𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔫𝔦 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔰

The first few nights, Yoongi believed it was coincidence.

Hospitals never truly slept. Monitors hummed behind closed doors, wheels from passing carts whispered against polished floors, and distant conversations drifted through the hallway until they dissolved into silence. He assumed one of those sounds had pulled him awake every night, yet his eyes always found the same blue numbers glowing from the clock mounted above the door.

3:17 a.m.

By the tenth night, he stopped questioning it.

By the twentieth, the nurses stopped questioning it too.

Room 712 had become familiar territory for everyone on the overnight shift, and so had the man who refused to leave the chair beside your bed. His black hoodie remained draped over the backrest no matter how many times the nurses offered him a proper blanket, and the untouched cup of vending machine coffee beside him inevitably turned cold before sunrise because his attention never wandered far enough to remember drinking it.

You stirred before your eyes opened, your fingers twitching weakly against the white hospital sheets. The smallest crease appeared between your brows, the first warning that the pain was returning, and Yoongi reached for your hand almost instinctively. His thumb traced slow circles across the back of your skin. The tension in your shoulders loosened by a fraction.

"I'm awake," you whispered, your voice barely louder than the steady rhythm of the heart monitor.

"I noticed."

Even after weeks of sleeping in an uncomfortable chair, his tone carried the same dry humor that always managed to coax a smile from you. He shifted forward until his elbows rested on the mattress, studying your face with quiet concentration, as if memorizing every eyelash and every faint shadow beneath your eyes could somehow stop time from moving.

"You look terrible."

A breath of laughter escaped you, thin but genuine. "So do you."

He glanced toward the dark window and shrugged one shoulder. "I've seen worse."

"You looked better yesterday."

"I looked better three months ago."

You rolled your eyes, though the movement exhausted you enough to leave you staring at the ceiling afterward. The silence that settled between you wasn't uncomfortable. It had become another routine, another familiar part of these endless nights spent measuring time through medication schedules and changing IV bags instead of sunsets and dinners at home.

A gentle knock broke the stillness before one of the nurses stepped inside carrying another syringe. She smiled the moment she noticed Yoongi already awake. "I was going to wake you."

"You would've been late."

She shook her head while checking your chart, completely unsurprised. "I swear you have an alarm nobody else can hear."

Yoongi only reached for the blanket that had slipped from your shoulder and tucked it back into place with careful hands. "Maybe she snores."

You nudged his arm with the little strength you had left. "I don't snore."

"You absolutely do."

The nurse hid a laugh behind her clipboard while replacing the empty IV bag. "I'll bring another warm blanket."

Yoongi nodded without looking away from you. "And hot chocolate."

"You ask for that every night."

"You bring it every night."

"You never drink it."

"I like having options."

The nurse disappeared into the hallway still smiling.

You watched the doorway until it closed before turning back toward him. "They all know you now."

"They tolerate me."

"They like you."

"They pity me." The answer arrived so quietly that it almost vanished beneath the monitor's steady beeping.

You squeezed his fingers. "They don't."

For a moment, he couldn't bring himself to answer. Instead, he brushed a strand of hair away from your face and tucked it behind your ear with practiced familiarity. The motion had become as natural as breathing, something he repeated dozens of times a day without realizing it because illness had a habit of making ordinary acts of affection feel impossibly precious. Outside, rain tapped softly against the window.

"I saw a cat earlier," he murmured after a while.

You shifted your attention toward him. "The orange one?"

He nodded. "The security guard finally fed it."

"I told you someone would."

"It ignored him."

"It likes you better."

"It likes free food."

You smiled again, smaller this time, your eyelids growing heavier as exhaustion settled over you. "Did you feed it?"

"It stole half my sandwich."

"So you did."

"I was robbed."

Another quiet laugh slipped between you before fading into comfortable silence.

The clock above the door ticked forward.

3:18

3:19

3:20

Your breathing gradually evened out beneath the soft hiss of oxygen flowing through the tubing. Yoongi kept tracing slow circles over the back of your hand long after you had fallen asleep, unwilling to move because every night followed the same fragile pattern. Pain arrived at 3:17, conversation carried you both to 3:20, and sleep borrowed a few peaceful hours before morning arrived.

He had started believing the ritual would always save you.  The thought settled somewhere deep inside him, stubborn and hopeful, refusing to acknowledge the doctors who spoke in careful voices or the sympathetic smiles that lingered a little too long. 

As long as 3:17 ended like this—with your hand in his and your breathing steady against the silence—he could pretend there would always be another night.

Morning arrived in fragments instead of sunlight. Pale streaks slipped through the narrow gap in the curtains, painting soft lines across the hospital floor while nurses traded shifts outside the room, their hushed voices blending with the distant rattle of breakfast carts.

Yoongi had fallen asleep with his cheek resting against the edge of your mattress, one hand still wrapped around yours. His neck protested the awkward position the moment he stirred, but the familiar ache barely registered. He lifted his head first to look at you instead of the clock, instinctively searching for the slow rise and fall of your chest before allowing himself to blink the exhaustion from his eyes.

Your eyes fluttered open a few seconds later. "You look worse than yesterday."

A quiet snort escaped him as he rubbed at the crease between his eyebrows. "I've been informed that's becoming your favorite hobby."

"You should sleep."

"I am sleeping."

"In a chair."

"It's a very expensive chair."

You let out the faintest laugh, the sound rough from days of medication and endless interruptions. Even weakened by illness, you still laughed the same way you always had—small at first, then with enough warmth to soften the guarded expression Yoongi carried everywhere else.

The doctor arrived just before noon. White coats, clipped explanations, carefully chosen words that never sounded frightening enough until they settled into the silence afterward. Yoongi stood beside the window with his arms folded across his chest, staring outside while percentages and treatment plans drifted through the room like another language.

He caught only pieces. Stable. Continue monitoring. Pain management. Comfort. The last word lodged itself somewhere behind his ribs.

After the doctor left, you watched Yoongi study the parking lot three floors below as though every answer he needed might be hidden between rows of parked cars. His shoulders had always carried tension differently from everyone else. He didn't pace or raise his voice. He simply became quieter until silence did all the talking for him.

"You don't have to stay every minute."

He slipped his hands into the pockets of his hoodie without turning around. "I know."

"You could go home."

"I know."

"You could shower."

"I know."

You smiled. "You smell like vending machine coffee."

That finally pulled him away from the window. "I smell like dedication."

"You smell terrible."

"I'll put that on a T-shirt." The corners of his mouth lifted just enough to convince you he was trying.

Lunch arrived untouched.

The soup cooled beside your bed while Yoongi picked at a sandwich the nurse had practically forced into his hands. Every few bites, his eyes drifted toward you, checking that you were still comfortable, still breathing evenly, still there. It was a habit he never noticed. 

But the nurses surely noticed. One of them paused in the doorway while updating your chart and caught another quietly watching the two of you.

"He looks every thirty seconds."

The older nurse followed her gaze. "Twenty."

"You counted?"

"I've been on this floor for fifteen years." She lowered her voice. "The ones who stop looking are the ones who already know." Neither of them finished the thought.

Evening settled over the city with gentle rain tapping against the windows. The sky darkened until the glass reflected the room instead of the buildings outside, leaving only the two of you suspended in a world made of fluorescent lights and steady heartbeats.

Yoongi reached into his backpack and pulled out a small paper bag.

You tilted your head. "What's that?"

He unfolded the top and produced a tiny plastic container. "Convenience store pudding."

Your eyes widened with genuine excitement. "The caramel one?"

"They were sold out."

"I don't love you anymore."

"I bought the vanilla."

"I'll think about forgiving you."

He peeled the lid back and scooped a small spoonful before holding it toward you. Your hands trembled too much to manage the spoon yourself, so he waited patiently until you swallowed, brushing away the smallest smear from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. Neither of you acknowledged how natural the gesture had become. The pudding disappeared one careful bite at a time while rain continued its quiet rhythm outside.

"I miss home." The words slipped out so softly that Yoongi almost thought he'd imagined them.

He set the empty container on the bedside table. "What do you miss?"

"The couch."

"You always complained about the couch."

"I miss complaining about it."

A laugh escaped him before he could stop it. "The neighbor's dog?"

"It barks too much."

"The old elevator?"

"It gets stuck."

"The dishes you keep leaving in the sink?"

"They're soaking."

"They've been soaking for two weeks."

"They're marinating."

You watched the amusement reach his eyes for the first time all day and committed the image to memory.

"I miss ordinary things." The smile faded, replaced by something quieter.

Yoongi reached for your hand again, threading his fingers through yours with practiced familiarity. "We'll go home."

You looked at him for a long moment. Not because you doubted him but because you wanted to believe him as much as he believed himself.

The digital clock above the door continued counting forward.

11:48 p.m.

12:31 a.m.

1:56 a.m.

The hospital settled into its familiar midnight hush. Nurses dimmed the hallway lights, visitors disappeared, and rain surrendered to the stillness that only existed in the hours before dawn.

Yoongi refused another blanket, ignored the untouched coffee cooling beside him, and leaned his head against the mattress while your breathing lulled him into a shallow sleep. Somewhere beneath exhaustion, his body had learned its own ritual.

Long before his mind woke, before his eyes opened, before consciousness returned, something inside him always reached for the same moment. Three seventeen. Every night. Without fail.

A sharp inhale pulled Yoongi from sleep before any machine had the chance to protest. His eyes opened into darkness, instinct carrying him upright in the narrow chair before his thoughts caught up. The digital clock above the door glowed faintly against the dim room, its blue numbers washing the walls in an almost ghostly light.

3:17 a.m.

You hadn't called his name. You hadn't moved. Even so, the familiar crease had returned between your brows, the one that always appeared seconds before the pain settled into your bones. Your fingers tightened weakly around the blanket instead of his hand, as if you were trying to hold yourself together without disturbing him.

Yoongi reached across the mattress before you could say anything. His palm covered yours with practiced certainty, his thumb tracing slow circles over your skin until your grip loosened. The motion had become so instinctive that he no longer remembered learning it. Somewhere between the endless nights and endless medications, his hands had simply memorized the language of comforting you.

"You cheated," you murmured, your voice rough with sleep.

One eyebrow lifted. "How?"

"You woke up before me."

"I have a reputation to maintain."

The corner of your mouth curved despite the discomfort pulling at your features. "You really think the nurses are impressed by this?"

"They definitely have a leaderboard."

"For what?"

He tilted his head toward the hallway. "Boyfriends who survive entirely on vending machine coffee."

"You'd win."

"I've been training."

Your laugh barely reached the room before exhaustion stole the sound away, but it was enough to soften the tension lingering in your shoulders.

Silence settled again, carrying the steady rhythm of the monitor and the distant squeak of rubber soles against polished floors. Rain had disappeared sometime after midnight, leaving the city wrapped in the muted glow of streetlights that spilled through the window and painted pale shapes across the blanket covering your legs.

You stared toward the ceiling for a long moment. "Do you remember the first time we met?"

Yoongi didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned farther into the chair until his forearms rested beside your pillow, studying your face with the quiet concentration that always appeared whenever he thought something mattered enough to deserve precision. "You spilled coffee on my laptop."

"It was your fault."

"You walked into me."

"You stopped in the middle of the sidewalk."

"I was reading."

"You were impossible."

"I still am."

"You definitely still are." Another fragile smile found its way onto your face. "I thought you hated me."

"I almost did." His other arm reached for your intertwined hands.

"Almost?"

"You bought me another coffee."

"I felt guilty."

"You bought me another one the next day."

"I still felt guilty."

"The next day too."

"I was making sure you forgave me."

His gaze drifted to your intertwined hands. "I never stopped showing up after that."

Neither of you spoke for several seconds. There was no need.

The memories filled the room more completely than words could. You remembered tiny apartments cluttered with music equipment and half-finished lyrics scribbled across napkins. You remembered grocery shopping at midnight because Yoongi always forgot to eat until hunger became impossible to ignore. You remembered falling asleep on the couch while he worked, waking hours later with a blanket draped over you even though he insisted he wasn't the affectionate type.

"I miss your studio."

His thumb paused for the briefest moment before continuing its slow circles. "It's dusty."

"It always smelled like coffee."

"It smelled like old speakers."

"And coffee."

"And old speakers."

You closed your eyes, letting the image settle behind your eyelids. "I miss listening to you work."

"I'll play something when we get home."

"You never let anyone hear unfinished songs."

"You aren't anyone." The answer arrived so naturally that it carried none of the self-consciousness people often wrapped around confessions. It was simply a fact.

You opened your eyes again and found him already watching you. "What if I forget?" The question hung between you with surprising weight.

His shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. "You won't."

"What if I forget the songs?"

"I'll play them again."

"What if I forget our apartment?"

"I'll show you every room."

"What if I forget you?” 

For the first time that night, Yoongi looked away. His gaze settled on the window, on the reflection of the two of you suspended against the darkness outside, and he remained there until he trusted his voice again. 

"Then I'll introduce myself." You watched the muscles in his jaw tighten before he turned back toward you. "I'll tell you we met because you ruined an expensive laptop."

A weak laugh escaped you. "You'll exaggerate."

"I absolutely will."

"And I'll buy you coffee?"

"You'll owe me at least three."

The laugh faded, replaced by quiet breathing and the steady pulse echoing through the room.

You squeezed his hand with what little strength remained. "I think..." Your voice trailed away. Yoongi leaned closer, catching every syllable. "I think I'd still fall for you."

Something fragile crossed his expression, so fleeting that anyone else might have missed it. His lips parted as though he wanted to answer, but emotion crowded every sentence before it reached his tongue. Instead, he lifted your hand and pressed his forehead gently against your knuckles. The gesture carried more honesty than words ever could.

Outside, somewhere beyond the hospital walls, the first birds began greeting a dawn that neither of you could see. Inside Room 712, the clock quietly advanced from 3:17 to 3:18, and for one more night, the ritual held.

Morning arrived with clear skies for the first time in nearly a week, washing the hospital room in soft gold instead of the muted gray that had become so familiar. Sunlight settled across your blanket and warmed your face just enough that Yoongi reached for the curtain, hesitated, and left it open after deciding you looked better with light on your skin.

A nurse stepped inside balancing two paper cups and a clipboard against her hip. "I brought actual coffee today."

Yoongi accepted the cup with a nod before peering inside. "So this is what generosity looks like."

"It means I got tired of watching you drink whatever comes out of the vending machine."

"I was building immunity."

She rolled her eyes and shifted her attention toward your chart, but her smile faltered for the smallest moment when she compared yesterday's notes to this morning's numbers. The pause lasted less than a second before she tucked the clipboard against her side again, yet Yoongi caught it anyway, his fingers tightening around the paper cup until the lid crinkled beneath his grip.

You noticed too. The room had taught you how to read people long before the monitors or medications ever could. Doctors slowed their steps before difficult conversations, nurses smiled a little brighter on hard mornings, and visitors laughed louder whenever they were trying not to cry.

"I'm okay." The reassurance escaped your lips automatically.

Yoongi looked at you instead of the nurse. "I know." The words landed with enough certainty that even you almost believed them.

The nurse adjusted your IV line, checked your temperature, and lingered beside the bed for another moment. "Physical therapy is stopping by after lunch."

You groaned into the pillow. "I'd rather fight a bear."

"You said that yesterday."

"My opinion hasn't improved."

Yoongi folded his arms across his chest. "I'll cheer for the bear."

"You always take the wrong side."

"I take the entertaining side."

The nurse laughed quietly before slipping out into the hallway, leaving behind the faint scent of hand sanitizer and fresh coffee.

For a while, neither of you spoke. Cars crawled through the streets below, tiny from the seventh-floor window, their movements slow enough to make the outside world feel impossibly distant. Somewhere downstairs, a child laughed, the sound carrying upward through an open courtyard before disappearing beneath the steady hum of hospital air conditioning.

"I had a dream."

Yoongi shifted his chair closer. "Good or bad?"

"I couldn't tell." You watched the sunlight creep across the blanket as though the answer might be hidden there. "We were home."

His shoulders relaxed. "You kept leaving your guitar in the hallway."

"I do that."

"I almost tripped over it."

"Also accurate."

"You were making coffee."

"I'm sensing a pattern."

"And I couldn't remember why we owned seven mugs when there are only two of us."

A quiet smile touched his face. "You keep buying them because you think they're cute."

"They are cute."

"They all say the same thing."

You frowned. "They don't."

"They literally all say 'World's Best Coffee.'"

"They have different fonts."

He let out a soft breath that almost resembled a laugh, and for a fleeting second the hospital room disappeared, replaced by your tiny apartment where mismatched mugs crowded every cabinet and music drifted between unfinished laundry piles.

Then the smile left your face. "I woke up before we got home."

The silence that followed carried a different weight than usual. Yoongi reached for your hand without looking away from you, his thumb finding the familiar path across your skin. "We'll get there."

You searched his expression, looking for the slightest crack. The stubborn hope remained exactly where it always had, anchored behind tired eyes and sleepless nights. He wore it the way other people wore armor, refusing to remove it even when the weight of it bent his shoulders lower every day.

After lunch, physical therapy arrived exactly on schedule. A cheerful therapist wheeled in a walker and greeted you with enough enthusiasm to brighten the room, but simply sitting on the edge of the bed drained the color from your face.  Your fingers clung to the mattress while Yoongi stood close enough that your elbow brushed against his sleeve. 

"You've got this." Yoongi restrained himself from helping you up because he knew you’ll just swat his hands away. "I hate encouraging people." 

"You hate everyone." You laugh under your breath.

"I tolerate a select few." 

"Am I included?" 

He pretended to consider the question. "The jury's still out."

You pushed yourself upright anyway. Your knees trembled before your feet even touched the floor, the effort pulling uneven breaths from your chest. Yoongi instinctively extended a hand, but you shook your head and steadied yourself against the walker instead, determination flickering behind the exhaustion.

One step, then another. The therapist offered quiet praise while measuring distance in feet and progress in tiny victories, but Yoongi measured something else entirely. He counted every breath that hitched, every moment your grip tightened until your knuckles lost their color, every smile you forced whenever someone looked at you.

Halfway across the room, you stopped. Not because you wanted to but because your body had already decided.

Your shoulders sagged, and before anyone could react, Yoongi moved beside you, sliding one arm around your waist with practiced familiarity. "I've got you."

You leaned into him without protest. For a heartbeat, neither of you cared that the therapist politely looked away or that a nurse paused in the doorway pretending to organize paperwork. The world shrank until it contained only your uneven breathing and the steady rhythm of Yoongi's heartbeat beneath your temple.

"I'm heavier than I used to be."

He adjusted his grip. "You've always been difficult."

"I was trying to be sentimental."

"I'm trying to keep you from falling."

The smallest laugh escaped you, carrying equal parts exhaustion and affection. When he helped you back into bed, your eyes drifted closed almost immediately. Within minutes, sleep claimed you.

Yoongi remained in the chair beside the mattress, watching sunlight slide across the floor until it reached his shoes. His coffee sat untouched on the windowsill, now completely cold, while the clock above the door continued its patient march toward another night.

Another 3:17. Another promise that he would wake before the pain did. Another promise he intended to keep, no matter how impossible it was becoming.

Yoongi woke before the clock. The habit had rooted itself so deeply into his body that exhaustion no longer mattered. His eyes opened into the dim hospital room, instinct already reaching for you before consciousness fully returned, and his fingers found the warmth of your hand resting above the blanket.

The room was unusually still. No restless shifting beneath the sheets. No quiet inhale that caught halfway through your chest. No whispered complaint about the ache in your shoulders or the stiffness in your neck. Only the soft mechanical rhythm that had accompanied every night for weeks.

His gaze drifted toward the clock.

3:16 a.m.

The smallest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You finally gave me a head start."

The joke slipped into the darkness, expecting the familiar pause before you rolled your eyes and accused him of turning everything into a competition. Instead, the room offered nothing back except the muted hum of fluorescent lights beyond the closed door.

He looked at you again. Your face had relaxed in a way he hadn't seen for months, every line of discomfort erased from your features until you looked impossibly peaceful. The crease that always appeared between your brows during the early hours had disappeared, leaving only the quiet expression of someone enjoying uninterrupted sleep.

Yoongi loosened his grip on your hand and brushed a strand of hair away from your forehead. "You've got five seconds before I claim victory."

Silence. He counted anyway. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

"I win." Nothing.

The smile lingered for another heartbeat before uncertainty settled beneath it. His thumb resumed its slow circles across the back of your hand, repeating the motion that had soothed you through every difficult night. He waited for the tiny squeeze that always followed, for your fingers to curl weakly around his, for the almost imperceptible sign that you were still there with him. Your hand remained still.

The digital clock clicked forward.

3:17 a.m.

Yoongi leaned closer until his forearms rested against the mattress. "Hey." His voice stayed low, careful not to disturb you. "It's time."

No answer.

Outside the room, rubber soles whispered against polished floors before fading into the distance. Somewhere farther down the hallway, a monitor chimed twice before a nurse silenced it, and the familiar sounds of the hospital continued without noticing that something inside Room 712 had shifted.

He reached for the call button, then stopped. You had slept through medication checks before. You had slept through blood pressure readings. Once, after an especially exhausting day, you had slept through Jin's painfully loud video call, only waking when Yoongi threatened to answer it himself. This could be that. It had to be.

"You always complain when I wake you up." His fingers tightened around yours. "So I'm giving you another minute."

He settled back into the chair, never releasing your hand, and watched the rise and fall of your chest. One breath. Another. The movement was so faint that he almost convinced himself he had seen it.

The clock changed again.

3:18 a.m.

A quiet knock interrupted the silence before the overnight nurse stepped inside carrying another folded blanket. She paused the moment her eyes landed on the two of you. "You're awake already."

Yoongi nodded toward the untouched blanket. "She's winning today."

The nurse smiled automatically, expecting the usual exchange that had become part of her shift. She crossed the room and reached for your chart, but her attention drifted to the monitor almost immediately. The smile disappeared. She stepped closer then closer still. Her fingers found your wrist with practiced precision while her eyes searched your face.

Yoongi watched her, confusion knitting his brows together. "She's just sleeping."

The nurse didn't answer. Instead, she pressed the call button on the wall, her movements calm but impossibly quick. 

Within seconds, footsteps echoed through the hallway. Another nurse entered then another. The room filled with quiet urgency. Someone gently guided Yoongi's chair backward. He didn't move.

"I'm staying."

A doctor arrived still fastening the sleeves of his white coat, his expression composed in the way only years of practice could produce. He checked your pulse, listened for a heartbeat, adjusted a sensor, and exchanged a look with the nurses that lasted less than a second but seemed to stretch across an eternity.

Yoongi barely noticed any of it. He kept talking instead. "You skipped physical therapy yesterday."

His thumb continued tracing slow circles over your hand. "They're going to think you're avoiding them."

No one interrupted him.

"They'll make you walk twice as far." His eyes never left your face. "And you still owe me caramel pudding because vanilla was a terrible compromise."

The doctor lowered his stethoscope. The nurses gradually stepped away from the bed, each movement slower than the last.

Someone rested a hand against Yoongi's shoulder. He shrugged it off without looking. 

"You promised we'd go home." The words escaped in a voice so quiet they almost disappeared beneath the steady, unbroken tone that had quietly replaced the familiar rhythm of the monitor.

He stared at your face, waiting for the tiny laugh that always followed whenever he became too serious. Waiting for your fingers to squeeze his hand. Waiting for 3:17 to end the way it always had. But for the first time in seventy-four nights, the pain never came, and neither did you.

The room never became chaotic. No one shouted instructions across the bed or rushed equipment through the doorway, because there was nothing left to fix. The nurses exchanged brief glances that carried years of experience, the doctor lowered his eyes toward the chart instead of the monitor, and the steady tone that filled Room 712 continued with quiet indifference, stretching into every corner until it became impossible to tell where the sound ended and the silence began.

Yoongi remained exactly where he was. His hand still covered yours, his thumb still tracing slow circles over your skin with the same measured rhythm he had repeated every night for weeks. The movement had become muscle memory long ago, existing independently of thought, and he couldn't stop even when the warmth beneath his fingertips had already begun to fade.

A nurse crouched beside him. She had been the one bringing him hot chocolate every night, the one who always laughed when he complained about vending machine coffee, the one who pretended not to notice that he never drank either. "Yoongi."

He didn't look at her. "You forgot the blanket."

Her hand paused halfway toward his shoulder. "It's right here."

He glanced at the folded fabric resting over her arm and gave a small nod, as though she had simply arrived a few minutes later than usual. "She gets cold around this time."

The nurse swallowed against the tightness in her throat before unfolding the blanket with careful hands. Together, without exchanging another word, they draped it over you exactly the way they always did, smoothing the edges near your shoulders and tucking the corners beneath your arms.

For one impossible moment, it almost looked like another ordinary night. The doctor stepped forward after giving them enough time to breathe. "I am so sorry."

Yoongi stared at the clock instead. The blue numbers continued shining above the door.

3:23 a.m.

"You don't understand." His voice remained steady, almost conversational, the same tone he used when correcting someone's coffee order or reminding you to take your medication. "She always falls asleep after the pain passes."

No one interrupted him.

"If we wait another few minutes, she'll wake up and complain that my hand is too cold." His thumb continued its slow circles. "And she'll ask what time it is."

The doctor removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose before speaking again, but the words never reached Yoongi. They dissolved somewhere between the monitor and the window, lost beneath memories that crowded his thoughts with relentless clarity.

You, laughing because he had burned toast. You, stealing his hoodie even in the middle of summer. You, insisting that seven identical coffee mugs counted as interior design. You, whispering at exactly 3:17 every single night, "You're awake."

A vibration against his thigh pulled him back. His phone. The screen glowed with an incoming video call. Namjoon.Yoongi stared at the name until it disappeared.

A second later, another notification arrived.

Jin: Did you both survive the terrible hospital breakfast?

Then another.

Hobi: Tell Y/N I found the blanket she wanted.

The messages continued appearing one after another, piling across the screen while the room remained perfectly still. Yoongi locked the phone without answering. He knew that once he replied, the world outside Room 712 would learn what had happened. 

As long as he stayed silent, time hadn't moved yet. As long as he stayed silent, somewhere beyond sunrise there still existed a version of today where you would wake up hungry and complain about pudding flavors.

The nurse quietly slipped the phone into the pocket of his hoodie when it buzzed again. This time she didn't look at the screen. She simply rested a hand against his shoulder.

Yoongi finally turned toward her. For the first time since 3:17, his expression cracked. Not dramatically. Not with sobs or desperate pleas. Just a tiny fracture around his eyes, the kind that formed after too many sleepless nights and too much hope carried for too long.

"I promised her we'd go home." The sentence hung between them, unbearably small.

The nurse couldn't offer reassurance that would matter, so she reached for the cold cup of vending machine coffee sitting untouched beside the chair and quietly threw it away.

Outside, dawn began spreading across the city. The first rays of sunlight slipped through the window and landed gently across your face, warming your closed eyes exactly the way Yoongi had always liked. He noticed the light immediately and stood without thinking, crossing the room to adjust the curtain.

His hand stopped halfway. You had always looked prettier in the morning. Slowly, he lowered his arm again and left the sunlight where it was. Then he returned to the chair beside your bed, laced his fingers through yours one last time, and settled in as though another night still waited ahead.

The digital clock continued counting.

3:41.

3:58.

4:12.

Yoongi never looked away from you. If anyone had asked, he would have answered with complete certainty that he was only waiting. After all, for seventy-three nights, you had always responded.

And some stubborn, exhausted part of him still believed that if he kept holding your hand, if he kept tracing those familiar circles across your skin, if he stayed awake long enough, you would open your eyes and ask the same question you always did.

"What time is it?"

------------------

Winter arrived without asking for permission.

The first snow settled across Seoul in thin layers that disappeared by noon, dusting sidewalks, rooftops, and the windows of Yoongi's studio before melting into nothing. He watched it from behind the piano, a mug of coffee cooling beside scattered sheets of music, and caught himself counting the minutes until someone would walk through the door to complain that the heater was too high.

No one came. The silence no longer startled him. It simply lived there now, tucked between unfinished melodies and the faint scent of coffee that had seeped into the walls over the years. The studio looked exactly the way it always had—cables tangled beneath chairs, notebooks stacked in uneven piles, hoodies thrown across the sofa—but there was an emptiness woven into every familiar corner, a shape that belonged to someone who would never occupy it again.

He still owned seven identical mugs. People had asked why he never threw them away. He never bothered answering. Every Saturday morning, he reached into the cabinet without thinking and pulled out two. One for himself. One for you.

By the time he realized what he had done, steam would already be curling from both cups. He would stand in the kitchen for a moment, staring at the second mug until the coffee cooled, before quietly drinking them both because wasting it somehow felt worse than pretending.

Namjoon stopped mentioning it after the third visit. Jin simply washed the extra cup and returned it to the cabinet without a word. The others learned to leave one chair empty whenever they gathered, never discussing why the seat remained untouched through dinner, movies, or nights that stretched too late into morning. Some absences deserved respect instead of explanation.

Yoongi returned to writing music because he no longer knew what else to do. The melodies came slowly, gathering one note at a time until they resembled conversations that would never happen again. He left mistakes exactly where they landed, refusing to polish every rough edge, because perfection had started feeling dishonest after discovering that life could end in the middle of an ordinary sentence.

The piano became the only place where grief stopped feeling heavy. There, it transformed into rhythm. Into pauses. Into chords that lingered longer than they should.

One evening, he found a strand of your hair caught inside the sleeve of an old hoodie. He didn't remember the last time you had worn it, only that you always stole his clothes and insisted they smelled better than yours. The tiny thread rested against his palm, almost weightless, yet it carried enough memories to send him sinking onto the studio floor with the fabric gathered tightly against his chest.

He stayed there until sunset painted the room amber. Not crying. Not speaking. Just listening to the quiet settle around him until breathing became easier again.

Life continued because it always did. Schedules filled calendars. Albums reached deadlines. Friends dragged him outside for dinner often enough to keep him from disappearing completely into the studio. He smiled when expected, argued over takeout menus, corrected Jin's terrible movie opinions, and rolled his eyes whenever Namjoon knocked over another glass.

Anyone watching from across the room might have believed he was healing. Only Yoongi knew the difference between healing and learning where to place the ache.

Months slipped by. Winter surrendered to spring, and spring carried enough warmth to leave the windows open at night. City lights stretched across the river while distant traffic hummed through the darkness, familiar enough to blend into dreams.

Then, without warning, Yoongi's eyes opened. The room remained completely dark except for the faint blue glow of the digital clock resting on the nightstand.

3:17 a.m.

He didn't sit up immediately. His hand moved first, sliding across the mattress with quiet certainty until his fingers reached the empty space beside him. The sheets were cool beneath his palm, untouched except for the small indentation that no longer existed anywhere except in memory.

His thumb traced slow circles against cotton. The same circles. The same rhythm. The same silent promise his hands had memorized long before his mind understood it.

The words escaped before he could stop them. "Does it still hurt?"

The apartment answered with stillness. Outside, rain brushed softly against the window, and somewhere in the distance a train carried strangers toward homes where lights still glowed in waiting.

Yoongi closed his eyes. For the first time since that night, he didn't wait for a reply.

He pushed the blanket aside, crossed the quiet apartment barefoot, and made his way into the studio where the piano rested beneath the moonlight spilling through the glass. An unfinished score still sat on the stand. He had started it months ago. He had abandoned it after the second page because every melody kept finding its way back to you.

Tonight, he lowered himself onto the bench without hesitation. His fingers hovered over the keys then they began to move.

The first notes drifted into the empty room, gentle enough to sound like footsteps returning home. The melody wandered through familiar places—the warmth of convenience store pudding shared after midnight, sunlight falling across hospital blankets, laughter over identical coffee mugs, hands finding each other at exactly 3:17 every morning. It wasn't a goodbye. It never could be. It was every ordinary moment stitched together into something that could survive memory.

As dawn slowly painted the horizon pale gold, Yoongi reached into the pocket of the hoodie draped across the piano bench. His fingers brushed against smooth plastic. The hospital bracelet. He had carried it everywhere for months without realizing its weight.

Carefully, almost reverently, he placed it beside the sheet music. Not hidden inside a drawer. Not locked inside a box. Just resting there, where the morning light could find it.

The melody came to a quiet end. Yoongi looked toward the window as the first rays of sunlight slipped into the studio, warming the empty chair beside the piano exactly the way they used to warm your face. A small smile touched his lips, tired but unmistakably real.

At 3:17 every morning, his body would probably still wake before the sun. The habit would remain, stubborn and faithful, reaching across empty sheets for a hand that no longer answered. But somewhere between the silence and the music, Yoongi realized that love had never disappeared with you.

The assassin plummeted sideways with a squeal, barely dodging a horrifying death-by-bumper.

"Fuck my driving!" a panicked, remarkably feminine voice growled from the driver’s side window, the engine sputtering violently as the exhaust backfired like a shotgun blast.

The remaining hitmen, utterly terrified and convinced this was a heavily armored, erratic tactical ambush by an unknown third party, panicked. "It's a trap! Fall back!" one yelled. Within seconds, the sound of scrambling boots echoed into the main street as the gunmen fled into the dark, leaving Jimin standing alone in his own dripping blood.

Jimin blinked through the sweat, leaning heavily against the brickwork, breathing through cracked ribs. He raised a hand to wipe his eyes, half-expecting a heavily armed swat team to exit the vehicle.

Instead, a figure leaped out of the driver's side wearing a oversized black hoodie, a neon pink ski mask put on entirely backward, and bright yellow dishwashing gloves.

Before Jimin’s brain could register the absurdity, the figure lunged forward. In one clumsy, surprisingly aggressive motion, a heavy black canvas sack was yanked roughly down over Jimin’s head, blinding him instantly.

"Hey—" Jimin rasped, his lethal kicking in, but before he could drive a blade into the intruder's stomach, a sneaker kicked him brutally right behind his left knee.

His weakened leg buckled. Jimin hit the wet pavement on both knees with a harsh groan, the pain flaring up his ribs like a wildfire. He flexed his fingers, preparing to snap the attacker's ankle, when the voice shrieked in an octave of pure, desperate panic:

"Don't... D-don't fucking move, you hear me?! Or else I swear to God I will throw your brand new PlayStation out the window! I know where you hide it!"

Jimin froze, his hands hovering an inch from his concealed hip holster.

A... PlayStation?

Underneath the coarse fabric of the sack, Jimin’s blood-soaked lips twitched. He was a man who controlled a multi-million-dollar network, operated out of fortified penthouses, and had a bounty on his head large enough to buy a small island. And he was currently being threatened with the execution of a gaming console.

Realizing this was either a bizarre hallucination brought on by blood loss or the most painfully incompetent mistake in human history, Jimin slowly lowered his hands. Whoever this complete idiot was, they had accidentally saved his life. Playing along was better than dying in a wet gutter while his internal organs hemorrhaged.

"What are..." Jimin grunted, forcing his deep, silk-smooth voice into a raspy, pained whisper to keep his lungs from collapsing.

"Shut up! No talking, hostage!" you hissed, practically hyperventilating.

You were far too blinded by adrenaline and the absolute terror of ruining your best friend’s elaborate birthday surprise to notice the actual horror around you. You didn't see the pool of dark blood nor the three motionless bodies slumped behind the dumpsters. Your vision was entirely locked on completing 'Operation Kidnap My Idiot Brother.'

"Up! Get up!" you huffed, grabbing him by his stained suit collar and hauling him toward the back seat of your trusty 2012 Civic.

Jimin let out a ragged wheeze as you shoved him into the cramped, fry-scented back seat. His sharp suit scraped against empty soda cans and old receipts. Before he could adjust his position, you grabbed a thick pack of heavy-duty industrial zip-ties from your pocket.

With aggressive, frantic pulling noises ZIP! ZIP! ZIP! you bound his wrists tightly behind his back.

"Ow," Jimin muttered under the sack, genuine mild annoyance creeping into his amusement as the plastic bit into his skin.

"Save it for the party—I mean, the dungeon!" you yelled, slamming the back door shut hard. You scrambled into the driver’s seat, jammed the car into drive and peeled out of the alley, leaving behind a crime scene, three dead mobsters, and a deeply confused street gang.

In the back seat, blinded by a sack and bound by zip-ties, Park Jimin rested his head against the sticky vinyl seat, listening to the frantic, off-key humming of his oblivious abductor over the roar of a dying muffler.

Well, the drug lord thought, wincing as a sharp pain shot through his ribcage, at least the heater works.

"You must have known, right?" you snapped, glaring into the crack-riddled rearview mirror at the unbothered, motionless shape in your backseat. "It was my driving, wasn't it? That’s how you knew it was me! But at least act surprised, Taehyung! Fight back! Struggle a little! Make my felony feel earned!"

You huffed loudly, aggressively shifting into third gear with a sound that made the poor 2012 Civic sound like it was passing a kidney stone.

"Just so you know, I told her this was a terrible idea," you rant continued, gesturing wildly with one yellow-gloved hand. "I said, 'Hey, maybe let’s just get him a cake like normal, sane human beings.' But no, she insisted! She loves you, Taehyung. God knows why, considering what an insufferable, stubborn ass you are."

In the backseat, blinded by the scratchy black canvas sack and surrounded by the lingering odor of stale French fries and laundry detergent, Park Jimin rested his head against the rattling doorframe. His ribs were screaming, his Italian suit was ruined, and he was actively hemorrhaging blood onto what felt like a questionable tweed seat cover. But he couldn't deny it; this was easily the most entertaining evening he’d had in years.

"And fucking speak! Don't go quiet on me now!" you yelled into the front seat. Reaching out, you slapped the dashboard, slamming the radio on to drown out the awkward silence. Early 2000s pop music exploded out of the blown-out speakers, buzzing with pure static.

"I'm keeping you tied up, by the way," you warned, pointing a finger blindly behind you. "When we get there, you better scream, you better look terrified, and you better act surprised! Or else I swear I will sell your new PlayStation. And you know I'm crazy enough to do it."

From the dark depths of the fabric sack, a low, velvet-smooth rasp cut through your threats.

"If you sell the PlayStation," Jimin murmured, his voice laced with a gravelly charm despite his bruised throat, "how will Taehyung ever forgive you?"

"Shut up! I’m serious, Taehyung!" you yelled over the deafening pop music, smacking the steering wheel in frustration as you hit a pothole. "I swear, you're taking this way too casually! You're supposed to be squirming! You're supposed to be begging for mercy! Instead, you're sitting there like someone who just got a slightly uncomfortable Uber ride!"

Jimin let out a breathless chuckle, wincing as the laughter pulled violently at his cracked ribs.

"Maybe I'm just admiring the tactical genius of my captor," Jimin purred, his lips curving into a sharp, lethal smirk beneath the canvas. "The yellow rubber gloves really pull the whole kidnapping act together."

"They are dishwashing gloves, you ungrateful idiot! They keep my fingerprints off your stupidly expensive jacket!" you retorted, cranking the volume knob even higher until the car practically vibrated. "Now stop talking, fix your posture, and get ready! We’re five minutes away from the house. If you ruin this party after I literally committed a kidnapping and nearly embedded my bumper into an alley wall, I will personally throw you into the river!"

Jimin leaned his head back against the headrest, tasting the metallic twang of blood in his mouth.

Five minutes, he thought, feeling the heavy, cold steel of the loaded 9mm tucked into his waistband, right beneath his ruined suit coat. His second-in-command was probably tearing Seoul apart right now, burning down rival syndicates brick by brick to find his body.

And yet, here he was. Bound by ten-cent zip-ties, kidnapped by a girl wearing dishwashing gloves, and being taken to a surprise birthday party for a guy named Taehyung.

"Whatever you say, boss," Jimin whispered softly, his deep voice swallowed by the blasting radio. "Lead the way."

The hallway was dimly lit, filled with the faint scent of vanilla candles and the muffled sound of a birthday playlist humming from the living room speakers. You pulled hard on the canvas-draped captive, practically wrestling the heavy frame through the front doorway.

"Keep moving," you whispered harshly through your pink ski mask, dragging him by his blood-stained sleeve. "Don't ruin the—"

You froze mid-sentence.

Standing in the center of the warm, balloon-filled living room was your brother, Taehyung. He was wearing his favorite worn-out sweater, holding a half-empty glass of soda, and currently had his arms wrapped firmly around your best friend's waist. She was standing on her tiptoes, completely wrapped up in kissing him.

Between kisses, your best friend let out a soft sigh, giggling into his neck. "I'm so glad you came home early... she's taking forever with that stupid prank."

Taehyung chuckled, pressing another kiss to her lips. "I told you she was probably lost in a parking lot somewhere."

Your brain completely short-circuited.

You stood dead in your tracks, your dishwashing-gloved hands locked onto the sleeve of the man beside you. You stared at Taehyung. Then you stared at your best friend. Then you slowly looked at the blood-soaked man standing motionless beside you in a ruined, custom-tailored suit.

Taehyung was right there.

Taehyung was in the living room.

Who the fuck was in your house?!

Panic, sharp and blinding, shot straight through your veins. Your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird.

Before either of them could turn around, you took advantage of their absolute absorption in each other. You clamped your hand over the mysterious stranger's mouth through the black canvas sack, yanked him backward with a surge of pure, terrified strength, and dragged him down the hallway into your bedroom.

You shoved him inside, threw your back against the door, and slammed it shut, twisting the lock with a desperate CLICK.

Breathing heavily, your eyes wide, you turned around to face the dark room.

The tall stranger stood near the foot of your bed, perfectly calm, his hands still zip-tied tightly behind his back. The heavy silence in your room was broken only by the quiet, ragged sound of his breathing and the faint, alarming dripping of fresh blood onto your flower-patterned rug.

Slowly, deliberately, the man lifted his bound hands slightly behind him, adjusted his balance, and tilted his head toward you under the dark canvas.

"So," a dangerously smooth, quiet voice rasped from beneath the hood, echoing through your small bedroom. "I take it I'm not Taehyung?"

Without waiting another second, you grabbed his broad shoulders and forced him backward, pushing him down until he hit the edge of your mattress with a heavy, muffled grunt.

"I am so sorry, I am so sorry, oh my God," you babbled, your hands trembling violently as you grabbed the coarse fabric of the sack and yanked it off his head.

The breath hitched in your throat.

The man sitting on your bed didn't look like any normal civilian. He had sharp, dangerously handsome features, hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, and dark, piercing eyes that immediately fixed onto yours with absolute composure. But what caught your attention was the dark, slick crimson smeared across his jaw, painting his split bottom lip.

"Oh my God, you’re bleeding?!" you gasped, backing up a step, your hands flying to your pink ski mask and yanking it off your heated face. "Did I do that?! How?! No way! I know I hit a bump, but did my car do this to you?!"

You hovered over him frantically, your yellow dishwashing gloves flapping around his face as you inspected his bruised cheekbone, mentally counting the cuts on his jaw like a manic ER nurse. Then your eyes trailed downward, falling on his custom, midnight-blue suit jacket, which was ripped to ribbons and soaked through with deep, ghastly red stains covering his chest and stomach.

"Wait... are those knife cuts?!" you shrieked, clutching your head. "What kind of car accident—"

"I think," Jimin interrupted softly, his voice a low purr that made the tiny hairs on your neck stand up, "we can start with you taking the zip ties off."

He offered you a faint, wry smirk, a soft chuckle escaping his chest before he winced, his dark eyes flickering with pain.

"Right! Yes! Zip ties! Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" you squeaked, frantically spinning around to scan your messy room. You shuffled through your desk, tossed aside notebooks, and dug through drawers like a lunatic. "Where are the scissors?!"

Jimin watched you with an amused expression. He let out a low sigh, casually rolled his shoulders, and pulled his wrists apart. With a sharp, sudden SNAP, the thick industrial plastic sheared completely in two, dropping to your bedroom floor like harmless string.

You froze mid-search, staring at the snapped plastic, then slowly raised your eyes to his large, veiny hands now resting casually on his knees.

"You... you just..." You swallowed hard, taking a terrified step backward against your closet door. The reality of the situation hit you like a bucket of ice water. You hadn't kidnapped your nerdy brother. "P-Please don't call the police. Please. I have a clean record, I swear it was a mistake—"

Jimin let out a harsh, strained groan, leaning forward as he clutched his ribs, his knuckles turning white. The bloody cuts across his torso were bleeding through his dress shirt, dripping onto your pastel bedsheets.

"Take care of my wounds," Jimin rasped, looking up through his dark bangs, his gaze locking onto yours with terrifying intensity, "and I won't."

"Deal!" you squeaked instantly.

Within thirty seconds, you pulled out your emergency first-aid kit, dumped a mountain of cotton balls onto the nightstand.

"First, take off the jacket," Jimin instructed quietly, his voice dangerously calm for a man whose blood was currently staining your duvet.

You cautiously stepped closer, peeling the expensive, ruined leather and wool from his broad shoulders, flinching every time he let out a tight breath. Following his precise, stern commands you began dabbing rubbing alcohol over his exposed chest.

"Hold still, this is going to sting," you muttered nervously, wincing on his behalf as you pressed a gauze pad into a deep slash across his ribs.

Jimin didn't even flinch. He just sat on your bed, watching your every panicked move through half-hooded eyes, a dark, dangerous smirk lingering at the edge of his lips as your hands shook against his skin.

Working with clinical precision, and a fair amount of frantic hyperventilating, you managed to clean, disinfect, and tightly bandage every slash, scrape, and bruise across his torso. His body was a canvas of older, faded silver lines and fresh, jagged cuts, making it painfully obvious that today wasn't his first time wrestling with death.

"You know..." you muttered softly, dabbing a final strip of medical tape over a nasty gash near his hip, keeping your eyes strictly fixed on his ribcage to avoid looking at his bare chest, "you seem to know exactly what I should do. You've been wounded a lot, I see."

Jimin let out a quiet, rumbling hum, his dark eyes following your shaking hands. Since his tailored clothes were thoroughly ruined and soaked in a mixture of street grime and blood, he had stripped down, tossing the filthy garments into a ball in the corner of your room.

Now, he was lying flat on your mattress, completely naked under the covers, resting his dark head against your soft pillows.

"I'm a drug lord," Jimin murmured casually, his voice velvety and completely devoid of fear. "Park Jimin."

You froze mid-wrap with the leftover gauze, your jaw dropping beneath your breath.

"And you are?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, watching your bewildered expression.

You pressed your lips together, staring at him in utter disbelief. "A... a what?"

"A drug lord," he repeated smoothly, as if he had just told you he worked in accounting.

CLICK.

The bedroom door handle jiggled and swung wide open before you could even move to block it.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing in here for so long? The party's—" Taehyung froze in the doorway, a paper plate with a half-eaten slice of chocolate cake suspended in his hand.

His eyes slowly traveled from you, standing frozen in dishwashing gloves holding bloody cotton balls, to your bed, where a strikingly handsome, intensely dangerous-looking stranger was lying completely naked under your duvet, staring back at him with icy composure.

Taehyung's mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. "Who... who the fuck is that?!"

Your brain panicked, immediately short-circuiting into survival mode.

"My date!" you blurted out, stepping between Taehyung and the bed, waving a glove dismissively. "It's complicated, Taehyung! He's... sensitive to light! Get out and go eat your cake!"

"Your date?!" Taehyung yelled, staring at the visible tatters of blood-stained clothes on the floor. "He looks like he just got thrown out of a moving helicopter!"

"Out! Out, out, out!" You practically tackled your brother back into the hallway, slamming the door shut in his face and locking it tight once more.

Leaning your forehead against the cool wood of the door, you let out a long, shuddering breath. From the bed, a soft, low chuckle resonated through the room.

"Your date, huh?" Jimin purred, his dark eyes sparkling with dangerous amusement under the dim lighting. "I didn't realize kidnapping came with a relationship status."

You slowly turned around, resting your spine against the locked door as you pressed your lips into a tight, stressed line.

Jimin was resting comfortably against your stack of decorative pillows, one arm propped lazily behind his dark, damp hair. Under your duvet, his broad, bare shoulders were on full display, perfectly framed by the clean white bandages you taped across his chest. He looked completely out of place among your floral bedroom decor.

"So..." you began, crossing your yellow-gloved arms over your chest, "when are you going to leave?"

Jimin’s lips curved into a slow, devastatingly handsome smirk. His dark, sharp eyes tracked you with unhurried interest.

"Leave?" he echoed softly, his voice a low, raspy purr that practically hummed through the small room. "With no clothes? Bleeding through your sheets? While my men are currently turning the city upside down looking for my body?"

He tilted his head, letting out a small, amused huff that winced into a subtle grimace as his sore ribs flexed.

"I think I’m going to stay right here for a bit," Jimin purred, shifting slightly under the covers. "Besides... your date wouldn't just walk out on you after you worked so hard to kidnap him, would he?"

You buried your face in your hands with a deep, suffering groan.

"I am going to throw myself out the window," you muttered into your hands, dropping them to glare at him. "Seriously, Mr. Drug Lord. My brother is right outside that door. My best friend is outside that door. If they find out I brought home an actual criminal instead of a birthday surprise, they’re going to put me in an asylum."

Jimin’s smirk only broadened, a glint of genuine entertainment dancing in his dark eyes. "Then I suggest you keep your voice down, sweetheart."

"Do not call me sweetheart," you hissed, taking a cautious step closer to the bed and pointing a yellow dishwashing glove at him accusingly. "You are a hostage! Well... a former hostage. An accidental hostage! Whatever you are, you’re supposed to be intimidated by me!"

Jimin let out a soft, breathless laugh, wincing slightly as the movement tugged at the bruises across his ribs. He looked down at the bright yellow rubber finger hovering inches from his chest, then raised his gaze back to yours, his dark eyes brimming with dangerous charm.

"Intimidated?" he purred softly, his voice dropping into a velvety register that sent an unexpected chill down your spine. "By a girl in dishwashing gloves and a pink ski mask who threatens people with PlayStations? You saved my life tonight, kid."

"I was trying to kidnap my brother, not rescue a mob boss!" you whispered loudly, throwing your hands up in sheer exasperation.

Before you could argue any further, a soft, heavy vibration echoed from the corner of the room.

You both froze. The sound was coming from the pile of filthy, blood-soaked trousers Jimin had shed earlier.

Jimin’s playful demeanor vanished in an instant. The easygoing smirk melted away, replaced by an intensely sharp, cold focus that made your breath catch in your throat.

"My phone," Jimin said quietly, his tone calm, commanding, and absolute. "Hand it to me."

You swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of the shift in the air. Cautiously, you walked over to the corner, picked up his heavy, slick leather pants using the very tip of your gloved fingers, and fished out a sleek, customized black smartphone. The screen was flashing with an unregistered, encrypted caller ID.

You handed it to him, taking a swift step back.

Jimin slid the phone screen open and brought it to his ear, his gaze remaining locked on you.

"Talk," he commanded into the receiver, his voice ice-cold.

A frantic, muffled voice burst through the speaker on the other end, so loud you could hear the panicked shouting from where you stood. "Boss?! Boss, is that you?! Jesus Christ, we thought you were dead! The alley was a warzone... rivals everywhere... we've been burning down their safehouses for the last two hours trying to track you—"

"I'm alive," Jimin interrupted smoothly, resting his head back against your pink pillow as if he were discussing the weather. "I'm in a secure location."

"Where are you?! We’ll send the entire fleet right now, five-minute ETA—"

Jimin paused, his dark, heavy gaze lingering on your wide, panicked eyes. You frantically shook your head, mouthing, 'NO MAFIA! NO MAFIA MEN IN MY DRIVEWAY!'

A subtle, amused twitch returned to the corner of Jimin's lips.

"Stand down for now," Jimin ordered into the phone, his tone leaving zero room for argument. "Send a clean vehicle and a fresh suit to the coordinates I text you in an hour. No heavy artillery, no motorcade. Just one driver."

"Boss? Are you sure? Who saved you?"

Jimin kept his eyes fixed right on you, a slow, breathtaking smile spreading across his face.

"Just a very dangerous operative," Jimin murmured softly into the mic. "Bring a new PlayStation, too."

He ended the call, tossed the phone onto the nightstand, and crossed his arms behind his head, looking up at you with absolute delight as you stood there, utterly dumbfounded.

"You..." you stammered, pointing at him. "Did you just order a PlayStation?!"

"Consider it my payment for your medical services," Jimin purred, sinking deeper into your duvet. "Now... are you going to stand there looking terrified, or are you going to go get your 'date' a glass of water?"

You hurried into the hallway, shutting the bedroom door behind you with a sharp, decisive click. Slinking toward the kitchen like a fugitive, you grabbed a tall glass from the cupboard and filled it with water, your mind running a mile a minute.

You turned around and nearly dropped the glass.

Taehyung and your best friend were standing right there, blocking the kitchen doorway with their arms crossed. Taehyung still held his half-eaten slice of cake, staring at you with a mix of utter confusion and intense concern.

"Alright, spit it out," Taehyung demanded, narrowing his eyes. "Who is the guy in your bed, why is he bleeding?"

Your best friend nodded in agreement, looking genuinely bewildered. "Yeah... the plan was for you to bring Taehyung here, not host a bleeding man in your bedroom."

You looked between the two of them, pressed your lips together, and let out a long, heavy, defeated sigh. There was no point in hiding it anymore.

"Okay. Do not scream," you whispered aggressively, taking a step closer and gesturing wildly with the glass of water. "I fucked up. I fucked up so bad."

"What did you do?" Taehyung asked, his brow furrowing.

"I kidnapped the wrong man!" you hissed, keeping your voice low enough so it wouldn't carry back down the hall. "The alley was pitch black, okay?! I slammed into the wall, threw a sack over his head, zip-tied his hands, and shoved him into the Civic! I thought he was you, Taehyung!"

Your best friend gasped, her hands flying over her mouth. Taehyung just stared at you, blinked once, and then twice.

"You... you kidnapped a stranger?" Taehyung asked slowly, as if trying to comprehend the sheer scale of the mess. "A stranger who was bleeding?!"

"Yes! And he is not happy about it!" you panicked, wildly waving your gloved hand. "He has knife cuts! He has broken ribs! I literally had to stitch him up on my bed! And right now, he is sitting in there, wrapped in my duvet, threatening me!"

"Threatening you?!" Taehyung's posture immediately stiffened, his brotherly instincts kicking in as he took a step toward your room. "I'm calling the cops right now—"

"No! Are you insane?!" You lunged forward, grabbing Taehyung's arm with your dishwashing glove. "If he calls the police, or if we call the police, it won't be a funny little birthday joke! We're talking false imprisonment, and assault with a motor vehicle! If the cops get involved, it won't be a joke, and all three of us will get arrested!"

Taehyung froze, his hand hovering over his phone. Your best friend looked like she was on the verge of faint.

"So what are you saying?" she squeaked softly.

"I'm saying," you whispered, taking a deep breath and steadying the glass of water in your trembling hands, "that right now, he is my 'date.' We are going to treat him like royalty, feed him water, keep him happy, and pray to God his ride gets here before he decides to sue us."

Taehyung looked toward your bedroom door, then back at you, completely speechless.

"Just... go back to eating your cake and act normal!" you ordered, squeezing past them toward the hallway.

Carrying the glass of water like a sacred offering, you tiptoed back to your bedroom, unlocked the door, and slipped inside, carefully locking it behind you.

Jimin was still resting comfortably against your pillows, watching the door with that same unreadable, dark glint in his eyes. He raised an eyebrow as you approached the bed, extending the glass to him with both hands.

"Your water, Mr. Drug Lord," you muttered flatly. "Please don't send us to prison."

Jimin’s lips twitched into a amused smirk as he reached out, taking the glass from your trembling, gloved hands.

Jimin took a slow sip of the water, his dark eyes fixed on you over the rim of the glass. The icy, dangerous aura he had projected during his phone call dissolved back into that unbothered, velvet charm.

"Prison?" he purred, setting the empty glass on your nightstand with a quiet clink. "And miss out on my host’s wonderful hospitality? I wouldn't dream of it."

Before you could respond, a low, rhythmic rumble echoed from the driveway outside your window. It wasn't the sputtering exhaust of your dying 2012 Civic. It was the deep, purring growl of a twin-turbo V8 engine, a sleek, pitch-black matte SUV idling quietly right in front of your house.

Jimin’s phone buzzed once on the nightstand. He glanced at the screen, then swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He winced slightly, pressing a hand to his bandaged ribs, but stood up smoothly.

"That's my ride," he said softly.

He walked over to the corner where his men had left a freshly pressed, immaculate black suit bag right outside your window, dropped off silently by his second-in-command without a sound. Within two minutes, Jimin was fully dressed in a tailored black suit, crisp white shirt, and silk tie.

He turned toward you, stepping close enough that you had to tilt your head up to look at him.

"You know," Jimin murmured, his voice dropping an octave, reaching out to gently touch the edge of your chin with his knuckles, "most people who kidnap me end up at the bottom of the river. But you stitched me up, gave me water, and threatened my life with a PlayStation."

"It was a very serious threat," you muttered, your heart pounding against your ribs.

Jimin let out a low, breathless chuckle. He reached into his inner suit pocket, pulled out a sleek black card with a numbers and slipped it gently into the front pocket of your oversized hoodie.

"Call that number if you ever need anything," he whispered, his thumb lightly brushing your cheek.

He stepped toward your bedroom door, unlocked it, and pulled it open.

Taehyung and your best friend were still standing in the hallway, practically frozen like deer in headlights. Taehyung raised his paper plate of cake like a pathetic shield as Jimin walked out.

Jimin paused, looking Taehyung up and down with an amused smirk. "Happy birthday, Taehyung. You have a very... aggressive sister."

With a polite nod, Park Jimin walked down the corridor, opened your front door, and stepped out into the night. Sitting on your front porch mat was a brand-new, unopened PlayStation 5 box, topped with a giant red bow.

Taehyung stared at the box, then looked at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Did... did a mob boss just buy me a birthday gift?!"

You slumped against the doorframe, letting out a long, exhausted breath, looking down at the sleek black card tucked into your pocket.

"Happy birthday, Taehyung" you muttered flatly. "Don't ever ask me for a surprise again."

｡･:*˚:✧｡ GIRL SO IN LOVE. . .

1. DROP DEAD — kim seokjin.

summary: It all started as a silly joke between friends. One harmless unimportant conversation, one impossible name thrown into the mix, and one boring late-night search that should’ve ended after a single Instagram post and not in thousand of hours stalking a famous idol. Looking back, maybe your feminine intuition already knew that the story wouldn’t stop there… because once Kim Seokjin crossed your mind, it seemed impossible for the universe to keep him out of your life.

warning! ─ +18 (to be added).

2. STUPID SONG — min yoongi.

summary: As a songwriter you’ve always trusted your words more than your feelings. Unfortunately, falling for Min Yoongi makes both impossible to ignore. Wanting someone so much that you’re lost for words was slowly driving you mad. And somewhere between studio sessions, late-night conversations, and one too many stupid songs that sound suspiciously alike, you begin to wonder if love is supposed to feel this wonderfully unbearable.

warming! ─ none.

3. HONEYBEE — kim taehyung.

summary: Moving into a new apartment wasn’t supposed to change much of your life. Except, you moved next to Kim Taehyung— a man who’s always had a habit of making himself at home wherever he goes. Funny enough, neither of you noticed you’d been building one together all along.

warning! ─ none.

4. MAGGOTS FOR BRAINS — kim namjoon.

summary: You always thought people who couldn’t function without their partners were being stupid and pathetic. That was until Namjoon leaves for tour, suddenly every song, every meal, and every quiet moment seems determined to remind you that you’ve officially lost your mind. Nobody warned you that missing someone could feel like a full-time job— or that love had a way of making even the smartest people act a little stupid.

warning! ─ none.

5. U + ME = <3 — jung hoseok.

summary: Dating Jung Hoseok feels a little like breaking every rule you’ve ever had about taking things slow. Between meeting his family, compatibility quizzes that insist you’re all wrong for each other, and a future that somehow keeps slipping into everyday conversations, you and Hobi are determined to prove everyone wrong— even if it means falling a little too hard and a little too fast.

warning! ─ +18 (to be added).

6. MY WAY — park jimin.

summary: You’ve never considered yourself the jealous type. Petty? Maybe. But there’s a difference between insecurity and watching someone repeatedly ignore the word ‘no.’ As Jimin’s ex grows increasingly creative in her attempts to stay in his life, you find yourself running dangerously low on patience. You were determined to handle things like a mature adult… at least right up until the night you realize there are far more satisfying ways to remind someone exactly who he goes home with.

warning! ─ +18 (to be added).

7. PURPLE — jeon jungkook.

summary: Loving Jungkook feels like watching two pretty colors blend into something even more beautiful. The trouble is, once they become one, it’s hard to remember what they looked like apart.

warning! ─ +18 (to be added).

. . . PRETTY SAD ｡･:*˚:✧｡

8. THE CURE — jeon jungkook.

summary: You had dated enough men to know exactly when the doubt would start. The comparisons, the jealousy, the quiet certainty that eventually you would never be enough. Dating Jungkook had cured every fear you ever had about love. For the first time, loving someone didn’t feel like drowning…. Which only made it more terrifying when you realized the thing ruining your relationship wasn’t him— It was you.

warning! ─ +18 (to be added).

9. BEGGED — kim namjoon.

summary: Namjoon has always loved you the best way he knows how. Between late-night promises, postponed plans, and a man who always means well, you’re willing to be patient. After all, it’s a virtue to not let good love slip away. But it’s funny how easily patience can disguise itself as hope… You just never imagined that one day you’d find yourself wondering whether love should have to be asked for in the first place.

warning! ─ +18 (to be added).

10. WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME — kim taehyung.

summary: Taehyung loves you exactly the way you’ve always dreamed of being loved. So why does every morning feel a little heavier than the last? When doctors insist there’s nothing wrong and even happiness starts to feel like an unbearable weight, you’re left wondering if the greatest love of your life might somehow be the very thing making you sick.

warning! ─ +18 (to be added).

11. LESS — min yoongi.

summary: You never imagined the person who loved you most would also be the one forced to let you go. But when every attempt to save your relationship only leaves you both hurting a little more, you’re left wondering if the cruelest kind of love is the one that knows when it’s time to end.

warning! ─ none.

12. EXPECTATIONS — park jimin/jung hoseok.

summary: After one heartbreak too many, you’ve decided to raise your standards. Lucky for you, Park Jimin and Jung Hoseok seem determined to exceed them. Whether they’re trying to impress you or simply outdo each other is still up for debate— and while neither of them looks particularly promising as husband material… you’re beginning to suspect they’d make an excellent team.

warning! ─ +18 (to be added).

13. CIGARETTE SMOKE — kim seokjin.

summary: It’s strange how every memory of Jin seems to come in pairs: one that reminds you why you stayed, and another that quietly explains why you couldn’t forever. The hardest part is deciding which one deserves to be remembered and which one will help you decide your future with him.

warning! ─ +18 (to be added).

UPDATE SCHEDULE:

── AUGUST

── SEPTEMBER

── OCTOBER

── first of all, i knowww yoongi is a piscis and taehyung gives paris but but you have to walk with me on this one okay? trust me that i know bts better than all of you cause we’re really close friends and i’ve been really stressing the fuck out which song to chose for everyone so you better stfu. i only accept good criticism. anyway im actually shaking for this fics!! i really hope you guys like it. and let me know what you think about the theme and the short summary so far<33

It isn’t a folder of tax documents or private banking screenshots as he assumed. It is a meticulously kept, highly detailed archive of him. 

There is a zoomed-in photo of his back muscles while he was washing dishes. 

A completely mundane selfie he had sent while stuck in traffic.

A photo of him sleeping on his back on the couch, his shirt half-ridden up his stomach.

A video of him doing biceps curls at the gym. Taken unknowingly by him. 

He scrolls wide-eyed through the endless photos and videos of him, spanning over all the years of your relationship. A giggle of delight almost escapes him at the revelation. He feels like he had just won the lottery. He stands up, sauntering back into the kitchen, stopping right in front of you. He turns the screen around so you can see the highly magnified picture of his own forearms while he’s cutting onions. 

Not that you see it. “Just order both,” you say, keeping your eyes on the tablet. 

Jungkook leans in closer, getting into your space, leaning his elbows on the counter, a huge smile on his face.

"What do you want?" you ask, your voice perfectly level, still not looking at him. 

"I accidentally clicked your locked folder," Jungkook purrs, unable to contain his joy. "And I thought, let's just see what my wife’s explanation is for what I’ve found there." 

You finally look at him, and for a second he sees the panic paint your eyes before you scold it down. 

This is perfect.

"So you invaded my privacy. Give it back." You reach for the phone, but Jungkook scratches his much longer arm out of your reach. Your expression is a perfectly blank mask, though he notices your other hand twitches against your coffee mug. 

"Oh, absolutely not," he laughs, stepping back and scrolling through the treasure he just found. "Babe, were you spying on me at the gym?" 

"I was documenting your terrible form." 

"Uh-huh. And the fifty pictures of me sleeping?" He looks up, eyes shining with absolute delight, showing you one from your last vacation, of him sleeping on the beach chair. "You are a stalker." He accuses with too much happiness. 

“Shut up.” You get up and try to catch him, but he walks back away from you as he scrolls down some more. 

“Oh babe, I like this one.” He turns the phone back to you, a video of him getting out of the water. “The water really accentuates my abs.” 

“I hate you,” you seethe, furious.

“Your photo gallery tells otherwise,” he singsongs, joyful. 

The back of his knees collide with the couch, you stomp towards him, frowning, face red. This is the best day of his life. 

You get to him, pointing a finger to his chest, about to say something, but instead you let out a shriek as he tosses the phone aside, pulling you down and on top of him on the couch. His lips find yours right away, cutting off anything you were about to say anyway.

One moment you were peacefully drinking your coffee, reading your book. The next you’re on top of your husband on the couch. 

A normal Sunday morning in this house when living with Jungkook. 

He’s still gloating, that bastard, even as he kisses you, pulling your head closer to him. He pulls back just a second. “You love me so much.” And before you can protest, he’s already back on you, flipping you both with one swift motion, caging you under him. 

“When have you started this album?” 

Kiss.

“Do you stare at my photos on your work trips?”

Another kiss.

“Do you get lonely? Do you miss so much? Oh, my poor baby.”

He sucks the skin where your shoulder meets your neck.

“You could just ask me, I’d give you whatever you want.”

You really want to tell him to shut the fuck up. But his lips just found that one spot behind your ear that renders you speechless.

"You act so unbothered," he murmurs, his voice dropping, as he pulls up your shirt, his mouth trailing down between your breasts. "You leave me on read. You roll your eyes when I tell you how obsessed I am with you."

"Because you're ridiculous," you manage to say, though your voice sounds breathless.

"Maybe," he agrees easily, leaning back to pull off his own shirt, smirking as he catches you looking, like you always do. "But you're just as crazy. You sit there looking nonchalant, but the second my back is turned, you're taking pictures of my waist." 

You glare up at him, your cheeks burning hot. And he just laughs, like an insane person, and leans down to take one of your nipples in his mouth, cutting any coherent retort you might have prepared. 

"If you want to see me sweat so badly, baby,” he says between kisses as he travels from one breast to another, “you didn't have to sneak around. All you had to do was ask." 

You want to deny, to not give in to him, to not add more to his ego, but fuck. He feels so good, he knows your body too well. So all you manage is a moan. 

Jungkook let out a low, filthy sound of victory against your nipple. He releases it with a loud smack of lips. Hovering over you, his chest heaving, his eyes entirely blown out. He traces a hand down your stomach, a devilish smirk returning to his lips. "You know," he murmurs as he leans down to pepper kisses on your face. "Those photos are great, baby. Really top-tier photography. You’re so talented.” 

"Jungkook, I swear to God–”

"But they don't do me justice," he interrupts, his hands gripping your hips firmly. "So I think I'll just have to give you a live show instead. Give you some fresh material to think about next time you miss your husband." He doesn't give you a chance to reply, his mouth crashing down on yours. He doesn’t stay there, dragging lower and lower, teeth scraping your skin just enough to make your back arch off the couch.

When he gets to your waist, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and yanks them down your legs in one smooth pull, panties following right away. He’s still amused when he settles between your thighs, spreading them wide over his shoulders, dark eyes glittering up at you like he’s just won every prize he ever wanted. “Acting so cool while you’ve got a whole shrine to me on your phone.” You try to narrow your eyes, to give him your killer look, but it dissolves the second he dips down his head, cool breath against your heat, your head falls back, and he giggles. “My pretty little stalker.”

He’s dragging two fingers through your folds. “You’re so wet already?” he says, almost wonderingly. “From me finding out? Or from staring at my arms while I made you coffee?”

“Shut up–” The word cuts off into a sharp gasp when his mouth replaces his fingers. Jungkook doesn’t tease, he goes full force in. Tongue flat, moving rapidly, pressed hard against your center, enough that your hips jerk up into his face. One of his hands pins your thigh open to the side, the other slides under your ass, tilting you exactly where he wants you. He alternates long, wet strokes and focused pressure right where it makes your thighs shake. Every time your legs try to close, he just growls against you and digs his fingers in harder, holding you open. Wet sounds mixed with the low, satisfied hums he makes every time you moan.

He lets go of your hip for a moment, blindly looking for something as his mouth is still attached to you. He grabs a pillow, lifting you from the ass, pushing it under you to give him a better angle before anchoring your thigh back in place. 

You’re already trembling, thighs quivering under the press of his hand, when he shifts. The hand under your ass slides forward, two fingers press against your entrance and push in deep without warning. You choke on a moan, hips jerking hard enough that he has to pin your other thigh down with his elbow.

He doesn’t give you a second to adjust, his fingers start moving at a demanding pace. Curling up, dragging against every right spot inside of you, while his mouth stays locked on your clit. You feel lightheaded, head is spinning. Still trying to grasp the swift turn of events from the lazy Sunday morning you were having. 

Jungkook adds a third finger out of nowhere, and the stretch makes you cry out. His eyes flick up to watch your face, just as you look down at him with slight shock, not sure what got into him. He’s gleaming with pure amusement, pulling away for just a moment, but he keeps the pace steady, fingers fucking into you deep and thorough.

“Thought you can’t get enough of me, so I’ll give you all, angel.” He smirks as he dives back in, and you try not to lose it. 

Your hands fly to his hair, not sure if you’re trying to pull him closer or push him away or just finding something to hold onto. He doesn’t care either way, he just moans against you and curls his fingers harder, making your thighs start to shake uncontrollably.

He sucks hard on your clit at the same moment his fingers press up and hold, and the pressure is too much. Your back arches off the couch, a broken, helpless sound tearing out of you as you come hard around his fingers. Jungkook doesn’t stop. He works you through everything that comes, fingers still moving, tongue still licking, drawing it out until you’re whimpering and twitching, oversensitive and completely limp beneath him.

“Fuck yes, you’re so sexy,” he whispers, still a little breathless. His free hand strokes up and down your thigh as he carefully pulls his fingers out of you and you weakly whince. 

He doesn’t give you long to recover.

Jungkook sits back on his heels between your legs, still breathing hard, you can see the shift in his gaze. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes remaining fixed on the way you’re spread out under him. 

“Turn over for me.”

His voice is quiet, but there’s no room for argument in it. You blink at him. He catches you by surprise, your brain still hasn’t fully got back into working. Still in the bliss of post orgasm.

When you don’t move fast enough, he simply grips your hips and does it himself, flipping you onto your stomach easily. He pulls you up by the waist until you’re on your knees, chest against the couch cushions, ass up to him. One big palm presses between your shoulder blades, keeping you down. 

“Just like that.” 

His hand leaves your back, and you lift your head, turning to look over your shoulder at what he’s doing. You watch him shove down his sweats, just enough to free his dick. He grabs it and looks back up at you, catching you looking at him. He gives himself a few strokes, and his expression darkens. He reaches forward and firmly pushes your head back down to how he positioned you.

“Don’t move.” 

Both his hands move to your hips, pulling you a little closer, a little higher, spreading your knees wider. Like he’s making some last tweaks, perfecting the position, before aligning the head of his cock with your entrance. He drags it through your folds once, and pushes in slow and steady, not stopping till he’s completely sheathed into you. He doesn’t rush the first thrust, but he also doesn’t let you really adjust to him. 

A low, satisfied groan leaves him, and he already starts moving. Strong, deep strokes that pack enough force to push you into the cushions with every thrust. His hands stay on your hips, holding you exactly where he wants you, fingers digging in just enough to hurt a little. You try to brace yourself,  hold to something, but there’s nothing. The whole couch shifts with him. Your body rocks forward each time he’s pushing into you. Your carefully tamed hair is already a mess, sticking to your damp skin. Your face is smushed into the couch, where a mix of drool and tears you can’t contain collects into a damp spot underneath you. Jungkook just knows how to change you from your calm, collected self and into a complete mess in less than five minutes. And you hate to admit how your hips are trying to push back to meet his every move. You’d be embarrassed if it didn’t feel so damn good. 

“I love how you play it all cool and unbothered,” he says, voice rough with effort and possessiveness, “but when I get you like that for me, you turn so pliant. My pretty good girl.” He snaps his hips a little harder on the next thrust, his grip tightens, drawing a sharp gasp from you.

“I should be mad. I should make you wait. But look at how much you love me.” His pace gets faster, animalistic. “Tell me how much you need me, babe.” He leans over your back, chest warm against your spine, one hand sliding up to fist lightly in your hair and tilting your head to the side so he can speak against your ear. 

"Say it," he whispers, and moves his hand to grab at your face. His thumb traces your jawline. "Tell me you're just as crazy about me. Tell me you look at those pictures when I'm not here." 

You want to hold onto your pride, to roll your eyes and push him off. But your skin is burning under his touch,  and your mind loses more and more grip as he keeps fucking into you like that. 

"I'm obsessed with you," you breathe out, moaning as you feel him twitch inside you. "Fuck. You're so annoying.” 

He laughs, dark and satisfied, pulling himself back up and smacking your ass once, holding you again as he fucks even harder. 

“What? You need to look at my face in order to come? You’re that obsessed with me?” He mocks you, even though he knows it’s not true, he can feel how close you are. 

“Come on baby,” he tells you, quiet and certain. Going in for another smack, then sliding his palm to your shoulder, pushing you down and pulling your hip up with his other hand, positioning you so he could fuck in deeper. 

And it works. Because he’s so deep you don’t think you have space for air in your lungs. You can barely breathe, and the pace is too much, he’s just too much, you feel him everywhere. And you just can’t–

You break with a loud cry, between a moan and a scream. Trembling as he continues to fuck you like it’s nothing for him.  

You’re barely recovered when he pulls out and flips you onto your back. He steps away from the couch for a moment, pulling his sweats all the way and kicking them off. 

He settles between your thighs again. One hand braces beside your head, the other under your knee, lifting and opening you wider. He guides himself back in with a slow thrust that makes both of you exhale.

Jungkook drops his forehead to yours, dark hair falling around your faces, and starts to move. The pace is slower than before, but he’s no less intense. He rolls his hips and breathes you in as he rocks back and forth above you. 

“I love you,” he says against your lips, voice rough. “I’m so fucking in love with you.” He punctuates every word with his hips. 

He keeps the rhythm steady and deep. Every few strokes, he grinds without actually pulling away, letting you feel the full stretch before pulling back and doing it again. You’re already sensitive from coming twice, it’s almost overwhelming. Jungkook knows it, feels it. His breathing turns ragged against your mouth. “Come with me,” he whispers, almost pleading. “One more. Please.” 

His hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing small circles. You clutch his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, as he guides you to the edge one more time. This orgasm is quieter, longer, rolling through you in waves that make you hold him tight.

Jungkook follows almost immediately. He buries himself to the hilt with a broken groan, forehead pressed hard to the crook of your neck, body shuddering as he involuntarily thrust a couple of last times.

Then he lifts his head just enough to look at you, eyes soft and completely gone, and presses a slow, loving kiss to your mouth. Jungkook reach over and grabs your phone from where he tossed it earlier. 

“I think we should take a picture for your album.”

Sutena.

They came for Sutena, a plant that only grew in your country. Hard as they tried to replicate the plant, hard as they tried to copy the condition it grew and thrive on, they simply failed. 

The seven leaders failed. 

And when the president of your country stopped allowing them to plunder the Sutena to the ground, that was when they dropped the act. Suddenly, the seven leaders were no longer noble. The seven leaders were no longer patient nor kind. When they stopped getting what they wanted in the name of science, that was when they attacked. 

You were nine when the seven leaders invaded your country. They never really left. 

Now that they have an unending access to your country’s treasure, their goal was finally realized, 

What was once only a concept trend into a twisted reality of some sorts for some, and a nightmare for you and your countrymen. Essentially, it was a fountain of youth packaged into a single pill that would cost one hundreds of millions. You would live forever, all your sickness, all the pains, all the aging would stop when you take it. 

But the seven men were too cunning, too greedy. They weren’t only obsessed with living forever, no. They were all obsessed with money and the power it brought them. After all, they needed resources to survive the numerous attempts on their lives. They needed the money to live the life they badly wanted to prolong. 

In fact, no one knew how old the seven men really were.

You were twenty-five when you met him. 

By now, the world you grew up in was now just a distant memory, something that happened long ago that you would think all of it was just a good dream. 

The people you knew were no more. 

Now, you only had your aunt and cousin. 

At certain point, your people stopped fighting, too weary from all the ruins and casualties that war brought. Your people knew they were never going to win. 

At one point, the people accepted loss.

They said you weren’t their slaves, that your people were free so as long as they have unrestricted access to Sutena. But conditional freedom was still a cage. What once was a progressive, quiet country turned into grey. 

You were on your way home, weary from the long day. You had taken this road so many times to know that people - well, at least your people - did not really go here. This was too near where the Sutana grew. But this was your home. This was the only connection left of your roots, of the family who had long gone. 

Your days were so monotonous that you wondered why you were still alive. You had no family left, all of them were tragically taken by sickness or old age. You had no intention to start your own simply because you wouldn’t subject your own child to a fucked-up world. Your line ends with you, you thought. 

You weren’t exactly suicidal. You had this almost clinical approach to death, it was something that would eventually happen. It was the cycle of life, the theme, if you will.

You weren’t suicidal, but the person looking down the bridge with his legs carelessly swinging back and forth as though wind wouldn’t dare to push him down the bridge looked like he was. You couldn’t see his face, his dark hair was blocking his face. But if you were forced to live this life, then he should be, too. 

Nope. No optional exit here, buddy. No taking shortcuts. 

You moved without thinking. Truly, you did. 

Because instead of pulling the man to safety, you accidentally pushed him when you tripped from a rock.  

Your mouth dropped open, the sound of your own frantic heartbeat suddenly louder than the rushing wind. For a split second, the world turned into a silent film—a frame-by-frame capture of your outstretched hands, the empty space where a human being had just been, and the sickeningly graceful arc of a body descending toward the dark water below.

Panic, cold and sharp, jolted through your limbs. You hadn't meant to be a savior, but you certainly hadn't planned on being an executioner. You scrambled to the edge, your fingers scraping against the cold metal of the railing, and peered over.

"Oh, god," you rasped, the words catching in a throat gone bone-dry. "Oh, no, no, no."

Below, there was a splash—violent and white against the murky depths—and then, silence. The monotony of your existence hadn't just been broken; it had been shattered by the weight of a life that was now, quite literally, in your hands. You had spent years waiting for death to arrive like a scheduled train, yet seeing it invited so abruptly by your own clumsy feet made your stomach heave.

Without thinking, you jumped.

You braced for impact as water surrounded you. The impact was less of a splash and more of a physical assault. The water was a wall of liquid ice that slammed the breath right out of your lungs, turning your sudden heroism into a frantic, gasping struggle for survival.

For a several disorienting seconds, up was down and down was dark. Bubbles danced mockingly past your eyes as you fought the weight of your water-logged clothes. Then, through the murky haze, you saw him—a dark shape suspended in the current, sinking with a stillness that terrified you. And you were sinking with him because as fate would have it, you never really learned to swim. 

Maybe you were a bit suicidal? 

But despite the rising panic you were feeling, you reached out your hand to the man with pale skin, only to find his dark eyes already trained to yours as he sinked to the bottom. He didn't reach for the surface. He didn't even reach for your hand. He simply watched you, his expression so eerily calm, as though he had been waiting for this specific moment of descent for a lifetime. From his point of view, you were nothing short of an angel with the rays of light behind you, your hair floating ethereally around you. He smiled at you, his expression so eerily calm as though he was someone who had all the time in the world. 

And you were quickly running out of breath. 

With the very last of you, you pulled the sleeves of his to no avail. Your body was giving up, your lungs protesting violently. Your grip slackened. Your eyes began to flutter shut, the weight of the river finally winning.

In that twilight between consciousness and the deep, you saw him blink.

And as though this was a clear imposition, even a rude distraction from his quiet descent down the lake, he surged into motion. You never expected a strength such as his just from looking at his form but the crushing pressure when he encircled your wrist and pulled you to his chest said otherwise. He kicked against the current until you were out of the water. He dragged you to the embankment and unceremoniously dropped you on the grass before sitting down beside you, his long legs stretched, his arms supporting his weight. 

“Are you always this indecisive?” he asked. His voice was steady, lacking even a hint of the breathlessness that was currently tearing through your lungs.

“W-what?” you wheezed as you coughed out the water, your heart beating even faster as the adrenaline left your body. 

“You couldn’t decide whether to kill me or save me? I mean. Come on. Make up your mind,” he said, his voice that of a boredom. 

“I—I wasn’t trying to kill you!” You choked out the words, shivering so hard your teeth clacked. “You were trying to kill yoursel—”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You were sitting! On a bridge! An extremely high bridge! At night-”

“So you decided to assist me in “killing” myself?” he regarded you as he tilted his head. “I must say, you’re efficient. Indecisive, but efficient.” 

“I tripped!”

He shook his head in disbelief, a slow, mocking movement that sent droplets of river water flying from his dark hair. “You pushed me, and then you jumped after me. Evidently, you don’t know how to swim. You cannot even dog paddle. It’s embarrassing. I think you’re projecting and you’re the suicidal one.”

You rolled your eyes as you attempted to stand, muttering under your breath about how this was one of the worst days of your life. “So much about being a good samaritan,” you noted lowly. 

“That’s you trying to be a good samaritan?” he asked, watching your struggle with a look of genuine fascination. “I’ve had more peaceful encounters with people who actively hate me.”

Your knees were shaking as you finally gained your footing, but your pride had taken a hit enough to just want to leave this place even though your body  was not yet ready. You took one defiant step, swayed dangerously, and would have hit the mud face-first if a hand hadn't shot out to steady you.

The grip on your arm was firm, grounding, and annoyingly solid.

“This is what a good samaritan is supposed to look like, by the way,” he muttered. He didn't let go, instead stepping closer so you could lean against him—a move that felt entirely too intimate for two people who had just met via a homicide attempt.

“You’re still shivering,” he observed, his voice dropping the snark for a second. “And you’re turning a very concerning shade of blue. It clashes with your hair.”

You scoffed weakly. “Excuse me. Blue is my color,” you rebutted, your teeth chattering so loudly. “I-I’ll walk this off. Builds character and everything, you know?” 

“The walk home will build pneumonia,” he corrected. “Where do you live?” 

“I’m not giving my address to a stranger I just tried to murder,” you managed to gasp out, trying to summon an ounce of your usual clinical detachment. It was difficult to be mysterious when you were dripping like a broken faucet. “That’s how horror movies start. I’ve seen the tropes.”

“Believe me, if I wanted to murder you, I would have just let you continue your impersonation of an anchor back there,” he noted.

The walk was entertaining. You meant, you were actively fighting for your life as he actively tried to keep you alive and standing on your feet. It must have been such an imposition to him because he sighed so hard and so deep before hauling you on his back. 

“Where are your keys?” he asked once you two made it in front of your little cottage.

“Clearly swimming,” you muttered into his shoulder, your voice vibrating with a fresh wave of shivers. “Along with my phone, my wallet, and my last shred of dignity. They’ve formed a new society at the bottom of the river. I hope they’re happy together.”

The man stood there, still supporting your weight as if you were a particularly heavy, dripping sack of laundry. He stared at your front door—a charming, locked, and currently impenetrable barrier—with a look of profound, weary disappointment.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he sighed as he sat you down on your porch. “I’ll fix this later-”

“Fix what-”

Before you knew it, he slammed his shoulder once against your poor excuse of a door. It gave away. Pathetically. It didn't even put up a fight. It just surrendered, swinging on one surviving hinge like a white flag.

He turned slowly to you accusingly before quietly pointing to the door in disbelief. “Honey, the homeless have more security than you. A particularly motivated squirrel could have staged a home invasion here.”

You opened your mouth to defend yourself when he put up a finger before looking up as though he was silently negotiating with a higher power for the strength not to walk right back into the river. “You know what? No. Don’t even-”

A hot shower and a hot cup of tea later, you were watching as he fixed your door with a heavy-duty screwdriver and a hammer he’d found in your kitchen junk drawer with the precision of a surgeon.

He stood up, testing the door. It swung shut with a solid, satisfying thunk that it hadn't made in the three years you'd lived there. He turned the deadbolt, nodding to himself.

“There. Now at least someone will have to try slightly harder to murder you than I did,” he said, leaning against the now-sturdy frame. He crossed his arms, his dark eyes landing on you with that same unsettling, clinical intensity. “I’m done here. Bye. Let’s never meet again.”

“Agreed.”

—

You chalked what happened a month ago to a particularly bad nightmare. Aside from the fixed door that no longer rattled in the wind and a lingering sniffle that lasted a week, there was no evidence that whatever happened that night, happened. 

You were walking home after work, swinging the small bag of groceries when you saw a man being held against the wall, a gun pointed at him. It was a mugging from how he was searching his pockets. You didn't think. Again. Truly, you didn't. Without a second's hesitation, you wound up like a big-league pitcher and swung your bag of groceries with every ounce of momentum you possessed.

The mugger, possessing the survival instincts you clearly lacked, chose that exact millisecond to crouch down to check the victim's ankles for a hidden wallet.

Your bag of groceries sailed through the empty air where his head had been and connected—with a sickening, wet thud—directly with the face of the man being mugged.

"Oomph!" the victim grunted.

The mugger, having survived a point-blank grocery assault by the grace of a well-timed squat, stared at the scene for one bewildered second. He looked at his victim—who was currently draped in egg yolk and looking ready to commit a felony of his own—and then at you, the wild-eyed woman wielding a leaking bag of dairy.

Faced with a situation that was clearly too weird to be profitable, the mugger tucked his gun into his waistband, turned on his heel, and sprinted down the alley without a word.

The pale man winced, his hand feeling the side of his head. He looked at his finger, certain that blood would be there and what did you know, there was. He sighed as he flinched before looking at you.

“Of course it’s you again,” he muttered under his breath. “Do I need to hire bodyguards?” he asked himself as he straightened up. 

You touched his forearms, looking up at him with concern. “Oh my God. You’re bleeding-”

“Please don’t touch me. I’m terrified of you,” he said, his voice dripping with a sarcasm so dry it could have started a brushfire.

“I was trying to save you!”

“You hit me. With what seemed to be a bag with heavy-duty cans.”

“He was robbing you-”

He snorted. “He was actually quite polite. Seriously. He hadn't even raised his voice yet. We were in the middle of a very civilized transaction until you decided to launch a pantry at my skull. I think I was safer with him.”

“Can you be serious for once? We need to get you to a hospital-”

“Can you stop trying to kill me for once?” he replied dryly. He pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket, which was immediately ruined as he dabbed at the blood blooming near his eyebrow. "A hospital? For what? To explain to a triage nurse that I was assaulted yet again by the same person? That I was beaten by groceries? No, thanks.” 

“He had a gun! If you look at it, I saved your life.”

He tilted his head in realization, “You are suicidal. I knew it. The guy had a gun! And you ran unarmed-”

“I have my groceries with me..” you reasoned weakly, looking anywhere but his bewildered eyes. 

He scoffed, “You’re unbelievable.” 

“Thanks?”

He shook his head before immediately wincing, his hand flying up to cradle his skull. “Not a compliment, honey.”

You moved to his side, hovering your hands near his elbows, afraid to touch him but terrified he’d tip over. “I’m sorry. I really am. But you were just standing there! You weren’t even fighting back!”

“Is this my karma?; he asked himself, seriously contemplating how he had been living his life as he attempted to walk away from you unsuccessfully as evidenced by the swaying in his steps. 

"Whoa, okay, easy—" you gasped, finally abandoning the 'no touching' rule and grabbing his arm to keep him upright.

He leaned into your support for a fraction of a second before stiffening, though he didn't pull away. "I’m being haunted," he muttered dramatically, closing his eyes against the pulsing rhythm in his temple. "I didn't drown in the lake, so the universe sent you back to finish the job. It's a very specific, very humiliating curse."

"It's not a curse, it's a concussion!" you countered, tucking your shoulder under his arm to act as a crutch. "And for the record, I saved you from a mugging. Most people would say 'thank you' instead of 'you're a localized natural disaster.'"

"Most people aren't hit in the face with groceries," he bit out, though his voice lacked its usual bite as he let you lead him toward the alley exit. He looked down at you, his dark eyes clouded with pain and a burgeoning, reluctant recognition. "Where are we going? Please tell me it’s not back to the house with the suicidal door. I don't think I have the strength to fix your infrastructure tonight."

—

“Stop singing, for the love of God, please,” he pleaded.

“I’m just trying to wake you up. Google said sleeping is bad for concussions-”

“I’m not going to die. Stop it.”

He lay stretched out on your sofa, a bag of frozen peas (the only non-weaponized grocery item left) pressed against his temple. His dark hair was fanned out against the cushion, making his skin look even more like porcelain—too smooth, too pale, too perfect for a man who lived in a country that had been grey for sixteen years.

“How are you so sure?” you asked again, peering at him as you set a fresh cup of tea on the coffee table. “You don’t look rich enough to afford Sutena.”

“Ouch,” he remarked dryly before sitting up lazily. “Sutena,” he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue like a secret. “You think that little pill is the only way to stick around? That the Seven are the only ones who found the fountain?”

“It’s the only way anyone survives the sickness these days,” you countered, sitting on the edge of the armchair. “Unless you’re one of the Seven. And you’re definitely not one of them. They don't hang out on bridges at midnight or get mugged in alleys.”

He nodded. “They definitely shouldn’t, right? What were you going to cook, anyway?”

You blinked, thrown by the jarring pivot from political elites to meal prep. “I was going to cook kimchi spam rice or something. Kimchi didn’t survive the mugging. So I’m going to cook ramen. Why?” 

“That’s not healthy,” he chided. “The sodium alone is a slow-motion catastrophe. It’s bad for the heart, the skin, the temperament...”

“So?”

“So? Don’t you want to live a long life?”

“Not particularly. I believe one dies when they’re supposed to die.”

He held your eyes for a moment too long before he chuckled, “They should, shouldn’t day?” He whispered before standing up and going straight to your kitchen. “In that case, let’s cook your ramen. I’m famished.” 

“Wait—you’re the one who was just lecturing me on my heart, kidney, overall health,” you said, scrambling to follow him into the kitchen.

“That was before I realized I was dining with a fellow nihilist,” he said, already poking through your cupboards with an air of immense authority. He plucked a stray egg that had survived the massacre and held it up like a trophy. “If we’re going to meet the Reaper, we might as well do it with a poached egg and a bit of dignity.”

He turned to you, the flickering kitchen light catching the dark, depthless quality of his eyes. For a man who had just been mugged and nearly drowned, he looked remarkably like he owned the place.

“Water,” he commanded gently, pointing to the stove. “And try not to trip on the way to the burner. I’ve reached my quota for near-death experiences for the hour.”

—-

“I think we’ve already trauma bonded,” he said as he fixed your leaking faucet. 

“Why? Because I already attempted to kill you twice?” you asked, leaning against the counter and watching him with a mixture of suspicion and reluctant gratitude.

He smirked, his focus shifting back to the pipe for one final adjustment. “So you admit that you were trying to kill me. Hello, 911? Yes, I’d like to report a crime-”

You chuckled, the sound light but tinged with the exhaustion of the night. “But you’re still alive. It still wasn't your time. And how can we trauma bond when I don’t even know your name?”

He blinked, setting the wrench down with a heavy clank and turned to look at you, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that were far too steady for someone who had recently been used as target practice for canned goods. “I’m Y- I’m Suga.”

“Hi Suga, I’m Y/N. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“‘Nice’ is a bold choice of words, Y/N,” Suga remarked, leaning back against the counter and drying his hands on a towel. The sharp, clinical intensity in his eyes softened into something more contemplative as he repeated your name under his breath. “Most people would have filed a restraining order against themselves by now if they were in your shoes.”

“Most people don't have a stranger fixing their plumbing at midnight after a mugging,” you countered.

He hummed, a low sound of acknowledgement. “True. We’re a pair of anomalies, aren't we? One who doesn't care to live, and one who...” He trailed off, looking at the sturdy deadbolt he’d installed earlier. “...and one who apparently can’t be killed by you.”

—

Perhaps, you formed a bond. 

Because like a cat you fed once, he kept on coming back. Seeing him was almost like a routine, to be honest. A week after the mugging, he came back with tools and materials. Before you could even ask him why he was there, he was already scoffing about how his conscience didn’t let him sleep because he noted that your roof was leaking. 

He said that that was what a good samaritan looked like. 

Two days later, he was there again, calmly peeling a tangerine with his pocket knife. Suga didn’t look up immediately from his seated form. He was perched on your porch step, uncaring toward what seemed like an expensive coat that was touching the floor. The orange rind fell in a single, perfect spiral at his feet.

You sighed, “Don’t you have friends? Family? Even a pet?”

He raised his dark brows before he extended his hand toward you. A single, perfect slice of tangerine was impaled on the tip of his silver pocket knife, the juice glistening like amber under the dim porch light.

“Do I look friendless to you?”

You reached out and nodded while you chewed the surprisingly tasty tangerine. 

He let out a short, dry huff of a laugh, snapping the pocket knife shut with a metallic snick. “I have friends. They’re my…brothers.”

“Okay, you have friends and/or family. I assume you’re unemployed because why else would you be here on a workday, no less.”

He licked his lips, a clear attempt to stop himself from smiling, though the glint in his eye said otherwise. “I’m taking a break.”

“A break,” you repeated flatly. “For a month? That’s not a break, Suga. That’s a sabbatical. Or a mid-life crisis.”

He shrugged, “Call it what you want. Anyway, what’s for dinner?”

“Are you also broke?”

—

Days like this reminded you of the faux freedom awarded to your country. 

You watched as the man struggled against the police, his face bloodied yet his eyes remained defiant. “Bangtan is evil! They’ll run this country to the ground just for that fucking Sutana!”

People flinched when the police hit him with the gun on his head, rendering the man weaker. He bared his teeth to the man in the middle, someone with a perfect image of unaffected. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, draped in a coat that looked like woven midnight. He didn't look angry; he didn't even look bored. He looked like a god watching an ant scream at the rain. “I hope you and your brothers die a painful and slow death, you fucker Taehyung! I hope you suffer for eternity!” 

No one had ever seen their faces. And those that did were already long dead. No official photographs even survived their infiltration. The people only knew that there were seven. The people only knew of their names: Kim Namjoon, Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook. That was it. 

One of your seven nightmares finally had a face, you realized. Taehyung sighed, a soft sound of genuine exhaustion, as if he were listening to a story he had already heard a thousand times over a thousand years. “We can’t die, though,” he stated in great boredom.  

They couldn’t die while your people die everyday.

They couldn't die while people who were sick suffered when Sutana could take the pain away.

They couldn’t die while your entire family died a slow death from sickness that should have been curable had it not been for their selfishness. 

“But you will if you don’t stop-”

“I will never stop! You people are evil! Rotten to the very core! Selfish people-” His words trailed off into a wet gasp when Taehyung gave a microscopic nod to the guard. You felt the air in the plaza turn cold. You knew what was happening; you had seen this choreography of execution before. The "mercy" of the state was always swift and silent.

You couldn’t take this anymore. 

But just as you were about to step out of the crowd, a hand decisively pulled you back. You turned and there was Suga, looking at you with darkness in his eyes, his face devoid of any emotion as he shook his head. How he was here, you didn’t know.

“Let go,” you gritted.

“It’s not worth it.”

“He’ll die-”

“And you will die if you step up,” he hissed, his hold on you tightened as he pulled you closer to him and away from the crowd. You tried to pull yourself free to no avail. “Is that what you want?”

“No one should live that long,” you said, your voice cracking as you gestured toward Taehyung’s form. “You know that. It’s an insult to everyone who actually has to bleed.”

Suga, for the first time since you met him, looked at you with intensity and coldness you have never seen before. His jaw was clenched. “And you don’t get to die just because you want to, jagiyah.” 

You frowned before turning to the scene behind you just in time for Taehyung to lift his eyes to you. His dark brows raised when he turned to the man behind you. He tilted his head, a flicker of familiarity and curiosity glinted in his eyes. They held eyes for a moment too long before Taehyung chuckled lowly as though in faint amusement. He didn't say a word. He simply turned around, his coat billowing behind him as he walked away, leaving the scent of ozone and expensive tobacco in his wake.

—

He uncapped the bottle before wordlessly handing it to you. 

You were seated near the river where you first met, but this time was quiet. You could pretend that everything was fine, that everything was normal but reality would always remind you of what was the truth. 

You live in a time where speaking up would mean death. 

Suga turned to you, “You’re suicidal-”

“Excuse-”

He lifted his hand before shaking his head, his dark hair swaying gently with the wind. “Wasn’t a question,” he sighed before fully turning to you. “Don’t you have friends? Family? A pet?” 

The irony was a bitter pill. Those were the exact words you had thrown at him on your porch when you thought he was just a lonely, unemployed man with a pocket knife and a conscience. 

You scoffed at him, the only indication that you heard him as the spark that was usually in your eyes was nowhere to be found. It was a moment too long that he thought you wouldn’t answer him. The sound of water running with the current was the only thing that could be heard. 

“I don’t have a family. They…they left me. I supposed they’re all together now if heaven is real,” you said quietly. You didn’t look at him. You couldn't. You kept your gaze fixed on the dark ripples of the river, the same river that had seen your first meeting and was now witnessing your unraveling.

“I don’t have friends because everyone’s just so busy surviving that human connection doesn’t seem like a necessity. Kindness seemed like a flaw, and tomorrow is not promised. I can’t even take care of myself. How can I take care of a pet?” 

The words were a confession of defeat, a surrender to the gray reality that had swallowed the country whole. You stared at the dark water, waiting for him to agree, to shrug, or to tell you that’s just the way the world worked now.

“Then I’ll be your friend,” he said decisively. 

The weight of his tone made you turn. He wasn't looking at the river anymore; he was looking at you with a terrifyingly steady gaze. There was no hesitation in his eyes, no room for argument.

“From now on, we’re the best of friends.”

A hollow, startled laugh bubbled up in your chest, but it died before it reached your lips. “It doesn’t work like that—”

“It works however I say it works,” he countered, his voice cutting through your protest like a blade. He leaned closer, the shadow of his silhouette merging with yours in the moonlight. The warmth you had felt on the porch was gone, replaced by a fierce, protective iron.

“So don’t go around trying to get killed,” he hissed, his fingers tightening slightly on the edge of the stone bench. “You don't get to decide that your life is worth nothing when you’ve got someone counting on you to show up. You wanted a reason? There it is. Here I am.”

—

“You’re one, clingy friend,” you noted as he trailed behind you in the small, rundown groceries. 

He walked behind you with an expression of profound annoyance, looking very much like a man being forced to participate in a tedious chore when no one was making him do this. It was a sharp contrast to the way you’d found him that morning: leaning against your porch railing at sunrise as if he’d never left, waiting for you to wake up.

“Best friend,” he corrected. “And why do you have to buy groceries every two days? Why not just buy for the whole week?” he grumbled even as he pushed you gently aside to push the cart for you.

“Because if I die, then I’m just wasting food, am I not?” you said it so nonchalantly that one would think you were merely talking about the weather or what you were going to cook for dinner.

The rattling of the cart’s wheels stopped abruptly. The silence that followed was heavy, punctuated only by the distant hum of a flickering fluorescent light.

Suga didn’t look up immediately. His hands remained gripped on the handle of the cart, his knuckles turning white. When he finally shifted his gaze to you, the annoyance had vanished, replaced by an intensity that made the air in the narrow aisle feel thin.

“You’re not going to die,” he said. It wasn’t an encouragement or a comfort; it was a cold, hard statement of fact.

“Who knows?” you countered, reaching for a small bag of rice.

You did know. You could feel it in the way your breath hitched when you climbed the porch steps, in the persistent, dull ache that lived beneath your ribs—the exact symptoms your family before you had felt. The doctor had been brief when he had told you it was the early stages of the same sickness they had. There were medicines and treatments to prolong your life, but truly, why prolong the agony? 

You nodded, thanked the doctor and went to work that day. 

“I think you’ll live a long and happy life if you’re smart about it,” you told him, your back facing him as you looked at the tangerine on the shelf.

"You’re talking like you’re saying goodbye," he murmured, his hand reaching around you to pull the tangerine from your grasp. He didn't put it back; he turned it over in his fingers, his eyes boring into the side of your face. "I'm pretty sure 'best friends' don't just wish each other a happy life and walk away."

He stepped around to face you, forcing you to look up. His expression was a mix of irritation and a strange, burgeoning concern he was trying desperately to hide. “You’re not going to die,” he announced as though his words were law before walking away with your groceries. 

—

“What was your family like?” you asked him as he washed the dishes. You wanted to think that you didn’t particularly care about what he looked like, nor the way he carried himself with such certainty. But the truth was, you noticed. You noticed how he preferred dark clothings, or how he ran his fingers through his hair several times a day, or how he loved napping, or that how much he seemed to always carry tangerines with him. 

You noticed how broad his back was.

You noticed how handy he was. 

You noticed how his constant faux annoyance was just a front.

You noticed how well he took care of you even when you didn’t ask him to, even when no one did before.

Simply put, you noticed Suga.

“What was your family like?” he asked back before wiping his hands and facing you. He looked domestic in this light, you thought, with only his black shirt. It was something so simple but on him it seemed as though he stepped right out of a photoshoot. 

You tilted your head before gesturing for him to sit beside you. You clicked on your outdated phone and onto the album of photos you downloaded when social media was still allowed. He sat beside you, pulling his chair closer to you. Your shoulders brushed as he looked down at your screen. He was close.

Too close, you thought, that he could see the tinging on your cheeks if he wanted to. You cleared your throat before zooming the photo. 

“This was my father,” you pointed at the screen. “And beside him was my mother.”

You fondly looked at the people who were the last person to love you in this world. 

“That’s you?” he asked, pointing at the seven-year old you in between your parents. You were grinning wildly, your missing tooth on display. The picture was taken in the plaza back when everything was normal, back when the Seven was still trying to play nice with your country. It was during a festival, your background full of people mingling with each other, and even through the picture, you could see happiness where it once was. 

“I was adorable, right?” 

He smiled softly, his eyes twinkling, “I’ve seen cuter kids. Me, for example. I was the most adorable kid my age.”

You looked at him with deadpanned eyes. “Sorry, I’ll only believe it when I see it.”

“Oh so you do want to see it.”

“I do,” you shot back , your brows raised at the challenge in his tone.

He tilted his head to the side as he smirked at you. “ Too bad I don’t have pictures or else you’ll find me so adorable you would have pinched my cheeks by now.”

You couldn’t help a laughter escape you at his audacity. Your head was bent back, your melodious laughter echoing throughout your small house. You looked divine, Yoongi thought. You looked like you were happiness personified, a vibrant splash of color in a world he had helped turn monochrome. Seeing you laugh was something akin to the way they felt when they discovered Sutana.

It was a dangerous feeling.

They ruined cities for that. They had burned entire legacies to the ground just to hold that kind of power in their palms, to ensure they were the ones who decided who lived, who smiled, and who withered.

His heart stopped when you turned to him, your lower lip in between your teeth to stop yourself from smiling. “Liar. Where’s the proof then, Suga?” you leaned closer, teasing glint still in your eyes.

Would you still look at him like that if you knew?

Would you still let him in if you knew?

You wouldn’t, he was certain of it. 

So instead, he softly tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. “Perhaps, I am. I guess you just have to take my word for it.”

“W-what? Don’t tell me you didn’t have cameras back then,” you stuttered slightly, the proximity finally catching up to your pulse. You tried to regain your footing with a playful scoff. “I mean, I think you’re only, what, three to five years ahead of me or something—”

“Is this your way of asking me about my age?” 

“Is it working?”

Suga chuckled before tapping your nose. “I’m a lot older than you.”

“Liar. You looked like you're only 31, tops.”

“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?”

Before he left for the night, he turned to you. He adjusted his coat, the fabric rustling in the quiet of the foyer. He reached for the handle, pausing at the threshold. Before he stepped out into the night, he turned back to you, his silhouette framed by the porch light.

“I’m 107.”

You rolled your eyes at him before locking the door, “Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.”

—

Yoongi walked into his penthouse. The space was a study in shadows, carved out only by the cold, electric glow of the skyline bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows. 

There was something wrong. 

Without a word, Yoongi moved toward the marble island of the kitchen. His movements were fluid, practiced in the dark. The amber liquid caught the city lights as it hit the crystal, the soft clink of the decanter the only sound in the room. He poured whiskey into two glasses, the sharp, peaty scent rising to meet him. He walked to where Namjoon was seated in the dark. He was quietly reading on his tablet, no doubt about the reports on Sutana.

Yoongi stopped a few feet away, extending one of the glasses. “I thought only the maknaes break into my place when they’re bored. Apparently, that includes you now, Namjoonie.”

Namjoon finally looked up, the tablet’s glow making his features look stark and tired. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Yoongi’s as he took the glass. He didn't offer an apology, nor did he look surprised that Yoongi had already poured him a drink.

“Long time no see, hyung,” he greeted lowly before hee took a slow, deliberate sip of the whiskey, letting the burn settle. “Been busy?”

Yoongi chuckled before plopping down beside him and drinking his own. “Out with it. We know each other for too long to play these games.”

“91 years of it.”

He nodded, “Almost a whole fucking century. I always have a good read on you, Yoongi…except now.”

“Taehyung,” he muttered under his breath as though in explanation. Of course the younger member tattled. “But did he also tell you he showed his fucking face in public?”

Namjoon swiped the tablet screen, and a grainy, thermal-enhanced image appeared. It was a still from a high-altitude drone, zoomed in so far the pixels bled. It showed two figures tucked away near a stone bench by the river. One was unmistakably Yoongi, his posture uncharacteristically protective. The other was a woman- small, defiant, and entirely human.

"Taehyung is a wildfire; he likes the spectacle," Namjoon said, turning the tablet toward Yoongi. "But you? You’re the hearth. You don’t move unless there’s a purpose. So tell me, what purpose does she serve?"

Yoongi didn't look at the screen. He didn't need to. He could still feel the phantom warmth of her hair against his knuckles, the way her laughter had momentarily drowned out the decades of blood on his hands. He took a long, burning swallow of whiskey.

"She doesn't serve a purpose, Namjoon. She’s just a girl who buys too many tangerines and thinks I’m an unemployed thirty-one-year-old."

Namjoon sighed, “I know that look in your eyes, Yoongi hyung. It’s the exact look in Seokjin and my eyes that started this entire conundrum decades ago. She’s human. She will die, eventually-”

“She’s not going to die,” Yoongi countered. It wasn’t a hope; it was a decree. The kind of statement that had leveled cities and reshaped nations.

Namjoon sighed, “She’s dying even as we speak, hyung. She will, unless you give her Sutana.”

“Or unless I stop taking it,” Yoongi added. His voice was a flat, freezing line of defiance.

Namjoon froze, his glass halfway to his lips. He turned fully now, the blue light of the tablet making his eyes look like a cold flint. “You’ll die for a girl?”

“You live for a girl,” Yoongi shot back, his eyes cutting to Namjoon’s. “You and Seokjin hyung still live for her. We are all in this situation because you two can’t let go of someone who should have already died decades ago. How long will we keep her in between life and death?”

Namjoon’s composure shattered. He slammed the whiskey glass onto the marble island, the crystal miraculously holding but the liquid sloshing over his hand. He surged to his feet, his shadow towering against the city lights.

“Until we fucking perfect Sutana and its ability to bring her back to life!” Namjoon roared, his voice cracking with a raw, human agony that he usually kept buried under layers of logic and leadership.

He leaned over the table, his face inches from Yoongi’s. “If I have to burn this country to the ground to find the missing sequence needed for her, I will. And you know Seokjin-hyung would do worse.”

Yoongi didn't flinch. He just looked at the man he had called a brother for over a hundred years—a man who was currently losing his mind over a memory kept on life support.

“Then we’re both fools,” Yoongi said quietly, swirling the amber liquid in his cracked glass. “The difference is, my girl is still laughing. Yours hasn't opened her eyes since the 1950s.”

Namjoon recoiled as if stung, his chest heaving. The silence returned, but it was different now, tainted by the secret that fueled their empire. “Then you should learn from our mistakes. Give her the Sutena now.”

Yoongi finally broke eye contact before downing his whiskey. “She hates us, Namjoon,” Yoongi admitted, the words coming out like a confession. “She hates everything we’ve built. She loathes how we destroyed this fucking country just to harvest that sequence. If—if I give her a dose... if I turn her into what we are... she will never forgive me. She’ll look at me with the same eyes that man in the plaza had.”

He thought of your laughter in the kitchen, the way you’d teased him about his age, and the sheer, stubborn humanity of your refusal to fear the end. To give you Sutana was to kill the person he had come to love.

“She will have eternity to forgive you, hyung. Trust me, it’s better that she hates you than not be here at all. You think you can handle the silence? I am telling you, you can’t. None of us can.”

—

“Nope,” you answered, popping the P as you two walked home. 

“You didn’t even consider it,” he grumbled as he took your bag and carried it for you. He looked like a petulant child with the way he was pouting. 

“What’s there to consider in your hypothetical question, Suga?” You adjusted the strap of your sweater, your breath hitching slightly as the incline of the street began to pull at your lungs. You ignored the familiar dull ache beneath your ribs, focusing instead on his sudden, strange intensity. “You asked me if, given the chance, I’d take a 'miracle cure' to live forever. I said no.”

“It’s not just a miracle. If you take it, you’ll never die. You’ll never have to say goodbye. You can see the world and you won’t run out of time.”

You frowned before gently hitting his shoulder with yours. “Doesn’t that sound like a nightmare? Isn’t the beauty of life is that it’s not forever? Imagine being stuck in a world that keeps breaking, and you’re the only one who can’t leave. That’s not a gift, Suga. That’s basically a prison sentence.”

He stopped walking and reached for your wrist. His touch was soft, his eyes even softer as he looked like he was begging for something you didn’t know how to give. “But what if…what if I die first and I leave you alone?”

You blinked at the oddness of his question. “Then…then I guess… No. I know I’ll miss you forever. I'd probably still buy an extra tangerine every Tuesday just out of habit.”

He didn't smile. If anything, he looked more haunted. “What if you die first?”

“Then I’ll wait for you in between heaven and earth just so you won’t have to go there alone.”

Yoongi felt the words like a physical blow to the chest. Heaven. He hadn't thought about that place in a century. He had spent so long building a kingdom on earth, fortifying it with blood and science, that he’d forgotten what it was like to believe in anything beyond the next dose.

He looked at you, truly looked at you, standing there in the flickering streetlamp light. You were so small, so temporary, and yet you were offering to guide an ancient, weary soul through the afterlife.

His thumb brushed against the skin of your wrist, tracing the rhythm of a heart that was already failing. He wanted to tell you that there was no heaven for people like him. He wanted to tell you that he had already traded his soul for a seat at a table of seven gods.

Instead, he let go of your wrist and looked away, his jaw tight.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he muttered, though there was no heat in it. “You’d probably get bored waiting and find someone else to annoy with your tangerine talk.”

You nodded before chuckling at him. “Probably. No promises. Come on, I’m starving.”

—

“It’s getting worse.”

“I know. I can feel it.”

Normal activities were starting to feel like a death sentence. Waking up in the morning was starting to feel like a gift. Working was starting to feel like a prison. 

Your time was running out. 

You were never scared of the end, you thought. It was simply a transition to somewhere where your family was. It was simply something that needed to occur so you could leave this country. You accepted that death would come to you sooner than you thought. You had no one, so you never had to think of what or who you’d leave behind. 

What you didn’t expect was him.

Because now, you were thinking of what to come when you leave this Earth. You wanted to think that he was going to be okay, that he had his brothers to stay with him.

He wouldn’t be lonely, right?

He shouldn’t. 

The walk back from the clinic felt longer than usual, each step a deliberate negotiation with a body that was beginning to revoke its lease. You stopped at the corner, leaning against a rusted lamp post to catch your breath, watching the familiar silhouette in the distance.

You saw him paced back and forth in front of your small house, his hands on his waist. He needed to start getting used to you not being present, what with your imminent death and all. He needed to start getting used to this, you thought—this version of the world where you weren't present. He needed to practice seeing the porch empty. He needed to learn how to buy his own tangerines again.

You watched him for a moment, your heart aching with a heaviness that had nothing to do with your lungs. You had never been scared of the end. To you, death was just a quiet transition, a way to finally bypass the borders of a broken country and find the people who had loved you first. You had accepted the timing of your exit with a calm, practiced stoicism.

What you hadn't factored into your departure was him. Or how much you felt for him. Or how, in this bleak world, he was the only color you ever saw.

The moment he saw you, his pacing stopped instantly. His entire body went rigid, his expression shifting from agitation to a look of profound, terrifying relief that he tried—and failed—to mask with a scowl.

“You’re late,” he barked, though his voice lacked its usual bite. He started toward you, his strides long and urgent. “Where were you? I’ve been standing out here for an hour.”

“W-why are you waiting for me?”

“What do you mean why? We always do this,” he snapped, gesturing vaguely at the porch chairs where you’d spent the last month trading barbs and fruit peels. “I stay, you talk, we eat. It’s the routine.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” your voice was cold as you walked past him. If you hurt him enough, if you pushed hard enough against that strange, fierce loyalty of his, then he wouldn't mourn you. If he hated you, the silence wouldn't be quite so loud when you finally stopped speaking.

Bold of you to assume you meant much to him as he meant to you, you thought. 

“You didn’t have to. In fact, you never had to. You know why? Because I want to be here.”

“Well, I don't want you here,” you lied, the words tasting like copper in your mouth. You gripped the strap of your bag until your knuckles turned white. “I’m tired, Suga. I’m tired of the noise, tired of the tangerines, and tired of you loitering on my porch like you have nowhere else to go. Go back to your ‘brothers.’ Go back to your real life.”

Yoongi didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He stood there like a statue carved from moonlight, watching the way your pulse thrummed erratically in your neck.

“You are obviously tired, so I’ll go. But this is not goodbye.”

“Suga, I meant what I—”

“I know what you said,” he interrupted softly, his jaw set in that stubborn line you’d grown to know so well. “And I’m choosing to ignore it because you’re a terrible liar when you’re exhausted. Sleep. Lock the door. If I find out you stayed up trying to clean this place, I’m moving in permanently.”

–

“You’re one stubborn man.”

“For fuck’s sake, no one knows privacy in this fucking family,” Yoongi grumbled as he stepped out of his bedroom only to find the rest of his brothers in his kitchen. He couldn’t even say he woke up on the wrong side of the bed. He hadn’t gone to bed since you sent him away, anyway. 

This house used to be his sanctuary, but now he wanted nothing more but to go to you. His family was here, and yet, his very soul was telling him that something was incomplete, that someone was not here. 

That he could lose you.

That he was losing you.

“Why are you stalling?” Seokjin asked from the kitchen, his back to them as he cooked calmly. He was never one to pull his punches, though. He looked at Suga with a blank face even as the young man stared straight on. “Are you an idiot?” 

Jimin chuckled and almost choked on the coffee he was drinking. Hoseok gently patted the younger man’s back. 

“This is all your fault,” Yoongi grumbled at Taehyung who was silently working on his laptop. “You and your blabbermouth-”

“But hyung! You have been so secretive and we haven’t seen you in months. We just wanted to know what you’re up to .We’re family, remember?” Jungkook defended Taehyung with a pout. 

“It’s my business.”

“So I take it, she’s your business?” Seokjin asked, facing him with a frown on his otherwise emotionless face. 

“Yes.”

“Do you let your ‘business’ die?” 

“She’s not dying!” Yoongi raised his voice, something that happened very seldomly that it managed to render the entire room stupored with shock. He wasn't one to ever lose control. He wasn’t one to ever raise to anger. He wasn’t one to ever not think rationally. 

But you…you brought out something in him he never thought he was capable of. The number of times he uttered the words of you not dying were becoming annoying. 

This should have been a fact and not something that could be debated.

“I let mine die once, hyung…” Taehyung said, his voice deep while his eyes were faraway. He was back to the time when she died in his arms, when he wanted to be noble. When he was kinder than he was now, back when he listened to her desires instead of his own heart. 

Back before her death ripped his heart away from in him. “I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

Yoongi’s form softened. He knew how much Taehyung suffered, how he watched her died, and eventually, how he had to bury her.

“I know, Tae… But she’s different. She’s healthy, she’s young. You don’t have to wor-”

Taehyung sighed, “She’s sick.”

Silence.

Yoongi knew they were talking, but he couldn’t hear a word they were saying. 

You were sick. And he didn’t know.

How could he not know? You were… you were always with him. Shouldn’t he have known if you were sick? 

He was shaking his head. Denial was coursing through him-

“In fact, she’s dying,” Taehyung drove the final nail. 

Namjoon, who had been quiet the entire fiasco, passed him the tablet. Your file was there. Your entire life, your education, career, entire family history, how they died, how you would most likely die from the same illness. 

The doctor’s records were clear. 

Your illness was progressing. There was nothing they could do about it.

Unless…

—

His head was bowed down when you saw him. 

You never thought you’d see him so forlorn. He had always been full of life. He may not be jumping with joy, but he was never one to mope around.This was new, you thought. Suga was never defeated. Suga never looked defeated. 

It had been a week of silence. You should have been assimilating well with his absence, afterall, you had been alone before he came barreling into your life. 

But the silence was loud. 

You didn’t know how much you depended on him, or how much his presence was the only color in your life, or how without his constant presence, you were only going through the motions. 

He looked up as though he could sense you.

His eyes were sad, that much was apparent. He looked like he hadn’t slept. He looked worn out and yet, your heart skipped a beat when his eyes met yours.

You definitely underestimated your ability to live without him. “I told you. I don’t want to be your friend, anymore-”

Yoongi didn’t say a word. Instead, he walked to you, his strides were large as he neared you. His steps were determined, even purposeful. Before you could even take a step back, Suga, for the first time, embraced you and not because he had to save you. 

This time, he embraced you with all the emotions he was keeping control of. 

For the first time since he could remember, Suga cried. 

The man was shaking as he hugged you, his head bent low as he leaned on your shoulder. You could feel the tears streaming down his face, quickly dampening your shirt. He was, to say the least, unconsolable. 

“S-Suga, what’s wrong?”

He didn’t talk. He hugged you tighter as though in fear that if he let go just an inch, that you would disappear. 

“Are you hurt?” you asked, worry apparent in your voice. You tried to push him away to assess where his injuries were. The man didn’t even budge. You thought the kindest thing to do was to gently rub his back.  

You didn’t know how long he refused to let you go. 

You didn’t know if you ever wanted to. 

“Don’t leave me,” he ordered. “I don’t want to be alone again.”

“Why?” you asked.

 “Because I love you.”

—

Someone loved you.

Someone finally loved you, just when you were running out of time. What a cruel trick the universe was playing. 

What a curse to love someone only to leave them. 

You were staring at his sleeping form. He refused to leave, further breaking down when you wouldn’t let him in until you gave in. His eyes were swollen from crying, his hands shaking until you promised that you wouldn’t leave him. 

You were lying on the bed beside him. He was holding your hand tightly even in his sleep. You traced his face with your other hand in featherlike touches. Suga was beautiful. It was apparent that God took his time with him.

He was a man with such soft heart, one that never raised his voice, one that took one look at you and knew just how to fix you. He was dependable. He was all you wished to have if only you had time.

But you didn’t. 

It was selfish of you to wish him for yourself… 

Gently, he opened his eyes. He looked at you with all the sadness, despair and a little bit of hope in his eyes. 

“You can’t love me,” you said. 

“Why?”

You bit your lip and took a deep breath. “I’m dying, Suga.”

He pressed his lips on the back of your hand, his dark eyes never wavering from you. “Not a reason enough, darling.”

“It is-”

“Do you love me?”

You blinked owlishly, willing your tears to never fall. You had to be brave not for you, but for him. You had to leave him whole. You would be hurt, but you never wanted him to experience this pain. 

“That’s neither here-”

“Do you love me?”

…

“Yes.”

“Will you live for me?” 

You wanted to. 

God, you wanted to.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Suga,” you broke down, couldn’t even stop the tears from falling. You were dying. You were going to leave someone as wonderful as he was in this fucked up world. He was going to be alone. You knew what it was like to have been left alone. You never wanted that even to your worst enemy, let alone the one you loved. 

Suga smiled despite the tears. He leaned his forehead against yours, “Just let me love you, okay? I’ll worry about the rest. Just let me love you. God, please. Just let me be with you. Please.”

He never left. 

He was beside you through it all. Your body grew weary, your strength dwindling. The most normal activities took so much toll on you that you wondered if he wanted to leave you now. You had to quit your job. You had to prepare your affairs in order. Your house, the only memory left of your family and you in this world, would go to him. You knew he didn’t need this. But the way he took care of your house, fixed everything broken in it made you realized that he loved this house just as much as you did. 

There were days when Suga would hold your hair away from your face as you vomited. There were days when he would have to carry you because your legs simply couldn’t support you. There were days where he would tell you stories as though it happened so long ago that you would end up chuckling at his anecdotes. 

Sometimes, you would wake up and catch him looking at you with indecisiveness in his eyes. 

He looked like he was battling with something beyond you. 

But everytime he noticed you looking at him, he would simply smile and kiss you tenderly. 

Things progressed so quickly that you knew your time was eventually running out. 

Things progressed too quickly that Suga knew he was running out of time. 

It was one night when you woke up in a hospital bed when he finally asked. “If you could live forever with me…would you?” 

You smiled at him as you reached your hand laddled with dextrose to him. “My love, I would live the rest of my life with you.”

You told him that if reincarnation was real, that if you get another chance in life, that you would find him, that you would recognize him.

You told him that you would love him again the way he deserved, the way that you could fully give, without the constraint of time nor health.

But Suga didn’t believe in reincarnation. He did believe that there was no redeeming him, that hell was the only option for him. He believed that he couldn’t and wouldn’t live without you.

Without you, he’d simply perish. 

You didn’t think you’d wake up.

You thought you wouldn’t ever again. 

“You finally decided to give her Sutana, Yoongi,” a man’s voice said from behind, his voice deep and authoritative. 

Yoongi? 

Why would one of the seven be here?

It was too quiet for a moment until Suga answered. “I can’t live without her.”

You had been a fool. 

You trusted the man who destroyed your country. 

You even loved the man who was one of the reasons why you lost your family. 

“Will she forgive you?” 

You recognized that voice. The distinct deep voice, the way every syllable was without any emotion, the man you saw in the town square. 

Kim Taehyung. 

“I can’t exactly ask for forgiveness to a dead person, can I?” Suga- no. Yoongi replied. You felt his hand gently caress your hair. You tried so hard to even your breath, to not let your eyes even move behind your closed lids. 

He wasn’t lying when he said he was 107 years old. 

You were just too naive to think of it as anything but a lie. 

They spoke as if the choice had always been theirs, that your disposition in living forever didn’t even matter. Sutana was an immortality drug. They lied when they marketed it as something that had to be taken monthly. No. 

These seven men had been alive for so long. They discovered the door to immortality decades ago. The invasion was not necessary… 

They did it for the missing sequence they needed to bring someone back from the dead.

You thought they were bad…but this was worse. They were playing God not only to the living but also to the dead. You shuddered at the realization. 

You couldn’t breathe. 

“We’re going to be so happy together.”

 You wouldn’t be happy. 

You left when you were finally alone. 

And so, for the next decades, Yoongi would look for you. You would run every time.

He had given you immortality, but he had forgotten one thing: forever is a very long time to hide.

The one saving grace that you had, was Taehyung. He knew just how frightened you were of this whole ordeal and he had assured you that everything would be alright. 

“Of course you would say that,” You had laughed, “You are a man.”

“And what does that have to do with anything?” He said with a roll of his eyes, snatching a pastry from your plate and popping it in his mouth in spite of your offended gasp. 

“It has everything to do with it. You don’t have to attend a debutante ball, you don’t have to enter the marriage market until you decide to do so, and you don’t have to be paraded around like a prize waiting to be won.”

“That’s easy for you to say, until you’re the one being harassed by frantic mothers wanting you to propose to their daughters the second they introduce them. If anything, I am the prize waiting to be won.”

“Aren’t you old enough now to be considering your options? You’re what, three and twenty now? If you were a woman you would be approaching spinsterhood.” You teased.

“Spinsterhood?” He barked out a laugh, “I’ll have you know I am in my prime. I will choose a wife when I decide I am ready to do so.”

“Ah see, you have made my very point. You can marry when you choose to. I, however, will cause a scandal if I were to do the same.”

“You could marry when you choose to as well. Whomever you wish to choose.” He disagreed, his tone had become serious in contrast to the soft look in his eyes. “You do know I would support you, not all women marry their first season.”

Your heart fluttered, you willed it to relax.

“As kind as that is, we both know what is expected of my family. At the end of the day, my mother and my brother will choose whom they decide is the most suitable match. My say in the matter will be considered, but will fall low in priority I am afraid.”

Taehyung’s brows were pinched in confusion, his lips pressed together in thought. He was more troubled by your assessment than you had thought he would be. “You underestimate your brother. Jin adores you, he would never allow a proposal that is not befitting of you. In fact, I think he is more worried about your debut than you are. He is not ready for you to become a woman either.”

A sharp cough disrupted your conversation. 

“Must she really be here?” Taehyung asked you, his words directed at your maid who was seated across the room with a warning look on her face. The two of them struggled to get along since her attendance had become mandatory during your time together. 

“You know why she is here, Taehyung.” You sighed. 

“I have known you your whole life!”

“Which is inconsequential now that I have come of age. She is here to ensure nothing improper is to occur and the both of us have little say in the matter.”

Taehyung stared at you before slowly blinking once, twice, and then thrice before speaking once more. “I was present when you were born, in fact I was amongst one of the first to hold you and I hate to be the bearer of bad news but you were hardly proper then. Not to mention it was definitely improper when you decided it was simply too hot of a summer when you were two and stripped down until you were as bare as the day you were born and had to be chased all over the estate by the entire staff and your mother before you were captured and clothed.”

“Taehyung!” You yelled, heat rushing to your face as your maid choked in surprise and slammed her book shut.

“All I am saying is impropriety should be her least worry.”

“Everything about what you just said was improper and, not to mention, utterly embarrassing!”

And he had the gall to look pleased with himself. He was the very picture of the cat that had caught the canary with that egregiously adorable smile of his while he sunk down in his chair across from you.

Your maid rose and cleared her throat as she approached. “I believe, luncheon hours are over Mr. Kim. I shall escort you to the door.”

Taehyung raised his brows, looking from you to her and back again. “Is your maid kicking me out like an unwelcome loiterer?”

“We, unfortunately, have a ball to prepare for. She is right in asking you to leave.” You rose to your feet and he followed suit. 

“You grow a year older and suddenly there are limits as to how many hours I can spend with you.” He muses, forlornly in spite of his mischievous grin.

“Of course, you could always retire your dislike of society's mothers for one night and come and see me. Maybe even sign my dance card and save me from any devious intentioned potential suitors.”

Taehyung smiled and pretended to think as he crossed his arms behind his back. “Well, a lady does debut only once after all. Perhaps, just this one time I can make an exception to my rule. However, I request the first spot on your dance card and nothing less.”

“Consider it done.” You laughed before shaking his hand to seal your deal. A startled gasp parted your lips, however, when he bent forward to brush his lips over the back of your hand. He seemed pleased with your reaction. But that was how Taehyung was, he loved to be mischievous and he delighted in eliciting reactions from those he shared his company with.

“I think that was a very proper thing to do.” He chuckled as he winked at your maid who frantically began to usher him out of the parlor as professionally yet urgently as she could. 

Your heart was thunderous inside the cradle of your ribcage. How you wished it would stop instead, it would make things so much easier. Taehyung was many things, but the one thing that he would never be, was yours. He was off limits, just as you were and this was something your brother had explicitly stated. Jin, while incredibly overprotective as the head of the household, truly did have your best intentions at heart. He knew the kind of man that Taehyung was, the kind of man that many of his friends were and he had put those boundaries in place to protect your tender heart. A crush was fine, it meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. But affection? And heavens forbid, love, was out of the question. You would never be able to have your dear friend that way that you dreamed of.

And while this was something that you were prominently aware of, the confirmation of such a truth had shattered your heart completely.

~~~~~~~

You had worn your finest, and newest, gown courtesy of the modiste. It truly was the most beautiful gown you had ever seen, it was something befitting of a woman that you yourself felt you had not yet become. But oh, did it sell the illusion for you. It was a soft shade of powder blue, decorated with the most delicate lace that you were certain it could tear with too much force. The bust, sleeves, and hem were affixed with freshwater pearls and a matching circlet had been pinned in your hair. You would never admit it, but you imagined Aphrodite would have felt the way that you did.

“You’ll do wonderful, darling.” Your mother cooed, her gloved hands patting your own. “I remember my debutante ball like it was yesterday. There were so many eager gentlemen, of course, none of them compared to your father-”

“Please, don’t encourage her to entertain every wide eyed blubbering fool that asks for a dance.” Jin sighed, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in stress.

“I am not encouraging any such thing! However, it would be beneficial for your sister to socialize with lords and ladies alike upon her entrance into society.”

“Both of you are aware that I am still here, yes?” You snapped, breaking up an argument before it could happen. 

“Of course we are,” Jin softened, “I just worry about you, I - we, want what’s best for you. However, I always thought we would have more time.”

That was his way of saying he didn’t want you to leave. At the end of the day, you were his baby sister. There was a ten year gap between the two of you, and during your mother’s long period of grief, Jin had assumed the role of parent. The bond the two of you shared went far deeper than that of a brother and a sister. You didn’t remember your father, and when you tried you often saw Jin’s face instead.

“You have nothing to worry about. Taehyung and I have spoken plenty on the matter, not all women marry their first season, let us have a good time tonight and worry another night.” You explained with a fond smile.

You, however, did not miss the look your brother gave you at the mention of his friend's name. “Taehyung, of course.”

There was that reminder again. Taehyung was not a viable option, that was an established rule. But the look that crossed over Jin’s face, there was more to his reasoning. There was something deeper there that you were not privy to. You took a mental note of that and put a pin in it for later, you had a ball to attend. The first goal of the night was to survive. 

The debutante ball changed locations every year allowing several prestigious families of society the honor of hosting. This itself was another competition all of its own. And this year, they had certainly gone all out. If there were a theme, it would be opulence. The entire estate was dripping in gold, jewels, and lush greenery with hundreds of white roses and chandeliers of wisteria hanging from the ceilings. The ballroom was crowded with young men and women and their chaperones alike, this made you stop. This was your first night in society, and the first thing you noticed was how brilliantly these ladies shined. The way that the light reflected off of them gave them the appearance of hundreds of diamonds shining in the night.

Jin, as perceptive as he was, took notice immediately. His hand lightly rested between your shoulder blades in a comforting touch as his mouth softened into a kind smile. “You look lovelier than ever, don’t doubt that.”

You relaxed beneath his touch and nodded as you returned his smile. His words were simple, but Jin always knew what to say. You would never doubt your older brother, within reason, of course.

“Dearest, why not mingle with the other young ladies?” Your mother suggested, directing your attention to a group of young women who were circled together, their gaze flickering from their group members to the party goers as they giggled between one another.

“And throw her to the piranhas so early into the night?” Your brother jabbed.

“Oh, would you rather take her place then? That does remind me it is about time that you find a suitable wife -”

“Dear sister, don’t you think it would be a good idea to mingle? Allow me!” Jin interrupted, linking his arm with yours and guiding you in the direction of the ladies. 

You smiled in amusement, “Are you truly that opposed to finding a wife, dear brother?”

“It is not so much the ladies that I am opposed to, but their overbearing mothers that truly frighten me.” 

“I am starting to believe I should fear them as well, Taehyung mentioned something similar during luncheon hour today. Are all mothers so fearsome?” You teased. 

“You haven’t the slightest idea,” He groaned before composing himself as the two of you approached the group of women. 

These women were not unfamiliar to you, but you harbored no admiration or friendship for them. You internally sighed as they perked up at the sight of your brother, their eyelashes and handheld fans fluttering frantically. You had a strong idea as to what the conversation would be like once you were left alone with them to fend for yourself. 

“Good evening ladies, I trust that you will take good care of my sister in my absence.” Jin said, his introduction brief so that he could make a quick escape and leave you to the proverbial wolves. 

“Mr. Kim, could I trouble you for-”

“Unfortunately I am as troubled as can be. Very, very, very troubled…” He called over his shoulder as he made his escape from the lady inquiring for a dance.

You shrunk into yourself in his absence, your fingers anxiously fiddling with the strap of your fan. While you bloomed in the presence of those you loved, these ladies made you plaster to the wall like another flower in the wallpaper. 

“That brother of yours is so elusive, how does he expect to ever find a viscountess?” The jilted lady asked you with a frustrated flutter of her fan. 

“My brother does not find a need for a viscountess at this time, I am afraid the Ton will have to wait a little longer before my mother relinquishes her title to another lady.” You replied.

“Well, I suppose necessity can be swayed with persuasion from the right lady.”

An uncontrollable, and unladylike, laugh shook your chest. “I am afraid that you will find very little can sway my brother once his mind is made up. It would take an even more hard headed lady to be able to handle my brother.”

“Such a shame, that is.” Another lady sighed, her fan raising up to obscure a mouth curving with laughter, “One of you ought to marry, for propriety's sake, and the Viscount seems the most likely choice as we all know.”

Your own amused smile melted away. “What exactly is it that you are insinuating?”

You didn’t have to see her smile to hear the venomous amusement in her words, “Your brother is important, he will continue your family name of course. And a marriage to a viscount will overshadow any failures of his siblings. I meant no harm, dear.”

Failures. She was talking about you, she was insinuating you wouldn’t be successful in the marriage market. Everything you had secretly thought to yourself…were they too aware of it?

“You are implying I will have no suitors, no marriage prospects.” You plainly said, your eyes burning with unshed anger fuelled tears.

“Well, I suppose there is still some time for you to…come into your own?” She replied, her eyes scanning you slowly, meticulously, from head to toe. 

She found you at the worst undesirable, and at best perhaps plain, you could see it in the way she looked at you. In the way that the other ladies looked at you, they were in agreement that you were not a threat. To them, you weren’t even a part of the race, you simply couldn’t qualify. Moments before, you had felt pretty, if not in your features than at least in the gown and jewels you were dressed in. But now, you couldn’t help but feel that you dulled what you had worn. Perhaps, you even looked amusing to everyone else, squeezing into a gown that you were unbefitting of.

You wished you could crawl out of your own skin and leave it all behind.

“There you are dearest,” A voice called from behind you. It was Taehyung, a charming smile adorning his beautiful features. In any other condition you would be happy to see him, but now . all you could think about was how ridiculous you would look beside him. How had he managed his own embarrassment for this long?

His smile faltered as he came closer, he could see the visible distress in your features and the shine of unshed tears in your eyes. The look that crossed his face was brief as he collected himself, but in that sudden moment you felt a chill run down your spine. You had never seen such a look in his eyes before. It could only be purely described as murderous.

“You will have to excuse us ladies,” He addressed the other women who had completely redirected their attention to him excitedly once he approached. They eyed him like vultures, waiting for the perfect moment to swoop in and steal whatever scrap of him they could take. “I was promised a first dance.”

Without saying another word to them he faced you and held out his hand, “May I have your first dance?”

You felt conflicted. You could not ignore the envious glares of the women surrounding you or the ugly feeling that had taken root in your mind and aches in your heart. But Taehyung was your oldest friend, and as horrible as you felt in that moment you found that you never had it in you to truly deny him. 

You gave him a weak smile and slid your gloved hand into his, “Of course.”

Taehyung wordlessly guided you to the dance floor, the two of you quickly blending into the other dancers. You urged your heart to control itself at the feeling of his hands touching you, the warmth of his skin seeping into you. You had danced before, he wasn’t touching you anywhere that was improper but you could not for the life of you anchor your soaring heart in your chest. Even in your worst state, your heart wanted him. 

“In all of the years that I have known you, you have never been one to back down from a challenge. So, I will ask you this one time, what have those women done to you that have turned the cunning wolf I know into such a startled lamb?”

For that very reason, you could not tell him. He would never understand. The way that you were with him was your true self, an unfettered being that was not bound by the status quo of society. But you could not afford to let that part of you rule you in any other circumstance. While Taehyung was amused by your sharpness, wit, and humor, that was something that was not accepted well by others - it was unbecoming of a lady. And while he saw that side of you, he had never seen the other side that appeared when interacting with society. But that part was still very much you, the part that urged you to be quiet, to blend in, to bend to others. The part of you that always knew you were no match against the other young ladies.

“You as well as my brother have said it before, they are quite vicious and that is all that I shall say on the matter.”

“How am I to help you if you will not say more? You are above their station, they have no right to demean you.” He replied, his voice the sternest you had ever heard it before.

“That is where you are wrong again, I have no station - that belongs to my brother. While he and you may have ways to defend yourself whether that be station or by pistol, I am left with a flutter of my fan and whatever thinly disguised insults I may fire back.”

“Then I will be your weapon, your protector if you would allow me. All I need know is what I am defending you from.”

“You are fighting an invisible foe, I am afraid. Now please, will you dance with me and end this interrogation. This is supposed to be a happy night.”

If there was anything you and Taehyung shared in common, it was your stubbornness. You could see it in his eyes, in the hard line of his lips, and the draw of his brows. And as they smoothed and relaxed you were surprised by his acquiescence, but you knew him well. He would put this matter to rest for now, but this wasn’t over.

~~~~~~~

Taehyung had kept his promise of being your first dance. But that quickly turned into your second, third, and fourth before you had to practically beg him to allow your feet a moment’s rest. 

After the second dance you had tried to excuse yourself for propriety's sake but your companion wasn’t having it. Two dances together was enough to have the Ton murmuring, but three and four? That would border on scandal. That would inspire gossip of courting and proposals. You were trying to save his reputation but he would have none of it. As your oldest friend he cared little for what the rest of society would think, what their rules were. He just wanted to bring back that smile to your lips.

“One more dance.” He grinned, his chest rising and falling just as rapidly as yours - you felt breathless.

“You said that the second, third, and fourth time! I will keel over from overexertion if I do not leave this floor at this very moment.”

“When I break my own rules, I make sure to do it to the fullest extent.” He laughed.

“Please, entertain yourself for some time, I need to be rid of you.” You waved your hand at him in a shoo-ing motion. 

“There’s my dearest girl.” He hummed, his gaze smoothly gliding over every inch of your face like he was committing every feature to memory. You felt as if you well and truly could faint now at any moment. If only he would give your heart a break.

Taehyung’s eyes widened for a moment, his gaze lifting from your face and fixing over your shoulder. Once you followed his gaze you realized what he was focusing on. Your brother was making haste through the crowd and his glare was pinned on the man who stood beside you. 

“Forgive me, but I must make a quick escape.” He chuckled before giving your hand a gentle squeeze and slipping away. 

“Taehyung!”

“He loves you, he tolerates me, I wish you luck!” And then he was gone. 

You were allowed three breaths to collect yourself before your brother arrived, and he looked furious. 

“Brother -”

“Where has he gone?” He asked, cutting you off completely, “I need to have a word with him at once.”

“And what must you say that I cannot be present for?”

“It is not your presence that is the problem, it is his.” He replied, his jaw taut with frustration. 

“I am confused, is he not our oldest friend? What slight has he committed other than being the only gentleman to entertain me for the night?”

“What he has done could very well be your ruin, he will humiliate you. He has made a spectacle tonight and continues to ignore propriety. After that show, when no proposal comes to follow, you will be the laughing stock of the Ton.”

The ache in your chest returned tenfold. You knew that Jin hadn’t meant to hurt you, but intentions be damned it hurt worse than what those ladies had dared to insinuate. You knew that Taehyung did not return your feelings, and apparently Jin knew that as well. And worst of all it only confirmed what you knew to be true - your marriage prospects were in the gutter. You were an embarrassment to your family. 

You couldn’t stop the sniffle, or the quiver of your lip and that did not escape Jin’s notice. The anger quickly faded from his face. “I did not intend to hurt you, it is not you that I am angry with or disappointed in, you must know that.”

You shook your head, your cheeks warm with embarrassment at how quick you were to come to tears in front of all of society. You took a step back from your brother, “I require a moment alone, please.”

The anger had melted to confusion, and the confusion had formed into distress on his face. Jin adored you, he never wanted to hurt you and now he could see that while it had not been his intention, he had done the very thing he never wished to do.

“Sister-”

“Please excuse me,” You said, your voice tight with barely restrained emotion before you turned and rushed through the crowds. 

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, the lights were too bright, it was too warm, and there were far too many people. Your skin felt very sensitive and each brush against another gown or jacket had your body responding with the desire to peel at your very own flesh. 

This was another embarrassment to your family, this phantom illness that you were unable to shake. It was humiliating how debilitating it was, it was something even your own mother could not comprehend. This feeling of utter claustrophobia inside your own body, like even your own skin was too tight. In moments such as this, your body took over your conscious mind and made decisions for you. All that you knew was that you needed to get away from these god forsaken crowds so that you could just be able to breathe if only for a moment. 

When you came too once more, it was to the feeling of cool air grazing the exposed skin your gown did not cover. The breeze was a welcome, distracting stimulus. Outside, it was finally quiet. A natural quiet accompanied by the gentle chirp of crickets and the rustle of leaves in the wind. The chatter of the party was muted in comparison. 

Now, able to collect your thoughts, you realized just how much of a mess the night had turned out to be. Not only had you been ridiculed by your fellow ladies, but Taehyung had managed to make your standing worse while trying to help you, and you had disgraced your brother. You hadn’t wanted this to begin with, this wasn’t entirely your fault. However, you could not ignore the nagging pull of guilt in your gut.

Despite what everyone else has claimed, you felt the furthest thing from a woman. You still felt much like a child.

Amidst your musings, a roll of laughter caught your attention. You came to a stop in the gardens and despite knowing how improper it was, you stayed hidden and peered around the corner as quietly as you could. You knew that laughter. 

It was Taehyung. 

He stood with a group of other men, all of them deeply engaged in conversation with one another to the point that you were unworried over being discovered in such a compromising position.

“I can’t believe you of all people have decided to settle down, the worst rake of us all!” One man laughed, his cheeks flushed from spirits. 

“Oh come off it, it comes for all of us eventually. I find myself quite satisfied with settling down, I have a lovely bride with a decent dowry. What more could I ask for?”

“Your freedom, perhaps?” That inspired another round of raucous laughter. 

You felt your stomach turn in disgust. Is this what these men thought of the women of society? As shackles that were inevitable but bearable so long as she has a pleasing face and figure and a large sum of money? Was that all you were, another piece on the board to be sacrificed for the hubris of man? This wasn’t what your mother had told you, your father and her had shared a love that came straight from fairytales. 

“And what of you, Taehyung? It’s about time isn’t it - you can only avoid it for so long?” The engaged man probed.

“I’m afraid the frantic mothers of the Ton will be waiting for a long time before I even consider laying down such a sacrifice.” Taehyung laughed. 

This you were not surprised by, he had reflected this very sentiment this morning in your drawing room. However, it did not soften the blow.

“Are you quite sure? You looked rather taken with Seokjin’s beloved sister, four dances - how scandalous!” They laughed as your skin burned in embarrassment. They were mocking you, mocking the standards every woman in that room upheld. You were suddenly finding them rather vile.

You waited with baited breath for Taehyung to come to your defense as he had promised before, to be your protector when you could not. 

His head tilted back as he pretended to be in thought before his eyes rolled dramatically, “I would never marry her or for that matter court her. Have you truly seen her? She is not the type of woman one finds themself wanting.”

The round of laughter and agreements that followed fell on your own deaf ears. In that moment you truly understood the meaning of heartbreak, there was no better way to explain the encompassing pain that was radiating from your already fragile heart. You had always known that it was a childish dream to believe that he would want you in the same way that you desired him. But to hear him admit it, to hear him laugh at the thought of it, to hear him mock your very appearance was the nail in the coffin. 

You were nothing more than a cruel joke, and with what he had said the damage was already done. Not only did Taehyung not want you, but he had also ensured that no one else would ever look at you with a modicum of desire. You were ruined.

Your hand fisted the fabric of your dress, clawing at where your heart would be. It did nothing to soothe your distress but your body was out of your own control at this point. All you could do was slump against the wall in complete distress. A night that was supposed to be joyful and celebrate your entering society, had turned into something from your worst nightmares. And you were the laughing stock of the Ton. You couldn’t bear to stick around and observe the aftermath, the hushed whispers, the barely contained laughs. You need to go, you need to disappear.

You hastily wiped away your tears, your makeup staining your once white gloves in the process but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You did your best to remain hidden, as you usually did, and stuck to the shadows and walls as you made your way back to the front of the estate. Just as you felt your impending freedom, a hand wrapped itself around your arm and jerked you to a stop.

“There you are!” Jin called, his voice relaxing with relief. “What in the world made you think it was a good idea to run off by yourself alone?”

A pitiful sniffle was your response and that was enough to make your brother frantic.

“You’re crying? Why are you crying, what happened to you?”

Your shoulders shook and your fists balled up in an effort to keep yourself composed. It was childish to keep crying the way that you were, you were supposed to be a lady. But you just couldn’t do it anymore, you couldn’t keep pretending. 

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around Jin, your forehead pressing into his shoulder. “I want to go, please.”

He stilled for a moment before he relaxed and held you in a comforting embrace, his hand gently smoothing the back of your hair. “I’ll call for a carriage and we’ll get you home, if anyone asks I will take responsibility for your absence.” 

“I don’t want to go home, I want to go to Whitepoint - I want to stay with our aunt.”

Jin was confused, you could see it plain as day on his face. “What has brought this on? You must tell me what has happened otherwise I cannot help you.”

“I can’t stay here any longer, I can’t handle all of these prying eyes waiting for me to fail or embarrass our family at any moment. I need to go.”

His face softened, “You could never embarrass me.”

“You and I both know that is untrue. I would love nothing more than to stay with you and mother, but I need this. I need more time, please, let me do this.” You begged.

There was a sadness in his eyes, one that told you that he had already accepted your terms but did not wish to see you go. Jin would do anything for you, no matter the request, even if it hurt him.

“How long will you be gone for?” He asks, clearing his throat in an attempt to hide the emotion that was bleeding into his words.

“I do not know yet, only time will tell.”

He nodded, solemnly, before leading you back to the front of the estate, his arm hooked into the crook of your elbow. He was silent as he waited with you and he did not speak again until your carriage arrived. He was looking at you with a sense of forlorning, like he knew that this would not be a visit contained to one season. He knew.

“What is that look for?” You asked.

“It is nothing, I was just realizing that we have never been apart since the day that you were born. I am now realizing how lonely it will be without you.”

“I am leaving first thing tomorrow, we still have breakfast.” You teased with a weak smile, you were still not fully recovered from the heartache deep in your chest.

“I just always thought I would have more time.” He mused.

Little did you know, he had been right to mourn your departure. The first time you had left your brother’s side was longer than you had anticipated and before you had realized it, years had melted away. 

~~~~~~~ 5 Years Later

“A letter has arrived for you, my lady.” Your maid called for you as she unsealed the envelope with a letter opener, “It is from your mother.” 

The pianoforte made a ghastly sound beneath your fingertips as you startled at the mention of your mother. The five years you had spent in isolation from the Ton had included your beloved brother as well as your mother. Your aunt had done her best to enforce the privacy that you had requested and this had included correspondence, all letters had been addressed to or intercepted by her and her alone at your request.

You cleared your throat and collected yourself, regaining the composure you had trained yourself into in the past years.

“You may take that to my aunt, Lilah, I have not corresponded with my mother in quite some time as you are aware.”

“My mistress has requested that I deliver this to you and you alone, my lady.” Lilah replied, placing the unsealed envelope on the top of the pianoforte, “I will give you your privacy, when you are ready to draft your response I will return.”

You stared after the maid’s retreating form. In any other house, her words and disposition would have been mistaken for disrespect. However, Lilah had been a faithful servant to your family since you were born, she being only eight years your senior. She truly had the best of intentions when it came to you, and she knew when to talk to you like the petulant child that you were being despite your age.

Your fingers trembled as you slid the stationary free from the envelope and began to read.

Dearest, 

It has been quite some time since you have been home. Your brother and myself have missed you deeply during this time that we have spent apart. Your dear aunt has told me of the woman that you are growing into, and I am deeply saddened that I have missed these defining years of your youth. Your brother and I have spoken often of your return, and as we approach your fifth season away from home we have come to a decision on the matter. While Seokjin was in firm agreement with your decision to leave home, I have made my stance on the matter very clear. While I hold little authority as dowager viscountess, I still hold much authority as you and your brother’s mother. It is upon my request with the approval of your brother, that you are to return home this season. 

While you may not think this to be so, I do understand the heavy burden that comes with being a woman in society. However, as your mother, I can no longer stand by and allow you to hide from your responsibilities in the country. I have listened to your brother long enough and I have given your aunt plenty of time to prepare you for your return to society. You are quickly approaching spinsterhood and it is now time to find you a suitable match. Your aunt has let me know your stance on this as well, and I regret to inform you that we are no longer in a position where we can wait. In spite of your aversion to marriage, I will be securing you a match by the end of the season whether you return home or not. However, if you decide to stay with your aunt in Whitepoint, you will have no input in the suitor that I choose for you. With this knowledge, I find that it will be in your best interest to return home at once.

Do not think me heartless, dearest. It is with a heavy heart that I have made this decision. Your brother and I have missed you and we both are doing this to ensure that you will be taken care of. And, selfishly, I knew that this would be the only way I would see you return home to me once more. I know that you will be angry and I know that you will be hurt, however, do know that we have tried to give you the most time that we could possibly afford. You have had five years now to explore your passions and grow, that is more than most women have ever been able to have. Your brother and I eagerly await your return.

With all my love,

Mother

The stationary crunched beneath your tight grasp as you finished reading. Foolishly, you had hoped that they would give up on you. That they would see that you had no desire to ever return to that god forsaken snake pit that would sooner devour you than see you be free. 

In your time away from home, your anger had grown hot. You had lost much of the youthful joy and zest for life that you had once possessed. Little did your mother know, you were every bit of the frustrated and frigid spinster that she feared you would become. That one horrible night had left you with quite the impression of men in society. You would sooner cut off your own ring finger than settle down with a man who viewed you as a set of shackles. You had no desire for marriage or even romantic companionship anymore. What faith you had once had, had shriveled and faded away.

In your eyes, this letter had been your own death sentence. There was no escaping this, not with your brother in agreement with your mother. And while you knew that you always had a home with your dearest aunt, she knew better than to act against a viscount and his mother. You were caught in a trap that you desperately wished to gnaw your way out of.

You had countless worries regarding your return home, and chief among them was seeing him again, Taehyung. The childish crush you had once harbored for him had died long ago. Where there had once been warmth in your heart for him, there now stood a frigid and bitter winter. You had no desire to ever see him again and in your time away from home you had made it clear that you wished to never hear of him again. 

Shortly after you had left, he had sent a letter to your aunt’s estate. You had been curious when the first letter arrived, but you were so heartbroken that you refused to read a single one of his letters. And with the amount of letters that arrived, you had forged an intense stubborn nature. You had initially been startled by the volume and speed with which they arrived, but now in your fifth year you had little interest in them any longer. You were certain Taehyung was unaware of your presence that night he had ruined you, and you were certain he was unaware as to why you refused to answer him. And that man being as stubborn as you were just would not quit.

That was of little consequence to you, in your eyes, any connection you had once had to him was dead. But still, you were intensely disturbed by the idea of having to see him again. If you had it your way you would live a long life and die before that was even in the realm of possibility. 

But now, you were left with little say in the matter, not with your mother calling, no, demanding you return home.

You rose from the bench with a growl of frustration, the crumpled letter falling pathetically to the ground. You quickly marched to the entrance of the parlor and sought out your maid. 

“Lilah!” You called.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Draft a response to my mother, let her know that I will be returning in a week’s time.” You instructed.

“A week’s time? You will miss the debut ball.”

“I am well aware, luckily I am no longer a debutante therefore my presence is no longer required. There will be other balls that I shall not escape.”

“Your mother will be displeased, it does not matter if you are not a debutante, this signifies the beginning of the season and a good impression is a lasting impression.”

“This is the impression that I desire. My mother knows of my aversion to marriage but wishes that I play along with the desires of the Ton. My absence will assure them once more that I have little care for the marriage market. If I am to return against my will then I will play this game my own way.”

“And by your own way, you mean self sabotage?”

“I am glad you have caught on, Lilah. My mother seems to believe that she can secure a match for me whether I am willing or not. However, I think she will find it difficult to secure a match for someone who lacks suitors.”

“And however do you think you will manage to escape the season without a suitor?” She asked, finally matching your pace and fixing you with a disapproving look you were not at all unfamiliar with.

That flare of anger fanned in your chest again, “It was not a problem my first season, I do not expect it to become one now. But, on the off chance it were, I believe that my persisting scandal will be a sufficient deterrent.”

“And if all else fails?” She probed. 

“Well, then we rely on my dazzling personality.” You replied sarcastically. Your “dazzling” personality was as prickly as a cactus. As your final defense, it would work well against any curious suitors.

“May I speak plainly, my lady?”

“Of course.”

“Do you think that, perhaps, you are taking this a touch too far? You act as if you are to be hanged.”

“The bonds of marriage are not that different from the constriction of a noose,” You joked in poor taste, “I have seen too many good women become nothing more than a man’s wife. That itself is a tragedy on its own. The Ton knew before I did that I was not suited for marriage, and now that is something that we can agree on. My mother will soon realize that too.”

“It seems you have forgotten where you and your brother have gotten your stubborn nature from. Your mother is a force to be reckoned with, one that you have had the fortune of avoiding for your entire life. I think that you will find this ordeal will not be as easy as you thought it would be.”

“Has anyone ever told you how comforting you are, Lilah?” 

“As often as you have heard about your dazzling personality, my lady.”

~~~~~~~

Your last week in Whitepoint passed faster than you had wished it too. The sleepy coastal town had been a source of comfort for you during your time there. The smell of the sea still clung to your clothes and soothed your frazzled nerves as you endured the carriage ride home. The skin around your nails was irritated and raw from your constant picking, an unfortunate outlet for the intense affliction you had. Still, the minor cosmetic issue was better than the past episodes you had endured: spells of shortness of breath and near fainting. 

A hiss of pain escaped your lips as Lilah swatted your hand with her fan, “Forgive me, my lady, but it would be best to kick that habit now before your mother becomes privy to it.”

You rubbed the sore spot on your hand before sliding your gloves back on, “And I suppose you intend to beat the habit out of me?”

“If I must, and if you insist on disfiguring yourself.” She replied with a sly smile. “There is nothing to fear, your brother and your mother are waiting for you.”

“And if I know my mother, I wouldn’t be surprised if she dragged some poor unsuspecting lord along with her.” You scoffed.

“Do you really think your brother would allow that?”

“Well, he has seemingly joined my mother’s scheming. At this point, I am uncertain as to what his intentions are as well. So much can change in the matter of a year, that and much more can be said for five years.” You sighed, relaxing into the velvet seat. “I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if he is using my marriage status as a diversion from his own.”

“Could he not simply have your best interests at heart?” Lilah suggested.

“While Seokjin is the head of our household, he still is my brother. He would sooner turn me over to our mother than face her wrath.” You replied with a pointed look.

That overwhelming, inexplicable feeling was rising in your chest again as the peaks of familiar townhouses came into view. You weren’t much farther from home, from here on out it would be a short ride. 

You leaned your head back and attempted to collect yourself. You were no longer a little girl who once hid behind her mother’s skirts. And you were no longer the young lady that you had been before that fateful night. You were a woman, composed, intelligent, and resourceful. You were going to make it out of this no matter what.

The familiar scent of wisteria pulled you from your reverie, the carriage halting to a stop. It was now or never. 

The door swung open and the footman helped you exit. Your gloved hands brushed down the satin of your skirt in a refined manner as you made your way back inside your childhood home. Nothing had changed, while the time you had spent away seemed like ages ago, it had not been enough time for anything to truly change. Even the staff was the same, your mother’s faithful butler guiding you to the drawing room with a gentle smile and a compliment as to how much you had grown.

You had barely even entered the room before your mother’s presence was made known. She laid her needlework to the side and rushed to you in a rather unladylike manner before wrapping you in a tight and warm embrace.

“Dearest!” She cried, guiding your head to rest in the nook of her shoulder as she pressed her lips to your forehead. “How I’ve missed you, there, there, let me have a look at you.”

Her hands pressed against your shoulders, guiding you back as she took you in from head to toe. “Look at you, oh how you have grown into yourself.”

You suppressed a flinch, those familiar words echoing in the back of your mind. Promises and laughter over how you still had time to grow into your features. Always the ugly duckling and never the swan. 

“Thank you, mother. I’ve missed you.” You managed to smile. You had missed her, in spite of everything there was little she could do that would make you resent her. Of course, forcing you into a marriage was a step in the wrong direction for your relationship. However, so far there were no suitors hiding around the corner.

“Your brother and I are so happy you have you home again.” She hummed before taking hold of your gloved hands in her own. “We have planned lunch and a promenade by the river to welcome you home!”

“A promenade?” You echoed, your nerves firing back to life, “It has been a long journey home, perhaps we could save that for tomorrow instead?”

“Oh, nonsense! You were cooped up in that carriage all day. It will do you some good to stretch your legs and get some fresh air. The same could be said for that brother of yours, always hidden in that study of his. I swear, if I didn’t force him to leave he would spend the rest of his life drowning in papers there.”

That didn’t sound like the Seokjin that you knew. Of course you remembered how consumed he would become in his work, but he had always managed to find time for you and your mother. He never missed a meal and he never sent you to bed without a proper goodnight. Perhaps some things had truly changed in your absence. 

“Perhaps I should go and save him then,” You suggested, stepping out of her embrace, “I suppose his study is right where I left it?” You teased. 

Your mother laughed, shooing you away with satin gloved hands, “You tease too much! Go and fetch your brother, I’ll see to our transportation. And dearest, it is so good to have you home.”

You delayed for a moment, frozen by the archway in the parlor. It was good to see happiness on your mother once more. Even when you had lived at home, those moments were fleeting. It was nice to know that your return was the reason, outside of the circumstances that lead you back home. 

“It is good to be home,” You lied with a smile.

You made haste to your brother’s study, your skirts clutched in your fists as you ran down the hallway like you were a child once more. While you had changed so much, you could not deny the giddy joy that thrummed in your bones from the sight of those familiar hallways. You knew every nook and cranny, every good hiding spot, and every creaky floorboard. You came to a halt in front of a set of familiar doors and rapped your fist against the wood.

A voice, louder and angrier than you expected, called back, “I remember telling you I wish to not be disturbed!”

Your temper flared and your body moved without your command, shoving those doors open and marching into a dimly lit study, “After all this time, that is how you wish to greet your dearest sister?!”

The furious look on your brother’s face melted away, quickly being replaced by one of surprise. He stared at you for a moment, dumbfounded, before he rose so fast he knocked his chair back and circled his desk. 

You wheezed as he wrapped you in a tight embrace, his chin resting on the top of your head as he held you close like he was afraid you would disappear again. 

“Well now, that’s more like it.” You said softly, patting his shoulders before stepping away.

“Look at you, you’ve gone and grown up without me.” He whispered in awe.

“I wouldn’t say that, you look ages older than I remember.” You grinned.

“Excuse you! I am trying to be sentimental and you are making a mockery of my kindness, you petulant brat!”

“It’s good to see you too, Seokjin.” You smiled. 

“I want to know everything, what you have done since I have last seen you, what you have studied, all of it.”

“Well have no fear dear brother, we will have plenty to discuss over lunch and during our promenade.” You replied.

“Promenade?” He repeated, a look of dread washing over his once happy features. 

“It is inescapable, I am afraid. Mother’s orders. I tried my best to get us out of it, but she is having none of it. I believe this is part of her scheme to find a suitor, a scheme I am sure you are well aware of.”

His dread deepended, “It was not my idea,”

“Of course not, but I am sure it was a welcome distraction from your own duties was it not?”

“...Let’s not fight your first day back. I believe you mentioned a promenade?” He replied, evading answering your question as he offered you his arm, guiding you back towards the foyer where your mother waited.

~~~~~~~

You released another tired sigh as you walked alongside your mother, Seokjin behind the two of you, suddenly interested in the scenery as he avoided your conversation all together. 

Your mother had taken this opportunity to update you on all of the Tons gossip that you had missed during your time at Whitepoint. You were already beginning to miss the crisp seaside air.

“...and they married awfully fast, you know. Soon after they announced her pregnancy and then the infant was born premature but I assure you, that was the largest infant I have ever seen, premature or not!” Your mother’s voice whispered in your ear, delighted by the insinuation she was making.

“How scandalous,” You dryly remarked.

“Indeed!” She laughed.

A pleasant silence fell between you, although it did not last long. “Darling, I know that you have only just arrived, but I find it would be beneficial for us to discuss the delicate issue at hand.”

“You mean my marriage, or rather, the lack of such.”

“Well, yes, precisely,” She stuttered at your forwardness, “As I have mentioned in our correspondence, I am doing this out of love for you. Moving forward, it would be best if the three of us are all on the same page in regards to potential suitors.”

“Seokjin has left us, mother.”

She immediately came to a stop, whipping her head back and forth in a rather uncouth and unladylike manner as she searched for her missing son.

“How I hate it when he does that!” She exclaimed, spotting him a great distance away conversing with several other gentlemen of which you were familiar with. They had long been a part of your brother’s inner circle, something that you had only ever been an observer of.

Your mother’s eyes focused on the men beside your brother as she took hold of your forearm, leaning close to speak to you. “There are several viable options before you, darling.”

You cringed at the thought of courting one of your brother’s friends. You had experience with yearning for the attention of one of them before and you had been burned greatly as a result. It would not do you any good to cause any discord amongst his companions as you had already accomplished. Even now, he was not among them.

“Lord Kim would be a good choice,” Your mother mused and your heart stopped. It took you a moment to realize she was not talking about Taehyung, but Namjoon. “He comes from a good lineage and is rather brilliant from what I have heard, he could be a decent match for your own wit. However, he is notorious for avoiding settling down. He has not had even a single scandal that could allude to any possible relationship. He is so very much like your brother in that regard.”

“Forgive me mother, but if you could refrain from comparing potential suitors to my own brother I would be grateful.” 

“Oh dear me, you are right!” She winced, realizing her own folly. 

There was nothing wrong with Namjoon. In fact he was incredibly handsome, intelligent, and respectful in the few moments the two of you had crossed paths. He would not be a bad option, the issue was with you. You could not trust any of them - men. They spoke words slathered with honey to ladies, but the moment they congregated the most filthsome, lecherous, words left their mouths. You would not surrender yourself to a marriage wherein your own gender would be the basis for such foul thoughts. It was not Namjoon’s fault, but the men of society as a whole.

“Lord Jeon is the youngest among them, you are both the same age now that I think of it. The poor thing is rather timid though, no one has ever seen him ask a lady to dance. It may take too much time and effort to capture his interest. Not that you aren’t capable, darling!” 

Jungkook, you knew him as well. Even now, those large brown doe eyes looked around in such curiosity like he was seeing the world for the first time. Your brother adored him, like he was his own little brother. If you had been seriously considering your mother’s demands, in another life, you likely would have chosen him. He was sweet, kind, and he adored your mother and brother. But deep down in your soul, you knew you couldn’t even trust him. You had resigned yourself to this fate, you would not marry, not even a sweet boy such as he.

“Ah, and there is Lord Park, I am sure you are familiar. He was close friends with Taehyung after all.”

Of course you remembered him. He was there that night too, he had not said anything but you remembered how he had laughed at your expense. That smile on his lips was enough to send rage flooding through your veins as the sight of his face once more.

“Such a sweet cherubic face, he has had many ladies vying for his attention since you’ve been gone. He does, however, have quite the reputation of a rake. I do find, in my personal experience, that reformed rakes can make the best husbands.”

You made a disgusted choke in response to your mother’s statement. You dread to think about what she had been insinuating about your father in his youth. 

“Mother, that is hardly appropriate-”

“And of course there is Lord Jung! He is such a charming young man, and what a sweet smile! There would be no winning in that marriage, one smile and he would get absolutely everything he wants! He has not a single scandal to his name, the biggest mystery about him is how he hasn’t been snatched up yet, especially with such a prestigious family!”

You had no quarrel with Hoseok either. That was mainly attributed to how little you knew of him. Your brother only had the nicest things to say about him, then again, you had never heard him utter a negative word against any of his inner circle. Besides Taehyung, of course. You were sure Hoseok would find a wonderful wife one day, one who suited him perfectly. However, that would not be you. 

“And lastly, Lord Min. The Ton knows so little of him, he tends to keep to himself. He has an air of mystery surrounding him, especially considering he is the only Min left to carry the title, how tragic! Now, if you want my opinion I do think he may be older than I would like for you. It may be in your best interest to find someone closer in age to you, that should ensure a longer marriage.”

Perhaps you would toy with the idea of allowing your mother to think you held any interest in Yoongi - if she insisted you marry, it would be quite comical to target someone she was explicitly telling you that fell low on her list of prospective suitors. 

While you held no intention of marrying, you supposed you and Yoongi were the best match personality wise. You had heard from your brother that, much like yourself, Yoongi never intended to marry either. A marriage of convenience would not be too horrible, you could consider that your final plan should all else fail. If everything went sideways, this would be a mutually beneficial plot.

“It appears you have put much thought into your pursuits, mother.”

“Of course, darling. I have had five years to plan, did you really think I would let all of that time go to waste? I can assure you, come the end of the season we will have secured you the perfect match.” 

“Splendid,” You replied with a pained grin. 

“Lady Kim!” A familiar voice called causing both yourself and your mother to turn, unsure of which of you were being addressed.

“Oh, Lady Jeon!” Your mother called in equal excitement.

Your mother had been friends with Lady Jeon for quite some time, but it appeared that they had grown even closer than you remembered since you had left for Whitepoint. How curious. 

Scheming. 

“How good it is to see you,” Lady Jeon smiled at your mother before she took notice of you, 

“And my, look how you have grown into such a beautiful woman! It is so good to have you back my dear.” Lady Jeon said with a gentle squeeze of your hand. 

You smiled in spite of the burn her compliment left, “It is good to be home.”

“And how has your son been fairing, Lady Jeon?” Your mother asked, incredibly conspicuously as her eyes darted between yourself and the aforementioned lady. 

“Oh! My Jungkookie-”

You waited for a moment, watching as the two of them became enraptured in their conversation before you made your escape. When they were good and well distracted, you edged away from them before fully turning your back and escorting yourself on your own promenade - far away from scheming mothers and potential suitors. 

Foolishly, deep down you had hoped that your mother would forgo her efforts to see you married once you returned home. If anything, you had hoped her desire to see her daughter return to her family estate would overpower those wishes. You were once more reminded that hope was for fools.

The biggest issue that had presented itself was what your next steps would be. You were certain that a ball was unavoidable, your presence would have to be made especially now that you were under the watchful gaze of your mother. Your skin crawled at the thought, your last ball had ended so dreadfully. You could only hope that the scandal that surrounded yourself, and your family by extension, would be enough to ward off any more interaction with any members of the Ton. But it seemed that Lady Jeon was not frightened by any potential scandal, she would be one you would have to watch out for.

A soft call of your name had you halt in your steps. You knew that voice, you would never be able to forget that voice. The way it sounded when it laughed, or teased you, or soothed you. And the way it had taken your heart and torn it to shreds the moment you had given it away.

He repeated it again. You could hear his steps coming closer to you, you could sense his body drawing nearer. 

“My dearest?” He asked, his words heavy with emotion that surprised you although you did not let it show. 

It would be improper to ignore him in front of all of these people. It would make you look cold, callous, and plain rude. In any other circumstance you would not care, but with your mother so close by you had little choice in how you composed yourself. You would have to face him.

You took in a sharp breath before finally turning and facing him. 

He was just as handsome as he had been the last time you had seen him, that would never change. However, he did look different. More mature and, surprisingly, solemn. There were deep, tired circles beneath his eyes and a barely concealed tremble in his lips. There was a certain cruel joy that churned in your gut at the sight, a true expression of schadenfreude.

“Mr. Kim, it’s nice to see you.” Your tone said anything but. You watched as his mouth twisted at the title - you had never called him that. 

There was an unnatural stretch of silence before he spoke. “You have been gone for some time now.”

He too was aware of the public’s presence. And even after all of this time had passed you knew what he was truly saying: you vanished without saying goodbye.

“I have,” You agreed, “The time was quite necessary, everyone should take a break from the Ton now and again.” Your words were plain, completely lacking the banter the two of you had once shared. You were speaking to him as you would any other lord you had met for the first time. You could see the frustration burning inside of him. 

“I wrote to you,” He finally said, slightly breaking his decorum as he lowered his voice to a hushed whisper, “Several letters for five years and not once did I receive a reply.”

You hummed in response, snapping your fan shut. “I am aware, I thought I was doing you a favor by not responding, you know. I wouldn’t want you to waste precious time and ink on someone such as myself. Someone that a man such as yourself would not ever find wanting.”

A look of confusion fell over his face, his gaze flicking from left to right before going still as realization dawned. The color drained from his face, his tense jaw falling slack. You internally preened at the sight.

“I bid you a good day, Mr. Kim,” You nodded, properly - politely, before turning your back on him and resuming your promenade.

Leaving him like that, mouth open and pale in the face, had left you with a certain sense of satisfaction. However, it was not enough. You were greedy in this manner. You wanted to see him suffer, you wanted to see him beg for forgiveness. You wanted him to be entirely at your mercy. It would not be enough until he was on his knees and even then you would never consider the possibility of forgiving him for his transgressions.

You had only made it a few steps away before a firm hand was wrapped around your bicep and you were being tugged off of the path and into the cover of the trees. You let out a sharp yelp as you lost your footing. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who had taken hold of you. 

“Are you mad?!” You gasped, smacking Taehyung’s hand off of you, “Have you not done enough damage? Do you seek to embarrass myself and my family further by creating another scandal that we cannot afford?”

“No one has seen, I need to speak with you.” 

“And you are certain of this? Just as certain as you were that night when I stumbled upon your lecherous foolish companions?”

“You were not meant to hear that!” He yelled, the sudden volume of his voice causing you to flinch back. In your long friendship not once had he ever raised his voice at you. This was new, there was a desperate look in his eyes that made your stomach twist in unease. 

“But I did,” You said, your voice far calmer than his as your fists balled up at your sides, “If you were truly that embarrassed of me, then you could have ended our friendship a long time ago. What you did was unbelievably cruel. I thought that while that place was teeming with wolves, I had one companion who would be at my side to fend them off. But, in truth, you despise me just as much as they did. You saw me as an annoying pest you had to put up with, one that was so undesirable it had to be made known to the entirety of the Ton.”

“Do you truly believe that is what I think of you? After all of the moments we shared?” He asked, his dark brows drawing together in blatant confusion that stirred your embers of anger once more.

“Of course I do! I heard the very words come from your mouth! What more do I need to hear?”

“You don’t understand, I was doing that to pro-”

“What is the meaning of this?” A new voice emerged, cutting off whatever Taehyung was trying to say. It was Seokjin, and the look on his face was one that made your back stiffen and your heart thud. 

“It is nothing, brother. Let’s return to our mother.” You answered, moving to come to his side. 

“This is not nothing, what is he doing here with you, unchaperoned?!” He hissed, “I should kill him!”

“Enough! You are overreacting, it was a simple conversation between old friends, nothing more!” You raised your voice as you moved to stand in front of him and block his path. 

“He aims to dishonor you,” Jin replied, his gaze still trained on the man behind you, “As he has before, you are to stay far away from him, do you understand me?”

You bristled at the instruction. It was as if he did not trust you rather than Taehyung. And while you knew, logically, that was the furthest thing from the truth, you did not appreciate the insinuation that you would fall victim to your old friend’s charms as so many other ladies had before you. In that moment, you were also reminded of your brother’s status as Viscount, especially with the commanding aura he had grown in your absence.

“Trust me brother, that will not be a problem.” You nodded in agreement despite the annoyance you felt. “Again, I bid you a good day, Mr. Kim.”

Taehyung had fallen uncharacteristically silent. There was an angry and bitter look on his face as his jaw clenched and his hands flexed into fists. He lowered his gaze to the ground, refusing to meet your brother’s stern and watchful eyes. 

Something had happened here, something you had not been privy to. You had not been blind to this five years ago, the strained manner in which your brother spoke of one of his oldest friends the night everything had fallen apart. He had been trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy at the time, but his true feelings had successfully bled through. 

You struggled to match your brother’s pace as he hastily guided you back onto the path and in view of the other families on their promenade. Your curiosity was unquenchable. 

“What happened between the two of you, Jin?” You asked, trying to meet his gaze which he was steadily avoiding. “I know something has happened, once you would have trusted Taehyung like he was a part of our family and now you hold contempt for him.”

“Nothing has happened.” He replied, his voice flat and unconvincing. 

“Do you take me for a fool? I am not the child that I once was, I know that something has changed and I deserve to know what it is!”

“It is none of your concern!” He snapped, his fury now redirected to you. 

An uncomfortable silence settled between the two of you. The both of you were unflinching, awaiting the other to submit. 

“I don’t know who you have become in my absence, Seokjin. But the man that stands before me is not my brother.” You could see the anger visibility melt from his face and be replaced with regret. “While you may be the viscount, you are still my brother. It will do you well to remember to never raise your voice at me. Remember, I have no issue with my spinsterhood and if I so wished I could return to Whitepoint this very instant. If you wish to avoid another scandal, as you seem to be so worried about, it would do you well to treat me with the respect that I have always held for you.”

His response was one you had not been expecting. 

His gaze softened and a smile pulled at the corners of his lips. “You have grown so much.”

You smothered your own grin that was attempting to rise. “I should hope so.”

“Forgive me, sister, I have forgotten myself. It has not been easy with you gone and I am afraid I have grown fearful of what will happen to you now that you have returned to my care. I merely wish to protect you, whether that be from the prying eyes of the Ton or the hands of any potential suitors our mother may throw at you.”

This was the problem with Seokjin. You could never stay mad at him for long. He was the closest thing you had to a father and despite everything else, deep down you merely wished to please him. You wanted him to be proud of you.

“I understand, however, you must know that I am capable of taking care of myself. I am not quite so delicate as you seem to believe I am. I need you to trust me in the same manner that I trust you. Can I rely on you to do that?” 

“Of course, no matter what may come, you will always have my trust.” He promised with a sincere smile that you remembered well. 

Whatever may come your way, you were confident that your brother would always be at your side. Seokjin silently held out his arm, a peace offering between the two of you. With a grin you hooked your arm through his and allowed him to escort you back to your mother. 

However, you could not ignore the feeling of someone watching you. 

For a moment you allowed yourself to glance back over your shoulder. He was still there, he had been watching the entirety of your interaction with your brother, and still he was watching you. You couldn’t ignore the sudden twist in your gut, the sense that something was horribly wrong, that this would be one of your final moments of peace before the storm arrived. 

The look in his eyes was enough to send a chill throughout your body. They were dark, needy, and calculating. Whatever it was that Taehyung wanted, it was not over. Speaking with you had not been enough, you knew that there was still more to come. And even as you turned your head and focused your gaze ahead of you, you could still feel him there. 

He was watching you. 

~~~~~~~

While you were aware that this would be unavoidable, preparing for a ball was enough of an inconvenience that it has your stomach in knots and a sheen of perspiration across your forehead. You simply could not forget just how horribly your last ball had ended, and the reaction you were having was beyond frustrating. 

You were not that young girl anymore, you need not care what the Ton thinks - their opinions do not matter to you. However, they matter greatly to your mother as well as your brother. You were under tremendous stress, you would have to present yourself properly for their sake while simultaneously avoiding any situations that could result in the attention of the opposite sex. It would be a delicate balance between your propriety and your desire to maintain your spinsterhood.

“Honestly milady, we will never be ready on time if this persists.” Lilah exclaimed, rapidly fanning your face and neck with a hand fan. “You are sweating through all of your rouge!”

“Forgive me Lilah but the rouge is the least of my worries at the moment.” You replied, your hand resting on your chest to feel the shaky expand of your lungs as you attempted to calm your breathing.

Lilah paused her frantic fanning for a moment, pressing her hands against your exposed shoulders and forcing you to sit down at your vanity.  Your posture slowly began to relax as her fingers soothed over your hair, delicately organizing it into the style she had chosen for the night. Lilah, like the older sister you had never had, often knew just how to soothe you when you needed it. Years of companionship had allowed for this. 

“While I may not agree with your methods nor your reasoning, I understand why you wish to maintain your freedom,” Lilah’s voice had grown soft, “You are the strongest, most hard headed lady that I have the privilege of knowing. It takes much more than a simple ball to have you cowering in a corner. Now, stiffen that steel spine of yours and take pride in yourself, you are the Viscount’s sister after all.” 

Leave it to Lilah to put you in your place. 

You gave her an amused smile, fixing your posture as you spoke, “How foolish of me to have forgotten my place.”

“Foolish indeed,” She mumbled under her breath with a shake of her head. Her faux frustration was easy to see through as she actively fought against the grin that attempted to spread across her lips. 

“Darling, are you just about ready to depart?” Your mother called as she rushed into your room. 

“As ready as I shall ever be,” You mumbled as you rose from your vanity. 

You stood before your floor length mirror, inspecting yourself before you departed. It had taken you a long while to become comfortable in front of a mirror again after that dreadful night. And even now despite your ability to peer into the looking glass, you could only maintain eye contact with yourself for intervals at a time. You could settle with looking at the gown.

It was lovely, as all creations of the modist were. The gown was made of sapphire blue silk with black chiffon draped over the top. Black and deep blue gemstones had been sewn into the bodice and the sleeves of the gown as well as the black gloves that concealed your hands and arms. The gown shone like the midnight sky by firelight. It was a drastic change compared to your debutante gown that held the charm of a young girl freshly introduced to society. This gown was mature, the color reflective of the mourning of the girl you once were.

“Very well then,” You exclaimed, stiffening your spine and lowering your shoulders, “let us face the wolves.”

~~~~~~~

Unlike that night, Jin was your faithful guard dog. His presence was so intimidating to potential suitors that it left you completely grateful and your mother utterly distressed.

“Dearest,” Your mother begged, “Won’t you give your sister and I some time to each other?”

A mischievous grin spread over your brother’s face, “We’ve only just been reunited and you wish to separate me from my dear family, mother?”

A stern look settled on her features, “Very well, then I am sure you will have no qualms with acquainting yourself with the ladies of the Ton as your sister and I plan to this evening?”

A look passed between you and your brother. You were surprised by the lack of irritation that you were once familiar with. In the time that had passed, Seokjin had grown better at concealing his true emotions. However, you knew him too well. There was a look in his eyes that told you that he had his own scheme at play. 

He let out an exaggerated sigh, one that had you and your mother’s eyebrows raising, “Very well then, I suppose I shall make myself scarce and allow you ladies to mingle.”

“That’s the spirit, dear.” Your mother smiled, the smile of a cat that caught the canary.

The two of you melted into the crowd, Seokjin disappearing from your sight with one last comforting smile and a nod of his head. 

What was he playing at?

Everything was a blur around you, bodies ghosted by with no distinct features. You were too absorbed by your own thoughts, the steady prattle of your mother nothing more than a low hum in your ears that bled into the soft cry of the instruments of the orchestra that filled the ball room. 

He had been too calm, the calmest you had ever seen. Did he intend to truly help you? To not pawn you off to the man with the highest status and deepest pockets? Seokjin would never outright defy the will of your mother, but the love he had for you was enough to soothe the steady buzz of your nerves. 

You grasped your gloves hands together tightly, ceasing the nervous picking at your concealed nails. You needed to get it together, for your own sake.

“Dearest, is that not Taehyung headed our way? And rather quickly too.”

Your mother’s voice shattered your concentration, your head jerking up and snapping from side to side before you caught sight of him. Lo and behold, it was indeed him. How clever of him to approach you in a place where you would not be permitted to run from him. Oh, how you loathed him. 

He looked more put together than the last time you had seen him, his clothes pristine and his hair styled. But those sleepless circles were still present beneath his eyes. The smile on his lips was still charming, but strained. His shoulders were heavy and strung tight with tension that he could not hide, not from you who could read him so well. 

Your mother, who had not been oblivious to the scandal he had caused the last time you had been to a ball, tensed beside you, her fingers tightening their hold around your arm. 

“Taehyung,” She greeted, her smile visibly strained, “How good it is to see you again.”

You pressed your lips together in frustration, your expression anything but welcoming. As if tonight wasn’t hard enough, he had blatantly ignored your brother’s and your own warnings to stay far away from you. This was another complication you did not need. 

“Indeed, it is good to see you as well Viscountess,” He nodded, his dark eyes piercing into you.

“And to what do we owe the pleasure?” Your mother asked, maintaining the pretense of a pleasant conversation.

“Well, I was hoping to ask your daughter for a dance,”

No, not again.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Miss. Kim has promised me her first dance of the night.” A low voice called from behind the three of you.

You turned your head, startled by the close proximity of a person you had not sensed before. Tall stature, deep dimples. Kim Namjoon.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, Taehyung’s expression flickered between surprise and something darker, something like envy. Your mother’s face lit up in what could only be described as pure and unadulterated joy.

You remained silent, allowing Namjoon’s lie to unfold between the four of you. You were intrigued to see where this would go, especially if it would get you away from the man you had sworn off for the rest of your life.

Taehyung smiled once more, another strained one, “Perhaps her second dance then.”

Namjoon whistled, a playful gleam in his eyes as he spoke with Taehyung, “I don’t know about that, from what I have heard Miss Kim’s dance card is quite full this evening.”

What.

You couldn’t look now, it would give away whatever ruse Namjoon was playing.

“Miss Kim, would you give me the honor of leading you in your first dance back home?” Namjoon asked, holding out his hand for you to take with a charming smile.

You attempted to ignore the soft squeal your mother barely managed to muffle as you placed your gloved hand in his, “I would be delighted to, Lord Kim.”

His smile deepened and so did those deadly dimples of his. You may have sworn off men, but you were not blind. Kim Namjoon was as dangerous to your heart as he was attractive. You could feel the warmth of his skin seeping through your glove, attempting to invade your frigid flesh. Did he know how dangerous he was to a spinster such as yourself? The rascal surely did.

You followed Namjoon, your arm tucked into the crook of his elbow as you approached the dance floor which was already bustling with bright faced young girls whose dresses spun dramatically across the floor in a blur of colors.

Once you were certain you had escaped Taehyung’s watchful gaze, you dared to peek at the dance card around your wrist and sure enough, every slot had been filled with names that were incredibly familiar to you. 

Jin.

“I hope you will be able to forgive myself and the others, your brother can be incredibly persuasive when he wants to be.” Namjoon sheepishly said, moving in front of you to initiate your dance. 

“Persuasiveness is one thing, I never thought he would dare to pre-pen down unwilling partners on my dance card,” You said, your voice cool and your gaze steely.

Namjoon was not intimidated, meeting your harsh gaze head on. You jolted in shock at the feeling of his palm resting in between your shoulder blades, his other hand grasping yours gently. You willed the tingling sensation between his palm and your back to dissipate, now was not the time to be swayed by baser instincts. You had a mission to attend to.

“Unwilling, Miss. Kim? How misinformed you are,” He laughed, breaking apart from you for just a moment to expertly guide you in a spin, “While it may have been your brother’s idea, we are all willing participants in his scheme.”

“And why should I believe that, Lord Kim? One does not agree to something which does not benefit them as well.” 

He was quiet for a moment, his warm eyes scanning your features as he thought, “While the rest of us may not have had the opportunity to know you as well as others, you are our dearest friends sister and that means something to all of us. When asked to protect you, there was no hesitation on any of our parts. And, it is never a problem to share a dance with a beautiful lady.”

You could feel heat rush to warm your face at his remark. While you did not believe him for a moment, there was something refreshing about hearing someone call you beautiful rather than remarking about how much you had finally grown into yourself. With his statement, there was no insinuation that you never were beautiful. 

Kim Namjoon, what a rascal. 

But there was something else about what he said that had caught your attention, “Whatever do you mean about protecting me?”

A look of shock crossed his once confident features. He had made a folly, said something that he was not supposed to say. However, he was saved as the music ceased and the dance came to an end. You, however, were not ready to back down. 

“Excuse me, Namjoon, but I believe I was promised a dance as well.” Another voice interjected. 

And there stood Min Yoongi, a playful smirk just barely tugging at the corner of his mouth. Oh, he was trouble indeed.

“Of course, don’t let me keep you waiting Yoongi.” Namjoon said before retreating, a grateful expression on his face as he was given the opportunity to avoid your line of questioning. 

“Miss. Kim, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance after such a long time,” Yoongi said with a slight bow of his head, “While my name is on your dance card, I am hoping you will still allow me to ask for a dance?”

How was he so capable of saying the right things to pluck at your heartstrings? Rascals, all of them.

“But of course,” You agreed before beginning your next dance. “I was hoping you could enlighten me, Lord Min.”

“Hm, perhaps I could,” He replied, pretending to mull it over. 

“Your friend mentioned something about all of you offering your protection over me, could you do me the service of explaining just what exactly that entails?”

Yoongi’s dark eyes snapped straight to your own, the irises shaking ever so slightly as he thought over what he would say before his lips finally parted and he spoke, “I believe that you have every right to know what is going on. My loyalties, however, do lie with your brother.”

Ah, he was bound to secrecy then. Well, he wouldn’t break any oath if you simply figured it out on your own. 

“This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with Kim Taehyung, would it?” You asked.

“Perceptive,” He hummed, “Yes, it does.”

“Well you and your friends and my brother need not worry, I plan to stay far away from Taehyung. I have no interest in any suitors this season, if I had it my way I would not even be here in the first place.”

“While I can appreciate our shared perspectives, I will tell you that it is not you, your brother and I are worried about. It’s Taehyung.” 

“Taehyung is as harmless as a fly, his greatest weapon is his words.”

Yoongi’s brows drew together in frustration, a look of concern evident in his gaze. “I am afraid that you are gravely mistaken. In all of the time we have spent with Taehyung, we have never known him to be harmless. Coincidentally, his behavior has worsened since you left all of those years ago. There is cause for our concern not only for your reputation, but your safety as well.”

You were immediately taken aback by his words. Not only your reputation, but your safety as well? In all the time that you had known Taehyung, he would never have done anything to harm you. If anything, he would have put himself in harm's way before he ever let anything happen to you. But Yoongi was right. Something about him was different, something had changed since you’ve been gone. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he had been replaced by a sinister counterpart.

“If I am truly in so much danger, don’t you think that I deserve to know what is going on?” You asked, searching his gaze for a sliver of an answer. 

“Of course I do,” He replied, his voice lower and softer than before, “But the last thing we want is for you to be frightened. Please, allow us to carry this burden for you.”

The music ceased but there was no sign of relief on Yoongi’s face as you came to a stop. Before your next partner could whisk you away he gave your hand a gentle squeeze, his fingers trailing against yours slowly before they separated. You felt strangely cold with the absence of his touch. 

“Be on guard, Miss. Kim.” He advised with a nod before he left. 

There was a sickening sour sensation in your gut, one that had you feeling seasick. What could Taehyung have done that was so bad that it turned all of his friends against him? That look Yoongi had given you, it wasn’t commanding, it had been pleading. Begging you not to open Pandora’s box and live in ignorance and bliss.

“Good evening Miss. Kim,” A chipper voice announced themself. 

Jung Hoseok, how like him. 

“Hello sir,” You greeted with a sly grin as his forehead wrinkled in annoyance. 

“Sir? How long have we known each other? I think we are well past formalities.” He pouted before taking hold of your hand with a charming smile.

Jung Hoseok had one of those smiles that used every muscle in his face, his skin radiated when he smiled. You could feel it seeping beneath your skin, warming you to your very core. Your mother’s words echoed back to you, there would be no winning in a marriage with him - just one smile and you would give in to his every desire. 

“If we are as close as you say we are, then would you be willing to indulge me for a moment?”

“But of course,” He laughed, “I do have to warn you though, our mutual friend has made me aware of your snooping. I am afraid any line of questioning involving a certain someone is off the table for the duration of our dance.”

A glance over Hoseok’s shoulder revealed Namjoon who cheekily waved at you with a knowing smile. You huffed in annoyance, Namjoon’s meddling was almost just as bad as your brother’s. 

“And I suppose if I were to ask, you would tell me to leave the worrying to you and your friends?” 

“Yoongi is right, you are a perceptive one.” He hummed in agreement. “However, I will not fall for your ploy. I am afraid I will have to ask you to refrain from asking anymore questions regarding our mutual headache.”

So, he had upset Hoseok as well. In all of the time you had known Hoseok, he had always been a cheerful man. Quick to be empathetic, understanding, and far too kind for your own liking. You couldn’t remember an occasion where he had been angry, although you had heard from your brother how chillin it was when he was. You had laughed at the time, believing Hoseok to be incapable of any emotion adjacent to anger. Now, you could see it. His smile wavered, his gaze hardened. 

What happened between all of them?

Hoseok’s calming smile returned in full swing as he took notice of your unsettled appearance, “Let’s not waste time talking about unsavory things, let’s have some fun instead.”

Hoseok was true to his word, for the remainder of your dance together he refused to mention Taehyung and instead focused on making you dizzy as he spun you around in ridiculous circles that had your feet tripping over each other and breathless laughter tumbling from your lips. You almost felt guilty from just how much fun you were having when you were supposed to be investigating. But it was hard to focus in his presence, and you were certain your brother had been relying on that. 

You found similar results with Park Jimin, your next dance partner after Hoseok. If you weren’t already monopolizing the Tons attention, you surely were now. You were not blind to the stares that penetrated you. Your sudden emergence after a five year absence followed by the attention of four of the Tons most wanted bachelors was sure to stir gossip for weeks. And Jimin was bathing in it. 

“How do you stand all of the attention, Mr. Park?” You asked, fighting back a teasing smile that tried to escape. 

“I could ask you the same question, Miss. Kim. Believe me, they are watching you just as much as me, if not more than me.” He hummed, his watchful gaze scanning over the crowd. 

Jimin was exceptionally good at reading a crowd, he had always been a people person. He was socially competent in a way you could never even hope to be. However, he could prove to be useful to you. 

“You know me, Mr. Park, I have never been one for the limelight. If I had it my way I would still be in Whitepoint, far away from the prying eyes of the Ton.”

“And yet here you are, and we are all the more grateful to have you back.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Park.”

“On the contrary, it’s gotten me everywhere, Miss. Kim.” He laughed. 

“And will flattery give me the information that I am so desperately searching for?” You asked.

Jimin went silent, licking his plush lips in a sign of stress. He looked conflicted, conflicted was good you could work with that. 

“From what I have gathered from your friends, something has transpired since I left all of those years ago. Something that was so terrible all of you have taken a vow to shield me from it to the extent that even I have no idea as to what has occured. What I do know is that a certain someone has been dismissed from your circle and even you, his best friend, have chosen to side against him. Now, why exactly is that?”

“Best friend?” He laughed, “If anyone was his best friend, it was you. And then you were gone and he changed.”

“You know why I left Jimin, you were there that night. I remember how you laughed at my expense with him. It hurt less because I didn’t really know you, but it still hurt nonetheless. You owe it to me, at the very least tell me what I need to know.” 

His gaze softened, a look of regret coming over his angelic features. You could feel the embers of your anger begin to cool. 

“You heard?” He whispered, angling his head so that he could meet your gaze. Those damn brown eyes were softening your heart. You suddenly remembered why he was such a successful rake. His seduction was softer, kinder, and in some cases worse than the typical rake.

You cleared your throat, “Yes, I heard everything. You are not who I am most angry with, don’t take that upon yourself.”

“It wasn’t right,” He interrupted you, pulling you closer as he lowered his voice so that no one would hear the two of you, “I hope you know that I never thought that about you. That environment, it isn’t one you have your own opinion in. After that night, I pulled back from them, Taehyung included. It doesn’t excuse what I did, but I hope that you know that I deeply regret it. I don’t expect your forgiveness but I hope that I can earn it.”

The annoying fluttering sensation in your stomach wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard you tried to force it. He was too close, being too sweet to you, and saying all of the right things. The worst thing was, you knew that he was telling the truth. These weren’t just sweet words intended to soothe your anger and repair your perception of him. He meant it.

“You know how you can earn it.” You said. 

He released a deep sigh and his shoulders relaxed, “A promise is a promise, I am many things but I am not a liar, Miss. Kim. However, there is someone else here who is more loyal to you than your dear brother. I think you’ll be able to figure out who.” 

You grunted in annoyance. These damn men and their foolish sense of pride and honor. Who would be more loyal to you than your brother? Who would be willing to betray their word for you? You couldn’t imagine anyone who would be capable of doing so. Not for you. 

“They are much closer than you think,” Jimin winked as your dance came to an end, his fingers trailing over the edge of your dance card. And, like the rascal that he was, he raised your hand to his face and brushed his lips over your glove in a barely there kiss. Your heart pounded in response. He truly was a sight, your mother’s claims of his cherubic appearance weren’t that far off either with how the light was catching the honey blonde of his hair, creating a halo just behind his head. He truly was angelic. 

“I hope I have earned some of your trust back, Miss. Kim.”

And then he was gone. 

For the first time all night you had a moment of reprieve. It seemed that the endless stream of your brother’s inner circle had finally concluded. You took the opportunity to escape from the dance floor. This was sure to be the talk of the Ton for weeks to come, you couldn’t fathom the attention it was going to bring you. What were Jin’s intentions? You had thought he was on your side, but if anything he was feeding into your mother’s desires. 

Was there no one here that you could trust?

It was swelling up inside of you again, that inescapable feeling, that crushing weight on your chest that made it feel impossible to breathe. Why did this always happen at the worst time imaginable? There was no escape here, not with all of the bodies pressing in on you with their penetrating stares. 

You were losing control. 

“Excuse me, Miss. Kim?” A soft voice called. 

You came to a stop, your gloved hands fisting the satin of your skirt in an attempt to ground yourself. You needed to shove it down, you had to pretend it didn’t exist. Just for a little while longer. You turned and forced a smile on your lips. 

Jeon Jungkook was standing there with an unsure look on his face. While you had seen him the week prior, you had not been able to get a good look at him until now. His hair was longer than you remembered, but he still had a youthful face, and big brown eyes that expressed a soul that was living for the first time. He was not as confident in himself as the other members of Jin’s inner circle, you could see it on his face. 

He cleared his throat, his eyes darting around the room rather than focusing on your face. “While I know that my name is in the last spot on your dance card already, I would still like to ask you if you wish to share a dance with me.”

This was unheard of. 

You knew for a fact that Jungkook did not engage with anyone but the inner circle at these events. Your mother had labeled him a shy young man, that was incredibly true, you could see that even now. Even though he had made a promise to your brother, why would he go to these lengths for you? He was putting himself into the sights of every family there, this would begin an inescapable hunt by all of the scheming mother’s and daughters of the Ton. By doing this, he would be signaling to everyone that he was interested in entering the marriage market.

“Are you doing this because you want to, or because my brother has demanded you do so?” 

A small smile played on his lips, his gaze still directed to the dancing couples as if they were the most interesting thing in the room. “Can it not be both?” 

“Are you certain? I would hate to put you into a position that you cannot go back from.” 

Jungkook sighed, a subtle flush appearing on his cheeks. “Miss. Kim, it took quite a bit of time for me to gain the courage to ask you, and this repeated line of questioning is beginning to make me think I’m more of a bother than a help.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled in your chest. It took him a lot of courage to ask you? If anything, the roles should be reversed in this situation. 

“It is nothing against you, Jungkook. If anything, I am the one looking out for your reputation.” You assured him. 

“I don’t care much for my reputation,” He admitted, finally raising his head and meeting your gaze, “I just wish to share a dance with you and you alone.” 

You were worried for your heart, after all of the attention you had received tonight it had been working harder than need be. You were certain at this rate it would beat straight out of your chest. Jungkook was too kind, too sweet, and held too much boyish charm. How were you going to survive? 

“Very well, it is your reputation, after all.” You agreed, reaching your hand out and slipping it through the bend of his elbow. Jungkook smiled nervously as he averted his gaze from you, his shy nature coming back in full force. 

Jungkook was, to your surprise, a good dancer partner. While you had never seen him dance with anyone before, it appeared Lady Jeon had not allowed him to skip any dance lessons in his youth. He was so sure in himself when he was dancing with you, it was the first time you had seen him exude such confidence. Although the flustered blush was still present in his cheeks, it was less so than it had been before. 

Now was your time to strike.

“It appears your worries were for nothing, you are a very gifted dancer.” 

Your compliment nearly caused him to miss a step, the flustered look returning once more. He was quick to recover. “It was not my abilities I was worried about, rather, whether you would reject me or not.” 

“Hm, you saw me with your friends did you not? Why would I accept them and deny you?” 

“Well, they are much more accomplished than I am, more social, more well versed in the ways of the Ton.” He explained. 

“Well, then I suppose you and I are more alike than you think.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” 

“Compared to your friends I am quite the recluse, I did disappear for quite some time after all. I have little to no accomplishments, and I desire to be far away from the Ton and its constricting standards.”

“You should not talk about yourself that way,” He gently scolded you. 

“All I meant to say is that we make a good pair.” You explained. 

That quieted him, a look of surprise coming over those big brown eyes. And there was something else there, something that you were beginning to grow suspicious of. Something that was entirely unexpected and utterly surprising. 

“You…you should not say things like that to me.” He stuttered with a harsh swallow. 

“And why not?” 

“Because it will give me too much hope.” He confessed. 

Hope? What could he mean by that? While you had your suspicions you believed that they were too far removed from reality to be true. And if they were true, then you had no time or desire to pursue it. You had much more important plans to address. 

However, Jimin’s words were ringing in your mind, “...there is someone else here who is more loyal to you than your dear brother.”

“Jungkook, can I trust you?” You asked. 

“Of course!” He exclaimed albeit a little too quickly. He too was aware of his eagerness and looked away in embarrassment. 

“I have spent this entire night interrogating your friends, yet I feel no closer to the answers I am looking for. So, I find myself having to ask you outright, what happened after I left? What did Taehyung do?” 

Much like his friends, Jungkook shook off the lightheartedness of your previous conversation. It was odd to see the way anger warped his kind face. It was unsettling. What was even more unsettling was the traces of panic that were present in his eyes.

“What he did was beyond unforgivable.” He said through gritted teeth. “He shouldn’t even be here.” 

“Then tell me, I need to know especially if it is pertaining to me. I am tired of being told it is not my burden to bear, if it is truly that horrible then I must know!” 

“I agree,” He said, to your surprise. “You should know everything, otherwise your curiosity is going to put you in the wrong place at the wrong time. But it cannot be said here, there are too many eyes and ears.”

  “Then when, where?” 

“Tonight, meet me in the courtyard once the staff have retired for the night.” He instructed.

“How scandalous, Mr. Jeon, asking a lady such as myself to partake in a late night rendezvous.” You laughed. 

“That - you know that is not what I am intending,” He stuttered, that sweet blush rising on his cheeks once more. You just could not help yourself, he was as skittish as a rabbit and it brought you so much delight to see how simple it was to fluster him. 

“Relax, Jungkook, I am fully aware of your intentions and rather appreciative, might I add. You are the first person who has indicated they are on my side in this matter. I will owe you greatly for this. And have no fear, there will be no mention of our meeting to anyone else, your reputation is safe with me.”

Jungkook swallowed, the hand that was settled at your back pressed more firmly as he collected himself. “I seem to remember telling you that my reputation means little to me, Miss. Kim. While I am not anticipating our meeting will be found out, if word were to spread that the two of us were found in such a compromising position then I would happily admit that my affections were at fault. I would not regret a rumor that ties the two of us together.”

You were startled and stumped to say the least. This was the second time he had hinted at that something he was feeling. His reputation was of little concern to him, the suggestion of the two of you being together was enough to inspire hope, and the possibility of you being found out did not bring about a sense of dread for him. In fact, he seemed enthused by the idea of there being a scandal implicating the two of you engaging in behavior that was, for lack of a better term, entirely improper. 

But you simply could not fathom how that would be true. You knew that the Ton believed you to be the most undesirable spinster there was, even prior to your spinsterhood. If that was not enough, then the words of your childhood crush turned enemy were certainly enough to prove your point. But the way Jungkook spoke about you, to you, it would seem that he was infatuated with you. 

But that was impossible. 

You cleared your throat, separating from the young man with a curtsy as the music ceased. “I appreciate the sentiment, Mr. Jeon, but I do believe that we will not have to worry about such a thing. Thank you, for this lovely dance, I look forward to meeting with you again.”

There was this look on his face, one of withdrawn sadness, one that could only be described as longing. And he felt that longing, deep in the marrow of his bones. It ached and begged for the gentle touch of your fingers once more, the soft gaze of your eyes, and the sweet turn of that teasing smile that haunted him. You haunted him, day in and out, and sleepless night after night.

“Until we meet again,” He agreed with a gentle bow.

You watched him retreat for as long as you could before he melted away amongst the other party guests. Guests whom you had not been watching, but whom had been watching you. You felt their ever present gaze before, but now you could see it too. You had gone and made yourself a spectacle again, the very thing you had been hoping to avoid. 

You were certain that your mother was thrilled to bits and you could not wait to give your brother a piece of your mind. What a disaster to your carefully constructed plans, alas, you had not foreseen that your brother’s friends would be the “suitors” you would have to offend and avoid. But it was fine, they are not actually pursuing you - it is a ruse.

The ache in your feet was becoming unbearable, you had not moved this much in such a long time and those painfully tight shoes were of no help. You needed a break, you needed just one moment to yourself. 

You found yourself in what appeared to be a library, a corner of the manor that had been left uninhabited by the party goers. It was perfect for you. You settled down on one of the plush lounges, toeing your satin shoes off and rubbing at the aching heels and soles of your feet. In that moment you thought of Whitepoint again, your safe haven. You had gone many days without shoes there, walking the soft sandy beaches barefoot. If you closed your eyes you could ever so faintly smell the sweat brine of the ocean catching on the breeze.

“Must I chase you all night, or can we finally have that conversation that you have been avoiding?”

The illusion was shattered in an instant. He had found you again and you were once more in a precarious position. The two of you were alone, without a chaperone, and easily discovered should one of the party goers stumble into the library.

Damn it all.