people, would be the first to greet you, much less before your parents—but you get your answer when you see the king enter the courtyard with a trail of his guards. 

Hoseok looks much older than you remember him. His face sags with wrinkles, his hair gray and movements slow. Three years have done a number on Darlae’s king—so much so that he looks in feeble condition. Your chest tightens at the sight. Hoseok approaches the empty stage of the courtyard, and he looks out at his people. Though his youth has been stripped away from him, he still commands respect with his presence, his charismatic stare lulling the gentle chatter to silence. 

“My dear people,” he says, his voice booming in the open space. “Today is the day we rejoice. Today is the day we celebrate. After three long years of her absence, General Kwang Y/N is back. Come, my dear,” he says. And for the first time since he entered the courtyard, his kind eyes lock with yours. He gestures for you to join him on the stage. You hesitate, glancing at Jungkook, but he only nods, encouraging you to go. With shaky breaths and sweaty palms, you climb the stairs to share the stage with the King of Darlae, knowing the large crowd is watching your every move.

The moment you are close enough, Hoseok embraces you in a warm hug. “I have missed you, my dear,” he whispers, hand caressing the back of your head. The embrace is long and much-needed after such a long day. When you feel a bit of wetness on the shoulder of your gown, it takes you a second to realize Hoseok is crying. They’re happy tears; he makes that clear when he eases his embrace and takes your two hands in his. “Y/N is like a daughter to me,” he tells the crowd. “And she has come back to us in one piece. Let us honor all that she has sacrificed for our nation and listen to what she has to say.” He squeezes your hands, the way his daughter used to. “My dear, talk to our people. They have waited so long for your return.” He steps out of the way. Thousands of eyes center on you.

Your mind goes blank, and you stare at the sea of people, regretting not having prepared even the simplest speech. From the crowd, Jungkook catches your eye. He recognizes panic from your expression, raises his hand and taps into the air, Perform. They’ll love it. Even if you don’t love him anymore, he knows you like the back of his hand. His support brings back thoughts to your head.

Yes, you’ll perform. Whether you like it or not, you are these citizens’ beacon of hope; they made that much clear in your conversations with them earlier. So you’ll play into what they want from you, and you can only pray to Sooht, Soo, Sahn and Sori that they believe your words.

“Good evening,” you start, hands awkwardly placed by your side. Your voice comes out strained and a little gravely, but you continue. “I stand before you again, as I have done so many times during my short tenure. Though today, I feel unworthy of honor and reverence. Today, I stand here with shame and humility. 

“For three long years, I have abandoned my nation and lived amongst the Solarians, learning their ways and speaking their vernacular. Instead of death, I chose to become a spy, but in doing so, I left this nation in haste, and in my absence, my comrades bled, fought, and buried the fallen—all without my guidance. I may have uncovered Solarian secrets, but knowledge does not mend the wounds of betrayal. 

“I stand before you to admit my failings. Shame has been my companion these three long years, and though I return with information to change the tides of war in our favor, I know that does not erase the stain of my departure. 

“I am honored that I am being celebrated in this ceremony today, yet I cannot help but wonder if I am worthy of such praise. I am grateful, but my people, my soldiers, you are too kind. Still, I humbly return, requesting that you allow me to fight alongside you. I am happy to be back home, so let me serve and protect you, and I will strive to bring victory to Darlae.”

The words, the lies, flow out of your lips too easily. When you finish speaking, the crowd erupts in cheers. You take it that your performance is believable; there isn’t a dry eye in the audience. Thus, the ceremony is a success. 

You spend the next few hours saying your goodbyes to the attendees, and once the last people are packed safely in their carriages, you finally catch your breath in your chambers. Your shoes are the first thing that comes off your feet, and you splay out on the bed, wondering about the implications of your speech. How, in your right mind, will you share Solarian secrets? When you know it’ll get your friends—and Yoongi—killed? The headache is back, and you bury your face under your hands, hoping darkness will placate it. 

There’s a knock on the door.

“It’s me,” Jungkook says. “I have His Majesty with me.”

You leap from the bed so fast that you feel nauseous. “Yes! Come in!” you shout a little too quickly. You didn’t expect their company, and it makes you nervous that they sought you so soon after the ceremony. The performance must go on.

“Ah, my dear,” Hoseok says, bringing you into another tender embrace. “I wanted to see you again; the few minutes I had at the ceremony simply weren’t enough. Such a lovely speech you gave.”

“O-Oh, yes, thank you…” So much for giving a flawless performance.

Hoseok leans back, looking over your face. “Are you okay, my dear? You seem anxious.”

“I, um…”

“You can imagine how difficult it was for her in helluvian territory, Your Majesty,” Jungkook chimes in. “I’m afraid Y/N hasn’t quite been feeling herself since she has come back, so please, forgive her if she seems unwell. The ceremony today might have only exacerbated her condition.”

“Oh, my dear child,” Hoseok says, caressing your face. “What have they done to you?” Guilt stabs your chest. “I worry now. Are you fit to command the army?”

Your eyes flit over to Jungkook, asking, begging him to help. You don’t know if you deserve his aid again, but he’s generous enough to oblige without question.

“Perhaps it is a good idea to let Y/N rest, Your Majesty,” he says. “She has been through much trouble, and I can’t quite condone pushing her beyond her limits when she has put her life on the line for us for three years. I do not mind carrying on in my temporary position as the General as long as she feels comfortable.” 

“Yes,” you agree quickly. “I do feel as though I need more time to recuperate, if that is all right. I sincerely apologize for my shortcomings.”

“Of course, that is all right, my dear,” Hoseok says, putting a shaking hand on your shoulder. “Please, no need to apologize. I want you to take as much time as you need. You have already done so much for Darlae, my dear. So much more than you will ever admit to yourself. General Son would be so proud… You may observe Jungkook’s duties until you feel ready to take over again. I, and the rest of our nation, will wait patiently.”

You’re beyond grateful for Hoseok’s words. You can’t imagine having to face Yoongi on the battlefield, or any other Solarian, for that matter. This buys you time. You can’t bear the thought of fighting for a war you no longer believe in. For as long as you can, you’ll avoid it. And for as long as you’re alive, you’ll protect Solaria’s secrets.

The scene is familiar, but the atmosphere is different. The royal orchard was a fragrant and charming place, where sweet fruits blossomed, along with your young love. As always, it is lovelier at nighttime. The moonlight shyly graces the flora and bathes you and him in dim light. You didn’t think you had it in you to have another conversation after all the dialogue you’ve had today, but when Jungkook asked to meet you here, you couldn’t find it within yourself to decline. 

“I just thought you might’ve needed some fresh air and a good view after today,” he says.

You nod. “Thanks, I really did…” You’re struggling to continue the conversation.

“You did well,” he says. “I know things must be hard. I don’t know what exactly you went through in that place, but I do know it’s been plaguing your mind… And I’m sorry. Sometimes… I almost feel like you regret coming back here.” There’s something about this place—perhaps your past deep confessions and late-night rendezvous—that makes Jungkook lose his usual rigidity. He appears to have let down his guard, reaching out to you tenderly, as he used to when the two of you were in love.

“It’s… difficult,” you say. “It’s been difficult. I… I just feel so much guilt, and I… I don’t know, I thought I was fucking Solarian, Jungkook. I feel like I don’t even know who I am anymore, yet thousands are expecting me to run this nation’s military. Hoseok believes I share this nation with him, but how can I, Jungkook? I forgot I was Darlaean for three years!”

“It’s all right,” he says, gently. “Tell me how you feel.” He reaches out to touch your hand but stops himself. “I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.”

You hesitate. How much can you tell him? How much does he really want to know? Will there be consequences for your honesty? You stop yourself from thinking further. For Sooht’s sake, you used to tell each other everything—what has your relationship come to? Are you the one sabotaging it with doubt? Jungkook seems to want to make amends. So do you trust him?

The answer comes instinctively.

“I was just so scared,” you say. “Going into that battle, I was fucking terrified. And when I was hit, I really thought I was going to die. When I woke up in Solaria in their uniform, I had no memories except for my name, so it was only natural for me to deduce that I was Solarian. A healer there told me to keep my trinket hidden for safety, and I was only interrogated briefly before I was let go. Over the years, I became more involved in their army, learned to work with fire, and with the help of others, decoded the codes you sent… I had no idea, Jungkook. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “It’s all right.”

“And I… I saw Taehyung. He saw me, he recognized me, but I… I didn’t say anything. I left him to die.. And I…” You have to stop before you get more emotional. Who knows what else you might divulge with heightened emotions?

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jungkook whispers. “Everything you did there, the crimes against Darlae, treason, undocumented espionage—I don’t care. I don’t give a shit about any of that. You did what you did to survive. I would’ve done the same if I were in your position. So don’t you feel guilt.”

Your lips tremble. “Jungkook…” You didn’t expect him to be so understanding, and it hurts that you could think something like that. 

“What’s important to me is that you’re back,” he says. “I know our relationship isn’t the same anymore, but we still share our love for this nation. We want the best for Darlae, and you have valuable information to make that happen. Even more groundbreaking, you know how to control fire! We can teach our soldiers and give those damn treehuggers a taste of their own medicine! We’ll finally win the war, Y/N. It’ll be over, under our reign!”

You frown. “Don’t you think the masked spheres are enough?” you bite out before you can stop yourself.

Jungkook mirrors your frown. “You saw them.”

“I worked in the medical tents when I had spare time,” you say. Of course I fucking saw them, you want to continue. You saved Yoongi’s life from one of them.

Jungkook’s demeanor shifts so minutely that if you hadn’t known him for years, you wouldn’t have noticed. He’s retreated back behind his walls. “It was a clever charm I invented,” he says without much intonation, “to create the illusion that the treehuggers could save themselves.”

Goosebumps dot your arms. You recall the spurting lava, the cries of pain, the sweltering heat of Yoongi’s tent, when his lips grew blue, when he began to hyperventilate, go into shock, when you thought he lost consciousness and died… all because of Jungkook’s charm.

Jungkook uses your silence to speak again. “I want to win the war. We’re close. Closer than we have been for years. I can see victory, and it’s only a matter of time before I finish them off. Darlae has been out of the gold trade for too long, and the 1st city deserves more than to have its land used as military campgrounds. I want to make Darlaeans live in peace and away from those threatening helluvians.” He turns to you, eyes sparkling with ambition. “I want you to know, Y/N, that you’re Darlaean through and through. You might be a little confused from your three-year trip to the enemy’s land, but I’m sure you’ll wake up soon. You don’t have to assume your position as General if you don’t want to fight them directly. But I ask that you teach my soldiers how to control fire.”

You won’t do that. You don’t even know if you can do that. How can you share your sacred connection with Sooht with people who won’t honor Hwayoung’s story, who hate the Solarians to their core? But you’re afraid to say no. Jungkook knows so much. He knows about your doubts, that your heart does go out to Solaria and its people. He assumes that you will come around to support Darlae in this damned war, but he assumes wrong. And you’re afraid to prove him that way. “I’ll think about it,” you say, hoping he won’t push you further.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he stops walking and turns his head from you. Suddenly, the nighttime breeze grows cold, and you shiver, staring at his back in worry. 

“All right,” he says. “Let’s call it a night. I’ll be at your door at 6 o’clock in the morning tomorrow. From now on, you’ll be shadowing me completing my duties. Be ready.”

You’re only glad he didn’t respond in anger. “I will be,” you tell him.

“All right then,” he says. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

He leaves you alone in the orchard, where the moon has hidden itself away behind dark clouds, and a cold breeze bites your cheeks. You feel alone again.

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⨰ a/n: consistent updates whoo! ch. 43 is already written, so it'll be released in two weeks on october 10th, 2025 :) look out for that! as we inch closer to act iii, things start to pick up!

please consider telling me your thoughts with a comment, an ask or a reblog :) i love hearing readers' impressions/rambles/predictions! if you want to join the taglist, send in a private message, ask, reply to this post or reblog with your request!

⧖⧗Circa Opal⧗⧖

Consciousness wraps you around in its warmth, and yet you’re enveloped in darkness. Your eyes refuse to open, weighed down by what feels like hundreds of years of slumber. You feel weak. Perhaps a side effect of the memory potion. Or simply because you’ve just lived through more than two decades’ worth of memories in your sleep. You’re terrified to move, to open your eyes, to show any sign that you’ve woken up; you’re not ready to face anyone yet, not when you’re so overwhelmed. You know too much. Your head is reeling with thoughts and memories that have unlocked themselves from the depths of your mind. The newfound knowledge is both rewarding and confusing.

It all makes sense—that’s the rewarding part. You’d accepted for so long that the mysteries regarding your past would never be solved, and yet, they’ve been unveiled satisfactorily all at once. You now know why you woke up in the Solarian uniform: your penchant for alchemy and fashion saved your life. The sparkling necklace that kind-hearted Joon, unaware of Darlaean practices, had helped you hide away for so long, kept you from being detected in the campgrounds. The warmth of Heli, the gentle and compassionate sol, had only felt so familiar because of Enyx. He had only detected your fondness for fire sols, not your severed connection to Sooht. And Taehyung. Oh, Taehyung. Now you know why his face had burned so deeply into your memory, why you had a nightmare about him and his boxy smile. Did he die thinking you abandoned him? Did he die thinking you betrayed your nation? How can his sister ever forgive you? Does she know he’s dead? She must know he’d been captured—she should’ve gotten a visit from the army’s messengers. It’s shameful that you couldn’t honor Taehyung’s death, couldn’t even remember who he was, when he had been the only one to help you carry Hajin’s body across the battlefield, the only one to risk his life for the princess. Memories of Hajin flash across your mind—her bubbly laugh, her adventurous spirit, and her feasting happily on deviled eggs. Now you realize that Hana had subconsciously reminded you of her, that whenever Hana grabbed your hands, you felt hot electricity because your deceased best friend used to do the same. Your love for Hajin had ingrained itself in your body, such that even when your mind couldn’t remember, your muscles did. And the codes, the fucking codes you’d so stupidly tried to crack, had been your lover calling out for you. He had carefully chosen every word to represent him, your relationship with him, or you. Jewel, for when you and he had first met and his sapphire had fallen out of his pocket; jewel, for when you’d gifted him his shining silver sword, which he cherishes to this day. Usurp, for his ultimate goal against Solarian leadership. Nineteen was how old he was when he first met you. General was what you became and what he became in your absence. Kwang—your true identity—which he must have been begging you not to forget. Opal was for the circa you met him, and now you suppose the circa you were reunited. Orchard… Yes, you remember so vividly now, when he’d asked you on a walk around the royal garden blooming with sweet-smelling fruit, you fell for him right then and there. King for his promise to the king—to take care of you when you forget to take care of yourself. He spelled his name for you, tried to make you remember. I believe in you, he’d said before a battle from which you disappeared on him for three years. And he never stopped believing.

Now comes the confusing part. You loved him. The wordless exchanges in monocode, the early morning training sessions, the late-night talks about your dreams… He had always wanted to make a name for himself, and you had helped him, fully supported him. And he had supported you. He cared for you, ran your army when you could no longer do so. He’d once promised over Hajin’s grave that he’d never leave you again, so when you disappeared, he looked for you for three years. He repeated the codes to find you, even if that meant he was losing the war. You remember how he used to make you feel. Your stomach would unleash butterflies every time he kissed you, and you craved his warm embrace after long days on the battlefield. You loved him so deeply that it felt like two hands were wringing your heart whenever you thought of him. The bond that you had with Jungkook was beautiful. He was, in a literal sense, the man of your dreams. But why? Why can’t you feel the same emotions now? Where is the love that so profoundly touched your heart? 

Why can’t you feel anything from your past? If not the love for Jungkook, where is the agonizing grief over Hajin’s death? What about the grief over the loss of Taehyung? Where are your emotions? You feel guilty, yes, and upset, but more so because they died so young, and you knew you were once close to them. You cannot truly mourn them. It’s as if you dreamed a vivid dream about the last two decades of your life, but when you woke up, the intense feelings faded away, leaving a series of emotionally void events. This was your life. It was unequivocally you. And yet… why does she feel like an old version of you? But how can you simply discount the experiences of your past? You can’t, not without erasing your character, your alchemy and the people who raised and cared for you. Then… who are you now? But does the answer to that question even matter? You don’t have much of a choice, really. You will have to be Darlaean. This is your birth nation, the nation that gave you a purpose and a dream. Yet… in your last moments on the battlefield, before the trajectory of your life so drastically changed, you realized it all was stupid and pointless. The years and years of work you put into becoming a soldier became null. It’s almost laughable how you thought you were being a hero. You thought you were doing a good thing. But how? How is being involved in the war good? Even if you fought to end it, that would imply a winner and a loser, not to mention the millions of casualties. And besides, you’re no hero. You never will be. You turned on your nation. You wrote battle plans that killed your own soldiers—the same ones you tried to learn all the names of, the same ones you stayed up late fussing over in the infirmary, the same ones that signed their lives away to you. Whatever subconscious memories you had from being the Darlaean General, you used against your own nation. You killed them. You killed your people. Murderer! your mind shrieks. You thought you were Solarian, for Sooht’s fucking sake. You wanted to win the war in Solaria’s favor. So how? How in good conscience can you continue to fight in this stupid war? And while you were betraying your nation, your people severed Nayoon’s arm, Hana’s leg, Wonmi’s right ear and hand, nearly killed Yoongi, and actually killed Doyun. There are no fucking war heroes. For every person who thinks you are one, may the spirits forbid, there’s another person on the other side who thinks you’re a monster. So how? How can you go back to becoming the Darlaean General knowing everything? When you’ve befriended people from both sides? When you love people from both sides? When you’ve lost people you love on both sides? How many more people have to die?—how many good people that you’re supposed to call the enemy? And now… now you won’t ever know if or when you’ll lose another. The people you lived with for three years, ate together, trained together, cried together, mourned together… You don’t know if they’re even alive now. Yoongi… Yoongi. Is he doing all right? Your heart drowns in deep emotions as your heart calls out to him. Yoongi—

Tap, tap, tap.

You’re startled from your thoughts. Monocode. Someone’s asking if you’re awake. No, not a someone, Jungkook.

Your hands tremble under the blankets, unsure if you’re ready to face him; the guilt is overwhelming. How do you break it to someone that, after all they’ve done for you, you don’t love them anymore? Even worse, that you love someone else—someone they deem the enemy?

It’s okay, he taps. I’m here. Take your time.

Your heart twists in agony. Slowly, carefully, your eyes peel open, met with dim light—how considerate—and a softened, familiar face. Your mouth instantly becomes dry. He looks so sweet, his brown doe eyes full of love. It reminds you of when you first met him—so gentle and innocent. Unable to speak, you resort to a language for just the two of you. I remember now, you tell him, tapping against your hand. Tears prickle your eyes. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I remember. I remember everything now.

Jungkook reaches out, and time seems to slow down as he tenderly cups your cheek. His gaze is so soft and adoring that you can’t help but look away as guilt shatters your heart. Your mind has been injected with memories of him, memories with him, but it isn’t enough to cease your beating heart for someone else. 

It’s still so fresh in your mind: holding onto his waist while on the back of his stallion sol, exploring a new city together, his warm hands under yours as he teaches you how to work with fire for the first time, his soft, husky voice, visiting his childhood home together, sitting by the beautiful lake in Ara and learning about his family, then visiting their graves to pay your respects, mourning Doyun with him, resting your head on his shoulder, jumping into his arms after he comes back from battle, hearing him tell you that he can’t lose you, that it’ll kill him to do so and he’ll do everything in his power to keep you live, him calling out to you when he was recovering from his near-fatal injury, him telling you that love and war is dangerously precarious but he still feels for you anyway, him confessing that if it weren’t for the war, he wouldn’t hesitate to be with you, and finally, when he clasps your trinket around your neck, so tenderly, and tells you that he trusts you before you march into battle and never come back.  

Jungkook takes your silence as an answer. The adoration in his expression fades away as his stern countenance takes over. His hand retracts, and he hides it behind his grand, fur-collared cape, the one you gifted him. “A lot can change in three years,” he says quietly. He stands, glancing back at you, though now, you can’t seem to read him at all. “I’ll leave you to rest and collect your thoughts. Do remember, tomorrow, citizens expect you at the ceremony to celebrate your arrival. You don’t have to tell them the truth. You probably shouldn’t.”

“W-Wait,” you tell him. He’s already halfway out the door of your chambers. “I’m sorry. I…” The did I do something wrong? catches in your throat. For Sooht’s sake, he’s a divinist, of course he knows whatever happened to you in those three years faded your feelings for him. But does he know about Yoongi? Chills run down your spine. He shouldn’t. He couldn’t.

“It’s fine,” Jungkook says. His words are curt, but his tone is warm. “I understand,” he says. “I apologize if I was too forward.”

Your fingers clutch at your trinket. “No need for apologies.” Somewhere inside of you, you still care about him. You know the deepest, darkest parts of him, and yet you still admire him, respect him. He was your lover, your closest friend. Even if your heart no longer beats for him, you don’t want to hurt him. But would he hurt you if he found out how much you feel for Solaria? Would he still love you if he knew you’d met their nine-year-old king, mourned over their soldiers, fallen in love with the man who commands their army? 

He nods. “I’ll leave you to rest.”

“Thank you.”

“Farewell.”

“Farewell.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek as the door slams shut. How… How is everything so utterly fucked up? One moment, you were in love, delighted you were finally able to go into battle for what you thought was your nation, and the next, the man you love thinks you’re a traitor, and the man who loves you indubitably knows you’re a traitor but refuses to say anything. The war is still ongoing, but now, you have no passion to fight—because to end it, you’ll have to be involved, and to be involved means to have to hurt the people you know and love. And for Sooht’s fucking sake, who in the bloody helluvian are you? You now recall and appreciate the finer things in life: rich fabrics, comfy beds, lavish bathrooms. But the beauty of the natural world, never taking more from the land than you need to and the respect for all living things is ingrained in your existence too. Darlaean tales shaped your childhood and gave you a lifelong dream to be a hero, to make a change, but the Solarian ones gave you solace and an identity when you didn’t know who you were. So, who are you? Is it even fair to consider Solaria as part of your identity when you’ve spent twenty years in Darlae and three there? How? How can you compare? And yet… you can. During those three years in Solaria, you reinvented yourself, coloring in your blank slate; you had been reborn like a fire bird, like a phoenix. Those three years were all you had, and now, merging with your other twenty-three years of existence, you feel like your brain is splitting apart.

You can’t possibly be both, especially when you’re on Darlaean land, having abandoned the Solarians. Darlae runs in your blood—you can’t ignore it. The nation made you who you were. You’ve met incredible people in your time: Donghoon, Junhee, Instructor Shin, General Son, Hajin, Jungkook… You feel such a desire to protect the people here. And yet, Solarian culture seeps through your skin. It gave you purpose when you were lost. 

You love both nations. But does that mean you are too loyal, or not loyal enough? You were, are, willing to fight for Solaria and Darlae, which implies you are willing to die for them, too. You’d proudly prove your loyalty to both nations with death, just like Hosoo did in her tale. But you can’t die twice. It’s impossible to swear loyalty to both nations, not amidst a war that has been dragging on for decades. So what do you do? 

Jungkook had made it clear that his position as the General of the Darlaean Army is only temporary, but how, how can you possibly reassume your role? Those speeches you used to make, encouraging your soldiers to become heroes, upholding the legacies of their beloved fallen, how, in good conscience, can you do the same? When you’ve lost sight of who you’re loyal to? When you no longer desire a war? How in Sooht’s name are you supposed to greet the citizens tomorrow? How do you pretend you’re okay? That you’re still willing to fight for Darlae? Jungkook advised you to fabricate your experience in Solaria—rightfully so. What would your soldiers think of you if they found out you lost your memories of Darlae and regained them haphazardly? What would they think of you if they unveiled your treasonous acts? You helped the Solarian Army, attempted to fight for them. You even brought back a connection with the spirits of fire; you might as well still be one of the Solarians. And you’d love that. But you love being Darlaean, too. Darlae is your home—you cannot deny it. You grew up here, finished your prestigious schooling in the 11th city (as well as discovered your penchant for fashion), rolled around in the muddy farmland after spring showers in the 4th, played tea party with Hajin in her summer home in the 6th then went shopping until your feet blistered in the 3rd and 8th cities, skated on the grand Sapphire Lake when it froze over during the coldest winter weeks in the 12th, and met your first true love on a chilly autumn day in the castlegrounds. You made memories with the Darlaeans, your people. You used to touch the hearts of thousands in your army; you used to work tirelessly for them—and your nation too. Darlae was all you ever knew. Until… For Sooht’s sake, you don’t know. You don’t fucking know. You have Darlaean blood coursing through your veins, and yet you speak in Solarian phrases and love their general. 

Yoongi… 

He can’t seem to escape your mind. You miss him so much that it physically hurts. And yet… does he wish to curse you? to never know another day of peace in your life? He told you before you marched into that battle with him that he trusts you, and you repaid him by defecting. But is it really defecting if you’re only returning to your birthplace? Is it really defecting if you were once the Darlaean General? You just want to know if he thinks about you as much as you think about him. He doesn’t have to miss you. Even if he’s thinking of you with scorn and anger, you’re still in his thoughts; that’s enough, right? No, that kind of thinking can’t be healthy—it’ll only hurt you more. So should you try to forget about him now that you will never see him again? But that’s not true either. Eventually, you’ll have to fight against him. Eventually, you’ll see him shoot majestic flames from his fingertips. Only this time, you won’t be behind him. You’ll be watching him from the other side.

You don’t realize you’ve been hyperventilating until your head reels from the lack of oxygen. You try to take calming breaths, but you’re only getting nosefuls of wisteria, white willow, and sage, which would normally be pleasant for your olfactory senses, yet have devolved to become jarring and headache-inducing. Your eyes squeeze shut as you focus on breathing and exhaling deeply. Then there’s a whoosh of wind, cool night air kissing your cheeks. The force of the wind washes away the disharmonious smells. There’s a gentle thud as the familiar friend lands on the edge of your bed. You can see his light, even with your eyes closed. When your eyes open, you finally see him, the phoenix.

Enyx bows his head as if to offer you his condolences. He hops closer to you as you take laborious breaths, still not fully recovered from mental turmoil. He nudges your hand with his head, encouraging you to run your fingers through his feathers. It’s rare that he allows you to do this, but he must know how much you need him now. You take the offer. His plumage is warm and silky, making your fingers tingle just slightly. You watch the flames of his feathers blaze in the dim moonlight streaming into your open window. The fire reminds you of Solaria. It’s too much for you to handle. Long-awaited tears pour out of your eyes. Enyx comforts you, nuzzling your hand as you continue to pet him while you sob. For a long time, you can’t stop crying. You try not to think too much about who you are and what you should be because you’re afraid every conclusion might lead to letting Solaria go. It takes hours for the tears to run out. You lie in bed, throat dry, nose clogged, staring wearily at the swirling purple canvas on your ceiling. There’s a hollow emptiness inside of you, even though Enyx hasn’t left your side. Soon, your head grows heavy from stress and overthinking, and your body sinks into the plush mattress. When the line between consciousness and dreamland blurs, you remember that Doyun promised to meet you again, once you’ve been “enlightened,” as she put it. The thought puts you at ease, and tension melts from your body. Your eyes close, breaths turning even as you finally allow yourself to be overtaken by slumber.

 When you awake in your dreams, you find yourself in a field of white pansies that stretches on and on to the blue horizon.

“Doyun!” you call. “I’m here!”

Silence.

“Doyun! I need your help. I don’t know what to do!”

When you’re met with more silence, you begin to run, trampling over the pansies in desperation. But no matter how far you run, you can’t find her, and she won’t come to you. Panting, you fall to the ground, your knees hitting the soft bed of white flowers. “Please, Doyun… I don’t know who I am anymore…”

You hear rustling in the distance, and your head jerks up in hopes of finding your lost friend. Instead, you’re met with the sight of masses of white pansies beginning to wilt. It starts from the horizon, the death of the flowers creeping closer and closer to you. What used to be a beautiful field of snow white flowers morphs into a sea of dead, shriveled-up stems and gray petals. You’re hyperventilating again.

You’re still hyperventilating when you awake, sweat having dampened your pillow and hair. You clutch onto your trinket, trying to even your breathing once more. Tears mix with sweat as you sob uncontrollably. Though startled from his slumber, uncharacteristically, Enyx doesn’t complain. He places a gentle wing on your shoulder, letting you cry.

You don’t understand. How can you lose Doyun, too? She was supposed to guide you. Are you too Darlaean for her now that you’ve gained your memories? Is it pointless to mourn over a nation that will no longer welcome you? Have you subconsciously decided who deserves to win the war? Does she despise your decision? 

You don’t know anymore. Once again, you’re forced to deal with loss. But this time, the loss feels permanent. Doyun is gone forever, the traces of her you kept safe in your mind, erased. You’re unwelcome in Solaria for good, a nation you once swore loyalty to. The kind people there will never think of you the same. And now, you’ve lost who you are, too. You’ll never be the same. 

You recall from a time that feels so long ago, back when you were indubitably and shamelessly Solarian, when Nayoon told you to wait for closure to come, to fake it if you have to, but eventually mend the gap between what you show to others and what you know you’re feeling yourself. Yet you’re afraid you’ll never find closure, for every second you fake that you’re okay, you’re committing treason against Darlae. And every second you mend the gap between your mask and your feelings, you’re giving up Solaria. 

The shame and the guilt is enough to keep you up until the red sun peaks from the horizon, bathing you in early morning sunlight. You feel numb now, the initial shock and grief having eroded, possibly due to exhaustion. Today, you must perform and face the people you have abandoned for three years. As terrible as you feel, you can’t afford to mess up. These people count on you, and they can’t know that you no longer believe in the cause they are risking their lives fighting for. So you’ll put on your most dazzling performance. It’ll take everything in you not to break, but this is only a small price you have to pay for what you’ve done to Darlae; you won’t turn your back on your home again, the nation that raised you. Yet, no matter how long you must put up your mask, perform for your soldiers and pretend that everything is okay, you refuse to let go of Solaria. You can’t. Solaria is still part of who you are, the nation that found you when you were lost. 

You’re still unsure what will become of you, a traitor of both nations, but somehow, there’s a small fire inside of you that urges you to persevere. Gently, you light a small flame in the palm of your hand, staring at it as it flickers. Red, what a beautiful color. Such a gorgeous emulation of the sun; you’re reminded of Hwayoung and her long search to borrow its flames. She is the embodiment of perseverance, the unyielding mountain in the face of uncertain times. You used to be compared to her back in Solaria, back when you were still searching for your identity, your purpose. The fire keeps you in a trance as the red sun completes its painting in the sky, streaks of yellow, orange and scarlet splashed across the expansive canvas. The sight keeps you calm and douses the flames of your worries—at least for now. You’re able to get up from bed, examine your face in the mirror, and begin pampering yourself for the ceremony. When there’s a knock on the door, no doubt your dear lady-in-waiting, you take a deep breath. You feel a little better than the night before. It doesn’t really matter whether you feel perfect. Either way, you’ll attend the ceremony, your ceremony, and perform as if nothing is wrong.

Quickly, you dab just a little more powder on your face to seal the cosmetics concealing your eye bags. After another deep breath, you turn your head and call out, “Come in, Jooeun!”

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⨰ a/n: i'm back!!! it's been 9 months, i'm sorry but life got busy and this chapter was not easy to write lol. i hope you enjoyed this and look forward to the ceremony in the next chapter :D

please consider telling me your thoughts with a comment, an ask or a reblog :) i love hearing readers' impressions/rambles/predictions! if you want to join the taglist, send in a private message, ask, reply to this post or reblog with your request!

Seokjin June (Set a few months after One Down)

Seokjin’s thumb moves of its own accord, and the social media posts blur into each other. It seems pointless, scrolling through his friends’ and acquaintances’ lives, especially when his restricted hour to use his phone will come to an end soon.

Despite that realisation, he stays where he is, lying on his side and aimlessly scrolling. It was inconceivable, the first few weeks, that there were people continuing to lead their normal lives while he was here, but it’s less shocking now. His shared room is empty but for him; he should go outside, for it’s a cool evening in the middle of a hot summer. He should go outside, he should get some fresh air, he should mingle with the other soldiers.

But just the thought of it tires him out, so he continues scrolling, lamenting his mind turning to mush. He should get off Instagram, though - as he moves his thumb up to bring his apps tray down, he accidentally clicks on a notification that pops up the same second.

He groans silently as the screen goes dark before a cheery jingle starts playing, the familiar yet annoying sound of Words with Friends opening on his phone. He stares at the screen unblinkingly, waiting for the game to boot up so he can close it. The moment it does, though, the app informs him that a new game is ready to begin, with just the right number of players already there.

Better than Instagram, he decides wryly, and clicks on Start. Six players in total, and he goes fourth. He plays the word silent, frowning slightly as the app dings to signal ten points.

The next player, Player 5 - or Dr. Na, as per their username - uses his L to play library. It gets fifteen points, and Seokjin scoffs.

By the time his turn comes around again, the board is slightly more spread out, and he uses Player 1’s miles to play lonely. Eight points later, Dr. Na plays lament with his L and gets fifteen points again.

Seokjin frowns. It seems like a coincidence but nearly five rounds later, Dr. Na has used at least one of his letters and consistently scored higher than him. He waits for round eight and when his turn comes around, he uses Dr. Na’s Z to play zealot, and scores twenty-five points. With only a handful of options left, Dr. Na is forced to use his T to play truck, scoring twelve points.

In the middle of his dorm, Seokjin grins. Almost immediately, a tiny notification pops up on top of the speech bubble icon 

Maybe it’s petty, maybe he’s a sore loser or maybe he’s just tired of talking to other soldiers he lives and trains with, but in a rare move, Kim Seokjin navigates to Dr. Na’s profile and clicks on the tiny speech bubble icon. From the empty profile picture template, he concludes Dr. Na is a woman.

Well played, is all she’s typed. 

Seokjin chuckles softly. Learned from the best, he replies. 

Good thing I’m not the competitive type.

Or I’d be in big trouble?

Or I’d be thinking about this mishap for the rest of the day. And I have a job where distractions are deadly.

Whew, that’s dramatic, he types, then pauses. But I’m not judging.

Yeah? What do you do?

He bites his lip. I’m a chef. And you’re… a doctor?

That’s your final guess?

Either that or you’re a huge James Bond fan. 

How did you know??? 

Her reply comes out of nowhere, her surprise mirroring his own. He rolls over onto his stomach, feeling uncharacteristically smug at this seemingly correct guess.

Dr No is the best Bond movie, he informs her, and that is a hill I will die on.

Booo. It’s ancient. 

That’s part of the charm. 

One of my friends used to watch Dr No all the time too. He made me watch it so many times I swore I’d never watch it again.

And yet, it’s your username?

He can sense he’s caught her out; he can see her typing and stopping a couple of times. He looks at his watch and feels a fleeting disappointment; he’ll have to hand in his phone soon.

Guilty But the name works on a few different levels. But enough about my username

Mine is quite normal

Direct, you mean. You like gimbaps, I assume

In a manner of speaking

There’s a pause where Seokjin frowns, his heart skipping an uneven beat.

What did you say you do again?

Me? I’m a doctor. So you guessed right, I suppose Do you work at a restaurant I may have eaten at?

I don’t know I’m actually serving right now

There’s that pause again. Seokjin’s thumbs hover over the screen, but when he sees her typing again, he freezes, waiting.

And you like gimbaps?

My friend does.

A bell rings in the distance, startling Seokjin. He needs to return his phone; his heart sinks unexpectedly at the thought.

How are you doing? she asks. You know… serving?

I’m okay. It was hard at first but it’s getting better. What about you?  I mean… you’re a doctor, right? How is that?

Tiring But I’m trying to eat healthy these days

That’s good I mean, as a chef, I approve

Thanks

Footsteps outside the door, and then a knock. “Dinner!” comes the voice. “Deposit your phones in the office on your way!”

I have to go, he types quickly, getting off his bed.

Oh, okay Take care

You too Sleep early maybe You know, since you’re tired and all

I’ll try But I was thinking I’ll watch Dr No again maybe

Yeah? Thought you hated it

Not that much apparently, comes her reply. It might be fun. You know, for old time’s sake.

Seokjin stops at his door. The game is forgotten; the multiple pings coming from the other players have been muted in favour of this impromptu conversation. Staring at his screen, he types in one last reply.

Have a gimbap for me

Without waiting for a response, he turns his phone off and steps out of the dorm.

—

Yoongi March; Set during Pretty Girls

Yoongi can’t feel anything; not his hands, not the cool air of the air conditioner, not the sofa in his studio. Or maybe he can feel everything - so much so that his nerve endings have lost all sensation, and it’s just Miso on his lap, her hands, her lips, her hips under his palms and the feel of her sighs against his skin.

Coming back to his studio had been a long time coming. After all the events of the day, after a painful couple of hours when she’d had to go back to Donghyuk’s studio and work, she’d returned. The energy was different this time around, though; despite spending all day together, it felt like the first time they were alone.

The small talk had been negligible, hardly even a formality. Yoongi hadn’t been able to resist pulling her in for a kiss and it seemed as though Miso had been waiting for a sign from him, for she’d begun unbuttoning her blouse instantly.

Yoongi had taken the initiative this time. Kneeling on the floor while she sat on the sofa, situated between her legs, he’d worshipped her. His brain was on autopilot by this point; the desire to see her pleasured, to see her with her guard down and show him how he made her feel was driving him as he gripped her thighs where they rested on his shoulders.

His intention had been to return the favour from earlier in the day when she’d sucked him off in the woods. But once she’d finished (moaning, sighing, wet in his mouth), she’d finally opened her eyes to face him, gaze shaky and cheeks flushed. She’d kissed him and steered him onto the sofa, one hand snaking down to his crotch and seemingly confirming something. With a hint of a smirk, she’d tugged his jeans down and straddled him.

Their breathing is in sync now, gasps of varying pitch and clothing scattered around his studio.

“I’m so close,” she whispers, her voice unlike anything he’s ever heard. Her fingernails dig into his shoulders as she increases the pace of her hips, and Yoongi nods in response, pulling her to him as close as he can, groaning as he feels her wetness coat his cock. He reaches up her pale, slender body with one hand, memorising the scent of her skin, the softness of her small breasts and the sensation of her lips brushing against his as she fucks him into the sofa.

Yoongi finishes seconds before her; their sighs of ecstasy mingle as he spills into the condom they’d belatedly remembered. Miso drops her head onto his shoulder and he presses a kiss to the side of her neck, breathing in deeply.

She pulls away after a few seconds. Her choppy hair is tousled and her lips are swollen, but she looks more exhilarated than he’s ever seen her. There are words on the tip of Yoongi’s tongue that threaten to spill out, but he senses it’s not the time.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Min Suga,” she says, her mouth tilting upwards slightly. 

He grins and leans forward to capture her lips in a short kiss. “Just being a patient man, my love,” he murmurs, squeezing her waist before dropping his hands to his sides.

Miso’s eyes flicker briefly before she chuckles and clambers off him. They get dressed and clean up in comfortable silence; Yoongi watches her out of the corner of his eye, relieved when she doesn’t seem to regret their tryst at all.

“Are you releasing any more music soon?” she asks after a while, when they’re seated at his desk. She’s wrapped in the jacket he’d been wearing all day; she hadn’t asked and he was glad for that.

“I don’t think so,” he admits, clicking on a sound byte so a low, thumping sound fills the studio. “There’s just no time. Not with the tour and everyone else’s music.”

“You can always release it unofficially.”

“Yeah, that’ll go over great with the rest of the team. Maybe after I’ve enlisted,” he suggests wryly, “when they can’t do anything about it.”

She nods, leaning forward when her phone buzzes. “Ugh, it’s Donghyuk,” she mutters. It’s the third time he’s seen this reaction at the mention of her lead producer, and Yoongi takes it as confirmation that she and Donghyuk are friends.

“Yeoboseyo?” she says into the phone, sighing slightly. “Mhm. Yeah, no, I’ll do it tonight. Sure. Oh, I don’t -“ She stops abruptly as her eyes widen, before she sighs. “He’s singing,” she whispers to Yoongi, who can’t help but snort at the thought.

Miso puts the call on speaker and places her phone on the desk. The studio is now filled with the scratchy sound of a half-arranged instrumental and Donghyuk humming unintelligibly over it, complete with some rudimentary beatboxing.

Yoongi can’t help it; he covers his mouth with his hands to stifle his laughter. He leans forward and mutes the mic, turning to see Miso rolling her eyes but laughing as well.

“He’s a really good producer,” says Yoongi clearly, “but there’s a reason he, Namjoon and I were always at the bottom every month when we were trainees. It’s a good melody, though,” he admits, just as Donghyuk’s solo comes to an end.

“What do you think?” he asks over the phone.

Miso unmutes the mic, her hand snapping up to cover Yoongi’s mouth as he begins to laugh again. “It’s good,” she says. “Sounds a little too old school EXO to me, though. Not sure it’s the kind of sound they were looking for in the brief.”

“Ah, well. We can edit out some of the ad libs,” he agrees, the sound of a keyboard in the background. Yoongi nods emphatically and mouths no kidding, prompting Miso to slap his leg lightly.

“Anyway -“ She clears her throat. “Send me the file. I’ll try to work on it tonight.”

“You’re still in the studio? I thought you would’ve left by now.”

Miso catches Yoongi’s eye for a moment. “Uh, yeah, I’m still here. Just taking a break right now.”

“Right.” There’s a pause -  a knowing, suspicious pause. “With Yoongi?”

Yoongi raises his eyebrows and he can visibly see Miso’s hackles rise. “Um… I mean, he’s here, too. In the studio. In the building. Why?”

“No reason,” he says nonchalantly. “Just that it’s clear you have a thing for him and I know he’s single, so -”

Donghyuk’s gleeful confession gets cut short abruptly when Miso grabs her phone and turns off the speaker, pressing the phone to her ear and instantly getting to her feet.

“Anything else you need?” she says loudly into her phone, facing away from Yoongi. “No? Yes, I will. Definitely. Goodbye, Donghyuk.” Swearing softly, she hangs up before gingerly making her way back to the desk.

Yoongi turns to his monitor as she nears him, quietly sinking back into her seat. He continues doing what he was doing when Donghyuk called, calmly moving files into the shared drive he was managing. 

“Everything okay?” he asks, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“Totally,” she replies, her voice betraying nothing. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

It’s almost challenging, her tone. He turns to her blankly, raising his eyebrows. “Okay,” he says, turning back to the screen and clenching his jaw so his face doesn’t move against his will.

“Shut up, Yoongi,” she mutters, and Yoongi breaks. Turning to her again, he sees, for the first time, Kang Miso blushing. Grinning with his heart full, he twists his torso to face her and, hooking his hand underneath the seat of her chair, he tugs her to him.

“I’m totally single, by the way,” he confirms, leaning forward towards her.

“Yeah, no kidding,” she says, rolling her eyes - but they have a rare twinkle. Clutching the collar of his t-shirt mock-angrily, she accepts his kiss.

—

Jungkook Set the morning after The Sixth

It’s a beautiful morning. The sun is out, warm but not hot; the breeze is calm and comforting; the view of the Han is picturesque and as he pours himself a coffee, Jungkook feels like he could skip. It’s a beautiful morning.

He steps onto his balcony looking over the city, steam rising gently from the ceramic cup. He’s still in pajamas but hasn’t bothered to put on a t-shirt, armed with the confidence that he is simply too high up to be photographed by paparazzi. 

Also, it’s tough to care about paparazzi on what is, genuinely, a beautiful morning.

He enjoys it for a few minutes, quietly sipping his coffee. He’d like to be here for a lot longer, but a shrill sound breaks through the calm and he cringes, dashing back into the kitchen to pick up his phone where he’d left it on the counter. Glancing at the screen, he rolls his eyes as he answers the call.

“Jimin hyung,” he says. “What’s up? How come you’re up so early?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” comes Jimin’s reply. 

“I fell asleep early last night,” says Jungkook evenly, making his way back to the balcony. “I, uh… I was tired.” Without meaning to, he feels his face break out into a grin. “It’s nice to be up in the morning, though. The sky is all blue and clear. Oh, and you can hear birds chirping.”

“Birds?”

“Yes. You may want to try it sometime, hyung.”

Jimin evidently ignores this. “And why aren’t you responding to my texts?” he demands.

Texts? Jungkook brings the phone away and swipes over to WhatsApp, grimacing when he sees the several dozen messages from various people he’s yet to respond to. 

“Sorry, hyung,” he mutters. “Didn’t end up checking my phone. What’s - wait, why are you up so early?”

There’s a moment where Jimin pauses. “I had a meeting. Listen, are you busy today?”

“Uh…” Jungkook glances back in the direction of his bedroom. “I don’t know. I might be. Why?”

“Do you want to go to dinner? I really want to try that new sushi bar that’s come up in Gangnam. Do you want to go?”

“Oh.” Jungkook frowns, mentally going through his entire calendar. “Not sure. Is it a work thing? Or just you and me?”

“Not just you and me,” corrects Jimin. “Sungwoon will be there, probably Hoseok hyung as well.” 

There’s something that makes it sound like there’s more to that sentence. “Anyone else?”

“Well, Dilara is here, too,” says Jimin quickly. “She’s got a race this weekend so she’s here today…”

“Right.” Jungkook exhales silently, pressing his tongue into his chin. He needs to be rational about this, he thinks to himself, even as an old, feeble sinking feeling creeps into his stomach.

He hears a sound and turns, his heart skipping a beat when he spots Lia with the coffee mug he’d left outside for her, pouring the coffee he’d made. She’s wearing what looks like the oversized t-shirt he’d had on last night, a light grey one that reaches all the way down to the middle of her thighs. Her hair is tousled and splayed messily down her shoulders and it’s a few seconds before he realises Jimin has resumed speaking.

“Hey - hey, listen -” Jungkook lowers his voice and cups his hand over the receiver. “I have to go. I’ll call you later.” Without waiting for a response, he hangs up.

He turns back around to his original position, listening intently for the moment Lia pads onto the balcony, running a hand through her long hair.

“Morning,” she says, joining him by the railing, a foot’s distance between them. 

“Morning,” he replies. “Sleep well?” He nods as she hums, and notices her gaze flicker to his arms and torso and bites his lip, satisfied.

“Hell of a view,” she says, but he can’t tell if she’s referring to the city. She tugs absently at the wide collar of the t-shirt and the tattoo at the nape of her neck is momentarily visible. 

“You get used to it. Actually, no, you don’t,” he amends after a moment. “Dunno why I said that.”

“Thanks for the coffee.” Lia takes a sip and sighs softly. Jungkook gets the distinct feeling that she may be in the same space that he is - awake, comfortable, hopeful - and it makes him glad. “Wow. This is Seoul.”

He follows her gaze at the expanse of the city. “Well, part of it.”

“Well, obviously.” They exchange shy smiles. 

“So,” she begins after a few moments, turning around and leaning back against the railing, “what does Jeon Jungkook do on his weekends?”

“Oh.” A little thrown by this question, he hums, gripping the railing and leaning backwards until the veins in his forearms pop. “Not a lot, actually. He usually works if he has to, or he catches up on, like… laundry and stuff. In fact, there are whole weekends where Jeon Jungkook doesn’t even leave his house.”

Lia raises her eyebrows, but he can tell she’s amused. The soft rays of the sun fall on her face as she looks past him and out at the city, and Jungkook wants to pinch himself. It actually worked. Weeks of respectful distance, letting her take the lead, taking on her challenge and winning that final date with her - it all actually worked.

“Any plans for the weekend?”

“Um -” He realises he’s staring and looks away, tossing his bangs out of his eyes. “Depends. Are you free?”

She smiles. “Maybe? There’s a chance I have to go visit a couple of friends. They just had a baby,” she adds by way of explanation. “So. Not sure.”

Jungkook nods. “Don’t babies sleep really early, though?”

“So I’ve heard.”

“And apparently parents of babies get tired, too.”

“Go figure.” She grins. “I’ll let you know how it goes,” she promises, placing her empty cup on the balcony table and stretching. “Do you mind if I take a shower?”

Jungkook shakes his head, watching her as she squeezes his hand and heads inside, her long hair straight and messy down her shoulders. I’ll let you know how it goes. Despite his attempts at staying cool, the words make his stomach leap. He gathers both their cups and goes back  into the kitchen, when he remembers something.

Fishing out his phone, he scrolls to his chat with Jimin. He was right; there are nearly ten messages from his friend he’s yet to reply to, the last one being from just a few minutes ago. 

Jimin [09:45] so will you come?? tell meeeeeeee JUNGKOOK

Jimin [09:50] it’s been a long time jungkook

Jungkook stares at the screen, trying to ignore the tiny trickle of guilt creeping into his heart. Just then, he hears the shower turn on in his en suite, and it disappears.

Jungkook [09:57] Maybe another time. Sorry.

—

Hoseok April; Set shortly after Pretty Girls

Hoseok leans back on the recliner and sighs hugely, stretching his shoulders before placing his hands behind his head. “You think if you move here, they’ll let you keep this apartment?” he asks, pressing his back into the plush fabric.

Chanyeol clicks his tongue, nudging him with a beer can and handing it to him, crossing Hoseok to sit on the beanbag. “I have to move here first. But the traffic here is just too much,” he adds critically.

“Please, you live in Busan. How is that better?”

“Busan isn’t as bad as Seoul,” pipes up Jimin, sounding a bit defensive as he takes a beer as well from Chanyeol. He’d tagged along after filming since Sooah had to work late, and he and Hoseok had come over to Chanyeol’s company accommodation while he stayed in Seoul on a two week assignment.

“I’d move here if Hayoung can, too,” says Chanyeol fairly, comfortably chugging down a quart of his beer.

“Do it,” instructs Hoseok. “Plus the train system makes going home a lot easier from Seoul than Busan.”

Chanyeol snorts. “When was the last time you took a train anywhere?”

Hoseok’s jaw drops exaggeratedly while Jimin laughs. “No train can compare to hyung’s Porsche,” he adds, reaching over from his place on the floor and patting Hoseok’s knee.

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“Make fun now, but someone needs a quick ride with the multiple aux outlet and charging point and suddenly I’m everyone’s best friend,” mutters Hoseok.

“We’re just teasing, hyung.”

“Well, partly,” chortles Chanyeol. “But coming back - moving to Seoul isn’t on the cards any time soon. Like, I’d probably think about it if… hang on -“

Hoseok frowns as Chanyeol leans forward, peering at something.

“Is that a hickey?” 

He tugs at Hoseok’s collar and Hoseok jerks back.

“No, it’s not,” he says hastily, fixing his collar as Chanyeol resumes his seat, giving him an approving nod. Except it is, he thinks; naturally, the concealer the make-up team had applied for the shoot has come off. He pulls his collar away slightly to see beige streaks on the dark cotton and silently groans.

“So much for not having time to date because of your busy schedule,” says Chanyeol, grinning.

“I’m not dating anyone,” says Hoseok forcefully, panicking slightly now and meeting Jimin’s eyes, who’s pursing his lips and looking into the bottom of his can. “I actually don’t have the time.”

“Ah, well.” Chanyeol shrugs. “Looks like you’re having fun, though. It’s not a bad thing,” he adds when Hoseok rolls his eyes. “As long as you’re both on the same page.”

Are we ever. It’s incredibly ironic, for as far as he’s concerned, Chaeyoung is his girlfriend in everything but name. Aside from the fact that neither of them have ever used that word, Hoseok can’t think of any other term he can ascribe to her.

But right now, even thinking about it in Chanyeol’s presence makes him sweat. For the first time in nearly two decades, Hoseok can’t predict how his best friend would react to something. It’s a strange sort of handicap, especially when it involves a clandestine relationship with his little sister.

“We’re… yeah, we’re - we’re in the same place, pretty much,” he explains pathetically. “It’s… it’s going good.”

“That’s good,” says Chanyeol, sounding as though he means it. “You can bring her to drinks or something tomorrow night, before I leave. If you want.”

“Oh, that’s - that’s not a good idea,” says Hoseok immediately, shaking his head.

“Why not?”

He gapes and turns to Jimin, in a desperate and silent plea for help. Jimin’s eyes widen and he purses his lips again so his amused expression disappears.

“Yeah, I don’t think they’re that serious,” says Jimin, sounding surprisingly convincing. “I mean, I haven’t met her either,” he adds, as though he hadn’t brought Chaeyoung a boxful of ready-to-eat couscous from his trip to Los Angeles last month.

“Oh.” Chanyeol nods slowly. “Okay. Is it like a - what is it called now? A situationship?”

“Something like that.” Except I’m in love with her. I’m in love with your little sister and she’s the best part of my day and even though it’s a huge betrayal I can’t help it and I just know if I look you in the eye too long you’ll figure it out. That I’m in love with your sister. And that she probably loves me, too, even though she hasn’t actually said it yet.

Hoseok swallows, reining in the word vomit. He places his beer on the floor; there is no scope to risk that kind of liability right now.

“Interesting. Oh, you know who else is in a situationship kind of thing?” Chanyeol says suddenly, making a face. “My sister.”

Jimin places a hand over his mouth, and Hoseok can see his cheeks lift from where he’s sitting. He aims a kick at the younger member’s foot, glaring at him to be cool.

“She - really?” Hoseok clears this throat. “She told you that?”

“Oh, no, no.” Chanyeol gives a hollow laugh. “When I met her for lunch yesterday, her bag accidentally fell open and I had the great fortune of spotting a box of birth control pills.” He grimaces. “I could’ve gone the rest of my life without seeing that. Although, I suppose I should be glad she’s taking precautions,” he mutters grudgingly, taking another deep swig of beer.

In literally any other situation, Hoseok would’ve guffawed at the stricken expression on Chanyeol’s face. But nothing about this is funny - not to him, at least, for Jimin seems to be enjoying it greatly.

“Do you have a sister, Jimin?” Chanyeol asks.

“Oh, no. A younger brother,” he replies, emerging from his beer with a carefully set straight face. “Would’ve been nice to have a sister, though.”

Both Hoseok and Chanyeol jokingly grimace in unison, before the latter sighs. “It’s not bad having a sister,” he allows, “and Chae is… she’s a good girl. Too good, in fact, which is why I’m not too comfortable about this situationship thing in her life.”

Jimin nods seriously - too dramatically, in Hoseok’s opinion. “Come on,” he ventures, hoping he sounds nonchalant. “She’s not a kid anymore. Let her live a little.”

“I’m not stopping her,” points out Chanyeol, shrugging. “But she refused to talk about it, which isn’t like her. And, really, what do we even know about this hooligan?”

Hoseok chokes. “Hooligan?”

“I don’t know! She did live near Hongdae for a while, remember?” Chanyeol exclaims, leaning forward. “With that weird girl she went to college with?”

“Oh.” Memories return to Hoseok, of Sunmi, Ice and a neighbourhood out of an indie gang film. “Yeah, that was a shithole,” he agrees, shuddering. “It took me a decent bit of effort to get her to move away from there and with Sooah.”

“She and Sooah get along well,” says Jimin encouragingly. “Sooah’s apartment is a lot more leafy now and they’ve started having mimosa nights on Fridays where no one else is apparently invited,” he adds cheerfully.

Hoseok suppresses a smile, knowing this was Chaeyoung’s attempt at reclaiming her friendship with Sooah. Jimin had been sporting enough on the surface but there were a reasonable number of Fridays when Hoseok had received a message out of the blue saying wanna hang with varying degrees of desperation.

“Oh, that’s right,” says Chanyeol. “Sooah is your girlfriend, right?”

“Yeah,” answers Jimin proudly. “We’ve been together since high school. Kind of,” he amends when Hoseok gives him a look.

“Do you think she’ll know who this guy is, that’s macking all over my sister?” he asks, sounding a bit disgruntled. “If they live together and all.”

Jimin grins, while Hoseok closes his eyes and wishes for the ground to swallow him up. “I can ask her,” he says diplomatically.

“Do you even have to?” Hoseok jumps in. “I mean… doesn’t she deserve her privacy?”

“I’m not trying to invade her privacy,” argues Chanyeol, sounding affronted. “But she’s young and trusting and the least I should do as her brother is make sure she’s not being played by some guy looking for a little fun.”

“I don’t think -“ Hoseok begins weakly, but Jimin beats him to it.

“Hoseok hyung is pretty close with her these days,” he interrupts, ignoring Hoseok’s bewilderment at this random turn of conversation. “I’m just saying - I think he looks out for her a fair bit.”

“Of course he does; I’m his best friend,” says Chanyeol easily, making Hoseok’s stomach  roll uncomfortably. “Chae is like family to him. But Jimin’s got a point,” he adds, leaning forward and nudging Hoseok’s knee. “Do you think you can find out more about this guy?”

“There’s an idea!” Jimin crows, looking thrilled. 

Hoseok shoots a glare at Jimin before turning to Chanyeol. “I mean, I - I can try. I dunno,” he mutters, shrugging. “She probably won’t tell me anything.”

Chanyeol sighs and sits back. “Fine. Just - just make sure she’s okay? That she’s not being taken advantage of or something?”

Hoseok bites his lip; he recognises this tone, this specific tone that’s reserved for when Chanyeol reverts to the young boy making up for a lack of a mother and a father who didn’t pay much attention to his daughter. 

“I don’t think you need to worry, hyung,” says Jimin, sounding the most sober he has all evening. “From what I know, this guy sounds like a decent person. And seems to like her quite a bit.”

He throws a casual glance at Hoseok, which Hoseok returns with a grateful nod of his own before changing the topic. 

About an hour later, Hoseok returns to his apartment. He’s barely taken off his shoes when his phone buzzes.

Chae [21:15] Work took forEVER :(( Be there in 10

An involuntary smile creeps up his face and he replies with a string of heart emojis. He leaves the door unlocked and heads in for a shower, the day’s tiredness already threatening to get the best of him.

When he’s clean and fresh again, the en suite drowning in a cloud of steam, Hoseok towel dries his hair and heads out of his bedroom to the inviting scent of ramen. Following it to the kitchen, he sees Chaeyoung, barefoot and still in her work clothes with the Louis Vuitton hoodie he’d left on the sofa earlier today.

“Your apartment is too cold,” she complains when she turns around and spots him making his way to the kitchen. “And this is the softest hoodie I’ve ever worn,” she adds with a sheepish smile as he enters.

“Keep it,” he offers, reaching her and placing his hands on her shoulders to peer over her. “You’re cooking?”

“Well, I’m mixing,” she admits, pointing to the instant ramen packet next to the stove. “But I added bok choy and some minced lamb you had in the fridge, plus an egg for the end so in a way, yeah, I’m cooking.” She flashes him a proud smile and Hoseok’s heart skips a beat.

“Come here,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around her shoulders as she continues stirring. He buries his nose in her hair and inhales the flowery scent, closing his eyes and exhaling, his shoulders relaxing for the first time all day.

They stay there in comfortable silence for a bit, the only sound being the soft bubbling of the soup and the occasional metallic clang of the spatula with the pot.

“How was your day?” Chaeyoung asks after a minute. 

“Fine.” He watches the ramen for a few seconds, the lamb turning a nice brown. “Had rehearsal, then filming and then hung out with Jimin… and Chan.”

Chaeyoung hums, but her slender frame tenses slightly. “How was that?”

“Well…” Hoseok sighs and steps away, waiting until she glances back at him. “He saw your handiwork,” he says, pulling his collar away from his neck.

Chaeyoung gasps, one hand covering her mouth. “Oh, my God,” she exclaims, half-laughing. “What did you tell him?”

“Oh, I evaded. You know, with Jimin’s help,” he answers, rolling his eyes. “And on a completely unrelated note, he said you are in some kind of a thing with some guy, too.”

“Oh, really?” Chaeyoung raises her eyebrows, looking angelic and doe-eyed. “He did?”

“He did,” confirms Hoseok. “In fact, he’s asked me to find out more about this mystery guy and report back to him. It took every bit of my strength to be normal.”

“But -” She frowns. “You suck at being normal.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” she says immediately, turning to switch off the stove before facing him again. “You get all flustered and stammer-y when you’re taken off guard - anyone can see right through you.”

“This feels great.”

Chaeyoung laughs and tugs at his hands, ignoring his sarcastic “no, please, continue”s and reaches up to kiss him on the cheek. “But I’m very impressed that you were normal,” she says finally. “It couldn’t have been easy, especially with my brother.”

Hoseok shakes his head. “It wasn’t. He’s one person who actually can see right through me.”

She bites her lip and frowns slightly. “You know…” She begins, swinging his hands absently, “you can always… tell him. I mean, I know it won’t be easy and it’ll be messy but…” Chaeyoung shrugs and looks at their hands. “It may not be the worst thing.”

“It wouldn’t be the worst thing,” he agrees, “but it might be close. At least for now. This is new and he won’t be expecting it… I mean, how do I just call him and tell him that his little sister, who I was an ass to for years, is my -” 

He breaks off abruptly, his heart thudding when she narrows her eyes slightly, almost amused. You get all flustered when you’re taken off guard. He can’t help but agree with her, and it seems as though she’s thinking the same thing.

“My… reasoning for waking up in the morning,” he finishes, glad to hear his voice is at least steady.

Chaeyoung nods, apparently impressed. “Yeah, I guess that would be a bit out of the blue,” she agrees, shrugging. “And I kind of like this. That it’s just ours for now,” she murmurs, tilting her head up.

Hoseok reaches forward and kisses the tip of her nose. “I get that. Plus, your brother has started really hitting the gym recently so he’s kind of, you know -” He curls his arms and hunches his back “- jacked, so I’d really like to time it correctly so I don’t face any damage.”

She laughs. “He’s not like that. He knows I’m an adult, you know.”

“Think of it as self-preservation.”

“He knows I dated in college, so you’re not my first -”

Hoseok raises his eyebrows, something flipping in his stomach as her cheeks fill up with the lightest tinge of pink.

“- guy that I… cook for and spend the night with.” She winces and looks away as Hoseok snickers, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her to him.

“Let’s wait it out,” he concludes, inhaling the scent of her hair again.

“Let’s wait it out.” Chaeyoung hugs him back. “You’ll have to suffer through more days like today, though,” she adds, chuckling.”

Hoseok clicks his tongue dismissively. “I don’t care,” he states, tightening his hold around her. “I’m happy.”

—

Jimin April; Set shortly after Pretty Girls

Jimin enters the apartment with a bang - literally, wincing as the door closes with a loud thud.

“Dude!” Sooah’s voice comes from somewhere behind the coffee table. “Careful!”

“Hoseok hyung ditched me,” complains Jimin, falling on the sofa dramatically. “And now I’m all alone.”

“None taken.”

Jimin frowns and leans across the sofa to see Sooah in tights and a sports bra, stretching on a yoga mat. Her hair is pulled back into an aesthetically messy ponytail, with a headband keeping her bangs out of her face. She looks like a dream and suddenly, Hoseok going back home doesn’t seem like a big deal.

“Didn’t go to yoga class today?” he asks, getting up and walking over to where she’s deep in a downward dog position. 

“No, I got too late,” she mutters, sounding disappointed. “But I knew I’d feel guilty if I didn’t work out at all today, so -” She finishes her sentence by raising her leg into a graceful arabesque behind her.

“Turn your leg out a bit,” instructs Jimin. “It’ll help work your glutes as well.”

“I am turning it out.”

“No, you’re not. Wait -” He hops around behind her and wraps his fingers around her lower calf, slowly turning her leg out. “All the way from your hip, come on.” One hand trails down her leg and stops inside her thigh, gently squeezing it before helping her twist it.

Sooah chuckles. “Subtle, Chim.”

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m just helping you stretch,” he says innocently, stepping forward so he’s standing between her legs, his hips brushing against her crotch.

“Totally. That’s all you’re helping me - ow, Chim, that’s too high!” 

Jimin jerks back just in time to avoid her leg as it comes down in a flash. She kneels on the mat and turns to face him with a scowl. 

“Seriously?”

“Seriously what?” He whines, joining her on the mat and lying down, pulling her down with him. “I’ve missed you,” he mutters, squeezing her waist and nuzzling her neck.

Sooah sighs as he throws a leg over her hips. “I missed you, too, sweetie. You know, since… yesterday.”

“Too long,” he says, hearing his voice muffled.

“Fair enough.” She pats his hand. “What happened?”

“You smell nice,” he says instead.

She scoffs. “I’m sweating, you weirdo,” she retorts, pushing him away slightly so she’s facing him. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he begins, sighing hugely. “Hoseok hyung had to lie his way out of admitting to Chaeyoung's brother that they’re banging and while it did seem like he was pretty close to passing out, I guess it was kind of…” He squeezes his eyes shut to think of the word and opens them to see Sooah’s face inches away from his own, propped up on her elbow.

“Kind of…” She prompts, raising her eyebrows.

“Kind of cute,” he finishes, turning on his side to mirror her position. “They’re new to dating and they’re hiding it and everything…” Jimin trails off, suddenly aware that he’s pouting.

“Chim,” says Sooah, tugging at the strings of his hoodie, “are you asking me, in a very roundabout way, if our relationship is still exciting?”

“No! No, no, no, no, no -” Jimin breaks off, feeling the heat creep up his face and leans forward, nudging her on her back and rolling on top of her. “I know our relationship is still exciting. I’m dating Kim Sooah,” he informs her.

She flicks his temple, chuckling fondly. “Yeah, but we’re not hiding our relationship from anyone. Except, you know, the world.”

“I don’t want to hide it from anyone,” he declares. “I’ll tell everyone - I’ll put it up on Instagram right now. Don’t doubt me, Kim Sooah.”

“Never, Park Jimin.” She pats his shoulder. “Alright, get up. I have to go shower.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, just stay here,” he whines again, letting his arms buckle and collapsing on top of her. “Tell me you think our relationship is still exciting,” he demands, trying to keep a straight face over Sooah’s laughter.

“God, Chim - I’m under you!” she exclaims, half-giggling. “Get off!”

“Not until you say it. Say it, say it, say it - whoops, deadweight -”

“You’re crushing me -” Her hands go down to his torso and her fingers find their way under his t-shirt.

“First you have to - no!” He laughs involuntarily, half-shrieking as she tickles up until he rolls off her onto the yoga mat. “That’s cheating!”

“Deadweight is cheating,” she counters, getting to her feet and ruffling his hair before heading into the bathroom. When she returns twenty minutes later, she walks into the living room and halts. “Seriously?”

Jimin tilts his head back in the cobra pose. “Stretching just looked so good,” he admits sheepishly. He moves into a pigeon pose, one on each side while she heads into the kitchen and comes back with a bottle of cold water. Finishing up with a nice hamstring stretch, Jimin stands up and joins her on the sofa.

“Hi,” he says, placing an arm around her shoulders.

“Hi,” she replies, smiling up and leaning into him. “What’s up?”

“Not much. Just had a long day. Or I didn’t, actually,” he says a moment later. “But I’m still tired. Dunno why.”

Sooah frowns as he speaks, squeezing his thigh affectionately. “Have you eaten today?”

“Yeah, some. Had some sushi earlier today. And then a slice of pizza at Chanyeol hyung’s.” He pulls her in a bit closer and rests his chin on the top of her head. “I don’t know. Just one of those days, I guess.”

“Yeah.” She traces random patterns on his thigh for a few seconds, both of them just drinking in each other’s company in silence. “You know what might make you feel better?” she asks after a moment.

“What’s that?”

She pulls away slightly so she can look up at him. “I was thinking about it today, anyway… and it might take your mind off everything,” she adds, raising her eyebrows and shifting so she’s sitting on her knees.

Jimin frowns as she presses a light kiss to his lips. “I’d love to… but I’m honestly really tired.”

“Oh, I know.” She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Don’t worry, you won’t have to do any of the work. You just need to sit back,” she says, standing up and gently pushing him back against the sofa, “and relax.”

Fifteen minutes later, Jimin sits back on the sofa, his head resting against the back of it with his eyes closed.

“God, you were right,” he murmurs. “This is actually so relaxing.”

“I know, right?” 

He feels her reach over and straighten the edge of his face mask, soft and fragrant against his skin. The cucumber slices feel light and cool on his eyes and he brings the glass to his face, searching for the straw and sipping the fruity mimosa.

“Sooah,” he says, hearing her hum. He searches for her hand on the sofa and slips his fingers into us. “You know you’re the most exciting person I know, right?”

She chuckles softly, sounding just as cosy and comfortable as he feels. “Yeah, skincare nights really get that adrenaline going.”

“Totally,” he jokes back, bringing her hand to his mouth and kissing it. “Best kind of night.”

—

Taehyung April; Set a month after She’s In The Rain

The day is young, and the air is ripe with hope, potential and expectation. Up ahead, the track clears as mechanics, team principals and the press drift away, leaving the path ahead long and winding, with nothing but sixty odd laps between her and P1. Anything can happen. 

Her brows furrow slightly. She knows the track and she’s raced hundred of laps around it; she knows what it’s capable of. It’s given her mostly good races, but at the core of its design, the potential is rife for chaos.

Bang.

The door is thrown open with force and kicked close as they stumble into the room. Their lips don’t leave each other’s, only passion and reckless abandon driving their movements. Taehyung pushes her back against the wall, swallowing her gasp, tightening his hands on her hips as she pulls at his sweater.

“Are we still fighting?” he asks against her lips. Their hands are everywhere - only part of his brain can even focus on the words he’s saying. “Because we should - probably - talk about it,” he says, punctuating every word with a kiss to her skin and helping her take off her long-sleeved t-shirt.

“Forget it,” she murmurs, kissing him back, her chest pressing against his. “I can’t even remember what we were fighting about,” she says, sighing when he nips at her lower lip and tugging at his sweater again. “Take this off.”

They stagger further into the room of their BnB, hands everywhere and articles of clothing being discarded at every step. The Scotland rain outside comes down in sheets, white and thick, the sound deafening. Their room is warm in comparison, dimly lit with just the fireplace going, the huge bed taking up most of the space on the wooden floor. 

The speed is… fast. She’s like the wind; she feels one with the wind, until another car appears in her side mirror and she knows she has to buck up. Push, they tell her on the radio, and she tries. But other drivers know to push as well and she knows she has to try something different. Maybe with the tyres, or even a surprise pit stop. She needs to be in control.

Taehyung feels himself hard against her waist, her fingernails scraping against his scalp before they snake down his bare torso, her hands on every inch of skin. She nips at his lower lip and his grip on her hips tightens, before he wraps one hand around her thigh and lifts her off the ground. Her sound of surprise is so arousing; she tightens her arms around his neck as he brings them to the bed, lowering her onto it when she pulls away and stops him.

“One second,” she mutters, panting and swinging her legs off the side of the bed. Taehyung frowns in confusion as she pulls open the drawer on her bedside table and retrieves something before tossing it to him without warning. He catches it without difficulty, though, noting how glassy her eyes already are, her nipples erect and her lean, tan midriff the colour of honey.

He wants to devour her. He wants to worship her till the end of time and it’s only when she raises her eyebrows and tilts her chin at the object that he looks down to see his Polaroid, the one she’d gifted him years ago. Taehyung meets her eyes, silently confirming if she’s asking him what he thinks she’s asking. In answer, Dilara tosses her long curls off her shoulder and holds his gaze, eyes blazing.

He stares at her for a moment before raising the camera. Click. He doesn’t wait to check the picture that’s come out; letting it fall to the floor, he walks over to her to kiss her again, one hand still holding the camera. He lets himself be steered onto the edge of the bed where he sits and Dilara goes down on her knees. The moment her lips touch his cock, his breathing stutters and his eyes flutter shut. Snaking one hand down into her thick hair, he looks down to see her eyes on him as she sucks him off.

Click.

Cars are speeding around the track now. She can see them through the slit in her visor, across the misshapen circuit, most of them behind her. The competition is at its peak now and everyone is racing to win. Rainclouds appear in the sky and there’s a moment of panic, but she powers through. She makes split decision after decision, choosing to change her tyres, choosing to come into the pit at a risky moment, but committing to each at every point. 

It’s exhilarating. Every rainy lap is closer to the finish line, closer to a win, closer to the art of racing in the rain. Even the spray clouding her vision from the only car in front of her is a challenge, brings her closer to the car and to the sport she’s given everything to.

The rain lashes outside, so loud that Dilara’s sounds almost get lost in the din. The bed and floor are littered with pictures, all in different stages of development, but Taehyung hasn’t stopped to look at a single one. Her back is beautiful, curving before him with long locks of hair flowing down them. He holds her hips as he moves, his grunts and her whimpers in sync, so messy, so transcendent.

Click.

The camera whines as another picture comes out, but he ignores it as she crawls forward and turns to lie on her back. She beckons to him, her neck and chest glowing with a thin sheen of sweat, her breathing rapid. Taehyung lowers himself to kiss her, their naked bodies flush against each other as he slides into her again, wet and warm, and she moans into his mouth.

“Faster,” she whispers against his mouth, lifting her hips off the bed into his so he bottoms out. He obliges; he’s raring to go, every thrust bringing him closer to edge. Dilara closes her eyes as he sits up slightly so he can pound into her faster, one hand clutching the pillow and the other moving down from her hair to her breast, squeezing it lightly as he continues to fuck her.

Click.

He drops the camera to his side, all his focus on her now for this last bit. Her legs wrap around his waist; he unhooks one to bring in over his shoulder, leaning forward so he can watch her come undone, moaning loud and long as she finishes on his cock, her back arching until she falls back on the bed. Taehyung begins moving again, her wetness and residual whimpers keeping him going until she opens her eyes and he meets them, dark and blazing, and he pulls out at the last moment, emptying himself on her lean, smooth, honey-coloured torso.

Dilara rests her head on the pillow, panting and closing her eyes. Taehyung catches his breath, his eyes running over the strips of white over her body before he reaches for the camera.

It’s a win. It’s indescribable, every single time. No matter how exhausted, no matter how stressed, it’s all paid off because it’s a win. There’s a trophy, there’s applause, there’s adulation, there’s validation that she belongs here after all, that this was where she is meant to be, this is what it’s all been for.

Her heart hurts, but it’s not a bad pain. She wants the win, every win, and she wants to be in the sport, for her love for it knows no bounds. She gets emotional, too, standing up on the podium and holding the trophy up high, knowing she would do anything for this feeling the rest of her life. She loves it, she craves it, and she can’t live without it.

Taehyung sits by the edge of the bed, clothed in a flimsy white button down and baggy joggers, the stack of pictures in his hand. The sky outside has darkened but the rain is as heavy as ever. The glow of the fire before him flickers calmly in contrast on the first picture he picks up, of Dilara on the bed, naked and kneeling, looking just above the lens of the camera. The dark spot on top of her breast is the beginning of a hickey; he gazes as it for a few seconds before calmly tossing it into the fire.

He flips through them silently, images of their tryst borne from a moment that was initially headed elsewhere. She’s right; he really can’t remember what they’d been fighting about. The pictures are in no particular order, some of them more haphazard than the others, but each capturing moments of passion that can’t be explained in anything other than stills taken by a camera.

She’d gifted it to him right before their first date, he remembers suddenly, as he watches one of the last pictures curl up and blacken in the fire. We’ve come a long way, my love. The shower inside the en suite stops just as the last, lone picture remains in his hand, taken after they’d cleaned up and he’d climbed off the bed. Dilara had sat up on her knees among the sheets, looking out at the expanse of the Scottish highlands and the torrents that drowned it. 

He’d watched her for a few seconds, taking in her silhouette against the grey landscape outside. It was a sight worthy of committing to memory, and he’d raised the camera for the last time and snapped a picture of her.

He’s interrupted by the sound of soft footsteps and he turns to see her walk out of the en suite, her curls tied up in a bun and the rest of her wrapped in a towel, droplets of water still glistening on her shoulders. Taehyung hadn’t heard the sliding door open; he wonders how long she’s been standing there but then she gives him a small smile, and he returns it. Slipping the picture into his pocket, he steps out of the room to allow her to change in privacy.

There’s nothing like winning. The feeling stays, the pride remains and there’s hope. But there’s also a moment, a time of the evening after the race where the celebrations are done and the congratulations have dried up, that the race starts being replayed, and the risks and gambles come back into focus. And then there’s the feeling - no, the knowledge - that this isn’t the end. This is a race, just one race, but the rest of the calendar is yet to come. It’s grounding in reality like nothing else, and the win is diluted.

Taehyung watches the rain, now a bit slower but still coming down, dry and toasty in a tan sweater in the balcony of their room. There’s a song in here somewhere, Namjoon would say and he’d probably write it, too. Taehyung tries to do the same but every word he thinks of, every line or rudimentary melody is tinged with sadness so he quickly abandons the exercise.

He feels a soft nudge on his arm and turns to see Dilara join him, a small glass of whiskey in each hand. Her hair is loose again (and he guesses it’s to shield her face and neck from the cold), and she’s covered up with a Red Bull hoodie and grey joggers.

He takes the whiskey she offers, kissing her softly on the cheek as she comes to stand next to him. Dilara looks like she’s about to say something; Taehyung gives her his full attention, waiting. A few moments later, though, she gives a small shake of her head and leans into him, waiting for him to wrap an arm around her as they watch the rain together.

—

Namjoon January (Set a couple of months after A Stormy Night)

Namjoon takes a deep breath. None of this was going according to plan.

The restaurant was highly rated, the ambience cozy and warm, Kaya's two other classmates-turned-friends had reached on time, Taehyung and Dilara had successfully picked up the birthday cake, the birthday girl looked like a million bucks and the jazz singer playing in a different area of the restaurant was just adding enough to the night without being disruptive.

And yet, somehow, despite all his efforts to make tonight about her, within the first hour of the classy and intimate birthday dinner he'd planned, the restaurant had become overrun with guests, some of them clearly famous, and noise and singing and generally the opposite of cozy and intimate.

It may still have been okay, given they were in a corner of the restaurant not directly in view of the entrance. But Dilara had invariably been recognised which only served to increase the excitement in the place - Namjoon had deduced from the general atmosphere that the dozen guests that had arrived at once were some kind of sports team that were being celebrated, and Dilara's presence was only adding to it.

Maybe she senses his train of thought, for she catches his eye from where she's awkwardly posing for a picture with two of the sports team members. She shoots him an apologetic look and makes her way to him the moment the picture is taken, ducking her head slightly as she passes othr guests.

“I'm sorry,” is the first thing she says, sighing. “It's the England cricket team. They just won the Ashes and… it's a pretty big deal. Nobody thought they would.” She folds her arms across her chest and lightly bumps his shoulder. “Is Kaya okay?”

“Yeah, she's fine,” he mutters, turning slightly when he spots his girlfriend exiting the ladies’ room, fluffing her long hair over her shoulder. “And… don't be sorry,” he adds, sighing. “It's not your fault. I just had such a specific vision of how this was supposed to be, you know? Hey,” he says with forced cheerfulness when Kaya reaches them.

“You're annoyed,” she says immediately, and Dilara stifles a snicker when Namjoon frowns exaggeratedly and shakes his head.

“What? Of course not. Why would I be - okay, fine, a little bit.” He looks away when Kaya grabs his hand lovingly and squeezes it. “I just wasn't expecting…” He trails off, gesturing vaguely to the chaos in the restaurant. A little way away, Taehyung is in an animated conversation with one of Kaya's friends who'd rushed up to take a selfie with one of the cricketers. There is free-flowing beer and tipsy toasts being made in honour of the team, and one of the cricketers seems to be getting pressured to get up on the stage, with “Sing, Brody, sing!” chorusing over and over by a handful of people.

“It's not that bad,” says Kaya. “It's a little louder, but…” She turns back to the table where the remains of their dinner is yet to be picked up by a waiter. “The food was amazing. And I know you loved the whiskey sour you ordered.”

“Sure, but…”

“If it helps, I think the team looks kind of annoyed by the attention,” guesses Dilara, waving hesitantly when someone comes up to them and squeals at the sight of her.

“Come on, it could be worse,” says Kaya to him, her voice lower. “At least you guys weren't recognised.”

Namjoon nods, acknowledging this begrudgingly. Taehyung, who had already made friends with the waiter and the hostess even before the dinner had gone south, is now standing with the same friend of Kaya's and another cricketer, singing along to the soulful song that this Brody is now singing slightly off key on the stage. There are people across the restaurant who are filming him, looking beyond thrilled at the sight, and a gaggle of girls doing an exaggerated groupie bit at the handsome cricketer.

Namjoon feels his mood sour with every passing minute, even as Kaya leans against him and taps her foot absently with the music. 

“You don’t have cricket in Korea, do you?” she asks after a few minutes, absently.

“Nope. Kind of glad about that right now. Or maybe not,” he adds suddenly. “At least then I’d know what the big deal is.”

Kaya gives him a look. “It’s not that bad. It’s a bit of extra people and a little more chatter and -“ 

She breaks off and both of them wince at the sudden uproar of a victory song being sung by the entire restaurant. A redheaded cricketer is being grabbed by two of his teammates by the shoulders and the three grown men, arm in arm, are doing some sort of dance as they hold jugs of beers with their free hands.

Namjoon exhales slowly through his nose. From across the room, he spots Taehyung apparently starting to realise what he already has, that this night is no longer salvageable. He catches Namjoon’s eye and, like his girlfriend a few minutes ago, he makes his way over apologetically.

“Sorry, hyung,” he says as soon as he reaches, handsomely tossing a lock of dark hair out of his eyes. “The captain’s wife -“ He points to a blonde lady laughing at talking to another woman “- said they’re celebrating and in her words, they’re just warming up.” He purses his lips sympathetically.

Kaya punches his shoulder as if to get him to shut up and then turns to Namjoon, ignoring Taehyung’s dramatic gasp. “It's not a big deal,” she repeats clearly, raising her voice to be heard over the noise. “It's not even that bad - maybe we should go and dance or -”

But she's interrupted once again by a loud screech of feedback from the mic. They look over to see a young member of the cricket team up on the low stage, tapping on the mic and looking thrilled with the attention. He can't be older than twenty-one; something about his cocky lopsided grin makes Namjoon's blood boil. 

The cricketer starts off with a speech, slurring a bit but clearly saying all the right things while people switch between hooting and paying rapt attention. A little way away, Namjoon spots Dilara listening as well, clapping once in a while as well; it's the only thing that calms him down slightly. He hasn’t watched a day of cricket in his life, but he can recognise a big win when he sees one, no matter how begrudgingly he may admit it.

The speech ends with a few more cheers and some hooting and before they know it, another round of Brody, Brody commences and the same handsome blue-eyed cricketer is pushed up on stage by some of his teammates, where he bends slightly to talk into the mic.

Namjoon rolls his eyes as he begins rhapsodizing about their win, knowing somewhere that he’s coming off as disgruntled and extremely unattractive. As if on cue, he feels Kaya link her fingers with his. 

“Come with me,” she mutters. Without waiting for a response, she begins maneuvering through the crowd and pulling him along, until they’re out of the restaurant and in the cold hits him like he’s been plunged into an ice bath. Exhaling and seeing his breath come out in mist, he looks up in confusion to see Kaya pull her coat tighter around her.

“Okay,” she says, folding her arms across her chest. “What’s wrong? Because this can’t all be about one ruined dinner. I know you have a thicker skin than this.”

Namjoon considers lying. But one look at Kaya, her dark eyes and teacher-like expression, and something tugs at his heart.

“I wanted to give you a nice birthday.”

“It was nice,” she says instantly. “The food was amazing, we got lucky with Dilara and Tae being here the same weekend as my conference, you’re here -“ She sighs and drops her arms to her sides. “We’re in London in January and happen to be out on the one night that it’s a little less freezing. So… what is it?”

Namjoon looks away, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. The streets are deserted and the river rumbles in the distance, the only sounds coming faintly from inside the restaurant. He wants to tell her - but if they go down this road, there’s no coming back.

“I wanted this birthday,” he says slowly, swallowing, “to be a nice birthday.” He waits as her frown deepens and then fades away, the realisation dawning. He looks at the ground; even admitting it feels like defeat of a kind.

“Because you won’t be here on my next one,” she says quietly, nodding.

“Or the one after that. Not unless you come to Seoul and I take a vacation day on the same day, which is -” He shrugs, biting his lip. “And it’s not going to be like previous birthdays we’ve spent apart, where I can still do stuff from another country and - and have a date on video call or something. This is going to be - I’m going to miss -”

He breaks off, pressing his hands to his forehead in frustration, knowing he’s effectively ruined the night more than any number of cricket teams by bringing up this topic.

Kaya comes closer; he can hear the click of her heels as she slowly stops in front of him. “You know that I know you don’t have a choice, right?”

“I know, but -”

“So if you’re thinking that you’ll be a bad boyfriend or if you think I’m thinking that, just stop. Namjoon, I know you’re struggling with this and I don’t blame you. I have no idea what it’s like for you,” she admits, reaching up to bring his hands down. “And I’m not asking you to ignore your feelings or to pretend like everything’s great, but I need you to…” She bites her lip and he can tell she’s debating whether to say it.

“Need me to what?” Namjoon asks warily.

“I need you to try,” she says softly, squeezing his hands. “Just try to see the good, try to find a happy moment when you can, because…” She licks her lips and he does a double take when her eyes suddenly shine and they look wet. “Joon, I’m worried for you. I don’t know what it’s like but I can’t imagine it’ll get easier if you’re so hard on yourself all the time.”

It’s a lot to unpack. For a moment, Namjoon wants to break down, right here in her arms and ask her to take him home, far away from all his responsibilities. But that would only worry her more and in any case, it’s a crazy thought. So he closes his eyes and presses his forehead to hers.

“I’m happy now,” he mutters, smiling a little when she scoffs.

“Yeah, you really look it.” But she leans into him as well before reaching up and kissing him. “Now that I’m officially in my thirties, I can safely say I have a lot more life experience than you, little one. So you have to listen to me.”

That makes him laugh. He tugs her closer and wraps an arm around her waist, the other automatically taking her hand in his. “I’m dating an older woman now, officially.”

“You were dating an older woman the day you asked me to be your girlfriend,” she points out, her face easing up slightly. “Actually, it wasn’t too far from here, was it?”

“It was in front of the Langham, so, yeah.” He nods as a guitar begins playing inside the restaurant and their feet move automatically, steps small and uncoordinated. “I found a happy moment that day,” he murmurs into her hair, inhaling the coconut and vanilla scent.

“Yeah, you did,” she agrees. “Wasn’t that hard, was it?”

“Are you kidding? I was so nervous. I was just a kid and you were this sexy older woman that was completely out of my league.”

“Okay, we’re going to stop saying older woman now,” she decides, moving away slightly and looking up at him with narrowed eyes. At that moment, a familiar voice drifts from inside. She raises her eyebrows and smiles. “The kid’s got a great voice.”

“You should hear him in the shower,” says Namjoon, but nods in agreement as Taehyung’s baritone singing a jazzy blues song lights up their little corner of the street.

“Don’t miss me too much while I’m gone, okay?” he murmurs after a few moments, into her hair again. He feels her stiffen slightly but then she nods into his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I won’t miss you at all,” she assures him. She stops moving, however, and slowly steps away. “Do you want to get out of here? Go get a hot chocolate or something? Because I’m fucking freezing.”

Namjoon can’t think of anything he’d like more than to be with her alone. “I’m in,” he agrees, linking his fingers with hers. “Just need to make one phone call.”

Inside the restaurant, Dilara nods into the phone. “Yeah, no problem,” she says, smiling as she catches Taehyung’s eyes where he’s on the small stage, crooning away to John Baptiste. “Don’t worry, Namjoon, I know you’ll pay me back. I know where you live,” she teases. “You guys have fun.”

As she hangs up, she leans against the wall and watches her boyfriend, tall and handsome, singing in the dim lighting. The celebration has now mellowed to a nice, festive evening and she requests a passing waiter for a glass of wine. One of the cricketers she’d taken a group photo with joins her, looking happy and winded.

“This might be the one spot in the whole place where you can get a moment of peace,” he remarks, running a hand through his black hair and turning around to lean against the wall like she is. “Hope you don’t mind?” he asks belatedly.

“Not at all. Congratulations, by the way. Brody, I presume,” she ventures, raising her eyebrows as he nods good-naturedly. “Right. Seems like you were a big deal in this tournament.”

“Just a bit. But everyone was,” he replies easily. “You didn’t watch?” 

“Oh. Um, I followed it a bit here and there. I don’t get a lot of time to watch television,” she admits sheepishly.

“No worries. The parties are better than the matches,” he points out. “Must be the same for Formula One, I assume. Komyshan, right?”

Dilara nods, her face getting hot and the embarrassment at her lack of awareness of cricket increasing. “That’s what the commentators call me.”

“I get it. Brody is what the commentators call me,” he says, blue eyes twinkling.

Cheeks still warm, she sticks out her hand. “Dilara,” she says.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, taking her hand. “I’m James.”

—

Kaya takes a seat at the outdoor table that the waitress gestures to and frees her hair from its scrunchie, shaking it out. The sun is bright today, but the umbrella over the table helps and her sunglasses block out the remaining.

As she examines the menu, she senses a shadow fall over the table. Looking up, she raises an eyebrow.

“A pretty lady, sitting all alone?” His tone is dry, betraying only a hint of sarcasm. 

“Unfortunately, my boyfriend has to work.” Kaya tilts her head slightly. “Unless you could convince him to take a break.”

Yoongi flashes her a grin as he takes off his sunglasses, and takes the seat opposite her. “If you can’t, I don’t know who can.”

Kaya rolls her eyes, partly amused, and hands him the menu. “The hazelnut latte is to die for,” she informs him, taking off her own sunglasses and squinting slightly at the sudden brightness.

“I’d love to, but I’m on tour,” he says, sounding regretful. “How’s the regular cold brew?”

After going back and forth on the coffee for a couple of minutes, both of them place their orders for food as well.

“So? How’s tour going?” she asks, leaning back in her chair. “Tell me something exciting.”

Yoongi scoffs. “Tour is the least exciting time. Aside from performing, of course,” he amends. “But otherwise, pretty boring.”

“What? That can’t possibly be true. I always hear so much gossip when you guys are on tour or travelling. I remember following the Taehyung and Dilara Europe saga like a reality show, just minus the Reddit commentary.”

“Yeah, it’s not the tour that’s exciting, it’s the number of people on tour,” he points out. “You can’t tell me those two weren’t living in their own k-drama half the time. But touring solo is… different.”

“Wow,” she comments, raising her eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you’re actually missing them? Remember when you asked me when kids outgrow the sugar rush phase?”

Yoongi chuckles, presumably at the memory. “Shockingly enough, I am missing that. But, yeah.” He shrugs. “It’s almost done. Just Seoul after this and then…” He trails off, biting his lip.

She nods, ducking her head and feeling an awkward relief when their coffees arrive. The day hasn’t yet reached the point where such topics need to be brought up. “Any hot after party plans tonight?” she asks, stirring her Vietnamese coffee.

“God, no,” he replies. “Actually, that might be the only thing I don’t miss about a regular tour. It was fun with all of us being together, but it was so hard to get some sleep.”

“No way. Really? Wouldn’t everyone be tired?”

“You would think. But someone would be playing a video game or there would be something to film -” He shakes his head dismissively. “I’m not young anymore, you know. I need my rest.”

“Thirty really came out of nowhere, huh,” says Kaya knowingly.

“Tell me about it.” Yoongi shakes his head, leaning away from the table as their food arrives. Even when the waitress leaves, he doesn’t immediately begin eating like Kaya does. “Would you believe it if I told you my mother asked me about my plans to marry?”

Kaya almost chokes on a piece of bread. Yoongi swears under his breath as she gulps down water before guffawing. “Wow, I wish I could’ve seen that,” she teases, laughing. “But it’s not entirely unexpected, is it?” she adds after about half a minute, still chuckling.

“Actually, it is,” he disagrees, “because I don’t think I’ve hinted at anything that might cause her to ask such a question.”

Kaya raises her eyebrows but says nothing. The girl she’d met at Hybe, the slender one who’d spoken with an Australian accent and glanced at Yoongi the way a teenager looked at her first crush, comes to mind. But something tells her Yoongi would rather stick his fork in his eye than admit anything to her right now.

“So what’d you tell her?”

“The correct thing,” he replies, stabbing his eggs, “which is nothing at all.”

“Sounds about right.” She takes a sip of water. “If it helps, my mom asked me the exact same question a little while ago, so I get where you’re coming from.”

Yoongi gives her a mild look as he chews. “I think it’s a much more realistic scenario in your case.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can expect Namjoon to get down on one knee any day now,” she says sarcastically, before pausing. “Actually he’s done that already so I probably shouldn’t joke about it.”

He chuckles. “You know, if he finds out you want a proposal right now, I bet he’d do it,” he says seriously.

Kaya widens her eyes and scoffs when he grins at his plate. “Don’t even think about it, Yoongi. He sounds so stressed every time I talk to him. The last thing I want is for him to get a heart attack at twenty-nine over some random relationship pressure.”

“I don’t think it would be all that much pressure, honestly.” He shrugs. “From what I can tell.”

“Yeah, well, I’d rather not take that risk.”

“He’s gotten a lot better at managing his stress over the years,” points out Yoongi. “I don’t know if you know this, but we’ve lived together for almost thirteen years.”

Kaya takes a slow sip of her coffee and nods. “It’s come up.”

“So I can confirm he’s getting better at it.”

“No, I know he is,” she admits, sighing. Her concern is slightly different, but she doesn’t know if she can put it into words. She doesn’t even know if she should, for fear of jinxing it.

She can sense Yoongi’s gaze on her and busies herself with sprinkling seasoning over her remaining breakfast. “Are you planning to come to Korea any time soon?”

“Yeah,” she answers. “Namjoon and I are meeting in Spain in July, so I’ll probably come around September. Before he leaves.”

He hums, a little too knowingly for her liking. “What’s in Spain?”

“A vacation?” She sighs, stretching back in her chair. “Summer in the south of Europe, eating paella and going on road trips across the country. But, you know,” she amends, straightening back up. “With his family this time.”

Yoongi raises his eyebrows. “You’re not nervous,” he states.

“I’m not nervous,” she replies, a little too quickly. “It’ll be different, though. But I like his sister,” she adds honestly. “I’ve realised I’m not great at bonding with girls outside of uni.”

“I’ve heard differently,” he disagrees. He meets Kaya’s eyes, who says nothing, until his cheeks start to redden and he looks away. “We’re not strangers, you know,” he mutters, rolling his eyes.

Kaya grins, no need for her to ask who “we” is. “I should count Dilara, though,” she admits, choosing not to embarrass him any further.

“Oh, yeah, it’ll kill her if you don’t.”

She nods, polishing off the last of her panini and sitting back in her chair. “What about you, Min Yoongi? Any vacation plans?”

“Not really,” he says dismissively. “I’m not really a vacation kind of person.”

Kaya squints, unimpressed. “Really? You don’t like vacations? Be less of a pick-me, Yoongi.”

Yoongi snorts, his gummy smile flashing momentarily and lighting up his whole face. “I’ve been travelling for three months, non-stop. I love touring but the thought of getting back on a flight again…” He shakes his head and runs a hand through his long, thick hair. “I miss home way too much. I want to just stay in Korea for as long as I can for a bit.”

“Yeah?” She tries to picture it, staying in her apartment and walking around Amsterdam for the entire year and decides she can’t. “Will you take time off, though? Or will you head back into the studio the moment you set foot in Seoul?”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“Is it? Workaholics can recognise each other in the wild, you know.”

“I miss the studio, too,” he says, sounding a bit defensive. “I miss my chair and the lighting. I miss the creative energy and the other producers and… even the coffee, honestly.” He sips on his cold brew as if to make a point. “Not bitter enough,” he informs her.

“I’m sure the barista will get right on that,” she says dryly. “But fair enough. Your studio is your happy place.”

He nods before his gaze freezes abruptly on something across the street. A moment later, his eyes flicker back down to his plate and he sighs.

“Looks like I’ve been spotted,” he mutters. “Get ready to have your picture splashed on the internet for ten minutes before people move on.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she mutters in response, trying to ignore how her body tenses automatically. “Do you want to leave? We can take the rest of our coffee to go.”

He huffs quietly. “But it’s so nice here,” he half-whines. “No, but you know what? Namjoon will overthink himself to death if you end up on Twitter again,” he says quickly, standing up, “and that’s not what he needs right now.”

“Well, you are the one who’s lived with him for thirteen years,” she agrees, standing up as well, as they both reach for their wallets and drop a couple of bills on the table. “So I’ll take your word for it.”

—

As it turns out, the fans who’d spotted him didn’t seem to have taken any pictures. But Yoongi doesn’t mind strolling about the city. Amsterdam is beautiful and it is a rare situation of having a day off in a city where he actually has a friend. 

They talk about nothing in particular, flitting between work and friends and movies they’ve seen as they sip on chilled coffees, the sun dimmer than it was a while ago. Yoongi can sense that Kaya is trying to keep the tone light, and he’s almost certain it’s due to their impending enlistment.

“That spot right there,” says Kaya, after a few minutes of comfortable silence, pointing to a spot by the pier, “is till where the line ended when the first boba place opened up here a few years ago.” She shudders. “It was madness.”

“You weren’t in line, I suppose?”

“Sure I was, but I had the sense to get there early,” she replies with dignity. “And I brought a research paper to study while I waited so who won, really?”

Yoongi chuckles as he finishes his coffee and chucks the plastic glass in a nearby bin. “It’s too early for a drink, isn’t it?” he asks ruefully.

Kaya laughs. “I’d say so. But I get what you mean,” she adds after a moment. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing to take some edge off.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You know of a place that won’t judge us for ordering drinks at -“ He checks his watch “- one pm?”

“Not exactly,” she admits, taking a noisy last sip of her Vietnamese coffee and throwing the empty glass in the next bin. “Do you remember that night in the dorm when I was jet lagged and everyone else was asleep?”

Yoongi slows down. “And I reached late from the studio, with…” He raises his eyebrows again, noting how she nods.

“Come on,” she says, patting his arm and beckoning him to follow her. “My apartment’s just around the corner.”

Ten minutes later, Yoongi finds himself in Kaya’s apartment, a one bedroom studio that reminds him of a college dorm combined with a student library. Academic books and stacks of stapled pages litter the chipped coffee table and the circular dining table by the kitchen, with stray cups abandoned here and there. The television looks untouched, but the sofa is soft and cozy, with a woven throw placed over the back. 

“Pass me the paper?”

Yoongi obeys, taking a seat on the carpeted area like she is and leaning back against the side of the sofa, his head cushioned against a HYBE hoodie. He pushes the curtain forward slightly, taking care to ensure he can’t be seen from the outside and wondering if he’s being paranoid.

“There we go,” she mutters, licking the edge of the paper and twisting the end expertly. Reaching for a lighter on the shelf beside her, she places the joint between her lips and lights it, taking a deep drag and groaning softly as she exhales.

She offers it to Yoongi and he takes it without argument. The smell is a rare, almost taboo one, and he welcomes the freedom with which he can indulge in this right now. He feels the smoke exit his sinuses through his nose and sighs, closing his eyes.

He takes another drag, realising somewhere the risk he’s taking if he were to be discovered stoned by anyone aside from his manager. His eyes flutter open at a metallic sound to see Kaya sliding an ashtray towards him before settling low into a beanbag chair, stretching her denim clad legs straight on the floor and crossing her ankles.

“You’re sure we won’t be seen?” he asks her, a bit doubtfully as he passes the joint back to her.

“Who knows,” she murmurs, which doesn’t help him much. “But no one will care,” she adds, sounding more convinced this time. “Most of this building is just students. Or TAs. And it’s Amsterdam.”

Kaya gives him a reassuring smile, but he can see her eyes already relaxing. Yoongi nods, not hating the feeling of being somewhere other than a hotel.

“So how often do you do this?” he asks curiously. 

“Not that often,” she answers, shrugging. “Once every few weeks, maybe? Sometimes more often, but then it’s just a few drags, not more.” She shrugs, a little sheepishly. “It’s been a long few weeks.”

“No judgement,” he states honestly, taking another puff. The sun has disappeared behind clouds now, just as she’d predicted, and there’s a cool breeze that feels like it’s putting him to sleep. “You smoke up with Namjoon, too?” He asks, privately unable to picture it.

“Nah, he’s not a fan,” she admits. “He thinks it ‘compromises his faculties’. But it’s better than nicotine,” she points out.

“True,” he says fairly. “You know, I’m looking forward to going home for sure but… sometimes it’s good to get away,” he confesses in a murmur.

Kaya hums. “I’m sure.”

“Everyone’s worried about enlisting,” he says after a moment. “But no one wants to talk about it - which I get, believe me. But it’s coming out in other ways and it’s just -“ He breaks off and exhales.

Kaya doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Yoongi is afraid he’s ruined the mood. “Like what?”

“Just the usual.” He shrugs. “We were on a team call a couple days ago and it just got so… chaotic. Everybody just had to be heard and Namjoon started getting overwhelmed and I started getting impatient…” He trails off, still uncomfortable about it. “And then at one point, Taehyung and Jungkook started snapping at each other over something silly and then there was no point continuing,” he finished.

“Wow.”

“Yeah. I think Hoseok mediated later but I’m not sure how much. Can’t really blame him, though,” he adds, shaking his head. “He’s happy now - like, really happy. Probably happier than the rest of us put together.” It’s a few seconds before he realised what he’s said. “I mean - Namjoon’s happy, too,” he adds quickly. “He’s - I mean, we’re all -“ He struggles for the word, and it occurs to him that his brain is actually moving slower than usual.

But thankfully Kaya chuckles. “It’s okay. I get what you mean. Hard to match Hobi’s level of happiness on a normal day.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, relieved. “He used to overcompensate a lot for that when we were younger but he’s become a lot more comfortable in his skin now.”

“Aw, look at you talking so fondly about your kids,” she teases, making him roll his eyes but unable to suppress a smile. “I’m sure you grew up quite a bit, too. You give me serious teen emo vibes, you know.”

“No way, I was too hardcore for that,” he argues, waving a hand lazily. “I was a rapper.”

“Bullshit. I’ve seen pictures.”

“I have pictures. In fact -“ He fishes out his phone and navigates to his gallery, the screen changing with a smooth and flowy movement. “Tell me I didn’t look at least a little out of place,” he says, passing the phone to her.

Kaya takes it excitedly. “Min Yoongi opening the vault,” she remarks, the joint propped between her index and middle finger as she holds the phone. “Who would’ve thunk?”

“Well, you got me nice and high.”

She chortles, swiping through the screen. “Hardcore as hell, Yoongi,” she admits, “especially with the headband.” She keeps scrolling, ignoring his scoff of disbelief. “Wow, I wish I’d met you guys back then.”

“You wouldn’t be dating one of us if you had, trust me.”

“That’s probably true,” she agrees good-naturedly. “Oh, my God,” she says after a moment, her jaw dropping as she tilts the phone towards him to reveal a picture of a lanky, skinny, grinning seventeen year old Kim Namjoon.

Yoongi peers at it and nods. “Yes, I stand by my original statement.”

“Shut up,” she admonishes him, taking another drag and admiring the picture. “He’s so cute.”

“He was such a dork,” he adds, but he can hear the grudging warmth in his own voice.

“Cute,” she repeats. “This is probably what my son will look like one day,” she muses, before pausing, her smile fading slightly. “Wow, this stuff is strong,” she comments, placing the joint on the ashtray and handing Yoongi back his phone. “Shut up,” she warns him as he bursts out laughing.

“I can’t believe you just said that,” he says in between his laughter, glancing at the picture again before locking his phone.

“I can’t either,” she admits, looking embarrassed as she runs her hands over her face. “Don’t you dare tell him I did.”

“I’m afraid I can’t promise either way,” he says wryly, knowing he would never. Kaya rolls her eyes but doesn’t press, and he thinks she knows as well. “You’ve thought about that stuff, though?” he asks after a moment. “You really want kids?”

“Absolutely,” she says, without missing a beat. 

Yoongi knows for sure it’s the weed that’s making him actually ask these questions so directly, but he can’t seem to stop. “Wow. You guys have talked about it?” 

“Not in so many words,” she admits. “But if he hasn’t picked up on it in four years, then we’ve got a problem.” She stretches and sighs, looking out of her balcony as Yoongi lights the end of the joint again. “Do you really think he’s happy, though?”

He frowns slightly; all the joking seems to have left her voice very suddenly. “Of course he is,” he says, hearing his voice come out slow and soothing. “With you, definitely.”

After what seems like ages, Kaya responds. 

“Sometimes it feels like…” She trails off, and he isn’t even sure if she’s meaning to say it out loud. “Sometimes it feels like he’s… thinking too much. And he’s thinking so much and he’s analysing and overthinking and… I don’t know if he remembers to be happy.” She bites her lip and Yoongi doesn’t know if he’s imagining the tremble in her voice. “I don’t know if I can do anything about it.”

Yoongi blinks; despite his mind swimming, it’s clear in a slow and bleary way that he cannot let Kaya think like this. It would disrupt everything. “Not true,” he blurts out, frowning when she looks over at him. “He is happy. He’s stressed and overworked and - and -“ The English word escapes him “- thinks way too much,” he says finally, echoing her words. “But you might be the best thing that ever happened to him.”

Kaya looks doubtful, but a shaky smile flits across her face. Yoongi nudges her foot with his.

“Trust me. I’ve known him for thirteen years.”

That makes her chuckle. “That’s true, you have,” she agrees, rubbing her eyes and sighing. “This is the downside of getting high sometimes.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” he says reassuringly. The joint is almost over by now, but Yoongi can’t remember feeling this relaxed in a long time. “It’s just a matter of time before you and Namjoon have a bunch of babies who write poetry about Economics and skulk around museums all over the world.”

Kaya laughs, and Yoongi is glad to hear it. “Don’t make me regret saying that in front of you,” she says, throwing a cushion at him. He catches it and slides further down on the floor, placing it underneath his head and facing the ceiling.

Outside, it starts to drizzle. Kaya produces a bag of soy chips from somewhere and even though there’s a faraway voice in the corner of his mind that sounds like his choreographer, reminding him that he’s on tour, his hand moves automatically towards the chips, each one tasting better than the last.

Kaya’s ceiling is a dull beige, with a fan just off centre. It bothers him, but the rain outside hits the roof over her balcony in a somewhat rhythmical cadence, and he finds himself tapping the air with the beat.

“Do you talk to her often?”

The words tumble out of his mouth before his brain has a chance to think it over.

To his relief, Kaya doesn’t ask who. “Sometimes. She’s not particularly talkative.”

“That’s true.” Something loosens in his chest, something he didn’t even know was tight in the first place. He realises it’s the first time in months he’s talked about her to someone who isn’t her colleague. “Is she… how is she?”

“Okay, I guess? I don’t really have a benchmark,” she says. There’s a pause. “Why do you ask?”

Yoongi is glad his thoughts aren’t particularly coherent right now, for he isn’t sure how to articulate the combined emotions of worry, affection and longing in the particular context of Miso’s life and his place in it. His desire to be back home, in Seoul, in the Hybe building and in the same corridors as her feels overwhelming all of a sudden.

He talks to her, too - but it’s not the same, knowing that she might be a different person with someone else, with a personality, interests and a way of talking that he hasn’t seen. He doesn’t know how to express that learning anything about her, even the smallest thing, can help him feel just a little closer to her.

Perhaps Kaya senses this, for she volunteers the information herself.

“We talk mostly during my evenings, which means she seems to be working late these days,” she offers.

Yes, that makes sense. She’s working on an album with Donghyuk for a group’s much awaited comeback, so it would fit that she’s burning the midnight oil. He imagines it if he were back home: stealing a few moments during a coffee break, walking her to her car until the point her driver can spot them, sharing a cigarette in the darkness between kisses that are all lips and tongue and teeth.

“What do you talk about?” he asks, placing his hands under his head, his eyes trained on the slow spinning fan. 

“Random stuff,” answers Kaya. “I asked her for recommendations for an offbeat record store in Seoul because I wanted to get a Lana del Rey vinyl for Jae-Lin.”

“Which store?”

“This place in Jung-gu. I can’t remember the name.”

A record store. Yoongi is quiet for a few seconds, digesting this. “What else?”

“Um…” Kaya hums absently while rain picks up outside, the breeze now sprinkled with tiny droplets of water. “She told me about Australia. Of course, it came up in the context of how Seoul has a dearth of good lamb chops. But apparently Cable Beach is her favourite one.”

Cable beach. This is new information. As far as Yoongi knows, aside from mentioning her studies in Australia as a throwaway, she’s never talked about her life there. “She likes the beach,” he states, the words sounding strange on his tongue.

“Well, Australia is like eighty percent beaches,” points out Kaya. “God, I miss the beach. We should all take a trip to Ibiza,” she announces suddenly. “I’m gonna text Namjoon - wait…”

Yoongi has the sudden urge to call Miso, casually at first, but then to ask her to tell him about the beaches. For a moment, he struggles to remember the name Kaya just mentioned, but then it comes back to him. Cable Beach. 

He glances at Kaya, who hasn’t even picked up her phone, and is instead humming softly while tracing a shape on the floor with her shoe. 

“What else do you talk about?”

Kaya continues humming but frowns mildly, before looking up at him. Something in her gaze makes him look away, and he shrugs unnecessarily.

“Not much,” she answers after a moment. “Apparently Hybe needs to improve its coffee on the floor.”

“Anything else?”

“Not really.”

He exhales deeply, fairly certain she’s still watching him. He bites his lip, staring steadily at the off centre ceiling fan.

“She did mention you a couple times,” says Kaya, after a few beats. “Something about how much you curse under your breath while producing.”

A merry jolt passes through Yoongi’s stomach without warning. “Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm. And she said you’re a lot less annoying than you were the first time you met two years ago.”

Yoongi nods matter-of-factly. The sky is a cool grey outside and the fine droplets of water in the breeze feel sublime on his skin. He gazes at the fan, his chest floating easily at what can only be considered a compliment of the highest order from Miso.

A soft clicking sound makes him snap around to look at Kaya, who’s lowering her phone. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” she says innocently. “Just a picture of Min Yoongi looking the happiest I’ve ever seen him.”

It’s at this point that he realises he’s been smiling - no, not smiling, but beaming - at the ceiling, and he can feel the blood rush to his face.

“Kaya,” he says warningly, but he hears it come out more pleadingly than anything.

“You have a very nice smile, you know,” she says kindly.

“I - thank you. But -“

Kaya simply smiles back at him and he relaxes, suddenly sure that she knows what he’s asking and that she’s accepted.

“You’re serious about her, aren’t you?” she asks, and all the teasing has left her voice.

Am I? Ordinarily, he would say yes. But he can’t fathom using terms that apply to regular relationships to their… situation. “It’s not that simple,” he says at last.

“I can tell she’s… going through something. But I didn’t want to pry. She never talks about her family,” she adds.

That sounds about right. “Speaking of not being happy,” he mutters.

“She isn’t?” But it hardly sounds like a question.

“I don’t think she’s even trying to be,” he murmurs, shocking himself a little at this admission. But the moment he says it he knows it to be true, that any fight left in her is only enough to get by.

Yoongi feels his face burn and his eyes sting. Kaya excuses herself to use the washroom and he’s instantly sure it’s to give him privacy. He sniffs and presses his thumb and index finger into the corners of his eyes, taking a deep breath until he can feel his face come back to normal.

He sits up, his head feeling light but steadier than it was a little while ago. The view outside is beautiful, stormy yet calm, and Yoongi’s legs take him to the balcony of their own accord. Kaya joins him a minute later, and they watch the rain for a bit.

“I should head,” he says, turning his towards her slightly.

She nods. “Okay.” She doesn’t offer for him to stay over for which he’s glad, knowing they both would like their evenings to themselves.

“No wonder Namjoon likes coming here so often,” he muses. “Aside from seeing you, of course,” he adds, and she chuckles.

“Will you ask him to… to take it a little easy?” Kaya asks, looking up at him, her eyes brown and wide and doe-like. “Just once in a while. Just to live in the moment.”

Yoongi nods. “Of course. Don’t worry,” he says after a moment. “He knows what’s important. And before you know it, you’re going to have a bunch of little Namjoons and Kayas and teaching them to roll joints in Korean.”

She snickers and punches his shoulder half-heartedly, shaking her head as he puts an arm around her shoulders. “Bunch is a little much. And I don’t think I’ll be teaching them either of those things. Pot is a college rite of passage and… for someone with Korean family members and a Korean boyfriend, I suck at the language,” she mutters shamefully.

“It’s not easy,” he reassures her, squeezing her shoulder. “You can practice, though.”

“I try every time I go back there,” she tells him, sounding disgruntled, “but I can hear how terrible I sound and it makes me so self-conscious that I just… can’t. Dilara is a lot better,” she adds enviously.

“Yeah, for someone who doesn’t live there, she’s not bad,” admits Yoongi. He drops his arm from around her, knowing the day has come to an end. “Alright.”

“Yeah.” 

They turn around together and cross the expanse of her tiny living room until they stop at the front door.

“Have a good concert tomorrow,” she says as they give each other a friendly hug. “Can’t wait to read the thirst tweets after.”

It’s his turn to playfully flick her shoulder. “Eat something decent tonight. Not chips,” he adds. “And, uh…” He swallows, his eyes flickering to the floor.

“Yeah?” she asks softly.

“Will you…” He doesn’t know where to start. “Will you… just ask her about Australia, once in a while?”

Kaya nods. “Absolutely.”

“Thanks.” With one last one-armed hug, Yoongi heads back to his hotel.

—

Mornings were normally hell for Yoongi, usually because he'd only managed a few hours of sleep before the road called again. This morning, however, he found it hard to leave the warmth of his bed for entirely different reasons. He'd spent the majority of his night vividly fantasizing about his coworker. It was possibly the best, or worst, depending on your point of view, night's sleep he'd ever had.

Yoongi's body ignited from the waist down, an inferno spreading from his loins to his toes, constricting him with intense heat. He was engulfed by Adrienne. Her entire body pulsed and moved with his rhythm, her contracting muscles clasping him tightly. Languid stroke followed stroke between them. The virtual Adrienne, a product of his dream, moaned with each touch, whispering his name with fevered intensity as her muscles tensed and trembled around his length. Then, without warning, his lungs burning for oxygen, sweat beading on his brow, Yoongi came undone.

The sensation was too raw, too real, and Yoongi jackknifed upright in bed, heavy with the knowledge that he was having a sex dream about his co-worker and very much aware of the fact that he was granite hard, an erection straining the cotton weave fibers of his boxers. Confused, he scanned his bedroom to confirm he was indeed in his own bed and hadn't done something incredibly stupid.

Relief washed over him as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The familiar soft snores from his roommate's end of the room answered his silent plea. He was relieved, of course, but hyper-aware that there was no way he could go back to bed now. Not with his cock throbbing, begging to be attended to, and visions of Andy, bare as the day she was born, flaring up in his mind every time he closed his eyes. Without any other options, Yoongi pushed himself out of bed and groggily padded towards the living room, grabbing his laptop. If he couldn't sleep, at least he could get some work done until they had to head out for the day.

So, there was no surprise that he was damn near cantankerous during the beginning of their schedules. He barely spoke during interviews, curled up in the back of their travel van with his hood over his head and a posture that screamed ‘Do Not Talk To Me’. The other members noticed and knew to stay out of his way as much as they could to avoid setting him off. The only time he seemed to perk up slightly was when they were on their way to the studio to film some of the album-making process for their year-end DVD. Going to the studio meant he’d get to see Andy, and that eased his irritable mood only by a little.

He found disappointment, however, when they arrived at their shared studio only to find a crew setting up to film and no sign of Adrienne. He didn’t ask where she was but instead threw himself onto the couch and allowed the staff to finish setting up and fit him with a mic before everyone cleared out, leaving only the boys and the camera person. Yoongi knew that he would eventually lead the conversation since he had contributed the most to the album's formation. But, well, he didn’t want to. Without Andy being around, Yoongi's mood worsened as he glanced around the room, memories of Adrienne consuming his thoughts. The scent of her perfume, from when she'd leaned over him at the computer, filled his nose as he watched Namjoon idly tinker at the desk. The weight of her body pressed against him when they kissed for the first time, and the sensation of her hands all over him, filled him with warmth once again when he looked towards the far wall. Even sitting on the couch called to memory all the time they’d spent talking up until the wee hours of the morning when inspiration refused to pay each of them a visit.

There was no place he could look in this room that didn’t remind him of Adrienne, and Yoongi began to feel suffocated by the thought of her. He warned no one but quickly stood up and exited the room to take a deep breath and press the back of his head against the wall just outside the door.

“Yoongi-ssi?”

Adrienne’s familiar melodic tone made Yoongi’s eyes snap open, and he allowed himself to genuinely smile at her as she slowly walked toward him with two lattes in her hands. She was clearly unaware they were filming today, dressed in simple leggings and a hoodie two sizes too big. Yoongi still found her beautiful.

“Are you waiting for me? I know I’m late but you don’t have to wait for me outside,” Adrienne giggled and handed one of the lattes to him. “Here, I got you a caramel macchiato, don't be mad.”

Yoongi shook his head and smiled as he took the plastic cup from her hands. Taking a sip, he moved to stop Adrienne before she went into the studio, hoping to warn her, but she was already inside before he got the chance.

“Oh,” Yoongi heard her gasp from the other side of the door, “Do you guys need the room today? I just need something from the computer and I’ll be out of the way,” she said quickly as she moved toward the computer.

“Actually,” Namjoon spoke up just as Yoongi opened his mouth to answer her, “We need you here today too. We have to film some scenes for our DVD; they want to film us working on the album and just talking about the direction we’re taking. So we need you.”

“O-okay,” Andy stammered as Namjoon gestured for her to take the seat at the computer desk. “There was a song that I wanted all of you to record something for, maybe this is a good time,” she muttered to herself and swiveled around to open a few files on the computer.

Yoongi fell silent again as he resumed his place at the far end of the couch and took a long sip of the coffee Andy had given him. The younger members seated next to him noticed that he was the only one who had received a drink and complained until he finally gave it to them to share. He wouldn’t show it, but he was happy seeing Adrienne at the head of the room, even if that meant sitting so close to Namjoon, who took every chance he had to strike up a conversation with her. The room was lively and loud in true Bangtan fashion when the camera crew returned to begin filming. Everything seemed to start out smoothly, with Namjoon and Yoongi doing most of the talking while Adrienne answered a few questions and played snippets of the finished songs they had.

However, when the camera centered on her and the crew directed her to give a short explanation of the songs she composed from scratch, Adrienne's eyes went wide. Yoongi recognized her blank expression by the way she fumbled with her hoodie's hem, but she attempted to answer anyway.

“Uhm. Well, t-this...um song um.” Adrienne stuttered, fumbling her short sentence until the camera person signaled her to stop.

“I’m sorry, but do you even speak Korean?” one of the staff members asked impatiently.

“I-I do. Well, a little bit, I mean. I’m still learning and it’s hard,” Adrienne answered meekly.

“Andy-” Yoongi’s voice cut the tension that was beginning to develop between Adrienne and the staff members who didn’t know her. “Maybe you should take a break? I can explain the songs I worked on until you come back."

“That’s a good idea,” she replied and quickly got up to move outside before the staff had the chance to say anything else.

She was gone for only a few minutes before Namjoon followed, announcing he'd check on her as he slid out the door. This left Yoongi wondering why he had to wait until she was alone to make sure she was okay. He pushed those thoughts away and continued doing what he did best: talk about music and his many inspirations until everyone around him was tired of hearing him speak. There was almost an audible sigh of relief when Adrienne reappeared in the doorway, with Namjoon following closely behind her. Both wore dopey smiles that discomfited Yoongi.

Adrienne's confidence soared after her brief time outside. Yoongi didn’t know what Namjoon had said to her that put her in such a good mood, but whatever it was, it surely seemed to work because she had virtually no trouble explaining her thoughts this time around. Of course, her sentences were still somewhat limited, but whenever she faltered, Namjoon was right there to translate the English she whispered into his ear. They made an efficient team, and the remainder of the filming went by just as smoothly as the beginning.

The film crew thanked the group and Adrienne before breaking down their set and leaving. There was barely a second of time for the boys to settle before one of their managers came to herd them back out to the car. Adrienne looked in Yoongi’s direction as they were on their way with an expression that read she wanted to talk, and he contemplated making them late for the rest of the schedule when she began to speak. Except she wasn’t looking at Yoongi when she mouthed the words ‘I’ll text you’; she was looking a few inches above his head at Namjoon, who nodded quickly and gave her a wide smile before heading down the hallway. In fact, she didn’t even make eye contact with Yoongi at all as he left the room and she turned back to the computer.

If there was a mood worse than pissed, Yoongi was in it for the rest of the day.

Adrienne hadn’t been aware of Yoongi or his reaction to her not speaking to him on the way out that day. She was far too focused on the information Namjoon had revealed to her while they were outside the studio.

“Andy, are you alright?” Namjoon said cautiously, not wanting to startle her as he approached Adrienne, who was crouched against the wall with her head cradled in her hands.

“Hm? Oh Joonie, it’s you,” Adrienne exhaled and nodded quickly. “I’ll be fine, I just need a few minutes to think.”

Namjoon nodded a few times then moved to take a seat next to her. “You don't need to push yourself, Suga-hyung can handle all the talking if you want him to. I think he’d be happy to, actually.”

“I don’t want him to, though,” Andy replied with a groan. “I don’t even know why I couldn’t think of anything to say. I don't have a problem arguing for my songs with Yoongi or any of the other producers here. When they put that camera in my face, I just… went blank. They probably think I’m a talentless loser that’s only working here because I’m sleeping with your boss.” Andy groaned again and pulled her knees against her chest.

Namjoon laughed silently before resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “There’s no way they think that, have you met our boss?”

Adrienne smiled and shook her head at the ridiculousness of her thought. “Well maybe not, but they’re probably wondering the same thing I am.”

“What’s that?”

“Why am I here? I’ve been trying to figure that out since I got here, and I just don’t get it. No one I talked to when I got here seemed to know anything about me, and yet your boss offered me such an important job. Don’t you find that weird?”

Namjoon stroked his chin a few times and looked over towards Adrienne, who still seemed genuinely confused. “Not really. I can tell you why you’re here: it’s because of me.”

“What?” Adrienne questioned.

“I started following your Soundcloud a few years ago; I’m actually kind of a fan of yours,” Namjoon answered sheepishly. “Anyway, when we completed our last album, PD-nim once mentioned bringing someone new in to help with production. I thought of you immediately and convinced him to give you a chance. It was a fight, but he gave in eventually.”

Andy was speechless at the end of his explanation, at such a loss for words, the only way she could accurately express her gratitude was to open her arms and pull Namjoon towards her in a smothering hug. She knew there would be stares and whispers thrown in their direction if anyone happened to see them in the hallway, but Adrienne didn’t care. She was feeling so many emotions, there was no way she'd be able to tell him just how much his confidence in her abilities meant to her, even if he had tried.

It was this revelation that gave Adrienne the confidence boost to finish her filming, and having Adrienne hug him put Namjoon higher than cloud nine for the rest of the day. He had honestly considered giving up on pursuing her, especially with Yoongi's lately improved mood, but that hug rekindled his hope. Maybe it wasn’t too late for him to tell her how he felt.

Adrienne was not aware of any of this; on the other hand, she was too busy falling in love with her music again. The album was nearly done, which gave her more time to work on her personal tracks when she had the free time.

It was three in the afternoon on a Friday when Adrienne finally found herself back in the company studio, working alone on a track that she and Yoongi had composed together. She wondered exactly where Yoongi was since they’d agreed to meet today; then she realized that she hadn’t really seen or heard from him for most of that week. After they filmed on Monday, he was practically a ghost, and Adrienne didn’t even notice until that moment. She thought about calling him but decided against it and pulled her phone out to text him instead.

Adrienne: Yoongi-ah! Where are you, aren’t we working today?

A few minutes felt like an eternity before Adrienne's phone finally buzzed.

Yoongi: studio. Adrienne: ??? that’s where I am. Yoongi: my studio.

His cryptic, final response left her puzzled; he didn't answer any of Adrienne's subsequent text messages, which both worried and annoyed her. She didn’t know anything about him having a separate workspace apart from the one they shared. With a frustrated huff, Adrienne pushed herself away from the computer desk and went to hunt down her missing partner. After opening many doors that all revealed empty conference rooms, Adrienne finally decided to swallow her pride and ask one of the staff members to point her in the right direction.

She found the room eventually, a small space not too far away from the room they practice in, and saw Yoongi seated in a mesh office chair nodding along to whatever was playing in his headphones. Moving slowly, Adrienne tiptoed as quietly as she could until she was directly behind him, wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his neck. She wanted to respect his decision not to date, but she really couldn’t help wanting to wrap herself around him every time she saw him. A feeling that was only intensified since she hadn’t seen him all week.

Adrienne expected him to be annoyed or even upset when she pulled her face up and pressed a cheek against his jawline. Instead of scolding her or sighing dramatically like he usually would, Yoongi just sat, staring straight ahead. He didn’t react at all until Adrienne jostled his shoulder and made him turn around to face her.

“Do you need something?” He asked with an icy glare that confused Adrienne.

“Um. Well, yeah, we’re supposed to be working today, aren't we?”

“I am working.”

“I can see that, but I thought we would be finishing that song together?”

Yoongi pressed his lips together and swiveled the other way. “I changed my mind,” he stated simply before putting the headphones back on his head.

Adrienne squinted her eyes in confusion, trying to piece together exactly which one of her actions could have garnered this kind of reaction. He couldn’t have been this upset just because she hugged him, could he?

“O—kay, well, I’m here now. I can help out if you want-”

“I really don’t need your help, Andy,” Yoongi snapped. “I can handle it by myself, so don’t worry about it.”

That outburst was the last thing Adrienne needed to hear to make her lose her meek demeanor.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit, Yoongi, you’re being weird, and I don't understand why because I’ve barely seen you all week.”

“I’m not acting weird! I just don’t have time to sit around and waste time talking to you all day. We have an album to put together in just a few months.” He huffed and pulled the headphones off his head, allowing them to clatter against his desk. “If you want someone to gossip with, maybe you should find Namjoon.”

Those final words made everything click for Adrienne, and she threw her hands up in the air, a loud, humorless laugh accompanying her look of disbelief.

“Is that what this is about?” she asked with a gesture between them before resting her hands on her hips. “Are you jealous that he helped me the other day?”

Yoongi scoffed and rolled his eyes, but Adrienne recognized she’d hit a raw nerve by the ticking of his jaw.

“Are you serious right now, Yoongi? Do you think you’re the only person that could possibly know how to make me feel better?”

“No.”

“So, is no other guy allowed to talk to me unless you’re present?"

“No,” Yoongi repeated again with a growl. "That's not what I meant."

“Then what’s the problem?!” Adrienne exclaimed, loud enough for Jungkook and Taehyung, who were about to amuse themselves by bothering Yoongi, to stop in their tracks and turn back the other way.

“I didn’t think you were that kind of girl,” Yoongi answered calmly; he made no attempt to match her volume. “Just because we can’t be together, you already start working on catching another member? I didn’t think you were like that.”

It took a few seconds for Adrienne to really process what he was saying, and by the time he was done talking, she was angry enough to destroy every piece of equipment in his studio. She bottled that anger, taking a deep breath to calm the fury within her until she was no longer boiling over. Her demeanor was eerily calm and decisive as she closed the space between them and rested both her hands on the armrests of Yoongi’s chair, effectively trapping him beneath her hardened gaze.

“Let's get one thing straight,” she said softly as she brought her head down to meet his eye line, “There is nothing stopping us from being together besides your own cowardice. If you want to hide behind your job and your boss and whatever else you’re scared of, feel free to keep doing it, but don’t pretend that there’s some grand force keeping us apart. You’re doing that on your own, and you know it.”

Yoongi parted his lips to answer, but she silenced him with a firm finger against his mouth.

“And secondly? Namjoon and I are friends. We’re going to continue being friends whether you like it or not, and if you and your fragile ego can’t handle that, then maybe it's a good thing you’re too much of a coward to be with me.”

Adrienne ended her statement by pushing his chair away from her and slamming the door on her way out. She was livid the entire walk home and muttered angrily under her breath the whole way. The audacity of him to suggest she'd just jump to someone else, like some starstruck fan, fueled Adrienne's anger with every passing thought. She couldn't even finish the lyrics she'd been carefully curating. It was meant to be a passionate love song, but the only words she could think of were ‘fuck Min Yoongi’ – and not in the way she usually wanted to.

Eventually, her anger lured her to sleep. She managed to rest peacefully for exactly one hour until the sound of loud banging on her front door forced her awake. She wasn’t expecting any visitors, and Adrienne contemplated grabbing a weapon of some sort until she listened closely and heard a very familiar voice calling her name from the other side of the door.

Admittedly, Yoongi didn’t really have a plan.

He thought that showing up to Adrienne's apartment after their fight in an attempt to apologize was a good idea after having dinner with Hoseok. Of course, that was four bottles of soju ago, and whatever he'd planned to say was now just nonsense rattling in his head.

When Adrienne’s door flew open, she still looked as angry as she had hours ago, but Yoongi remained undeterred. He would win her over tonight, even if it killed him.

“Hey, beautiful.” He said sweetly, leaning against the frame of the door in an attempt to seem less drunk than he actually was.

“Yoongi, do you know what fucking time it is?”

“I think it’s time for you and I to stop playing and do this shit for real.” Yoongi grinned, believing he was being clever.

Adrienne was not amused and looked at him like he’d spontaneously grown two more heads right there on her doorstep.

“Are you drunk?”

Yoongi denied it, of course, with a loud scoff, but he stumbled when he attempted to push himself off the doorframe, and Adrienne rolled her eyes with annoyance.

“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” she muttered into her hands. “Get in here before someone sees you falling over your own two feet.”

Yoongi kept insisting that he was fine but didn’t fight back when Adrienne forcibly pulled him into her apartment and shut the door behind him.

“Did you honestly think that this was a good idea? Showing up in the middle of the night, drunk off your ass, telling me we need to do this shit for real? What are you even talking about?!”

“You think I should have waited until tomorrow?” Yoongi countered, ignoring the bulk of her questions.

“...I’m not doing this, not tonight,” Adrienne said, sounding exasperated. “You can sleep it off on the couch until the morning, but I’m going to bed.” She moved to brush past him, but Yoongi caught her wrist and pulled her towards him.

“I’m serious, Andy,” Yoongi sounded more lucid, though still clearly tipsy and swaying slightly. The bravado he'd tried to project earlier had vanished.

“I’m not afraid to be with you, I know you think that I am, but I’m not...not anymore. My job is important to me, and I’ve never wanted to risk having anything distract me from being successful…. Not until I met you.” He said softly, his fingertips gently touching her cheek before curling around her jawline.

Adrienne wanted to pull away, to push him out of her apartment and go back to being angry with him, but the look in his red, puffy eyes broke her heart. So she allowed him to hold her. She didn’t respond with words, but her simple action of not pulling away when he cradled her face in his hands encouraged Yoongi to keep talking.

“And I don’t even mean that I think you’re a distraction, it’s just...” Yoongi sighed and tried to form what he wanted to say in a coherent way, “I was jealous earlier because it’s so hard for me to tell you exactly what I'm feeling when I don’t know how to, and Namjoon can talk to you so easily. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted him instead; actually, he’d probably treat you a lot better than I would.”

“Okay, you can shut up now,” Adrienne finally answered with a heavy sigh. “I don’t want Namjoon or anybody else. Just you. Do you know how much it hurt me to hear you accuse me of being some kind of tramp just for talking to someone else? "

“I should not have said that,” Yoongi responded quickly, his words still slurring together.

“No, you shouldn’t have. It was a terrible thing to accuse me of, Min Yoongi.” Adrienne chastised while she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi smiled broadly when she pulled him closer and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “I really do like the way you say my name.”

“You do?” Adrienne giggled and looked up at him. “You should be nice to me so I can say it more often.”

A playful smirk danced along Yoongi's lips when he looked at her again, and he pulled her head close to him and pressed his lips against her forehead in a gentle kiss that traveled down to her temple. He pressed his lips against the skin there as well before his lips skimmed against her ear. “I really want to kiss you, is that okay?”

One of his hands reached up and delicately framed Andy's face, his eyes bore into her own and held her gaze until Adrienne silently gave him permission to proceed. He moved slowly at first, not wanting to give away just how much he had been wanting to kiss her. Once their lips touched, however, it only took seconds for his body to betray his mind. Her lips were soft, just as soft as Yoongi remembered, and he couldn’t find it in himself to keep his kiss chaste like he intended.

He spared no time in gingerly teasing her lips apart with the tip of his tongue. Against her better judgment, Andy welcomed the inclusion of his tongue between her lips, dancing her own with his. She smiled against his lips as his hands moved down from her waist to completely engulf as much of her backside as he could between his palms. He pulled her body as close to his as possible, and Andy gasped lightly when his lips parted from her own and attached themselves to her neck. Every curve of her body was pressed against his, and Andy could feel a very good reason for them to stop gently poking her in the stomach.

“Can you make it back to the studio by yourself?” Adrienne asked softly with Yoongi’s face still buried in her neck.

“Are you kicking me out?” He snickered but made no effort to move.

“Won’t the boys be wondering where you are?” Andy asked as she began walking backwards, leading them both toward her bedroom.

“Hoseok knows where I am, he’ll cover for me,” Yoongi answered with a smile.

“You have to get up early tomorrow, you should get some sleep.”

“I think I’m going to sleep very well tonight.”

“But what if-”

Yoongi stopped the excuse machine with a finger on her lips. “I’ll get up early and tell everyone I slept in my studio, no one has to know I was here. Except Hobi, but even he isn’t stupid enough to say anything. Any more excuses?”

“No,” Andy replied after a moment's pause, and Yoongi smiled.

“Good.”

In a split second, he had her pressed against the wall. He pushed himself against her and she moaned. He rested his forehead against hers and ghosted his mouth over hers but didn't kiss her. He took her hand in his and trailed it down his chest until it came to the erection resting inside his pants. He wanted to ravage her, to make her feel every inch of him and everything he did to her. Yet, a small chance lingered that he might never have her like this again. So, he decided to take it slow, to tease her, to give her something to remember each time their eyes met. He kept one hand on her hip, while the other slid up her back. Their eyes engaged in an intense stare while he carefully pushed the loose fabric of her sweatshirt up and over her head; the material slowly revealed her bare chest. His imagination was nothing compared to the actual sight of her. It was almost more than he could take.

He trailed his hungry mouth down her chin, over the column of her throat and down the valley of her chest. He kissed all around the globe of her right breast first, and he could feel her heart rate begin to rise as she gasped and arched her back a little. He ran his tongue along the heavy underside of her breast, licking and nipping as he went. He just barely licked her nipple and she whimpered and grabbed his hair, forcing his mouth on her. Yoongi smiled and allowed his mouth to be maneuvered. He sucked her nipple, bit her just hard enough not to cause pain, and squeezed her flesh. His name fell from her lips, and he was sure it was the sweetest thing he'd ever heard. He teased her breasts for several minutes, until she was undulating her hips against him, just begging for some friction. He ran his lips along her stomach and then he was on his knees in front of her. He looked up at her, boring his intense gaze into her green eyes, while he took his time pulling her cotton shorts all the way off.

She shimmied her hips a little to help, and then he was met with the sight of her lacy black thong that did nothing to mask the fragrance of her arousal. He had to look down and take a minute to control the urge to forget the game he was playing and take her right then and there. Adrienne stroked his face until he got control of himself, then he hooked his fingers into the sides of her underwear and pulled them down.

Yoongi moved back a little so he could take her in. She had the most open, trusting expression on her face, and it nearly crushed him to know that he had hurt her just a few hours earlier. His eyes fell from her face to her fit, slim body, and he was immediately inundated with images of all the things he would do to her, if she let him. He wanted to make love to her, fuck her, make her see stars, make her call for God, and make her know that he would do everything in his power to make sure that she never felt hurt again. So he scooted back to her, still on his knees, and he placed his hands behind her legs. He hoisted her up enough for her to place her legs on top of his shoulders, with her back pressed to the wall. He ran his nose up her wet center, and she shivered. He groaned deeply because the scent of her made his mouth water. He teased her before diving in like a man who’d been starved for weeks.

Every moan and sigh that spilled from her lips spurred him on, and soon his fingers joined his tongue. He slipped one inside her first, then another, and he worked them up and down slowly to get her right where he wanted her. When he felt her orgasm drawing closer, he hooked his fingers at just the right time, and her whole body went stiff. She screamed, alternating between "Yoongi" and "holy shit," and he continued his ministrations until her body was spasming and she was breathing hard. He slowly removed his fingers and gently placed her on her feet again. He made a show of licking his lips and his fingers, and she looked at him through hooded, sated eyes and leaned back to keep her balance. He stroked himself through his pants, and he saw her eyes drop to his crotch.

“I can still go back to the studio if you want me to?" he asked.

Andy licked her lips and shook her head.

"You seemed like you wanted that earlier."

"Please shut up," she replied in a hoarse voice.

Yoongi kept his eyes on her as he pulled his shirt off, then unbuckled his jeans. He slipped his shoes off, then his socks, then let his jeans drop down to the floor, revealing his naked body. He walked back to her and then picked her up by her waist. He wrapped her legs around him and he rubbed himself against her. Both of them groaned. Their lips touched, but they still didn't kiss as he gently pushed himself inside of her, one inch at a time. Adrienne’s mouth fell open, and her eyes closed as she took him in. She was so warm and wet around him that he needed a moment to gather himself. Once he was sure she was okay, he rolled his hips back and forth at a slow pace. She clutched his shoulders and breathed against his lips. The only sounds in the whole house were of their bodies joining and the pleasured moans coming from both of them. They breathed on each other as they moved together. His strokes became deeper and harder, and her sounds got louder and louder. He eventually found the perfect spot for her, which in turn made it the perfect spot for him, and she squeezed him so tightly that he almost lost it.

"Yoongi," she breathed. Her eyes closed as she struggled to string together her thoughts. "I'm...I'm close."

With that declaration, Yoongi finally attacked her mouth hungrily, and their tongues met in a heated union. Their movements became reckless and desperate, and he didn't stop until Andy threw her head back and climaxed, squeezing and milking him so tightly that he couldn't help but follow right behind her. He buried his head in her shoulder as her screams pushed him over the edge, and he emptied himself inside of her.

Neither of them moved for a while as he continued to hold her against the wall. When she finally came down and stopped clenching around him, Yoongi breathed her in and kissed the soft skin of her neck. He nuzzled her with his nose in an attempt to commit the scent of her to his memory. He pulled out of her and placed her back on her feet when he finally felt the strength return to his legs. Without a word he guided them both towards the edge of Adrienne’s bed and they both fell face first into the covers.

Yoongi steps out of his building, running a hand through his long hair and checking his phone for his emails. There might be a meeting today; he hasn’t been invited to it yet and he hopes it stays that way, but there’s really no telling. 

He squints slightly as he steps out, tilting his head up to the sky before he puts on a pair of sunglasses. It’s a beautiful day, the kind that movie montages are made in, but his is a day of errands and catching up on work so he doesn’t see himself being able to enjoy it. He heads out to the above ground parking for his Range Rover, but does a double take when he reaches.

Standing next to the hood of a car and holding a coffee, Miso smiles a rare smile. “Hi.”

Yoongi halts before taking two slower steps, feeling a smile already creeping up his face. “Am I in a dream? What - what’s happening?” he asks, taking off his sunglasses. “You’re alone? And smiling? Who died?”

She gives him a look but her shoulders are still relaxed as she reaches behind her and reveals another cup of coffee which she brings to him.

“You said you had a break for two days in Seoul and miraculously, one of them coincides with one of the rarest, most auspicious days that only comes about once every year or so,” she tells him, handing him the cup. “Also known as the day my father is abroad and Seungkwan is at my mother’s disposal for the entire day, thereby leaving me to blissfully exist as their last priority.”

Yoongi takes the cup with a chuckle, no longer a stranger to her dry humour. “So you came to see me?”

She nods, and he thinks he sees a tinge of pink creeping up her cheeks. “The whole… asking my father for my passport thing didn’t quite work,” she admits, pushing her own sunglasses up her nose. “But your tour seems like it’s going well and… I don’t know. I guess for one day, you can tell me about it in person instead of over text at some ungodly hour of the night.”

Something expands in Yoongi’s chest but doesn’t acknowledge it out loud. This might be the most spontaneous he’s ever seen Miso and it feels too precious to disturb. 

“Sounds like a plan,” he agrees, sipping the coffee and feeling like he’s finally waking up. “I do have some stuff to get done today, though,” he warns her. “I need to meet Jimin for a quick thing before picking up some stuff in Gangnam, then the studio -”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” she asks, and he can’t tell if she’s joking.

Yoongi exhales, taking her coffee cup from her hand and placing both cups behind her on the hood of the car. Ignoring her mild frown, he tugs her gently by the hand and slowly wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her to him. He waits until she hugs him back, a bit stiffly, before frowning suddenly.

“It’s okay that I’m doing this, right?” he asks, pulling away slightly. “I mean… you won’t get in trouble…?” he ventures, looking around suddenly as though expecting to be filmed.

“I don’t think my father has spies in the UN Village tracking me,” she says lightly, before stepping away. 

Yoongi nods. “It’s good to see you, Kang Chanel,” he murmurs, leaning forward and pressing a lingering kiss to her cheek. 

Her mouth curves upwards slightly, but then she rolls her eyes. “Don’t get sentimental on me, Min Suga.” She steps backwards and opens the drivers’ door to the car and slides inside. “You’ll be late for your errands,” she informs him, tucking her coffee into the holder next to the gear shift.

Missed you, too. He follows suit, strapping himself into his seat while she fiddles with the stereo, the morning already seeming brighter.

—

“You’re going to be late, you know?”

Namjoon nods and rolls them over, gently pressing her back into the bed as he captures his lips in hers. “You’re the one making me late, if that makes you feel better,” he murmurs against her jaw.

“Way to shift responsibility,” she responds, wrapping her arms around his neck and sighing softly, feeling his arms slide down her waist.

“You came in here and took off all your clothes as I was about to leave,” he reminds her, lips moving down her collarbone, past the flimsy material of her top. “How is that my fault?”

“I came here to change my pants,” she retorts, pushing him back so they’ve switched positions. Kaya sits up, straddling him, and runs a hand through her long hair so it falls gracefully down one shoulder. “And only because you spilled water on them,” she adds with finality.

Namjoon grins up at her, eyes hazy with arousal, and her heart skips a beat. Maybe it’s the shirt he’s wearing this morning, maybe it’s the residual aftermath of their break-up from last year, but it’s harder than ever to stay apart. But she has an important date with herself today, and it’s a working day for her boyfriend.

“That’s right. I was picturing you taking off all your clothes,” he amends, sighing dramatically. “Guess I’ll be picturing it all day now.”

“You do that.” Kaya pats his chest and climbs off him, reaching for a pair of jeans and pulling them on. She feels Namjoon’s eyes on her and holds his gaze as she gets dressed, until he finally sits up.

“Can you just fucking move here or something?” he asks wistfully. “I really miss you.”

She nods in understanding, not knowing how to respond to that. “I miss you, too. Your apartment is, like, five times the size of mine.”

He clicks his tongue. “The bigger it is, the emptier it feels.” He frowns slightly. “By the way, your mouth tastes of watermelon,” he says curiously.

“Watermelon?”

“Yeah. Hang on - I can’t be sure. C’mere,” he mutters, pulling her by the hand and kissing her. “Yep, that’s watermelon. I can’t remember the last time I had something that healthy in my house,” he remarks, raising his eyebrows.

“It’s probably the supplement I’m taking,” she guesses, turning towards the mirror and finger-combing her hair. “It’s Vitamin D and iron and something else - I don’t remember.”

“What do you mean? Did a doctor tell you to take them?”

“Yeah, he thinks it’s because I’m not getting enough sleep,” she says absently. “This last stage of my dissertation is killer so he thinks it might be causing deficiencies of some kind in my system.” She shrugs. “But watermelon, huh?”

Namjoon looks like he’s about to say something but shakes his head at the last moment. “Yeah. It’s nice.” He wrinkles his nose. “Is that weird? Liking what you taste like?”

She bites her lip and meets his gaze in the mirror. “No, it’s endearing. I kind of miss what you taste like, too, when we’re not together.”

“Yeah?” His smile widens as he leans back on his hands, tossing his hair out of his eyes. “What do I taste like?”

Kaya hums, thinking. “Chocolate. Dark chocolate,” she clarifies. “Sometimes red wine, sometimes straight up whiskey,” she adds, noting how he chuckles self-consciously. “Sometimes that coconut water that you have stockpiled in your studio.”

“Wow.” He nods thoughtfully. “What do I taste like today?”

She locks her eyes with his in the mirror again. “Cigarettes.”

There’s a pause where she can see him being caught off guard by her response, before his shoulders fall slightly. “Have to admit, I didn’t see that coming.”

Kaya finally turns around and crosses her arms across her chest, feeling a little guilty about potentially ruining a nice moment. “Look, I don’t want to be that girlfriend - the one who tells you what to do and what not to do… so if you could just realise it on your own?” she ventures, raising her shoulders.

“It’s not like I’m doing it regularly,” is all he says, but she can sense his feeling of being caught. 

“Yeah, I know, which is why I don’t really bring it up. But I also haven’t ever tasted it on you at ten in the morning,” she points out. “Do I need to be worried?”

She waits for the answer to be an immediate no, but when Namjoon sighs and hesitates, her heart sinks a little in disappointment. “I don’t think so,” he says a little later. “Just… with the album and everything, things have been a little stressful. I know you know what that’s like.”

She scoffs. “Weed is nowhere near as bad as pure tobacco. And I’m definitely not smoking up first thing in the morning.”

“Look, I’ve stopped before and I can stop again. I’ll have to - it’s not like I can keep it going in the military.”

There’s a pause. “Fine. Prove it,” she says. “Go the rest of the day without a single cigarette, and I’ll probably believe you.”

Namjoon raises his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Maybe I’m being a buzzkill but unfortunately for you, I love you and I’d rather not see you die an early death.”

His jaw hardens slightly. Then he shrugs. “Fine. I won’t smoke the rest of the day if you don’t stay away from work for the rest of the day.”

“What?” She scoffs again. “How is that the same thing?”

“Overworking won’t kill you the way smoking will, but it can’t be good. Kaya, you’re supposed to be on vacation,” he reminds her. “You’ve been here four days and you’ve worked during all of them. Last night, you were up later than I was. You’re on medication because of it.”

“They’re supplements,” she corrects him, feeling distinctly called out. “And… this isn’t about me.”

“You can be worried about my health but I can’t be worried about yours?” He stands up, his height making her heart stutter again. “I think it’s a fair bet, no?”

Kaya narrows her eyes at him. “Fine. I won’t work. That’s easy.”

“That includes checking your emails.”

She feels her face fall slightly. “That’s… fine,” she repeats, although less confidently this time. “I’ll be able to tell if you smoke. The smell lingers,” she informs him. 

“I’m aware. And checking your email and visiting your college intranet leaves timestamps.”

“Deal.” She sticks out a hand which he takes, shaking it before tugging her towards him. Her stomach flips. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he says, grabbing her around the waist and tossing her on the bed, making her gasp in surprise. “Just kissing on it.”

—

Chaeyoung checks her reflection in the mirror, checks her small overnight suitcase and checks her phone, before stepping out of her room and shutting the door behind her. She can hear Sooah’s voice in the living room and with some trepidation, she heads over to her and Jimin lounging on the sofa.

“It’s just ridiculous,” Sooah is saying, slamming her laptop shut and tossing it to the side. “Every day is a nightmare of indecisiveness and I have to waste my time executing every idea and negotiating with vendors, just when she changes her mind because of a Pinterest post.”

“Her own management has to be pretty pissed, too,” remakes Jimin, lying down by her side and scrolling through his phone. “Oi - what if she goes so overboard that they just has, like, a breakdown? And the whole thing has to be cancelled?”

“Don’t even say that,” she warns him when she catches sight of Chaeyoung. “After all this effort if we actually lose this client, I can probably kiss my job goodbye. Hey,” she says to Chaeyoung with a sigh. “Sorry, was I too loud?”

“Not at all,” she answers, shaking her head as she approaches the couple. “Is everything okay?”

“No, but I’m not going to worry about it today,” decides Sooah. “I have the day off so I’m not thinking about it till Monday.” She frowns. “Why do you look so worried?”

“Do I?” When Sooah nods, Chaeyoung takes a deep breath and sits on the coffee table, opposite her and Jimin. “Actually… I could use your help. Both your help.”

“Oh?” Sooah raises her eyebrows as Jimin sits up as well next to her, dark hair tousled. “What’s up?”

“Well…” Chaeyoung takes another deep breath, running her hands down her thighs. “I need some… advice. About - okay, wait. Oppa, this stays between the three of us, right?”

Jimin’s eyes widen and he looks around, clearly not expecting to be called out. “I - yeah. Of course. Who would I tell?” He looks from Chaeyoung to Sooah. “Okay. Fine. Yes, of course this stays between us.”

“Okay, then.” She tries again. “I need advice,” she repeats. “Like… dating advice. As you know, Hoseok and I have been sort of dating for a few weeks now,” she begins, when Jimin whoops. When both girls simply frown at him in confusion, his grin vanishes.

“Oh. Sorry. It felt just a cheer-worthy moment. Sorry. Carry on.”

“Well, it’s been going… well. Surprisingly well. But it’s also… I don’t know, casual? Like, neither of us are talking about it in depth, about where we are, how serious we are - all that stuff.”

“So… why don’t you just ask him?” Sooah suggests. “Are you worried you’ll scare him?”

“Not exactly…” Chaeyoung struggles to articulate it. “I don’t think it’ll freak him out. I just can’t be the one to bring it up. I guess I just want to know where he is with all this, you know? Especially because we’re both going back to Gwangju today for the long weekend and my brother’s going to be there, too, which is sure to freak Hobi out and…” She lowers her eyes and sighs. “I don’t want him to start reconsidering this or something.”

Jimin shakes his head slowly. “I don’t think you need to worry about that. He talks about you a lot,” he adds earnestly. 

“No, not reconsidering… you know, dating me,” she replies, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up her face. “But… I just want to go there knowing where we are, hopefully without having to talk about it. How he feels or- or…” She trails off, feeling a bit exposed as she says it out loud.

“Chae… I’m afraid Hoseok is the only one that can actually tell you,” says Sooah slowly. 

“Isn’t there any kind of way I can make him bring it up?” Chaeyoung presses. “You know about our past. I really don’t want to be the one all eager to have the conversation about us - I just can’t do it. Especially since we’ll have to spend the whole weekend pretending to be casual friends connected through my brother anyway.” Chaeyoung shakes her head. “Look, you two have known each other for decades, too,” she points out. “How did you know how you felt about each other when you started going out last year?”

Sooah and Jimin look similarly doubtful, but Jimin is the first to speak. 

“Well… I always knew how I felt about Sooah,” he begins, shrugging in a matter-of-fact way as he glances at his girlfriend. “Maybe the intensity changed when we spent years apart and the rest of the time… I guess I was in denial,” he admits sheepishly, grinning when Sooah fondly punches his shoulder. “But Sooah was always the one, ever since we were fifteen. She’s Kim Sooah. She’s fun, she’s smart, she brightens up every room… and she’s only gotten hotter over the years,” he adds seriously.

Chaeyoung exhales, saying nothing as she turns to Sooah who’s gazing up at Jimin with a sparkle in her eye. “Unnie?”

“Okay, first of all, I can’t ever stay mad at him for longer than five minutes because he says things like that,” she says dryly, tucking a lock of hair deliberately behind her ear. “And… Jimin is the absolute sweetest guy I know. That’s been the case since we met in high school - he was cute and shy but he was already the best person I knew. He’s loyal and hardworking and, uh…” She reaches over and taps his bicep. “As millions of girls will second me, he is a total smokeshow.”

There’s a moment of silence before Jimin sighs. “Come here,” he murmurs, pulling Sooah to him and wrapping his arms around her. “I love you, Kim Sooah,” he says, kissing the side of her head.

“I love you, too, Park Jimin,” she says into his shoulder. “We’re so lucky!” she exclaims, making him laugh.

Jimin hugs her tighter. “I know. I can’t even remember what we were fighting about,” he adds, making her laugh and nod.

Chaeyoung stares at them. “You weren’t fighting. You were helping me with my problem.”

“Right.” Jimin and Sooah separate, clearing their throats before the latter leans forward. “Chae. What exactly are you afraid of?”

“Acting like the thirteen year old me around him,” she answers instantly. “I’m not that person anymore and he’s not that person anymore. We’ve both grown up and I just want to know how he feels without actually asking him how he feels.” She places her hands on her lap, having said her piece. “So? Any words of advice? Because we’re leaving for Gwangju in, like… half an hour.”

The silence is deafening.

“Okay, thanks.” Chaeyoung nods and stands up, feeling like she might spiral when Sooah stops her. 

“Look, I get it. I promise, we’ll think of something,” she assures her, squeezing her hand. 

“Hey, maybe Yoongi hyung will have some ideas,” pipes up Jimin, reading something on his phone. “He’s coming over to drop a demo tape for me before he flies out again on Sunday.”

“No! God, Jimin oppa -” Chaeyoung clicks her tongue while Sooah slaps his shoulder. “This stays between us, remember?”

“Fine, fine,” he says quickly, backing away. “He’s almost here anyway.” He turns to peer out the window. “Wait - I think that’s his car.”

Miso pulls up outside the building and switches off the car. “Is this it?” she asks, looking up at the small structure with half a dozen floors, vines and leaves decorating a single side.

“Yeah,” mutters Yoongi, unstrapping the seatbelt. “I don’t know if everyone’s home but Jimin’s definitely here so Sooah must be, too. Come on,” he says, moving to open his door.

“Oh, yeah - no.” Miso shrinks back into her seat. “If you just need to go up for a second, I’ll wait down here.”

Yoongi frowns. “What? Like a chauffeur? Miso - this is Jimin. You know Jimin.”

“Yes, but it’s not like we’re friends. And I don’t know his girlfriend either.” She shakes her head with finality and sits back in her seat. “I’ll wait here.”

He stares at her for a few seconds before speaking again. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt to step out of your comfort zone once in a while. What exactly are you afraid of with Jimin?”

Miso bites her lip, aware that there’s no way to explain just how terrible she is with people, but also aware that Yoongi of all people should know this. The last thing she wants to do today is bicker with him, however, so she sighs and nods.

“Fine. Let’s go.” She unstraps herself from the seat and catches Yoongi’s pleasantly surprised expression. “Don’t get excited. You’re just dropping off a tape, right? So, like… a couple of minutes, tops?”

“Absolutely.”

They reach the apartment and Yoongi rings the doorbell while Miso hangs back slightly, feeling anxious. When the door opens, it’s done by a girl Miso has never seen before: petite with long hair and doe eyes, so slender that she looks like a gust of wind might blow her away.

“Hey, Yoongi hyung! See, I was right,” comes a voice from inside the house that Miso recognises as Park Jimin’s, smug and musical all at once. She follows Yoongi inside, noting the double take Jimin does when he spots her.

“Uh - hi, noona,” he says, sounding a bit uncertain but immediately introducing her to the two girls that she presumes are the actual residents of the apartment. She gives them an awkward wave in response, continuing to stay out of the way as a wave of low chatter ensues, easy and familiar as though they’ve all known each other forever. 

 “Oh, thanks.” Jimin sighs when Yoongi hands him a small, sleek silver pendrive the size of a grape. 

“Just remember to add backing vocals to it or it’ll sound way too flat,” says Yoongi, picking up his bag and looking ready to leave. Miso exhales in relief and starts to move towards the door when Jimin stops them.

“Wait, this doesn’t have backing vocals?” His eyes widen dramatically. “I thought Hobi hyung already recorded them!”

“Didn’t have the time,” says Yoongi, shrugging. “Just get together with him in the studio tomorrow and ask him to ad lib it. I’ll be gone but you can ask Miso and Donghyuk for help,” he adds, evidently not realising how Miso’s heart almost jumps out of her chest at hearing her name. “She composed most of it anyway.”

He looks automatically at Miso and she nods slowly, her eyes flickering between Yoongi and Jimin. “Um, yeah. Sure. Come to the studio when - whenever.”

“Uh, thanks, noona, but that’s not the problem. Hobi hyung won’t be there,” says Jimin. “He’s leaving for Gwangju today.”

Yoongi swears under his breath. “Oh, come on. I don’t think I’ll be able to squeeze it in today,” he mutters, checking his phone.

“He’s on his way here right now.” The petite girl with the headband pipes up. “If that’ll help.”

Jimin and Yoongi exchange looks while Miso feels a looming dread. 

“I have a portable mic and my laptop,” volunteers Yoongi, shrugging. “Quality won’t be as good but it should work for now, until he’s back and you can do it at the studio.” He turns to Miso, as though to see what she thinks, but the semi-smile fades, presumably at her expression.

Saved by the bell, she thinks murderously as the girl in the headband - Chaeyoung, Miso remembers suddenly - skips over to open the door again, this time to see Hoseok standing in the doorway.

“Hey, y - oh, hey,” he stutters, his tone changing when he takes in the half a dozen people in the living room. “Um -” His eyes fall to Chaeyoung, who bites her lip and lets him in as their eyes dart around awkwardly for a moment before he finally presses a quick kiss to the top of her head. 

Chaeyoung is blushing as she closes the door and Hoseok troops in, catching sight of Miso. “Oh, wow! Hey, noona,” he says, high-fiving her as though she’s an old friend he hasn’t seen in ages. It occurs to Miso suddenly that the last time she saw Hoseok, she was drenched with blood running down her face, and her greeting is therefore a bit subdued.

“Soooo, what’s going on?” he asks, looking around. “Is there some party happening at -” He checks his watch “- eleven fifteen in the morning that I’m not aware of?”

“We need you to record something for us,” informs Yoongi as Jimin reaches over and grabs Hoseok by the arm, steering him over to one of the bedrooms.

“Now? But we have to -”

“It won’t take long,” interrupts Jimin, before peering over his shoulder at the rest of them. “You ladies are okay to wait for a little bit, right?”

Chaeyoung and Sooah shrug and mumble unintelligibly, while Miso glares at Yoongi.

“Comfort zone,” he reminds her in a low voice, turning around and walking backwards, “noona.”

“Bite me, Min Suga,” she hisses, wanting to throw something as he flashes an amused grin at her before disappearing into the room with his group members.

Miso tears her eyes away from the door with difficulty to see the two other girls looking back at her. “Um,” she begins, clearing her throat awkwardly. “Maybe I should… leave,” she ventures.

“Oh.” Sooah frowns curiously, perching on the arm of the sofa while Chaeyoung sifts through the fruit bowl on their small dining table. The entire living room is roughly the size of Miso’s bathroom, and the photo frames and trinkets, the mismatched pots with leafy plants interspersed across the room and the soft throw across the back of the couch would give her mother a heart attack. Part of her wants to touch the throw, for it looks incredibly soft.

“Didn’t you come with Yoongi? You can wait with us, if you want.” She smiles a confident, easy smile. “We won’t bite.”

She offers so nonchalantly that Miso almost finds herself considering it. “I just - I don’t want to intrude,” she says, “especially if you have plans or -”

“Damn it, not this again!” Sooah exclaims suddenly, her eyes on her phone. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, unnie. It’s just this - this crazy client is ruining my day off.”

Miso raises her eyebrows while Chaeyoung snorts. “You sound like you could use a drink.”

“You know what? I really could.” She strides into the kitchen and Miso can hear the sound of a cabinet creaking open.

“Wait, I was joking - Sooah, it’s not even noon.”

“So? It’s noon somewhere,” she calls from inside the kitchen. “And as I recall, don’t you have to spend the next two days around your family pretending like you and Hoseok aren’t an item?”

“That’s right. Grab me a glass, too?”

“You got it. Miso unnie, you’re drinking, too, right?”

Miso, who had been ready to take this as her chance to leave, freezes. “Um -” She sighs quietly. “I have to drive,” she says after a moment.

Sooah pops her head out of the kitchen. “Can’t Yoongi drive?” she asks, just as muffled music begins playing from inside one of the bedrooms.

“Right,” mutters Miso through gritted teeth. “Yoongi.” His slightly mocking refrain of comfort zone, noona comes back to her; she doesn’t want to prove him right but at the same time, she remembers how his pensive face had broken into a smile at the sight of her this morning. It’s infuriating, but almost as though she can’t help it, Miso finds herself nodding.

She traipses into the kitchen to see Sooah retrieving wine glasses one by one from a cabinet while Chaeyoung cuts up an apple into smaller pieces. A bottle of white wine sits on the counter; Miso picks it up, not recognising the name, and turns it over. Automatically, her gaze drops to the price sticker, which explains why she’s never heard of this wine. She places it back carefully on the counter, musing wryly at her father’s reaction if he were ever offered a drink at this price point.

The kitchen is small and cluttered, but it’s the sight of two young women bustling around inside it that’s truly remarkable to Miso. It’s a far cry from her parents’ personal chef that moves robotically around their sleek modern kitchen that makes her dread every mealtime.

“So, unnie, you’re a record producer, too?” Sooah asks as she hands her a glass. 

“Um, yes. At Hybe. That’s how I know those guys,” she adds, pointing vaguely towards the bedrooms.

“Wow, that’s so cool,” says Chaeyoung, sounding rather like she means it. “Female producers are so rare.”

“It’s badass,” agrees Sooah, popping open the bottle and pouring  some into her own glass.

Miso doesn’t quite know how to respond, for it’s quite possibly the first time anyone has ever referred to her as cool, let alone badass. When Sooah brings the bottle to her glass and raises her eyebrows questioningly, Miso simply nods, feeling unexpectedly gratified, and takes a sip. She’s pleasantly surprised to discover that the wine is delicious.

Sooah agrees apparently, taking a much larger sip and sighing as she clutches the glass to her chest. “I’m going to get fired. All because this headcase of an actress can’t make up her damn mind.”

Chaeyoung catches Miso’s eye and tilts her head. “She works in event planning. Right now she’s got this client who’s… what can I say?” she asks Sooah. “Making her life hell.”

“Hell,” repeats Sooah. “But, no, that’s not even half of it. So, okay, the way this client actually got signed was through her cousin who’s friends with our CEO…”

Sooah takes them through the entire story of her hellish client, a minor actress who she says she can’t name due to an NDA, but drops enough hints that Chaeyoung at least seems to know who she’s talking about. Miso nods along at every pause, taking cues from Chaeyoung as to when to chuckle or make sympathetic noises. She wonders, though, if these girls really are being terribly polite for the sake of their boyfriends in letting her stay here and drink their wine. 

They are much younger than her - that much Miso can tell instantly, and she’s sure they can as well - but there’s a level of ease with which they’ve welcomed a new person into their home that Miso doesn’t even feel she can relate to. She takes a piece of apple when Chaeyoung offers her the bowl; she wonders if this is a regular occurrence for them, preparing their own snacks, cleaning their own kitchen, having their friends come and go without care. 

Somewhere along the way during the story, they end up sitting on the kitchen floor and facing each other, cradling their glasses while the bottle sits in the middle of their little circle.

“- tries way too hard. But maybe I’m wrong. Unnie, what do you think?”

It takes Miso a moment to realise she’s lost track of Sooah’s story. “Um… I think…” Shit.

“Chae doesn’t agree with me,” adds Sooah, pointing at her roommate who shrugs matter-of-factly. “She thinks the client’s management makes most of these decisions but she’s getting all the flack for it because she’s a public figure. But she’s the one paying her management,” she says, giving Chaeyoung a pointed look. 

“But don’t you think artists could be getting manipulated by their management, too?” Chaeyoung presses, turning to Miso. “Hobi told me it happens a lot.”

“Oh. Uh -” Miso swallows. Sooah seems like the kind of person who’s had friends and admirers her whole life, while Chaeyoung is more insightful than Miso can remember being at that age (or any age). Therefore, it’s somewhat strange how they’re both looking expectantly at Miso, as though genuinely wanting her opinion on this topic.

“Well, it’s true,” she begins slowly, her eyes fixed somewhere on the floor between both the girls. “Sometimes decisions taken by an artist’s team can reflect badly on the artist. But that’s why we limit the access that managers get to the studio, so that they have some freedom to express themselves honestly. Sometimes they’re a whole different person.”

Both the girls nod seriously. 

“But sometimes they’re just a bitch.”

There’s a pause before Sooah snorts and Chaeyoung laughs, and they begin debating which one this mysterious client is more likely to be. Miso listens, a strange sort of lightness spreading through her chest at this unexpected approval. She takes another sip of the delicious wine, which only seems to have gotten sweeter.

“So, unnie,” begins Sooah after a little while, “how long have you and Yoongi been dating?”

Miso chokes. “Oh, we’re not - we’re not dating. God, no.” As she says it, a series of images flash through her mind in no particular order: their hands meeting in a pitch black elevator, a coat room and a sudden kiss, sitting fully clothed under a running shower, falling asleep in the comfort of his arms. “I mean… we’re colleagues. And friends, I guess. Kind of.”

“Oh. Sorry. It seemed like you two were - anyway, I shouldn’t have assumed.” Sooah taps her roommate’s knee. “Little Chaeyoung here is having relationship troubles and I thought we could help -”

“Unnie, shh!” Chaeyoung whispers, looking terrified as she whips around in the direction of the bedrooms. 

“Oh, don’t worry,” says Miso. “As long as you can still hear that clicking sound, it means the record is playing and they’re still working.”

They all fall silent, collectively listening for the sound. After a few moments, Chaeyoung nods, looking relieved as the clicking is replaced once again by louder music.

“Okay,” she sighs heavily. “That’s a relief. And I’m not having relationship troubles,” she disagrees, glaring at Sooah. “I’m just… having trouble.”

“Yes, and we are here to help,” replies Sooah reassuringly, helping herself to another glass of wine. “But I’m not even sure you know fully what you’re having trouble with.”

“Yes, I do! I told you, I -” She pauses abruptly to turn again and make sure they’re alone. “I want to know where we are as a couple,” she says clearly, in a low voice. “I want to have the conversation without, you know, actually having the conversation.”

“But what’s the outcome you’re looking for? Do you want to attach a label to the relationship, do you want to know how serious he is about this - everything depends on that.”

“I just want to know how he feels!” Chaeyoung exclaims, clearly getting frustrated now. “But I want him to initiate it - like, I don’t want to direct the conversation at all. I mean - look, he’ll tell me if I ask him. But we’re just - we’re casual right now. I can’t be the one to ask. You know that,” she says with finality. “I just can’t.” 

There’s a pause for several seconds after which Sooah takes a deep breath and shrugs. “Okay, then. It has to be some sort of gesture. Hey, maybe you can get someone else to get him talking. I can ask Jimin if you’re willing to -”

“No!” Chaeyoung shudders. “Absolutely not. Jimin is very sweet but he’s… I mean, he’s not the most…”

“He’s got a huge mouth, I agree.” Sooah bites her lip. “Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way. I don’t know - do you think we’re missing something, unnie?”

Chaeyoung follows Sooah’s gaze and once again, Miso finds two sets of eyes looking at her earnestly, waiting for her advice. She frowns in mild internal panic; this entire line of conversation is so far away from anything she’s familiar with that she can’t imagine contributing anything meaningful to this debate. 

Still, there’s something about the way both girls have turned to her that makes her feel responsible for providing the right guidance, despite how out of her depth she is. 

“Well,” she says finally, taking a sip of wine (delicious, fruity, summery) before leaning back against the cabinet and bringing her knees to her chest. “Sometimes, when we have an artist or a group that isn’t committing to dates or being really closed off about their future plans, we tend to bring in another artist to the discussion, just to observe their reaction.” She gives them a small shrug. “It gives us a reasonable indication as to where they are.”

Sooah scoffs quietly. “Holy shit. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”

Chaeyoung shakes her head, eyes wide. “What?”

Sooah pats Miso’s knee casually. “You’re a genius. Chae - I mean, this is going to be kind of an unfeminist suggestion, but if you want to know how he feels, a great way is to make him jealous,” she suggests, sipping her wine conspiratorially. 

“Huh. That could work. How, though?”

“Oh, that’s easy. Fake a run-in with an ex, fangirl over a singer he’s worked with - the world is your oyster,” she answers breezily, stretching her legs out in front of her. “Trust me, it’ll totally work. Don’t go overboard to the point where he’ll sulk the rest of the night but a little jealousy - foolproof for a reaction.”

“Okay. Oh, my God, I can’t believe I finally have an answer to this,” says Chaeyoung, laughing weakly. “I swear, I was up half the night wondering how to talk about this, you know -”

“Without actually talking about it,” all three girls say it in unison. Miso doesn’t realise she’s laughing with them until Chaeyoung brings her glass to the middle of the circle and all them clink their drinks together. They hear the bedroom door open and the sound of footsteps and low chatter until Jimin, Hoseok and Yoongi reach the kitchen.

“Alright, we’re done here,” says Hoseok, gently tapping Chaeyoung’s shoulder. “Are you ready to leave?”

“Yeah,” she says, standing up and placing her empty glass in the sink. Sooah stands up as well, handing her glass to Jimin who downs the remaining drink in one go. Miso stands as well, meeting Yoongi’s meaningful gaze. When he raises his eyebrows, she rolls her eyes and silently tells him to shut it.

They don’t talk about it until they’re back in the car and halfway through the rest of his errands. Miso can tell he wants to bring it up but he’s unsure, and she isn’t sure she’s fully processed it herself. About an hour and a half later, they stop at a roadside ramen place on a highway outside the city on their way back from Incheon. Out of habit, Miso parks some ways away from the stall and they walk the rest of the way.

“I got it,” says Yoongi, placing a couple of bills on the counter as she picks up two packs of DIY ramen. Miso says nothing, squinting mildly at him until he turns to her and they fill their bowls with hot water before walking back towards her car.

“It’s a nice day,” he remarks after a while, just as they reach. They take off their jackets and sit on two tree stumps facing each other before digging in with their disposable chopsticks. 

“It is,” she agrees through a mouthful of ramen. The light afternoon breeze feels nice on her arms and through her loose sleeveless top after the air conditioning of the car. She looks around, reasonably pleased with her choice of rest stop. They’re away from the bustle of the city, by a desolate road with trees and vegetation on either side. There’s no pollution, no traffic and no people.

“You’re a cheap date, Kang Miso.”

She chuckles. “Is that what this is?” 

“At the risk of being presumptuous, I’d say so.” 

Ignoring the dull thumping of her heart, she tosses her hair off her shoulders and looks up at him. “So, this is what a date with Min Yoongi looks like?” She reaches for her can of Diet Coke from where it’s placed on the dry grass, next to the packets of seasoning and bottles of water. “The tabloids need to know, in case it is.”

“This is not what a date with Min Yoongi looks like,” he clarifies. “But like I said, you’re a cheap date. Which is a hell of an irony,” he adds dryly.

“I can surprise you.”

“Yes, you can. I think the sight of you on Sooah and Chaeyoung’s kitchen floor definitely convinced me of that.” He makes a gesture with his hand when she groans, as if to indicate that he hasn’t forgotten. “You were smiling when I walked in. You might’ve been - dare I say it - having fun.”

“It was okay,” she says nonchalantly. “I mean, they were nice. But. You know.” She shrugs, keeping her eyes on the last of her ramen before scooping it up with her chopsticks. “Not really my type.”

“That’s probably true,” he agrees. “They’ve got that nice, wholesome thing going on, like Hoseok and Jimin. But it didn’t kill you,” he says after a moment.

Miso sighs, knowing she can’t skirt around it for much longer. “No, it didn’t. In fact… it was kind of nice.” She presses her lips together. “I dunno, can I say something kind of pathetic?”

“Go for it.”

She sucks in air through her teeth, her tongue hot from the spicy food. “It was kind of what I imagine it’s like to - to have friends. Like in the movies?” She registers his face changing momentarily and quickly continues. “But anyway. I think that was all the boy talk I could handle.”

“Oh, boy talk? Do tell.”

She chuckles. “Unfortunately, what happens in the little girly circle stays in the girly circle.”

Yoongi grins. “I don’t know why you’re surprised. You’re not that bad to hang out with.”

“Stop, I’m swooning.”

He gives her a look. “I’m serious.” He reaches for her empty bowl and starts packing up their trash. “I know you’ve been surrounded by some real douches in your life but that doesn’t mean you are one. You just need to put in a little effort.”

She squints and stands up. “Where to next? Did you say you need to be at Hybe by five?”

Yoongi observes her for a moment but thankfully lets it go. “Yeah. I think we have some time for a smoke, though?”

Miso nods, heading to the car and retrieving a pack from the glove compartment. She shuts the door behind her and tosses the pack to Yoongi, who takes out two cigarettes and lights them one by one. She follows him a few feet into the woods so they’re away from the road.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, taking one from him. “Nothing like fresh air, huh?”

Yoongi takes a long, deep drag in response and closes his eyes. “I get why we can’t smoke on tour but… man, I wish we could.”

“Doesn’t time apart make the heart grow fonder?” she asks. “Every puff of nicotine must be better than you imagined.”

Yoongi nods, flicking ash with his thumb. “I did imagine it quite a bit.” He meets her eyes. “It’s really hard to stay away, though.”

Miso clenches her jaw in an effort not to smile and doesn’t reply, smoking in silence. Yoongi finishes his cigarette first, savouring it until it’s nothing but a stub.

“Are you sure you won’t have paparazzi following you?” Miso asks.

“Here?” He takes a couple of steps towards her, slow and casual. “In the middle of nowhere? Definitely not.”

She nods, less successful in hiding the smile that flickers across her face this time. She juts her chin towards the stub between his fingers. “If you burn my clothes, I will kill you, Min Suga.”

“Duly noted.” Holding her gaze, he drops the stub and steps on it before closing the gap between them and kissing her. It’s hungry and longing, his hands cradling her face; Miso stumbles slightly before taking a few steps backwards until her back hits a tree.

She kisses him back, wrapping her arms around his neck and reaching up on the tips of her toes. His cologne smells delicious, almost as if it’s coursing through her veins and waking her up after months of sleep. 

“You know,” he murmurs, lips moving down her jaw, “if you burn my hair, Hybe will probably sue you.”

Snickering, she drops her own cigarette on the ground and puts it out with her shoe before pulling him back to her. She’d chosen this place for a reason; unlike any other place in the city, a random ramen stall and surrounding woods would be the one place where his celebrity and her situation wouldn’t matter. For once, they would be alone.

Yoongi’s hands slide up her waist, lifting up the corners of her top. She can feel his bulge hardening against her hip and pulls him closer by his belt loops. She snakes one hand down to palm him, enjoying the way he gasps against her lips. He hardens against her hand with every touch, until she swiftly undoes the button of his trousers and unzips it before slipping her hand into his boxers.

The moment she touches him, Yoongi pulls away and grabs her wrist. “Whoa. Are you serious?”

Miso raises her eyebrows and retrieves her hand, hooking her fingers on the elastic of his boxers. “Do you want me to stop?”

“It - it’s not that. It’s just…” He looks around. “Here?”

She holds his gaze. “I’ll stop if you want me to… but if the location is your only issue, then -” She shrugs deliberately. “- you may want to step out of your comfort zone, Min Suga.”

Yoongi bites his lip and against her hand, she can feel him strain against his boxers. “You’ll be the death of me, you know that?” he murmurs, capturing her lips in his once again.

Taking it as his consent, she slips her hand into his boxers again, finding him hard and erect. She strokes him as they kiss and runs her thumb against the head of his cock, her back against the tree and his long hair brushing her cheekbone.

“Fuck,” he gasps after a few minutes, pulling away and dropping his head on her shoulder. Miso squeezes his shoulder before kneeling on the wild grass and tugging his boxers down slightly, just enough so she can take him in her mouth. 

It’s quiet and intimate, in the privacy of the wilderness and mutual trust. Yoongi’s hand is gentle on the back of her head, fingers tangling in her short hair while the other is pressed against the tree for support. His gasps are soft, voice quiet as he swears under his breath until he breathes her name, and climaxes in her mouth.

“Fucking hell,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair once his trousers are back in place. His cheeks are slightly flushed and his eyes are hazy as he meets hers. “I… fuck, you’re amazing,” he murmurs, bending his head to kiss her again.

Miso kisses him back, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. “I figured if we want to go any further, this probably isn’t the best place for it.”

He chuckles, still looking a little winded. “You read my mind. Come over to the studio later?” He takes a step closer to her, eyes searching hers, almost like he’s pleading. “Don’t get me wrong, but… I don’t think we’re nearly finished here.”

That makes her laugh. “Duly noted,” she says, reaching for his crotch again. She watches as he raises his eyebrows in surprise but says nothing, holding his breath while her hand roams his hips until it stops over his pocket. She reaches in to retrieve the pack of cigarettes. “For the road,” she says nonchalantly.

They share a cigarette this time. Miso looks over at the horizon as they walk back to the car, trying not to think about how low in the sky the sun is already. It’s only late afternoon, but the day is coming to an end. Standing by the car, she lets Yoongi have the rest of the cigarette.

“What’s wrong?”

Miso shakes her head, not turning around. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure? You have that look on your face.”

“That’s just my face.”

“Miso.” He waits until she turns around, leaning back against the side of the car. “Did I do something? Back there? Did I say -”

“No, Yoongi.” She exhales, swallowing. “I’m fine.”

“Okay. But don’t say that’s your face,” he tells her, gathering all their trash in a polythene bag and knotting the ties. “If you recall, I saw your face today. Your real face - the one you have when you’re having fun.”

Miso rolls her eyes, although unsure why. “Not this again. Yeah, it was nice while it lasted but I don’t really see myself hanging out with them again. Believe me, they don’t want that either.”

Yoongi scoffs. “That’s just not true. You have this image of yourself that’s all closed off and difficult to be around, but you’re not like that at all.”

“Really? You think I’m all sunshine and daisies like Chaeyoung and Sooah?”

“No, not quite,” he admits, sounding far calmer than she is, which annoys her more. “But you aren’t nearly as antisocial as you make yourself out to be. If anything -“ He stops abruptly, apparently deciding not to say anymore.

Miso raises her eyebrows. “Well, don’t stop now. You sound like you’re on a roll.”

He gives her a look, as though asking her not to be angry. “If anything, I think you use it as an excuse to not make an effort.”

She nods and puts her sunglasses back on. “Got it. I think we should go now.” She turns to open the driver’s door but Yoongi grabs her forearm.

“Hey, I don’t want to fight,” he says softly. “I don’t mean to make you mad or - or call you out or anything. But you’re capable of building friendships,” he says, and even through the dark glass, she can feel his eyes piercing hers. “Or at least getting along with people. If you could let go of this facade you keep up and just let yourself be the person that I see…” He squeezes her hand before letting it go. “I think you’d be surprised what a little bit of effort can do.”

For a moment, Miso isn’t sure whether to scoff or cry. Her shoulders fall, but her tone is less combative when she speaks again.

“You’re going to be late,” she mutters, touching his shoulder lightly and hoping he’ll take the hint and end this conversation here. Thankfully he nods and steps away before heading to the other side of the car. They duck in and buckle their seatbelts and they’re on their way without another word.

“Just to be clear, though,” he asks after a couple of minutes. “Should I be calling you noona?”

“Not unless you want me to stab you in your sleep.”

“Got it.”

—

There’s nothing quite like home. These words were said by her mother, in laughter and mirth, in one of Chaeyoung’s favourite home videos of her childhood. Now, grown up and living by herself in the capital, she finally gets it.

Everyone seems to, in fact. Her brother is at ease on their parents’ sofa, Hoseok seemingly even more so, and Hayoung, her brother’s girlfriend and their classmate from high school, seems like a natural part of their small group of four.

The family dinner is over and it’s just them in the living room, laughing and chatting about their lives and old stories. She and Hoseok are sitting on opposite sides of the room, careful to be as nonchalant as possible. She glances at him to find him already looking at her; the moment their eyes meet, his mouth starts to curve upwards and she looks away immediately. Part of her wants to tell him to cut it out, but the other part, the part that still secretly recalls the teenage Chaeyoung that lived in this house, lets it happen.

Sooah [20:10]

Girl! Did you do it yet?

Chaeyoung bites her lip, keeping her phone screen tilted away from Hayoung who’s sitting next to her. It was bad enough that when they’d reached, her father had immediately asked, in front of everyone, the embarrassing question of Did you thank Hoseok oppa for giving you a ride? It had taken every bit of her resolve to look Hoseok in the eye, while he tried with all his energy to keep a straight face, and respond with thank you, oppa in the most innocent way possible.

The way his face had gone red was enough for Chaeyoung, but she’d opted to drop him a text right after as well, asking if there was anything she could do to really thank him. It’s been ten minutes and you’re killing me, caterpillar, was what he’d replied with, giving her a satisfaction she hadn’t expected.

Now, he and Chanyeol are guffawing as they try to remember the words to some song their class’s football team had penned to insult a rival school’s, which Chaeyoung takes as an opportunity to respond to Sooah.

Chaeyoung [20:12] Not yet. I’m kinda rethinking it if I’m being honest. We’re not even technically in a relationship yet. Do we even need to have this conversation?

Sooah [20:13] That’s why you’re not having the conversation. You’re just trying to get a reaction out of him that’ll do the work for you.

Right. Chaeyoung locks her phone and places it next to her. The trick is to maneuver the conversation correctly, she decides. She tries to pay attention to what they’re talking about, wondering if she can find an in.

“- he was the guy who got dropped from the team because the goalie didn’t like him - no wait, you’re right, it wasn’t him.”

“Yeah, that guy was a senior. I remember because he was dating that girl in our coaching class - what was her name?” Chanyeol frowns, clicking his tongue. “The one who’s working at Google now.”

“Haneul,” says Haeyoung, and both guys chorus in agreement. “She was really pretty - and she had a brother, too, if I remember correctly.”

Chaeyoung sits up straighter. Jackpot. “Yeah, his name was Jihoon,” she adds casually. “He was a couple of years above me - I think he joined a band. We ran into him in Seoul, remember, oppa?” she asks Chanyeol.

“Oh, yeah,” he says slowly, before frowning. “Wait, wasn’t he the guy who had a thing for you when you were in college or something?”

“M-hm,” she answers, taking care to only observe Hoseok out of the corner of her eye. “He asked me out a couple of times but it didn’t really go anywhere.”

“Wait, I remember him,” pipes in Hayoung. “Yeah - didn’t his band perform at that festival in Busan last year? It was all over the school Instagram page.”

“Oh, I remember that!” Hoseok exclaims, nodding. “I went with Namjoon - they did that cover of Sweet Child of Mine. It sounded even better in person,” he tells them.

Chanyeol and Hayoung nod, vaguely impressed, while Chaeyoung frowns. “Yeah, well - I actually ran into him again, just a few weeks ago. Right after that big storm,” she adds pointedly, this time glancing at Hoseok for a few seconds as well. “His band is performing again and he asked if I’d like to go watch him.”

“Oh, you definitely should,” says Hoseok emphatically, to her surprise. “Especially if it’s a place with good acoustics because the instrumentals were fantastic.”

“Okay,” says Chaeyoung, after a pause. “We ended up chatting for a while actually. He said if I want, I can go backstage as well. Apparently the have an after party with loads of booze.”

Chanyeol clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “Loads of booze with a bunch of older musician types? That sounds like the exact kind of situation I don’t want you in.”

Chaeyoung starts to scoff, but Hoseok speaks up instead. “Hey! I’m one of those musician types!”

“You’re an idol, dude. You’re not one of those musician types,” he clarifies. “I don’t see a ton of drugs or single girls being invited backstage to your concerts. No offense.”

“None taken - I think.” Hoseok chucks a piece of popcorn at Chanyeol. “But I won’t tolerate this slander.”

“Exactly - Chan, you have to let her live,” adds Haeyoung, both of them clearly enjoying ganging up on her brother, who groans. “This is the age to have fun experiences like that. Chase, just make sure enough people know where you are. I mean, this is where it comes in handy to have a family friend in the entertainment business,” she adds wisely, pointing exaggeratedly at Hoseok.

“Precisely. Thank you, Hayoung,” says Hoseok loudly. “Chae - I will need all your information before we send you to this party from Chanyeol’s nightmares.” Both he and Hayoung laugh at Chanyeol’s stony expression while Chaeyoung stays silent, wondering where the hell she’s going wrong and wanting to throttle Sooah.

“Just make sure you take pictures, too,” continues Hayoung, “although if he still has a crush on you, you could wear anything and it won’t matter.”

Hoseok laughs even harder, clapping his hands at Chanyeol’s horrified groan. “Adding onto Chanyeol’s worst nightmare! Maybe there will be cocaine, too - I mean, don’t do any, of course,” he adds quickly to Chaeyoung, as though advising her to wear a seatbelt. “But definitely take pictures.”

Chaeyoung grits her teeth. Don’t go overboard, Sooah had said confidently, but that’s seeming like a non-starter at this point. “I will,” she says, now no longer bothering to be subtle about checking for Hoseok’s reaction. “Although he did seem like he just wanted me to go. Turns out he just broke up with his girlfriend.”

Next to her, she can sense Hayoung frowning at her curiously, just enough to give Chaeyoung the validation that she’s saying the right thing to raise eyebrows - just not the right eyebrows.

Meanwhile, Chanyeol grimaces while Hoseok nods sympathetically. “Poor guy,” he remarks. “A concert could be good to make him feel better, though.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it will,” mutters Chaeyoung, standing up and trying not to storm out of the room too obviously. She doubts any of them will care that she’s gone. It’ll leave them to their reminiscence about high school until Chanyeol and Hayoung retreat to his room and Hoseok - well, it doesn’t really seem as though Hoseok cares about anything at all.

She reaches her old bedroom and slams the door shut behind her, refusing to cry over Jung Hoseok in this room ten years later. Her real beef, she decides, is with Sooah; sitting briskly at the foot of her bed, she swipes up her phone screen with force to bring up their chat, when there’s a knock on the door. She ignores it, but it repeats again.

“Go away,” she calls. “I’m naked.”

“Uh…” The voice deliberately lowers. “Is that supposed to keep me away?”

Rolling her eyes, Chaeyoung stomps over to her door and unlocks it, turning away before it can even fully open. From outside, she can hear Chanyeol and Hayoung saying goodnight.

“Yeah, I’ll just get my charger - probably in Chae’s bag!” Hoseok says loudly. “See you guys in the morning!” There are a few more words exchanged before she hears the bedroom door close and assumes the coast is finally clear.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice is completely different, gentle and tender - and uncertain. “Is something wrong?”

“Nope.”

“I don’t believe that for a second, Chae. Come on, you can tell me,” he presses, reaching for her arm which she dodges. “Wait - are you mad at me?”

“Oh, no,” she says, finally turning around and shrugging. “Nothing to be mad at. Obviously you’re okay with me going to a random party with musician types and doing a ton of drugs - why would I be mad?”

“Okay, I specifically said not to do any drugs,” he clarifies. “But… wait, is that why you’re mad? Aren’t you the one who hates it when me or Chan try to tell you what to do?”

This is unfortunately true, but she doesn’t opt to respond to this. “So - just so I’m clear,” she says instead, crossing her arms across her chest, “you’re totally okay with me going to this party?”

“I mean… yeah, I guess. Just don’t drink too much and keep your phone on,” he says, almost as though he’s guessing the correct answer. “And don’t do any -”

“Oh, God, enough about the drugs!” she interrupts, rolling her eyes and scoffing when he immediately shushes at her to lower her voice. “Do you really not care that a guy who’s older than me - a single guy - who’s in a band and had a crush on me is inviting me backstage to a party? Seriously?” 

“Of course I care! I want you to be safe - that’s why I said that thing about keeping your phone on and - and not drinking!”

“That’s all you care about?” she cries incredulously. “What - what is it? Is it something about being back here that makes you just - just not care at all about anything other than annoying my brother? You aren’t the slightest bit jealous that a single hot guy who might very well be hitting on me is inviting me to a party without you?”

Hoseok’s forehead clears slightly, but he still looks confused. “You - you’re mad because I’m not jealous?” When she simply shakes her head and turns away in answer, his tone softens. “But… why would I be jealous?”

“I don’t know, Hobi,” she mutters, throwing her phone on the bed and feeling completely ridiculous about this entire plan. “I guess I thought that since you allegedly have feelings for me, maybe it would bother you that someone else does, too.”

“But why?” He sounds genuinely bewildered. “I mean, I trust you. What do I care if he has a thing for you? I know nothing will happen - you’re not that kind of person. I trust you,” he repeats, like he’s saying something really obvious.

“I -” Chaeyoung opens her mouth but nothing seems to come out. Hoseok still looks concerned, but his response is so out of syllabus that she doesn’t quite know how to respond.

“Chae, come on. I know you’d never do anything with another guy - you’re honest. And kind.” He takes a hesitant step closer to her. “I don’t think there’s anyone in the world I trust more than you. I mean, I guess I might be jealous if you liked him, too,” he says after a moment. “Do you?”

“No,” she says immediately. “Of course not. I just…” There’s a trickle of embarrassment that’s there, somewhere, but somehow it doesn’t seem very important right now. She purses her lips before sighing and letting her shoulders fall. “I get it.”

“Okay,” he says softly. “You still seem mad, though.”

“Yeah, I am mad,” she answers, although with far less feeling than before, “because… Sooah gave me some advice and you… you just went completely off script.” She sighs and walks up to him. “Come here,” she mutters, reaching up and wrapping her arms around his neck. He hugs her back immediately, arms automatically tightening around her waist.

“So I did say something wrong,” he guesses, sounding less anxious than before.

“No, unfortunately, you said all the right things,” she confirms, feeling stupid and silly in retrospect. He kisses the side of her head in response and she closes her eyes. “Thank you, oppa.”

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs against her hair, slowly stroking her back now. “Just… just don’t do any drugs, okay?”

“Just one hit of coke.”

“Don’t think for a second I won’t rat you out to your brother, caterpillar,” he warns, pulling away but not stepping back. “If you aren’t careful, you’ll find me at that party, too, watching your every move.”

Chaeyoung snickers. “Deal.”

—

It’s a breezy night, cool and quiet. Miso steps out of the Hybe building, ready for her last smoke before she needs to head home. It sours her mood slightly; her high from the hour she spent with Yoongi in his studio also seems to be waning.

She lights a cigarette, hitching her bag higher on her shoulder. Yoongi said he’d meet her in a few, right after he’d innocently asked her if she’d be willing to give him a ride back home. She turns around and leans backwards against a low square-shaped area, just under a huge plant. She takes a deep drag and exhales, closing her eyes, opening them in a snap when she hears someone cough.

Turning towards her right, Miso sees a woman on the adjacent side of the square, leaning back in the same position. She turns at the same time and waves a hand.

“Sorry,” she says in English. “I mean…” It’s clear she’s struggling for the word for a few seconds. “Um -”

“No worries,” replies Miso, registering her surprise at getting a response in English. “I shouldn’t be smoking out here in public anyway.”

“Oh, that’s… fine.”

She’s beautiful - it’s the first thing Miso notices, her hair long and soft down her back, her eyes dark and expressive. She also looks familiar; Miso tries not to frown too obviously, for she’s definitely a foreigner, but she’s blanking on where she might have seen her before.

“Do you work here?” she asks, putting her cigarette out in a nearby trash can.

“Oh, no,” the girl says, shaking her head. American accent. “I’m just waiting for someone. A friend.”

Miso nods, not prying. “Sorry about the cigarette. I didn’t think there’d be anyone here this late.”

“That’s okay. It’s kind of ironic, actually,” she adds, “because I bet my - friend - this morning that he couldn’t go a whole day without smoking.”

“Yeah? What happens if he loses?”

“Uh, I don’t know because I think he might be winning.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

The girl winces. “I don’t have a clue if he actually smoked today, but he bet me in return that I couldn’t go the whole day without checking up on work, and…”

Miso raises her eyebrows. “Really? You couldn’t go a day without working? You must really love your job.”

“Sure, although some people call it workaholism.”

Miso chuckles at her wry tone. “Nothing wrong with a little self-awareness.”

“I have resisted so far, though,” she points out. “But I’m at the end of my tether and if he keeps me waiting too long, I may have no choice but to check my email.” She sighs dramatically and smiles, glancing sideways towards the entrance of the building and fluffing out her hair.

Miso follows her gaze to a small group of three people talking, particularly the tallest one, and something clicks. “Namjoon?” she asks, noting how the girl does a double take. “Is that the friend you’re waiting for?”

She smiles sheepishly. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not press or anything,” she confirms. “And I realise now where I’ve seen you before. We met at Taehyung’s birthday party, like a year ago. You were with Namjoon and I was with… well, never mind.”

The girl’s eyes light up in recognition. “Oh, yeah. Of course. I’m sorry - I’d had a lot to drink that night and I don’t really remember a lot of it… I’m Kaya,” she finishes, giving her a radiant smile.

“Miso.” They shake hands and Miso moves to stand opposite her by the wall. “It’s nice to finally meet the muse that’s probably inspired his last album,” she adds.

“Really?” Kaya frowns and glances back at him, looking confused but not altogether displeased. “Does he write a lot of songs about doctoral students struggling with insomnia?”

“Yeah, but he really romanticises the workaholism. He’s got a way with words.”

Kaya laughs. “It could be worse, I guess. Especially if I lose this damn bet.”

Miso frowns curiously. “Not to be dismissive of your work or anything, but… is it really that hard to switch off from it? Or do you not want to?”

“I don’t know.” Kaya shrugs. “I wish I could. But I’ve spent so much of my life planning and working towards this that missing out on something important just because I want to take a break… it just feels like I might regret it. It’s too important now. It’s what’s kept me going all this time.”

Miso nods, silent. It doesn’t sound like anything she’s ever felt before. She thinks about her job, the one she has now, the one she had to beg her father to keep. But even in her most stolen moments, she struggles to find the purpose present in Kaya’s voice.

“Wow,” she says finally. “How do you find that, do you think? Something that keeps you going?”

Kaya thinks about it for a few seconds. “I can’t remember, honestly. I guess… when you think about what you want your life to look like in five years, or ten. When you think about the future and find something that sticks.”

Wake up, rinse, repeat. There’s Hybe and her parents’ house, Seungkwan’s car being the intermediary. “I can’t remember the last time I thought about the future.” It’s too fucking depressing. She glances up at Kaya, who’s still looking at her, almost encouragingly. “I guess… when I went to college. In Australia.”

Kaya raises her eyebrows, a smile flitting across her face. “I’ve always wanted to go.”

“Yeah. It’s lovely. Four years of school, and then I worked at this pub in Sydney, not far from the beach. I was doing branding for them, initially, and then I started meeting some of the local artists they’d bring in to do live music,” she adds, before trailing away. “And then I met a record producer there who asked me to work for his company. A small one, in New South Wales.” She pauses. “Yeah, I guess that was the last time I ever thought about the future. Australia,” she repeats, the name sounding like an old friend on her lips.

“Sounds to me like something to keep you going,” agrees Kaya softly.

Miso nods slowly. The day is still coming to an end and tomorrow still looks bleak as ever. But a happy memory - or a series of them - has surfaced after a long time and for that she is grateful. 

Someone calls out her name just then and she jumps slightly, turning around to see Yoongi leaving the building from a side exit. He waves at her - and Kaya, she realises - as he walks towards them, then stops abruptly, picking up his phone. Visibly groaning at the caller ID, he holds up a finger and answers the call.

“Yoongi?” Kaya asks as Miso turns back. “A friend, I suppose?”

No, just a colleague. But the smirk playing on Kaya’s lips is too knowing and Miso tries to fight her own fleeting smile. “In a manner of speaking.”

They share a laugh as Namjoon approaches them, looking somewhat surprised to see Miso. “Miso, how are you?” he says formally. “This is -

“We’ve met,” says Kaya, in English.

“Yeah, we kept each other company while we waited,” adds Miso, before switching briefly to Korean. “You’ve made a good catch.”

A surprised sort of smile appears on his face, but he nods humbly. “I agree,” he mutters knowingly. “Are you waiting for Yoongi hyung?”

“Yeah, he’ll just be a minute.” She notices him moving to stand next to Kaya, the way their bodies tilt unconsciously towards each other. “It was really nice to meet you, though,” she says to Kaya.

“You, too,” she replies immediately, smiling that same charming smile and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as she turns to Namjoon. “Ready to go?”

Namjoon nods and they all bid farewell to each other, including silent waves to Yoongi across the entrance of the building. As they move to leave, something occurs to Miso. She turns to look at Yoongi, who gives her quick smile when he meets her eyes, still on the phone.

Turning back, she calls out Kaya’s name, who stops a few seconds before Namjoon does, about five feet behind. Miso walks up to her, heart racing slightly in anticipation. 

“Everything okay?” Kaya asks, when she’s close enough.

“Yeah. I wanted to ask…” 

Miso bites her lip, thinking of cigarettes, fully clothed showers and beaches in Australia.

“...do you want to exchange phone numbers? Just to keep in touch?”

—

Yoongi pours a large pint of beer into two glasses and takes them out to the dining table. He places one in front of Hoseok with a soft thud, making him jump slightly.

“Cheers,” offers Yoongi, raising his own glass.

“To what?”

Yoongi shrugs. “A night off. Your album launch?” He nods when Hoseok exhales heavily and drops his face into his hands. “Headlining Lolla? That’s a huge fucking deal, you know?”

“Oh, I know,” he mumbles, voice muffled in his hands. “Huge deal. Huge set list, huge crowd, huge risk of it sucking.”

Yoongi sits across from him and frowns, clinking his glass with Hoseok’s which is still sitting untouched in front of him. “Since when? You were practically giddy during the meeting about it earlier.”

Hoseok gives him a look. “I can’t be negative about it in front of them,” he says with a grimace. Catching the look on Yoongi’s face, he hurries to continue. “Not that I’m negative… exactly. It’s just… everything’s going to be different now.”

Yoongi doesn’t answer immediately, instead taking a large sip of his beer. Hoseok isn’t buzzed enough for his feelings to tumble out freely, but Yoongi suspects he isn’t referring just to their solo ventures.

“It’ll be good for us,” he says eventually, but doesn’t elaborate.

“Yeah? You think?” 

“Sure.”

Hoseok raises his eyebrows, evidently expecting a more emphatic response. “So you’re not worried about your tour at all? Because I got to tell you: sneaking shots backstage before performing as a group was fun. Doing it yourself is just… depressing.”

“You underestimate me,” mutters Yoongi, but flashes him a smile to let him know he’s joking… kind of. “You should be less nervous, though. Your album release was a success. Sales-wise and PR-wise, especially after the listening party.”

Hoseok hums, drinking his beer. It’s unusual for him, Yoongi reflects, to seem this anxious, almost as though he’s lost. Somehow, aside from Namjoon’s responsibilities as leader and Seokjin’s general disposition to look out for them, if there’s anyone who’s level-headed and goal-oriented to the point of being a co-leader of the group, it’s usually Hoseok.

“If anything, you’ve given the rest of us the confidence that people will care about our music even if we aren't together,” says Yoongi after a moment, hoping it will encourage the younger member.

Hoseok nods, although he seems far away. “There’s too much at stake,” he murmurs. “It can make or break the rest of our careers.”

Yoongi frowns slightly, for he's not wrong. But before he can join Hoseok down this rabbit hole, Yoongi hastens to bring him out of it. “Everything you did for the listening party worked. It was a hit. And you seemed to be having fun with Chaeyoung.”

He'd added that last detail as casually as possible, but it catches Hoseok's attention. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.” Hoseok stays silent for a few seconds. “Do you think it's weird that I invited her?” he asks suddenly, his tone different and his torso leaning forward slightly.

“No,” answers Yoongi. “Why? Do you?”

“No. I don't know.” He clicks his tongue, looking deep in thought. “I think she did. But I can't be sure.” 

“Did she say something?”

“She seemed a little surprised, I guess.” Hoseok shrugs uncertainly. “It's hard to tell. We're not in a very… forthcoming place right now.”

“So why don't you say something to her?”

“I did,” he reminds him forcefully. “On Sooah's birthday. I told her it was a bad idea and we couldn't be together but we were still hanging out and… eventually hooking up again,” he adds, a bit abashedly, “but after what I said, I don't know how to move forward without making a mess of everything.”

Yoongi, not one to pry, waits for Hoseok to reveal more information, for he certainly isn’t going to ask. “You guys seemed close at the party,” he remarks.

“Yeah. We always have fun together. Not that kind of fun,” he adds with a face, as Yoongi chuckles behind his glass. “Not just that kind of fun,” he amends, his ears reddening slightly.

“But you're hooking up,” he confirms seriously.

“We haven't had sex, if that's what you're asking,” informs Hoseok, a little defensively. “If it's anything serious… she deserves better than an awkward friend-relationship for that,” he admits in a mutter.

Yoongi doesn't reply except to lightly clink his glass with Hoseok’s. He's certain his friend doesn't know this, but Hoseok in love is a predictable machine. The last time this had happened was when they were still trainees; that entire situation had had the distinct desperation and immaturity of teenage hormones and insatiable hunger. 

Now, with the wisdom that age is bound to bring, Hoseok is more restrained and thoughtful, but still the same nevertheless. The emphasis on fun (a baseline requirement for him), the overthinking about whether she felt comfortable or weird about something, the subtle ways he kept her on a pedestal - they’re all classic signs. Had it been a simpler situation, such as one where Hoseok had no lifelong loyalty to her older brother, Chaeyoung would be the most affectionately courted young woman in Seoul right now.

As it is, Hoseok is staring into nothing, a frown between his eyebrows. “There's just… way too much on my mind right now. Even sleep is hard to come by sometimes. I don't know - what do people do when they’re stressed? What does Namjoon do?”

“Wallows, mostly,” says Yoongi. “When he's in a productive space, though, he goes to the gym.” He shrugs. “We could go to the gym.”

There's a pause before both of them snort.

“Feels good to laugh,” chuckles Hoseok, chugging a quarter of his beer before abandoning the rest. “I'm driving,” he adds, “but I wouldn't mind a snack, honestly.”

Yoongi makes a face but doesn't argue, pouring the remaining into his own mug as Hoseok stands up and shuffles into the kitchen. As he hears the cabinets opening and closing, the doorbell rings. Not quite expecting anyone except an Amazon package that usually gets delivered to the lobby downstairs, Yoongi peers through the peephole first. He frowns - for his eyes have to be deceiving him - and opens the door, an incredulous expression on his face that fades when he takes in her appearance.

Kang Chanel pushes her hands deeper into the pockets of her hoodie, her shoulders hunching. “You said I wasn't a project, right?” she reminds him lightly, as though she's referring to an argument about ramen toppings. “Well, here's your chance to prove it.”

Yoongi stares. It's probably rude that he hasn't invited her in yet but he can't help it. Her clothes are wet - he realises now that it's raining outside - and as she pulls down the hood of her sweatshirt and shakes out her wet hair, he notices at once that it's shorter than before.

But that isn't even what he's looking at.

“What - what happened to you?” he murmurs hoarsely, before snapping out of it and standing aside to let her in. She takes a couple of steps and stops, droplets of water pooling around her feet on his clean, tiled floors.

“Well, it's raining,” she answers, making a fuss of wiping her wet hair off her neck and retrieving her phone from her hoodie pocket, clutched tightly in her hand, all the while averting her eyes from his. “It was a drizzle when I left but I didn't think it would get so bad -”

“That's not what I'm talking about,” he interrupts her. She pauses, clearly aware, but doesn't elaborate and doesn't quite meet his eyes either. “What happened to your face?”

Miso takes a deep breath and looks up at him, and he can almost make out the wheels turning in her mind as she evaluates how to answer this. At that moment, however, Hoseok appears in the hall with an energy bar in his hand.

“Is someone at the - oh.”

Miso's eyes widen. “Oh, I didn't realise you had company. I'm sorry, I should've called, I guess,” she mutters, turning her face away slightly, Yoongi knows, to hide the gash from Hoseok's view. 

“It's fine, he was just leaving.” Yoongi meets Hoseok's horrified gaze and gives him an imploring look, hoping he will understand. To his credit, despite knowing nothing about Miso's background, the kindest person Yoongi knows nods wordlessly, the opened energy bar in his hand forgotten.

Both he and Miso stay silent as Hoseok hurriedly pulls on his shoes and moves to the door. “Is - is there anything I can do?” he asks when he's at the doorway.

Yoongi glances at Miso before turning back. “I don't think so,” he says. “But, Hobi -” He pauses as Hoseok meets his eyes again, and this time Yoongi shakes his head a miniscule amount.

Hoseok nods. “Of course,” he says in a small voice, before closing the door behind him.

Just the two of them now, Yoongi turns to Miso, ready to speak more freely now. But she beats him to it.

“Do you mind if I take a shower?” she asks quickly. “I’m freezing. I mean, I know it's unexpected. We're… colleagues. Like, I know it would be weird for sure if I showed up at Donghyuk's and asked to shower -” She breaks off when she catches sight of his expression, unmoving. Her words are tumbling out of her mouth, her tone jerky and her shoulders still hunched, as though expecting to be caught at any second.

Yoongi has so many questions, but if there's ever been a time when she's seemed more like a hunted animal, he can’t think of it.

“Bathroom is down the hall to the right,” he says at last, noting how she nods in barely masked relief. “Fresh towels are on the rack. I'll, uh… get you some clothes.”

Miso nods. Her mouth trembles slightly; whether it's the cold or something else, he can't tell, but when she wipes her face with her hand and winces upon touching the cut, smearing blood further across her pale cheek, any further words die in his throat.

He waits in the living room until he hears the door to the en suite in his room close and the shower start. He rummages in his closet to find dry clothes for her, a pair of joggers and a t-shirt, all the while trying not to let his mind wander down dark paths, for he will learn what happened soon enough. There’s no point, he thinks stoically, as he yanks a hoodie from its hanger with force, of imagining something that may very well have not transpired at all.

The shower is still running when he knocks softly at the door. “Miso,” he calls, as gently as he can. “I'm leaving some clothes on the bed. I'll be outside, in the kitchen,” he adds after a moment. “The door will be closed. The bedroom door, that is.” Cringing at himself, he turns to leave when he hears her voice from inside, unmistakable even through the water.

“Come in.”

He freezes, for surely he must have heard her incorrectly. “Um -” He clears his throat and cranes his neck so his ear is to the door. “What - what did you say?”

“Come in.”

There it is. It's muffled through the water but the words sound exactly the same. “It's - it's Yoongi. Uh, Min Yoongi,” he adds for good measure.

“Yoongi,” she states, but he can’t make out tone or mood. “Come in.”

It occurs to Yoongi that she’s said it three times now; any more and he becomes the Neanderthal who can’t follow a simple request. Hesitating a little, he opens the door to the en suite and steps in, unexpectedly relieved that the glass door to the shower is still closed and fogged with steam.

He places his folded clothes on the basin slab and turns towards the shower, not moving a muscle. For some reason, his palms and the soles of his feet feel tingly, almost as though they’re bracing themselves for stimulation. But it feels wrong, too, and Yoongi wishes Miso would tell him clearly what to do.

“You can come in.” 

Her voice is softer now, as though she knows he’s closer. The steam rises from above the glass door and it takes a certain effort for Yoongi’s feet to leave the floor. His stomach leaping, completely off rhythm with his steps, he places his hand on the handle. Wildly, for a moment, he wonders if he should take off his clothes, but immediately dismisses the thought. Tonight doesn’t seem like that kind of night.

Yoongi opens the door slowly, his heart slowing when he doesn’t see Miso where he was expecting - standing in the middle of the shower - and instead spots her on the floor, sitting under the stream of water, fully clothed and hugging her knees to her chest. She looks up when she sees him.

“Sorry,” she mutters. “The hot water felt really good.”

Still in the doorway of the shower, droplets splashing onto his t-shirt, Yoongi debates what to do. Miso doesn’t say any more but the fact that she’d asked him not once, but thrice, to come in tugs at his heart. She’s never looked more alone; part of him wonders if she’s testing him, to see what he will do next. 

The steam is starting to make him sweat now. After a moment, he slips out of his sliders and steps into the shower as well, sitting on the floor opposite her. The water is scalding; he hisses as it hits the back of his neck and shuffles on the floor until he’s sideways with his back to the wall, the water now mostly hitting his track pants. He looks up to see her mouth twitching slightly at this spectacle, but doesn’t comment on it.

Yoongi can’t hold it in any longer. “What happened, Miso?” he asks quietly.

Miso sighs and runs a hand over her wet hair, causing it to stick to one side of her neck. “My mother had one of her… meltdowns, I guess you could call it. My father is abroad on a business trip and she started drinking a little earlier than usual today and couldn’t find one of the thousand pills she takes…” She trails off and shakes her head, but Yoongi isn’t about to let this conversation end.

“What kind of pills?”

“Just pills.” She shrugs and continues, a deliberate nonchalance in her tone this time. “And she was suddenly convinced that I’d hidden them from her and when I denied it, she accused me of lying and said I was ungrateful after all she did for me, hiding my colour blindness from my father…” She exhales and rolls her eyes. “Anyway. Then she started throwing things.”

She says it with a note of finality, as though that’s all there is to say. Yoongi reaches up and touches her cheek with his knuckle, where the blood has been washed off and the cut is now just a thin red line. He hesitates before making contact as gently as he can, light as a feather. Miso closes her eyes momentarily at his touch before opening them again.

Yoongi’s mind races, thinking of knives, daggers, mirrors, shards of glass flying through the air -

“Diamonds,” she says, and Yoongi knows she’s guessed the direction of his thoughts. “She usually has these episodes when my father gets distant. More distant,” she amends as he lowers his hand. “She flung a hundred carat necklace in her anger and it hit me. She didn’t intend to do… this.”

Yoongi stays silent. He isn’t sure what he might say if he opens his mouth, and the last thing he wants is to put her on the defensive and start a fight - or worse, for her to leave.

“You need to get dry,” he says finally, clearing his throat. “There’s ramen - or whiskey. Whichever warms you up faster. I can put your clothes in the dryer,” he offers. 

Miso nods, her eyes flickering to the floor. But she gets to her feet and Yoongi mirrors her, holding her hand to make sure she doesn’t slip. She peels off her drenched hoodie, her t-shirt rising slightly and sticking to her pale torso. She adjusts it with a slender arm and raises her eyebrows at him.

“I’m going to take my clothes off now,” she says. “So unless you want to watch…”

Hoping the heat on his face is only due to the steam and nothing else, he returns her wry hint of a smile and holds his hand out for her sweatshirt. “I’ll be outside,” he confirms. “Possibly checking myself for a couple of second degree burns.”

“Gotcha. I’ll be in here. Not drowning myself,” she clarifies.

Despite the situation, Yoongi can’t help but chuckle. Stepping out of the shower and closing the door behind him, he exhales. He needs to change his clothes, too; without thinking, he takes off his wet t-shirt and shakes out his hair. Hearing a movement behind him, he turns to see her jeans thrown over the top of the door, followed by her t-shirt. Another, almost inaudible movement occurs inside, but no more clothes appear.

Mouth feeling a little dry, Yoongi reaches up and tugs lightly at her jeans. “They should be dry in an hour, probably.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Taking that as assent, he pulls her clothes down. He should leave; it’s too fucking weird to be standing out here while she’s inside, naked and bathing. But he doesn’t move and she doesn’t ask him to either. The door is still opaque with steam; he isn’t even sure if the vague silhouette he’s seeing is real or if he’s imagining it.

“Yoongi?”

He moves closer to the door, automatically. Her voice is soft again, barely audible over the shower. If he thinks about it, they can’t be more than two feet apart, at best. But something tells him they’re even closer. Hesitating, he touches his fingertips to the door, careful not to wipe away any steam, waiting with bated breath to hear her voice again. A droplet of water falls from the ends of his hair and trickles down his bare chest as he stays there, his heart thumping against his rib cage. 

“I…” Her voice is definitely closer than it was before. “I’ll have a whiskey,” she murmurs eventually, but it’s enough for Yoongi. Nodding wordlessly, he steps away and leaves the en suite, giving her her privacy.

—

Hoseok drives through the cold, misty streets of Seoul, the image of Kang Miso, pale and drenched, in Yoongi’s hallway. He’d had an inkling that Miso wasn’t just any colleague in Yoongi’s orbit at Big Hit, but evidently they were far closer than any of them knew.

It occurs to him only about ten minutes into the drive that he doesn’t have a destination in mind… but somehow, he’s found himself on a familiar route, one he’s come to associate with anticipation, excitement and a not unpleasant fluttering in his stomach.

Predictably, it returns the moment he begins thinking about it, about her. He hadn’t been lying to Yoongi; it was genuinely getting harder and harder to stay away from Chaeyoung. It was easy with her, easier than he’d ever thought possible because she was like a fairy: a cute, fun fairy who made his day better just by existing and had the softest skin and smelled like berries. In fact, there had been more than a few moments over the last couple of months where he’d seriously considered whether it was worth forcing this distance that was basically just for name’s sake at this point, and whether his friendship with Chanyeol was strong enough to survive it if he decided to take the next step. 

Hoseok parks across the street from her building in his usual spot; just far enough away to not lead any stray cameras or phones to Chaeyoung’s residence (Kaya’s incident last year had shook them all to some level). Chanyeol. It’s the only part of this whole situation that turns the pleasant fluttering into an uncomfortable mess of twitching and flapping. As if on cue, his mind goes to the only thing worse than Chanyeol finding out, which is Chaeyoung eventually deciding that this state of limbo is too much for her and walks out of his life.

He sits back in his seat and closes his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms into them. It’s been a busy, stressful few months, with his album recording, the release, the music videos getting filmed and rehearsing for his appearance at Lollapalooza. Chaeyoung had been there through all of it, but it isn’t over. He appreciates Yoongi’s attempt at trying to make him feel better but Yoongi hasn’t reached that juncture yet, the one where, suddenly, there aren’t six other members to ride and die with on stage but just him, alone and exposed. Every crack in his voice, every glitch in the sound system, every off-beat step will be glaring, and anyone who had ever said, all the way back before he’d debuted, that the group would be better off without him would be proven right.

Where would he go from there? If it was proven, beyond doubt, that his solo music and his solo performances were subpar and that everything he was - everything he is - is just because of the handsome, talented people he’s surrounded himself with, then where would he go? How would he ever show his face to the world again? To his family, his friends, his members who would look at him with pity and comfort the lagging member? 

After all these years of travelling and performing and working constantly, he can feel his chest and shoulders and back physically ache at the thought of it all culminating in the clarity that he shouldn’t be here at all. The exhaustion makes his lungs constrict, his heart beating so rapidly that it’s starting to hurt now. Hoseok clutches the sides of his seat, his vision starting to blur and his breathing reduced to dry, uneven gasps.

Even as the blood rushes to his face and his arms go hot and then go cold, as though his skin isn’t even connected to his body anymore, somewhere in the back of his mind it occurs to him that he’s having a panic attack. He hasn’t had one in a long while but he also hasn’t been here in a long while, in a place where the future is so uncertain and the stakes are so high and all the decisions are his and his alone and there’s no room for error because if he messes this up then where would he go?

He’s trembling now, he can feel it. A loud sound almost makes his heart stop but then he turns his head slightly in the direction of the sound to see Chaeyoung outside his window, waving at him with an angelic smile. She’s saying something but he can barely hear her; there’s a roaring in his ears like waves crashing and he can’t breathe. The thought makes him panic but his limbs won’t move. Outside, Chaeyoung is knocking on the window again and her voice is higher now, more worried and he forces himself to turn to her, registering her wide eyes and her palms banging against the door and pointing frantically to something below.

It’s almost euphoric when he realises he understands her; with one shaking hand, he unlocks the car door and hears the click. A moment later, a blast of cold hits him like a freight train but is almost immediately blocked when Chaeyoung peers inside the car.

“Oh, shit! Oppa, are you okay?” she asks, sounding a bit frenzied. “Oh, God - okay - wait, take this off -” She leans over him and clicks unbuckles his seatbelt, returning to her original position. “Okay, oppa? Hobi - can you hear me?” 

Hoseok meets her eyes and nods vigorously, so relieved she’s here with her presence of mind and her sweet-smelling hair. She takes his face in her hands and he almost cries at being able to feel something, and tries to focus all his energy on her cold, slim fingers on his cheeks.

“Hobi? Breathe. Breathe,” she repeats calmly, keeping her big eyes locked on his. “Breathe,” she says again, inhaling slowly. He tries to copy her, his breath still coming in jerks and getting stuck in his throat. But he hangs on to her voice, telling him to breathe, breathe, breathe.

“That’s it,” she murmurs, nodding in encouragement. Placing her knee on the seat between his legs, she hitches herself up and wraps her arms around his shoulders. “Keep breathing,” she continues, rubbing his back, her voice like honey in his ear.

Hoseok nods, feeling his chest start to expand with oxygen. The panic he was feeling starts to fade and he clutches the bottom of her tan sweater in his fist and presses his face to his shoulder. Breathe, she say  and he obeys, breathing in her scent. Focus, and he does, on the only tangible thing in the world right now, anchoring him to the very ground. 

As his breathing starts to normalise, he closes his eyes, because the question that had sent him spiralling - where would he go? - seems like it might have an answer.

—

Hoseok taps his foot on the floor as he sits on Chaeyoung’s sofa, waiting for her to freshen up and return. Now, with a clearer head and calmer breathing, he’s starting to feel a bit silly. Stress was something he’d learnt over time to manage over time, be it in private or public. But he wasn’t expecting it to crash over him like this out of the blue - and he definitely wasn’t intending to get caught.

Chaeyoung appears from inside her room, now in a hoodie and joggers instead of the sweater and jeans she’d been wearing earlier. She gestures at him to continue sitting when he notices that she’s on the phone.

“I know, Dad, I am,” she says, giving him a look as she makes a beeline for the kitchen. He hears a cabinet opening and closing, sounds interspersed with more murmurs, mostly “yes, Dad”s and “I know, Dad”s. He hears her say goodbye to him after a couple of minutes after which she enters the living room again, holding a tall glass of water and a spherical object wrapped in gold foil. She hands him the glass and waits until he takes a sip.

“Thanks,” he says, clearing his throat.

“You’re welcome.” Chaeyoung takes a seat opposite him on the coffee table and crosses one leg over the other, sweeping her long hair over one shoulder. With all her perfectly subtle make-up wiped off, she looks younger all of a sudden. No, not younger - unencumbered. 

Hoseok finishes the water and places the glass down and it’s only then that Chaeyoung holds up the foil-wrapped chocolate.

“Here. Sugar is good for you,” she adds when he hesitates. “Especially if you’re feeling light-headed.”

He observes it for a moment, then unwraps it. “Split it with me?”

To his surprise, Chaeyoung nods immediately. “I wanted it, too, but… I can’t justify eating an entire one myself,” she says matter-of-factly as she pops her half into her mouth.

Hoseok frowns slightly, although the chocolate feels comforting and creamy. “You don’t need to diet,” he tells her.

Chaeyoung licks the tips of her fingers, finishing the last of the chocolate, before looking at him. Their knees brush against each other as she leans forward slightly. “Are you okay?”

He sighs and nods. “I am now. Thanks to you.”

She shrugs, but her eyes soften. “I just recognised your car.” She pauses. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe later? I’m just… stressed. About a lot of things.”

“The album?” she guesses.

“Yeah.”

“And Lolla?”

“That, too.”

“Enlistment?”

He looks up at her and tilts his head, not knowing whether to be annoyed or amused. “Am I that transparent or have I just been talking about myself that much lately?”

She smiles. “Maybe a bit of the first. And maybe a third option, which is just that I know you that well.”

“That’s probably true.” Wrapping his hands around her calves, he jokingly tugs her a little closer. “You’re the smartest person I know, caterpillar.”

“And you’re the happiest person I know, oppa,” she counters, pinching his cheek. She lets go but her fingers stay and she gently smooths the side of his hair before lowering her hand.

There are words on the tip of his tongue he hasn’t said in a long time, but he reins it in. Leaning forward, he kisses her. Her lips are soft as always, shy at first, and he discovers the stomach flutters are back. He brushes her hair back as they continue kissing until she pulls away, biting her lip with two light pink spots on her cheeks.

“I love you.”

It’s the way her eyes widen, like a deer’s, and her smile fades slightly that he realises he’s said the words out loud. Aside from the realisation that hadn’t been able to rein it in for quite as long as he thought, Hoseok searches for something else: panic, regret, annoyance. But he finds none of them.

“I mean it,” he says softly, before he can talk himself out of it. “I don't know where I'd be without you.”

He searches her face this time for a clue, but his heart sinks slightly when she leans away and sits back. “Why?”

“Why?”

“I mean… why are you telling me?” She purses her lips before shrugging slowly, deliberately. “I don't mean that in a bad way, but…” His expression must tip her off about something, for she quickly shakes her head. “Like… I get it. I love you, too, I guess. We're practically family.”

Hoseok's heart seems to settle somewhere around his abdomen. Before he can respond, a sound startles him and they both turn towards the door with a jerk. It opens to reveal Sooah and Jimin entering the house with shopping bags and a large transparent glass each with a straw, sipping matcha tea together. Hoseok uses the few seconds of chaos in greetings to quickly shake it off and breathe in, trying to swallow the lump threatening to creep into his throat.

Sooah immediately begins showing Chaeyoung the things she bought and Jimin joins in as well, and the moment is gone. Somewhere in the middle of it, Chaeyoung's eyes meet Hoseok's eyes briefly and he holds her gaze until she looks away.

—

Yoongi smells his own shower gel and lotion wafting into the open kitchen but stays where he is, by the bar and on his phone, wanting to give Miso a chance to come to him on her own time. It proves to be a good decision because after a few minutes, when she doesn’t, he peers out to see her in the balcony, sitting on the sofa with her knees to her chest. 

He wonders if she’s cold - she must be - but also somewhere understands the appeal of the freezing wind, with its unique ability to numb. She’d asked for whiskey; taking an executive call, he takes two bottles in one hand and two glasses in the other and joins her.

The air is as biting as he’d expected, but something  about the way she’s wrapped himself in his hoodie, her hands pulled into the sleeves and the hood pulled over her head, makes his heart float. He sits next to her, noting that her hair is mercifully dry and pours himself a drink while leaving her glass untouched.

“Is that rum?” Miso asks.

“Yep. Great for cold nights.” He takes a sip of his drink and sighs in satisfaction. “You can try it if you want. Or there's whiskey, as you asked,” he reminds her, pointing to the other bottle.

She holds out her hand for his glass, her fingers warm as they brush his, and takes a sip. “Wow,” she says, coughing a little. “That's -”

“Too strong?”

“Sweet,” she finishes, returning the glass to him. “I wasn't expecting it. But it actually seems to be working.” She frowns, looking disproportionately subscribed. “What is this and why have I never heard of it?” she mutters, reaching for the bottle to read the label. “Old Monk?”

“Mhm. A friend gave it to me, last time I saw her.” Yoongi takes another loud sip as Miso begins making a glass for herself. “She always buys it from the duty free section, but she let me have a bottle to try. Namjoon hated it,” he adds as a side note.

“It's nice.” She takes a longer sip and sits back on the sofa, looking decidedly more comfortable. Yoongi decides he can finally ask her something that’s been on his mind since she turned up an hour ago.

“Can I ask you something?”

She tenses automatically. “What?”

“I don’t mean this to sound weird or like you can’t come over or something - because you can, whenever you want - but just out of curiosity -“

“You’re rambling, Min Suga.”

He pauses abruptly. “Guess you just bring it out in me.”

She raises her eyebrows and half-chuckles. “You were saying?”

“Yeah. How, uh… how do you know where I live?”

“Oh.” Miso looks down at her glass a little guiltily. “Well… I asked Donghyuk. But technically, you gave it to me, a long time ago,” she reminds him quickly. “It just got deleted from my phone. Remember your new year party last year?”

“Of course. The one you didn’t attend?”

“The one you only invited me to because you couldn’t leave out just one person in the team,” she corrects him pointedly, but he simply nods sheepishly. “Having said that… I’m sorry I barged in on your night. And I'll apologise to Hoseok as well. I just - I didn't know where else to go.”

Yoongi bites his tongue, trying to think of the right thing to say because there is so much he wants to say. Finally, he shakes his head gently. “Don't be.”

“I won’t make a habit of it. I mean, I can’t,” Miso shrugs when he gives her a curious look. “It's a lot easier to leave the house when my father is abroad and I'm nowhere on his mind. But it is good to know that Seungkwan has no actual personal interest in where I go,” she adds.

“Did it really get that bad?”

Miso bites her lip. For a moment, he thinks she’s going to evade the question or just not answer but he wonders if anyone has ever asked her this in the first place, point blank. But she came here, he reasons with himself. Why would she if she didn’t feel safer here than in her own house? 

He waits it out, though. Finally, after finishing her drink and placing the empty glass on the table, Miso sits back and hugs her knees again.

“My mother hasn't had one of these episodes in a long time,” she says, not properly meeting his eyes. “But I guess a lot of things came together this time… Father’s on a business trip and I think they had a fight before he left, one of her socialite friends insinuated that he’s having an affair which he probably is, she and I got into an argument about when I’m going to get married and not embarrass her anymore, I told her I have a actual career and she flipped out…”

Yoongi doesn’t interrupt her, although he has so many questions. How many times has this happened? How did she get hurt? What does she mean by episodes? He tries to picture Kang Sera, always the picture of elegance and finery, unraveling while she screams at her daughter. Finally, he prompts her gently. “You fought?”

“That’s an understatement. She accused me of stealing the last of her pills, I told her to go get a life, she called me ungrateful -“ She shakes her head and exhales tiredly. “If I’d known my colour blindness was a thing she was going to use as an argument for the rest of my life, I would’ve foregone the contact lenses. She acts like she fucking saved my life.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” argues Yoongi. “She’s your mother - it’s her job to take care of you. She hurt you, Miso,” he reminds her, unable to keep it in anymore and hearing the hardness in his own voice. “All because she’s insecure about herself and is imagining that you stole from her?”

“But I did,” she admits, surprising him. “I did steal her last pills because she was getting on my last fucking nerve. And they aren’t even prescription,” she clarifies immediately, defensive. “I was just really pissed off. Maybe it was petty.” She looks straight ahead, eyes far away, and Yoongi wonders if she’s seeing a diamond necklace fly towards her face. “I guess in a way I deserve this,” she says, pointing to her face.

“No, you don’t. What are you -“ Yoongi breaks off to keep his glass on the table and scoots closer to her. He needs her, so badly, to hear this that he wishes he could grab her shoulders and make her face him. “You don’t seriously believe that.”

“You know what - forget it,” she says, shaking her head and turning away. “It’s complicated and we don’t need to talk about -”

Fuck. “No, no - wait. I’m sorry,” he interrupts, grabbing her arm to make her turn to him. “I’m not judging, I promise. You’re right, it is complicated. But I want to listen, if you want to talk about it,” he says, his voice softer now. He touches her cut again with his thumb, hoping he isn’t hurting her. “Do you want a band aid or something?”

She shakes her head. “I’m good. But… look, I know my parents are awful. And being around that my whole life… it’s - it’s completely fucked with how I interact with them now. My mother is a shrew who hates me but - but in a way, she’s even more trapped than I am. Her parents never let her work a day in her life, she didn’t really get a choice in who she married, her kid is nothing like she wanted  and now she’s stuck with my monster of a father who -” Her voice breaks and Yoongi knows for certain that she’s never said it out loud before because the loathing in her voice is transparent. “I feel bad for her sometimes. How weak of a person am I?” she asks, her voice breaking slightly.

Yoongi doesn’t reply for a few seconds. He raises his hand slightly again and even though she doesn’t back away, he lowers it before he can touch her . “Miso,” he says quietly, bowing his head. “I’m sorry about what I said in that motel. I’ve felt so shitty about it because… you’re nothing like him.”

She gives him a look. “I just told you I stole a pill from my mother.”

“From what you’re telling me, I would’ve done the same thing,” he clarifies. “And it’s really none of my business if you’re taking over his company one day. I’m sure you’ll do a great -”

Miso shakes her head. “I’m not taking over his company, Yoongi,” she interrupts. 

“I thought you said -”

“Yeah, I know what I said. That’s the official party line, that I’m his heir.” She meets his eyes and shakes her head. “But I don’t think he’s ever giving me his company. And to be honest, I don’t want it. I mean, I worked for him for a year after I returned from Australia and it was… God, I hated everything about it. The way it was built, the way he was running it, the culture, the clear… monotony of it all. There was nothing there, they weren’t working for anything, or creating anything. It was just money and power and being ruthless about everything.”

Yoongi bites his lip, for he wasn’t expecting this. “But… you haven’t told him all this.” The moment he says it, he realises how stupid it sounds.

Miso scoffs. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s a conversation that would go down well. But I don’t even think he’s going to give it to me. He keeps me so far away from it, he’s completely okay with me working for a company he’s invested in on the side… I don’t think he has any intention of having me take over.”

“Then why does he keep calling you his heir? Why hasn’t he just told you either way?”

She shrugs, palms facing up. “Maybe he wants to sell the family-owned business, chaebol image. Maybe he doesn’t want me to be certain so he can continue using it as leverage whenever he wants. I don’t know - why does he do anything?” She runs her hands through her hair, the shorter length seeming to surprise her for a moment. 

“I don’t care anymore, Yoongi,” she murmurs, sounding defeated. “I just can’t care. I can’t…” She takes a deep breath and Yoongi realises with a start when she sniffs that her eyes are wet. “I’m just so tired. I hate waking up in the mornings. Every time I open my eyes, I… I just want to go back to sleep. I’m so tired,” she finishes, her voice barely even a whisper anymore.

At the same time that she moves towards him, he does the same and wraps an arm around her. She rests her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes, and Yoongi wishes helplessly that he could make this easier, that it didn’t need to take a blow-up with her mother for her to end up here.

They stay there for a while, neither of them saying anything. Yoongi’s cheek rests against the top of her head; he feels at a loss to do anything for her. Aside from a shower and a drink, is there really nothing else he can do for her, to help her escape her family? 

He fingers the ends of her hair on her other shoulder and he isn’t sure if he’s imagining it, but Miso relaxes into his side. “Your hair is shorter,” he remarks. “Is there a story there?”

“Um…” Her tone is slightly different. “I tried to cut my hair into layers,” she confesses, sitting up straight and rolling her eyes. “I don’t know why, I’ve always sucked at it. But then I had to correct it and I ended up cutting more of it… are you seriously laughing at me?”

Yoongi purses his lips and shakes his head, but he’s restraining himself. “I’m not laughing. I’m amused,” he allows, his arm still around her for he’s not ready to let go just yet. “It’s just not something I pictured you doing. I always imagined you got fancy overpriced haircuts at those luxury salons in Gangnam or something.”

“Not all of us have personal stylists, Min Suga,” she reminds him. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the Chanel lavender and rose hips lotion you have in your bathroom. You’re fancier than I am.”

“That was a gift,” he points out. “And I can smell it on you so don’t pretend you didn’t use it as well,” he adds, realising only when she stiffens next to him what he’s said. He wants to slap himself, but Miso doesn’t seem uncomfortable.

“I did use it,” she admits after a moment, shifting slightly next to him. “It’s nice. I like how it smells.”

Yoongi nods. It shouldn’t, but his mind immediately pictures her stepping out of the shower, wrapped in a towel and peering at his lotion, possibly snickering to herself before applying it on herself. His shower. Something warm courses through him that he hopes is the Old Monk; it’s occurring to him now just how close in proximity they were to each other while wet and partially naked. He grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut; his body should not be reacting right now.

“It may have been worth it, though,” she continues wryly. “My mother saw my hair and freaked. It would’ve been kind of funny if it wasn’t so deranged.”

Yoongi is glad to hear her chuckle; even if she doesn’t mean it, he’ll take anything that improves her mood even slightly right now. “I like it,” he tells her, smiling when she half-scoffs and half-laughs before sighing hugely.

“We’ve been talking about me for a while,” she says, looking up at him. She doesn’t usually look like she wears much make-up but with her bare face right now and her short choppy hair, she looks strangely vulnerable and otherworldly, almost androgynous, and Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone more beautiful.

“I don’t mind,” he manages to say. 

But she begins sitting up and, to his regret, moves away a little so she can tilt her body towards him. “How’s it going with you?”

“Uh…” Yoongi shrugs. His problems of fame and living his dream don’t seem appropriate to bring up right now. “It’s okay. The usual.”

“The usual?” Miso raises her eyebrows. “I heard the company got a huge cash infusion which they’re using to fund your tour.”

“Yeah - how did you know that?”

“I work for the same company you do, Min Suga.” She taps his knee with the back of her hand. “Are you looking forward to it? Oh, have they set a release date for your album? They’ll have to give it at least a month between -”

But her voice gets fainter, for a wonderful idea has occurred to Yoongi.

“Come with me,” he says abruptly. “On tour. Come with me.”

Miso, who looked a little miffed at being cut off, now falls silent. “You’re asking me to -”

“Come on tour, yeah. We’re both producers, part of the same teams,” he reminds her. “It won’t even look out of place. I can - I can talk to the management, get you on the team and we can just… you can get away, from everything. Just for a while. Just… travel around the world, come to the shows, work on music…” 

Miso’s eyes soften. “That… that sounds amazing. Honestly.”

“Then do it,” he says immediately, quickly, because he can already feel it slipping away. “Come.” With me.

“Um… I can’t, though.”

It takes all of Yoongi’s strength to not to say yes, you can. Instead, he grabs her hands, slender and ice cold. “I’ll speak to whoever is needed. I know I can get you on the team. Last year, we invented a position on the team for Jimin’s girlfriend to come along to a show so I know that I can -”

“No, I can’t, Yoongi,” she interrupts gently, retrieving her hands and squeezing his. “I can’t because… my father has my passport.”

A few moments of silence pass, during which Yoongi’s blood runs cold. He doesn’t immediately understand why; he just knows how his own passport is a constant accessory, almost always on his person. 

He stares at her. “He… what?”

She nods. “He has all our passports, under lock and key. I’m pretty sure I know which lock exactly, too, in his study, but…” She bites her lip, all traces of humour wiped off her face. “Yeah. Could be problematic.”

No shit. Yoongi tries to process this, every single instance of him telling her to leave and to live her own life coming back to him in vivid detail, along with a sense of frustration and regret because he sees now that he had no idea how confined she really is.

“Is this how he’s keeping you here?” he chokes out. “Because… I mean, how can he do this? I’m pretty sure it’s not even legal to keep your own documents from you. How - how is he -” But he breaks off, unable to find enough words.

Miso winces thoughtfully. “I don’t think that’s initially what he intended… butit’s probably an added bonus. A few years ago - the year I worked for him, actually - someone hacked the Kang Industries internal network,” she explains, folding her legs. “They even attempted identity theft but thankfully, it didn’t work. But it completely shattered my father. He was… outraged. Someone caught him by surprise and almost took everything he’d built away… he became completely paranoid after that. It’s only just started getting better, but… yeah, that’s when he locked up all our documents.” She shrugs, her eyes falling to her feet. “Too bad it’s limited our options in the process.”

It takes Yoongi a moment to realise that by “we”, she’s referring to herself and her mother. “He still doesn’t have any right to keep it from you,” he says eventually. “You’re an adult. You’re - you’re a person. I know he’s beyond normal human emotion but this is… God, what the fuck, Miso?”

Miso nods calmly, which only infuriates him more. But he can’t let it show, not any more than he already has. Not tonight. Not if there’s a risk of her leaving again.

“Look, the thing with my father is… he doesn’t look at it like that,” she begins, then pauses. She’s concentrating, and Yoongi guesses she’s working this out as well. She opens and closes her mouth several times, as though trying to find a good metaphor to explain a maths problem to a teenager. 

“Look, for him… I am no different than any other twenty-nine year old woman in Seoul,” she states, her eyes blank. “He doesn’t care that I’m his daughter, there’s no specific attachment there. He just doesn’t understand that. He cares about money and power and control. Those are the things he knows. And I’m not saying this to defend him,” she adds, almost knowingly. “I’m saying this because I have spent years trying to figure out how to get to him and I realised, finally, that… there’s nothing parental there. The only thing that separates me from everyone else is that I have his name and his blood. It’s fact, it’s ink - and he’s in control.”

Yoongi doesn’t care much for a psychoanalysis of Kang Jaesung right now. He swallows, trying to quash the rising feeling of defeat in his stomach. She feels so far out of reach again, like he’s zooming out and seeing her for where she is, far and small in the distance.

“So… what? You’re stuck here forever?” he asks, trying to keep the bite out of his tone.

“No,” she answers, shaking her head. “He’ll never admit to that. The last time I needed to go abroad, I asked him for my passport and he gave it to me. Granted, I was travelling with him,” she adds after a moment, looking down.

It’s late, probably around the same time of the night that he and Miso had yelled at each other in the motel while it poured outside. It was raining earlier tonight, too, but it was nowhere near as bad. It felt peaceful and hopeful for a bit and Yoongi struggles to find it again.

“Yoongi.” Her hand eases up his thigh until it reaches his own, and she squeezes his hand. She’s trying to comfort him, he realises, and it seems absurd. But he lets her because, as he discovers soon enough, he could use it.

“I can still ask,” she says after a moment. “It’s work, technically. It’s an artist tour, it’s publicity, it’s…” She trails off.

“It’s my tour.” By the look on her face, he knows he’s said what they’re both thinking. 

“That’s the tough detail.” Miso gives him a small, hollow smile. “After the last stunt you pulled in front of him, my father may not be so agreeable.”

It takes Yoongi a moment to recall; despite knowing exactly what she’s talking about, he can’t remember actually making the decision to come in between her and her father. It had been entirely instinctual, but he wonders now if it may have been the wrong move.

His heart skips a beat when she leans forward suddenly. The scent of his own shower gel gets stronger as she presses a kiss to his cheek, slow and deliberate.

“Thanks for asking,” she says softly, sitting back. “I’m sure you’ll be amazing on stage. A force to be reckoned with.”

Yoongi doesn’t know how to respond to that. It just occurs to him that he’s leaving for three months - three whole months during which he’ll be away and she will be here, still in the clutches of her father and her life, too far away for him to do anything about it.

She rubs her eyes and looks away. “It’s late.”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “The guest room is ready. And… fun fact, but it’s actually bigger than the master bedroom.”

The moment he hears it out loud, he thinks it probably sounds extremely stupid. But if it does to Miso, she doesn’t react. She simply nods and stands up, allowing Yoongi to lead her to the guest room.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he says just before she closes the door. He’s finally seeing her properly in the light; his clothes seem to fit Miso strangely well. They're just loose enough that her shape isn’t quite visible, but not so much that she looks like she's in donated clothes. 

Most importantly, she looks comfortable. He’s about to offer her an additional jacket or something but before he can, she mutters a “good night” and begins closing the door.

It’s a complicated scenario. He potters around for a while after, cleaning the kitchen counter, returning some emails and folding the clothes from the dryer, all the while with the sinking feeling that he’s disappointing her somehow. Maybe it’s his inability to be of any help in her circumstances, or the way he seems to be misreading signs and situations in context.

Finally, he retires to his room, changing into pajamas and getting ready for a sleepless night staring at his ceiling when there’s a knock at the door. Figuring it can be only one person, he scrambles out of bed to open the door.

“Hey,” he says, hearing himself sound strangely breathless. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” answers Miso, running a hand through her short, choppy hair. “I was taking out my contacts-” She holds up her hand to show him a small and thin white box “- and I was just thinking, uh… maybe I will take that band aid.”

Yoongi nods and beckons her inside. She stands awkwardly by a dresser while he rummages around in a different cabinet before finding the first aid box. He goes up to her and hands her the band aid.

“Do you need any help with it?” he asks.

“I don’t think so…” Miso tears it open and peels off the sticker, holding the band aid up to her face. “Hang on, do you have a -”

Yoongi steps forward and takes the band aid from her, cleanly and gently placing it on the thin red line on her cheek. The solitary lamp on the other side of the bedroom barely illuminates her face, but he doesn’t think he can ever forget the sight of the cut on her face, dripping blood as she came to him in the middle of the night.

He knows it’s happening before it actually happens, but the moment he covers the cut, his hands still on their way off her face, Miso leans up and kisses him. It’s instinctive and immediate and Yoongi also knows that despite the hellish night she has had, he kisses her, too. He does. He pulls her in just as much as she grips his t-shirt and he tangles his hand in her hair just as much as she presses herself up against him.

“Miso -” He breaks away for a moment, his heart racing and body reacting. “I can’t -”

“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispers, and she sounds fearful. “Not tonight, not -” She shakes her head and reaches up to kiss him once more.

He lets her, just for a moment, but then gently pushes her away again. “I’m sorry. Miso… it’s been a hard night and - and I wouldn’t feel right if I…”

She licks her lips but drops her hands to her sides. “You think you might be taking advantage of me?” she asks.

“I don’t want it to even be a question.” He moves his hands down her shoulders until her hands are in his. “I want this, too.” You have no idea how much. “But not at a time where there’s even the slightest chance you may regret it tomorrow.”

Miso looks away and for a moment Yoongi is afraid, terrified that she will leave again. Then her shoulders fall and she sighs. “Wow,” she mutters wryly, but there’s a tremble underneath, buried deep. “You’re a good one.”

He waits a moment, then two, then steps forward to wrap his arms around her. She lets him, her body initially stiff until, slowly, she relaxes against him, shaking silently. 

“You’re not alone,” he murmurs against her hair. “You don’t have to be.”

He intends to stay there, exactly like that, for as long as she needs. Eventually they separate, Miso’s face slightly redder but her eyes dry once again, softening when he pulls her in by the hand to press a kiss to her forehead. Under the covers, they lie next to each other.

“How did you do it?” she asks after a while in the darkness, almost in wonder. “Somehow, despite my best efforts to keep you out of this, how did you manage to creep into my life?” There’s a movement and he sees her silhouette move to face him. “How did I end up here?”

Yoongi brushes her uneven bangs out of her eyes. “I can be pretty persistent. Although it’s not something I’m really known for,” he points out. “So I’m not sure. I tried to stay out of it, if that helps.”

Miso scoffs. “Not very hard.”

“No,” he agrees. “There’s something about you, I guess.”

“All that privilege and nepotism probably.”

“Not that,” he disagrees, a little guiltily. “I liked how you were a different person during our nights in the studio,” he says after a moment. “I liked that person.”

“I liked that person, too,” she murmurs. She exhales softly and turns back to look at the ceiling. Her features are sharp in the darkness, but her presence is light and fresh, almost like his bedroom was far too big and empty before she set foot in it. 

He wishes he could’ve let her kiss go further. He doesn’t regret stopping it, but for a moment he lets himself imagine a world where she wasn’t hurting, where she was free to kiss a man she was attracted to with no baggage attached and he was free to kiss her back without wondering if he was contributing to her trauma or enabling it in any way.

When she shifts to get comfortable and turns onto her side, facing away from him, Yoongi scoots closer to her and wraps an arm around her again, loosely at first. But she stays and so does he; pressing a kiss to her shoulder, on his own t-shirt that she’s wearing, he holds her close and hopes that tomorrow morning, at least, may be a better one for her.

—

Settled on the couch with a pillow and a purple blanket from Chaeyoung’s closet (which smells of her floral fabric softener, but he won’t think about that), Hoseok stares at the ceiling in the darkness. Next to the blank television, the light from the wifi router glows red and there’s a dim strip of blue underneath Chaeyoung’s door which he knows is a nightlight she can’t sleep without.

He can’t quite believe he’s sleeping over at her apartment. But Jimin and Sooah had been fully enthusiastic about hanging out as a foursome, and the former had peer pressured Hoseok to try a large glass of sparkling wine he’d bought which was strong enough to render him incapable of driving home safely. Later, Chaeyoung had awkwardly provided him with sleeping arrangements on the sofa before disappearing into her room, signalling the end of the night.

Jimin and Sooah had successfully interrupted one of the most revelatory moments of his life but in hindsight, Hoseok wonders if they had done him a favour. Chaeyoung’s response had been disappointing on every level and he doesn’t think he would’ve been able to remain around her if those two hadn’t barged in, full of stories about their eventful day. After Chaeyoung and then Sooah had left, Jimin seemed to notice that something seemed to be bothering the older member, but Hoseok couldn’t bring himself to talk about it. He’d caught himself off guard with his impulsive confession; he can’t imagine she would’ve been much more prepared with a response.

It’s late now, but Hoseok can’t sleep. He briefly considers waking Jimin from Sooah’s room or calling Namjoon, but he doesn’t think he can handle words of encouragement from them now, especially since Jimin’s will surely be accompanied by his Cheshire cat grin at being proven right about his year-long hunch regarding him and Chaeyoung. No, not Namjoon and definitely not Jimin. If Hoseok is being honest with himself, there’s only one person he wants to talk to right now.

Chaeyoung [01:15] Are you awake?

Hoseok almost jumps out of skin when the phone buzzes next to him. Heart racing, he stares at her message.

Hoseok [01:16] Yeah. You?

Chaeyoung [01:16] It would be really weird if I wasn’t, oppa.

Hoseok [01:17] You know that when I said what I said, I didn’t mean it as family, right?

Chaeyoung [01:18] I know.

Hoseok [01:19] I’m sorry. If I made you uncomfortable.

Chaeyoung [01:20] You didn’t.

Chaeyoung [01:21] I’m just not sure why you said it.

Hoseok [01:22] It wasn’t planned, honestly. But I meant it. Is that not what you’re asking?

Chaeyoung [01:23] It isn’t.  I don’t know how to put this

Hoseok frowns at his screen, rolling over onto his stomach and staring at it with bated breath. He pictures her inside her room in a similar position, brows furrowed and biting her lip, trying to talk to him.

Hoseok [01:25] It’s okay Take your time

Chaeyoung [01:26] I guess I don’t know the point of bringing it up

Hoseok [01:26] The point? I mean… I wanted to tell you how I feel

Chaeyoung [01:27] You just said you didn’t plan it

Hoseok [01:27] I didn’t, but in that moment, that’s how I felt I was spiraling and you were there for me. You helped me feel better. I always feel better when I’m with you

Chaeyoung [01:28] But that’s about how you feel

Hoseok [01:29] I’m hoping you enjoy my company too, since we hang out together a fair bit But I understand. You don’t have to feel the same way, Chae. I just wanted you to know. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable

Chaeyoung [01:30] Stop saying that, Hobi

Hoseok [01:30] I mean it, though

Chaeyoung [01:31] I’m sure you’ve meant everything you’ve said tonight But it’s not going to change anything. Right?

Hoseok [01:32] Chae You know why I said that

Chaeyoung [01:33] Sure But that’s why I don’t understand why you would bring this up now. If it’s not going to change anything, then what’s the point?

Hoseok [01:34] Do you really want things to change?

Chaeyoung [01:34] I’m not sure it makes a difference

Hoseok [01:35] Of course it does!

Chaeyoung [01:35] Really? Because you didn’t even ask me what I thought when you made that decision. This isn’t about me at all, Hoseok. This is all you.

Hoseok [01:36] I didn’t mean to make you mad, Chae

Chaeyoung [01:36] I’m not mad I heard you and I didn’t expect anything from you But you can’t do this. It’s not fair

Hoseok [01:37] I’m sorry

Hoseok [01:39] You’re right. You’re absolutely right.

Hoseok [01:40] Chae?

Chaeyoung [01:41] I’m here Your friendship means a lot to me, Hobi But I’ve been down this road before and I don’t want to be in this position So if you make a decision, like nothing is going to change, then I need you to stick to it

Chaeyoung [01:42] I’m not mad at you Ish But I’m going to sleep now

Hoseok watches her go offline, his heart sinking slowly. He types out a half-hearted “good night” but he can’t be sure if she’s seen it. She’s right, of course, about everything. He drops his face onto the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut and half-wishing he hadn’t opened his big mouth today.

—

The next morning when Chaeyoung wakes up, the sun has barely come up. She slips on a hoodie and brushes her teeth before heading to her bedroom door, taking a deep breath, and opening it just a crack. Her heart stutters for a moment when she sees the pillow and comforter neatly folded on the sofa, the rest of the living room clearly empty. But then she exhales in relief and heads to the kitchen, deciding it’s far too early in the morning to be rehashing the events of last night.

The events of last night. Despite how her night had finally ended, the words, the memory of him saying those words, makes her stomach flip. Chaeyoung lets herself enjoy it for a couple of minutes while she makes her morning smoothie, the euphoria of having an answer to his actions during their dalliance, the victory of having him say it first. She pours the mauve coloured drink into a tall glass and sticks a wide straw in it, taking a long and hearty sip of fruity goodness before dragging her mind away from the good part about last night.

“Nope, it’s too early,” she mutters to herself, setting the glass down and tying her long hair into a high ponytail. She has the rest of the day to dwell on it, to feel hurt and annoyed and wonder if she’d overreacted. Grabbing her glass, she heads back towards her room, when she does a double take.

Hesitating, she steps forward and closes her bedroom door before lightly fingering the two post-its on the door. They’re both from the tiny stationery box on the cabinet in between both bedrooms, set up by Chaeyoung herself, with coloured pens and stickers. The orange one is on top and has a message she’d expected to see at some point today: Went home, didn’t want to wake you.

The second one, a green one, is the one she takes off the door to read.

Can I take you to dinner tonight? Call me if it’s a yes. Actually, call me even if it’s a no.

—

⧖⧗Many, Many Circas Ago⧗⧖

The world grew eerily silent when you stepped into your office. What was left of daybreak’s red light filtered into the room, bathing it in a bloody hue. Or perhaps the red reflected from Enyx’s flickering flames, his once flamboyant spirit dimmed as he lay limp in his silver cage on your desk. 

Your knees skidded across the wood until they were bruised before your desk. Your ears were ringing again, in that high-pitched key that you so often heard when the world seemed to stop spinning. The phoenix looked up, his weary eyes meeting yours in a gentle, understanding gaze. 

‘It’s okay,’ he seemed to say. 

“It’s not,” you said, lips quivering. “It’s not okay. You’re dying.”

‘But I am a phoenix. You know I will rise again.’

“I know, I know,” you whispered, voice breaking. “But I just…”

‘Do not worry,’ Enyx seemed to say. His eyes drooped, light smoke trailing from the tips of his feathers. ‘We will meet again.’ Even in his dying moments, Enyx was majestic. Bathed in scarlet light, his fiery plumage flickered like dim candlelight on a breezy night. He looked strangely at peace, though your heart was heavy.

“Yes… We’ll… We’ll meet again.”

The phoenix gently closed his eyes and his feathers erupted in one final beacon of light—deep scarlet and golden flames coiled together in the air, reminding you of the Solarian uniform. The flames soon extinguished in a cloud of gray smoke. They wound around your office, drawing an opaque film over your vision. A dry cough crept up your throat as you waved your hands to clear the smoke. When it finally dissipated, you saw Jungkook, leaning against the wall. You hadn’t heard him come in.

“Hey,” he spoke in a soft voice. He glanced at the gray ashes in the silver birdcage and back at you, hunched against your desk. “I’m sorry.”

“He’ll be reborn,” you said, weakly.

Jungkook hummed. “But that’s not all you’re upset about.” He could always read you so well. “Talk to me,” he said. “It’ll help.”

You pushed your hands up to your face and sighed deeply. “It’s stupid.” You didn’t want to cry, but the tears pooled behind your fingers and dripped down your chin.

“It’s not,” he reassured, crouching to your level. “You’re scared,” he observed. “And Enyx’s death only reminds you of what you’ll see out there.” He was right. “But you’ve trained hard for this moment,” Jungkook said. “Don’t forget that.”

You understood him, for you had spent circas rebuilding your muscles, thawing your dormant agility, dueling and masking and running. Yet, why did you feel ill-prepared? It has been six circas since you’ve been free of the deaths, the violence, the sea of red. Six circas without Hajin, too. You had always fought by her side. 

And now, now another loved one died in your presence. How many more will you have to live through? Hot tears streamed down your face. They stung your cheeks and tasted salty on your tongue. 

“Shh…” Jungkook whispered, placing a warm hand on the small of your back. “You’re overthinking.”

“I-I can’t stop,” you sniffled. “I know I’m overthinking. I know I’m being a coward. I’m overreacting, dammit, but I’m so damn nervous, Jungkook. They’re going to chew me up alive. They’re going to kill our soldiers, and I won’t be able to do anything about it. I won’t be able to save them, just like I couldn’t save Hajin. I’ll be a disgrace to Darlae—just as I have been for the past six circas when I abandoned my own army and pushed all my burdens onto you.”

“Hey, hey,” Jungkook said, pulling you into a tight embrace. “You won’t be a disgrace. No one will chew you up alive. You’ve earned your position with your merit, do you understand?”

“Jungkook, but I…”

“We’re going to win today,” he said, placing a chaste kiss on your lips. “I can feel it.” He cupped your cheek in his gentle hands. So don’t you dare worry, he tapped. All right?

You placed a shaking hand on top of his. All right, you tapped back. You wanted to believe him. You really did. But there was a strange, twisting feeling in your gut that you couldn’t ignore. It was the kind of feeling that urged you to stay home, swaddled in the safe confines of your covers. But how cowardly would that be? And besides, you were never a good divinist. Perhaps this gut feeling was only a ruse your mind conjured up in manifestation of your worst fears. Perhaps Jungkook was right and you were wasting your worries.

“Are you ready?” he asked, standing to his feet and outstretching his hand.

You took it as he pulled you up. “Yeah,” you said. “Yeah, let’s go.”

He nodded. “How’s the speech coming along?”

You twisted your trinket between your fingers. “I’m just about finished, I think.”

“Good. Your soldiers will love it. I’m sure.”

The wooden platform squeaked under your feet. Before you were your army, thousands of soldiers who swore to give their lives to their nation—and you. They looked up at you in awe, with sparkling eyes and brave faces. It took everything in you to meet their gazes, but you longed to look away, to crawl back into your covers. You felt small in the morning light, and as the sunlight rained down on the soldiers, basking them in warmth, you couldn’t help but think this might be some of their last days in this world—the last time some of them would see the sun, feel its glow, see it rise over the horizon. 

Your throat suddenly became parched, and you forced yourself to hold in a cough threatening to escape from your lips. 

Inside your mind, flashed glimpses of the fallen. Hajin, Joonhee, General Son… Your captain and majors, thousands and thousands of unranked soldiers—those you recognized, those you didn’t. Your head began to spin, and you gripped onto the podium for support. But your soldiers needed you, and you had to show them that you were strong, that you were ready to lead them to victory again. This was your first official speech after your disappearance for six circas, after all. 

The sun was blinding you now, and your eyes squinted against the white light. It helped a little, not being able to see your soldiers’ faces. It made it easier to lie.

“My soldiers,” you called out to them in earnest. “I stand before you humbly. I may be bedazzled in medals of honor and validation, and yet even I am not immune to illness. I thank you all for waiting for my recovery. I commend you for fighting in my stead, my courageous soldiers, and I wish I made better haste in my return to health.” The lump in your throat bobbed as you swallowed thickly. “Alas, I have returned to you, stronger than ever, more invigorated than before, and well-prepared to make Darlae proud. But our victories are not without sacrifices. I…” Your breath caught in your throat, your lips aquiver. “I want to take a moment to commemorate the fallen. Let us honor them, let us carry on their legacies as they would have done the same for us. We fight with the weight of those who have fought valiantly before us. When we charge toward the Solarians, we charge for the fallen. They’ve given up their lives for a chance at a warless Darlae, so let us honor their sacrifice and finish what they have so courageously started.”  

Your hands twisted the pendant of your trinket. “When I was a little girl, I wanted to become a hero—I’d read one too many books about them—but the dream carried me through my studies, through my time in the Training Corps, and my service in the army thus far. I used to be quite embarrassed about such a dream of which I thought was too fantastical to come true. As I grew older, I realized there is nothing fantastical about being a hero; they are as ubiquitous as rainfall in the spring. My heroes are those who have uplifted me, supported me, have taught me lessons about the world around me I otherwise would never have gleaned. Some of my heroes are still with me,” you said, glancing at Jungkook from the crowd. “Others are long gone… But it does not matter where my heroes are. The memories I made with them, the stories they’ve told me, their hopes and dreams stay with me. They inspire me to become a hero myself, and I use this inspiration to attempt to change Darlae for the better. So let us remain faithful to our loved ones, our nation, our dreams. If we lose someone dear to us in this war, someone who inspired us to fight, let us make them heroes. Let us honor them today, tonight, for many days and nights until we no longer can. And let us rest in peace when our times come, knowing that once we have become grand sacrifices for Darlae, others will do the same for us. Let us trust our comrades to carry on our legacies when we die—as they trust us to do the same. We can die and still become heroes. 

“So, my dear soldiers, we must not wallow in fear. Instead, be proud that your contributions will go down in the annals of history, and that your sacrifices won’t be without remembrance. I am willing to put my life on the line for a chance at a warless Darlae. My soldiers, are you?”

A loud roar shook the grounds, and for a split second, you swore you saw the heavens tremble along with it. Your soldiers cheered for you, though you weren’t sure if that was the result of pre-battle adrenaline or genuine agreeance to your message. It didn’t matter that you still felt sick to your stomach when you hid it so well. 

“Hey,” Jungkook said. He sat down next to you on a wooden crate, examining your countenance to gauge your thoughts. “It was a great speech.”

“Thanks,” you sighed. “I hope they liked it.”

“They loved it,” he answered. “The reception was overwhelmingly positive.” He paused, cocking his head. “But you’re unhappy.” He was always too good at reading you.

“It’s just…” Another sigh, deeper than the last, left your lips. “It felt like I was lying to them.”

“Hm.”

“It was like I was putting up a strong front while I was in shambles on the inside,” you said. “Is that being dishonest?”

He shook his head. “You were only reassuring them. Nothing wrong with that.” He put a warm hand on your knee. “I won’t tell you not to worry, but I will tell you to internalize what you just told your soldiers. I think you forget sometimes that you’re already a hero, that people die for you. You will never be a disgrace to Darlae, Y/N. You’ve already made history. And yes, those who look up to you will die, but as you’ve said, honor them. You’re allowed to mourn, you’re allowed to grieve, but never let their legacies grow cold.” He squeezed your knee. “In the meantime, I’ll do everything I can to support you. I know your job isn’t easy, but you’ve done so well and will continue to do well. I believe in you.”

Your heart grew warm at his words. You couldn’t help but fling yourself into his arms. His embrace rivaled the passion and glow of a thousand suns. Thank you, you tapped into his shoulder.

Of course, he responded back. Let’s go now. Your army is waiting.

The march to the battlefield was a blur. The morning air was crisp and smarting against your cheeks, and you attempted to distract yourself by watching your breaths float past your lips in gray wisps and disperse into the sunlight. But it wasn’t enough to chase away the heavy feeling in your stomach. That feeling, it seemed, would never go away, no matter Jungkook’s kind words or your soldiers’ reverence. It was the feeling brought upon by the imminence of death—not only yours but also your comrades and loved ones. This gut-wrenching feeling would not disappear for a long time, not at least until the war was over. Yet, how much longer could you handle this? You never thought you were immortal—some of your soldiers do, it’s a survival tactic or instinct, perhaps, that they deploy to fare against the glaring finiteness of their life on the battlefield. Death has always scared you. No, the pain that death can bring. What did Hajin feel when the ring pierced through her head? Did she even feel it? Or was she dead right away? Did she get to savor her last thought? Did she think, as she was falling to the ground, I don’t want to die? Or was she distracting herself from the pain by dreaming of exploring the Blackwoods with a week’s supply of devilled eggs? But perhaps she did not feel much, taking a bullet to the head. But those who do, the soldiers who cry out in agony as they bleed out in the mud spilled with guts and tears, how do they bear it? Do they beg others to put them out of their mercy? If someone begged you to do so, could you do it? Look them in the eyes and watch the light in them fade from your doing? Would you ever beg someone to take your life when the pain is too much? Will that someone be Jungkook? Or will you suffer in silence? 

Being in a war made your mortality almost tangible. You could taste death in the air. It lingered on your clothes, in your hair, your mind as well. You could never escape it. And worst of all, every death felt like your fault. You were responsible for each life on the line for it was your formations and your command that these soldiers so vehemently followed. No matter what anyone said, you were responsible for Hajin. And you would also be responsible for anyone who died today on the battlefield. 

By the time the whirlwind of your thoughts ceased, you were standing on the battleground. Your army was behind you, your lover right next to you and your enemy in the front—a familiar composition—but you couldn’t remember how you got here. The sun was higher up in the sky now, brighter too, and the brightness obscured your line of vision on the Solarians. From across the land, they looked like fire in their burning red uniforms. It reminded you of Enyx’s flames. The Solarian General was there, leading his army, though as usual, you couldn’t make out his face, which was for the better. It was always better if you never looked them in the eyes. 

The ringing in your ears came back. You were frozen in place, watching the sea of red before you. Suddenly, your breaths quickened as if you were losing air. Your hands began to tremble in anticipation. You watched the Solarian General raise his arm and a roaring red flame shoot from his fingertips. You were breathless now.

“Y/N,” an urgent voice called your name, a voice you recognize and love. 

Right. Right. You must signal back. That would begin the subsequent onslaught of innocent soldiers on both sides. With trembling hands, you reached down to pick up a small pebble. You felt it between your fingers, savoring its cool smoothness. You hesitated. Were you ready for this? But it didn’t matter if you were. Your soldiers were ready, and they were out for blood. Your nation was counting on you. So, you tossed the pebble in the air, masking it into a purple streak of smoke. Red and violet splashed in the sky. 

People began to run. You ran too. Your arms were moving on their own, throwing out charms and dodging fire from every which way. Your legs moved, putting one after the other, but you couldn’t seem to register the movement in your head. Your mind felt foggy. How long have you been doing this? Has it been hours? Your legs are aching. Was the training enough? Will it be over soon? Are you losing focus?

Suddenly the stench of blood hit your nose, along with the insufferable smell of smoke and fire. You clutched your trinket. You’ve been on this battlefield many times, but today, it felt like you wandered onto it for the first time. There was a ringing in your ears that masked the cries of pain, the slashes and the crackling of burning bodies. But that didn’t block your vision. It was all so overwhelming. Your legs slowly ceased to carry you forward.

Your limbs felt weak. Another body thudded on the ground next to you. Shivers crawled up your spine. How many more would this place kill? How many more friends and loved ones would it steal away from you? How could you ever uphold all of their legacies? How could you ever give them the justice that they deserved? You couldn’t. You simply couldn’t. How does fighting in a battle that killed your soldiers honor them? How does it help to continue the cycle of violence and war and death and blood? How was that heroic? You asked your soldiers time and time again to give their lives for the war, but why? Those bright-eyed and eager Darlaeans, why did they waste their lives away, training for death? For Darlae? The same nation that shipped them out for them to burn alive in the mud? A warless Darlae? Impossible. This nation thrived off of war. So much so that it killed its own royalty. Hajin’s face flashed in your mind.

You were afraid. You were so afraid. 

You couldn’t stop the treasonous thoughts flying through your head. It was hard to breathe. The world around you was so loud but you only heard silence. The great Darlaean General, reduced to a hyperventilating mess.

It should’ve been Jungkook. It should’ve always been him.

Something hit your head. Hard.

You were falling. There was no time to stop yourself. A sharp pain shot through your head. There was an ear-splitting thump.

Everything hurt. Blood rushed to your brain, but it wasn’t helping you think.

Your body twitched in pain. 

It was happening. Your death was imminent.

And you deserved this, didn’t you? You committed treason in your mind already, was there any going back? 

Death wasn’t so scary anymore. There was pain, but it was faint, as if it was floating above you, smothering, but not quite suffocating. Your mind was grasping for thoughts, begging for sustenance before it faded from existence. Any minute now, a delighted Solarian would kill you and be honored for the rest of their life for ridding the Darlaeans of their general. But you didn’t deserve that title. You didn’t for circas. 

Jungkook. He should have been the General. And he would be now. You couldn’t imagine how he would feel. Happy? No, he surely couldn’t be. He exchanged you for the title. But then again, you were only another pawn in the army. He would move on, albeit be sad. The thought broke you.

I believe in you, he had said. How could you fail him? After all that he’s done for you? You loved him. You loved him so much that it felt like two hands were wringing your heart when you thought of him.

You were ready to die. You could close your eyes now and drift off to dreamland for all of eternity. And yet, your body slowly, desperately began to crawl forward. You didn’t know where you were going. You couldn’t see. Yet, you groveled on. I believe in you. To do what? To be a good leader? A wonderful lover? A hero? To live?

Your arms pleaded at you to stop. Your legs felt numb, but you persisted. Why? Why did you have such a growing, instinctual response to live? 

Something warm and wet rolled from your head, down to your lips. It tasted like iron. You felt yourself dip in and out of consciousness. 

If you died, would he bring your body back?

You couldn’t bear to know.

So you had to live.

Hot tears spilled from your eyes, and you no longer had the strength to clear them away with your muddy hands. 

Then, you heard voices. People. You were saved.

They came closer and closer until your vision bled red. Solarians. They were coming toward you. No. No. You would rather die on the battlefield than be taken and tortured and held hostage for years until you begged and sobbed for mercy.

Your head felt as if it was splitting open. Vomit poured out of your throat. 

If they didn’t notice you before, they did now. 

You couldn’t die like this. You were only human, though they wouldn’t see you that way. Their deep scarlet uniforms grew closer and closer. The gold ribbons around their waist fluttered with the wind, and mud stained the soft material of the uniforms—cotton, it had to be. How different their uniform was from the rigid, black fabric the Darlaean uniform consisted of. How much more freeing. It was blood red, but it was almost beautiful. It flowed like the natural passage of time, like a bubbling brook down a tall hill. It felt like freedom.

You were floating. In your mind, you were up in the clouds, basking in the warm sunlight. How would their uniform feel against your skin? Would it be as soft and flowy as it looked? You imagined it would feel like being wrapped in soft clouds and colored by the warmth of sunshine. You imagined yourself donning the uniform, wrapping the golden ribbon snugly around your waist, looping it in an elegant knot. It felt so real, the fabric, the gentle cinch to your waist from the ties, the delicate sleeves and supple boots. No longer did you feel constrained in the Darlaean uniform. Instead, you were walking amongst the clouds, painting the sky in red.

How stupid this war was, dividing two nations by fashion, forcing them to wear clothes that announced their alliances. 

How stupid it all was…

You were fading.

“Hey! She’s still alive!”

The voices and yelling sounded far away as if you were in a dream. The pain wasn’t all so bad either. There was no panic, only peace. Quietly, gently, you floated into the sky, and you hoped, if you were lucky, that you would land somewhere amongst the clouds.

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⨰ a/n: the long-awaited chapter is now here! so sorry it took so long :') and now, the flashback is officially over!!! (finally LOL)

please consider telling me your thoughts with a comment, an ask or a reblog :) i love hearing readers' impressions/rambles/predictions! if you want to join the taglist, send in a private message, ask, reply to this post or reblog with your request!

When Hoseok wakes up the next morning, it’s to slivers of sunlight through a soft mesh sort of thing on his face. He blinks and shifts slightly; it’s Chaeyoung’s hair, where his face was buried, and he squints towards the window where an apologetic looking sun has reared its head in the sky after a night of torrential rain.

He relaxes slightly; next to him, Chaeyoung hasn’t moved, her shoulders rising and falling peacefully with every breath she takes. His phone buzzes and he turns to reach for it.

Taehyung [08:45] Anyone need a ride to HQ? I’m leaving in a bit Although no one apart from Jungkookie seems to be in the dorm right now

Namjoon [08:48] I’ll reach on my own. I just got off a flight so I came to my apartment to take a shower.

Seokjin [09:00] I’ll reach on my own too.

Taehyung [09:01] Okay. Where were you last night?

Seokjin [09:01] Never you mind. I have my car.

Yoongi [09:02] Me too.

Hoseok stares at the screen, slowly licking his lips.

Hoseok [09:03] Me too.

Taehyung [09:04] This is not suspicious at all.

Jimin [09:04] I’m at my place with Sooah :D:D:D I’ll be there soon - but everybody don’t forget to be at the restaurant for her birthday lunch! No latecomers!

Taehyung [09:05] I take it your night turned out well after all?

Jimin [09:05] Yessss it did, god bless. I have the best girlfriend in the world - but I’ll tell you about it later. I mean it though - don’t be late for the lunch. Hobi hyung - you can bring Chaeyoung.

Hoseok stomach jolts.

Hoseok [09:06] That’s super random. She’s totally capable of coming on her own, you know? She’s not a kid anymore and I’m not responsible for her anyway.

Jimin [09:08] Errrr I meant because the roads are still a bit flooded so she may not want to walk to the bus stop. But I guess she can come on her own too.

Jungkook [09:09] I can pick her up on my way to the restaurant if you want, hyung. 

Taehyung [09:09] You’re alive??? I knocked on your door at least twice last night but I heard nothing. I thought you died in there or something.

Jungkook [09:10] Oh yeah. I was really tired.

Taehyung [09:10] Lol, I’m sure.

Jungkook [09:10] @Namjoon How was your trip hyung?

Namjoon [09:11] Amazing Didn’t want to come back tbh

Jimin [09:11] That feels great to hear But I have a girlfriend now so I get it

Jungkook [09:12] Gross

Jimin [09:12] Don’t be bitter just because you’re single

Yoongi [09:13] Yeah go get laid instead

Taehyung [09:13] I still don’t know where half of you are though. How was everyone out last night despite that horrendous storm?

Namjoon [09:14] Yoongi hyung corrupting the children since 2013

Yoongi [09:14] Me? I think Hobi is doing enough of that for all of us

Hoseok [19:15] What!  Of course not.  Why even would you say that?  What are you talking about

Yoongi [09:16] Sorry, I meant Seokjin

Seokjin [09:16] Errrrrrrr

Taehyung [09:16] I mean, is it me? Am I the lame one for having stayed home last night?

Yoongi [09:17] You were on your way to HQ last night, weren’t you?

Taehyung [09:17] No?

Yoongi [09:17] Not you

Namjoon [09:18] Did I leave my charger at the dorm?

Taehyung [09:18] No idea Speaking of which, you owe me a lock for my door

Namjoon [09:19] Excuse me?

Jungkook [09:19] Taehyung

Yoongi [09:20] Yeah and you need to return my aux cable. It’s still in your car. I couldn’t charge my phone last night and had to fight Miso to borrow hers

Hoseok [09:20] Wait you were with Miso last night?

Seokjin [09:21] @Namjoon I called you to check about the company HQ sleeping quarters too but you didn’t answer

Jimin [09:21] Oh yeah, Namjoon hyung - you weren’t here to give me a pep talk when my night for Sooah was going up in flames either. I had to call Taehyungie and Jungkook instead and they were no help at all!

Jungkook [09:22] Hey!

Taehyung [09:22] Hey!

Namjoon [09:22] One ridiculous problem at a time, please!

Hoseok frowns, already losing interest. He navigates away from the chat and scrolls through his messages, answering some and ignoring others, his eyes now somewhat getting used to the light of the screen. Just as he’s about to close the app, another message pops up.

Chanyeol [09:15] Up?

Hoseok [09:15] Just about

Chanyeol [09:16] Kk. Listen, are you going home anytime soon?

Hoseok [09:17] To Gwangju? Not part of the plan right now, no. Maybe Christmas? Why?

Chanyeol [09:17] We were planning when to go next. Hayoung’s parents are probably travelling end of the year so we’re trying to plan a trip when everyone we want to meet will be there at the same time.

Hoseok [09:18] And I’m part of that list? Chan, you honour me

Chanyeol [09:18] You’d think you wouldn’t be after 20 years of being friends but hey

Hoseok [09:18] You know Seoul is like a train ride away right? Why do you want to wait to hang out in Gwangju?

Chanyeol [09:19] Home and stuff

Hoseok [09:19] Hella senti, I have to say

Chanyeol [09:19] There’s the added bonus of Hayoung and I having to stay with our respective parents when we go home though

Hoseok [09:20] That’s what I’m saying! Come to Seoul

Chanyeol [09:21] I will… I just have to do a Gwangju trip soon. Hopefully when you’re there too

Hoseok [09:21] Why?

Chanyeol [09:22] Okay don’t say a word to ANYONE But I kinda want to ask Hayoung to move in

Chanyeol [09:23] Hoseok?

Chanyeol [09:24] Dude you’re freaking me out. Is that a terrible idea?

Hoseok [09:25] Nope Just recovering from MY MIND BEING BLOWN My boy’s growing up!!!

Chanyeol [09:25] Jesus You scared the shit out of me for a couple minutes there

Hoseok [09:26] I’m gonna dance my ass off at your wedding

Chanyeol [09:26] Whoaaa. Slow down there pop star

Chanyeol [09:27] Anyway, that’s why I want to go back. I want to do this thing where she’s at her parents’ house and I’m at mine and then I bring up all these rules that we used to have at home when we were kids and then just casually wonder what it would be like if we could make our own rules - in our own home.

Hoseok [09:28] Adorable Just adorable Still waiting for how my Gwangju plans fit into this though

Chanyeol [09:29] Are you kidding? I need you there for moral support!

Hoseok [09:29] So, like… hiding outside in the bushes while you’re talking to Hayoung?

Chanyeol [09:30] No, that would be creepy. But this might be the second most important question I ever ask in my life so I need you there. In town. In the vicinity. So I can plan and maybe make some kind of a grand gesture? Unless it’s stupid

Hoseok [09:30] No! Of course I’ll be there. Just let me know when

Chanyeol [09:31] I will. In any case, it doesn’t look like we’ll be able to go back until at least January so that gives me some time to prep.

Chanyeol [09:32] Thanks though. You’re a good friend. The best actually.

Hoseok stares at the screen, the smile on his face fading. The faint flowery perfume and the scent of skin on skin suddenly seems stronger. Something shifts next to him and he turns on his back with dread, faced with the sleeping form of his best friend’s half-naked younger sister.

—

“Everything okay?”

Seokjin looks up, instinctively locking his phone as Nari walks into the living room, stopping just shy of the edge of the carpet.

“Yeah. Just… the usual.” He shrugs, placing his phone next to him. He bites his lip, suddenly at a loss for words. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Mhm.” She nods, running her fingers through the top of her hair and letting it fall down one shoulder. “You? Was the sofa comfortable?”

“Oh. Yeah, totally.” He tries to suppress the urge to stretch his back. “How about you? Oh -“ He clears his throat when she frowns slightly. “Right. We just did you.”

Nari nods again, this time slower. “Listen, Seokjin, about last night -“

“Nari, about what happened -“

They pause at the same time and Seokjin feels his ears turn red, the same time as she chuckles awkwardly and looks away.

“You go,” offers Seokjin, regretting it almost immediately.

“No, no, please, you can go first.”

“No, I insist -“

Nari stares for a few seconds, looking hesitant. “I just wanted to say… don’t worry about it. We can just forget it.”

Seokjin processes this, his pulse slightly uneven. “Okay,” he says lightly. “Thanks for, uh… letting me sleep over.”

“I think I kind of forced you,” she reminds him. “I couldn’t quite have your hypothermia on my hands. They’d take away my medical license if I let you go back out in that rain. Oh, and take your time returning the clothes,” she adds suddenly. “Although I think that sweatshirt is yours, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Um -“ He looks down at the faded blue sweatshirt and grey joggers she’d lent him last night. “Oh, yeah. I stopped looking for this, like, three years ago. I thought I left it in some hotel in America.”

“Well, it would’ve been on eBay selling for a million dollars if that were the case,” she says teasingly.

Seokjin cracks a smile. Unlike last night when, for a glorious portion of an hour, things had felt almost normal, he feels more uncomfortable than ever. Part of him feels like screaming into a pillow, for it’s occurring to him now what a terrible position he’s put himself and Nari in, not to mention Seulgi, stranded in Big Hit.

“Oh.” The word escapes his lips before he realises. He scrambles off the sofa, running a hand through his messy hair. “I have to go… I need to pick up -“ He looks up at Nari.

“Yeah, no. That’s fine.” She nods. “I hope you don’t feel weird about last night, though.”

“I don’t.” He pauses. “I don’t feel weird about it,” he says clearly, but this isn’t the time to have this discussion. Not while his girlfriend is elsewhere, not until he’s done the right thing by her.

Nari looks like she’s about to say something but shakes her head at the last moment. “That’s good. I guess I’ll see you around?”

Seokjin observes her, bare face and slightly puffy eyes. She's biting her lip - he’d kissed those lips last night, he remembers and waits for his face to get hot again.

But it doesn’t. He nods. “Yeah. See you around, Nari.” He trudges out, squinting slightly at the sun and needing a coffee so, so badly.

“Seokjin.” She’s standing at the door when he turns and her eyes twinkle slightly in a way that makes his stomach leap hopefully. “Thanks for coming last night, though.”

It takes him a moment. “Of course. Happy half-birthday, Nari.”

The roads are unforgiving. Despite a lot of the water having been drained, the streets are still flowing with ankle deep water, leaves and debris strewn around everywhere, and entire roads blocked for repairs. 

Seokjin reaches Big Hit almost thirty minutes later than he’d intended. Just as he’s about to drive into the basement parking, he spots Seulgi walking out of the front doors, one hand on the strap of her bag and the other holding her phone.

He immediately pulls into the front of the building and skids to a stop, accidentally splashing water from a puddle on her ankles.

“What the -“

“Sorry!” he exclaims apologetically, turning off the car and stepping out.

“Seokjin?” Her shoulders relax when she notices him - but she doesn’t smile. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, the roads are crap. Figured you might need a ride home?” he ventures.

“Oh.” She seems hesitant. Even after spending a whole night at the company sleeping quarters, she looks like she’s stepped out a shower and spent thirty minutes getting ready; there isn’t a hair out of place or a single crease in her clothing. Dressed in an ancient sweatshirt - and what he suddenly remembers with a shock are Nari’s joggers - he feels like a complete slob.

“Unless… you don’t want one.”

Seulgi stares at him. For a second, he thinks she might throw her phone at his face. But a moment later she shrugs.

“That would be nice. Thank you.”

It’s formal and slightly awkward, but Seokjin takes it as a good sign when she opens the passenger door and gets in. He drives mostly in silence; he isn’t sure what to say to her and figures he at least owes her a ride to her doorstep before they have this discussion.

This route is shorter, fortunately, and fifteen minutes later when he pulls up in front of her building, he takes a deep breath. Before he can get a word out, though, she speaks.

“We’re done, Seokjin.”

His heart jolts harder than he expected it would. “What?”

She continues looking out of the windshield, but her voice is calm yet steely. “I spent more time yesterday worrying about our relationship than on my presentation. And that’s not me. Neither is getting in the middle of a situation as messy as yours and Nari’s, but -“ She scoffs without humour.

Seokjin isn’t sure what hurts more: the fact that he wasn’t expecting this right now, or the fact that he can’t help but agree with her.

“Seulgi… I know I haven’t been a good partner lately. I know that and you deserve -“

“Don’t tell me what I deserve. Please,” she says, still calm, but this time he thinks he can hear her voice tremble slightly. “I think you tried. Trying to call me the last few weeks, checking up on me last night, picking me up right now… you’ve been raised to be a decent guy.” She shakes her head and looks out her window. “But it really loses its charm when there’s another woman in the picture.”

Shame trickles down Seokjin’s spine but he forces himself to listen to her and absorb every single word. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what I felt for Nari - and I still don’t, but I never meant to -“

“Really? Is that why you’re wearing a pair of pants with her name printed on them?”

His heart stops.

“What?”

Seulgi scoffs again, but it’s followed by the smallest of sniffs. “God, I was such an idiot.”

Seokjin looks down at the joggers, frowning deeply and scanning his leg to see what Seulgi might have until he spots it: right by the edge of the pocket, in faded Hangul… Choi Nari. 

“No. No, no, this - no. No.” Seokjin shakes his head vigorously, for she's got it all wrong. But for some reason, his mouth seems incapable of saying anything other than no, no, no. 

“Spare me. You're literally in her pants,” she says icily. “God - I'm that girl. The one who started dating a guy with a girl best friend that stopped being just a friend somewhere along the way. Talk about a B-grade k-drama.” She begins gathering her bag and unstrapping her seatbelt.

“Seulgi,” he says hurriedly, “I did not - I swear to you, it's nothing like you're imagining.”

She turns to him and tilts her head, but her eyes are shuttered - apart from being wet. “Really? You weren't with her last night?”

“No! I mean, I was at her house but I wasn't with -”

“Goodbye, Seokjin,” she interrupts him, opening the car door and climbing out. “Thanks for the ride,” she mutters, just before slamming the door shut and walking away. 

Seokjin watches her leave in shock. His heart is beating uncomfortably and he feels sick in his stomach, for as much of a right Seulgi had to do this and as much as he even expected her to, hurting her this way was not something he had ever intended.

He isn’t sure how long he sits out there; it isn’t until his phone rings that he’s jerked out of his trance.

“Hello?” He clears his throat and presses his fingers into his eyes, feeling them get wet as he lowers them.

“Seokjin hyung?” There’s a minor commotion in the back. “The meeting has been pushed back by half an hour.”

It’s Jungkook. Seokjin nods, the meeting seeming like a distant problem right now. “Okay.”

“Yeah, meaning we can probably grab breakfast before it. Do you want the staff to order something for you?”

As if on cue, his stomach churns at the thought of food. “Uh, no.”

“No?”

“Yeah. I’m not hungry.” Before Jungkook can argue further, Seokjin continues. “I have to go. I’ll be there soon.”

Hanging up, he finally pulls out from in front of Seulgi’s building, beginning his drive back home.

—

Sooah’s birthday lunch has been organised in a fancy, chic restaurant in central Seoul, on the top floor with added security and an exclusive invitation list. The sun is mild and there’s a gentle breeze in the air, making the balcony area a popular spot for many of the guests to enjoy the newly improved weather with cocktails and appetizers being served by well-dressed waiters.

Hoseok provides his name at the entrance and enters the party, hoping furtively that the group of girls just outside the building haven't spotted his face. He looks around; evidently, the birthday girl hasn't arrived yet. He declines a passing waiter's offer of a prawn tempura and makes a beeline for the first member he sees.

“Hey, hyung,” he says, slightly breathless as he reaches Yoongi. The older member had ended up bringing Jungkook, Namjoon and Taehyung from the company HQ, especially after the latter two had decided they wanted to drink freely at the party and not drive after that, leaving their cars still parked in the company basement.

Now, Yoongi, who’s been quiet all morning and is holding a glass of what looks like gin, nods in acknowledgement even though his gaze is fixed somewhere on the ground.

However, Hoseok can't begin to wonder what his problem is right now. “Okay, look,” he begins, looking around to make sure there's no one around. “I did something horrible. Well, no, not horrible,” he amends quickly. “It wasn't at all - okay, here's what it is, alright?” He swallows and takes a deep breath. “I hooked up with Chaeyoung,” he confesses in a single breath.

Yoongi, who'd been listening with his gaze still burning into the ground, finally looks at him. “Wow,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “Really? Isn't she, like, fifteen or something?”

“What? No!” Hoseok cries. “She's twenty-three! She's an adult - she’s as old as Jungkook! Well, slightly younger,” he admits.

“How much younger?”

“… eighteen months.”

Yoongi nods, then frowns. “Okay, well… it’s not that bad then. She’s old enough.”

“Yeah, but she’s -“ My childhood neighbour, a family friend, and Chanyeol’s baby sister. “… Chaeyoung,” he finishes uneasily. “Her brother is going to kill me,” he groans, dropping his face into his hands.

“Really? Why?” Yoongi shrugs. “It’s her life, right?”

“I mean, sure. But Chan is really protective of her, especially after their mother passed.” Hoseok doesn’t know how exactly to word it to someone who hasn't been there through it all, watching Chanyeol constantly keep an eye on the most important person in his life. Until she moved to Seoul and he asked me to take over.

“So?” Yoongi shrugs, then takes a sip of his drink. “It's her life,” she repeats. “He can't look out for her forever.”

Hoseok exhales, sensing that Yoongi isn't quite getting the point. “Okay, just imagine that I hooked up with your younger sister.” 

Yoongi grimaces slightly. “Okay?”

“And imagine that I was your best friend, that we grew up together and I saw her grow up and I was… kind of a douche to her back then,” he mutters. “But then everyone grows up and suddenly I’m in the same city as her, you trusted me to look out for her - and instead I ended up in bed with her,” he finishes with a flourish. “What would you do?”

Yoongi squints, clearly trying to process this. “I… I don’t know, that’s a lot to keep track of. And you know what, I don’t have sisters so I really - I mean, I’m not the best person to ask. But you know who is?” he adds quickly, gesturing with his chin at something behind Hoseok.

Hoseok turns to see Namjoon finishing up a conversation with someone, clinking his glass with theirs cheerfully before they part ways.

“He’s your best friend, you kind of grew up together and he has a younger sister.” Yoongi counts them off one by one. “One he’s fairly protective of.”

“Is he?” Hoseok frowns. “Protective of his sister? Like he is with Kaya?”

“Well, it’s not the same situation but he’s protective by nature. And you’re just getting an opinion, not recreating it to the T,” Yoongi reminds him, nudging his shoulder. “He’s your guy.”

Hoseok considers this and nods, making his way over to Namjoon. Namjoon notices him approaching and smiles, which Hoseok returns with a slightly confused one of his own.

“Hoba!” Namjoon exclaims, clapping him on the back and almost knocking the wind out of him. “How’ve you been? Can I get you a drink?”

“Oh, uh… no, thanks.” Hoseok shakes his head but agrees to a wonton on the spread in front of them. Chewing, he observes Namjoon, who looks far happier than he can remember seeing him in recent times. It’s not unexpected, given how long he and Kaya spent apart.

Suddenly deciding he doesn’t want to think about why Namjoon looks so happy, he hurries to speak.

“So, uh… say I hooked up with your sister,” he begins quickly, only for Namjoon’s smile to disappear in an instant.

“You… what?” he exclaims, and his height suddenly seems looming.

Hoseok frowns before rolling his eyes. “Say,” he repeats, “that I hooked up with your sister.”

“Oh. Why?” When Hoseok doesn’t answer immediately, Namjoon raises his eyebrows. “Dude, did you sleep with someone’s sister?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Hoseok takes a step back and raises his hands. “I did not sleep with her. We didn’t have sex - like, it was so not like that. Because sex is… we didn’t… I mean, no sex was had,” he finishes, his throat feeling dry.

“So I take it you didn’t have sex?”

“No, we didn’t.” But I may as well have, he thinks, flashes of last night surfacing in his mind. Her hair, her skin, her voice like he’d never heard it before… Hoseok sighs. “I went over to Chaeyoung’s last night and we… fooled around,” he confesses, hoping he won’t be asked to elaborate.

Namjoon is far too sensible to do that, fortunately. “Right. And… that’s a bad thing,” he states, as though waiting for Hoseok to confirm it.

He opens his mouth, knowing what he should say. “No,” he admits after a moment. “That’s the worst part, that nothing about it was bad at all.” He shakes his head even as his chest feels lighter for the first time all day. “It was incredible. And not just the - the hooking up, but being with her, laughing and talking… God, we talked all night,” he remembers, his eyes dropping to the floor.

Namjoon raises his eyebrows again, this time looking somewhat impressed. “Sounds like the dream,” he remarks deliberately. 

“Yeah?”

“Totally. And clearly you know that because you’re getting that same little smile the thought of it,” he points out. “The one you guys used to tease me about?”

Hoseok immediately straightens his face, not even realising he’d been smiling. “Shut up.”

Namjoon shrugs serenely, finishing his drink and helping himself to a second. “You’re worried about her brother, though,” he guesses.

“More than worried.” He shakes his head and drops his face into his hands. “He’s going to think I totally betrayed him.”

“Did you, though?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you,” he says urgently. “If I hooked up with your sister - your younger sister - while I’m your friend… what would you do?”

Namjoon frowns uncertainly, apparently thinking about it, then exhales. “I wouldn’t be thrilled,” he admits. “It would feel a little like you were going behind my back? Especially since… well, it’s my sister.” He winces, apparently realising he’s not doing a very good job at explaining this. “No guy ever wants to think about his little sister doing that, least of all with one of his friends.”

“That’s perfect,” mutters Hoseok.

“No, but you know - it’s a little different in Chanyeol’s case,” muses Namjoon, now leaning backwards against the table and pointing at the air, as though it’s an interesting problem he’s solving on an invisible whiteboard. “You actually grew up with him.”

“Isn’t that worse? Because not only did I grow up with him, I grew up with her. And Chan is…” He exhales tiredly. “She won’t believe me, but he’s always been extremely protective of her. Especially since their mom died. Emotionally, physically… I know him - there’s nothing in this world he would prioritise over his sister.”

Namjoon is quiet for a moment. “Is it because their mom died?”

“I don’t know. Probably,” he admits. “He was kind of like the golden child when they were young and she was always a little left out and overlooked… he never admitted it but I know he felt guilty about it. He always tried to make up for it and look after her more - even now, when she moved to Seoul.”

“Well, I can see that,” says Namjoon reasonably. “It’s difficult to see your younger sibling as anything other than a kid, especially when they’re that much younger. You thought of her as a kid, too, if I remember correctly,” he reminds him, irritatingly logical.

“But she’s not a kid anymore,” argues Hoseok. “I did think that at first but… she’s really not. She’s smart and insightful and - and she’s focused on her career. And she’s pragmatic - you know last night during the storm, she had hot water and instant ramen stocked up in case the power went out?” His eyes widen and he shrugs hugely. “Six of us in the dorm and not one of us thought to stock up on food. If I’m not wrong, Jungkook ate a bowl of cold kimchi for dinner while Taehyung ate half a block of cheese. And that was with the power on!”

Namjoon grimaces. “What was happening while I was gone?”

“And she made brownies!” Hoseok exclaims, ignoring his friend. “And they were good. And she was crocheting - she…” He takes a deep breath. “She gave me a crocheted bear,” he tells Namjoon in a low voice. “And I don’t know if she put some kind of spell on it, but for some reason, it won’t leave my pocket.” 

Namjoon raises his eyebrows but Hoseok can’t seem to stop talking - not now that he’s finally saying out loud things that have been swimming in his brain for months.

“She’s cute and she’s funny - and she’s got this killer confidence. Where did that even come from?” he demands. “She used to be all shy and awkward before but now she’s… oh, and she’s started giving advice now? Good advice, incidentally, and I just want to… I just want to talk to her all the time because sometimes it really feels like she can solve every single one of my problems. And honestly, after last night…” Hoseok runs a hand through his hair, glancing at Namjoon’s expression and hating it, “Namjoon, believe me… she’s a grown woman.”

There’s a few seconds of silence where Hoseok fights the urge to yell incomprehensibly into the abyss.

“So… I know you guys don’t really like it when I do this,” begins Namjoon slowly, “but if I understand it correctly, your problem isn’t so much that you slept with Chaeyoung -“

“I didn’t sleep with -“

“- it’s that you’re falling in love with Chaeyoung,” he finishes, nodding as though explaining a rather simple maths problem without wanting to hurt his feelings.

“I’m - I’m not,” murmurs Hoseok, even as his heart sinks for more often than not, Namjoon is right.

“But that changes things,” says Namjoon. “If you actually had feelings for my sister - real feelings, and I was convinced that you weren’t just messing around with her… I would actually be kind of okay with it. It would be weird,” he admits, shuddering a little, “but it wouldn’t be the worst thing. I’m sure it would be the same with Chanyeol. No?”

Hoseok shakes his head. It isn’t as if the thought hasn’t occurred to him, but if there’s one person who knows Chanyeol, it’s him.

“You know, it might? Except, when we were growing up, I was a dick to Chaeyoung,” he admits in a low voice, the shame and guilt bubbling deep in his stomach. “He was protecting her from his parents and his step-mom and other kids… but he was also protecting her from me.” 

He doesn’t say it out loud - he can’t, because it’s too shameful, that the one and only time that Chanyeol ever snapped at him, the only time Hoseok ever felt that he could lose his best friend was when he’d warned him to stop making fun of his little sister.

It had been when they were in high school. Hoseok had taken it way down after that, choosing only to tease her in a more playful way or ignore her altogether, usually when Chanyeol wasn’t around. But it was undeniable that even though they’d moved past it, Hoseok had crossed a line.

Until now.

“I’m the last person Chanyeol will be okay with, being with his sister,” he states, knowing it’s true.

Namjoon doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Look, Hobi… that was years ago. You were a kid.” He seems to spot something behind Hoseok’s shoulder. “What’s more important is how she feels about your past.”

Hoseok is about to open his mouth when his phone pings at the same time as Namjoon’s. Similar pings are heard throughout the room and when he checks his phone, it’s to see a message on a group chat.

Jimin [13:04] We’re on our way up. Everyone get ready!

As promised, less than a minute later, they hear the lift open and Jimin’s voice sing-song as he speaks. A moment later, he appears at the doorway with Sooah, his face breaking into a cherubic smile as he gestures to the room with a flourish.

“Surprise!”

All the guests chorus together and Sooah, after gasping and seemingly suffering a mild heart attack, begins greeting people who come forward to hug her. Hoseok and Namjoon hang back, allowing her school friends to greet her first, including Taehyung, while Jimin stands beside her proudly, evidently satisfied with her reaction. It’s then that Hoseok sees her.

“Oh, my God, she’s here,” he breathes, instantly turning away but unable to do so for long. He chances a glance at her as he half-hides behind Namjoon’s broad frame; in an oversized striped pink sweater, a short denim skirt, sheer pink stockings and black combat boots, she looks like an ice cream - a cute, pink, irresistible ice cream with slightly flushed cheeks and long wavy hair. Bubblegum punk, he’d said to her once and here she is, clearly embracing it.

“Okay, the worst thing you can do is be dramatic about this,” warns Namjoon. “Just go and talk to her like everything’s - wait,” he says suddenly. “What did you say to her this morning?”

“Oh. Well, I didn’t want to wake her up, so -”

Namjoon turns around with his eyebrows high on his forehead. “You snuck out?” he whispers loudly.

“No! I mean, technically - but I needed to leave for that meeting and my phone was dead so I couldn’t text her. And I didn’t want to wake her up,” he adds defensively, anticipating the question. “Don’t worry, I left her a note.”

“A note?”

“Yeah, and it was a nice note,” he says shortly. “Whatever I do, I’m not going to screw her over like that.”

They go over to greet the birthday girl after that, once the crowd thins out. Hoseok catches Chaeyoung’s eye for the briefest of moments, feeling his heart skip an enormous beat. But she moves away and he follows her slender figure going to place her present on the gift table.

“... thought it was going to be just a small lunch, you and me. You didn’t have to go through all this…”

“I wanted to give you a surprise… don’t you like it?”

“Oh, of course I do, Chim…” 

Sooah leans up to press a kiss to Jimin’s cheek, who looks mollified when he spots them, followed by Sooah. “Hey, guys,” she says, leaning up to hug them in turn as they chorus their own happy birthdays to her. “Thank you for coming, I know how busy you all are.”

“Where’s Seokjin hyung?” Jimin asks, scanning the room.

“He said he wasn’t feeling up to it. He says sorry,” adds Hoseok apologetically, while Sooah waves a hand. “He did look quite off even during the meeting this morning.”

Jimin murmurs something noncommittal but shrugs, evidently deciding to let it go when Taehyung and Jungkook join them as well, deep in discussion that abruptly stops when they come into earshot.

“Namjoon oppa, Jimin told me you just got back from New Zealand,” says Sooah. “How was it?”

“Oh, yeah, you never told us,” adds Jungkook. “Did you do the ziplining thing this time?” he asks excitedly

Namjoon takes a sip of his drink and shakes his head. “No, no, we didn’t,” he answers, chuckling.

“Oh. Well, you must have gone to Milford Sound - he was obsessed with that place the last time we were there,” remembers Hoseok. “Remember? You wanted to stay there longer but the staff made us leave. That’s the kind of place Kaya would like, too.”

“Oh, yeah. It was really nice - but I don’t know, we never really got around to doing that,” he admits.

“Okay.” Jungkook frowns. “What about that Lord of the Rings hike? That’s right up your alley.”

“Er… no. Didn’t end up doing that either.”

Hoseok frowns. “So what did you do for three weeks?”

There’s a few moments where no one speaks and Namjoon doesn’t answer, opting instead to take a long, slow sip of wine and ending it with a soft smack of his lips, all the while when Hoseok finds himself slowly regretting his question.

“Oh. Oh, God.” He swallows before groaning. Jungkook’s ears go red while Sooah and Jimin snort, and Taehyung claps him on the shoulder as they all disperse, clicking his tongue and winking at him.

“Don’t prolong it,” murmurs Namjoon to Hoseok before he leaves, his eyes clearly on Chaeyoung. “Just be normal with her.”

“Right. Normal.” It’s easier said than done, for Hoseok discovers that he’s barely able to look at Chaeyoung without thinking about last night. His feelings for her were tending towards a problematic region long before this, but something had changed irreversibly last night. There was no scope for denial anymore, he realises, not about his attraction to her or deeper emotions that make his stomach flip.

Worst of all, it’s the looming thought of Chanyeol following him every time she enters his mind. He would lose Chanyeol over this, he knows it. Hoseok didn’t think losing Chanyeol would ever even be worthy of consideration in his mind - until Chaeyoung, looking like a cute, pretty, sensitive ice cream.

He drifts towards the table of hors d'oeuvres, trying to force an appetite. Nothing looks appealing, though, not now, but he scans it anyway hopefully. Someone else arrives at the table, and he smells her before he sees her.

“Hi,” says Chaeyoung, giving him a small smile and picking up a small chocolate at the edge of the table.

It’s too much: her summery perfume, her shiny hair, the memory of her naked rib cage underneath his palms while she sighed his name in a way that would make Chanyeol punch him in the face if he knew. He exhales shakily as she takes a step closer to him; even though they aren’t even slightly touching, the proximity makes his heart race and to his horror, he can feel his jeans tighten.

“What are you doing?” he asks in a low voice, dropping all pretense and turning to her.

She raises her eyebrows. “I’m saying hi,” she answers, not sounding even a fraction as frazzled as he feels. She does look… happy to see him, though. The thought makes his heart leap and hurt at the same time.

“Listen, Chae,” he begins, because he just can’t do this. She nods, looking casual and breezy, her cheeks with a hint of pink still on them. 

“Yeah?”

“Look, last night was… amazing,” he admits, noting how, despite the casual demeanour she’s displaying, a smile begins creeping up on her face as well. Her lips are pink, too, and glossy… “It was amazing and - and you’re amazing.” Her smile widens slightly and her cheeks flush a little brighter and Hoseok feels his strength start to leave him bit by bit. “But it can’t happen again. No matter how I feel… Chanyeol is still my best friend and you’re still his sister and… you are so off limits.”

Chaeyoung doesn’t seem fazed. Her smile fades slightly but not completely and she licks her lips, as though able to see right through him. “It’s a little late for that, I think,” she says lightly, brushing a lock of hair off her neck.

Be still, my heart. “No, it’s not. I mean, it… yeah. Maybe.” He looks at the floor and exhales deliberately, trying to gather his thoughts. “But it can’t go further. I - I really hope you understand, Chae,” he implores, meeting her eyes, wide and doe-like. “You’re amazing,” he repeats, meaning it, “but…”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment, then nods. “Okay.” Giving him that same small, nonchalant smile, she pops the piece of chocolate in her mouth and walks away.

—

Seokjin wakes up from the worst sleep he’s encountered in a while - and that includes the tour they’ve just wrapped up.

It had taken him a long time to fall asleep. Once he’d finally managed to somewhat numb himself to the fact that he’d just been dumped because his girlfriend thought he’d cheated on her, he’d tried to close his eyes and get just a little while of nothingness. But he felt wrung out; he was emotionally so exhausted that it was hard to even sleep, especially because he knew, he knew, that while his break-up with Seulgi was affecting him, it was the fact that he didn't even know how Nari fit into all this.

Well, he knew. He had an idea and he was aware of the general area in which Nari was involved, but all his strength was going into not thinking about that right now because it was a Pandora’s box he didn't want to rifle through at the moment.

Then, of course, the moment he’d tried to catch a few winks, his phone had started buzzing with updates from Sooah's birthday lunch. Jimin hadn't taken it too well when Seokjin had told him after the meeting that he wouldn't be able to make it and while he hadn't been able to bring himself to explain why, something in his expression must have done it for him, for Jimin had abruptly stopped pestering him and told him to stop by if he felt better.

He checks his phone now, realising he's slept through lunch. The late afternoon sun is already dimming, as though warning the city of an early sunset. He sits up on the couch, his back hurting and head pounding and heart racing from the vague dream he'd had of Seulgi imprisoning him in an underground jail while Namjoon appeared as a hologram and read a list of his crimes.

You're a decent guy, but it loses its charm when there's another woman in the picture. 

It was like a sick twist of fate, the momentary relief that Seulgi was breaking up with him until it turned to dread when he realised why she was breaking up with him. And the other woman in the picture… Seokjin runs a hand across his face, knowing that it wouldn't have made anything better if he'd try to explain why he was wearing Nari's joggers in the first place. 

No, I wasn't sleeping with her - not at all. I went to her place in the storm to wish her a happy half-birthday in line with a decades-old tradition, we splashed around in the rain for a while where an accidental kiss took place, and then she offered me dry clothes and her couch for the night because she's a doctor and she was worried about hypothermia.

It sounds ridiculous - not to mention like a rather trite story. He'd taken off the joggers the moment he'd entered the dorm, throwing on the first pair of trousers he'd found in his room before driving away for his meeting. He'd chucked it in the washing machine after getting back and then the dryer, and in the absence of anything else to do except overthink his ended relationship, Seokjin stalks over to the dryer and retrieves the washed joggers. Without sitting back down, he collects his keys and prepares to drive over to Nari's.

It will be therapeutic, he supposes, to get rid of the immediate cause of his break-up. Plus, he would get the opportunity to apologise to Nari again - for staying over last night, for accidentally kissing her, maybe for showing up at all.

As he nears her building, he slows down. The street is still empty, although the water guns are no longer where they were last night. It’s almost as though the evidence of what transpired has been wiped away clean; Seokjin can’t decide whether that’s supposed to be a good thing.

There’s a good chance she won’t be home right now, he realises. But he still parks the car where he had last night and steps out, folded joggers in hand, looking up at the corridor window that had blown away her notes last night. It’s open and gives him a direct view of her front door.

Just then, as if on cue, the door opens. Seokjin’s stomach leaps without warning - for she’s home - and despite the bad day he’s had so far, a ghost of a smile graces his face. 

Nari appears at the door, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Seokjin takes a step forward but halts immediately in his tracks when she breaks into a relieved sort of smile and she opens the door wider - and someone else appears into view.

It’s a man. It’s him - Jason or whoever - who she’d brought to dinner at his place. She’d maintained that they were simply colleagues but either she’d been lying or the situation had changed since then, but Seokjin is motionless as he watches Jason kiss her casually on the cheek as she moves aside to let him in.

Maybe it’s the culmination of an already dismal day or it’s the unexpected nature of this discovery, but nothing that’s happened so far has crushed his chest quite so viscerally. Seokjin almost hopes he’s mistaking someone else for Nari or it’s a friendly, platonic, even brotherly situation - he’s grasping at straws mentally, even as Jason steps inside and the door closes behind him.

—

Near the late afternoon, when the sunlight starts to become sparse, the party starts to wrap up. Guests begin saying goodbye, passing by the table piled high with gifts on their way to the lift, many people happily day drunk and stumbling out.

“Did you know Sooah had this many friends?” Yoongi mutters, sidling up to Hoseok. He looks longingly at the drinks table next to them, now with far more empty bottles than when they'd first arrived.

“I didn't know someone could have this many friends,” he admits, somewhat admiringly. Across the hall, she looks appropriately engaged, swaying to the Justin Bieber track playing on the speaker and talking to two people as she sipped on a cocktail with a straw. A little way away, Jimin, Taehyung and two other guys he'd never seen before were aggressively popping to the song while simultaneously filming each other and guffawing.

“Sounds like a lot of work.” Yoongi sighs and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “When do you want to head out? Because I could use a drink.”

“Oh, is that why you've been sober all day?” Hoseok chuckles. “That’s adorable, hyung. You're like the mother hen trying to get her chickens to walk in a straight line before doing anything else.”

“That's me. Do you see the other chickens around? Namjoon and Jungkook are sharing a cigarette on the balcony,” he notes.

“Jimin and Taehyung are over there, although I’m guessing Jimin will be with Sooah. I don't think they're all Sooah's friends,” he says after a moment. “They aren't close friends at least. I think they're mostly old classmates and stuff that she's kind of in touch with. Jimin just goes all out.”

“He told you that?”

“Not exactly,” he mutters, his gaze moving to the one figure he's been glancing at continuously. Chaeyoung is by the appetiser station again, a clear drink in her hand as she fingers the edge of one of the food cards. Her bottom lip is between her teeth and she's frowning. 

As he watches, a friend of Sooah's joins her and says something, to which she nods and laughs politely. He responds and she shrugs, a bit uncertainly, before picking up a single French fry and popping it in her mouth.

“Did you talk to her?”

Hoseok doesn't bother beating around the bush and inquiring who Yoongi is referring to. “Kind of. Went better than I anticipated, actually.”

“Really?” Yoongi raises his eyebrows. “What did you say to her?”

“Told her last night was fun and all but it can't happen again.” Hoseok turns away from her. “She seemed fine with it.”

“You don't sound fine with it.”

“What do you mean? I'm the one who suggested it.”

“You don't sound fine with the fact that she was fine with it.”

Hoseok glares at Yoongi but doesn’t argue. He turns to Chaeyoung again, this time a bit more alert when he notices her grabbing her sling bag, clearly ready to leave. He follows her pink, wavy-haired figure as she floats over to Sooah and presumably wishes her again before giving her a hug.

He frowns as their interaction continues: Chaeyoung asks her something and Sooah responds easily, tilting her head and giggling as she points to Jimin. Chaeyoung’s face falls for a fraction of a second before it’s replaced with a smile and a nod. They hug again and this time, Chaeyoung starts to leave. 

As she does, she meets Hoseok’s eyes. His heart stops briefly but she simply gives him a casual wave and a small smile, before stepping into the lift and waiting for the doors to close.

Hoseok swallows, his mind going a mile a minute for the next few seconds. “Hyung,” he says, “you’re taking the rest of the chickens back to HQ?”

“You know it.” Yoongi follows Hoseok’s gaze. “You have your car?”

Hoseok nods before clapping him on the back and dashing off in the same direction as Chaeyoung. He takes the stairs two at a time and spills out into the lobby of the building, head darting around and spotting a telltale pair of pink stockinged legs disappearing around the corner outside the glass doors.

He follows her, jogging a bit until he’s within earshot. He calls her name and she turns, looking surprised but not altogether disappointed at his presence. 

“Hey,” she says, as though they’ve coincidentally run into each other on a normal day. Behind her, the sun is far away at the horizon, a bright spot peeking through the clouds as it prepares to set. Right now, though, it’s difficult to pay attention to it.

“Leaving already?” he asks, a little uselessly, but it’s just occurred to him that he has no idea why he followed her out.

“Yeah, I guess. Most people are gone,” she says. “Plus… I don’t really know anybody there apart from Sooah herself. And you,” she adds with a smile when he raises his eyebrows. She doesn’t say anything else but Hoseok suddenly feels guilty, for three hours at a party not knowing anyone can’t be easy.

“You know the other guys, though,” he says after a moment. “Jimin and, uh…”

“Yeah, I was hanging out with Jungkook for a while.” She nods, fingering the strap of her bag. “It’s getting late, though.”

The decent thing to do would be to offer her a ride. He’s on the verge of doing it; now that he’s here in front of her, everything he’d told her earlier today seems vague and blurry and, frankly, unimportant.

“I’m sorry, Chae.”

She frowns. “Oh, don’t be. It wasn’t that bad - like, the food was good and I got a few nice pictures -“

“No, not about that.”

“Oh.” She licks her lips and nods once. “About that… don’t be sorry about that either. I get it - it’s weird. We’re practically family and you and my brother especially are -“

“Nope. Not that either.”

She stares at him blankly. “I’m out of guesses.”

“I'm sorry for…” What’s more important is how she feels about your past. Namjoon, ever the wise one, had touched upon the only element in this mess that could bring Hoseok out of his pit of guilt about Chanyeol: Chaeyoung.

“Yeah?”

He takes a deep breath. “I'm sorry for everything. Everything I did when we were kids, everything I said…” He bites his lip as she processes this, her eyes flickering slightly before they fall to the ground. “I was a huge jerk to you. And I know I was a kid, too, and so were you… but that doesn't mean that it all just disappears when we grow up. I know over the last year we've… gotten closer -” 

Her lips twitch and his cheeks grow warm. He hurries his next words.

“- but I still want to say, explicitly, that I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Chae.”

Something massive seems to have been lifted off his chest but a dull pressure still lingers, pulsating in rhythm with his heart beat. Chaeyoung nods again, slowly, and meets his eyes.]]

“Apology accepted,” she says softly.

The pressure recedes; she feels more within reach than ever. It seems unbelievable that not twenty-four hours ago, she'd been on his lap in a state of undress, kissing him while it poured outside, making every other thought in his mind disappear. 

“And I'm sorry, too,” she says after a moment, jerking him out of his dangerous train of thought. “I wasn't mean but I was… pretty clingy. Kids get teased mercilessly at that age over a haircut so I'm sure a kid who acted like… well, like me wouldn't have been easy,” she admits, two pink spots appearing on her pale cheeks. 

Hoseok wants to kiss her, so desperately. It takes everything in him to stay rooted to the spot, even though there isn't a single part of him that wants to stay away from her. He should, but for the life of him, he can't quite remember why right now.

Chaeyoung exhales, looking slightly awkward but somewhat relieved - or maybe Hoseok is and he's projecting. Either way, she rocks backwards on the heels of her shoes and shrugs. “Well, I'm going to head,” she says abruptly, the pink tinge on her cheeks still visible. “And… thanks.”

“You're walking?”

“Yeah. After the rain last night it's actually kind of nice. And not totally dark yet,” she adds, looking up at the sky.

He should offer her a ride. 

“Can I walk you home?” he blurts, pausing internally as he thinks about his car in the parking lot.

She looks surprised, too. “Um, are you sure? Don't you have to get back to the party?”

“Oh, no, the party is almost dead, anyway,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “Even Sooah and Jimin seem to be almost done. I'm sure they'll leave in a bit.”

“And to no one's surprise, she's going back to his place.” Chaeyoung shakes her head. “Wow, I've clearly had one too many mojitos.”

Hoseok snickers. “Don't worry about it. With what I think their plans are tonight, you don't want them in the room next to you.”

She wrinkles her nose and then laughs. “True. But you don't have to walk me home. I'm fine.”

“I don't mind. Really.”

“It's, like, a thirty minute walk.”

“Fortunately, I’m kind of good when it comes to stamina.”

Chaeyoung narrows her eyes and folds her arms across her chest. Ice cream, he thinks instantly, and begins to smile without meaning to.

“Why did you apologise?”

“What do you mean?” He shrugs. “It's the right thing to do.”

“Sure, but why today?” 

His heart starts to race - or skip, and he simply shrugs. “Seemed like as good a day as any.”

Chaeyoung doesn’t change her stance. “Are you sure?” 

The way she asks it, she seems to have caught onto something. It’s too knowing and Hoseok feels his smile getting wider.

“You’re a pain in my ass, caterpillar.”

That makes her laugh - an open, confident laugh and Hoseok’s heart soars.

“Have been, since two thousand four,” she agrees. “Except, obviously, you apologised for all that.”

“You’re going to be a handful.” The words are out of his mouth before he can control them but he finds he doesn’t mind. Chaeyoung’s smile fades slightly and she bites her lip, the sun starting to set behind her.

“You can walk me home,” she says after a moment, turning around but not moving. Hoseok hesitates for the briefest of moments but joins her as she starts walking, their fingers only inches apart.

—

Yoongi drives in silence, while Namjoon, Jungkook and Taehyung sing along to an old song from a TV show. For members of a world famous band, they all sound terrible - but he supposes that is a talent in itself. In the shotgun seat, Jungkook bounces to the song in the passenger seat while Taehyung adds his own ad-libs throughout, but Yoongi has no energy to tell them to stop.

They near the building and he drives into the basement parking, somewhat dreading going up to his studio. He parks and everybody climbs out; Jungkook mumbles something about the gym while Taehyung makes a phone call and they drift away. Namjoon hangs back, waiting for the younger members to leave their earshot before turning to Yoongi.

“Are you alright, hyung?”

“Bitchin’.” He catches Namjoon’s eye and sighs. “Yeah, I’m fine. Had a rough night, that’s all.”

“Because of the rain?”

That, too. “Yeah. The good news is, I get to go edit debut tracks for a rookie group for the next eight hours.” He clicks his tongue.

Namjoon nods. “You want some company?”

“Maybe later. Once you sober up,” he adds, cracking a smile. Namjoon chuckles good-naturedly before clearing his throat. 

“I, uh, didn’t want to say anything in front of the others, but… I found this in the back seat.” He fishes something out of his pocket and hands it to Yoongi. Yoongi opens his hand automatically, his stomach turning weakly when a small, bright green earring falls into his palm.

The hook of the earring digs into his palm when he enters the top floor of the building. Yoongi takes a seat at an empty table in the open floor pantry and pulls out his phone, scrolling through his emails. The floor is busier than usual; some team seems to be celebrating a colleague’s birthday at another table, a cake with white icing and a couple of slices messily cut out sitting in the centre of the circle; one producer sits alone at a table with noise cancelling headphones on and typing aggressively on his laptop. 

Yoongi looks around absently when his eyes land on the coffee station where - something pounds into his chest - he locks eyes with Miso. She holds his gaze for a couple of seconds before turning her back on him and dealing with her coffee. 

The earring feels heavy in his hand and all of a sudden, he feels the urge to hurl it out of the window. There is next to no way it’s making it back to its owner in any case. After Miso had icily got into her car outside the motel this morning and Seungwan had driven her away, Yoongi had walked out of the room and watched her leave, proceeding to smoke two full cigarettes in the chilly morning.

The receptionist from last night had also appeared and he’d offered her a cigarette voluntarily, for she looked rather drained as well. Something about how quiet and isolated the place was, not a sound anywhere or even a breath except for the person next to him, made Yoongi feel so disconnected from everything that he felt numb. It was too early, too cold and too unfair. Next to him, the receptionist had chucked her half-smoked cigarette on the ground.

“You didn’t finish that,” stated Yoongi, not really caring.

She’d glanced at him before turning to look ahead, and Yoongi noticed for the first time the carnage from the storm in front of the motel: tree trucks, piles of scattered branches and leaves, water accumulated and overflowing from a ridge in the ground. 

“Fuck it,” she’d said.

Maybe it was the aftermath of a terrible night or some sort of shared dissatisfaction with the world but fifteen minutes later, they were in the backseat of Yoongi’s car. It was quick, casual and ended almost as abruptly as it began, with both of them adjusting their clothes and going their separate ways with a brief, formal goodbye. 

It seems like ages ago now, with Miso across the room from him, getting coffee outside her studio. Yoongi lowers his head and stares at his phone screen, not reading anything. From the corner of his eye, he sees her turn around and walk in his direction; she would have to pass him to return to her studio.

He can’t think about their argument last night any longer. It’s been rattling around in his mind all day: the rage, the guilt, the desperate desire to sit her down in front of him and read her damn mind. Most of all, there’s an inkling of shame somewhere, deep down, in knowing that his reaction last night had been exactly what she’d expected. 

That’s what it had looked like, at least; her eyes had shuttered over at some point and she’d reverted to the old Miso, the one who seemed to live to annoy him and gave nothing, no indication of who she was or what she was thinking. Her walls that he’d worked so hard to make a crack in had gone up instantly, except this time there was a disappointment there he’d never encountered before.

A flash in front of him jerks him away from the table: a hand appears momentarily, placing a cup of iced coffee in front of him with a small thud, before disappearing. Heart racing in mild shock, he turns to see Miso walking away without a second glance, her fingers wrapped around another cup as she turns the corner of the corridor.

He stares at the cup. Sip it first, he’d say ordinarily, straight-faced with only a hint of irony. You’re just going to have to trust me, Min Suga, she’d say, shrugging and settling into her chair, giving him a challenging raise of the eyebrows.

Yoongi takes a sip of the cold liquid, feeling it coat his throat and savouring the hit of caffeine. After a moment, he gets up and heads down the corridor, stopping at Donghyuk’s studio and pausing before he knocks. 

“Come in,” comes Miso’s voice, dry and uninterested.

Yoongi pushes open the door slowly to see her alone at the console, a laptop open in front of her and a singular lamp at the other end of the room being the only source of light. She looks at him very briefly before going back to her work. It almost seems as though she expected him to follow her; he can’t tell if she’s happy about it, though.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he says.

She simply nods in response, scrolling through something on the laptop.

“Listen,” he says again, placing the coffee on a table next to him and running a hand tiredly through his hair. “I need to tell you something.”

“Okay.”

“Last night…” He trails off for a moment, wishing he’d rehearsed this a bit before coming in here. “Well, firstly, I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have… anyway. Sorry.”

Miso finally turns to him, looks him up and down, and then turns back around. “‘Kay. Is that it?”

“No.” He exhales. “I hooked up with someone this morning. After you left, the receptionist and I… we had sex.” He cringes inwardly at his own words but he can’t fathom how else to say it without mincing words. She’s still looking at her laptop; he isn’t sure if he’s imagining it, but her shoulders  stiffen slightly. “Anyway. I just wanted to let you know.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then -

“So?”

“So?”

“Why are you telling me?” she asks, shrugging and turning around briefly. “I’m not your girlfriend.”

“I know you’re not. But…” He frowns, trying to suppress the annoyance in his stomach that’s already threatening to bubble up. “I’m just letting you know. Transparency and all that.”

“But it’s none of my business.”

Yoongi closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, counts to three and slowly exhales. “Right. Well. It’s just something normal people do, I guess. Talk to each other and communicate when they’re…”

She turns around properly this time, her legs folded and her elbows resting on her thighs. “When they’re…” She raises her eyebrows. “When they’re hooking up? We made out a few times… are you telling me because of that?”

He doesn’t respond; he can barely look at her right now, anger and embarrassment creeping into his chest now.

“This is exactly what I was afraid of, Yoongi,” she says knowingly, as though she’s pointing out an unsatisfactory edit to a track. “I told you to stay away. But you didn’t listen. You stayed, you got attached, and you’re telling me about a one-night stand you had. And now you have some kind of… expectation of me when what you really should have done was stay away right from the start.”

“You know what? I’m starting to think the same thing,” he snaps, shaking his head and going to grab his coffee. “I guess forming an attachment with an ice queen is my lesson.”

“You got me attached, too.” It’s the only thing that makes him stop in his tracks. “And that’s the problem with getting attached - you start to care. And then when you find out something that you can’t help, something that’s out of your control and doesn’t fit the image of me you have in your mind - the damsel that needs saving because, admit it, that’s what I am to you right now - it shatters everything.”

Yoongi grits his teeth, but somewhere his throat starts to hurt. He grips the cup and turns around slowly to see her still sitting in the same position, face and voice unnaturally calm.

He needs to choose his words carefully, he knows, but she makes it impossible to think. “I do care,” he begins slowly in a low voice, staring at the floor. “You can make it out to be whatever saviour complex you want but I do care and I do want to help you and be there for you. What is wrong with you that you won’t let me?” he demands tightly, clenching his fist at his side.

“Because it won’t work,” she continues in that same state of forced calm. “This - this challenge? You can spend weeks and months and do all-nighters and collaborate with whoever you want but it’s not going to work. It’s beyond you now. And once you realise that, it’s just going to be an abandoned project. A file somewhere in your computer you just couldn’t crack. I don’t need to be saved,” she says after a moment. “So it’s better for you that you stop trying. And maybe you won’t be so disappointed anymore.”

Yoongi stares at her, her impassive eyes and slouched figure. It’s exhausting; he’s tired and drained and helpless and she simply moves farther and farther away each time.

“You got it, Kang Chanel,” he mutters. “I’ll stay away.” Not wanting to spend a second longer in here, he turns around and walks out of the studio.

Miso watches him leave, using every bit of strength in her to keep her mind blank, to push every single thought and emotion out and, for just a few hours, focus on something that isn’t her clusterfuck of a life. She spends the next few hours alone in the studio, eating take-out from a box and going on a Zoom meeting with Donghyuk.

When it’s nearly midnight, hours longer than she’d thought she’d stay (but wishing she could for longer), she begins to wrap up, saving and closing demo files and packing up her notebook, when her inbox pings.

“Damn it, Donghyuk,” she sighs, bending over to squint at the screen in the dark. Her heart skips a beat when she sees an instant message from Min, Yoongi. Index finger hovering over the mouse, she takes a deep breath and opens it. It’s a screenshot of what looks like a folder on a Mac laptop, but empty. She frowns when her laptop pings again.

[Prod Suga] [00:02] [screenshot] This is all the abandoned projects I’ve had in ten years. Happy to stay away, but don’t you dare call yourself a project ever again.

—

⧖⧗Many, Many Circas Ago⧗⧖

The news of Hajin’s death spread faster than the Solarian fire. It upset many; she wasn’t only a dedicated soldier but also the crown princess—the last heir to the Darlaean throne. And to you, she was your best friend, your soulmate, someone akin to being your sister. 

You were forced to make a mind-numbing speech to the nation, taking responsibility as the General who allowed the princess to be slain under her watch. Your soldiers listened, heads bowed, understanding that the Solarians were to blame. But many others denounced your authority, criticized your methods, and blamed you for handing Hajin off on a silver platter for the Solarians to kill. Someone threw their shoe at you when you were up on the stage, which hit your cheek at an astonishing velocity and left it bruised. You were forced off the platform to avoid any more attacks from the angry crowd. The next day, scholars in the 11th city used your failures to advocate that Darlae should surrender or at least push for peace. 

Your bruised cheek and sprained ankle from the battle healed immediately with your private team of healers, but the pain never stopped. Perhaps it was the guilt—that it really was your fault that Hajin was dead—or perhaps it was the pain of having thousands of Darlaeans despise your existence for a mistake that killed such a beloved member of royalty. You weren’t sure what went wrong. But you knew you had the power to prevent it, and you’d failed.

It was cowardly of you, but you fled to the comfort of the 12th city, unable to handle the agony. Hoseok took you in with open arms. Not once did he blame you for your failure to protect his daughter. Instead, he treated you as his own, which he always had anyway. But the pain of having lost his only child, the last heir to the throne had affected him too. For days after her death, he didn’t come out of his chambers and left his food untouched.

You were in a similar state. You spent the next week in your chambers in the castle, unable to get out of bed, unable to find the motivation to even lift your head from your pillow. Jungkook grew worried about you. He visited the 12th city on the eighth day since Hajin’s death and knocked upon your door. When you didn’t answer, he slowly opened it, only to find you hidden under your blankets.

“Hey,” he said, his voice gentle and quiet.

You didn’t answer—couldn’t. You were afraid of crying again. 

“The people don’t know what they’re talking about,” he tried again. “I talked to your parents and asked them to placate the scholars. And I’ve done everything in my power to squash misconceptions and rumors about your role in… in her passing.”

Still no answer. But you were trembling now. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said. “It’s the damn war.”

That only reminded you of the job that you’d neglected for a week. How could you ever go back to commanding the army having made such a large mistake that killed your best friend? How could it not be your fault? Why couldn’t you protect her? You could’ve easily put her in the flank of the formation that statistically had the lowest casualties. Why didn’t you? Was it an oversight? Were you too confident in her capabilities? But she was capable. She always was. She was only an unlucky victim of a vicious Solarian soldier who was known to shoot at her targets with metal rings on her hands. How fucking inhumane. 

“Hey,” Jungkook said again. It brought you back to reality, which only sharpened the taste of anguish. 

He sat at the edge of the bed—you only knew because the mattress dipped. 

“Come back to the 1st city with me,” he said. “We have to move on.” He sounded sweet, or maybe you were in love with his voice, among the other parts of him. But his words cut deeply.

You ripped the covers over your head. A wave of fresh air hit your nose. He was in his uniform with the fur cape wrapped around his shoulders—even though he should’ve had plenty of time to change into something more comfortable. He liked to be in uniform when he discussed the military, and it stung that he believed this was a matter of business when it should be personal.

Hot tears spilled out of your eyes. “Move on? How can you say that?” 

He’d been present at the funeral, during your embarrassing failure of a eulogy. And as soon as you were ushered off the stage, he was sent up for what you could only assume was damage control. He had the miraculous ability to appease the crowd—at least, divert their attention away from you and add fuel to the burning hatred of a fire that most Darlaeans felt toward the Solarians. He was stern but unveiled just enough emotion to charm. And yet he never cried. Not even behind closed doors. The day after, he operated as he usually did—as if nothing had happened at all.

“Y/N, she’s dead now,” Jungkook said. “We should focus on the war.”

Anger ripped through your chest. The red was back, and you were oh so sick of it. They were only words, but they somehow pained you even more. You couldn’t help but to raise your voice. “She was our friend!”

“She’s just another fallen soldier.”

“You know damn well she was not!”

How could he reduce all the memories, the late-night talks over dinner, all of the time the two of you spent with her into nothing? How could he be so cruel?

“She saved my life once,” he admitted. “And I’ll forever be sorry that I wasn’t able to return the favor. But we leave the dead on the ground no matter who they are.”

“...What?”

“It’s to protect the soldiers who are living. You know that.”

“Without me and Taehyung, we wouldn’t have had her body at the funeral!” 

“And you are both fortunate to be alive,” he said. How the hell could he sound so level-headed despite your adversarial tone? “We can’t risk the lives of the living for the dead.”

“But this was different!” Tears blurred your vision. You stumbled out of bed to face him, pointing an accusatory finger at his chest. “She was the crown princess, and she was your friend. You said you’d be sad if she died! But how can you act like nothing happened? How can you just—just fucking leave her on the battlefield? You couldn’t even cover for me!”

“Don’t accuse me of never caring about her,” Jungkook said. His voice was barely above a whisper, but you could tell he was furious. His fists were clenched and his body tensed as he averted his eyes. “Don’t fucking go there.”

“But you left her!”

And you left me.

“You don’t order a retreat for one soldier, Y/N,” he said. “I don’t care if she was our friend. I don’t care if she was the crown princess. There was no retreat ordered when General Son was injured, so why the fuck would we stop a battle we are winning for a dead, unranked soldier?”

You were shocked into silence. 

His eyes were so cold, devoid of any emotion. 

I don’t care if she was our friend. I don’t care if she was the crown princess.

You were shaking, and though you had enough layers of clothing on, you felt perpetually cold. 

We don’t stop a battle we are winning for a dead, unranked soldier.

Before you knew it, you were screaming at him. You don’t know if you were saying words, or if you were just simply screaming and screaming and screaming, but your throat felt raw. Your knees hit the floor, tears from your face splattering on the ground on impact.

You didn’t know how long you were screaming. Your ears were ringing, your jaw aching. But you couldn’t stop. And when you believed the pain couldn’t possibly get worse, you saw him stand. Then, he walked away.

Your world shattered. 

He’d left. He’d really left.

All the rage inside your body dissolved into an even worse pain—grief. Fresh, hot tears streamed down your face. 

You wondered if he’d ever come back. 

It had been weeks since Hajin’s death, but not a day had gone by without you crying over her grave. If you weren’t in the royal graveyard, hunched over Hajin’s tombstone, you were ensconced under your covers, hoping perhaps that you’d suffocate and be put out of your misery. 

You hadn’t spoken to your lieutenant at all since your last fight, but somehow, your army ran quite smoothly, even though you were on temporary leave. The Darlaean King told you to take as much time as you needed to mourn and advised Jungkook to look after his nation for the time being.

“Please, take care of Y/N when she forgets to take care of herself,” Hoseok had told him. You and Jungkook still weren’t on speaking terms then, yet he swore to the king that he would take care of you until the end. That stung. If you did come to your end, he’d leave your body on the battlefield without batting an eye. It was such a stupid, selfish thought to have amidst the other miseries in your life, but you couldn’t help it. It still hurt. The thought had made you sob in front of the king, and Hoseok had sobbed with you, yet for a different reason. And, of course, Jungkook stayed silent, watching the two of you cry without a single fluctuation of emotion on his face.

The days seemed to drag on and dash past at the same time. It all felt the same to you, anyway. You lost yourself in the world of the past, spending most of your days daydreaming about your time with Hajin in the Training Corps—things were so much simpler then. It made you feel like she was still alive—as if she was in the other room, and she would barge into your chambers any minute now demanding that you snacked on deviled eggs with her. During nighttime, you often played through the battle that had led to her death. You found yourself analyzing every strategy, every soldier placement, every blade of trampled-over grass on the field. But thoughts like these were always the worst, for there were so many preventative measures you’d neglectfully forgone. You fell asleep every night with a pillow soaked with your tears.

You missed Hajin’s bubbly laugh, her endless words, and especially how she’d always grasp your hands in excitement. Sometimes, you stood outside her closed chamber doors, your hand hovering over the doorknob. But you could never let yourself in. Hajin’s lady-in-waiting often found you passed out in front of her door. She would kindly wake you, and send you back to your chambers with a warm cup of tea and honey.

Then there were the fleeting thoughts of Jungkook. They came in jumbled, confused bursts where you couldn’t figure out if you hated him, felt sorry that you yelled at him and accused him of never caring for Hajin, or still felt angry that he’d left you stranded on the battlefield and alone in your chambers when you needed him most. There was a part of you that condemned yourself for being so childish, for everything Jungkook had said that day the two of you fought had been completely rational—as per military guidelines. In fact, you had been the one who had lashed out at him, had questioned his friendship, had accused him of hurtful things. In a way, his eagerness to continue to fight the Solarians might be to reconcile Hajin’s death. Perhaps this was his method of honoring her legacy—to allow her death to fuel his desire to win the war so much so that even though she was no longer here, she would become a hero. He was resilient in ways you only wished you were. But then there were moments when you couldn’t stand the thought of him. He still left you out on the battlefield to fend for yourself. And he left you again in your chambers. He hasn’t come back since.

But whatever your feelings toward Jungkook were at the moment, you still missed him. Perhaps that was what unconditional love was. It scared you that he might not feel the same. And it killed you to even have to doubt.

Before you knew it, your birthday passed. There was no celebration. The age of 23 felt like a curse—only because Hajin never experienced it and never would. By the time Circa Alexandrite came around, you were so far deep into mourning Hajin’s death and having been off-duty, that you grew winded after climbing a flight of stairs. 

You thought yourself pathetic most times. How was it that the world continued to move on, but you were stuck in the past? It had been circas since Hajin had passed, but why were you in the same place as you were before? You were a fucking coward, that’s what you were. General Son once told you that fear could fuel you to do extraordinary things, but there was nothing extraordinary about you being bedridden with pain that resided in your heart and nowhere else. You were letting down his legacy. Letting down Hajin’s legacy too. For fuck’s sake, you deserved the condemnation of the public for being such a weak leader.

You wondered what your soldiers thought about you. Did they think you fled? Ran away at the first sight of mass disapproval? They wouldn’t be wrong. You wondered how the Darlaeans were faring in the war. You trusted Jungkook to lead when you’d failed to, and you trusted that he’d do it well. And even though he had refused to bring her body back to the 1st city, he had done more with the result of her death than anyone else. You couldn’t argue with that.

But he’d still left you… Twice. And he hasn’t even bothered to talk to you since. Though to be fair, you hadn’t attempted to contact him either. But how can you? The last time you saw him, you’d screamed at him until he left the room. It was shame that stopped you from mending your relationship—wherever it was. 

As more weeks went by, you attempted to ease yourself back into your work. You would open up one of your leather-bound journals, pick up a quill, and try to brainstorm a new charm for your soldiers to use in battle. You would try to sketch battle plans. You even tried to mask new gowns for yourself. And sometimes, you got work done. But then, you would break down crying and sobbing. Your gowns would unmask into arbitrary pieces of fabric. Your battle plans would be reduced to ugly ink splotches from your tears. No matter what you did, you couldn’t escape the fact that Hajin was gone.

It felt pointless sometimes. You didn’t know what to make of yourself. The inspiration you’d felt when you were younger and in the Training Corps—it was nowhere to be found. After a while, when the spring rains dried up and the sun seemed to be out eternally, you felt numb. You didn’t feel much pain in your heart anymore, only a deep, hollow feeling in your gut. You would cry less often now, but that didn’t mean you were all that healed. 

The weather in late Circa Ruby was sweltering and unforgiving. But there came an instance when it rained for a couple of days straight, which was quite unusual at that time of year. The gloominess of the weather reopened the wounds in your heart. You sobbed with the sky. 

The next day, when the storm clouds went away, you visited Hajin’s grave. The ground was muddy from last night’s rain, but you didn’t care. You were hunched over, shoulders shaking as you cried. 

“Hey.”

You jumped, not having realized you weren’t alone. You could recognize his voice anywhere, despite not having heard it in circas. Your heart ached. Because above all the hatred, the regret, the grief, you were sorry. And you missed him.

He wasn’t in uniform, though the uncharacteristic blood under his fingertips told you that he must’ve taken the first carriage to the 12th city after a battle. You felt a deep pang in your chest. He’d been filling in for you in a role that you’d neglected for nearly four circas now. You couldn’t bear to look at his face. Without another word, he handed you a neatly folded-up handkerchief. You hesitated, though you don’t know why, and took it. In his other hand, he held a bouquet of white flowers. 

You wiped your incessant tears with his handkerchief until it ceased to absorb any more water. Jungkook quietly took the handkerchief from you, replacing it with the beautifully wrapped flowers. With shaky hands, you carefully placed them in front of Hajin’s tombstone. She would’ve hated them, for she was never quite acquired an affinity for flowers, but she would have approved of the thought behind them.

Jungkook sank to his knees beside you. You could feel his gaze on you, apologetic and kind. 

I’m sorry, he tapped on his trinket. I should’ve visited both of you earlier… 

Your fingers trembled as they tapped back. It’s okay. I understand. You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you were sorry too. That he was so busy because of you. 

He placed a gentle hand on your back. His touch spread warmth all around your body. You couldn’t help but lean closer to him. He seemed to notice and offered you his shoulder. You took it. 

It felt so natural, being with him again, almost as if the two of you hadn’t fought at all. Your thoughts about him, which had left you perplexed before, were all too clear now. While you grieved under the safety of your covers, he grieved by forcing himself to work harder—by picking up others’ slack. You couldn’t fault him for being unable to cry. He didn’t have to, to show that he was grieving. It was apparent in his dulled skin, his slightly red eyes from the lack of sleep, and his disheveled state. You could see it now. He left you that day to sob in your chambers because he didn’t want you to see him break down too. Because he’s always liked being strong. He had to be to climb his way up to where he was now.

Hey, he tapped.

“Hm?”

“I’ll never leave you again,” he whispered. Even if I’m bloodied and broken and losing a damn battle. I’ll stay by your side. “I promise.”

The ability to form coherent sentences melted away, along with your heart. You finally turned to look him in the eyes, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks. He reached out to tenderly wipe them away with the pad of his thumb. He looked so beautiful, even though his eyebrows were twisted, and his own eyes were filled with sorrow. His expression made you cry harder, and you flung your body at him, arms wrapping around his neck. His hand instinctively reached up to support your head as he noticeably relaxed in your embrace.

He was so warm. So, so warm. Not even the summer sun could provide you with this much warmth. 

Thank you, you tapped on his back. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Don’t be, he answered. 

I’ll go back, you offered. And you meant it. You did. If he spent circas guarding the nation despite insurmountable grief, you had to do it too. For Hajin. She would’ve wanted you to continue your job—to end the war once and for all.

Good, he responded. Your soldiers have missed you.

With Jungkook’s love and support, you picked up training in the 1st city again, though slowly as the muscles in your body had hardened from their lack of use and your reflexes had dulled from the hours you spent inert under your bed covers. Your soldiers all believed you had been ill for circas, which was a lie that Jungkook told to save your reputation in the military. But it also wasn’t too far from the truth. You’d been bedridden, after all, though most of the pain had manifested in your heart rather than your body. You weren’t to go to battle until you were fully healed—wherein ‘healed’ was entirely up to Jungkook’s discretion. He didn’t want you fighting in any battles until you were fighting with the caliber you once had—before Hajin’s death.

Despite the fact that you had abandoned them, your soldiers welcomed you with open arms. They understood what illness could do to the body; plenty of them had spent weeks in the infirmary time and time again, their fresh wounds becoming new battle scars. Except your scars weren’t physical. They were mental. You hoped they wouldn’t notice.

“We were so worried, Y/N,” Taehyung said. “My sister asked for you so many times, and I had to tell her that I wasn’t sure if you were doing all right.”

“Yes,” Seokjin agreed. “It must’ve been a nasty illness, sir,” he said, always one to insist on using honorifics. “We’re glad to have you back.”

You let yourself smile. “And I’m glad to be back,” you said. You realized you never got to properly thank Taehyung for helping you on the battlefield that day, carrying Hajin’s body back to safety, so you extended your gratitude to him right then and there. It was difficult not to get choked up at the recollection, but the two soldiers didn’t seem to notice your inner turmoil.

Taehyung was sheepish. “Just doing my duty.”

“Duty or not it was kind,” you said. “I’ll never forget it, Taehyung. Truly.”

You missed having these small conversations with your soldiers. You missed visiting them in the infirmary, eating lunch with them out in the fields and visiting the barracks to check in occasionally. All of this reminded you of the mountain of duties you siphoned off Jungkook’s way when you gave up after Hajin’s passing. How many of the simple rituals you held with your soldiers did he emulate? Did he emulate them at all? You wondered what he was like, briefly running the army in your stead. Did he feel in his element? Did he perhaps feel as though you’d robbed him of this desirable position? You hated that the last thought even came to you. Jungkook was your boyfriend, your lover, your dear soulmate. He would never think that of you. He stepped in because he had to, not because he was eager to try a hand at a role that he believed was his right. 

Nobody mentioned what it was like to be under Jungkook’s command. Perhaps they were afraid you would take offense to it. And perhaps you would—just a little bit—if his command was preferred by your soldiers. It would make you feel like you stole this position from him, that you somehow tricked General Son into handing you a position you didn’t deserve. The numbers told the truth, however. Whether your soldiers preferred his command didn’t matter much when the sheer number of battles he won in six circas well surpassed the number you could achieve in the same allotted time. There were more casualties, however. The infirmary logs were at least three times as long. This reminded you of the training exercise you did with him years back—back when you and he were still under General Son’s tutelage. Back when General Son was alive. What was it that Jungkook said? Optimal in a war means victory. And it will always mean victory. So of course he’d approve of new, violent charms and even more vicious propaganda. You didn’t agree with these choices, but these kinds of things were difficult to undo once deployed. Perhaps Jungkook knew that when he authorized them—that you wouldn’t be able to reverse their approval or their effects. You liked to think that he wasn’t aware of the consequences. That he only approved of these things hastily to lead an optimal army, using the definition of optimal he had built in his head.

And now, now it felt like the army almost wasn’t yours anymore. It was a horrible feeling. By all means, you weren’t angry at Jungkook for these changes. He did what he had to do. You were the one who abandoned your duties; he had only stepped in. He did you a favor. But that didn’t change the fact that you no longer felt in control—not that you desired control in the first place. Still, you’d built up the army, using the foundations that General Son had generously left you with, with your flesh, blood and tears. You didn’t condone ruthlessness, even if it was necessary. It might be considered a flaw in the history books, but it was also who you were. 

Jungkook, on the other hand, was truly the very definition of ruthlessness. It was hard to imagine him as such when he was always so loving and caring towards you, but sometimes, when you saw him fight, when you saw him speak of the Solarians, you caught glimpses of mercilessness, sometimes bordering on cruelty. The more you observed your boyfriend in his military element, the more you realized how much he’d hardened. But perhaps he was always like this. He had always been driven and goal-oriented; he was also one to agree that the ends justified the means, no matter how cruel the means were. So, perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised you to see how he demanded and ordered his soldiers about—how he even treated the people he grew up with, like Seokjin and Taehyung. He commanded with an iron first, with an aura so mighty that you felt as if it surpassed your authority at times. He never overstepped in your presence, however. Jungkook would never do that. He respected you and loved you and was looking out for you during your recovery journey. 

Yet the six circas you were away had changed him and your army. He would walk into a room and soldiers would stop chattering. He would stride across a field and soldiers would salute him. He had soldiers salute him before they spoke and wait for his dismissal to leave. It was all so formal—even more so than the army that General Son ran. But you couldn’t blame Jungkook. You never could. Perhaps this was how he coped with Hajin’s death. Perhaps he wanted complete and utter control to handle the uncontrollable need to mourn. Perhaps when you had suddenly given up, and he was suddenly tossed into your position, he had no choice but to prove himself to your confused soldiers—demanding compliance in case they didn’t respect him as much as you. Or perhaps he simply worked better in a different environment than you. You couldn’t be angry at him for that.

Jungkook was so patient with you. From time to time, you had your moments, when the grief suddenly became unbearable. When those times came, he would usher you into your office, lock the door, and hold you as you cried. Sometimes, it was as if he knew these moments were coming. Sometimes, he’d already be waiting for you in your private quarters with a delicious duck roast and warm mushroom stew, ready to soothe your mind over with a hearty meal. While you may have your differences with him as your lieutenant general, he was the perfect boyfriend. 

And so with love and support, you continued your recovery journey in the 1st city. To pass the time outside of your grueling physical training—it felt like you were back in the Training Corps again—you reviewed your favorite strategy books and reread General Son’s documents, determined to at least create infallible battle plans when you couldn’t contribute to the field.  

On Hajin’s birthday—she would’ve turned 23—Jungkook took you back to the 12th city. The two of you spent some time with the king, who welcomed you and him with open arms. He wasn’t looking any better.

After dinner, Jungkook told you to meet him in the orchard, so you did. It was a warm night, as nights often were in Circa Ruby, so you were wearing a thin gown—the silver one that made you sparkle like the moon, as Jungkook said. You sat on the grass, staring up at the sky, trying not to think, for if you did, you might start sobbing. You tried to drown your mind in the darkness of the horizon—that was until you saw light in your peripheral vision.

When you turned your head, you saw Jungkook holding a silver birdcage. Inside, was the most magnificent animal you had ever seen in your life. His beak was shiny and dark like the midnight sky and his plumage blazed with the eternal flame of a thousand suns. His onyx eyes carried depths of wisdom and glinted as they flitted towards you. He seemed to be smiling at you. ‘Recognize me?’

“Jungkook…” you breathed. “How…?”

“Think of it as your rather late birthday gift,” he answered with a soft smile. 

“I thought they killed him,” you said, immediately reaching for the latch on the cage and swinging the door open. “Even after all that begging, I thought they had every reason to kill him. Enyx… I thought you were gone”

The phoenix flew out, ruffling his feathers as he perched on your shoulder. ‘It takes a lot to kill me, you know,’ he seemed to say.

You laughed. “I’m glad.”

“They only kept him frozen,” Jungkook said. “But I don’t think any royal butcher in their right mind would go against the wishes of the princess’ best friend.”

The mention of Hajin made your heartache and your face fall. The phoenix noticed, and he used his clawed foot to drum gently on your shoulder. ‘It’s okay, child,’ he seemed to say in his infinite wisdom. ‘I’m here now.’

You reached up to ruffle his feathers. “Thank you,” you said—to both the bird and Jungkook. There were tears in your eyes. It was always difficult to think of the past without thinking of Hajin. Jungkook caught your falling tears with his sleeve.

“Don’t cry,” he said sweetly. He was different around you, not the ruthless lieutenant general your soldiers couldn’t help but fear just a little bit. He was perfect to you. A lifeline of some sort.

“I… I can’t help it,” you whispered. “The tears just keep coming… I don’t… I just… There’s just so much sadness—I don’t know how else to express it, and it just… It’s been circas. But sometimes, it feels like it happened just yesterday.”

“I know…” Jungkook said. He held your hand. “But you’ve been doing so well. In another circa, you should be ready to go on the battlefield again. In another circa, you’ll be able to punish the Solarians for what they did to Hajin.”

You nodded. “In another circa…” you echoed.

You wanted it to come as much as you wanted it to never. 

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⨰ a/n: sorry for being a week late :') unsure when the next update will be. hopefully late novemeber but i can't make promises this time :( hope you enjoyed this chapter though! flashback sequence ends veryyyy soon :0

please consider telling me your thoughts with a comment, an ask or a reblog :) i love hearing readers' impressions/rambles/predictions! if you want to join the taglist, send in a private message, ask, reply to this post or reblog with your request!

On a warm summer afternoon, a young girl walked home alone. The pavement under her feet was rough, poking the soles of her feet through the thin flip flops. She brushed her fingers absently against the picket fences on her way, unaware - or simply uncaring - of the beautiful day it was; the green gardens; the picturesque street of her childhood; the bees hovering lazily over colourful flowers. 

Perhaps she wasn’t at the age where she understood the beauty in the simple things. Or perhaps she was distracted, and somewhat sad, that she was walking home alone on such a beautiful day. It was, after all, her birthday.

When she reached home, her mother was sifting through mail at the dining table. The birthday cake she knew she would cut later this evening sat on the kitchen counter in a pink cardboard box, and she could see her name through the transparent top, written in chocolate icing.

Her mother noticed. “You’ll just have to wait till this evening,” she sang, wiggling her eyebrows in exaggeration.

She responded with half a smile; maybe her mother hadn’t realised, but she was fourteen today, much past the age where her birthday cake was the highlight of the day. Still, she was grateful her mother was trying, that she was here - unlike everyone else.

“Anything for me?” she asked hopefully. 

“As a matter of fact,” said her mother, pushing a small pile of differently coloured envelopes towards her, “there is.”

For the first time this afternoon, she felt excited. Reaching for the pile, she scooped them into one hand and hopped off her chair, immediately running upstairs to her bedroom and shutting the door behind her.

If her friends were not in town for her birthday, at least they might have wished her from afar. She had received a couple of e-cards: brightly coloured animations that opened in another window of Internet Explorer, slowing down the internet connection in her entire house.

But this whole year, all the cool kids in school had gotten into the fad of writing letters. It probably had something to do with the new drama that had come out last year, set in the nineties where the characters made it through the entire plot mostly through letters across the country.

Naturally, everybody had become inspired, finding emails and text messages too bourgeois, and opting to write letters to each other even if they lived in the same block. 

She understood it. There was something extremely satisfying about folding the sheet of paper, placing it in a crisp white envelope, sticking a stamp on it and depositing it in a mailbox, watching it disappear into the abyss and waiting for the day your friend’s response arrived in the mail.

Now, she fell onto her stomach on the bed and picked the first one to read. Everybody wished her a happy birthday, talked about their spring vacation, missed home and gushed about meeting once the semester resumed. Each letter was like a little wave from a different part of the country; subconsciously, one letter kept getting set aside until it was the only letter left, the last pastel blue envelope with her name in a familiar scrawl.

Hey birthday girl,

I hope you’re not too lonely without me (and all your other friends, but mostly me). You know I wish I could’ve been there to smear your face with cake and watch you get all dramatic about it but since I can’t, I’m just going to picture it and laugh my ass off (LMAO).

Busan is nice but it’s so hot! My favourite cousin didn’t come this time so I’m stuck with her two little brothers who spend all their time playing with sticks they found in the garden and pretending they’re swords. I wish I could join them but it’s honestly been way too long since something like that sounded fun.

Speaking of which, did you like your birthday present?? I totally wanted to see your face when you opened it! But when my parents told me I wouldn’t be there, I gave it to your mom that morning you got late for school and asked her to give it to you.

(And here I hope you’re reading this AFTER she gave you the present, otherwise the surprise is ruined LOL)

Anyway, I know we were supposed to go out on your birthday so I promise we will when I’m back… but it won’t be your actual birthday so I’ll DEFINITELY make it up to you next year. Or if that seems too far away, we can celebrate your half-birthday - whichever sounds better. Maybe all three (although I hope not because I’ll probably run out of pocket money by then).

Hope you have a great day and you BETTER write back. Splotch some icing on your face from me.

- Your favourite person on Earth (you KNOW I am)

She read it three times, giggling quietly and wishing he were here so she could flick his forehead every time he cracked a lame joke. Her cake and future present forgotten, she clambered off the bed with the letter and sat at her desk. Reaching for the light pink stationery set her aunt had gifted her this morning, she tucked her hair behind her ear and began writing her reply.

—

The rain is pouring with a vengeance now, and Jimin blinks it out of his eyes as he hurries into the hotel manager’s office. His hair is wet and the AC blows a gust of freezing air through it, making him shiver.

“Sir,” he begins, then stops. The manager turns around and Jimin blinks. “Um… Mr Moon?”

“Oh - he is busy with another client,” says the manager. “I’m Mr Jang - Jang Jiyeong - at your service. The deputy manager.” He reaches forward to offer a hand that Jimin takes, confused.

“But I just spoke to Mr Moon on the phone - I’m his client,” he says, a bit hassled now. “I called him an hour ago about booking the gazebo for the night and he assured me it was free - and dry. And now I can’t get ahold of him.”

“I’m sorry - let me see what I can do,” mutters Mr Jang, dialing a number and looking up at the ceiling as the phone rings. Jimin stares at him for a minute until he puts the phone down. “Apologies, Mr…”

“Park. Park Jimin.”

“Mr Park Jimin, yes - you see, I can’t -” He stops abruptly and his eyes go wide. “Park Jimin, the idol? My daughter loves you! Would you sign an autograph for her?” he asks, eyes shining excitedly.

“I will come to her in person and thank her for being a fan,” says Jimin deliberately, hearing his own voice shake, “If you can please help me get in touch with Mr Moon.”

“Ah, yes, Mr Moon. I apologise,” he says quickly, apparently remembering himself. “I’m sorry, sir, I couldn’t reach him. But I’m sure it’s just because of signal issues. In fact, if you wait right here, I’m sure he’ll -”

He’s interrupted by the door slamming open and Mr Moon stumbling in with a wet umbrella. “Oh, Mr Park, you’re here,” he says, sounding relieved. “Sir, I’m sorry to tell you but we’ve run into a slight problem. You see -”

A loud clap of thunder makes them all jump and is on cue, the lights fizzle out and the office is plunged into darkness.

“- we seem to have lost power.”

—

“Okay - what? Wait, slow down.” Taehyung winces at Jimin’s incensed shouts on the phone. He looks up to see Jungkook approaching, pushing his sweaty bangs back with a headband and taking a seat at the lateral pulldown machine. He raises his eyebrows and Taehyung puts the call on the speaker. “So - okay, so where are you now?”

“I’m driving down from that stupid hotel back down to Gangnam!” he answers, sounding livid. “Apparently half the city has lost power including a damn five star hotel - so I thought I could try the astronomy museum across from the office,” he adds sullenly.

Jungkook frowns, wrinkling his nose. “The one we all went to after we debuted?”

“Yes, well, I don’t have a lot of options,” sniffs Jimin, followed by the sound of water splashing. “But it had that auditorium where you lie on the ground and they display the history of the universe or whatever. I figured fake stars are the best I can do tonight,” he grumbles.

Taehyung raises his eyebrows, sensing that telling his friend that Sooah will like whatever he does would be unhelpful at this time. “There’s that Japanese place next door to it, too, if you want to pick up food from there.”

“Yeah, that’s probably what I’ll do because the caterer that I booked today has gotten stuck in the rain because their car broke down. All I have is a single bottle of champagne that wasn’t even my first choice, my hair is wet and not in a sexy way, and now the gourmet meal I’d planned is going to be replaced by takeout sushi! This is the worst birthday ever!”

“Doesn’t Namjoon hyung have a liquor cabinet in his studio? He might have a bottle of champagne you can borrow.”

“Yes, he does, and I called him to ask for the password to his studio but he didn’t answer.” There’s the sound of a screeching horn, followed by Jimin swearing under his breath.

Taehyung and Jungkook look at each other, both lost for words. “Hey, uh, Jimin hyung,” says Jungkook slowly, looking up at Taehyung for approval, who nods at him to go on. “Listen… we won’t keep you, but let us know if you need any help, okay?”

“My socks are drenched!” With that, Jimin hangs up.

“Wow.” Taehyung places his phone on his hand towel, folded neatly by his water bottle. “This is the most stressed he’s ever been in… like, years?”

“Since that outdoor taping of Filter, where the wind kept blowing the hat off his head mid-routine,” remembers Jungkook, and they snicker. “I’m glad I’m not out there right now. Although the rain does look kind of nice from here,” he comments, pointing to the window by the treadmills.

“I take it you did cancel your date finally?” Taehyung asks, stretching his triceps over his head. He hadn’t intended on doing much at the gym except for giving Jungkook some company, but Jungkook had been so excited about teaching him this new exercise his trainer had taught him that Taehyung had gone along with it and surprisingly enjoyed the endorphin rush.

“Yeah, I wasn’t too keen on it,” he replies dismissively, reaching up for the bar and pulling it down in a smooth motion, face screwing up slightly with the weight.

“Really? Because the first time you saw her - wait, what’s her name again? Haneul?”

“Hana.”

“Right - the first time you saw her when you went to get your first tattoo, you couldn’t stop talking about how hot she was,” he recalls. “Remember? You called me when I was at my parents’ and kept saying you’d just met the woman you were going to marry? And then you corrected yourself and said you probably wouldn’t marry her but you could see yourself proposing at least once?”

“Oh, man.” Jungkook grimaces, the tip of his ears reddening. “I was a stupid kid.”

“Nah, you were cute.”

“Stupid,” repeats Jungkook, grunting as he finishes his last rep of the set and lets go of the bar. Taehyung offers him a sip of water, grinning at his embarrassment. “But she’s still hot. And she’s pretty chill, too, but… I dunno. Not feeling it today. But I’ll probably catch up with her after Sooah’s birthday lunch tomorrow,” he adds, straightening up and beginning his second set.

“Sure, if Jimin hasn’t had a nervous breakdown and cancelled the lunch in a fit,” says Taehyung, rolling his eyes. “God, my arms are going to kill me tomorrow,” he mutters, turning to the wall mirror and stretching his biceps again.

Jungkook flashes him a toothy smile in the mirror. “No pain, no gain, hyung,” he says wisely.

Taehyung gives him a playful smack on the shoulder and moves towards the mirror, observing his biceps from different angles in the light, wondering if today’s workout is actually making a difference.

“Looking sexy, hyung,” remarks Jungkook, finishing his second set and standing up.

“I know, right? C’mon, we have to take a picture,” he instructs, waving him over and reaching for his phone. “Let’s commemorate my last gym session for the rest of the month.”

Jungkook chuckles, pushing the sleeve of his t-shirt up to reveal his own biceps. “The fans will get a kick out of this.”

Taehyung flexes his own and points the phone at the mirror and clicks, then groans. “No way, your muscles are way too big,” he complains, reaching over and shoving Jungkook’s arm out of the way. “They make mine look so silly.”

“Nuh-uh, your face looks better in the picture -” Jungkook starts to say, trying to force his arms further in focus as Taehyugn tries to push them away. They grapple jokingly until Jungkook pulls him back in a pretend headlock and faces the mirror, his biceps firmly in the centre of attention. 

Taehyung snorts but has to admit that the pose looks hilarious, so he flexes his own bicep and holds his phone up with the other hand, and both of them grin at the mirror. “Perfect.”

Jungkook laughs and lets go of Taehyung as the latter starts typing a caption. “Is ‘gym bros’ too predictable?” he asks.

“Nah, it’s fine. Wait, are you posting it on Instagram or Weverse?”

“Neither. I’m sending it to Dilara.”

“Oh.” Jungkook pauses, long enough for Taehyung to look up at him. “Do you… I mean, you think she’ll be okay with that? Us hanging out?” he adds when Taehyung raises an eyebrow.

Taehyung blinks, then sighs heavily. “Alright, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this, properly. Look - let it go.”

When he doesn’t continue, Jungkook frowns. “Let, uh… let what go?”

Taehyung tilts his head and gives him a look, not fooled. “Look, it’s okay. I’m not mad at you. I get why you did it, alright? She’s your friend,” he says simply. “And that’s separate from our relationship. You were a good friend to her when I couldn’t be there for her and it’s not fair to assume that that won’t continue just because we’re back together now.”

Jungkook’s eyes, huge and doe-like, seemingly process this information. “She’s my friend,” he murmurs in agreement, almost as though he’s saying it to himself.

“Yes. She’s your friend. And as we’ve established over the many, many years we’ve known each other, that you get protective of your friends,” explains Taehyung. “Like the time that interviewer made fun of Jin hyung, or when that fan was taking pictures under Nayeon’s skirt when she was at the edge of the stage? You stood behind her and accidently kicked the phone out of his hand?” Both of them shudder at the memory.

Jungkook’s eyes flicker to Taehyung and he slowly nods. “She’s my friend,” he repeats, “and I get protective of my friends. She’s my friend,” he says, half-chuckling, sounding almost relieved that Taehyung apparently seems to understand this now.

Taehyung raises his eyebrows at this effusive response but goes along with it. “Yeah, she is. So… you know. I get it.”

“Right. So… so we’re really cool?” Jungkook asks.

His eyes shine hopefully, enough to make Taehyung’s heart break just a little. He places his hands on either side of Jungkook’s face. “Yes, you ridiculously muscled kid,” he says seriously, squeezing his face. “Now will you please chill the fuck out about this?” 

“You got it,” says Jungkook immediately. “And, uh… Dilara, too?”

“Even more so, if it’s possible. In fact, she, uh -” He takes a step back, moving to leave. “She asked me to ask you if you’ve got the sequel to the last Resident Evil… Hazardous Waste installment or something on your Playstation. And since I couldn’t care less, maybe you could text her yourself and let her know?”

“Definitely.” Jungkook nods, sounding relieved. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, this is more than enough exercise for me. It’s kind of getting in the way of my lying around time,” he points out, grabbing his things and waving.

“Alright. Oh, send me the picture!” Jungkook calls, seeing Taehyung’s thumbs up before he disappears out the glass doors.

—

The auditorium in the astronomy museum is less than ideal but Jimin knows he is fast running out of options. While the museum is almost shutting down for the night, he manages to keep it open for a sum, for a private tour with whom the manager refers to as his “lady friend”.

He’s at the gift shop, ruminating over a blanket and some fake champagne flutes, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Expecting the manager again, he fishes it out and tucks it in between his ear and shoulder.

“Hello?” “Jimin?”

Jimin drops the items he’s holding and picks up the phone. “Sooah? Hey, I was just going to -”

“Jimin, where the hell are you?” she yells, her voice barely audible over the rain. “It’s so dark - how do I even find you?”

“What do you -” And suddenly, Jimin’s heart stops, for he does know what she means. This can’t have possibly happened, he reasons, his heart pounding and stomach dropping at the same time. Somewhere, in the midst of securing one venue after another, coordinating with various sellers and bitching to his friends while driving in a storm, he has forgotten to inform the birthday girl of the change in plans.

“I’m at the park! Chim!” The sound of the rain is even louder now. “I’m holding the yellow umbrella at the front gate but, babe, it’s pitch black,” she tells him, sounding uncertain. “Are you sure this is even a good idea tonight?”

Jimin falls to the ground, resting on his heels, and presses the ball of his palm to his eyes. This night was already starting to seem unsalvageable, but now it suddenly feels like an all-time disaster. 

“Sooah,” he starts, feeling exhausted and defeated all at once, “listen, I’m… fuck, I am so sorry.”

“What? Chim, I can barely hear you,” comes her voice, slightly muffled through the rain. “Listen, the night guard here just told me the park is closed? Can you please come here? Or - or can you come to the Caffetta across the street? The rain is just way too strong here.”

“Yes,” he says immediately. “Yes, yes - I’ll be right there.” He hangs up and abandons the shopping, heading straight to the parking lot and going to Sooah. This drive feels like a blur; Jimin tries to ignore the disappointment, knowing that if he doesn’t rein it in now, he’s bound to start crying and that’s the absolute last thing Sooah needs after the hideousness that’s been this night.

He spots the logo of the Caffetta coffee shop as he’s nearing the park, the place where it all began today, and slows down the car. A brand new coffee chain borne out of a coffee brand, with branches all over Seoul, the place looks incredibly cozy and warm from where Jimin is, in the cold and the rain surrounded by dim streetlights and nothing else. He hurries inside, no longer caring if he gets wet in the process.

Sooah is in a cushy armchair, finger combing her hair when she looks up and spots him and, in what is probably the only highlight of Jimin’s day so far, she beams at him.

“Hey, I was starting to get worried,” she says as she walks up to him, immediately moving to hug him. He hugs her back, feeling his face start to morph as the urge to cry in anger starts to take over, until he takes a deep breath to force it away. 

She squeezes his shoulders before stepping away. “What happened? You sounded really stressed over the phone,” she says, taking him by the hand to the table she was sitting at. 

Jimin sinks into the chair next to her and sighs, wondering where to begin. He looks around briefly; it’s a pretty café, full of warm brown and yellow toned furniture, beanbag chairs and a corner booth - but it’s also almost empty. Aside from one table with a man and woman who look to be in their forties, and one younger man with headphones around his neck and a laptop in front of him, Sooah is the only other patron. 

He turns back to look at her, eyes roaming over her damp hair. Her sweater had clearly gotten wet; she’s taken it off and draped it across the back of her chair, left only in a thin full-sleeved shirt and jeans.

“I tried to…” He trails off, shaking his head. “I tried. I really did. I wanted to give you an amazing birthday, booking out the park and getting gourmet catering and falling asleep under the stars, but…” He rubs his eyes. “Everything got so fucked up.”

Sooah frowns slightly but it disappears, being replaced by a growing smile. “That actually sounds amazing.”

“Yeah, I knew you would love it!” he exclaims, feeling even worse now. “And then it started raining so I tried to move it and then I tried to book a hotel - but then the stupid power went out everywhere and the food never arrived,” he lists, “and all I had left was the champagne… which I now realise I left at the museum.” He swears and drops his head into his hands.

“Oh, my God.” Sooah is silent for a moment before moving, and he feels her soft hands on his. “Jimin. All I want for my birthday is to be with you. Anything you do will be lovely - I’ll love it no matter what.”

“It’s your first birthday since we got back together,” he says in a small voice, sniffing and looking up. “We’re always on-and-off and I don’t want this time to be like all the other times. Starting with this.”

She bites her lip, and Jimin is somewhat glad to see how affectionate she looks. “God, you really still are the sweetest guy I’ve ever known,” she murmurs, brushing back a stray lock of hair. “And you look cold. It means everything that you tried, baby, but I promise - I don’t care about that stuff.”

Jimin gives her a look. “That’s just not true. You… you’re - ” He struggles for the words, then gives up. “You’re Kim Sooah!”

She frowns, bewildered. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You love grand gestures! All the way from that chocolate-based treasure hunt in high school. And you just said the park thing sounded amazing.”

“Okay, yes, I would’ve loved that,” she admits, a little sheepishly. “I would’ve been blown away. But not at the expense of your evening. Chim, no grand gesture is worth you taking this much stress over it. And that part is true.”

Despite how much of a bust this evening has been, Jimin finally cracks a smile. “I promise lunch tomorrow will be better.”

“A simple restaurant, as long as it’s just you and me.”

“Yup,” he confirms, straight faced. “Totally.”

She pokes his forehead teasingly before kissing him. “Oh, wait. What was your original plan at the park, anyway? Like a picnic?”

Jimin shakes his head. “It was going to be a movie screening, just for us. Delicious food, champagne, a couch, the night sky above us… It would’ve been pretty spectacular. But honestly, I’m just tired now. Not to mention freezing.”

“I’m glad you said that because you know what? So am I.” Sooah stands up and heads towards the front of the shop and begins to order something.

Jimin jumps to his feet. “Absolutely not,” he says firmly, hurrying over and sliding in between her and the counter, before turning around to face her. “You are not going to pick up the tab on your birthday, too. Not unless you want me to kill myself.”

“Dramatic much?” she asks, making a face but moving away anyway. “Fine, a hot chocolate for me and…” She cranes her neck to read the menu. “And a hotdog. I’ll get us a better table,” she adds as he waves her away, brandishing his wallet in the air.

When Jimin returns with the food, it’s to see Sooah at a table in the back of the cafe, this time on a plush couch right by the window. She reaches eagerly for the hot chocolate, even before he’s set the tray down. He doesn’t go for the food, though; instead, he sits back on the couch next to her and sighs. The streets outside are dark, with the rain blurring every shape in the city and only the glow of streetlights piercing through the storm, like little charms. Now that his hair is drying, the view actually looks pretty.

“You okay?”

“You know, in a really twisted way, I’m glad the whole thing got ruined to the point where I just can’t salvage it, no matter what.” He gives her an apologetic look. “I mean, I wish it had worked out, but… God, this is the first time all day that I’ve finally relaxed.”

Sooah snickers, reaching over and kissing him on the cheek. “I was just thinking, though - maybe it’s not a total bust,” she points out, unlocking her phone and getting ready to type. “What was the movie?”

“Guess.”

“I dunno. Star Wars?”

“You -“ He gasps, affronted. “You think my romantic evening was going to be with Star Wars? Damn, Sooah, I thought you got me. It was going to be Grease.”

“Best movie of all time,” she agrees excitedly, typing it in. “And my favourite. And what do you know?” She turns the phone screen towards him. “It’s on Netflix.”

“Convenient,” he says, nodding. “But this wasn’t really how I’d pictured -”

“Things very rarely happen the way we picture it, Chim,” she says wisely. “But, as Chaeyoung told me that one day my face broke out right before a work event and I was out of concealer, we just have to make the best of it,” she says, placing her phone against the cute little tissue dispenser on the table so it faces them. “And I didn’t believe it would work either,” she adds, handing him one of her Airpods, “until she helped me discover the beauty of simply being who you are.”

“Wow.” Jimin raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes. That and BB cream.”

He nods, feeling so lucky in this moment that he feels sorry for every other individual out there who doesn’t have someone like Sooah. Taking the Airpod and tucking it into his ear, he picks up his own hot chocolate as she starts the movie. Maybe a movie on a big screen under the stars with gourmet food and champagne simply wasn’t in the cards tonight. Maybe this, shared earbuds and cuddling on a couch with hotdogs and hot chocolate, while the rain poured outside, was their BB cream.

“Oh, hang on.” He stands up and places his hot chocolate on the table. “I forgot something; I’ll be right back.” He jogs out of the cafe and runs to the car, wincing at the rain again. Determined to make at least one thing go according to plan tonight, he throws open the passenger door and retrieves the Gucci hoodie.

—

When their car almost hits a pothole, the jerk from swerving out of its way makes Yoongi feel like his stomach is falling out his back.

“Oh, my God, will you please drive in a straight line?” 

Yoongi grits his teeth and exhales sharply out of his nose, barely hanging on to his last shred of patience. “Hey, you know what? If you think you can do a better job, you drive next time.”

“Oh, really? Do you think you’ll actually let me in the drivers’ seat of your precious Range Rover next time?” Miso snaps, but it lacks its usual bite.

Yoongi chances a glance at Miso, looking away from the chaotic windshield for a moment. Her back is pressed to the passenger seat and her hands grip the edges, knuckles white. Her pale face looks a bit green but when another flash of lightning occurs, her entire face comes into view for a fraction of a second.

“Eyes on the road, Min Suga!”

“I can’t see anything!” Yoongi exclaims, turning back to the road and clicking his tongue in frustration. “There are too many trees and the damn leaves are flying everywhere! Fuck!” He swears, hitting the steering wheel. “One thing can’t go right today!”

“Oh, God,” mutters Miso. “Not this again.”

“Why the fuck not?” Yoongi demands. “I had been preparing for this meeting for weeks! Do you have any idea how many presentations and budgeting meetings I sat through with the management? Preparing demo after demo, just for you to get all prissy in there and ruin it?”

“Prissy? I was defending you, you prick!” she retorts. He can see her shift slightly to orient herself towards him, probably so she can yell at him more easily. “That guy was treating you like dirt, acting like you were some silly singer who didn’t know jack shit about business!”

“So what? He’s an arsehole - everybody knows it!” he argues, maneuvering through a blind turn on the highway. “But we need his money! We needed this investment because my - a lot of things depend on this! And now -” He huffs and breaks off, shaking his head and trying to focus on the treacherous road.

“You were really okay being spoken to like that? I don’t believe it,” she states. “You have way too much pride for that - and I can’t believe you’re getting mad at me for standing up for you.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but you didn’t just stand up for me - you insulted him to his face!” Yoongi scoffs, more out of frustration than anything. “It’s not about pride, Miso. Nothing comes for free, so if him making his little digs was going to ensure he gives us what we want, it’s fine!”

“What we want - you mean his money? He insulted your whole career - aren’t you the one who always says that music is the soul of this company?” She reminds him. “That that’s why you feel so protective over it, because you built it or whatever?”

“I - that’s still true,” he admits, reeling a bit at the realisation that she remembers a conversation from ages ago. “Music may be the soul of the company but it still needs cash to run. You probably don’t value it as much because you’ve always got it so easy, but some of us have to take shit -”

“Oh, here we go,” she interrupts loudly, and he can hear her rolling her eyes. “Obviously I can’t make it through one investor meeting because I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth. Because I eat gold and burn money for fun. Is that it?”

“Your words, not mine.”

“Jesus. You talk big about taking shit to make a company run - is that why you’re still agonising over a fucking collaboration because you’re afraid it will hurt Namjoon’s feelings? Even though it’s sure to top the sales of any solo this company has ever put out?”

Yoongi grips the steering wheel so hard it makes his forearms hurt. “That is a completely different thing. I’m not okay with betraying someone I’ve worked with for so long - someone I lived with for over a decade for a project.”

“Why not?” she argues. “How is it different? He’s in the business, too, isn’t he? He’s a smart guy - he probably knows it’s okay to take a couple of digs if it means getting what you want.”

“You’re impossible,” he mutters, finally approaching the end of the highway, Seoul now almost within view. “Fucking hell, the road is flooded.”

“Shit.” Miso sighs. “Are you sure your car has enough ground clearance?”

“Only one way to find out.” He pushes on, the wiper blades working over time. “Damn it, how did it get so late?”

“Maybe you took one too many digs on a rainy day.”

“God, will you shut up for two seconds?”

“Sure, probably around the same time you grow a spine. You know, you can give me a little credit,” she continues, cutting Yoongi off just as he turns to her furiously. “I was sent here with you for a reason. You may know a lot more than me about music but this is more than just artistry - it’s a business. And as the only person in this car with a business degree, I think I can -”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! You think you were sent for this meeting because of your degree?” he retorts. “You were sent because you're Kang’s Jaesung’s daughter, another billionaire who invested in the company! They hoped that guy would see you, find out who your father is, and see him as a viable example to invest! That’s why you were sent here - you’re a proof of concept!”

There’s silence in the car, the rain sounding loud and like a hundred gunshots on the roof of the car. Yoongi breathes heavily, grimly satisfied at finally having shut her up - not least because the road ahead looks chaotic as hell.

“What the -”

There’s the faint sound of honking in the distance, followed by two cars driving by them in the opposite direction and spraying a wall of water on his car as they do. Yoongi wants to wonder out loud but he stops himself, deciding there’s no way to go but forward.

At that moment, his phone rings and he answers out of habit, ignoring Miso’s quiet scoff. “Hello?”

Seokjin’s voice emanates out of the speaker. “Yoongi!” he exclaims, voice sounding urgent. “Listen - have you ever seen the resting rooms on the top floor of the company building?”

Yoongi swerves a bit, trying to avoid branches and leaves on the ground that have turned to mulch. Next to him, Miso straightens up, her eyes up ahead on the road. “Shit,” she mutters.

“What?”

“The resting rooms on the top floor,” says Seokjin, apparently thinking Yoongi’s question was intended for him. “Have you seen them? What are they like?”

“Oh… that. The ones for the idols?” Yoongi asks absently, starting to spot some kind of commotion up ahead - but the rain is making it too blurry. “They’re fine, I guess. I’ve crashed there a couple times after all-nighters.”

“Really?”

But Yoongi hardly hears him, for his headlights don’t shine on the tree trunk blocking the road until he’s only a few feet away from it.

“Yoongi - that’s a tree!” 

“Fuck!”

Miso’s hands appear out of nowhere and turn the wheel with surprising strength, just edging the car out of the trunk’s way. Yoongi’s foot hits the brake automatically and the car screeches to a painful stop.

Yoongi turns the car off, his heart thumping madly. Miso’s hands disappear just as quickly as they appeared and he turns to see her just as shaken as he feels, brushing her bangs off her face. She meets his eyes, glares and looks away.

“Uh, hyung?” Yoongi says, realising suddenly that they aren’t alone. “I’m going to have to call you back.” Without waiting for Seokjin to answer, he hangs up.

Once again, there’s silence inside the car. The tree trunk is blocking almost the entire road and now that they’ve stopped, Yoongi can see barricades up ahead, along with traffic police carrying flashlights.

“Are you okay?” he asks Miso, giving her a sideways glance.

“Spectacular.” She doesn’t turn away from the window. “Let’s go,” she adds in a smaller voice.

Yoongi obliges, turning the car back on and driving around the trunk up to where the barricades are. “The road looks blocked,” he says, but she doesn’t respond. It isn’t until one of the policemen, shrouded in a thick plastic raincoat, tells them the same thing and informs them that this is only the first of many tree trunks blocking the highway and that it will take all night to clear the road to Seoul, that Miso speaks.

“What do we do now?” she asks, almost to herself.

“Well, we’re not getting out of here tonight.” Yoongi sighs and moves the car to the side of the road, before turning off the engine. He runs a hand through his hair; this is not how he saw this evening going. “I’m guessing we can’t call a car from Seoul either.”

“No, we can’t,” she confirms in a mutter, looking at her phone. “If there was any way into Incheon, Seungkwan would’ve found it. I’m telling him I’m checking into a hotel for the night,” she adds, shaking her head.

Yoongi nods, glad he doesn’t need to create a fake plan so people don’t come looking for him. He knew her father was out of the country, which meant her neglectful mother might be the only one capable of realising she’s missing.

Miso catches his eye, almost as though she knows what he’s thinking. “My mother is on a spa weekend.”

“Okay. Well, now that you’ve covered your bases…” He trails off, asking the obvious question with a shrug.

“I guess we find some place to kill the night,” she finishes.

A combination of Google Maps and dubious road signs later, Yoongi and Miso find themselves checking into a motel by the highway. It doesn’t look too secure in terms of safety but Yoongi reasons that they just need to make it to daybreak, once the rain has stopped and at least one road is cleared out.

The receptionist looks tired herself, looking to be in her early thirties at best, with her hair in a ponytail and faded sweatshirt, circles under her eyes and a complete disinterest in the guests she’s checking in. The only thing that strikes him about her appearance is a pair of thin gold earrings with a brilliant green stone in the middle.

“ID?” she asks listlessly, barely looking up at them.

Yoongi and Miso exchange a wary look; without speaking, they hesitantly place their drivers’ licenses on the counter. If the receptionist sees anything familiar in either name, she doesn’t show it. She simply checks them in, the green earrings catching the light of the table lamp next to her. 

“Room 104, straight down. Follow me,” she says in a monotone, taking a big yellow key off a board on the wall and starting to walk down the hall. It’s a small, unassuming establishment, with the ground floor opening up into the open, a patch of grass separating it from being right on the sidewalk.

Frowning, Yoongi follows her after making sure Miso is, too. The receptionist stops in front of a room and unlocks it, jiggling the key a couple of times before the door creaks open. 

“Water is complimentary, snacks are chargeable. Check-out is at ten am. Have a lovely stay with us.” Her face unchanging, she turns to leave.

“Wait a second,” says Miso, stopping her. “We’re two people. And we’re not together,” she adds pointedly, ignoring Yoongi’s sigh as he shoves his hands in his pockets.

The receptionist seems to not register the implied statement for a few moments. “We only have one room left,” she states. “If you wish, you can look for something else up the highway.”

Miso bites her lip, her jaw hardening. All of them turn to look at the street, the rain coming down in waves of fury as gusts of wind change its direction. Yoongi raises his eyebrows at Miso, who rolls her eyes and looks away, but doesn’t argue. Nodding, Yoongi holds out his hand for the key.

“Thank you. We’ll let you know if we need anything.” He waits until the receptionist is out of earshot before turning to Miso. “It’s just for a few hours.”

“Fine. Whatever.” She stalks in, dropping her bag by the door and shrugging off her jacket. 

Yoongi shuts the door behind them and takes off his as well, shaking out his damp hair. “Yeah, it’s not a big deal,” he says, walking inside. “It’s not like we have…” He trails off as he walks further inside the small room and stops. “Okay, there’s only one bed.”

Miso stops next to him and folds her arms across her chest. “Oh, my God, there’s only one bed.”

—

The sprint from his car to Chaeyoung’s apartment drenches Hoseok to the bone and by the time she opens the door, his teeth are chattering.

“Hoseok? What are you doing here?” Chaeyoung steps aside and ushers him inside, closing the door behind him. It’s dark with minimal light, just as he’d expected. “Jesus, did you drive? That’s so dangerous, oppa - there’s a storm outside!”

“I know,” he replies, still shivering as he tries to drink in the warm and dry interior of the apartment. Compared to his woolen hoodie and thick jeans - all of which are wet now - she’s dressed far more freely in an oversized t-shirt and shorts, her feet tucked in a pair of furry blue house slippers. “I heard the power was out in this area. I called you - but you didn’t answer,” he points out, trying to keep his limbs from shaking. “And I got worried. Why the damn hell didn’t you answer?”

“My phone is out of charge.”

“Then why didn’t you charge it?”

“Because there’s no power!” Chaeyoung frowns and tilts her head. “Seriously, is that why you came all the way here? Because I didn’t answer my phone?” When Hoseok opts not to answer, partly feeling silly and partly because he doesn’t want her to hear his teeth chatter, she sighs. “You’re crazy, oppa.”

“Yeah, you know what? You seem totally fine so this was just - like, a false alarm. I’ll head out now,” he says quickly, turning to leave when she grabs his arm.

“Whoa, no way. I’m going to get you a towel. Hang on.”

She disappears inside and Hoseok steps further into the small apartment, now allowing himself to shiver a bit more visibly. He takes off the wet hoodie and that’s when he notices her living room, lit up with a dozen suns. Just beyond the couch and television area, between the closed balcony and the dining space, is a mattress on the floor and at least ten to fifteen candles in various spots around the room, the flames small but bright. There’s music at a low volume playing from somewhere, sounding like Taylor Swift.

“Okay, here.” Chaeyoung steps out of the tiny laundry room with a stack of clothes in one hand and a towel in the other. “You can dry off and take a shower if you want. And these I presume are Jimin’s,” she explains, handing him the clothes. “It’s just a t-shirt and tracks because unfortunately, I couldn’t find boxers. Not that I looked,” she adds quickly.

“Not that I would wear another guy’s boxers,” he mutters. “Er, thanks. Should I…” He waits for her to point to the bathroom before ducking inside. Like most things Chaeyoung suggests, she’s right about the shower. After peeling off his cold, wet clothes and feeling the hot water against his skin, he feels reborn as he throws on Jimin’s borrowed stuff and traipses back out into the living room.

“Tea?” Chaeyoung asks as soon as Hoseok steps out and because he is taken by surprise, he nods and gratefully accepts a cup of steaming green tea. He notices her outfit a little more closely this time. Unlike her usual outfits which seem carefully styled and perfectly coordinated, all the way down to her shoes and accessories, she seems almost bare without it all. He reminds himself that this is likely what is underneath all that - this is simply the first time he’s seeing it.

“How come your phone’s out of charge?” he asks, taking a sip and feeling the heat start to return to his bloodstream. “Where’s your power bank?”

“I lost it,” she admits sheepishly, sitting on the edge of the mattress and tucking her knees under her chin. “I think I left it on the bus a couple weeks ago.”

Hoseok half-chuckles and takes another sip of the tea, looking around the room again. He realises now that some of the candles must be scented; he catches a whiff of lavender and inhales it, the storm outside becoming a distant memory. 

“Feeling better? The tea,” she says, pointing to his cup when he raises his eyebrows. 

“Oh. Yeah, actually. Thanks.” He gestures to the room. “You’ve got a hell of a set up here, huh?”

Chaeyoung shrugs. “I guess. I figured it would be a good night to stay in but then the power went out and… well, my room got pretty dark and there’s this branch outside that looks like a hand which just freaked me out.” She shudders. “So I got my stuff out here. The apartment feels less empty this way.”

Hoseok nods, spotting the pillows neatly set up at one end by the balcony, a soft purple blanket folded at the other. There is another half-finished cup of tea on the floor next to the blanket, along with her tablet which is open on Spotify, a flashlight, a book and what looks like a knitting project next to it.

“Oh, that’s a new hobby,” says Chaeyoung, following his gaze while he takes a seat next to her. “I didn’t think crocheting would be fun but I have to say, it kind of grows on you. Check it out,” she adds excitedly, leaning over him across the mattress to pick up a little figurine he hadn’t noticed. “My first finished project,” she declares, holding up what looks like a crocheted bear, a little smaller than the palm of his hand.

“You made this? Caterpillar, this isn’t half-bad,” he says, impressed. “I like the tail. Except… oh, I think its eye is a little loose…” He holds it out so she can look at it, amused when she groans. “It’s okay, he looks kind of cool. Like a pirate bear.”

She grins. “Yeah? Is that a thing?”

“Sure. Anything or anyone can be a pirate. Doesn’t even have to be about the eye, although that’s a bonus.”

“Pirate vibes,” she offers.

“There you go.” He goes to hand it back to her but she shakes her head.

“Keep it. I mean, if you want.” She gestures to the half-made crochet project still on the needles. “I have a lot more where that came from and the last thing I want to do is become a crazy lady surrounded by her creepy crochet animals.”

“This isn’t creepy,” he argues, tucking it into the pocket of Jimin’s tracks. 

“Yeah, because it’s just one and not an army.” Chaeyoung exhales and stretches her legs out in front of her, her long hair falling down one of her shoulders. She looks warm and dry and cozy, especially surrounded by the clean cotton and soft candlelight, but he thinks he catches a bite in her tone.

“How’s Sooah? Was she excited about tonight?” 

“Not sure. The last time I spoke to Sooah was…” She checks an imaginary watch on her wrist. “Six days ago.”

Hoseok frowns. “What?”

“Well, unless you count a cursory hi or a good night or do we have any milk left? Otherwise, it’s pretty much a lot of texts from her telling me she’s staying over at Jimin’s so not to wait up.” She bites her lip. “Sorry. I probably sound really bitter.”

“Not bitter,” he says reassuringly. “Maybe a little resentful. It’s understandable, though.”

“I’m happy for her,” she admits in a low voice. “And Jimin. They’re cute and - and she’s in love. It’s great. But… it’s kind of come to my attention that Sooah is my only friend in this city. And when she’s away…” Chaeyoung sighs heavily, looking slightly embarrassed. “It gets kind of… lonely. Which is my fault, not hers, I guess.”

Hoseok stares at her, waiting for her to look at him and raising his eyebrows when she does.

“What?”

“Well, not to be dramatic or anything, but I would say that a person who drove across the city in a storm because you didn’t answer his calls could be counted as a friend, too.”

Chaeyoung’s cheeks go slightly pink and her eyes widen slightly, before she laughs. “You’re definitely my friend, too, oppa,” she says, leaning over and hugging him. “I promise.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hoseok rolls his eyes but can’t help smiling, too. She smells of lilies and he shifts slightly closer to her. “I get it, though. Namjoon was that way a little bit in the beginning, when he started dating his girlfriend. She didn’t live here, though, so it wasn’t as bad, but… it’s a tough change.”

“I guess. You know, I’m trying really hard to shut up that tiny paranoid voice in my brain that’s insisting that Sooah was just pretending to be my friend until she found a more worthwhile person to be with. I know it’s ridiculous,” she says quickly, rolling her eyes. “I don’t actually believe it.”

“Good. Don’t. It’s just the honeymoon period,” he says, setting his cup down and leaning back on his hands. “And if you think she’s slipping away, you’re allowed to ask her for one on one time, you know? Friends have a right to ask that of each other, within reason.”

Chaeyoung looks doubtful, but also hopeful. Her eyes are wide and doe-like and Hoseok has to repress the urge to brush his thumb against her cheekbone.

“Maybe I will.” She nods and holds his gaze for a few seconds. “So, uh…” She clears her throat. “Did you really drive across the city in the storm just to check up on me?”

Hoseok doesn’t look away. “Is that so hard to believe?”

She doesn’t answer immediately, but the pink tinge returns to her cheeks. “You didn’t have to.”

“Well, if I’d known you’d prepared this well for it, I probably wouldn’t have.” He pauses. “But I’m kind of glad I didn’t.”

This time there’s no mistaking it; she’s definitely blushing.

“In fact, uh… I was a little unsure,” he admits after a moment, looking at his feet. “I mean… maybe I’ve been imagining it, but…” He looks up at her again, searching. “Have you been avoiding me lately?”

Chaeyoung blinks. “I - of course not. Why would you think I was?”

Hoseok’s mind flits through the abrupt texts and strange excuses he’s heard over the last few weeks. “I don’t know. Just felt like maybe you were.”

“Well, I wasn’t.”

“Okay.” He nods, sensing a slightly defensive tone but unable to be sure. “But… hypothetically if you were,” he ventures, “and hypothetically if it was because of something I did… I’m sorry. For whatever I did, hypothetically.”

Chaeyoung bites her lip, not quite meeting his eyes. “You didn’t do anything. Hypothetically, if I were avoiding you,” she adds. “Which I wasn’t, so…”

“Mhm.”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You made a sound! You don’t believe me,” she accuses him, scowling dramatically.

“Yeah, because you’re a terrible liar. You always have been.”

She swats him on the shoulder and he mock-gasps, grinning when she huffs and stands up. “To think I gave you my debut crocheted stuffed toy. I’m going to make the next one so much cooler, believe me,” she declares, picking up the needles on the ground. 

“If it has two intact eyes, at the very least. Oh, come on, that was a joke,” he implores, laughing and lightly grabbing her ankle as she starts to walk away and sits a few inches away in the centre of the mattress. “I love the bear. I am sorry I barged in on your night, though,” he adds honestly.

“Oh, don’t be. I’m happy you did,” she admits, and the pink tinge returns to her cheeks as she looks down at her lap. Hoseok’s heart skips a beat, trying to think of anything and everything else he can say that can keep those faint pink spots from disappearing.

He turns properly to face her and is about to say something, when he spots a writing pad he hadn’t noticed next to her tablet. “What’s this?”

“Oh -“ Chaeyoung reaches over and snatches it out of his grasp, hiding it behind her back.

Hoseok, still reeling, looks up in confusion. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to -“

“No, it’s fine,” she mutters, shaking her head and waving him off, apparently a little embarrassed at her reaction. “It’s just… notes. Work stuff.”

“You got that defensive over work stuff?”

She gives him a look and he thinks she’s about to respond smartly, but instead she sighs. “Okay, I’ve been dying to tell someone, I guess… I kind of want to ask my boss if I can transfer to the creative team. You know, the one that actually works on the themes and end-to-end campaigns? Well, there’s a spot open there and all those teams are under my boss…”

“But?”

“But it’s a higher designation. So I’m essentially asking for a promotion,” she finishes. Her shoulders deflate slightly. “It’s a long shot, but… God, I really think I can do well there, you know? I have the ideas, I’ve worked on a couple of projects with the creative team, too. My entire internship during college was with a team like that.”

Hoseok leans forward. “So what’s stopping you?”

She looks at him like it’s obvious. “I mean… I have to actually ask for it. It’s not that easy.”

“Of course it’s not easy,” he agrees, his voice gentler now. “But you’ll never get it if you don’t ask. Are those notes for that conversation?”

Chaeyoung nods. She visibly hesitates, but then passes the writing pad to him.

Hoseok shakes his head, though. “I don’t need to see it. But if you want, you can practice with me. I’ve had my share of experience asking for things. And getting rejected a fair few times, too.”

She looks doubtful, but she sits a little straighter. “Really?” Her brows furrow slightly. “You won’t make fun of me?”

“Never.” He gives her knee an encouraging squeeze. “Go on.”

Chaeyoung nods and sits up on her knees, resting her hips down on her heels. She holds the pad up and begins a clearly rehearsed speech, occasionally looking up at Hoseok for his reaction. He nods as she goes along, giving her his feedback only when she stops and asks for it.

It’s probably the longest conversation they’ve had in months and it’s only towards the end, as Chaeyoung gets more confident and has added another half a page worth of notes to her original set, that he realises how terribly he’s missed her.

“You’re a lot more talented than you think you are,” he remarks when she sets the writing pad to the side, looking far more at ease than before. “Any team would be lucky to have you.”

“Thanks,” she says gratefully. “I was just spiralling a bit, I guess. Especially because I was going crazy just keeping it to myself. Are you hungry?” she asks suddenly. “I managed to store just enough hot water in my thermos when the power outage warnings started.”

Marvelling at her ability to plan, far better than he or any of his friends did, he nods wordlessly. They devour a cup of instant ramen each while they chat, and then split a brownie she’d baked earlier in the day.

“Damn it, this is really good.” Hoseok takes another bite, the chocolatey goodness melting in his mouth. “You really baked this this morning?”

“I told you, I’m pretty bored these days. And my fingers started cramping after the first hour of crocheting, so I thought I needed a change,” she jokes, popping a piece into her mouth.

Hoseok chuckles and helps himself to some more, watching as she does the same. The candlelight makes her skin look like silk, throwing the softest shadows around the contours of her face. Without thinking, he reaches out and touches her cheek with the back of his hand.

Her eyes widen and he immediately yanks his hand back. “Sorry, there was, uh… cake. On your… yeah.”

“Oh.” She brushes her face a couple of times. “Did I get it?”

Not trusting himself to speak, Hoseok nods. Wanting to avoid catching her eye, he looks at the balcony doors behind her. The rain is still pouring heavily, streaks of lightning appearing in the sky, trees blowing in the wind and making it seem like a horror movie out there. Inside, it’s warm and lit and dry, just their voices and soft music in the background.

Hoseok doesn’t want to leave. He hopes she won’t ask him to; even if she denied avoiding him, he wasn’t fooled. But whatever it was that made her avoid him, she seems to have let it go for now - or she’s just too nice to ask him to go back home in the storm. Whatever it is, he’s glad. It’s never been like this before; she’s never opened up to him this much, this easily, this… readily. He feels like he’s seeing someone else - or it’s the same girl he’s always known, but it’s a side of her that hasn’t come out around him.

“Are you planning to sleep out here tonight?” he asks, patting the mattress and leaning back against the side of the sofa.

“Yeah, I was. I figured Sooah would sleep over at Jimin’s again so I’d have to literally weather the storm myself.”

She tries to play it off as a joke, but Hoseok spots the corners of her mouth turning down. “Dude, I know she’s got a boyfriend but trust me, okay? Just ask her to lunch or say it’s a girls’ night or something. She’s not going to turn you down.”

“Oh, she won’t turn me down,” agrees Chaeyoung. “But a girls’ night will just turn into a girls’ night, plus Jimin.”

“Call me the next time that happens. I’ll kick his arse.”

That makes her laugh. “I’m sorry, oppa, I can’t picture you kicking anyone’s arse. And I like Jimin,” she adds with a shrug of her shoulders. “He’s sweet, always comes with booze and his facemask application technique is out of this world. I just… don’t like being left behind,” she confesses.

Her eyes flicker towards Hoseok, lingering before looking away, and it makes him wonder if there’s more to this than she’s letting on. He’s not sure if he wants to ask, though. Her vulnerability feels too delicate to disturb; the last thing he wants to do is cause her to clam up.

“Well…” He searches for something to say. “Don’t worry. He’ll be back working sixteen hours a day again before you know it.”

Chaeyoung frowns. “Why? Didn’t you just finish touring? And I thought you said it’s the first time the company's given you a break after a tour.”

Hoseok’s heart stops for a moment. “Wow, you really do remember a lot of our conversations,” he mutters, mentally slapping himself.

“I do. So why will Jimin be back at work?”

He bites his lip. Chaeyoung looks genuinely curious; compared to the company or his members or anyone else, she seems like the only other person in the world right now.

“Can you keep a secret?” he asks, holding her gaze and waiting until she affirms it out loud. “We… the group… we’re going on a hiatus soon.”

Chaeyoung’s eyes widen. “What?” she asks in a hushed voice. “How - I mean, when? Why?”

“Soon,” he repeats, “and… it just seems like the right time. But listen, Chae - you can’t tell anyone. Okay? This is top secret stuff - even most people in the company don’t know it. Once the Hybe takeover happens and they release some more content under the new label, we’ll probably announce it. But until then, you have to keep it to yourself. No one at work, not Sooah - nobody finds out.”

“I - of course I promise,” she says quickly, looping her little finger around his when he holds it out. “But what do you mean it’s the right time?”

“I mean… we don’t want to do it exactly,” he admits. “We kind of have to, if we want to grow as artists at all. We’re getting pushed into a mould and it’s just not working anymore. Plus we’ll have to start enlisting soon…” His stomach jolts weakly. “We all have so much we want to do. Yoongi wants to tour, Namjoon wants a series of collaborations with artists half of us haven’t heard of, Taehyung wants to have fun, whatever that means,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Jungkook -”

“And what do you want?” Chaeyoung asks, interrupting him. 

Hoseok doesn’t answer immediately. The answer has been noodling around in his mind for years now; first as a pipedream, then as a personal goal, and more recently, as a scary but real possibility if things worked out right. Now, it’s at the tip of his tongue, ready to be said out loud for the first time ever.

“Okay,” he says hesitantly. “Just… don’t laugh, okay?”

“What?” She scoffs. “Hobi, I just roleplayed a scenario with you where I asked for a promotion at work. Of course I won’t laugh.”

He nods. “I want to headline a music festival,” he says. “Like Coachella or something. I fucking love concerts,” he confesses, feeling his chest expand at the realisation that he’s finally saying it. “I love the preparation, the rehearsals, the costumes, the high on stage, the audience singing along. I’ve done tons of them with the group but I want to do one myself. Just to see what it would be like.” Just to see if I can.

Chaeyoung is starting to smile, and it makes Hoseok nervous. “Maybe it’s stupid,” he says hurriedly. “It’s stupid - just forget I said anything at all. It’s just a -”

“Oppa.” She interrupts him again, this time accompanied by a light slap on the shoulder. “If you score me a ticket to this festival, I’ll scrounge up enough cash to fly out there myself and watch you,” she says. “It’s not stupid.”

Hoseok regards her suspiciously. “It’s not stupid?” he asks, uncertain.

“It’s not,” she confirms. “In fact,” she continues, getting on her knees and leaning across from him to reach for her glass of water, “it sounds pretty on brand for you.”

“That’s - no, come on,” he stutters, feeling his face turn hot - and suddenly aware that he isn’t wearing anything under his joggers.

“I’m serious. I know you probably didn’t think you’d actually find success with BTS at first, but believe me - where you are now is exactly how I pictured you’d end up when you left Gwangju.”

He considers this. It had been a big decision, especially for his parents to balance their anxiety and desire to support him. His sister had given him some rare, sisterly advice at a time when she’d started building her own life, Chanyeol had called their classmates over for a farewell party, while young Chaeyoung had been a extra in his life - part of the extended family circle, but only by her association to the Kang family.

Confessing his secret lifelong dream to her hadn’t been on Hoseok’s bingo card. But there’s no one he trusts more at the moment, and possibly very few others he would drive through a storm for.

“Just let me know which festival and when,” she says after a moment, tone slightly teasing. “I’ll crochet a new, two-eyed bear for you.”

He nods. “That’s a long time to be crocheting. How did you get into it, anyway?”

Chaeyoung shrugs, not meeting his eyes. “It was a gift from… from my stepmom.”

Hoseok doesn’t respond immediately. She looks up at him, and he leans forward and kisses her. The rain is just in the background now, like the candles, the music - everything except Chaeyoung. 

Her hair smells sweet and her lips are soft; it’s exactly how he’d imagined it would be. The last time they had kissed had been over in a flash, too quick for him to appreciate every single physical aspect of it. He had been too consumed by the fact that it had happened at all, but it’s so fitting right now, as though every single thing that happened today was leading to this moment right here.

Chaeyoung kisses him back; if his hunch is correct, if the racing in his stomach is indicative of anything, it’s that she probably wants this as much as he does. He feels her fingers in his hair and her nails light against his scalp; he moves his hand from her face down her arm and reaches for her hand. He feels her move; a moment later, she’s climbing onto his lap.

Hoseok is afraid for a moment that she will feel just how much he’s wanted this and how long he’s wanted this but before he can think it through, he has her in his arms and the thought leaves his mind instantly, along with every other thought. His hands are at her hips and he’s so aware that it’s Chaeyoung, young and lifelong family friend Chaeyoung, that he stops them from moving any lower. It’s difficult, though; he tugs at the ends of her t-shirt and it’s harder to resist it this time. He moves his hands under the cloth, feeling the waistband of her shorts, her slender waist and the light indents of her ribs.

“Chae,” he murmurs against her lips, somewhere hearing her name sound on his tongue like it never has before. She hums in response but doesn’t move away. “Are you… are you a virgin?”

There’s a pause and Hoseok freezes, terrified he’s ruined the mood. Then she snorts and shakes her head. “No, Hoseok, I’m not.” She pulls away slightly and slips off her t-shirt, revealing a faded grey sports bra with thin straps disappearing over her shoulders in an X. “Don’t worry,” she assures him, tilting her head and kissing him again.

He doesn’t stop her; he can’t imagine ever wanting to. There’s a lot more skin now, soft and smooth; his lips glide over sections of it, the side of her neck, her collarbones, the base of her throat. Somewhere during it he gets his t-shirt out of the way and feels himself pulsate in his tracks and knows there’s no ignoring it longer, especially now that he thinks he knows where this is going.

“Chae.” Reluctantly, he pulls away again. At the sight of her swollen lips, flushed face and particularly her somewhat exasperated expression, he almost forgets what he was going to say. “Listen, I… this is…”

“Do you want to stop?” Her voice is even, but there’s a hint of disappointment he doesn’t miss.

“No,” he says immediately. “The… opposite. I just think I need to tell you…” He swallows, finding it hard to think straight amidst her raised eyebrows and her hand absently resting on his chest. “Um, so when this happens, when I - when I do… something like this… I tend to get kind of… carried away.” He swallows and waits for her to react, painfully conscious of her warm crotch against his, the hem of her shorts having ridden up all the way.

It seems to take Chaeyoung a few seconds to work out what he means. “Carried away?” she repeats. When he nods, she bites her lip and for the first time in a long time, he thinks he spots a hint of shyness. She bites her lip and her cheeks redden slightly, but she nods, tossing her tousled hair back and wrapping her arms around his neck. “Gotcha,” she mutters, and this time he kisses her.

The last time Hoseok had hooked up with a girl was almost a year ago. He’d been recording a song in Los Angeles and met her at a party and despite the fact that they didn’t have much to talk about, they’d carried on a casual fling for the three days that he’d been there, during which time she had remarked with some admiration that he had “the stamina and determination of an athlete”.

She hadn’t been the only girl to say this to him in his life, and Hoseok had gathered that this was just something he brought to the bedroom and probably didn’t need to apologise for it. He wouldn’t have actively warned anyone else, but Chaeyoung didn’t feel like just anyone. She knows now, though, and despite the fact that he would’ve thought she’d be the last person to ever know this about him, finally telling her, seeing her blush at his admission and her clear desire to keep going, lets loose what he’s been suppressing around her for a while now.

Deciding that Jimin would probably not want these track pants back, Hoseok pulls her closer to him before leaning forward and easing her onto her back. Her head hits the pillow and she looks momentarily surprised at the impact but Hoseok kisses her again and she responds instantly. She sighs against his mouth and he hardens, feeling it against the inside of her thigh, where she bends her leg at the knee and pushes her hips up to meet his.

One hand stays on the mattress to support him and the other runs down her body, past her waist and around her hips to stop between her legs. She’s warm through her shorts; the thought of what’s in there makes his cock throb and he palms her and squeezes. Her surprised moan fills the room and he pulls away from her mouth abruptly, reaching up to take off her shorts. The mismatched black panties make his erection even more apparent and he drops down to her body, kissing her sternum, her willowy ribcage, the smooth skin of her abdomen down to the elastic of her underwear where, without hesitation, he slips it down her legs. 

Hoseok glances up at her from between her legs, just in case he’s misreading anything, but the sight of her arched back, her closed eyes and long hair splayed on the white pillow wipe any and all doubts from his mind. 

Chaeyoung tastes incredible. Hoseok takes his time going down on her, starting with his lips on her thighs, exploring every single fold with his tongue before reaching her clit. It dulls his senses and heightens his desire at the same time, reeling him in as he holds her legs open, devouring her and welcoming the taste, the only other sensations being her fingers in his hair and her sweet, sweet voice moaning his name.

He knows when she’s about to cum; he pulls his hips to her face, hearing her gasp in between the sounds that are reaching higher and higher in pitch and frequency. She clutches at his hair just as she climaxes, her warm wetness filling his mouth and her legs trembling slightly as he sets them down. He sits up slowly, wiping his mouth with one hand while the other absently strokes her thigh, watching as her chest rises and falls in the aftermath of her orgasm, the orgasm he just gave her, and feels his heart jolt.

Hoseok crawls to her side to lie beside her, using his elbow for support and resting his head on his palm as he waits, patiently, for her to open her eyes. When she finally does, they’re slightly unfocused as they find him. He says nothing, but simply brushes her bangs out of her eyes.

“Wow,” she says softly. “I’m really glad I left my power bank on the bus.”

Hoseok chuckles and a moment later, both of them laugh.

—

It’s very nearly dawn - probably. 

The sky is dark outside and the sound of the rain outside is calming. The city is sprawled underneath them and the moon is the only source of light in their hotel room, the massive windows illuminating the bed, the rumpled sheets and Kaya’s naked body straddling his.

In the three years or so they’ve been together, their intimacy has never been a source of conflict or stress. It’s only ever been the opposite; whether it was distance or work or disagreements, the thought of her skin on his and her mouth on his body reduced triggered the most primal form of attraction, despite the cerebral aspect of their relationship he prided himself on so much. 

Sometimes she is under him: he loves the sight of her underneath his body, encased and safe, for his view only as he thrusts into her. Sometimes her back is to him and he pulls her in, feeling sensations and strength as their hips meet with force; sometimes it is against a wall or a table and she wraps her legs around his waist as they struggle to stay quiet, only their silent gasps mingling as he fucks her into a wall.

But nothing - nothing - compares to when she rides him.

He doesn’t know what it is - maybe it’s the visual of her entire body up there on display for him, her long hair falling down one shoulder as she rolls her hips into his, eyes closed and neck tilted up. Maybe it’s the way her back arches when she hits a sweet spot, and her head falls back as she moans, or maybe it’s the sight of her taking charge, speeding up and slowing down as she wishes, edging him until he’s compelled to grab her hips and take matters into his own hands.

They shouldn’t have maintained any hopes of getting any sleep tonight, not in the last precious hours of their trip before the morning arrives and after three amazing weeks, they have to part again. Even though they’d fallen asleep for a bit, it hadn’t been long before he’d been awoken by her tugging at his arm, waking him up to make love on their last night together, just as they’d done throughout the holiday.

Namjoon had lost count of the number of times they’d had sex by the third day of their trip. It had been impossible to stay away, to keep his hands off her, to resist her advances even if they appeared in semi-public. Throughout the trip - and possibly their entire relationship - those urgent sex sessions that began with filthy words and roaming hands in public and culminated in desperate and earth-shattering sex in private, dominated. 

She’s so beautiful. His eyes roam her naked body, committing it to memory until the next time they see each other, knowing it’s what will keep him going until they do. He moves one of his hands up her waist and to her chest, stopping underneath her breast before lightly brushing her nipple with his thumb. She bites her lip and moans softly, when a buzzing sound interrupts them.

Her frown deepens and the erotic sounds change as she groans in annoyance. Namjoon clicks his tongue and turns to look at his phone on the bedside table; the screen lights up and Hoseok’s name flashes on the incoming call. He reaches over and declines the call, just as he’d done the last time Hoseok had called five minutes ago. 

The call ends and Namjoon catches a glimpse of a trail of messages left by his friend, none of them particularly coherent, but Namjoon can’t begin to decipher them right now. In the last six hours, every single one of his members had called him at least once, all coincidentally during moments when he couldn’t or didn’t want to answer. They’d tried to leave him alone for most of the trip but apparently, they couldn’t keep it going for long.

A movement distracts him and he looks up to see Kaya sweeping her hair off her neck, her skin sweaty and glowing. All thoughts of his members clean out of his mind, he sits up and wraps his arm around her waist to flip them over.

—

The rain is deafening as Nari stares at him in silence. Seokjin’s eyes fall again to the papers in her hand and the thick socks on her feet, hoping she will respond soon.

“Seokjin,” she says slowly, “it’s not my birthday. My birthday is in -”

“May, I know.” His heart stutters slightly as he realises for the first time that coming here might have been somewhat stupid. “But we weren’t exactly on the best terms in May and I was on tour anyway… so today is kind of the next best thing.”

Nari frowns for a moment before it dawns on her. Her forehead clears and she starts to smile, pursing her lips in amusement. “Of course it is,” she agrees, nodding.

Massively relieved, Seokjin smiles back. “I’ll rephrase: happy half-birthday, Nari.”

She laughs. “Thanks. You did wish me over text, so it’s not like you forgot.”

“No, but an in-person wish is the bare minimum. I tried my best to make it here before midnight but the streets are fairly empty. I thought they’d be jammed all the way to Hongdae.”

“Yeah. Wait - you drove in this?” Her eyes widen and she glances at the window behind him. “Are you kidding? Is that why you’re wet?”

“Kinda - I had to run from my car to your building because there’s a pothole open right… there,” he answers, opening the window wider and pointing to where he’d left his car. Nari comes up next to him to look at it, resting her hand with the papers on the wall.

Unfortunately at that exact moment, a strong gust of wind blows through the street, making them flinch away and cover their faces, and a few of the sheets in her hand fly out of the window.

“No!” Nari shouts in panic, reaching for them as though hoping they will fly back to her.

“Shit, that was - wait, what the hell are you doing?” Seokjin watches in confusion as she darts back into her apartment and out of it in a second, her feet in slippers, and dashes down the corridor. “Nari!” He hurries after her as she runs down the stairs and out into the street, splashing in the direction of the papers.

“No, no, no…” She shakes her head and looks around wildly, wiping her wet hair off her face. She whips around to face him, blinking through the rain. “Help me look for them!” she yells.

“What are you talking about? Nari, they’re gone!” Seokjin yells back, still at the doorway of the building. When she doesn’t respond, however, stepping further into the puddles, he runs out after her. “Nari, you’re going to fall sick!” he says loudly over the rain as he reaches her, grabbing her arm and trying to tug her back.

“I can’t! Those were my notes from a medical seminar about a groundbreaking clinical trial!” she cries, still looking around. “I need them for my application to be a part of the research - and now they’re gone!” To his surprise, she turns around and hits him on the shoulder.

“Ow! Just print out another copy!” he yells back, rubbing his shoulder.

“They’re handwritten, you idiot!”

“What? You wrote notes in this day and age?” He asks incredulously. “What happened to the Macbook I got you for Christmas two years ago?”

“You know that typing distracts me while I take notes,” she reminds him, glaring as her wet hair sticks to her face. “What am I going to do?”

“What about your friends? Can’t you borrow their notes?”

“I - mine were colour coded with different highlighters!” she argues, but she takes a step back. “But… yeah, I guess I could. Damn it, Kimbap!” She slaps him on the arm again, but it’s lighter this time.

“Hey!” He reaches over and shoves her shoulder. “It’s not my fault!”

“Of course it is!” she retorts, shoving him back. 

“I came here to wish you a happy half-birthday because I missed your real one,” he points out, the rain starting to blur his vision. “And you gave me a lot of grief for it in middle school, in case you don’t remember.”

“I - that was - that was so different,” she stutters, before her shoulders fall. “But kind of accurate,” she mutters.

Seokjin scoffs, placing his hands on his hips. “You really thought you were going to find your notes floating around in the sky? The ink must be smudged beyond comprehension!”

“Don’t remind me,” she groans. “I worked really hard on that. And now we’re probably going to get hypothermia!”

He shrugs uncertainly, looking around the deserted street, the branches of the trees swaying and rivulets of water flowing down the street. Clearly there were kids playing on the street before the real downpour began, for a football, a couple of tennis balls, and a pair of what look like water guns have been abandoned on the pavement in front of the building.

“Didn’t you have one of those?” he asks, pointing to the guns.

Nari turns and her annoyed expression instantly fades. “Oh, yeah,” she says, chuckling. “I got it right after Eunbi’s birthday party where her parents took us all out to that water park. And, no, I didn’t forget,” she adds quickly, holding her hand up to him, “that you’re the one who got it for me.”

Seokjin nods in satisfaction. “I did - I had to save up for, like, four months for that. Was it your fifteenth?”

“Fourteenth.” She eyes the guns before looking back up at him. “We’re both thinking the same thing, right?”

“If we aren’t, then one of us is an imposter.”

She laughs and they sprint for the guns at the same time, grabbing one each and immediately filling it with water from the puddles on the road. Seokjin reaches them first but waits for Nari to shoot him first, feeling it hit his shoulder as she cackles, and proceeding to return the favour. It’s a complete one-eighty from when they’d run out of the building five minutes ago, in a state of confusion and disarray, only to be using water guns for the first time in over a decade while the city of Seoul drowns in the rain.

“Ugh - that one was right in the face, Nari!” He shouts after a bit, wiping his eyes as she hoots in the background. “That’s not fair!”

“I have better aim than you - just accept it, Kimbap,” she crows, coming over and peering at him from a distance. “You’re fine. Now come on!”

“I think you just blinded me, you ghoul,” he accuses her, blinking rapidly. When she comes closer, frowning slightly, he raises his gun and shoots her right on the college logo in the middle of her sweatshirt.

Nari gasps. “That’s - I’m going to get you for that, I swear to God!” They resume play, splashing through the puddles and laughing whenever they get in a good shot, until she aims at him and pulls the trigger, only for nothing to come out.

“Oh, shit - okay, hold it! I’ve been compromised!” she declares, checking her gun frantically as Seokjin narrows his eyes, wondering if it’s a tactic.

She looks up, panting slightly. “Okay, I think I may have broken some kid’s water gun.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes!” She nods, jogging over to the pavement and dropping the gun where they found it. “Shit! I’m going to have to buy this kid another one, aren’t I?”

“I - probably!” Seokjin joins her and places his gun neatly next to it. “I don’t know. Do you even know whose it is?”

“Not really.” She swallows and looks up at him, wiping her hair out of her eyes again. “Or… I don’t know - who leaves their shit outside like this instead of taking it home? Anything could have happened to it!”

“You’re right,” he says. “Anything could have happened to it!”

She raises her eyebrows at his tone, which he returns with an incorrect shrug. A smile spreads across her face and she shakes her head. “I guess that’s true!”

Seokjin winks at her conspiratorially and she laughs, raising her hand. She presumably intends it to be a high-five and he obliges, but somewhere along the way, in the rain and wet sweatshirts and water ricocheting off every surface, they reach for each other and meet in a kiss.

Something explodes in Seokjin’s stomach and the aftershocks continue even after it’s gone. It’s a new sensation, with the water and the cold and the entirely unexpected nature of how it occurred, but before he can wrap his head around it, she pulls away.

The rain pours around them, a ridiculous secret about water guns in the middle, but now that the guns are gone and so are her notes and it’s just them remaining, the cracks start to form.

“Shit,” she mutters, squeezing her eyes shut and dropping her head.

Seokjin doesn’t saything, the bursts in his stomach now dwindling away to form a knot that feels uncomfortably like guilt. “I’m sorry,” he says hoarsely, taking a step back but she shakes her head.

“It’s not right,” she states, her voice trembling slightly. “You have a girlfriend and I have… it’s not right,” she repeats, swallowing and looking up at him, seemingly with some effort.

There’s nothing more to say. Seokjin feels a dangerous lump in his throat, the impending complications looming before him. “I’m going to go,” he says, turning around and feeling defeated.

“Seokjin.” Nari tugs at his sleeve. “Just… hypothermia.”

“Come again?”

“You’ll get hypothermia.” Nari opens her mouth to say something else but then closes it. A moment later, she gestures to the building. “You need to towel dry your hair, and drink something warm. And… at least put on a dry hoodie before you leave.”

He’s about to decline; he wants to get out of here, suddenly be as far away from here as possible before his mind goes into overdrive. But his fingers are frozen - he may not even be able to grip the steering wheel properly. Plus… Nari is asking. She’s really asking, meaning what she says and after a moment, Seokjin nods.

Apparently convinced that he’s listening to her, she beckons to him and they walk back into the building together.

—

Yoongi can’t believe how this night is turning out. He’d pictured it so differently: prepping for the meeting in the morning, calming his nerves during the drive from Seoul to Incheon, finishing the meeting and hopefully securing the investment he needed, having the rest of the evening to himself. 

Most of all, for once, he and Miso would get a few hours outside of the office and away from the Seoul elite. Her father is abroad for work and it shows; she’s far less on edge and the fact that Seungkwan hasn’t paraglided onto the doorstep of their motel room to whisk her back to her prison is proof of that.

Taking her on a date seemed like an alien concept, in those words, at least. He didn’t know if that was actually something he wanted and he definitely couldn’t imagine her ever agreeing to one either. But he reckoned that even just a day away, seeing her with her guard down, actually spending time with her, hooking up in his car before he dropped her seemed like something to look forward to.

That’s what he reckoned.

“What is wrong with you that you can’t see how fucked up it is that you don’t care what the outcome of your behavior is?” he demands, standing by the edge of the bed, next to the bathroom door. 

“My behaviour? You know what - I’m sorry, Yoongi,” she snaps. She’s at the other end of the tiny room by the window,  the curtains blow in the wind entering through the cracks, brushing her arm. “I’m so sorry that I ruined your precious meeting that no one senior from the company couldn’t even be bothered to make it.”

“It’s for my tour!” he bursts, livid now - and frustrated, because while he’s admitted why it matters so much to him, it’s a coin toss to see whether she will care. “I’m going on tour next year so yeah, I’m the one that needs to secure the investment!”

“If you’re going on tour, you’re still doing it for the company!” Miso points out with irritating condescension. “You’ll be making them money and losing sleep and working yourself to death - and they couldn’t be bothered to have someone from management come with you?”

“I chose you,” he says bitterly, shaking his head and turning away. “The board suggested it and I pushed for it. And now I’m starting to regret it.”

“Why wouldn’t you? Just a proof of concept, right?” she sneers, although it lacks its usual bite. She folds her arms. “All I had to do was sit there and shut up and let my last name do all the work. No wonder you chose me.”

Yoongi sinks onto the chair next to him and drops his head into his hands, tired. There’s no explaining this to her; it’s too complicated. He would have to reveal things he’s barely acknowledged himself, only for her to get defensive and throw it back at him.

He struggles but forces himself to recall how she’d switched teams and taken her name off a record for him, ages ago. Where is she, though? Her disdain for the company and its dependence on her father’s money is expected, but he can’t fathom why she wouldn’t care that she’s sabotaged his future, too.

“You’re not a proof of concept,” he says hoarsely, trying again. “I shouldn’t have said you were.” He looks up at her hopefully, only to see her face still and stony. “And I get it - I get that you thought you were trying to defend me, but -“ He shakes his head. “God, Miso, all he did was act aloof and say that rap doesn’t sound like real music to him - which a lot of people think,” he adds quickly. “I don’t agree but who cares what he thinks? You insulted him and his business to his face and just be honest, alright? You did that because you knew he couldn’t touch you, because he knows who your father is.”

A dark shadow passes across her face. “I promise you, my father is not who I was thinking of at that moment,” she says coldly. 

“No, but you were able to say all that because you knew you’d get away with it,” he presses. “You’ve never had to face a single consequence in your life so you just -“

“Fuck me - you don’t think I’ve face consequences?” she interrupts furiously. “You wouldn’t last one fucking week in my life, Min Yoongi,” she spits, pointing a finger at him. “You and your self-righteous bullshit would be crushed under my father’s shoe, believe me.”  

“But you’re still there, aren’t you?” Yoongi retorts, standing up and shrugging. “If you’re facing all these consequences then why aren’t you - God, Miso, why don’t you just leave?” he asks, and his voice cracks on the last word.

He knows she’s heard it, too, because she doesn’t respond immediately. He retreats; it’s a thought he’s managed not to say out loud to her so far, despite wondering about it constantly, because there’s no telling how much he would be prying. Going to find out now, I suppose, he thinks grimly.

“That’s - it’s complicated,” she mutters, turning away from him. 

“What is complicated?”

“It’s not as easy as just packing up and leaving,” she snaps. “There’s a lot more in the picture.”

“What are you talking about? You’re twenty-nine - most people your age are living alone,” he points out, frowning incredulously. “You must have savings, don’t you? Just - just find an apartment and leave. Or - or you can stay with me until you find something, but at least try -”

Yoongi breaks off when she takes a deep breath and exhales loudly, suddenly feeling like a child explaining things to an adult. It makes him fume.

“You know,” he starts again, then pauses. “You keep talking about how terrible your life is. Your shiny, perfect life on the outside but behind that, with your narcissistic parents and stalker of a driver who follows you everywhere. But you have to get out of it yourself, Miso. You can take help where you need it but you’re the one who’s going to have to take the first step.”

She scoffs. “Why? Because there are no handouts in the real world?”

“Yes,” he answers immediately. “You’re clearly unhappy but… why are you still there? In your father’s house, under his thumb? Is it because you’re scared? Because… I don’t know, you think the heir to the Kang empire can’t leave or something?”

Miso’s stance doesn’t change but there’s a flicker in her eyes. Her face relaxes minutely and she exhales again, but this time it isn’t impatience. Yoongi can’t be completely sure, but he thinks it might be relief.

“Oh, my God.” The words come out without thinking. “I’m right? You’re not leaving because you’re the heir to his fortune?” As he says it, Yoongi knows he is right. Her father’s words from the dinner come back to his mind, as does her evasiveness when he’d questioned her about it in his studio.

Something contracts in his ribcage; the air isn’t reaching his lungs fast enough or his lungs aren’t accepting it or… he closes his eyes and takes a deep, deep breath, feeling his stomach slowly start to loosen, just enough to keep him standing up.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” he asks, watching how she doesn’t seem caught or surprised. “You’re the heir to his… what did he call it? His legacy? His fortune?”

Miso doesn’t answer immediately, but her eyes shutter over a bit. “I deserve it, don’t you think?” she asks quietly. “After everything he’s put me through?”

“Really? So you’ve been taking his bullshit all these years because you know you’ll get Kang Industries at the end of it? That’s what your freedom is worth?”

“Two hundred billion dollars?” She shrugs, but doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’ll take it.”

Yoongi sighs shakily; somewhere, he knows he hasn’t processed this fully, that it will hit him in full force later, what it really means. But for now, he just wants to know.

“Are you serious? After everything you’ve told me about him, every time you’ve looked so scared of him - all of that is worth it because he’s going to give you his company when he retires in twenty years?” He’s bewildered, angry, disappointed. “And you’re just going to keep taking it?”

“He doesn’t have any other children,” she says. “He has no choice. One day, he’s going to have to look me in the eye, sign over his company to me and know that his life’s work is in my hands.”

“Two hundred billion dollars,” he repeats.

“Sounds like a fair deal.” She scoffs again, but there’s no force behind it. “But I’m sure you think it’s money-hungry or egotistical for me to think that.”

“No,” he says. “I think it’s sad.”

She licks her lips and swallows. “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” she whispers, but her voice trembles. “I’m making the best of my situation, something you will never understand.”

And Yoongi explodes.

“You think I don’t know what making the best of a situation feels like? Are you serious?” he shouts. “I delivered food to people to pay rent! I couldn’t afford the bus, or dinner! I made music using a second hand laptop and knocked on the doors of producers before getting the Big hit audition - an audition!” He glares, panting slightly. “I had to audition for the opportunity to make something of myself - not be born into two hundred million!”

“Are we back to this again? I grew up with money and you didn’t so that makes you a more morally superior person somehow?” she demands.

“No, but it makes you a hypocrite!” he retorts. “All this time, I thought you were different but you’re just like them! You’re a regular old chaebol who’s selling out for the money - except you’re selling away your entire life for it! Can’t you see how fucked up that is?”

“For two hundred billion? You’re right - I am a chaebol,” she states, her cheeks flushing now. “I was born into it and I can’t do anything about it. But that’s how it is, okay? Every single time my father has treated me or my mother or anybody else like crap, it’s been for his company. For his money. And one day, I’m going to be in charge of it.”

“But what about your life? Fucking hell!” Yoongi kicks the edge of the bed in frustration, noting how she flinches very slightly. “Your father’s money, your money - there’s a world outside money, Miso! There’s family, there’s friends and loyalty and - and passion and love - and so much else!”

Miso frowns incredulously, then gives a harsh, derisive laugh. “Family? Friends, love… what - what the hell are you talking about? You sound like a children’s book, Yoongi,” she accuses, scoffing. “My father added a bonus to my trust fund every time I got a good grade - that’s the extent to which we’ve been a family.” She shakes her head but a flash of lightning lights up her face for a moment and even through her glasses, Yoongi is startled to see her eyes wet. 

“I get it, but -”

“No, you don’t! Where the hell do you get off acting so high and mighty, huh?” she argues. “You’ve spent this whole evening bitching at me because you didn’t get an investment for your little tour! Isn’t that about money, too?”

“That’s different! That’s for my job, that’s for - it - “ He struggles to articulate it, realising he never thought he would have to. “It’s not a fucking coping mechanism, Miso! Because that’s what you’re doing - you’re using this heir thing to cope with your family’s bullshit!” he points out. “You’ve never even mentioned this to me in two years!”

“Yeah, telling you I’m the heir to my father’s company would’ve worked out great for our relationship,” she snarls, rolling her eyes. “You could’ve added chaebol to the nepo kid crap you kept giving me.”

“Don’t turn this on me,” he says dismissively. “The only time I’ve ever seen you care about anything has been music, when you’re stuck in the studio for hours and hours, eating cold takeout and Diet Coke! You don’t care about the company - that’s just what you’re telling yourself. What - do you go to sleep screaming two hundred billion two hundred billion into your pillow every night?”

“Watch yourself, Min Suga,” she snarls, her eyes flashing.

But Yoongi is too far gone right now. Everything seems unfamiliar and his only defense is offense. “You’re putting up with all this crap - you’re giving up your whole life just so you can inherit your father’s billions! At this rate, you’re probably going to turn out just like him!”

In a flash of a movement, the cordless phone hits the wall next to him and crashes to the ground at his feet. 

“Get out.”

Yoongi doesn’t need to be told twice. He turns around and wrenches the door open, stepping out and slamming it shut behind him. He needs air - fresh, rainy air and space to breathe. It’s still raining, albeit not as heavily as before, so Yoongi makes his way under the roofed area to the end of the corridor and lights a cigarette, wondering if he should just drive back to Incheon.

The thought disappears as soon as it enters his mind. He smokes in silence, his heart heavy and disappointed, but most of all angry at how he’d never considered this possibility at all.

Or had he? Yoongi struggles to remember. Hadn’t he always had some amount of contempt for her and what she represented? Where had it changed? Was it when he’d started seeing her as a victim of her situation, too - and if had, had he been completely wrong about all of it?

Not all of it, a voice reasons in his mind. Yoongi remembers the bruises on her wrist, her agitation the entire day leading up to the dinner at her house. She hadn’t been faking that. She’d seemed like a cornered animal just now but the brand new realisation he’d made made her seem like a completely different person. Yoongi doesn’t want to think about why that hurts so much that he can’t breathe.

“Uh… sir?”

Yoongi turns tiredly to see the receptionist back at her desk, a dim lamp lighting the small area up. The brilliant green of her earrings match the lone fake plant at the end of the desk. 

“You’re not allowed to smoke here.” She points to a sign on the wall.

He pauses but doesn’t get rid of the cigarette immediately. “Why not?” he asks, hearing the defeated, almost-whine in his own voice. “There’s no one here and we’re outdoors…” He doesn’t have the energy to argue further, simply waving his hands to indicate the rest.

The receptionist evidently doesn’t have an answer to this; if anything, she looks just as tired to care. Her eyes fall to the cigarette in his hand, her right hand twitches, and she looks away.

Yoongi raises his eyebrows and fishes the pack out of his pocket. “Would you like one?”

Her eyes widen and she opens her mouth to answer, before abruptly looking around, presumably to see if anyone else is there. She steps out from behind her desk and hesitantly picks out a cigarette, lowering her head in thanks, and taking the lighter he offers.

“Do you live around here?” he asks after a minute, since she continues smoking next to him. He looks around as well at the rain, wondering how anyone is supposed to get the hell out of here.

“I live in Seoul,” she answers. “But I’m working the night shift tonight and also it’s raining…” She trails off.

“You come here every day from Seoul?”

“Yes, there’s a bus.” She pauses. “I like Incheon more but my siblings go to school in Seoul and… well, I heard there are better schools in Seoul.” 

He nods, not actually knowing whether that’s true. “Are you from Incheon? Because you don’t sound like it,” he adds, having recognised an accent in some of her words.

“Oh… no. I’m from Daegu, actually.”

She sounds almost ashamed of it, until Yoongi says, “Yeah? So am I.”

Something changes in her face and she smiles a bit, still looking exhausted. “Good to know,” she says, her accent suddenly changing completely to a Daegu one. “My parents still live there. Do you go back home often?” she asks.

“Not as often as I’d like.” He looks up when she tosses the butt of her cigarette on the ground and kicks it off the elevated corridor. When he offers her another, she shakes her head.

“No, thank you.” She gives him a small smile again, the green of her earrings catching a flash of lightning. “Thank you for the smoke. Good night.” As abruptly as she’d appeared, she turns around and disappears into a small room behind the desk labelled “Staff”.

Yoongi lights another one and takes a long drag. It occurs to him suddenly that he should’ve asked for the receptionist’s name, the one from Daegu who’s working a night shift before returning to Seoul in the morning, to the younger siblings she’s clearly the guardian for. 

There’s more than a little that’s familiar there. It makes no sense, he reflects with some chagrin, how he’s now found himself so deep in the water with the most unfamiliar of people, a chaebol he met at his work because of a nepotistic hire. His people were like the receptionist, hard workers from the provinces who came to the capital and worked to the bone, doing what they could to take care of their families. 

Miso wasn’t his people. He hadn’t ever assumed she was, but this chasm between them, vast and of unfathomable depth, had never seemed this large. 

He eventually finishes his cigarette, followed by a third, before he deems it time to go back to the room. He doesn’t want to argue with Miso anymore - he truthfully doesn’t think he can. But it’s late and he’s tired and the small burning hope of a temporary reconciliation fuels his legs to move.

He opens the door quietly. “Miso?” he murmurs, stepping in to see the room dark. The only light is a dim one by the door, just enough for him to see Miso on the bed, right at the edge, curled up and asleep. He doesn’t move for a few moments, wondering how long she’s been asleep or if she even really is.

But she doesn’t move either and finally, Yoongi slips out of his shoes and steps into the room, turning off the light on his way. Only a sliver of moonlight giving him any visual aid at all, he reaches the bed. It’s small, but she’s taken only about a quarter of it. 

He reaches over and gently slips off her glasses, folding them and placing them over her body on her bedside table. Then he slips under the covers on his side and closes his eyes, hoping to get some sleep.

—

Dilara wakes up to a blue sky and an empty hotel room, in a bed that’s too big for her, and extremely, extremely frustrated.

She has to be out on the track in a few hours, in the cold winds of Austin, Texas in November. But for now she’s in a warm bed under cozy covers, keenly aware that she isn’t wearing pajamas. 

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why during this weekend in particular it’s so hard to ignore the fact that she’s alone, without Taehyung. It is, technically, around the time of their anniversary and this very hotel is where they’d officially become a couple two years ago. 

She’d started feeling sentimental about it a few days ago and she knew he had, too. It was generally a romantic time and had they been in the same city, they would’ve made the best of it. Unfortunately, she has a race and he has some meeting at the company headquarters tomorrow that he can’t miss, and their anniversary weekend is pushed by another week.

There is something exciting about the distance and longing, too. A couple of days ago, she’d been texting Taehyung while he’d been at lunch with his friends, the messages getting progressively more explicit. He’d told her to cut it out but had also accompanied it with a subtle picture of his denim-covered crotch and his hand in the frame, clearly taken under a table. 

The entire experience, including when he’d abruptly stopped responding for about ten minutes, had been so hot and so incredibly arousing, that Dilara had been waiting for another opportunity for another remote quickie.

She rolls over and picks up her phone, scrolling to their chat.

Dilara [08:10] Hey you

Tae [08:10] Hey beautifulJust woke up?

Dilara [08:11] Mhm. Had a really nice dream.

Tae [08:11] Oh yeah? Was I in it?

Dilara [08:11]Oh you definitely came in it

Tae [08:13] What are you wearing?

Dilara [08:13] Just underwearBut I’ll probably take it off soonI woke up with it really wet

Tae [08:14] Come on Zoom right now

Feeling her heart toss and her abdomen clench, she reaches over for her tablet on the side table and flips it open. Scrambling out of the blanket, she piles a couple of cushy pillows in front of her and places the tablet on it, balancing it neatly on the cover. She opens the Zoom app and checks the view on the preview screen, to see herself leaning against the remaining pillow, her face and entire body visible at the perfect angle.

Satisfied, she enters the meeting. Taehyung is already on the screen, his long black hair falling casually into his eyes, looking freshly washed and on their way to drying. He looks up and there’s a momentary smile that flickers across his face, interrupting the tension-filled atmosphere. It disappears quickly, though, and she sees him lean back and tilt his chin up. 

He’s in his bedroom on the floor, sitting against his closet door with his laptop presumably on the bed, also positioned perfectly so she can see him perched nonchalantly, relaxed and in the forefront, only his bedroom door and a corner of his bedside table in the frame.

“You told me you were just wearing your underwear,” he notes.

Dilara nods, silently taking off her t-shirt, leaving almost all of herself completely exposed. It’s working already; she rubs her legs together in anticipation, wishing he were here in person to put her out of her misery.

“Good.” Taehyung is silent for a few moments, his gaze burning into her even through the screen. He palms his crotch, almost absently, and then flicks his head once. “Show me where it’s wet.”

Licking her lips, she bends her legs at the knees and spreads them, moving her hand down between them and pressing her fingers to her core. “Right there,” she confirms softly, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes.

“Does that feel good?” His voice is low, deep and raspy. When she nods, he leans forward. “Do it again. And don’t stop.”

Dilara obliges, resting her head back on the pillow and rubbing herself through her underwear, her back arching slightly and her other hand twitching. Fortunately, he takes his cue.

“Squeeze your boobs for me,” he murmurs, sighing quietly when she obeys. “Flick your tits - like that, exactly. Play with your nipples.”

This was exactly what she needed; feeling his eyes on her, his voice commanding her and every single nerve ending alert and awake. “I’m really fucking wet, Tae,” she groans, opening her eyes to glance briefly at him.

“Take it off, then. Show me that beautiful pussy.” She can hear his sharp intake of breath when she slips her underwear down her legs and spreads them again. “Wider,” he says hoarsely. “I want you to rub that clit till you cum all over your fingers.”

She hums in pleasure, her moans growing in volume as she holds onto his voice, thick with arousal, and pictures his fingers inside her, his lean naked body against hers, her nipples in his mouth and his thick, hard cock pulsating against her thigh…

“Like what you see, baby?” Dilara opens her eyes again to see his bottom lip between his teeth and a deep frown on his forehead. “God, I wish I had your cock in my mouth right now…”

This time, he takes the cue. Swearing gruffly under his breath, he slips his tracks down his hips and frees his erection, the drops of pre cum glistening on his tip. His breathing gets choppier as he strokes himself and Dilara feels a familiar clench in her stomach once again.

She squeezes her eyes shut, able to focus on nothing but her fingers, her wetness starting to coat them and the knowledge that across the world, Kim Taehyung is coming undone just watching her pleasure herself. 

“Oh, God,” she whispers. “Tae, I’m - I’m close…”

Taehyung says something, louder than before and her heart skips a beat: has she made him cum already? Just as she starts to reach the base of her orgasm and she hears him say something else, her eyes snap open - because that is not Taehyung’s voice.

“Lara!” Taehyung’s voice rings loud this time and she straightens up to see, unmistakably, another person in the room. 

Dilara gasps and rolls out of the frame, her leg getting caught in the covers and causing her to tumble down onto the soft carpet. Her heart races, partly due to the mortification at being caught and partly due to the orgasm that was so rudely cut short. She yanks the throw from the chair next to the bed and wraps it haphazardly around herself, even though no one can see her anymore.

From the tablet, she can hear Taehyung go, in an annoyed voice, “What? Do you want to watch or something?”, followed by the other person - it’s Jungkook’s voice - going “Sorry, sorry, oh, my God -” and the sound of the door closing.

Dilara still doesn’t move, not until she hears Taehyung’s voice call her name. 

“Is he gone?” she asks, gingerly climbing back onto the bed and keeping herself covered.

“Yeah.” Taehyung’s pants are hitched back up around his hips and he looks just as exasperated and disappointed as she feels, though seemingly minus the embarrassment. “Sorry… Namjoon broke the lock to my room and Jungkook just - what’s the word? Like, came in suddenly -”

“Barged in,” she mutters, settling back up in front of the camera. “You guys really need to learn how to knock.”

“We really do,” he agrees. He tilts his head apologetically, as though trying to gauge her exact mood. “Are you okay?”

“I am. I think JK was more traumatised than either of us, though,” she adds, cracking a small smile. Taehyung’s eyes twinkle, and they both burst out laughing.

—

One, two, three and four! Five and six, seven and -

Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut as the next step slips his mind. He forces himself to focus, humming Dionysus under his breath to keep his mind trained solely on the choreography, recalling every step and every movement and every muscle and every expression -

Oh, God… I’m - I’m close…

He grunts in annoyance as he turns on the shower in his bathroom, starting the routine from the beginning in his mind. He needs to focus - on Dionysus, on the Kyla Hanagami video he’d encountered on Instagram this morning, his gym routine today - on anything except his best friend’s girlfriend, naked and pleasuring herself.

His she’s my friend, she’s my friend mantra had been working ever since Taehyung had said it, and Jungkook had managed to convince himself that that’s all it was. He loves his friends, all his friends, and she was just that, a friend, a close friend, a close naked friend whose ribs jutted out just the tiniest bit as her back arched, whose tanned legs and small feet involuntarily pointed and dug into the covers as her voice got higher…

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

But the damage is done. He covers his face with his hands as the hot water falls from the shower; the choreography to Dionysus or whatever the hell he’d been trying to recall is clean out of the window by now. The image of Dilara, so naked and so hot and so insanely beautiful is burned into his mind and he doesn’t imagine it can ever leave.

It’s so wrong. It was so wrong of him to even catch a glimpse of it, accidental as it had been; it was so wrong to be unable to forget it, and it’s so wrong of his cock to be so hard in his hand right now.

She’s my friend. She’s my friend. She’s my…

The mantra continues, but it settles somewhere far behind in his mind, a different sort of instinct taking over. His hand moves of its own accord and he exhales softly, knowing he can’t stop now. She’s my friend that I accidentally saw naked, his mind tries to amend weakly, even as he sees only one thing behind his closed eyes. 

Her high-pitched whines, ones he can hear ringing in his ears, mix with his lower, quicker, more frustrated grunts. His hand goes up to the wall for support as he reaches his climax, spilling over his fingers until he’s spent. He opens his eyes slowly, watching the evidence of his slip wash away into the drain. 

His heart starts to slow down as he realises what he’s just done, and his stomach sinks low into his body.

—