#bts fantasy

Rolling out of bed, you pick your white IKEA robe up from the floor where you dropped it last night, draping it over your silk nightgown and heading toward the bathroom to pee.

It hits you two minutes later, as you're standing in front of your open fridge, that you have vampire blood in there. The color-marked vials are staring back at you where they lie in all their glory, right next to a can of sugar-free Red Bull and the entirely empty bottle of ketchup you should've thrown out a month ago and that you evidently missed during your latest cleaning session.

Two of the three vials, you centrifuged at the clinic, meaning they're prepared for machine analysis but won't tell you much under the microscope. That's why you saved one, grabbing it—and the Red Bull—and putting them on the kitchen table, using your forearm to clear a space from the newly acquired library books.

You make a mental note to put the other two vials in the freezer since you don't know when you'll have a chance to analyze them at the clinic.

Vampire blood, how crazy. It's all you think about as you venture into your living room and pluck the microscope down from a shelf. Vampire blood. Who would've thought? When Jeongguk isn't near, it's easier to look at the situation objectively because are you entirely sure you met a vampire? You didn't just dream everything during a particularly rough fever?

But the blood staring at you from the kitchen table is different from what you usually deal with.

Preparing microscope slides is a process very familiar to you; something you could do with your eyes closed, but you don't think you've ever been as curious as you currently are, doing this one. The blood in the vial—already containing a bit of anticoagulant—is dark, and so is the drop you slowly transfer onto the thin glass slide with a plastic pipette.

Carefully, you place the coverslip on top, the smell of iron already wafting to your nose. It's not unpleasant, just… a lot stronger than what you're used to.

Leaning forward and putting your eyes to the ocular lenses, you switch the objective lens and adjust the position of the stage under it until the cells are sharp. You're not sure what you expected exactly, but you're not that surprised to see the massive amount of red blood cells; after all, they're what give the blood its red hue.

What you didn't expect was for them to be so much smaller than those of a human. You zoom in further, finding that they look a lot like ordinary red blood cells—almost like donuts—just smaller. Normally, having smaller red blood cells is a condition in itself and nothing good, but paired together with the astronomical amount of them?

There are surprisingly few goats in your town. When you do treat any, the most common reasons are difficult births, castrations, or urinary blockages, and therefore, it's been a long while since you got the chance to inspect caprine blood up close.

Taking a step back, you search for the phone you put somewhere as you prepared the microscope, finding it a little too close to the sink for your liking, before opening the browser and quickly typing 'goat erythrocytes'.

Just as you remembered: although rounder, the cells in the images that pop up are definitely smaller. There's also a shitload more of them, tightly packed like Jeongguk's. And as far as you can recall, those features are essentially what allow goats to live at higher altitudes, where the air is thinner and oxygen scarcer.

Since the exchange of oxygen happens at the membrane surface, and a bunch of smaller cells still have more surface area than fewer, larger ones, they're capable of transporting a lot more oxygen.

Satisfied with yet another plausible, logical explanation, you put the phone down and lean back in to the oculars, only to find that, despite the anticoagulant from the vial, Jeongguk's blood is already clotting.

Apparently, you lack one human emotion: shame. You know you possessed it as recently as a few days ago, but you must've lost it somewhere?

"Thank you so much."

"No problem, I'll email you the bill," you say, waving the relieved horse owner goodbye as you turn to the clinic car, vet bag firmly in hand.

A mere second after you've planted yourself into the driver's seat, you reach for the phone, pulling it out of your pocket. Your hands are dirty, fingers covered in that dark grime that comes from scratching a horse too long, but you barely notice as you inspect the screen for a reply to a text you sent an hour ago.

You: Hey, you wouldn't happen to be home, would you?

You don't even care if you just saw him yesterday. Or actually, you do care, cause it's embarrassing, but he also said to ask all the questions before he leaves town, so that's what you're doing.

You: Cause I'm driving by not far from you and I happen to have this jar I'd like you to spit in?

Yes, you're double-texting even.

But shame's claws reach and miss because just below your latest text, there's a reply.

Jeon Jeongguk: Stop by whenever. If I don't open then the door is unlocked.

Confusion grows as you start the car. Why wouldn't he simply open the door?

You try to think of a reason the entire ride there, none the wiser even as you step out of the car—hands cleaned by three antiseptic wipes—and walk up the stairs to the black-painted door.

However, five or so seconds after you knock, you hear footsteps approach on the other side, and then the door opens with a slight creak.

"Hey."

Jeongguk isn't wearing a shirt; only light blue jeans that you suspect he usually pairs with a belt because they're hanging a little too low on his hips, showcasing another white waistband stamped with the letters of Mr Klein.

Your wide eyes take him in, but his naked top half—bulging with muscle and skin even looking invitingly warm—isn't even what gathers most of your attention. No, that would be his black hair, messy and sticking out in multiple directions, and his half-closed, hooded eyes.

"Hi," you reply, your voice a tad too quiet as you admire him.

You'd try to hide it better, but it doesn't seem like he notices your slight—and almost dreamy—smile as he opens the door further and steps back. You follow, closing the door behind you and bend down to remove your shoes. While down there, you happen to notice that he's barefoot.

"Were you… sleeping?" you ask as you straighten up, seeing him look just a little more awake. Key word: a little.

He nods, turning to lead you somewhere. "Yeah, I tried to stay awake, but I ate just before you texted and that means I sleep after, like… almost involuntarily."

You follow, warmth spreading throughout your chest and not only because he's close by, his body heat radiating through your clothes.

"You sleep after eating?" you ask, endeared to hell and back. "You should've just told me you were busy today."

He stops in the kitchen, turning to you. You drop your bag on the floor.

"Yeah," he smiles lazily. "I can stay awake, but it's difficult."

"I can tell," you joke, tilting your head. God, why is he so endearing. "Do you think I could take your blood after you've eaten some time? See the difference and what makes you so sleepy?"

He nods. "Sure. Now?"

You pat your pockets, an act entirely uselessly since you don't keep your vet equipment there regardless.

"I don't have the right equipment with me, unfortunately. Maybe some other day?"

"Sure," he rubs his naked arm, yawning. "…Want me to bring blood to the clinic and drink it there?"

"I'd love that. Or…" You suddenly remember something. "When you say that you're hard to wake… Maybe it would be a bad idea to have you sleep at the clinic in case someone shows up again?"

His quick reflexes, speed, and agility were definitely the only reason Momo didn't find him at the clinic last time. You remember how heavy his limp arm was in your hands; what the hell would you even begin to do if someone came and Jeongguk wasn't waking up?

"Hm, you're right," he seemingly agrees, leaning against the counter, arms crossed lazily across his naked chest. "Come here then?"

"Sure," you agree, trying not to stare too blatantly at his chest or his arms. Or his abs and the faint little happy trail creeping up toward his belly button.

"Great. So… you wanted me to… spit in a cup?" he reminds you, and it looks like he's about to yawn again.

Suddenly reminded, you reach into your bag. "Yes, but also… I got a hold of one of these," you say, straightening up and holding the cup out to him. It's made out of a clear plastic with a soft, almost rubber-like lid up top.

"You want me to pee in it or what?" he asks, taking the cup from your hand and tilting it curiously in his.

"No," you snicker. "Although if you'd pee in a cup for me as well, I wouldn't turn it down. This is a special cup used for venomous snakes. Put their heads to the top, wiggle it a little, and they'll bite. Their fangs will sink through the lid here and the venom drips through and collects at the bottom."

He moves the cup to his mouth. "I just…?" he asks, demonstrating by sinking his teeth into the air above the cup.

"Yeah. Bite it and hold it there for as long as there's venom."

"Will you lend me your hand?"

Surprised—and with your heart skipping a quick beat—you blink but nonetheless offer him your left hand, electricity traveling through your skin when he takes it in his. He holds it so gently, feeling so warm against you, tired eyes finding some sort of focus as they lock onto yours, and he lowers his face to your wrist.

"I thought you… didn't need anything like this?" you ask quietly, heart jumping when he ghosts his nose over the sensitive skin of your wrist.

"Technically, I don't," he says, letting go of your hand and straightening up. You don't see any fangs. "Certain occasions make it easier, though. Like at the bar, when I was drunk, or now, when I'm already full and half asleep."

Nodding because his explanations are logical after all, you watch as he sinks his teeth—fangs—into the taut lid of the cup. Through the plastic, you see drops fall and liquid slowly pool at the bottom.

Then, you hear something. Something… small. You look down, seeing one of the kittens on its hind legs, clumsily reaching up toward you. "Oh, hello?"

It's so much bigger than when you last saw it and its siblings, and you crouch down, carefully picking the black little kitten up. It meows again, settling into your soft hold until it seemingly does a double take at Jeongguk, who stands motionless, watching, with his teeth still in the cup. The little kitten stares.

"What is dad doing, huh?" you coo quietly, smiling at the curious kitten.

Looking at the father in question, he lets out an amused breath before he removes his teeth from the cup, lifting it to inspect the results.

"Is this enough?"

You follow his gaze, watching the liquid at the bottom. It's much less than the blood you collected, and it's relatively translucent.

"Yeah, thank you so much," you say—way too excited—putting the kitten down and watching it dash away to pick a fight with an approaching sibling.

From your bag, you grab the other cup, a standard one meant for saliva, and you hold it out to Jeongguk, trading it for the collected venom.

"I just spit in this one?"

You nod, attention fully on the venom in the clear cup. It's just a tad thicker than water, fluidly following gravity as you tilt the small container.

"Do you happen to know the best way to store this?" you ask, peering over at Jeongguk, who's in the middle of letting his spit drip down into the other cup. "Because snake venom, for instance, is pretty sensitive and needs to be chilled rather quickly. But snakes are, you know, 'cold-blooded,' and you're like, insanely warm. I'm thinking I just go home and put it in the fridge? I'll definitely look at it tonight."

"I don't think it's that sensitive, but I know you can freeze it."

He hands you the other cup as well, and you pack them away safely in your bag.

"So… when are you free?" you ask, trying not to blush. "For the blood?"

Looking like he's soon succumbing to sleep whether he likes it or not, Jeongguk shrugs. "Tomorrow? If that works for you?"

You nod. "Sure. I'm busy later tomorrow, but sometime during the day? When do you typically… eat?"

"Noon?" he suggests.

You nod again, grabbing your bag. "I can do that."

"Yeah, but they just didn't care about it."

Nayeon tips her glass back and forth on the table, chin resting in her other hand. "That's insane. Child-free means child-free; why would they be exempt?"

"Yeah, but what did Dahyun do?" you chime in to ask. "I get that she's too nice, but she had a wedding organizer, didn't she? Couldn't that person throw them out?"

Just before a drunk dude—trying to squeeze past your table and the queue of people waiting to order at the bar—elbows her beer, Momo throws her hand out to catch it. She mutters something you don't quite hear over the music and loud voices before she gathers her thoughts.

"I asked the same, but she apparently threatened to cause a scene, so Dahyun just let her be. But the organizer… encouraged her to look after her kids so they wouldn't ruin anything else."

"Jeez," Nayeon shakes her head. "I just do not understand. Get a babysitter or don't go?"

You're about to agree when you hear someone call your name. It's a man's voice, but not the one you've come to prefer.

It's Joshua, approaching your table, his sight set on you while simultaneously scanning the area as if searching for his friends. Momo and Nayeon barely register what's happening before he's standing before you, leaning his palms on the table.

"Yo, what the fuck was up with that guy?" Joshua questions, looking confused and frustrated more than angry.

"What do you mean? What guy?" you ask, entirely comfortable with playing dumb.

"The guy you were with? Who lifted a car with one hand?"

You lean back in your seat, feeling your friends' confused gazes on your face and trying to channel something similar, your forehead creasing. "Lifted a car? That's not possible. I don't know what you're trying to do, but it's not fun, can we please just move on?"

Tight-lipped, he stares at you, and it brings you immense satisfaction to know that he and his friends must realize that somehow, you were right. You found something, but you're not sharing.

"Dude, what are you even on?" Momo questions. "Leave before we call security. Preferably the town."

Joshua looks between you, and then scans the heads around him that he can see. But luckily, his friends don't seem to be close by, and there's not much he can do but shake his head in frustration and walk away.

Keeping your eyes on him, you turn in your chair, and right before he disappears behind another group of people, he looks back over his shoulder. Without Momo and Nayeon seeing, you drop the confused and slightly hurt look on your face and give him a small smile.

Scientists, the whole bunch of you, you know Jeongguk would have them frothing at the mouth the same way he has you, but you. are. not. sharing. At least not with them; if it were up to you, you'd definitely consider letting your own friends in on the secret.

Meeting Momo and Nayeon's very puzzled looks, you do feel bad for essentially lying to them. But it isn't your secret to share, and you made a promise not to.

"I just don't understand what their problem is," Nayeon questions, clearly upset. God, you're a lucky girl, having friends like yours. "If they say one more thing, I think you should tell Joon because he'll give them a piece of his mind, and a man's scolding might—unfortunately—be what they need."

"Or Yoongi," Momo adds. "Yoongi, when angry, is not fun."

You think about the black haired man with unimpressed, cat-like features. "I've never… I don't think I've ever seen Yoongi mad."

"He doesn't raise his voice or anything, he just…" Momo grimaces. "You know the creepy guy with mals?"

You shake your head slowly. Belgian Malinois seem to be the go-to dog breed for creepy guys. Either that or toy poodles.

"The white, bald guy? I think he's on steroids. He threatened Sana like, years ago, and Yoongi made him leave the clinic, like, tail between his legs, with one sentence and a look."

"Rings a bell," you nod, thinking back to when you first started at the clinic. "I guess it's not that surprising, actually? Yoongi is… I can't even describe him, but he works by vibe? He can have the same no-expression on his face, and you know exactly what mood he's in regardless."

"Yeah. And he's sweet. You should tell him. Or Joon."

You lean back. "I don't know. If they approach me again, I'll think about it, but I don't feel like they're dangerous. Mostly annoying at this point."

"Still, they need to know it's not acceptable," Momo says, lifting the beer to her lips.

"Yeah," you breathe in agreement. "What time is it?"

"Eleven, just about," Nayeon answers, looking at her phone.

"I should get going." You slap your thighs like an old man having been out too late.

"You have the day off tomorrow, though, don't you?"

"Yeah, but I'm spent," you lie. There's one cup of spit and one of venom in your fridge, and they're both calling your name. God, aren't you a special kind.

Nayeon narrows her eyes. "Are you seeing someone we don't know about?"

Just about to stand, you freeze. "Uh, no? Why?"

"Cause Joshua mentioned a guy. And you have been a little absent lately."

Fuck.

"Okay, well…. It's not what you think, okay?" you start, deciding on a smaller white lie. "You know the guy with the stray kittens?"

Momo's eyes widen comically. "Uh… yeah?"

"I'm not seeing him as in seeing him, but I've been helping him with the kittens off-hours. He's not really an animal guy—well, he seems to like animals, he just lacks experience—and I don't really feel great charging him when he's doing a good deed, raising them."

"Oh, that's nice." Nayeon nods.

"But you like him too?" Momo asks, watching your cheeks start to burn.

Fine, seems like you have to admit defeat to your friends—just like you did your mother—at least a bit.

"You saw him," you point out, stirring the melting remains of ice in your glass with the straw. "How could I not?"

Momo chuckles. "That's why I'm wondering. Does he happen to have any friends in town?"

Before you can help it, your eyes widen. "Yeah, he does. Saw an entire friend group with him like… three weeks ago; they're all gorgeous."

"Well, let us know if you see them again," Nayeon encourages, smirking.

You laugh, partially at your friends and partially nervously at what you might've just signed up for. Jeongguk told you his friends were vampires too; would you set your friends onto vampires?

Sure, Jeongguk's nice, but you don't know his friends, and the last thing you want is direct your friends onto someone's dinner plate.

"I will."

"Alright. So, if you're really going home and not to cat guy's, let us know when you've gotten back, okay? If we don't hear from you in twenty, we're calling the cops."

You roll your eyes, but nod. Luckily, they didn't ask whether 'cat guy' actually lifted a car or not.

Walking home from the bar usually takes you around 12 minutes, the perks of living in a small town, but tonight, the…. eyes you think you feel on you as soon as you venture off the lively street have you covering the distance in 8.

Maybe it's paranoia? After all, you started feeling watched only after you conveniently found out there could be an assailant slowly but surely approaching your neighborhood. Despite trying to stay calm, the breath you let out when you're finally able to close and lock your apartment door behind you is long.

Recalling your promise, you send Nayeon a quick text, confirming your safety. She sends a heart back.

The blue numbers on your oven tell you it's nearing midnight when you finally sit down at your kitchen table, the microscope and the sample cups—fresh from the fridge—in front of you. The first drop you let fall on a slide is of Jeongguk's saliva. Clear, more viscous than water, it looks very much like something you could've spit into the container.

If you expected a groundbreaking, scientific discovery there in your kitchen, you'd be disappointed. Besides a lot… cleaner, Jeongguk's saliva looks like that of a human. And by cleaner, you mean that there's a lot less bacteria floating around. You're not entirely sure why, maybe analyzing the fluid would reveal some sort of additional antibacterial aspect?

God, the crimes you'd commit to have your own lab, capable of analyzing your collection of vampire bodily fluids.

Repeating the process but with a drop of Jeongguk's venom, you make extra sure to handle it with care. After all, you don't know a lot about it, and although Jeongguk claimed it wasn't dangerous in smaller quantities, maybe it stings like hell if you touch it and it enters a microscopic wound?

While you've never looked at pure venom under a microscope before, you've witnessed the cellular aftermath of envenomation as part of your education. You've seen cell shapes entirely mangled by one kind of venom, and you've seen blood turned to jelly by another. Death, essentially, following a snake bite.

To both the naked eye and those seeing through a magnified lens, Jeongguk's venom and saliva look quite similar. Even ordinary; not a lot happening within the clear fluids.

You stare at it, wondering…

Three seconds later, you're rising from the kitchen chair, eager steps taking you into the hallway where you rummage through the upper drawer of your small dresser. It's the designated knick knack spot, most of the contents more or less stolen from work; pens, clips, box cutters, and notes, but also things that sales representatives leave with you, hoping your clinic will become a distributor.

Digging through teeny tiny bags of cat treats—you don't even have a cat—you find a wrapped alcohol swab and the little glucose monitor kit you remember receiving last year.

Unzipping the small black bag, you grab the spring-loaded pricker and a lancet and leave the rest haphazardly in the drawer while you make your way back into the kitchen, already wiping your left index finger clean.

Realizing you should've removed the slide first, you do so with your finger clumsily held in the air, and then you're pricking your skin above the glass. To gather enough blood, you squeeze your fingertip, and with a big enough red bead on your skin, you turn your finger upside down, letting it drip.

Even before you put the coverslip back on top and lock the slide back under the lens, you watch the fluids mix, and your blood dilute. Because you're a creature of (human) habit, you put the pricked fingertip into your mouth as you lean forward to peer through the oculars. Only to stop breathing.

One by one, Jeongguk's venom drowns your red blood cells. You watch in real time as cell after cell warps, the venom aggressively mangling their cell membrane and starting to dissolve them. It's inevitable; they can't escape.

You watch the wave of death for close to a minute, and when only a few cells remain alive, fighting for their life, you lean back in your chair, and you stare at your ceiling.

Despite making another mind-blowing discovery right there in your kitchen only that morning, you can't shake that this feels… different.

Bag packed to the brim, you make the now very familiar drive out to Jeongguk's house in a better, more easy going mood than you were in the night before. It must've been the… alcohol remnants and the discomfort of walking home alone. Right?

You're smiling excitedly even before the door to the large house opens, even more so when your vampire appears, ushering you through the small gap 'before the kids escape.' While he doesn't touch you, he's certainly not scared of being close, and before you know it, you're standing there in the small hallway again.

"Hey, Mina," you greet one of the 'kids' toeing around your feet. "And… Lilith, was it?" you nod toward the mother cat that appears from God knows where, stroking herself against Jeongguk's leg. He's wearing light wash jeans similar to those he wore yesterday, but this time, he's also—unfortunately—wearing a dark green t-shirt.

"Wait," you pause, wide eyes watching him. "You did not."

Jeongguk lifts his eyes to meet yours, a knowing grin pulling on his lips.

"'Lilith' as in the mother vampire? 'Mina' as in Dracula's wife, and 'Ruby' for blood red, I assume? Don't tell me 'Angel' is after the vampire in Buffy?"

He chuckles, bending down to pick up the little kitten, who's definitely not as little anymore. She meows and closes her eyes almost instantly, cozying up on Jeongguk's arm and against his chest.

"What about… 'Nyx,' was it?"

"'Nyx' is the Goddess of the night," he informs, reaching his unoccupied hand out to take your bag the moment you set it down to take your shoes off.

"Went right over my head."

You think back to that night, when he stood beside you, holding onto that chilly metal railing outside the bar and telling you the kittens' names.

"I know you probably didn't plan on showing me like that, but were you planning to? At all?"

With your shoes neatly to the side, you straighten up and take a step toward him, intending on following him into the house. But he doesn't move, just watches you with your bag in one hand and the satisfied kitten on his other arm.

"I wanted to, but I'm not entirely sure I would've, had I not done it then. I definitely wasn't supposed to, so… naming them like that made me feel like I was at least giving you a little hint. Maybe even testing the waters a bit."

He tilts his head slightly, looking down at you before he seemingly remembers what you were supposed to do. "Anyway…"

Sight set on the kitchen, he leads. You follow, looking around even though nothing's changed since last time.

"So, about the house… Was it really passed down?"

"No," he shakes his head, putting the black kitten down on the kitchen counter and turning to you. "I bought it in… uh, sometime during the first half of the 19th century, I think. Tried to keep up with all the trends for my estates but gave up after a while. If I actually live somewhere, I'll have it up to standard, but like this, when I'm just visiting?"

"It was furnished like this already?"

"Yeah. I had the running water and electricity installed later on. Was quite the pain in the ass to be honest."

"It's a cool house, though," you compliment, once again peering around the light kitchen. "A bit like a museum. Can't believe you're so old, honestly, like you lived when this was trendy?"

Jeongguk inhales sharply, blinking dramatically in an offense you know he doesn't feel. It makes you laugh.

"Anyway," he repeats his earlier segue, putting your bag down on the floor and reaching for the fridge handle. You watch as he grabs a jug of already mixed blood, putting it on the counter with a soft thud.

"You only wanted blood from after I've eaten, right? Not before?"

Nodding, you can't believe the situation you're in. "Yeah. Thank you."

For a short while, silence settles. It's far from uncomfortable, and you're very busy, watching Jeongguk prepare the blood. First, he pours a big glass of it, plucking a spoon from a drawer to stir it. Of course, your gaze is torn between the way his big, veiny hands hold onto that fragile-looking glass and how his muscles dance discreetly under his skin as he stirs.

Putting the spoon down on the counter, he places the glass in the microwave, presses start, and then turns to you.

"Can I ask why you're visiting?" you take the opportunity to ask as the microwave hums lowly and the glass rotates inside it.

"You can ask," he smirks, leaning back against the counter. "But I can only tell you that it's for work."

"Work?" Eyebrows knitted together, you stare at him. "Like… vampire work?"

"Yeah."

But what kind of work would be deemed 'vampire work?'

"You don't like… work for the Volturi, right?"

"The what? Volturi?"

"Yeah, the vampire…. governing body—I guess—in Twilight. They keep the vampire citizens in check; make sure they don't hunt humans to extinction or expose themselves to them. Or, like, turn babies into vampires."

"Oh. No, not really."

"Good, 'cause you would've probably have broken a lot more rules than you actually did for telling me. And I would be in more shit for knowing."

…Which reminds you…

"Also, uhm…"

Jeongguk raises a dark eyebrow, curious as to what's suddenly gotten you apologetic.

"My classmates… They might approach you if they see you. Just to let you know. Sorry."

"They've been giving you any trouble after what I did?" he asks, voice turning serious.

You sigh. "No, not really. One approached me and asked about you, but he was more… frustrated and shocked than angry, I think. But I mean, what you did is not something a human just does."

A smile pulls on Jeongguk's lips. "I know. That was the point."

The microwave beeps behind him, indicating that his blood has reached his preferred temperature. The body temperature of a human. He turns, opening the door and taking the glass out.

At least relieved that he doesn't seem bothered, you let your shoulders relax a little. "Yeah, I know. I'm just warning you."

"I appreciate it," he says, retrieving the spoon from the counter to stir the red liquid again. "You don't need to worry about me, though."

Eyes again appreciating his hands and arms as he stirs, you can't let go quite yet. "I mean clearly you'd be able to defend yourself if they for some reason wanted to fight, but I'm mostly thinking whether them knowing and stirring up shit does cause you trouble."

"They didn't strike me as people who would tell. And who would believe them?"

"True." After all, you said the same thing.

"And if it comes to it, I can be pretty persuasive."

The tiny smirk he shoots your way has your skin heating, but yet another thought growing.

"You haven't seen The Vampire Diaries, either, have you?"

"No. Is that another movie?"

"A series."

He looks between you and the glass he holds up. "So, I drink this now? Just so you know, I'll get progressively sleepier in a few minutes."

You nod, the Vampire Diaries connection forgotten as a different memory resurfaces and a subsequent realization hits. "Wait, so… were you like dead asleep right after I left when I asked you to drink blood that first time?"

He smiles, putting the glass to his mouth for a first sip. "Yeah. It was pretty fitting that you left, actually. I can stay awake, but it's hard."

You don't quite notice how your smile grows until he asks you about it, wiping his mouth. "What's so funny?"

Watching him gulp down more of the contents, your eyes struggle to stray from his Adam's apple and how it moves with every swallow. "Not funny. I just find that… insanely adorable? What do you mean you eat and then you actually struggle to stay awake? How is that a good evolutionary trait when we don't have to?"

'We' as in 'you.'

Humans.

"Don't make me regret telling you about it," he says, giving you a warning eye and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand again. "Biologically, if I had… hunted for this," he lifts the mostly empty glass, coated in red, "then I wouldn't feel tired until the adrenaline wears off. Since I microwaved this, and I'm chilling in my own house, it hits sooner."

"Sorry. That's kinda cool actually."

He gives you a sweet look that tells you you're forgiven, and then he puts the empty glass down on the counter. "We can sit on the bed."

When he points to the bag you placed on the floor earlier, eyebrows raised in a silent question, you nod. "Yeah, I'll need that."

Before even giving you the chance to, he grabs the handles of your blue backpack, already heading toward the hall and the stairs. You follow closely behind, seeing two kittens play at the bottom of the stairs.

"You're so modern," you comment as you climb the stairs behind him. "Like, I would imagine it's hard to keep up with the ever-changing trends, and so I wouldn't blame you for not even trying? But you speak so normally, and you dress like that?"

"Like what?" you hear him chuckle.

"Like every other modern guy. Not that you're basic or anything, just that nothing about you screams ancient."

You hear the amusement in his voice as he turns to you at the top of the stairs. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should," you say, looking up at him as you come to stand before him. It's true, what you said, and while natural, non-altered facial structures don't change much with society, you could never tell by his face either. In a way, he's got a very classic beauty to him. At least according to you, but you don't say that, of course.

"Thank you, then. It's definitely something you learn; going with the flow of society. But it's also harder these days when trends evolve and cycle much faster than before. You used to get 20 years to adapt to big societal changes and now you barely get five. Some trends are dead and buried within six months."

You haven't been in his bedroom since it was covered in a thick layer of dust. Like the rest of the house, it's clean now. He doesn't seem to have a lot of stuff, but the bed is made with white fluffy sheets, a thick, golden bedspread over them and a big, black towel folded at the foot of it.

"Make yourself comfortable," he says, gesturing toward the bed as he puts the backpack down on the floor. "When do you want to take the blood?" he asks, grabbing the towel and unfolding it to drape over the bed.

Noticing your silence, he peers back at you.

"Uh… preferably in an hour and then an hour after that…"

"But…?" he asks, sensing your slight hesitancy.

"But there's something I'd like to do in the meantime."

You can't help it, the slightly sheepish smile that pulls on your lips. Or the heat you feel rise but desperately hope he can't see.

"You look like it's something you're afraid I won't like?"

"I don't know. I mean, I hope you'll be okay with it, and after last time, I think so?"

"Well, what is it?"

His dark eyes are curious and entertained like always, and you most definitely suspect he knows what's going on in your head.

"So when you lifted the car… using one hand, might I add, it made me curious about your back. A human would've probably herniated at least three discs and snapped their spine if they were able to even lift it like that. I figure that everything's probably just… stronger like the anatomy of your arm…"

"…But you'd like to see?"

Essentially asking to feel him up again, you bite your lip and nod once. "Yeah."

Instead of teasing you about it, Jeongguk unceremoniously grabs the shirt at the back of his neck and yanks it over his head, tossing it onto the foot of the bed. Taking the action as consent, you crouch in front of your backpack, excitedly rummaging through it for two things. Well, four things: your small notebook and a pen that you clip to the collar of your t-shirt included.

Sitting down on the edge of his bed—on its right side—Jeongguk looks back at you, his gaze falling to the thick books in your hands.

"Went to the library," you explain, placing them on the bed, next to his discarded shirt.

He cranes his neck to read the titles. One is just a huge book on human anatomy, and the other is slightly thinner and focused on sports medicine.

"Thought you knew everything?"

"I'm a veterinarian. I'd say I know a lot about humans, but far from everything."

A silence settles as you climb onto the bed, positioning yourself behind him and the books at your side for easy access. Jeongguk keeps his head sideways, calmly and quietly watching you open the thicker book on the right chapter, inspecting the sketched human back and its muscles.

Lifting your own gaze from the pages, you take in the sight of his broad, naked back in front of you.

"Okay, so I can…?" you ask, hand hovering over his skin.

He nods, turning his head forward and rolling his shoulders once. Slightly wide-eyed, you stare at the casual display of his muscles. God damn.

Shaking any non-scientific thought out of your head, you begin.

The first thing you do is let your fingers trace his spine as you search for the landmarks. Despite having a very, very low body fat percentage, Jeongguk's vertebrae are less prominent than you'd expected. You can still feel them, however, and soon enough, you have your fingertips on C7, the more prominent vertebra located at the bottom of the neck.

"I can barely feel your spine," you mumble, mostly to yourself.

Is there something other than fat almost… covering them? Can't be anything besides the connective ligaments, you think to yourself. In that case, they're a lot thicker and stronger than in a human. Unless it's muscle that's covering them? Or… maybe his vertebrae have a different design? Maybe they're smoother? Forehead creasing, you consider the shapes possible for vertebrae still able to connect and allow the spine to bend.

You grab the pen from your neckline, keeping your left hand on Jeongguk's back while your right scribble some quick notes in your notebook.

'Vertebrae non-prominent, covered by? muscle/ligaments? different structures?'

Moving on, you leave the pen on the notebook and instead put your right index finger on the drawing. Your left one copies the movement of your right as you trail it down toward the middle of Jeongguk's back.

Latissimus Dorsi. It's one of the muscles at risk of damage from a too-heavy one-handed lift like what you saw Jeongguk perform. Of course, you don't know whether the action impacted him at all; maybe he sustained micro tears? Doesn't make the feat any less impressive.

Using both hands, you trace the muscle where it connects to the spine, all the way from his mid back to the lower part of it.

"Do you usually lift heavy like that?"

As if he wasn't paying that much attention—or just not expecting to be spoken to—he takes a second or two to find his voice. And when he does, you feel your heart squeeze almost pathetically at how he already sounds a little sleepy.

"Yeah. I don't really need to work out to keep my muscles all that much, I just do stuff because it's fun."

"Oh? if my memory serves me right, a human needs to work out a muscle at least within two weeks or it'll start to atrophy to save energy. Muscles are really metabolically expensive to keep."

He straightens up a little. "I could go longer than that, I think. I usually do kinda workout more often than that though."

"Interesting," you remove your hands altogether to note down his words. "And does lifting heavy come with any kind of pain? Soreness?"

"Only if I strain myself, but that happens very rarely. Not when I lifted the car for example."

You nod, more so to yourself. "Okay. So you probably do get micro tears. How long does the soreness typically last?"

"A few hours at most."

"Really? A human will usually be sore for days."

"Yeah. Losers."

A bubbling laughter escapes you, but afterward, another bout of silence settles.

Jeongguk's breaths are slow and deep, and you feel every one of them under your hands as you move them over his back. He yawns.

"Do you need me… conscious?" he asks, repeating the same words from the clinic and glancing at you from over his shoulder. His barely-open eyes and sleepy words pull on your heartstrings. Not only because he's endearing and adorable, but because he's seemingly so comfortable with you. As established, you for sure don't pose a threat to him, but still…

"I mean, I don't mind, but… I guess if you're okay with it…?"

You move when he does, scooting back to give him enough space as he sighs deeply and lies down on his stomach. He's already closing his eyes.

"Go to town," he mumbles.

"You really trust me that much?" you ask, putting your hand on his lower back, feeling the thoracolumbar fascia that connects the latissimus dorsi to the spine. "What if I hurt you?"

"It's pretty hard to hurt me, and I never got the impression that you'd try."

That's definitely true, and you're glad he feels that. While the biggest risk of trusting you has never been bodily harm but exploitation for your scientific research—maybe even fame—you've never had any interest in that.

"I could be a vampire hunter, waiting for the chance to stake you?"

Without even opening his eyes, Jeongguk chuckles. "What a way to go, then. First massaged by a pretty woman and then staked in my sleep. Couldn't complain."

Head and heart soaring in the clouds—and cheeks warm—you can't do anything but flick his skin. He laughs, but it's even more sleepy now.

"Insane," you mumble, reaching for the books again. While you adjust, sitting cross-legged with the anatomy book open in your lap—this time your left hand on the sketch and your right on Jeongguk's skin—he falls asleep.

Once again, you have a gorgeous, huge, superhuman man unconscious under your hands, and you'd be a fool not to take advantage of the situation. Not that you're doing anything he'd object to if awake but feeling his body is easier when you don't have to worry about any kind of tension growing.

Fingers softly tracing the skin and then pressing just a tad harder, feeling the structures underneath, you note that… there's not a lot to note. Besides the vertebrae not being as easily felt, the rest of him feels as expected. His muscles are thick and well-developed, and the ligaments feel stronger and sturdier, just like the ones you managed to ultrasound in his arm. So no surprise there.

It's been roughly ten minutes since you think Jeongguk fell asleep when you feel something. You've got your right hand on his upper back, curiously inspecting his scapula and the trapezius muscle that stretches up toward his neck when there's… a grumbling? It has you pausing, wondering if maybe he said something. But a quick glance at his face confirms that he's still asleep, cheek resting heavily against a pillow.

He must've mumbled in his sleep or something, which… cute.

You resume, hand sliding down his spine and to his side, when you feel it again. But this time, it's not a quick ordeal; it's… longer. The sound is low, starting deep in his chest and reverberating up and through your hand. It's almost soundless, just a low, low sound in the otherwise silent room.

Your heart does what you can only describe as a backflip because it reminds you an awful lot of… purring.

It's been almost an hour when the purring stops. You have your hand on his lower side, toward the back, flipping pages with the other.

"Find anything fun?" a low, raspy voice asks you.

You look up to see that Jeongguk is watching you, his eyes warm but sleepy.

"Uhm, yeah," you state, abandoning the current page search and returning to another. "This," you say, moving your right hand to his upper side, where you run it back and forth, "seems to be an…"

You lift the book to read the small insert aloud. "'Axillary arch.' Which is a muscle… variation. Sometimes considered vestigial. Humans can still have it, but it seems like only around five percent of people do. And not only do you have it, but it seems to be super well developed. Turn over, please?"

No questions asked, Jeongguk rolls over slowly, looking up at you where he now lies on his back. With your eyes buried in the book, you reach for his arm that's closest to you, making it clear you want him to lift it. He does, obediently placing his hand above his head, waiting for whatever you're going to do.

"Okay, so it's a variation of the latissimus dorsi, which is this muscle on your back that reaches up here, " you explain, tracing his side. "But the axillary arch is when it branches off over here, connecting to the pectorals."

You look at your hand as it glides over his warm, taut skin, close to his armpit, feeling for the attachments. "It says here that many think it's useless, but that some suggest that it brings strength but also a more advanced shoulder proprioception."

"And what would that mean?"

"Well, if it does what they suggest, it essentially gives you almost a sixth sense when it comes to body control. Helps your body know how to move appropriately, at least your upper body and arms, and just how much force to use. My guess would be that it's actually very useful when you're so much stronger."

"Hm."

You continue. "Considering a low percentage of humans have it too, it could be another 'you' thing more than a vampire thing, though. I assume you don't know whether others like you have it too?"

"No."

"Alright," you smile at him. "It's very cool, though. Can't believe I missed it."

"When did you miss it?"

"Last time at the clinic? I was feeling your lymph nodes in your armpit."

"Oh yeah." He grins widely

You narrow your eyes as it hits you. The sound you heard when you felt for the nodes… was him letting out a little breath of laughter? "You were awake, weren't you?"

"Yeah."

You just shake your head, putting the book down. "Anyway, would it be alright to draw some blood?"

"Sure."

You get off the bed, digging through the bag for the supplies before you get back on the covers.

"Sit up, please?"

He does, leaning back against the wooden headboard and holding that veiny arm out for you. You position it how you want it, not thinking too much about how you inevitably place his warm hand to rest on your upper thigh, palm up. Drawing blood while sitting on a bed is understandably a first for you.

"You know you don't really have to do that. Or use gloves," he mentions when you wipe his skin with an antiseptic wipe.

You pause, thinking it through before deciding. "Don't wanna take any risks," you mumble.

Focused, you use the same kind of needle as last time, pushing it into his vein. It goes smoother this time around since you already know how much pressure to use. The whole process is smoother, relatively quick, and… silent.

Every glance at Jeongguk's face as he watches your hands tells you that he's dozing off again. It's such an endearing yet… surprising sight; the big, buff, half-naked vampire sitting up and his eyes getting heavier by the second. You don't tease him for it, honestly still flattered that he lets you see him like this.

"Okay, I'm done," you speak quietly. "Do you want me to leave it in or take it out and re-stick later?"

He opens his eyes half way, glancing tiredly at you. "It's up to you. I don't mind either way."

"Okay, hold on," you say, putting some gauze against his skin as you pull the needle out. Of course, it's more out of habit than need because the puncture wound doesn't bleed; it's barely a wound at all. "You can lie down."

He doesn't answer, just shifts to lie back down. Tired, he blinks heavily, and you can basically see him slowly fall asleep again.

With the anatomy book open on the muscles on the front of the human body, you trace his slow-moving chest lightly. To your delight, the… purring starts again.

Your touch is soft as usual when you trace his collarbones, making mental notes of the thickness and hardness of them, his sternum and the dip between his pectoral muscles, and the visible parts of his obliques and where they attach to his ribcage. His chest moves slowly and rhythmically under your hand, and his skin is invitingly warm. You'd write down your discoveries, but there aren't really any more.

Ten minutes later, you have indeed somewhat securely ruled out any big differences. You've even counted his ribs, and somewhere, between the slow, deep breaths of the vampire next to you, and the fact that you didn't sleep that well last night, the sleep bug bites you to.

Your tired eyes glance around the room. It's quiet and calm, and Jeongguk's bed is very spacious.

Would he mind? You don't think so.

Slowly and carefully, you lie down, leaving a good amount of space between you. The low sound coming from him—the purring—is so incredibly relaxing, even if you're too far away to feel it.

Unfortunately, you wake up to movement. Movement moving you.

Big, warm, strong arms are dragging you across the bed by your waist and torso, pulling your back flush against him. Despite waking up only half a second ago, your eyes are already open and they widen further when you feel Jeongguk's mouth in your hair. He draws a big breath, alarm bells sounding in your head as you're reminded of how he used your smell to trigger his fangs.

By pure instinct, you try to wiggle out of his grasp, but your arms are stuck, held tightly against your body, and panic starts to rise when you can't move.

He has to let you go; you can't overpower him.

Your heart beats so hard it hurts when he pulls you even closer, his mouth lowering, as if searching for something. You can barely move a muscle in his hold.

"Jeongguk?" you call desperately.

And just like that, he relaxes. Quick to sit up and carefully move toward the other end of the bed, you watch him. Eyes closed, lying on his side and breathing slowly and calmly, he's still asleep. God, you nearly shit yourself. Are you worried for your safety around him? Not necessarily, but him seemingly grabbing you in his sleep?

Smelling you and perhaps even searching for your neck?

A shiver racks your body.

Jeongguk continues to sleep soundly and unfazed for another twenty minutes, all while your racing heart slowly quiets down to normal again. Flipping through the books in your lap, you find yourself grateful that he didn't wake up because… he still let you go and maybe it would've also made it awkward? Whatever you and Jeongguk are, cuddle buddies aren't quite it.

Another reason for your gratitude is the vision the current situation grants you. Not that of Jeongguk asleep and shirtless—well, that too—but 15 minutes before he wakes up for the second time, someone enters the room. You don't hear the little paws; you only notice when the little kitten has climbed the bed and is in the process of climbing Jeongguk.

You can't tear your eyes away. You think it's… Nyx? who appears on his back, sight set on the little curve at the back of Jeongguk's neck. The kittens must be around five weeks old at this point, meaning they get around pretty efficiently but have yet to acquire the feline elegance someone like their mom possesses.

Jeongguk doesn't stir the slightest as the kitten gives off a tiny meow and curls up at the back of his neck, even tucking its paws in under itself.

And to make it worse, she's not the only one. Within a span of minutes, two more come padding, one using its claws to climb up Jeongguk's jeans, settling comfortably in the curve of his lower back. The other—Mina—finds her way to his front, squeezing in under his thick arm and curling up in the small space between his bicep and his chin.

Whatever you've claimed before, this is the cutest thing you've ever seen in your entire life. If you listen closely, you can hear at least two of the kittens purring.

Smiling to yourself, you turn the page to read about meniscus tears.

You're halfway through the section when movement catches your attention, and you lift your gaze from the text. Jeongguk is waking up, slowly opening his eyes and shifting.

"They're very comfortable with you, dad," you muse.

Jeongguk gives you a sleepy grin.

"Cats also like warm things," you continue.

"Yeah, I've noticed," he says, repeating what he told you the first time you informed him of the feline trait. You wonder if he was already referring to the kittens and their mother's desire to cuddle him? "If I don't have the fire going, they always come and find me," he says, taking a deep breath.

You can't do anything but observe, almost inclined to ask whether you can take a picture. "This is for sure the cutest thing I've ever seen."

Jeongguk lets out a lazy chuckle before reminding you of something. "Did you want more blood?"

"Oh. Yeah, if you're willing to give it?" You glance at your watch. "I'll need to leave soon."

He glances at you curiously. "Late shift at the clinic?"

"No," you shake your head. "Or, well, it depends. The Bar is having a Halloween night, and I promised Nayeon and Momo I'd come. But I'm also on call tonight, and this time of year, we see a lot of horses colicking and canine poisonings."

"Huh? Why is that?"

"Rapid temperature drops often make horses drink a lot less water, leading to blockages, essentially. And Halloween means candy everywhere and a larger risk of dogs getting into it."

"Ah. Sucks. I heard about the Halloween event. Tae wanted to go."

"Dress up and everything?" you question, wide-eyed.

You enjoy social get-togethers just as much as the next person, and you for sure like everything Halloween; it's just the overhanging anxiety regarding the mix of you, halloween themes, and the public.

"Yeah? Just because we're old doesn't mean we're boring. I can be a party guy if I want to."

"So you're going? Dressed as what?"

"You'll have to wait and see. What are you going as?"

"You think I'll tell you if you're not telling me?"

"I guess not. Do I have to sit up? For the blood?"

"Preferably, unfortunately," you smile sadly, looking at the kittens, all so comfortable.

Incredibly endeared, you watch Jeongguk reach behind him, gently grasping the black kitten sleeping deeply and satisfied on his warm skin. She wakes up, letting out a sad meow as she's being airlifted off Jeongguk by his large hand.

"Of course it was you," he mumbles when the kitten comes into view. "This one would crawl inside my skin if she could."

He puts her down on the bedspread, and she immediately bolts back to him, entirely intending on reclaiming her spot or at least one against his skin. Not like you can blame her. The other two—one under his arm and the other still on his lower back—move on their own when their heater slowly starts to sit up.

It's mostly that first one, stubbornly wanting to warm herself against him.

"No," he scolds gently, moving her away so that he can sit up without her accidentally getting in the way.

The moment he's upright and seated against the headboard, however, she uses her claws to climb up his jeans. He doesn't intervene until she's climbed her way up to the waistband of his pants and the visible band of his underwear, obviously having her sight set on warmth.

"No, you can't go in there," he chuckles, lifting her off a second before she digs her way in between his jeans and underwear.

"Do they sleep in here too?" you wonder, watching the little kitten fight for her rights.

"Yeah, most of the time. I prefer to sleep in a slightly… cooler environment, but if I don't have the fire burning, then they find me. I tried closing the door once—for their safety because what if I crush them in my sleep?—but that was a mistake because Lilith was just screaming at me to open the door."

You don't bring up that he almost accidentally murdered you in his sleep only half an hour ago. Okay, that's an over exaggeration but who knows what could've happened?

Still, it wasn't intentional, and he's clearly concerned about accidentally hurting others. Well, his kittens, but you feel like you belong in that category too; someone pathetically weak compared to him, easily injured, and who gravitates toward him. You definitely also like warm things.

Retrieving the equipment needed for yet another blood draw, you move closer to him. This time, you don't use gloves, but as he offers you his arm, you still clean his skin and your hands with antibacterial wipes.

"This doesn't hurt you?" you ask as you push the needle through his skin, out of the corner of your eye seeing him pet the kitten, who's settled on his thigh.

"No. I mean, I can feel it, and it's not nice, but it doesn't really hurt."

"That's good, makes me feel better for poking you so much."

"It's fine," he smiles, eyes on the little kitten as another approaches. "Have you… looked at it? Under microscope or whatever it was that you wanted to do?"

Fastening the needle with some tape, you reach for the first out of three vials.

"Yeah. Do you want to know what I found? Unless you already know the differences?"

"I think that we have smaller… cells? And more iron? At least that's what I remember."

"Yeah," you confirm, watching the blood start to fill the vial. It's just as dark as the samples sitting in your freezer. "Your red blood cells are smaller than mine, and so there's room for a lot more, even considering they're already packed, hence the darker color. Combined, they have a bigger surface area and can bind more oxygen, which I'm sure contributes to your strength. Your muscles get more blood due to the size of your veins, and your blood carrying loads more oxygen than a human man's would."

"Interesting."

"Yeah. Funny enough, goats have a similar… set up."

Amused, Jeongguk raises his eyebrows. "Goats?"

"Yeah. They're built to thrive at higher altitudes where oxygen is scarcer and one needs to be oxygen-efficient."

"That's cool."

"Yeah, I think so to. I haven't been able to analyze it at the lab yet, though." Removing the full vial, you attach the second. "And your saliva looks very similar to a human's, only less… bacterial. So I'm guessing there's something antibacterial in there that kills off bacteria. Which could make sense from an evolutionary standpoint if you're supposed to drink from the same human on different occasions. A dirty mouth would lead to more infections and human deaths."

"I think I heard something about that too, actually."

You blink, pretending to be offended. "You know these things but don't tell me?"

He smirks lazily. "I mean, what fun is that? Besides, I mostly remember them because you're bringing them up. I learned whatever I know so long ago, and it's knowledge I don't really need in my day-to-day life."

"I guess you're forgiven."

He chuckles. "You can't say you don't prefer getting to see and discover for yourself?"

You think about it, and sure, maybe you do. "Fine. But what if I miss things? I can't possibly go over every single part of your biology in a few weeks."

"You can try? And what about my venom?"

"You're stressing me out, Jeongguk," you admit, anxiety rising at the thought of having to explore without any help at all. "And your venom just looks a lot like your saliva, but seemingly behaves pretty similarly to some types of snake venom. I did—"

A loud meow interrupts you as the two exploring kittens seemingly get into a fight. They scream and hiss at each other in a way that's surprising for such young kittens. But before you know it, it's over.

"You're calm," Jeongguk pets the kitten on his lap. "You're a good girl."

"How do you know it's a she?" you nod toward the kitten without respect for personal boundaries.

"I can smell the difference."

"You can?"

He hums.

Seeing that also the last vial is approaching fullness, you prepare to remove it. "Since the start?"

"Yeah."

"So your names weren't based on vibes at all?"

He grins, watching you once again detach the vial and use a wad of gauze to pull the needle out. No blood this time around either.

"No. Or I mean, yeah; vampire vibes."

You roll your eyes, curiosity still spiking.

"I haven't asked that much about your senses besides your vision… But your sense of smell is good then, I take it?"

"Yeah."

"Like that of a dog? Do I need to take an extra shower before meeting you? An additional layer of deodorant?"

He laughs quietly. "I don't know if it's as advanced as a dog's. Maybe slightly less? But you don't need to worry; you always smell really nice."

Well, you definitely hope he's not lying—and he didn't seem to mind smelling you in his sleep—but also, you'll definitely make sure to always be extra clean when meeting him.

"You're much more polite than I imagined a vampire to be. I'm done now, thank you," you say, grabbing the vials and the discarded material having gathered on the bedspread.

"It's true though. You smell really pleasant. Very womanly."

You raise your eyebrows as you stand from the bed, packing everything away inside your backpack. "I guess I'll take that as a compliment?"

"You should because it is."

In the middle of feeling your cheeks heat just a tad, you're suddenly reminded of something. You straighten up, watching him where he remains sitting on his bed, stroking the kitten's back as the two others explore the bed.

"I know that I have… maybe a below average sense of smell for a human—possibly an advantage with my job—but you don't… smell much to me."

If you weren't so panicked when he grabbed you, you for sure would've jumped at the opportunity to see what he smells like.

"Can you smell another human? If they're not wearing perfume or have been out, sweating for hours?"

"…No."

"Right. Humans generally aren't able to. Up close, skin to skin, sure but not really from a distance. Vampires communicate more by scent than humans do."

"So you don't wear perfumes?"

"No. I don't like perfumes. Mildly scented soaps and stuff are alright, but not perfumes. A few vampires wear them, but they're the bane of my existence. For example, I would rather you show up here smelling of organic cow shit than… Victoria's Secret."

You chuckle. "Good to know."

<previous | next>

Clearing his throat, Hoseok carefully takes another sheet. His shoulders are stiff, there is an ache in his lower back, and he craves the kick of caffeine so badly he starts to hallucinate it on the tip of his tongue. His eyes scan over the paper, double-checking the paragraphs on it as he reaches for a binder, neatly placing the document into a plastic wallet before rolling his chair towards a shelf, stashing the papers away, and rolling back to his desk.

“If only they brought her in sooner, we could’ve actually done something more—”

“It’s not your fault, Doctor,” Hoseok rasps out, “She’s lucky enough to have been sent here at all.”

His thoughts repeatedly drift to their newest patient. He feels the guilt building up in his chest, he feels the sorrow tugging at his heart and he has to rapidly blink the tears away before they can blur his vision again. Scars piled upon scars, bruises decorated her from head to toe, her hair knotted into clumps where blood had dried. He’d seen many awful cases in his two short years at the clinic, but this—this was entirely different.

Absentmindedly, he rubs over the scratch on his arm, hissing at the slight burn of it.

It took hours just to get her to calm down before they could sedate her and treat her injuries.

Shaking his head, his gaze lands on the doctor, who for what was probably the fifteenth time in the span of twenty minutes, sighs again. He watches his mentor, noticing how his face seems to have aged a couple of years as the lights dull his features, dragging shadows across tired skin.

Dr Jones sighs, again, and begins to reach for his bag.

“Where are you going?” Hoseok’s voice carries a note of suspicion as he watches the man pack his belongings.

His mentor simply nods towards the clock, before focusing on stuffing his laptop into an already half full bag.

“Oh-” Hoseok blinks, twirling a pen in his hand. “I didn’t realise it was this late already.”

Dr Jones’ eyebrows scrunch together as his lips stretch into a thin line, “We’ve had a busy day – you should get going too, Jeong.”

“I suppose you’re right, sir.” He sighs out, reaching for his own belongings. Not that he had many in the first place – a crappy government-issued laptop and three pens, to be exact.

Like clockwork, Hoseok slung his bag over his shoulders, stepped out and watched as Dr Jones busily switched the irritating lights off and closed the office door. A short but melodic beep sounded out, indicating that the door wouldn’t open without their keycards. But more importantly, indicating the end of another long and gruelling day.

“What are your plans for tonight then?” He asked as they began walking down the hall, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched.

Dr Jones shrugged, groaning as he rolled his head back. “I think I’m gonna finish up the paperwork, then annoy the missus a bit. You?”

The hybrid copied his mentor’s action, hissing at the stiffness in his joints. “Not sure. I’ll probably finish watching my show.”

“You still haven’t finished it?”

He shook his head with a smile.

“Seriously?” Dr Jones laughed, “I guess you’ll have to binge it tonight then. I don’t want you doing any more work tonight, Hoseok.”

“I wasn’t planning on it. After today, I feel like I need a week to recover.”

As the two approached the ward, Hoseok slowed his steps. Even now, the fox hybrid was on his mind.

“You’re thinking again,” Dr Jones points out.

Shaking his head, Hoseok tries to rid his mind of her, if even at least for a moment. It’ll take time for her to wake up, let alone recover – going to check up on her would be pointless. Yet the memory of her scars and bruises keeps flooding his mind, like a poison that won’t go away no matter how many antidotes he takes.

“It’s nothing.” He finally mutters.

The doctor continues to watch his student, the two stood in the middle of the hallway. He briefly glances at the long stretch of windows behind him, eyes immediately finding the resting fox. Tight straps keep her bound to the crappy hospital bed, clearly intended to prevent anymore accidents.

It has only been a couple of hours since she’d arrived, but Hoseok already seemed to be deeply affected by her.

“You know,” He starts, “You can always go in and sit beside her, talk to her.” Hoseok opens his mouth, a retort dying on his tongue, “Maybe familiarising yourself with her will… Help.”

The two stand in a tense silence, their sights hovering on the unconscious, bruised hybrid.

The whir of machinery and soft murmurs of background conversations fill the space between them. In the moment, it’s hard to differentiate between all the different sounds, as each footstep, each huff and breath, each beat of the heart monitor seems to attack Hoseok’s senses.

The golden retriever briefly glances at his mentor, ignoring the concerned look in his eye, and clears his throat, “Fine, fine, I’ll go to her. See if anything’s changed since last time.”

Dr Jones says nothing, simply nodding, waiting for the hybrid to take the first step.

When he does no such thing, the man rolls his eyes.

“A’ight. I’ll see you tomorrow. I expect an update on that show of yours – what was it called again?”

“Dexter.” Hoseok muses.

“Yeah, that. Binge it, relax, and update me on it tomorrow.” The doctor pats Hoseok’s shoulder, his hand heavy with a comforting warmth. “And get home safe, ‘kay?”

“Yessir.” Hoseok does a mock salute, watching Dr Jones’ figure until it disappears behind the front doors, becoming one with the darkness outside. His smile fades as he turns back towards the glass, towards the girl. A small scowl grows on his face. For two years now, he’s been treating abused and abandoned hybrids. For two years, he’s felt this hole in his chest slowly grow, day by day, patient after patient. Were all humans truly this cruel? Was Dr Jones just a one off?

He shakes his head, as if doing so would remove his thoughts entirely, but he knows better. And so, he begins a slow pace towards the front door, secretly looking forward to his binging session and the tub of chocolate ice cream that eagerly awaits him at home. But one thought lingers in his mind…

She’s just like any other patient.

--------

“Come on Taehyung! Let Hobi-hyung do his job!” Jimin’s voice called out as he pulled on the tiger hybrid’s waist, using every ounce of strength within him to pull the younger male through the door.

“But what if something happens?!” Taehyung breathes out through his struggle, his knuckles whitening as his grip on the doorframe tightens. There was no way he was leaving – not now, not ever. He grunted as he pulled himself further into the room, the bed where the human rested just a couple of steps away.

Hoseok had been working diligently on keeping the human warm and comfortable, fiddling with a suture kit as the younger hybrids argued, but even he — the epitome of patience — was growing weary. A small furrow crackled between his brows, watching as her skin grew paler and her breaths shallower with every minute. His concern and discomfort grew and tugged at his chest the longer he sat around, suture kit spun uselessly in his hands.

“She’ll be fine! Hobi-hyung is taking care of her!” Jimin exclaimed, voice strained and muscles working overtime as Taehyung continued resisting. It was only a matter of time before the tiger would slip out of his grasp, rushing back over to that damned human—

As the two continued their struggle against one another, a shadow slowly grew over their faces. Accompanied by faint steps, the room grew silent.

It was when Taehyung had finally wrought his way out of Jimin’s hold that he noticed it. His blood burned against the confines of his veins, pumping dizzyingly fast until there was only one thing and one thing only which he could focus on – which was now fully blocked off by a solid wall of flesh and clothes.

Jimin gulped harshly, his grip on Taehyung easing as his eyes settled on the view before him. To see Hoseok annoyed was rare, but to see him pissed off? Now that was cause for concern. Taking a step back, the fox hybrid hoped to avoid the irritated gaze of his hyung.

“You need to go, Taehyung. I need to treat her arm,” His voice was strained as he loomed over the two, “And quite frankly, you grumbling and growling in my ear prevents me from being able to do just that.” He continued, jabbing a finger at Taehyung’s forehead.

Stepping away, Hoseok knew neither of the two would dare move another step. Slipping a pair of gloves on, his brows pulled taut, the latex smacking harshly against his skin as if to emphasise his point.

“B- But hyung—”

“No ifs, buts or maybes. Go sort yourself out. Take a shower. Change your clothes – you stink,” He added pointedly, scrunching his face in disgust, “Eat something. She’ll be all patched up by the time you’re back and then you can have her all to yourself.”

Hoseok continued to keep an eye on the younger hybrid, watching as the gears turned behind his eyes.

“He’s right, Tae,” Jimin nodded, leaning over his friend’s shoulder. “You could risk infecting her with whatever germs you picked up in the woods. Hyung needs a calm, sterile environment.”

Taehyung remained motionless, his pupils blown wide in the dimly lit room. He knew they were right, and yet something kept telling him – no, insisting – to stay. It was a feeling. A feeling that burrowed deep in his chest, gradually clawing its way out, setting his impulses free and clouding his better judgement.

But his thinking was rational – surely – he had every right to want to watch the process, to be by her side, to make sure she’s okay. It was his fault that she got hurt in the first place. So wouldn’t it be cruel for him to leave her alone? Wouldn’t it be cruel to leave her vulnerable?  

Everyone knew of Hoseok’s aversion to humans. He never bothered to hide it. What if he… Did something to her? What if he decided he would hurt her? As some sort of revenge against humanity?

“She’s perfectly safe here, Tae. Hobi-hyung knows what he’s doing—"

“As a matter of fact, it isn’t safe. He hates humans.” He spat out.  

The retriever hybrid took a step back, as if the words themselves had a physical impact on him.

“Everyone knows this. He’s never bothered to hide it, so how can I be sure she’s safe?” Taehyung continued, sounding stern, his voice growing deeper with every word.

An old, familiar warmth ran through Hoseok’s veins. His heartbeat grew louder, pounding mercilessly against his eardrums, but having little effect against the tiger’s words.

“What does he do when he sees or even hears the mention of humans? He throws a face and walks off.” Taehyung was right. He had a valid reason for wanting to stay, surely his hyung couldn’t argue against that— “He snarls like they’re the dirt under his shoe, like they have personally hurt him. Killed his loved ones—"

“Taehyung!”

“Don’t talk so confidently on shit you’ve got no idea about.” Hoseok spat out. Something ugly coiled in his gut as he stared at his gloved hands, brows pulled taut. “Just because I don’t bend over backwards for her, it doesn’t mean I’ll fucking hurt her—” He paused, sucking in a deep, harsh breath through his teeth, “I’m a doctor, for fucks sake. I took an oath.” I promised him. “Whether she’s a hybrid or a human or a sea snail, I’ll treat her to the best of my ability. So now, get the hell out or I swear I’ll drag you by the—”

“W- We get it, hyung. C- Come on Tae—”

The tiger hybrid seemed almost pliant under Jimin’s hands as they dragged him out. Whatever fight there was that’d burned in his body, it had all been snuffed out by Hoseok’s momentary cold-snap. Neither of the hybrids had even heard him speak like this before, yet alone swear—

As the door swung open, Taehyung took one last glance at the human, majority of her figure hidden by an angry golden retriever of a hybrid. Jimin’s hands eagerly dragged him out, desperate to escape whatever wrath the tiger had unwrapped.

“H- Hey, what are you—” Jimin’s voice fell short as he looked at his friend.

“Hyung, let me stay with her when you’re done,” Taehyung spoke, his pupils blown wide as he pleaded with his elder. “I want to make sure she’ll be okay—"

The door shut with a earache-inducing slam. On one side, Hoseok stood motionless, chest rapidly heaving up and down as he listened to the tigers’ pleas from the other side.

“You can come back when I’m done.”

As the pairs of footsteps grew distant, he was left to stew in his scalding state.

Hoseok had known the tiger for years – much longer than he knew Dr Jones – yet the man had never managed to hit a nerve in him like this before. Sure, he avoided any mention of humans like the plague – but to accuse him of intending to hurt one?

Taehyung had crossed a line, and all three of them knew it.

The two would have to talk things out, but as of the current state of things, Hoseok had to school his expression, shove his fermenting frustrations deep down, and focus.

His expression soured as he turned to look at her – asleep, blissfully unaware of the turmoil brewing in his home.

He’d rather be anywhere but here, in such close proximity.

Even after all these years, the stench of human blood made him sick.

--------

The ward was silent. Not the kind of peaceful silence you find in an office or the blissful quiet of a sunny afternoon paired with an iced coffee. It was the kind of quiet that had your stomach knotting in different spots, it was the kind of quiet where others around you could hear even the brief swallowing of pooling spit in your mouth, the kind of quiet that made you want to be swallowed up by the panelled floor beneath your feet.

Hoseok had barely stepped foot into the room, but his patient was already all over him – wide eyed, a big grin stretching across her face the moment his reddish-brown hair broke the reigning white of the room.

“You came back!” She exclaimed, earning irritated glances from multiple other occupants. As usual, she ignored them, opting to silently wait for Hoseok to approach her side whilst her tail swished back and forth.

The smile he wanted to return barely made a crack across his face. He could feel the muscles twitch in exertion, and for a moment he wanted to simply stop. To not respond. To walk right out of that room and never return. But he had to. He promised.

“Of course I’m back. Where else would I go?” He asked, feigning amused annoyance as he rounded her bed, checking her vitals.

The fox gave a small shrug of her shoulders, eyes narrowing as she observed his every move. “Where were you last night?”

Hoseok gritted his teeth. Not in anger, but in silent prevention.

“Oh, I had the evening off.”

“What did you do?”

Prepared for a funeral. “Just the usual – made dinner, watched Dexter. I also went through some documents.” He didn’t want to go in depth. He feared that his true emotions would come to the surface, at which point he’d have little control over anything that would happen there on after.

The fox girl – fuck, he needed to stop calling her that – Rita nodded, though he could tell she didn’t believe a single word that came out of his mouth. After all, she didn’t survive up ‘till now on honesty and naivety. Still, Rita remained silent, observing.

“What about you?” Hoseok finally asked, bringing a chair towards the side of her bed – the side on which her bandaged and stitched arm rested.

“Oh, just the usual,” She was mocking him. He could tell by that playful look in her eye – too bad he wasn’t in a joking mood. “Took a short walk around the clinic, ate shitty hospital food, watched the news.”

The retriever hummed, indicating that he was listening, even as he worked on silently unwrapping her arm.

“And how’s the arm been? Any soreness or pain?”

“Not more than the typical dose.” Again, he hummed.

Did he feel like a complete asshole over the fact that he wanted nothing more than to just get up and leave? Totally. Rita trusted him. She relied on him to help make her feel better again. And he could see that she was getting better every day – slowly but surely. But he had bigger problems on his mind now.

“When will Dr Jones come to see me? He’s been gone since I’ve arrived.”

He knew this question would come eventually. It did so every day since Rita woke up. He should’ve been prepared.

“I- I don’t know.” He tried to keep it short, simple, normal. That’s what his mentor would’ve wanted.

Rita continued to observe how he worked. Her eyes held many questions, but she knew better than to bombard her doctor with questions. Hoseok would’ve probably run away the moment she said that she knew.

That she knew Dr Jones was dead.

“Well, tell him I’ll be waiting.”

“Y- Yeah, I will.”

-----

With practiced ease, he wiped down her arm, removing lingering blood before he turned to his suture kit, finally propping it open.

She’s just like any other patient, Hoseok.

Gripping the needle with his forceps, the remaining hybrid felt his throat tighten.

He brought it through the skin, a frown settling on his face as he noticed her expression shifting. Pulling the needle through, he lifted it, using the forceps to lift the skin on the opposite side before reinserting the tiny blade.

Bleeds just like any other patient.

Carefully, he twisted his wrist, bringing the needle through more skin until it resurfaced.

See? Her skin is the same as a hybrid’s. It rips and it bleeds, and you stitch it back together. Just like anybody else’s.

He then stretched the thread out, before twisting it around the holder and then, finally, created a knot.

The surgeon continued to work in silence, focused on the way the sharp instrument cut through the first layer of skin before tethering the separated flesh.

Just like anybody else’s.

Repeating the process, he eventually eased into its familiarity, his breathing evening out until there was nothing but his body and mind working in fluid cooperation.

In the short time they knew each other, Hoseok had learned more under Dr Jones’ watchful eye than he did in the five years he’d spent at university. He couldn’t say that the doctor impressed a young, bright and hopeful Hoseok at first, but as time went on, he began to appreciate his mentor a little more.

“There’s still so much left for you to learn”, Dr Jones had said back then, the smoke from his cigarette wafting directly into his face. He scrunched his nose, fanning at the air until the grey cloud dispersed.

To be honest, during that first meeting he doubted Dr Jones was even a doctor. Why was he out in the back, smoking when so many hybrids were waiting for him to help?

The needle seemed to become a part of him, flowing through skin with practiced ease until inch by inch, the wound began to disappear.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Dr Jones’ voice rung out in the small ward. Every eye in the room snapped in his direction – that is, apart from Hoseok’s. The intern cursed under his shaky breath, the needle in his hand only inches from stabbing into the patient’s arm.

“With how you’re shaking, your patient is gonna bleed out on the hospital floor before you’ve even tied the first knot,” His voice echoed, stern and unimpressed as Hoseok struggled to grip the needle, sweat beading at his temple as his patient winced and groaned.

“Take a deep breath, you’ve done this before haven’t you?”

“Only on fake skin, s- sir.” His voice came out quiet, embarrassed as the doctor stood, watching.

“Keep going.”

Hoseok’s head snapped in the direction behind him, eyes wide and startled.

“B- But—"

“No but’s. You’ve started this, so you have to finish it,” He paused, smiling reassuringly at the young patient. “Take a deep breath. You’ve done this before.”

The door clicked open as he finished tying the final knot.

Words struggled to escape his throat as Taehyung entered, so he opted to remain silent. He watched as the lines around her eyes began to fade, he watched the colour return to her face. Something akin to relief bloomed in his chest – he hated it.

Working to distract himself, Hoseok tied a gauze around her bicep. He ignored the tiger hybrid as he rounded the bed, hesitantly taking the human’s hand into his own.

A flicker of a grimace before Hoseok sighs, moving away to pack his tools. He could finally get away from her. From her scent. From her helplessness. From her calm. His nose twitched in disgust the deeper he inhaled. His heart rattled harder. The storm in his mind only grew in chaos.

He couldn’t wait to go and finally relax after a long day of working his ass off. He couldn’t wait to go and forget, for at least a couple of hours.

“So… You’ve fixed her arm?” Taehyung’s voice came out nonchalantly. It was almost too much and the retriever knew his friend was feigning it.

Hoseok nodded, organising his kit. He worked hard to keep his focus on the task at hand, refusing to acknowledge the soft relaxed breaths that had her chest rising and falling  

“You’re not staying here the whole night, are you?” He asked, voice strained, his usual hearty smile pulled taut into a fine line. Crows’ feet tugged at the corners of his eyes, which expertly averted the sleeping woman before him. 

The tiger glanced up at him, strands of wet hair curling across his forehead.

“I need to make sure she’s okay.”

“You’re saying you don’t trust my medical skills?” He asked, attempting a joke even as something ugly, something spiteful and sour coiled in his gut. He almost couldn’t believe that the tiger had the gall to doubt his abilities.

Of course the human’s fine. She’s sleeping and breathing perfectly fine. Can’t he tell?

“No, hyung, I just—” Taehyung paused, his head drooping low, finally showing a smidge of the tigers’ real emotions, “It’s my fault she’s in this state. I— I just want her to be okay.”

“She’s fine,” He started, “Her arm should heal relatively quick, so long as she doesn’t move it erratically.”

Taehyung nodded quickly. Relief washed over him, and he thanked his lucky stars to have Hoseok around. It was rare that his hyung had to use his skills outside of his work, to the point that Taehyung almost forgot how sharp his skillset was.  

“Wake me up if anything happens.” The hybrid muttered, deciding that he’d had enough of it. Of everything. He headed groggily towards the door, fist clenched tight around the handle of the suture kit.

“H- Hyung?”

“Yeah?” Hoseok asks, one hand resting on the doorknob, the other just barely tightening around his toolkit.

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung whispers, fingers toying with the human’s limp ones. “For what I said earlier. I didn’t mean any of it.”

“It’s fine.”

Neither hybrid spoke another word. They let the air between them relax, allowed the words to sink in, allowed the small reconciliation to take place.

“Goodnight hyung.” Taehyung finally mutters, watching as his hyungs’ shoulders grew relaxed.

“Yeah, goodnight.”

As he closed the door, Hoseok’s shoulders drooped lower. Having a human so close after so many years had brought back unexpected memories, ones he had unknowingly suppressed.

Heading downstairs, the murmurs of a distant conversation caught his attention. It continued, even as his steps grew louder, closer.

“She can’t stay here,” Namjoon’s voice was sturdy, confident even as he was met with resistance. “You clearly didn’t think this through, you didn’t think about what would happen to you, to us, if you brought her here.”

The kitchen was illuminated by a warm, orange glow. His ears pressed flat against his hair, the lightbulb above casting shadows down his face as the polar bear stared down the youngest hybrid. Jeongguk chewed at his lower lip, resembling more of a prey animal in the presence of their so-called ‘leader’.

“Hyung, i- it’s not like that—”

“It isn’t? Because so far, you still haven’t considered the consequences. I know you’ve met her before, but that’s in the past. That meeting? It took place in an entirely different world.” He paused, rubbing his face, a deep sigh escaping through his nostrils. “Do you have any idea of what happens to hybrids that harbour a human?”

Jeongguk paused, his gaze locked onto Namjoon’s. His bottom lip grew puffy. Hoseok winced as in a split second the younger hybrid bit down hard, drawing blood.

“They’re arrested, and the human is killed. Or worse, sent into one of those facilities.” Yoongi chimed in from his spot on the sofa, his voice soft, barely distinguishable from the noise coming from the tv.

Namjoon allowed the words to seep in, his gaze finally switching to Hoseok, who’d stalked over to the sink. The dog hybrid said nothing, pulling out the needle he’d used earlier. He was going to wash it, hoping to conceal some of the stench the human left behind before he threw the needle away.

“H- How is she?” Jeongguk cautiously looked up, watching as his hyung turned the tap on.

He shrugged his shoulders, scrubbing at the metal. “She’s all stitched up. Just needs to rest up.” The last thing he wanted was to talk about her.

“And how’s Taehyung?”

The elder paused. He hadn’t expected that. He resumed his scrubbing, biting at the inside of his cheek. Should I tell them?

“He’s fine. Tired but clean.”

Jeongguk hummed in response, before turning back to Namjoon.

“Hyung, I know we can’t keep her, but I can’t let her go back. At least, not there. The entire police force is looking for her.”

He watched as the leader sighed, shaking his head.

“I’m sure if we drop her off in the middle of nowhere, she’ll do just fine. I mean, she survived out in the wild somehow.” Hoseok spoke, bringing the needle to his nose. Her scent seemed to have disappeared.

“W- What? No. We can’t do that either—” Jeongguk exclaimed, before Hoseok interrupted him, holding the needle close to his own nose.

“Sniff it.”

Jeongguk complied, scrunching his eyebrows. “What are you doing, hyung?”

“Can you smell anything?”

“No?”

“Yoongi-hyung, sniff this.” Hoseok walked away, ignoring the youngest’s question.

“No, I can’t smell the human on the needle.” Yoongi confirmed before the hybrid could even reach him.

Namjoon cleared his throat.

“Let’s talk about this when she’s awake,” He paused, watching as Hoseok walked back to the suture kit. His sight moved back over to the panther, who was nervously licking at the fresh cut on his lip, “Let her decide.”

-------

As the night grew colder, the rain had eased into a gentle pitter-patter against the window. Taehyung shifted and turned, his ears twitching at your every soft sigh.

The blankets Jin had brought earlier were too warm and too heavy.

Deep down, hidden somewhere in the pits of his stomach, a dizzying feeling bubbled. He hadn’t put a name to it yet – he didn’t want to. This feeling, this emotion, it lurked like a shadow. Peered over his shoulder, snuck into the darkness of his subconscious through cracks of exhaustion and bewilderment. Like a disease. It was slowly taking control, and he knew it wouldn’t take long until his brain would turn into a befuddled puddle.

He fought to resist it. He wanted to resist it.

But he couldn’t help but falter, as with every breath she took, an unfamiliar — yet comfortable — warmth spread through his chest. It buzzed through his blood, leaving tingling trails of pure, hot excitement all over his body. He wanted to give in so bad.

But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not because of Jeongguk, or even his hyungs.

It just wasn’t right.

Hybrids and humans did not mix. That hatred for humans, the electrifying need for them to be punished, eradicated, it was the unspoken law. It didn’t pass as presidential speeches or flyers proudly presented everywhere. It didn’t even have a name in daily conversation. Small talk. It had no place in schools or at work or at social gatherings, no. It sat, unseen and unheard, yet always lurking in the darkest corners of everyone’s minds. Like the steady ticking of a clock. It was persistent, yet silent, fading into the back of his mind until his entire body flowed in rhythm with it.

Humans were supposed to be gone.

So, what the hell was he doing, resisting his most raw, most dangerous instincts as this human slept blissfully unaware beside him?

tags <3

It's a rather dark night, you think, as the flickering lights of street lamps barely illuminate your path. You and some of your friends have decided to spend Halloween night roaming the more desolate streets of your small town, rather than attend the party of the school's homecoming queen, the most popular and at the same time most hated girl ever by you and your friends, a common ground that has certainly welded your friendship.

You are reminded of the afternoon you spent at Glenn's house deciding how you would spend Halloween night; Glenn's initiative had been rather unique, since he was not a fan of that holiday.

“It will be fun, everything is so scary at night, we might even meet a real vampire! I mean, not like Edward Cullen, I mean one who doesn't sparkle-” but Glenn's excited monologue had been badly interrupted by his girlfriend, Claire, who had hit him over the head with a book, and who knows why, said book was actually titled Twilight. You remember giggling, willingly accepting that idea, but now...

“We were simply supposed to go for a walk, Glenn,” you mutter ruefully, looking around, “Do you want to tell me where you're taking us?”

The red-haired boy snorts again, settling into his vampire costume bought at a thrift store stall, “Come on Y/N, what would life be without a little thrill?”

Claire, for her part, nods in turn with a euphoric smile, as if she knows something you don't, prancing merrily dressed as a red devil among black lace decorations and lace.

“Life would be as it has always been, wonderful,” you blurt out nervously, freezing suddenly.

The asphalt has run out and the streetlights have stopped dimly illuminating the entire street, you are at the edge of the most talked about lands in your town. When and how exactly did you get there?

“Here we are, my girls,” you hear Glenn say, satisfied with his feat.

“What are we doing here?” you swallow, far from cheerful.

Answering you is Claire, “It's an abandoned castle and this is Halloween night, what do you say?”

You grit your teeth, shaking your head, “You're crazy, I'm not going in there!” you take a step back, your heart stirring, but Glenn stops you in a single moment.

“Where do you think you're going? I promised your brother I'd keep an eye on you,” he tells you sternly, and you know he's right, you can't just leave on your own, the streets are empty but it would still be dangerous.

“Don't you want to see what it's really like inside, aren't you the least bit curious?”

Short answer? No.

More articulate answer? Fuck no.

“Come on, don't be a wimp now!”

You snort, casting a glance at the castle in question.

It is as large as it is gloomy; the older inhabitants of the town have always spoken of the presence of various monsters within it, which is why the lands surrounding the castle are so large, preventing the actual growth of the otherwise large and well-populated town. Some of the land had been ceded to keep the monsters quiet.

That's some bullshit. And you're certainly not a wimp.

What will you find in there, maybe overgrown spiders? You shake your head, certainly nothing up to the Acromantulae seen in Harry Potter.

“I'm not afraid,” you limit yourself to saying, Glenn and Claire seem satisfied with your answer as they begin to step over half of the downed iron bars surrounding the gates of the immense building. It bothers you that they haven't bothered beyond you, but it's Halloween night; you can't really spoil their fun.

You hold on tightly to one of the rusty old iron bars, lift one leg trying not to fall off because of the bulky skirt of your witch costume, and end up straight on the ground covered with dry mud and grass, thank the heavens that it hasn't rained in the last few days, otherwise goodbye costume, although more like an elegant medieval dress and nothing more than that.

“Guys, wait for me!” you exclaim as you turn toward them, but you find yourself rolling your eyes.

The darkness is almost completely pitch black, only the moon high in the sky gives you some brightness in that open space surrounded by green trees and uncultivated grass. Your friends are not there.

“Please tell me this is a joke, please,” you growl, turning only a few seconds to climb over the railing, “Glenn? Claire?”

A shiver of unease snakes down your spine, as if someone - or something - is watching you. But you immediately banish the absurd thought. The Halloween atmosphere always makes everything quite scary; your friends chose that place for that very reason.

Imagining that you simply find them in front of the castle's entrance, you also wander down the path that actually looks like anything else by now. You will meet each other there.

The wind blows without worrying about your bare shoulders because of the dress's boat neckline; the cape had long since been taken away along the way. You bought it in an antique store and the elderly man seemed quite eager to get rid of it. He even gave you a discount.

The sound of falling leaves under the force of the draught is quite terrifying, especially now that you've discovered you can't use your cell phone. There is absolutely no service there, and isn't that how the best horror movies begin?

A frustrated groan leaves your throat, you don't have to think about it.

“Glenn?” you try to call out once more, but along the path echoes the hoots of an owl that is probably scrutinizing you with condescension, wondering why a silly girl like you is wandering around in such a desolate, godforsaken place.

When you arrive at the gates of the castle, you find yourself admiring the extraordinary Gothic architecture of the huge, ancient building made of stone and marble. The fact that it has survived over the centuries without any kind of restoration is a testament to the good materials that were used.

One by one, you walk down the stone steps, sudden thunder jolts you violently, and with fear in your veins you throw yourself toward the immense reinforced door, finding it ajar, a sign that Glenn and Claire must have already entered. You ignore the hint of annoyance, since they could at least wait for you, you must escape the sudden storm.

Wordlessly you notice the large, thick black clouds enveloping the sky, obscuring even the immense full moon.

You carefully close the ancient gateway, looking around the thick-walled atrium decorated with paintings that are surely worth more than your current home, not to mention the carpet you are walking on, though a bit worn, is definitely from the time of the castle's founding. You wonder which lord lived there and whether it can be traced in the history books.

“Claire?” you whisper, afraid of disturbing someone, but who exactly?

Sighing wearily, you really have no time or inclination to play along with your friends, you rest your hand on the wrought-iron railing of the staircase, beginning to climb so that you can find those two idiots as soon as possible and get home safely.

They say 'God makes them and then matches them up,' right? You mentally growl, well, you would’ve just wiped them out instead.

Between corridors that are not real corridors but dead ends, some narrow and some exaggeratedly large, you finally find the wing reserved for rooms, hating the enormity of that place.

“Hey, you ... are you here?” you ask, slowly opening a bedroom door with one eye closed and one only slightly open, fearing to find the two lovebirds doing strange things in the leto of an abandoned castle, because they would be perfectly capable of it.

But what you find is just a lavishly decorated bedroom absolutely empty of any other life forms but you.

“This is definitely a joke,” you chuckle mirthlessly, clutch your arms to your chest, and continue that unwelcome tour of yours, continuing to open rooms at random, with no more expectation of finding anyone in them, until you come to a rather large bedroom.

Quite different from the others, which up to that point had been yes, beautiful, but empty, lacking a soul.

This one was immense just like the castle itself, yet warm, thanks to the burning fireplace. The four-poster bed was adorned with red silk sheets, as were the velvet curtains tied to the solid wooden columns, on the walls finely decorated with gold paint were hung medieval tapestries, depicting hunting parties, running horses and wolves, wolves everywhere. One that particularly strikes you depicts two wolves and a woman in the center, they seem ready to bite her fiercely, you notice with discomfort.

High glass windows with curtains left open allow lightning to illuminate the entire room, followed by a terrible, howl-like rumble.

That horrible noise seems to awaken you from the sort of trance you fell into while admiring the surely master bedroom, and you finally take serious note of the burning fire. Why a working fireplace in a castle uninhabited for years?

“To many the night brings counsel, to me it has brought a lovely maiden, I see...” you gasp surprised and terrified, turning toward the silky, warm, yet slightly hoarse, almost growling voice.

A relatively young man watches you with his shoulder resting against one of the stained glass windows. You had not seen him. No. He was not there before, you are absolutely sure.

His dark, shiny hair has been grown down to his neck, some curling around his sharp, elegant jaw, the neck left bare by his unbuttoned, white shirt is a set of sinuous, sharp, powerful lines. The soft black pants do nothing to hide the wonderful figure of his long legs, his feet are bare, you notice. He feels perfectly comfortable, as if... as if that were his home.

“I-I... I'm sorry, it's Halloween and some friends of mine thought...” you try to explain with your hands clasped to the skirt of your dress, but you are immediately interrupted by the man's sophisticated, sassy giggle.

“They thought it was a brilliant idea to violate my property?” you pale at his question.

“We... the whole town believes the castle is uninhabited,” you reply with a shy breath, trying to justify them.

The young man breaks away from the glass window, slowly approaching you, you take steps back, inadvertently bumping into one of the pillars of the bed.

“And does it look uninhabited to you, little girl?”

Little girl? By the look of him, he wouldn't seem that much older than you, in fact.

Now that he has moved closer, standing only a foot away from you, you notice details of his face that you did not catch a few moments earlier.

He has high, pronounced cheekbones, and his lips seem so plump and soft that you blush at the thought of kissing them, his nose is well-proportioned and straight, while the peculiar shape of his eyes gives him a rather sweet and angelic air, although the fun written in them is anything but angelic.

“I didn't know, I'm really sorry, sir,” and it's true, the last thing you want is to be a nuisance to someone you don't even know, “I'll get my friends back and we'll leave right away, I promise.”

Dark eyes rimmed with long eyelashes watch you closely, before dropping to the rest of your body. Suddenly you remember the deep cleavage of your witch's dress, your skin burning under his watchful gaze.

“Right now there is no one else in the castle, except you and me,” he approaches again, you can feel his warm breath meet your neck, you shiver as the man clasps one hand above your head, around the pillar of the bed, doing the same with the other. This makes it clear how statuesque his physique is, compared to your more petite one, you also catch a subtle citrus fragrance, light and not cloying, is that him?

With a huge effort, you process his words, widening your eyes. No one else?

“But how-”

“In my opinion you made it all up, little girl,” he sneers, "Just admit that it was your curiosity that drove you here," but you shake your head, vehemently denying it.

“I really came here with friends!” you fret, you've never been good at handling pressure and this guy is not helping you at all.

“Oh, really?” a devilish smile makes its way across his soft, smooth cheeks, "So it's just a coincidence that you're wearing this dress?" you don't know how to answer the question, you can't, not when he lowers a hand over you, brushes the outline of your face with a finger, trailing down the delicate line of your neck to your cleavage, your rippling, shivering skin longs to receive his touch once more, you struggle to recover.

“Th-this dress?” you stammer in shame, his finger is still grazing your chest and you are doing nothing to push it away.

“Mh-mh,” he nods, pushing your cleavage down a few millimeters, enough to make you squeak with red cheeks, “How much do you know about this castle and its owners, little girl?”

Nothing, you'd like to answer, but your eyes already communicate your answer as he pulls back, finally letting you breathe. His scent still hovers around you, though.

“Year 1479, the people of the town of Howl enter into an agreement with the seven lords of Midnight, ceding a part of their lands to these noble lords and agreeing to send a virgin once every ten years, on the so-called Halloween Night,” he narrates, leaving you speechless, “In return, none of the townspeople would be hunted down and killed, does that ring a bell?”

“L-Listen to me, I really don't know what you're talking about, I definitely have to go now,” you nod at your own words, but the door slams shut along with a new and terrible rumble, an anguished cry involuntarily leaving your throat.

“The dress you're wearing is soaked in poison, little girl” the imperious tone terrifies you, automatically your body closes in on itself, as a kind of protection.

“This must definitely be a joke, it is Halloween after all,” you whisper to yourself with tears in your eyes.

“It's a security, for us. It ensures that the girls don't run away, because we are the only ones who can neutralize that poison” you don't know why the man started speaking in plural, you just know that you have to leave, even though something inside you is screaming at you not to. Because it could end very badly.

“You'd better take it off, your body might absorb more poison than is really necessary, the sooner we start the better,” he sighs, beginning to take off his white shirt, showing off a well-built, smooth chest and abs studded with thin scars lighter than his skin, swallowing without any more salivation, following long lines of black ink that weave across his pecs, forming some kind of mark, perhaps related to some cult.

“What are you doing!”

The man tilts his head, his soft hair following the movement meekly, and grasps the edge of his pants, running his forefinger and thumb over it defiantly as he watches you, “I'm taking what was given to me, little girl,” he sneers again, not at all impressed by your shock.

It was not uncommon for him and his brothers to be served girls who were totally unaware of their own destiny, they were tiresome at times, they would not stop shaking and crying, praying not to be deprived of their purity, but you smell so delicious that it might make him go beyond your dullness.

The fabric of his excellent quality pants slowly flows over the flawless skin of his toned legs, the blood rushes straight to your cheeks, and your heart misses a beat with a strangled “iiih” as you realize that the stranger has not only freely undressed in front of you, but is not wearing any underwear.

You've certainly never seen a naked man in person, but based on your anatomy books, that is definitely not a normal penis.

With a strange feeling of dizziness and no little embarrassment, you realize that even at rest, it is definitely big, with a swollen base almost as big as perfectly round testicles and such obvious purplish veins that you wonder if it is actually already hard, in its own way. Could that vibrant pink be an indicator? God, what the hell are you thinking?!

After a little dizziness your eyes fly to the closed door, you have to leave, run.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks you, smiling with a hint of danger in his eyes, “Do you want to run? Run away from me? Know that this will only excite me more.”

You try to look away from his cock, with extreme difficulty, as he spoke, his cock had moved slightly, as if agreeing with the man's words. You ignore the slight jolt between your legs.

“If I can get through the gates of your property, will you let me go?” you propose almost shyly, staring into his sly eyes.

“Um... if I let you go, you'd die from the poison, but if that's what you want...” he shrugs, making you frown. The story of the poisoned dress might be bullshit to convince you to let him fuck you, but what if it's not?

You shake your head, it's all just a bluff. This man is clearly a pervert, maybe he gets off on fucking on such nights with stranger women.

“That's what I want.” you assure with a note of panic in your voice, the desire to escape is so urgent you can hardly think, “Open the door.”

But the man shakes his head, “Strip and I will leave you free to roam my lands until I find you.”

“I don't-!” the words die between your lips, his singsong expression gone, giving way to a sternness that clashes with his regal features, the difference making that contrast frightening.

“I like to play, little girl ... but I don't tolerate whining, don't make me angry, because I might decide to take you now, we have a bed available right here and now,” he hisses, clenching his fist against the polished wooden backboard of the four-poster bed. The more he looks at you, the more his balls throb fiercely; he's trying to control his desire; if his cock hardens, that's the end.

You're the first woman he's seen in 60 years, finally his turn has come, and there's no way he'll let you go. Do you want to play? He'll let you, but eventually you'll give in to his desires. The scent of your sweet virgin pussy makes his wolf growl, eager to get out to meet you.

Perhaps you sense something strange, because with trembling fingers you go to unbutton the side opening of your dress, a little sorry to him, the plunging neckline raises and shapes your breasts invitingly, though the stench of the poison with which it is imbued leaves him disgusted. An idea of humans to persuade chosen women not to flee, his eyes scroll over the ancient clock hanging above the door, the hands turn and you have just four hours to go before the poison takes effect, killing you. He would be sorry to see you die without having had a chance to taste you first.

“Tic-Tac, the clock is ticking, little girl... the slower you are, the more likely you are to die,” he informs you with a smile, your fear written all over his face igniting his loins; he has to restrain himself so he doesn't jump on you, and you're aware of that now, too.

Your eyes study his shoulders, they have stiffened noticeably, and with embarrassing speed you unfasten the last side button, letting the soft black fabric of your dress slip off like a veil, leaving you in your bra and panties. You start up under his eyes, which move to observe every nook and cranny of your body, from the soft breasts enclosed in the cups of the purple lace bra, going lower and lower, past the delicious curve of your hips to the tightly clasped mount of Venus covered by more purple lace. You yourself realize that for a man who wants to possess you, that kind of lingerie might make you look like a neatly wrapped gift in his eyes.

“Don't stop,” he tells you hoarsely, his eyes veiled with glowing lust.

The blood leaves your veins; if he were to take you, you would already be ready to receive him. As your fingers move to get rid of your bra as well, you realize you don't find it such a disturbing idea after all, even when you finally pull down the light fabric of your panties, showing off something no boy has ever had the honor of looking at, his nostrils flaring as if to inhale something in the air, you are aroused.

“You'd better start running, little girl, I'm going to give you exactly twenty seconds head start,” his voice comes out as a guttural sound, making you widen your eyes and really run, when the door suddenly opens wide.

You don't even wonder what strange contraption he used to close or open the door without having to physically do it, you just know you are definitely in danger.

Every nook and cranny of the castle is an unknown, he owns it, he may know passages unknown to you; therefore, you always try to wander the corridors with no visible openings. A tense, animalistic roar makes you scream in terror, with spirited eyes you look down the stairs, you are close to the stairs to the hall, the door has not been locked, you just need more time, you can make it.

You sling yourself barefoot down, almost tumbling from your haste and throw yourself out, skipping the stone steps and then to the wild path, short of breath and fear dictating your decisions, you remember it took you a good twenty minutes to get to the castle, but walking the whole path is out of the question, it would be too obvious and easy, you necessarily have to lengthen the path and consequently put in more time to get away from that terrifying place.

With horror you realize that you don't know where Glenn and Claire might be at all, would he hurt them if he found them?

Of course he would.

You don't know the man, but you have noticed all too well the bestial aura around him; he is someone capable of harm, and he will harm you if you cannot escape him.

Your feet step on scattered branches on the ground and you whimper trying to ignore the pain, another roar - or maybe it's a howl? - rips through the air, mingling with the howls of the rushing wind, and you stifle an anguished cry.

Scratches open along your body, trees ravaged by bad weather and never tended seem to want to block your way in every way possible, and the darkness certainly doesn't help.

Like a wounded animal you limp aimlessly, not imagining the hunger of the ravenous beast that sneers at the scent of your blood.

You feel tired, sluggish at times, your peripheral vision somewhat obscured, an excruciating doubt makes its way into your mind. Could it be that the story of the poisoned dress was true?

But why sell it to you, how could the seller have known that your friends would take you to that castle on Halloween night?

You begin to stagger, a sharp twinge in your head stops you, it is so painful that you collapse on the icy, muddy ground.

You realize you are screwed in every sense of the word when a weight suddenly crushes you to the ground, you scream in terror and wide-eyed, trying to shake it off.

Jimin doesn't think twice about clasping you in his vigorous arms, burying his nose on your neck damp with cold sweat, the accelerated beat of your heart rumbling in his own chest, driving him to moan with need. He presses himself against your soft curves, basking in your feverish warmth despite the stormy, icy night.

“Don't hurt me,” you shake your head with your eyes closed, trying to fight the unusual fatigue to plead with him, "Please, I was wrong, forgive me...I won't come back here again, I swear," the boy snorts against your flustered skin.

He reluctantly lifts himself up to allow you to turn toward him, you find some strength to open your eyelids wide, being invested by his sometimes divine appearance. His eyes, no longer as black as you thought they were, are tinged with an extraordinary shade of gold, he watches you from receptive pupils as you notice the grin on his mouth, a mouth larger than you remembered. There is something strange, not human, about him now. And despite the run he must have made to keep up with you, he doesn't have the slightest hint of fatigue in his breath, he's as fucking fresh as a newly bloomed rose.

“You're dying, little girl,” he hums, shaking some hair off your forehead, you lose a beat at the sight of long claws where once there were short, well-manicured nails.

The claw grazes your skin unhurriedly, you feel it scratch without hurting, you anxiously lick your lips closing your eyes, you are so sleepy that you even willingly accept your fate, Jimin snorts through his nose, almost laughing, before lowering himself onto your jugular.

It would be really easy for him to sink his canines into your flesh and bite your throat to rip it out, but fortunately for you he is not a vampire. All he wants is to sink his cock into your pussy and make you cum repeatedly, but if you died it would be hard to put his plan into action. He wants you alive and receptive.

He licks a long streak of saliva onto your delicate neck, heedless of the dirt that has stuck to your skin, before gently biting you. Your reaction is immediate, you start sobbing like a puppy at the feel of his fangs penetrating your flesh, you cling to his shoulders trying to move him weakly from you, and you kick awkwardly with your legs, legs that are locked in a vice grip by his. That way it is easy to feel something hard and heavy pressing against your belly, you try not to think about it as the man seems inebriated by the taste of your blood flowing straight down his throat.

The bitter taste of the poison is revolting, but fortunately your blood has such sweet notes that it counterbalances that horrendous taste in a balanced way, here, now he just has to lick your wound thoroughly. He collects the last rivulets of your blood with his tongue, before dripping his saliva into the tiny holes created by his sharp canines, little holes that begin to close with light smoke, cauterizing the wound and partly removing the poison toxins from your blood.

With no longer a grip on your throat, your head falls limply back to the ground, you gasp trying to fight off the shock of such an experience.

“Mpf!” his tongue invades your mouth treacherously, the taste of your blood making you squeal on his lips, so unfairly soft and pleasant to the touch. The hot and unusually long muscle pushes into your oral cavity eagerly, saving your life has as if awakened the more primal side of Jimin, one of the seven lords who unleashed hell in Howl's town. And the mating ritual has begun, but you cannot know this.

You break free by gasping for air, “W-why?” you stutter breathlessly, “You don't even know me!” you cry as you drive your nails into his forearms, triggering in return a reaction of possession in him, prompting him to grab your thighs and lift them onto his shoulders to your profound horror, he is so wild as he spreads your legs wide open to sink his face in between them that you can't utter a single breath.

As he runs his tongue along your pulsing, hot folds, Jimin realizes with nastiness that during your escape you got wet for him, he had smelled your arousal as he pursued you, on some people the quickened heartbeat has that effect, but the sweet and slightly salty taste of your juices are now a definitive proof for him. And you can't deny it, you love how he teases you by slowly sliding around your swollen clit, plays with it by holding it between his lips and then releasing it after sucking hard, almost biting it. He tortures it by pricking it quickly with the tip of his tongue and then returns to lapping your thick juices from the soft slit, which seems to melt every time that devilish tongue penetrates it, managing to lick and stimulate walls that a normal tongue could never reach.

You shyly move your pelvis against his face, your thighs stained with your arousal tremble against his cheeks, and a terrible heat makes you pant desperately. The man abandons your slit to push himself again against your unbearably sensitive folds, they are so moist that you can hear the noise they make every time that cursed tongue stimulates them to push a few millimeters toward your clitoris, never reaching to touch it.

“God!” you curse, suddenly reaching out an arm to grab his hair, not recognizing yourself when you desperately push him against your pussy, longing for the pleasure he was spoiling you with at first.

His arousal makes him grunt like a wounded animal as he sinks into your core with languid, sensual movements, rewraps your desperate clit with his lips and tongue before continuing with more direct, zigzagging movements, crushing it at times with the flat part of his tongue and then flicking it with the tip soon after. He would never stop kissing and licking you like that, his tensed cock vibrating each time he eats you up a little more, delightedly swallowing your juices, enjoying retrieving them each time they flow between your wide-open, rosy thighs. A clearer, liquid substance squirts slightly out of your slit, causing you to shake around his head, you clench your lower lip between your teeth with tears sliding down your flushed cheeks, you are instigating Jimin to pleasurably hurt you, and the funniest thing is that you don't even notice.

Finishing licking some of that shiny, transparent substance from your inner thigh, the boy moves up your body, biting slowly at the flesh of your belly and then higher and higher to the softness of your breasts, titillating a turgid nipple before pulling it between his lips.

“W-What are you doing to me?” you gasp, wishing he would never stop adoring and cuddling your body, why? Just moments before you were running from his clutches, why are you lifting your pelvis now, inviting him to take you as if you've been waiting for this all your life?

“Are you just...” he murmurs, before kissing your chin with his devilish lips, "Responding to your desire" he kisses your mouth again, an electric sensation forcing you to comply, chasing his tongue with yours, collapsing to the spicy taste that is now all over his mouth, your taste.

With half-closed eyes you realize that the dark lines of ink are moving, taking the shape of a wolf watching you, you have no way to comprehend the unsettling sensation that invades you. The man, with one hand pressed against your bare back, forces you to turn away without you having any say in the matter, you find yourself with your face to the ground and the wind blowing down your back, shivering under his fiery, golden eyes, your legs trembling from the effort to keep you on your hands and knees, fighting the sweet pain pulsing in your naked pussy.

“Now hold still, little girl,” he murmurs in your ear in a husky voice, sensuously pumping his cock with one hand, swollen veins pushing against his palm, which squeezes along the entire shaft to the base, then back to the thick tip from which he is already dripping his thick cum, "I need to get all the venom out of your pretty little body, am I right?" he sneers, positioning himself at your entrance.

You open your eyes wide, panic stifled by arousal, but it's still there nonetheless, clenching your fingers between the grass and damp earth, rubbing your knees against pebbles that make you moan in pain. The length of his cock begins to push against your slit, forcing it open for him, a choked cry leaves your throat, feeling your walls that, despite their wetness, struggle to let him in.

“You're still so tight,” hisses the man unfamiliar to you, "I must spoil you some more, huh?" he chuckles, sliding his hand between your legs, using his index finger to stimulate your throbbing bud, you gasp arching your back and raising your buttocks toward the man, who takes the opportunity to plunge his cock another inch into your entrance, which throbs and squeezes him rhythmically, almost making him lose control of the situation.

The sensation of the claw grazing your folds each time he presses and massages your swollen clitoris brings you almost to the edge, you feel a wild sexual desire, something you never experienced even during your teenage years, a crucial period of sexual development.

“Go ahead, please!” you exclaim breathlessly, pressing your forehead against the ground, every single millimeter that moves inside you without really penetrating you is like torture, your index finger moving languidly, and you're going fucking crazy.

“Are you really begging?” he teases you, you grit your teeth until it hurts, but finally you give in.

“Please... fill me, take me!”

“Do you want it?” he asks again, pulling the tip almost completely out, the only part he had managed to get in, you clench your legs desperately trying to recover what your intimacy has lost.

“Yes! I want it! I want your cock, I want it to fill me all the way, and I want it now!” you growl with an anger that burns under your skin, looking at him from behind, his face is an emotionless mask, but his eyes...oh, those never lie, you read the fire of desire in them, he's suffering that anticipation as much as you are. Bastard.

“You begged for it so well, little girl... I'll just have to satisfy you,” the cavernous tone clashes with his appearance, but it anticipates what happens next and leaves you breathless, abandoning your contracted clitoris he grips your hips tightly, almost penetrating your delicate flesh with his claws, pushing himself into you with a vigorous thrust, instantly breaking the thin membrane at your entrance, effortlessly. The burning that follows makes your eyes water, your body instinctively trying to escape the man's savage assault, suddenly realizing that you have lost your virginity that way, out in the open, sweaty and dirty, just like an animal.

The man on top of you hisses and makes strange deep sounds, inebriated by the sensation of his throbbing cock finally and completely squeezed between your trembling walls, trying to adjust to the abnormal size. You gasp whimpering, moving your pelvis trying to disentangle yourself from the overgrip, his claws are hurting you, but he doesn't seem to want to let go, not now that he is buried so deep.

With a grunt he thrusts out slightly, watching as your pussy instinctively clings to him, as your thick juices and virginal blood wet his entire length, lubricating him. Leaning toward you, he lets a long trickle of saliva fall back between your buttocks, slipping between them reaches the point where you are joined. He thrusts back into you forcefully, striking deeper and deeper, and you feel every detail of his cock penetrating you and thrusting higher and higher, touching points so delicate and sensitive that you howl meekly, like a she-wolf offering her whole self to her mate, the pain has been replaced by the need to be possessed, you move against his pubes with urgency, the thread of pleasure is getting thinner and thinner, you feel incredibly wet, practically soaked, and the sounds of your union are so obscene that you are shamefully aroused. Your walls flutter drunkenly with pleasure, at one point with the thick, red tip he manages to hit the entrance to your cervix with precision, you stiffen whimpering breathlessly, and Jimin collapses on top of you, continuing to move his hips tirelessly and with spellbinding sinuosity.

You take it so well that it is impossible for him not to want to have you again and again, throwing back his head to be hit by the moonlight that increases his desire, his pupils widen and he feels his testicles clench with urgency as the base of his cock swells, making him shake all over. Without a second thought, he begins to enter you with deeper and longer thrusts so that his whole cock sinks into you without any more constriction, he hears you panting and crying and this only causes him joy, you are completely abandoned to him and your sensations.

You're about to come, you're not so ignorant that you don't know what's happening to your body, you've even heard of intense orgasms, but this... god, this is going to be devastating, you know very well. It's nothing like the ones you had with masturbation, this one is deeper, snaking through your lower belly and you feel it in your uterus. You stiffen all over, trying to block the erection that keeps pinning you down between hard, sensual thrusts, every time it touches your cervix you risk going crazy.

“Don't stop me, little girl... It's here, isn't it?” he gasps at you, slamming into you once more, high up between the entrance of your uterus and another sensitive area that makes your clitoris and walls tear with intense pleasure, your toes curl and you can't help but nod desperately, "Alright, love," he replies without even realizing it, kissing your bare, sweaty shoulder, his knot is almost complete, but he wants you to come before he gives you his cum.

He teases a sensitive, turgid nipple with the tip of a claw as he reaches the point of your union, massaging your folds to help you come, though with a hint of naughtiness he doesn't dare touch your clitoris, he wants you to orgasm on your own, knowing that the intensity then will be greater and you will collapse weak and distraught in his arms.

“Oh, fuck-!” you widen your eyes, being hit by a pressing and beautiful sensation of jouissance, sucking him furiously into you amid tremors and searing waves of pleasure, the same clear liquid as before leaks from your slit, this time in a greater quantity, causing Jimin to grunt as he is run over by your jet, slamming into you almost brutally, streams of his cum fiercely fill your core, as if to mark you for life, and finally his knot swells completely, locking him inside you.

Although immobilized, he cannot stop coming, his testicles quivering violently, and only one thing could quell his aching desire. With his eyes now almost completely encompassed by the black pupil, he pushes your hair away from your neck, exposing your previously tortured skin.

“Why does this go on?” you ask feverishly, confused by the enormous weight widening your walls and locking his big cock into you.

“Sssh” he rubs the tip of his nose against you, making you shudder, "Just wait a little longer" his words are followed by an excruciating twinge, his grown canines penetrating like blades into your skin and sinking into your flesh amidst your shocked and submissive screams, your body surrendering to his force, instinctively submitting and waiting for him to finish marking.

Jimin loves blood, your blood, it pleasantly bathes his tongue with its density and sweetness, he moans with need as he loses himself in your scent, instinct commands him to move his hips once more, even though you are both locked together, with a weak moan you take in the last strings of his cum, resting possessively in your belly, you feel heavy and unbearably full, but at least he seems to be finished, you feel him relax as he once again licks the holes left by his teeth, healing them. He looks like a wolf cleaning up after his mate after mating.

“What are you?” you ask wearily, by now surrendering to the idea that the man cannot be a mere human, that probably everything he has told you, from the poison-soaked dress to the deal with the town, is real.

“Jimin” you hear him grunt at such a low frequency that if you hadn't been alone, you probably wouldn't have heard him. You snort weakly.

“I asked you what you are, not your name,” you murmur, the strange, heavy weight preventing you from moving, hissing as Jimin moves awkwardly between your legs, putting you in a more comfortable situation, letting you rest against his chest lethargically, occasionally kissing the back of your neck and licking your neck, or behind your ear.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't like all that attention; you feel a delicious bite around your heart as you cling to his embrace, protected from the evening chill.

You don't know exactly how long you spend like this, maybe forty minutes, maybe an hour, the fact is that finally that thing between your legs seems to melt away, making you sigh almost strangely.

Jimin gently untangles himself from you, leaving your warm shelter slowly and with a feeling of emptiness that stuns you, your legs finally relax and you try to move them to regain some mobility, you feel his cum pushing to come out and two of his fingers enter you, plugging your entrance. No claws, you notice as he slowly turns you around.

You hiss at the burning, your knees are completely ruined, but Jimin begins to sprinkle them with kisses and saliva, the man is back between your thighs again, you can see his long, wild hair shining as he licks and sucks your skin from time to time, all the way to his fingers, he moves them slowly inside you and you twitch involuntarily, closing your eyes at the warmth of his tongue licking a thick streak of cum and juices dripping roughly from you, pushing it down to your hypersensitive clitoris and you moaning in pain.

“Don't do it,” you gasp, closing your legs tightly, but he doesn't give up, grabbing your chin between two fingers and forcing your mouth wide open, your heart faltering with a strange emotion, you let him spit all his creamy load into your mouth, running along your tongue with a surprised cry.

“Swallow,” he orders with a gleam of interest in his eyes.

You do as he tells you, wanting to please him in every way possible, accepting him back into your mouth for a slow, intimate kiss. It is also dominant and sweet, intense.

“I'm Jimin, a werewolf and also one of the masters of the castle,” he explains pushing you against his bare chest, you hug him back as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be there, clasped to him on a bed of dry leaves, "You are my mate, it's no accident that you were chosen ... being a virgin at your age is unusual for humans, but not for us wolves, you waited for me," he emphasizes with fire in his eyes.

“But ... my friends?” you can't help but ask, which makes him chuckle.

“My people have learned to be among humans, they recognized you by scent and led you to me at the right time, they are fine,” he informs you with a caress, “In fact, you should worry about yourself,” he says with a note of reproach.

“H-How?” fear advances again.

“I've waited too many years for your birth, little girl... it's time to repay the wait,” he hums as something hot and hard returns against your belly.

“Jimin, wai-!” too late, the tip of his cock captures your entrance again, this time with more ease and the next thrust has you writhing against him with tears in your eyes, “Oh, shit!”

Your fingers tighten around the phone, a lifeline in a sea of memories. Namjoon. The golden boy of The Seoul Main Hospital, renowned neurosurgeon with hands so steady they could perform miracles. You remember those late-night coffees in the residents' lounge, the way you both argued playfully over patient charts as fatigue gnawed at your resolve. You would swap tired smiles at dawn after long, demanding surgeries, a bond forged in the fires of shared exhaustion. Once, he was a friend, a confidant. But that was two years ago— a different hospital, a different time, and a version of you that feels as distant as a fading photograph.

“Namjoon?” you echo, tasting his name, trying to ground yourself. “Why are you calling me?”

"I—" His voice falters, hesitant, each word seemingly laced with nervousness. He exhales sharply; the sound weighted with the kind of gravity that instantly raises the hairs on your arms. "I didn’t know if I should call you, but I figured you needed to hear it from me." a cold dread settled in your stomach. 

"Hear what?"

There’s a pause, heavy and deliberate

Namjoon's sigh feels like it carries the weight of the world with it. You can almost visualize him, pinching the bridge of his nose in that familiar gesture, a sign that something terrible is about to be revealed. "It’s Jimin. He was in an accident tonight."

Your heart stumbles, a lead weight dropping into the pit of your chest. Jimin's name lands like a devastating blow, stirring emotions you thought were long buried. It’s been a long time since you allowed his name to pass your lips, longer since you permitted yourself to dwell on it. The world outside blurs and tips sideways. You force yourself upright, fingers digging into the fabric of your scrubs as if that might anchor you.

“A bad one,” he continues, his voice taking on a softer tone, laden with what feels too much like sympathy. “Blunt force trauma to the head. He woke up... but he doesn’t remember the last five years.”

Five years.

Your mind races, scrambling to connect the dots, counting back through the years. Five years ago, you were still at Seoul Main Hospital, lost in the chaos of residency. Five years ago, you were still signing your name as Park Y/N—still tethered to him, still his wife. Five years ago, he still loved you with a fierceness that colored every moment you shared.

Your grip on the phone intensifies to the point where your knuckles whitening from the pressure. “What do you mean he doesn’t remember?”

It takes all in you not to cringe from the simplicity of the question, after all you are a doctor yourself, a surgeon nevertheless so you knew what memory loss meant but in such situation, you let the mundane side of you speak.

“He thinks it’s 2021.” Namjoon’s voice is careful, each word measured. “In his mind, you two just got married. He doesn’t remember the divorce. Doesn’t remember you leaving. The hospital, his friends— even himself, to some extent— are all fragments he’s struggling to piece together. But there’s one thing he’s certain about.”

You already know the answer before he says it, and still your chest tightens painfully when he does.

“You.”

A sharp breath escapes you, shaky and uneven. Your free hand rises, pressing against your forehead as if that might stop the flood of memories rushing in. The late-night drives with music too loud, the stolen kisses during shifts, the whispered promises that turned brittle and broke. The fights. The silence. The emptiness. You had buried it all— stitched yourself back together with time and distance.

But now?

Now, Jimin is waiting for you. Calling your name in a hospital room you swore you’d never set foot in again, a place that feels like a ghost haunting from the past.

Namjoon speaks again, his voice softer this time, as if to cushion the weight of his words. “I know this is a lot. I wouldn’t bring it up if it wasn’t necessary. But he’s struggling, Y/N. And right now, the only person who can make sense of this for him is you.”

You shake your head, even though he can’t see you. “I don’t—” Your voice catches on the rawness in your throat. “I don’t know if I can do this, Namjoon.”

There’s a moment of silence and when he finally speaks, his tone is imbued with a gentleness that makes your chest ache all the more. “I get it. But I also know you. You’d never turn your back on someone who needs you, no matter how hard it is to face the past. And like it or not, Jimin needs you.” 

Your eyes squeeze shut, but it does nothing to stop the burning behind them.

The call ends, but the silence left behind is deafening. The weight of Namjoon’s words settles into your bones, unraveling years of carefully built distance. Pulling you back to a time and place you swore you’d never return to.

Jimin doesn’t remember.

To him, you are still his wife.

You press the heels of your palms against your forehead, willing yourself to breathe, to think. But how can you, when the past has just clawed its way back into your life without warning? You should say no. You should stay here, in this hospital where no one calls you Miss Park. Where no one looks at you and sees only the action that led to your downfall. 

But Jimin needs you. And despite everything, despite the years and the pain and the reasons you left, you don’t know how to turn your back on him.

It takes a long time to come to terms with it, long enough that dawn begins to creep into the night, washing the world in pale blue light. You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall, the decision forming in the spaces between your breath.  Before you can change your mind, you grab your coat and keys, pushing the sane part of your brain as you make your way to the parking lot.

The drive to hospital is painfully familiar. Each turn, each street, each stoplight carries the ghosts of a life you abandoned. The café where you used to meet Jimin between shifts. The intersection where you once argued about something so trivial you can’t even remember it now, but you remember the way he pulled you close afterward, murmuring an apology against your temple.

With every mile, the ache grows heavier. By the time the hospital comes into view, it feels like it’s sitting in your throat, impossible to swallow. Seoul Main Hospital looms just as it always has—tall, pristine, a monument to both miracles and tragedies. You sit in the car for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, trying to steady yourself. But there’s no preparing for this, no way to brace against the flood of memories pressing in from all sides. Then, before you can convince yourself to turn around, you step out and walk through the entrance.

The scent of lavender hits you first—so achingly familiar it almost knocks the breath out of you. The same nurses at the front desk, the same hum of machines, the same too-bright fluorescent lights. Time has moved forward, but Seoul Main hasn’t changed. And neither have the people.

You don’t make it far before you nearly collide with someone rounding the corner. Strong hands catch your arms, steadying you before you can stumble, and then—

“Y/N?”

Your heart drops.

Taemin.

Of all the people to run into, it had to be him.

His dark eyes widen, surprise flickering across his face before something softer takes its place. His mouth parts as he takes you in, two years apart condensed into a single-breathless moment. He looks almost the same. Sharp lines, composed stance, but there’s weariness there now, a carefulness in the way he regards you. 

You try to speak, but the words catch in your throat. Because Taemin isn’t just an old friend. He isn’t just your former coworker.

He was there.

He was with you that night, standing there as the world came undone. He saw it all. The moment you hesitated, the precise second the weight of it all crashed down on you. The moment you lost not only the battle, but your husband. Your career. The life you had built from the ground up.

And now, standing in front of him again, it feels like no time has passed at all.

“Y/N,” Taemin says again, softer this time. “You came.”

You swallow hard, barely nodding. “I… I heard about Jimin.”

His expression shifts to sympathy. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “It’s… complicated.”

You huff out a bitter laugh. “It always is, isn’t it?”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The hospital buzzes around you, doctors and nurses moving past, conversations blending into background noise. But between you and Taemin, the past stretches, heavy and unspoken.

Then, finally, he sighs. “Come on,” he says, tilting his head toward the elevators. “He’s been asking for you.”

And just like that, there’s no turning back.

The elevator ride to the third floor is silent, but the weight of it is deafening. Taemin stands beside you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his white coat, his gaze forward, unreadable. You don’t ask questions, not yet. You’re still trying to steady yourself, still trying to make sense of the fact that you’re here at all.

The doors slide open with a soft chime, revealing a hallway much quieter than the rest of the hospital. You immediately notice the difference, no nurses rushing between rooms, no patients wheeling IV stands across the linoleum floors. It’s eerily still. Private. Of course it is. Jimin’s parents wouldn’t allow anything less.

As Taemin leads you forward, your eyes land on the small group gathered just outside a room. Namjoon stands among them, his voice low and tense, a worry etched deeply across his brow. Beside him, Mr. and Mrs. Park cling to each other, their faces drawn and weary, shadows of concern weighing heavily on their features. Yet it’s the woman slightly apart from them that causes your breath to catch in your throat.

She’s around your age, long blond hair, dressed in a simple blouse and skirt, her hands wrung tightly in front of her. There’s an unmistakable sadness in her posture, the way her shoulders shake just slightly as Namjoon speaks. Taemin slows his steps, as if sensing the exact moment, you realize who she is.

 He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck, before saying, carefully, “That’s Rose. Jimin’s girlfriend.”

The name hits harder than it should.

Rose.

Your fingers tighten around the straps of your bang, a thousand emotions colliding all at once. It’s not jealousy—no, it’s something messier, something you can’t quite name. You’re trying to understand her, this woman who loves the same man you do, the woman who is grieving him in a similar manner you had two years ago. She has every right to be here. More than you do, even. And yet, the moment your eyes settle on the way she wipes at her tears, the way Namjoon’s expression remains firm but gentle, something uneasy knots in your chest.

“He doesn’t remember her,” Taemin says quietly, as if reading your mind. “He only remembers you.”

You don’t know what to do with that.

Before you can even process it, Namjoon looks up and sees you. His lips part slightly, relief flickering across his face. Mr. and Mrs. Park turn next, their expressions unreadable, a mix of emotions so tangled you can’t decipher them. Then Rose looks up and everything stills.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you, staring at each other across the distance, across the years neither of you shared but are now inexplicably tied to. Her eyes, still glistening with unshed tears, widen ever so slightly at the sight of you. Yet, there is no animosity in her gaze. No fury lies beneath the surface. Instead, you find an unexpected understanding, aa quiet sorrow.

She knows who you are. 

Of course she does.

And yet, none of them say anything at first. The air between you all is thick with grief, resentment, and lastly relief. His parents stand rigid and unreadable, their gazes flickering between you and the closed door. His mother’s lips are pressed together, her hands clutched in front of her as if she doesn’t know whether to reach for you or recoil. His father, ever the composed figure, only nods stiffly in acknowledgment.

It has been years since you last laid eyes on them since that fateful night when you signed the divorce papers, convinced that walking away was the antidote for both you and Jimin. You had hoped, perhaps naively, that he would find his path to happiness without you. Yet, here you stand, summoned back into a life you both loved and hated.

Finally, Namjoon sighs and glances toward the door. “We had to sedate him. When we tried to explain what happened these past five years, the divorce and all. He just wouldn’t accept it and completely lost it. We had no choice.”

You understood but you couldn’t help but feel sadness and pity for how it all went down. You prayed, as you drove to the hospital, that in a far lighter scenario he would just accept the current situation.  You steal a glance at his parents, searching for something—blame, sorrow, anger. But all you find is exhaustion, their shoulders drooping under the weight of the current events. Jimin’s mother finally speaks, her voice quiet but raw. “He keeps asking for you.”

There’s no accusation in her tone only an invitation, laced with the heartache of a mother witnessing her child suffer. Your love fell apart. Harsh words were spoken, one that tore the matrimony you once swore by. However, in the fractured corners of his mind, you are still the person he reaches for.

A sharp ache stabs at your chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome. The hallway feels smaller, the walls pressing in. The past and present fold into each other, tangled and inescapable. A long time ago you had so much to tell them, beg for their forgiveness but now it all felt empty. Stretched and overdue. 

Finally, you exhale, forcing down the turmoil clawing at your ribs. “Take me to him.”

Just as Namjoon reaches for the door handle, a soft voice cuts through the tension. “Y/N.”

You freeze.

Jimin’s mother steps forward, her face carrying years of quiet strength, but now, it’s lined sorrw. A sorrow that is not just for her son, but for you too. Her lips tremble slightly as she looks at you, and when she reaches out, her fingers barely graze your arm, hesitant, unsure if she still has the right.

“Thank you for coming,” she says, “I know this isn’t easy for you. And I know… I know how things ended between you and Jimin. But you were my daughter once. And I never stopped—” She cuts herself off, pressing her lips together, shaking her head as if willing herself not to say more.

You stand there, awash in her words, unsure how to respond. Each syllable settles in your chest like stones, weighing you down into a part of yourself that had once ached to hear such affirmation. You had lost so much more than a husband; you had lost a family, a sense of belonging. You try to speak, but nothing comes out.

And then there’s Jimin’s father.

He hasn’t said a word. Hasn’t even properly looked at you except when you arrived. But you can feel it in the way his gaze remains fixed somewhere beyond you, as if acknowledging this whole charade would be too much. But he doesn’t leave. He doesn’t dismiss you. And that, in itself, is enough to tell you that despite everything, despite the past, despite the divorce, he is grateful. Even if he will never say it.

You swallow against the lump in your throat and give Jimin’s mother a small nod before turning back to Namjoon. “Let’s go in.”

The door opens with a quiet creak, and the moment you step inside, the air shifts.

The room is dim, the soft glow of the heart monitor casting faint shadows against the white walls. It’s quiet, save for the steady rhythm of beeping machines and the slow, measured breaths of the man lying in the hospital bed.

Jimin.

For a moment, all you can do is stare.

He’s changed.

The last time you saw him, he had been drowning in anger, exhaustion present on his face, coldness in his eyes cutting you in half. Certain bitterness laced in every word he threw your way just to break you apart. He had been a man hardened by betrayal, by the weight of something that neither of you had been able to fix. His once short black hair has grown out, falling just past his ears, dyed a striking silver. The very color you had once told him would suit him. You don’t know if it’s a cruel coincidence or some distant echo of your past influence, but the sight of it makes something in your chest tighten.

He’s thinner, but not in the way that suggests neglect. His features are more refined, more mature, as if the years have shaped him into someone softer, calmer. He looks—

Healthy.

Happier.

Or at least, he had been. The thought makes your stomach twist. As you step closer, the slight movement stirs him. His brows knit together for a moment, and then, slowly, his eyelids flutter open. You barely have time to brace yourself before his gaze lands on you. And just like that, time stops. For a single breath, neither one of you move. You expect confusion. Uncertainty. Maybe even the remnants of sedation dulling his awareness but instead, what you see makes the air leave your lungs.

Love.

It’s clear, as bright as day, as if the last five years never happened. As if the last time he looked at you wasn’t with coldness and hate, but with the warmth of a man still deeply, undeniably in love with his wife. And it’s that, more than anything, makes your chest ache for the contrast is too much. The last picture of Jimin that nested itself in your mind, was of him turning his back and walking away with a lawyer hot at his tail, not even sparing you a second glance.

But now?

Now, he’s looking at you like you’re his world. Like he still belongs to you, and you to him.

Your hands tremble at your sides.

And all you can think is—

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

The moment Jimin’s gaze fully registers you, his entire face lights up, and a breathless, disbelieving laugh escapes him. His eyes sparkle as he laughs again, wet and shaky, before turning to Namjoon with something akin to relief, as if he had been drowning and was finally coming up for air.

“You see? You see, Namjoon?” His voice is hoarse, thick with tears that haven’t yet fallen. “I told you; you were crazy. You were all crazy! How could you even suggest that Y/N and I divorced? Look at her—” He turns back to you, drinking you in like a man who had been lost in the dark for years and had finally found his light. “She’s here. Standing right in front of me. Like an angel.”

The way he says it, with so much conviction, so much certainty, grows buds of sadness in your chest.  Jimin doesn’t know. 

Jimin doesn’t remember. 

You try to remind yourself when he blinks suddenly, as if something just occurred to him, his brows furrowing slightly. “But… why aren’t you wearing scrubs?” His fingers brush against the fabric of your coat, as if checking to see if his eyes are deceiving him. 

“Did you come from home? No, wait, that doesn’t make sense. You work late night shifts. Why would you? Wouldn’t you visit me soo—”

And before you can stop him, before you can pull away, he takes your hands in his, pressing them firmly between his palms as if to ground himself. The warmth of his skin sears through you, and then—

A kiss.

Soft. Reverent. Planted right on the top of your embraced hands.

You nearly recoil, but you can’t. You can’t.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Jimin murmurs, his voice thick with emotion, his lips still lingering against your skin. “I missed you.”

The storm inside you rages, but you force yourself to smile, to swallow down the nausea creeping up your throat. Because this isn’t about you. This is about him.

He rambles, his words tumbling out one after another, unstoppable, like a dam breaking. His love is overwhelming, suffocating, because it doesn’t belong here, not now, not anymore.

And then—

“How’s your residency going?”

The question slams into you like a freight train.

Residency.

Your mind reels, trying to piece together the timeline, trying to remember who you were five years ago, who you were when Jimin still loved you, when he still saw you as his wife. Because the truth is, you’re not a resident anymore. You’re a fellow now. But if you tell him that, if you let him realize how much time has passed, how much has changed, how much more will he break? So, you lie.

Or at least, you shape the truth. “The job is… going well,” you say carefully, forcing a small smile. 

Jimin hums in agreement, nodding sleepily, his grip on your hand loosening. “Yeah… I know. You’ll get through it, though. You’re brilliant. You always were.” His eyes flutter shut for a moment before he forces them open again, his body betraying his exhaustion. “I feel a little… out of it.”

You exhale, instinctively reaching up to brush his hair back from his forehead. “That’s normal. You just had surgery. Sleep it off. You’ll feel better after some rest.”

Jimin sighs, content, as his eyes finally slip closed. And then, just as he’s teetering on the edge of unconsciousness—

“I love you.”

You stop breathing.

It takes everything in you not to yank your hand away, not to rip yourself from the room and run. You feel sick. You feel trapped. You feel wrong because Jimin isn’t saying those words to you, not really. He’s saying them to the ghost of who you were, the woman he still thinks you are.

You don’t say it back.

Instead, you wait until his breathing evens out, until the slow, steady beeping of the monitor tells you that he’s truly asleep, and then without a word you step away and leave the room.

The moment the door closes behind you, the weight of everything crashes into you all at once. The air is too thick, your chest too tight, and suddenly, you can’t breathe.

“What the hell am I doing?” The words spill out in a choked whisper before you even realize you’re speaking. You stagger back against the wall with your hands trembling and your heart hammering against your ribs like it’s trying to escape. “This… this was a mistake.”

Namjoon steps forward cautiously, his eyes laced with concern. “Y/N—”

“No.” You shake your head frantically, the panic rising and the nausea clawing its way up your throat. “What’s the point of this? What do you want from me? Am I supposed to just—just lie to him until he recovers? And then what? Watch as his entire world crumbles all over again?”

“Y/N—”

“And—and how the hell are we supposed to tell him about that night?” The memory is a gut punch, slicing through the panic with something even worse grief. “He doesn’t even know that, Namjoon. He thinks we’re still married. If he knew the truth—” Your voice catches, and you shake your head, pressing your knuckles hard against your lips to keep yourself from sobbing.

Namjoon looks like he wants to say something, but for once, he doesn’t have an answer. Because there is no answer. There is no right way to fix this.

Taemin, silent until now, finally steps in, placing a firm hand on your shoulder. “Come with us,” he says, his voice calm but unyielding. “You need to sit down.”

You let them guide you away. Your legs are unsteady beneath you while your mind still spinning, still screaming at you to leave before you get sucked in too deep. Behind you, in the hallway, Jimin’s parents remain rooted in place. Mrs. Park clutches at her husband’s sleeve, her heavy breaths of worry, while Mr. Park stares at the floor, unmoving. Rose stands just beside them, her eyes red and puffy, but fixed firmly on you.

Because they all know. They all know that the only thing holding Jimin together right now, his only anchor in this storm is you.

And if you break…

He will too.

The walk to Namjoon’s office is silent, the weight of everything pressing down on you like a boulder strapped to your chest. Each step feels heavier than the last, your mind occupied with everything that just happened. Tlook in Jimin’s eyes, the way he said I love you, the way you couldn’t even breathe in that moment. You feel sick, hollow, like a stranger in your own body, but you keep walking, following Namjoon and Taemin as if on autopilot.

Once inside, Namjoon moves with practiced ease, filling the electric kettle on his desk and preparing tea. The office smells faintly of man’s cologne and old books, the same as it always did back when you worked here. It’s strange how nothing about this place has changed, yet everything about you has.

“Here,” Namjoon says softly, pressing a warm mug into your hands. He sits on the chair opposite of you, hands rummaging through a stack of papers on the desk between you. He fishes out a smaller bundle of papers, pushing the rest aside. Your eyes catch Jimin’s name, and it doesn’t take long for you to connect the dots. He was looking for his chart. You divert your stare to the tea as he begins to explain. 

“Jimin was out drinking,” he starts, running a tired hand through his hair. “It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, but he was… out of it that night. More than usual. He got behind the wheel and crashed into a pole. Luckily no one else was hurt, but he hit the steering wheel hard enough to blank out on the spot.” He exhales, shaking his head. “He needed surgery, his lungs bruised; his pelvis broken but we thought his head was fine. The CT scans didn’t show any major trauma. So, when he woke up with amnesia… it was a shock. A huge one. What puzzles me is the way the amnesia presents itself.”

Namjoon rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture of his growing confusion as he tried to sort through the complexities of Jimin's amnesia. 

“It’s strange,” he said, glancing between you and Taemin, his brow furrowed in deep thought. “In most cases I’ve dealt with amnesia presents itself in similar pattern—patients either lose all their memories or they can’t recall the details surrounding the accident, or sometimes they struggle to store new memories entirely. But Jimin... it’s like he’s stuck in this limbo where just these five years are just... faded, while others remain.”

You skim the chart from afar. “You’re saying you don’t know if he’ll ever recover his memories?”

He shook his head, frustration bubbling under the surface. “It’s not typical retrograde amnesia. It’s…” He sighs. “I was going to explain, but I forgot—cardio surgeon or not, you’ve been under my supervision before. You probably already know.”

You nod slowly. You remember those long, exhausting nights during your residency, when you rotated under Namjoon’s department, learning about neurological cases even though your heart was always set on cardiothoracic surgery. You remember studying memory loss, trauma-induced dissociation, the way the mind protects itself in moments of deep distress.

“I know,” you murmur.

For a moment, Namjoon smiles, almost nostalgic. “Right. Back then, you used to be stuck to my side like glue. And then Kwon stole you.”

You let out a soft, breathless chuckle, the memory of your old mentor pulling you away from neurosurgery flashing in your mind. But it’s fleeting, disappearing the second Taemin shifts beside you.

“We should focus on Jimin,” he reminds.

Namjoon’s expression sobers as he nods. “Right. The best path to recovery—for now—is to let him live in the past. Physically, he needs time to heal, and mentally… we must be careful. If we overwhelm him, it could do more harm than good.”

Your stomach churns. “So, we just…. lie?”

Namjoon exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it sounds awful, but think about it, Y/N. Jimin values stability. If we tell him everything now about the divorce, about the past five years. I fear he’s going to spiral. He’s already been sedated once today because he couldn’t handle the truth. Do you really want to put him through that again?”

You don’t have an answer.

Because of course you don’t want to see Jimin suffer but this doesn’t feel right either.

Jimin has always valued honesty, even in the worst possible moments. He never liked sugarcoated words or half-truths. He would rather face the brutal reality than be protected by a lie. If he knew what the three of you were deciding right now… would he ever forgive you?

“I don’t think this is the right choice,” you say finally, voice quiet but firm. “Lying won’t get us anywhere. It’ll only hurt him more in the end.”

Taemin, who has been mostly silent, suddenly shakes his head. “I disagree.”

You turn to him, surprised. “Why?”

But he doesn’t answer. Not fully. He just looks at you, something unreadable flickering across his face, before glancing away. Namjoon watches the exchange, then sighs. “For now, let’s just focus on what we can do. We need to make sure Jimin’s body recovers first. His memories… that’s something we’ll deal with later.”

You nod, even though unease lingers in your chest. This felt like a slippery slope, one mistake could create a domino effect that might of a greater scale than you three anticipated. You thought two years could easily be filled but now you struggle with one simple question that slips out. 

“Where is he staying?”

Namjoon hesitates, and it’s Taemin who answers.

“His apartment.”

Your throat tightens. “Our apartment?”

Taemin looks away. “No. He moved out. Last year.”

You stare at him, pulse pounding. “Then—”

“He moved in with Rose.”

The words hit you like a slap. For a moment, you can’t breathe. He really moved on. You saw it a few minutes ago, or rather you saw her.  You knew that, had accepted it immediately or at least, you thought you had. But hearing it now, in this context, after the way he had looked at you just minutes ago, makes something inside of break.

Taemin shifts uncomfortably, as if realizing how much his words hurt you. “He… he was planning to sell the apartment. He told me he would. But I don’t know if he actually did.”

You barely know what to do with this information. It seems like it was Taemin’s mission for tonight to leave you speechless. 

Namjoon watches you carefully. “Y/N… can you do this?”

You don’t know but the worst part is, you don’t think you have a choice. You were a goner the moment he his lips laid a kiss on your touch starved body. You never even knew how much you’ve missed his gentle touch until you felt it, and now you were eager to prologue it. Like an addict. 

You take a deep breath and forces herself to come to terms with the situation. There is no other way. You already came, he saw you, the decision was already made, and you must see it through. As much as it twists your insides, lying to Jimin is the only way to ensure his recovery. Namjoon and Taemin stand beside you, unwavering in their support, and for a moment you feel a sliver of comfort in knowing you are not alone in this.

Together, the three of you return to Jimin’s parents. The tension still lingering in the air like an unspoken burden. Taemin brings up the apartment, cautiously testing the waters, and before anyone else can speak, Jimin’s father interjects.

“His old apartment?” Jimin's father frowned, his brow furrowed.

“Are you sure this is the right choice?” Jimin's mother asked, concern etched on her face. “What if it brings up things he isn’t ready to face?” Taemin locked eyes with her, resolute. “I promise we’ll take it slowly. We won’t push him past what he can handle. But I believe he needs this familiarity to help guide him back.”

Namjoon butts in adding a blanket of security to the sudden decision. “The familiarity of the old place could trigger something in him, jolt his memories.”

You notice Rose take a deep breath before she interjects. “About the apartment…” she said, her voice steady but soft, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “I know Jimin hasn't sold it.” 

Jimin's mother looked at her, surprise flickering in her eyes. “He didn’t sell it? Why would he hold onto it after everything?”

Rose shrugged before continuing, her voice laced with mutual confusion. “Jimin had a change of heart at the last minute. He was supposed to tell me why that night… before the accident.”

Her words settle heavily between you all. It’s clear that even she is struggling to comprehend everything unfolding before her. She recognizes the silence as an offer to continue so she does giving more information. “He told me he gave the keys to Hoseok. I’ll ask him.”

The mention of Hoseok jolts something inside of you. The last time she saw him was at the funeral. He had stood beside you, quiet but present, offering you words of comfort that you never truly understood. You did the right thing, he had said. Your friendship had always been a strange one—good, but distant. 

“I’ll reach out to him,” you say, surprising even yourself.

Rose blinks clearly caught off guard. For a moment, there is nothing but silence between you before Rose simply nods. Namjoon feeling the tension growing with each question, suggests that Jimin’s parents and Rose head home for the night. They have been here all day, exhausted and overwhelmed. Reluctantly, they agree and begin making their way out, though you can sense their hesitation.

Once they leave, you turn to Namjoon. “I’ll talk to Hoseok in the morning. Right now, I need to go home and pack. If we’re going to do this, I need my things there.”

Taemin offers to help, but you decline, needing space to process everything alone. Namjoon, understanding, gently takes you hand, his touch warm and steady. “Thank you,” he murmurs, echoing the gratitude of Jimin’s parents.

As you step outside, ready to leave, you are startled to find Jimin’s father waiting by your car. You hesitate, expecting coldness or arrogance, but instead, he awkwardly thanks you. The words are strained but sincere. “I’ll call Chief Leeteuk tomorrow and arrange for your transfer back to Seoul Main Hospital,” he adds. “Until Jimin recovers.”

The weight of his words crashes over you. Only now do you fully grasp the scale of this situation, the immense disruption not just to your life but to the lives of so many others.

You shake your head. “I’ll figure something out. Maybe take time off work—”

“That won’t be necessary,” he cuts in. “You know this hospital inside and out. You can continue your work here.”

You want to argue, but you see the resolution in his eyes. Eventually, you sigh, nodding. “I’ll think about it.”

He hands you his business card. “Call this number when you decide.”

With that, they part ways, and you drive home with a mind drowned in thoughts.

When you reach the apartment, you pull out three large suitcases and begin to pack. There was no point in postponing the inevitable. The simple act of folding clothes and placing them into bags feels mechanical, almost numbing. At some point, you open a bottle of red wine, pouring yourself a glass to steady your nerves. Then, it dawns on you that you never informed her hospital of the sudden departure.

Grabbing your phone, you dial your best friend’s number.

“Y/N! What the hell happened? You just disappeared!”

“Something came up. A family matter. I’ll tell you more about it tomorrow.” It’s not a lie, not entirely, and explaining further requires energy you don’t have.

Wendy hums, suspicious but doesn’t press. “Well, good thing Yoongi covered for you. Took in your cases without a second thought.”

That catches you off guard. “He… did?”

It wasn’t surprising that Yoongi stepped in occasionally but for him to do on his own accord without refusal at first was strange. He seemed stand offish at times, opting to keep to himself for dealing with others was too much for him so he rarely took on other’s shifts or cases.

“Yeah. Honestly, I don’t know why you two never explored the waters.”, Wendy teases. “He’s totally your knight in shining armor.”

You sputter, face heating up. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, please.”

You and he shared an undeniable chemistry that others noticed right from the start of your fellowship. While you both excelled in different fields, you worked exceptionally well together when cases required collaboration, often finishing each other's sentences and actions. The two of you were described as a "twisted duo," a description you felt fit Yoongi far better than it fit you. However, Wendy insisted that you were unaware of how spookily well the telepathy between you and him worked. Hence the twisted duo name.

As Wendy continues to tease, you suddenly feel overwhelmed, thoughts spiraling back to Jimin. The contrast between past and present is suffocating. You offer her a poor excuse and hurriedly end the call, gulping down the rest of the wine.

You continue packing until your hands brush against a familiar box. You catch your breath, knowing exactly what’s inside before you even open it. Old photographs stare back at you. There’s Jimin smiling on your first date, pulling you close during your trip to Rome. There’s a picture of him at Hoseok’s wedding, so drunk that you barely managed to get him into the car afterward. That memory is one of your favorites; despite his intoxicated state, he was utterly smitten with you and the way you looked in that dress. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself all night, making you feel embarrassed when an elderly couple shot you a disapproving look. But all of that faded in comparison to his love confession when you helped him into the seat and buckled him up. At first, you ignored it, thinking it was just the alcohol talking, but he repeated it over and over, even going so far as to open the window and shout to the car next to you just how much in love he was.

Memories flood you all at once, raw and unbearable. You trace the images, fingers trembling. And then—you break.

Tears spill freely, chest heaving with sobs. Now when you are face with all of mess, with the cruel irony of Jimin’s memory loss, you realize just how deep the wounds still run.

As you cry and cry until you have no tears left to shed.

-

When morning comes, you wake up and immediately spring into action. Searching through your phone, you scan for Hoseok’s number. One of many you rarely dialed after the split. When your fingers land on his name, you press the call button, heart pounding as you wait. A few seconds later, a familiar voice answers, your name spoken in disbelief.

You greet him, albeit awkwardly. Two years have passed since you last spoke but there’s no point in skirting around the issue. “Have you heard about Jimin?” you ask.

Hoseok sighs. “I heard about the accident. Last time I checked with his parents, he was still in surgery. I wanted to call again, but…” he trails off before explaining that his twins have been sick, keeping him and his wife occupied. “I was planning to check in this morning.”

You pause at the mention of his children. Memories of Hoseok and his wife’s struggle to become parents resurface, and for a moment you forget why you even called. Regaining your focus, you congratulate him before quickly summarizing the situation.

Hoseok listens in silence before finally speaking. “And what’s the plan?”

You hesitate but tell him the truth about making Jimin live in the past until he fully recovers. To your surprise, Hoseok much like Taemin, agrees with the idea of you taking care of Jimin.

“You’re the only one who can do this,” he says simply. “I’ll leave the key at the front desk at hospital after I visit Jimin.”

You thank him, and the call ends. With a deep breath, you load your suitcases into the trunk of your car and then dial the number Jimin’s father gave you. He picks up in mere seconds.

“I’ll take the transfer,” you tell him, knowing there’s no point in resisting. Working at another hospital wouldn’t make sense under these circumstances.

His father sounds relieved. “I’ll handle all the paperwork and reach out to your chief.”

After thanking him, you drive to your hospital, needing to wrap up loose ends. As you pull up to the entrance, you spot Yoongi outside, cigarette in hand. He smirks at you and wordlessly offers a cigarette despite knowing you don’t smoke. It was a going on joke between you two. A mockery of your statement that “The fault in our stars” wasn’t as corny as Yoongi describes it. After that he never lets you live down the quote about the cigarette. 

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile. Yoongi still doesn’t ask why you weren’t there last night, instead giving you space to explain on your own terms. And so, taking a deep breath, you do. You tell him about Jimin’s accident, the amnesia, and the transfer. You half expect him to be upset, but he only nods in understanding.

Your relationship with Yoongi has been… complicated. It started a year ago, the result of one too many drinks after celebrating a successful surgery. Since then, you’ve kept things casual, just two people filling each other’s lonely nights. There were no expectations, no strings. However, when he agrees with Taemin and Namjoon, supporting this decision, you feel an unexpected pang of something you can’t quite place.

As you both step inside, Yoongi teases, “Maybe this is exactly what you need.”

You frown, trying to decipher his words but there’s no time to dwell. Almost immediately, nurse Layla rush toward you, handing you charts. Your mentee, San trails behind, listing off patients and conditions until you stop him.

“There’s been a change of plans,” you say, glancing at him. “I’m being transferred to Seoul Main for a while.”

San’s face falls. “But…. but I want to keep learning under you.”

You sigh, touched but resolute. “I’ll be back.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, but there’s nothing more you can do. Handing him the charts, you instruct him to wait for Dr. Schuber’s call before heading toward the chief’s office. When you step into his office, Leeteuk’s on the phone, his usual stern features softened with amusement. His laughter echoes lightly before his tone shifts into something more serious. "I understand," he says into the receiver. "I’ll help as much as I can." His eyes lift to yours as he gestures for you to take a seat. You settle in waiting for him to finish.

When he finally hangs up, he leans back in his chair, eyes filled with something akin to sympathy. "I spoke with Mr. Park," he begins, "I heard what happened. I’m truly sorry about Jimin." He doesn’t linger on the subject, respecting the weight of it, and instead moves on, pulling out a piece of paper and scribbling something down. "The official reason for your transfer is the lack of fellows at Seoul Main. They’re understaffed, while here we have three people under each mentor. It makes sense."

You exhale, nodding. "Thank you, Chief. I won’t let you down. I’ll do my best at Seoul Main."

Leeteuk’s lips curl into a proud smile. "I expect nothing less."

A warm sensation spreads in your chest as you leave his office. The bittersweet feeling of leaving, of change, settles over you.

You make your way to the surgeons’ rest lounge, where you spot Wendy sprawled on one of the beds, her scrubs wrinkled from exhaustion as she focuses on a post-op chart. "General surgery is a pain in the ass," she groans the moment she spots you. "Should’ve been a dermatologist."

You chuckle, taking a seat beside her. "Rough night?"

"Try night from hell. Some teenager came in with severe abdominal pain. His parents were a nightmare, demanding every test possible. Turns out, the kid had something shoved up his ass but was too ashamed to admit it. Can you believe that?" She rubs her temple in frustration. "Yoongi tried to warn him that after surgery his parents would know – I mean who wouldn’t notice their child can’t sit on their ass – but the kid begged us to come up with a cover story."

You wince in secondhand embarrassment. "And this is exactly why I chose cardio."

Wendy snorts. "Please, like you don’t have weird cases. Didn’t you start in neuro before switching?"

You shrug. "At least no one’s shoving things into their brain or heart."

Wendy grins. "Tell that to the kid who inhaled a whole ass ball and had to have it surgically removed from his nasal cavity."

You shake your head with a laugh. "Still better than a sex toy in their ass." You pause, a smirk tugging at your lips.

“Not gonna lie, trauma surgeons are saints. I could never stand there, get a CT done and see an object, clearly intended for pleasure, inserted where it shouldn’t be. And keep a straight face.”

You wanted to explain to Wendy that unlike other surgeons, any topic related to sex only made her laugh her ass off – pun fully intended. If you had to list any flaw of hers on the resume, that would be the top one, laughing during awkward moments. You could start listing of all the times that go her in trouble but then you’d be staying here until the next year.

Then, shifting gears, you exhale and tell her about your transfer, detailing everything that happened last night. Much like with Yoongi, you recount how Namjoon called, the accident, and then the part that makes you hesitate, Jimin has a girlfriend. 

“Y/N,” Wendy said, leaning in closer. “It’s understandable but you know it’s been two years, right? Life keeps going, even when we’re not ready for it. It’s only natural that he would have moved on.”

 “Yeah, I get that,” you replied, voice thick with frustration. 

Wendy studies you, a thoughtful expression on her face. “And what about you, Y/N? You’ve been hanging out with Yoongi a lot. I know you I turn a blind eye often, but you’re sleeping together. ” 

You roll your eyes knowing well enough how the situation between you two was vastly different. For starters no labels were used and heck you didn’t even know where Yoongi lived, most of the time you hung out at your apartment. “It’s not like that with Yoongi. We’ve just found comfort in each other’s company, nothing more.”  

 “Come on, don’t tell me knowing his dick size and meeting his brother is just keeping each other company” Wendy teased, attempting to lighten the mood. 

Okay so you knew the ins and outs of Doctor Yoongi, and perhaps you had the chance to meet his brother but, in your defense, it was a total coincidence. His brother had a mild heart attack and Yoongi ever so praising of your skills directed him to you so in conclusion you knew his brother as Mr. Min, your patient not as Yoongi’s older brother Yeon. 

“It’s just messy. Here I am, dealing with Jimin’s memories and feelings, and I can’t just ignore that. It feels wrong.”

 “Life is messy, sweetie,” Wendy said, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “But you’re strong enough to figure it out. You just need time.”

 “I know I need time,” you sigh, staring down at the bed. “I’m just sorry for leaving my shift. I didn’t mean to abandon you.”

Wendy shrugged, a playful twinkle in her eye. “Please, don’t worry about it. Yoongi and I have your back. Trust me, we covered for you. Just take things easy, okay? You have enough on your plate without stressing about work.” 

“Thanks, Wendy,” you said, a small smile breaking through your worry. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

Just as you were about to yap a bit more about the situation your phone buzzes. Namjoon’s name flashes on the screen. Jimin is waking up. You should be here. A wave of nerves rolls through you. You quickly type out a response, telling him you’re on your way.

Wendy watches you carefully. "So, are we postponing girls’ night?"

You nod. "Until this whole mess settles."

She smirks. "Figures. Just promise me you won’t take any shit from anyone at Seoul Main. You know how male-dominated the field surgery is."

You chuckle. "I was expecting a speech about Jimin."

Wendy shrugs. "Honestly I feel like my emotional capacity is reaching its limits. That little sucker used most of it and you got like 20%. Anyway, don’t forget about us while you’re there."

A lump forms in your throat at the thought of leaving again, of facing Jimin again. Wendy nudges you toward the door. "Go. I need sleep before I start hallucinating."

As you were about to leave the room you heart Wendy half-whisper. “If you see any hot dudes, be sure to send me their pictures.”

You chuckle, steeling yourself before heading out. 

When you arrive, Namjoon is waiting at the front desk standing beside a man you don’t recognize. As you approach, Namjoon greets you with a small smile. "Y/N, this is Dr. Kyungsoo, neurosurgeon. I asked him to consult on Jimin’s case."

Kyungsoo stands by your side, noticeably a head shorter than Namjoon. His short black hair frames his face neatly, and his plump lips give him a slightly prominent and inviting look. His big doe-like brown eyes seem to take in everything with a serious intensity, giving him a contemplative aura. However, as he greets you, a big smile breaks across his face, instantly softening his demeanor and making him appear much younger than the serious expression that lingered just moments before. 

You shake hands with him before Namjoon hands you a pager and a key card. "This will give you access to the third floor, where Jimin is, as well as the surgeons’ lounges. Only a handful of nurses know about Jimin’s condition." He hesitates for a second. "You’ll be happy to know that Jisoo is one of them."

A strange feeling twists in your gut. It reminds you too much of seeing Taemin again, Jisoo had been there that night. You school your features and nod, absorbing the information. Namjoon starts explaining the layout of the hospital, but you cut him off with a teasing grin. "I left two years ago, not twelve."

He chuckles. "Feels like twelve."

The three of you step into the elevator. As it ascends, Kyungsoo and Namjoon discuss the possible causes of Jimin’s amnesia. You listen but focus on steadying your nerves. When the doors open, a rush of déjà vu washes over you. Jimin’s parents are there, his father on the phone, his mother sitting beside Rose, their hands clasped tightly.

You greet them, but your gaze barely lingers on Rose. There’s an unspoken tension between you, a mutual uncertainty on how to act around each other. Namjoon introduces Kyungsoo to Jimin’s parents, giving you the perfect excuse to slip past them and into the room.

Jimin is standing by the window, watching the sky shift outside, the colors melding like the emotions swirling in his heart. There’s no television, no phone. Namjoon thought too much information at once might overwhelm him, but Jimin has one focus: you. When he turns and sees you, his face illuminates with an almost otherworldly smile, as if your presence alone brings warmth to a cold room. His eyes, usually bright with mischief, are now filled with deep adoration, crinkling at the edges as he stretches his arms out, eager to embrace you. 

Your heart clenches, a mix of longing and fear tightening within your chest. You step forward, surrendering to his pull into a hug that feels like home. He buries his face in your neck, inhaling deeply, a low sigh escaping his lips. "I could never get tired of your scent," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. 

You freeze for just a second.  If he notices your stillness, he doesn’t say anything; instead, he tightens his hold on you, as if afraid you might slip away. 

His breath mingles with yours, creating an intimate rhythm that seems to soothe the chaos within. "I was scared when I woke up and you weren’t here," he confesses, his voice trembling, vulnerable. 

You silently wish you could promise him everything would be okay. "It felt like my world was falling apart when Namjoon told me it’s 2026, not 2021. That we’re—" his voice breaks, fragile as his eyes shimmer, "divorced. That you left Seoul Main Hospital."

The words pierce through the vulnerability of the moment, leaving you breathless. Warm tears soak into your skin as Jimin pulls back slightly, his puffy red eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes you feel as if he is looking straight into your soul. 

"Y/N, I—I don’t know how to do this without you," he says, each word laced with desperation and love that binds your heart in a vice. His weakness shatters something deep within you, the weight of it heavy and consuming. Logic tells you that the truth would be kinder in the long run, but looking into his tear-streaked face, filled with fear and longing, you realize in that moment you can’t tell him. Not yet. The love reflected in his gaze is a tether that keeps you from breaking apart entirely, and for now, you choose to hold onto the fragile warmth of this bittersweet reunion.

You and Jimin don't notice between your emotional exchange that the doors have opened and that Jimin's parents and Rose have entered the room, accompanied by Namjoon. The soft click of the door closing barely registers in your mind, too caught up in the warmth of Jimin’s embrace; in the way his body fits against yours like a puzzle piece that was never meant to be separated. It isn't until Namjoon clears his throat, a deliberate interruption, that your awareness sharpens. 

Your gaze flickers to Rose, who stands frozen near the door. Her expression is an unreadable mix of hurt and anger. You see the way she blinks rapidly, as if trying to hold back tears that threaten to spill. Guilt twists like a knife in your stomach. You shift, instinctively trying to create space between yourself and Jimin, but his fingers tighten around yours. The weight of his touch is grounding, but in this moment, it feels suffocating.

Jimin frowns at your movement. "Where are you going?" he asks, his voice laced with confusion. You hesitate, casting a glance at Namjoon before answering, "I just thought I’d stand with Namjoon and the others." The words sound weak even to your own ears.

Jimin’s frown deepens. "Why? You're my wife. You're supposed to be here, with me." His words land heavily in the room, unchallenged yet piercing. Rose stiffens before she abruptly turns on her heel and rushes out. The sound of her hurried steps echoes down the hallway. Jimin’s mother exhales softly, her gaze darting between her son and the door Rose just exited through. For a moment, she seems to contemplate following her, but then she looks at Jimin, at the desperation in his eyes as he holds onto you and stays.

Namjoon, sensing the growing tension in the room speaks up shifting the focus on him. "Jimin, we’re keeping you here for three more days before discharging you. After that, Y/N will take care of you at home." His words are measured, calm as if carefully weaving a delicate bridge between reality and the illusion Jimin still holds onto. Then he subtly nods at you, a silent prompt for you to begin adjusting Jimin to the truth of your present.

Jimin’s grip on your hand is unrelenting, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that should be comforting, but all you can focus on is the fire creeping up your spine, the overwhelming pressure of his expectations.

You gently take Jimin’s hand, placing a small mirror in his hands. As he gazes into it, a look of confusion flickers across his face, then deepens into disbelief as he sees his reflection. The familiar shape of his face remains, but the long, silver hair cascading down his shoulders is a stark reminder of the years that have slipped by. “Since… since when did I dye my hair?” he murmurs, running his fingers through the silken strands, as if trying to grasp the time that has passed.

You can see the wheels turning in his mind, the realization dawning on him. “Five years did pass by, Jimin. Namjoon was right, it’s 2026 now,” you explain, your voice tender. The mirror reflects more than just physical changes; it mirrors the essence of the man he was and the man he has become.  Jimin stirs his gaze to you staring at you intently, his dark eyes searching yours as if trying to latch onto something solid amidst the whirlwind of news. 

"The president now is Yuk Seongu. I completed my residency a year ago," you continue, carefully choosing details that might make the reality easier to digest after the sudden shock.

For the short amount of time you were under Namjoon’s mentorship he highlighted the importance of stating the current president when assessing a patient for amnesia. Back then, and even now, you felt as if that question was misplaced. In midst of an emotional breakdown and coming to terms with years being stolen from you why would anyone care about politics?

Jimin processes your words, his brow furrowing. He hurriedly places the mirror onto the nightstand as if it burned him. "Is that why you weren’t wearing scrubs yesterday?" 

His question catches you off guard, but you recover quickly, nodding. "Yes, I’m currently a fellow under..." You trail off, glancing at Namjoon for help, and he promptly supplies, "Doctor Junseo."

You repeat the name, your gaze returning to Jimin, who seems lost in thought, his lips parted slightly as he tries to absorb everything. Everyone in the room expects him to ask something logical, something about the time gap, about his medical condition or about what happened. But when he finally speaks, his question catches you totally off guard.

"Where’s your ring?" His eyes drop to your bare fingers, the absence of the silver band suddenly feeling like an accusation. "Even when you were busy in your residency, you always wore it. You only ever took it off during surgery."

Silence falls over the room. Your breath catches in your throat, your heart pounding so loudly you wonder if everyone else can hear it. How do you even begin to answer that?

You try to recover from the question, but the words stick to the back of your throat. It had never occurred to you that Jimin would notice the absence of the ring and honestly it had never even occurred to you to put it on.

Jimin proposed to you on your fourth anniversary. At the time, you were only twenty-four, young and ambitious. Initially, you felt hesitant about marriage because your career required many sacrifices, and you worried that you would only hold him back. However, Jimin believed that everything was perfectly aligned, especially since you were doing your residency at his parents' hospital, where he worked in the finance department. 

You remember the excitement and joy you felt at the thought of calling him your fiancé, and eventually husband. Despite the challenges you faced and the uncertainties ahead, you accepted his proposal. You can still picture the moment he lifted you into the air, twirling you with pure happiness as you held his face in your hands. In that instant, time seemed to stop, marking one of your many victories.

The ring had been a family heirloom, passed down through generations of Park men. It was always given to the eldest son to propose to his prospective wife. Jimin hadn’t needed to plead for it; his grandmother had a soft spot for you. She admired your unwavering commitment to two things: your career and Jimin.

When your marriage fell apart and you both reached the heartbreaking conclusion that divorce was your only option, the ring became a painful reminder of everything you had lost. You had wanted to return it and give it back to him, but Jimin refused. His voice was filled with bitterness as he declared that the ring was tainted with misery, and he couldn’t bear to return it to his grandmother after failing her. You understood his anger, you had always understood Jimin. Deep down, however, you wished he could have set aside his pride just once to understand you in return.

Unfortunately, the weight of hatred and hurt was too great to overcome. So, you took the ring and locked it away at your family home, putting as much distance between you and it as possible. 

Standing before Jimin as he awaits an answer, you wonder how to explain all of that in just a few words. After a moment of silence, you explain, "I lost it once during a complicated surgery. I had to change into fresh scrubs after getting soaked with a patient’s blood, and I was rushed into another procedure immediately afterward. By the time the cleaning crew came through, it was misplaced. When we finally found it, I decided to leave it at home as a precaution." 

Jimin studies you carefully for a long moment before finally nodding. Then, in a gesture that feels achingly familiar, he lifts your hand and presses a lingering kiss to your palm. The warmth of his lips sends a wave of comfort through you.. He then asks, "Can we have some time alone?" 

Jimin’s father shifts uncomfortably, his posture rigid afraid that you might slip. Before he can voice any objections, Jimin’s mother intercedes, her voice soft yet firm. "Of course." With that, she gently ushers her husband out the door, with Namjoon trailing behind them. Once alone, Jimin watches you intently for a long moment before reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. "What more did I miss?" he asks.

You hesitate. "What do you mean?" 

"Your hair is longer and darker. You used to wear glasses during residency, but now you don’t. Did you switch to contacts or? Did you finally learn to parallel park?” His voice is light and teasing, but there's genuine curiosity beneath it. 

You exhale, adjusting to the way his touch still feels like second nature. "Mochi passed away four years ago. She lived with us towards the end of her life, and her favorite pastime was knocking glasses off the counter. You had to clean up way more than you liked." 

Jimin chuckles, a sad yet fond sound. "And your career?" 

"I tried neurosurgery, but..." You sigh. 

He smirks knowingly. "You never had the patience for it." 

You swat his arm playfully. "I could have if I had Namjoon’s mind of steel,” you smirk before softening, "I went into cardiothoracic instead." 

Jimin grins. "Good choice. You stole my heart; you better learn on how to take care of it." 

You groan, hiding your face behind your hands, laughter bubbling up despite yourself. With him, it was always easy. Then, Jimin’s faces becomes letting you know that whatever he’s about to say has been bothering him for a while. "Namjoon told me I lost control of the car and hit a pole. He didn’t want to tell me, but Taemin let it slip that I was intoxicated. What happened that night?” 

You feel at loss for words. You don’t know the reasoning yourself and the only person who could cast some light on the situation probably would rather punch you in the face than help you. “I wish I could help you, but I am unsure myself.”

Jimin frowns looking to the side, silently playing with your fingers. Something he started doing absentmindedly whenever he was stressed. He stops for a second, still not looking at you as he speaks. “I was relieved that nobody was hurt but I can’t help but feel confused by my own actions. I know I would never drink and drive. It just doesn’t seem real. It doesn’t seem like me.”

He looks at you, his eyes a mirror to his emotions. He was fighting an internal battle which he kept to himself more so to not overwhelm you, sensing that you were already on the edge. 

Instead of further grilling for information he smiles and quickly changes the topic. "At least get me a TV. I’ll die of boredom." 

You felt like you can breathe again so you chuckle trying to mask the fear that lingered. "I’ll talk to Namjoon." 

A nurse knocks on the door. "Time for some tests." 

The nurse walked to Jimin's side, offering him a reassuring smile as she gently lifted his arm. You positioned yourself on the opposite side, carefully sliding your hands beneath him to provide additional support. Together, you lifted him into the wheelchair, ensuring he was comfortable before she starts wheeling him out.

As they were about to exit, he asks "Will I see you later?" 

You nod. "Of course."

You watch Jimin disappear down the hallway, a strange hollowness settles in your chest. This is going to be harder than you anticipated. Jimin has lost two years of which you know nothing about. As much as you want to help, you feel just as much an outsider to that time as he does. 

You wanted to dwell more on it but, the sharp beep of your pager shatters the silence. Front desk. You don’t waste a second, opting for the stairs over the elevator, your heart pounding from more than just exertion. The hospital is a world of cold, sterile air, and yet, as you rush through it, you feel like you’re suffocating.

At the front desk, a familiar figure stands. Jung Hoseok is dressed in a neatly pressed suit, though his tired eyes and slightly disheveled hair tell a different story. He looks older and worn out, as if the weight of sleepless nights has carved itself into his face. You notice how his hair is shorter than you remember, and how tiredness clings to him like a shadow, no doubt a result of his children’s relentless energy. 

He waves at you, offering a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "Y/N," he greets, his voice tinged with fatigue as he hands you a set of keys. "How's the situation?" 

"The same," you reply, catching your breath, "We’ll see if he’ll remember more once we get to the apartment and visit some places." 

Hoseok nods, but then his expression turns serious. "Do you plan on telling him about you know?" His voice is quiet and cautious, as if saying the name might shatter something fragile in the air. 

A shiver runs down your spine as you shake your head. "No, there was no right moment. Honestly, I don’t know if there ever will be. It would just reopen old wounds. And right now… isn’t the time." 

Hoseok studies you for a moment before exhaling slowly. "Yeah, I get that. Is there anything I can do?"

You bite your lip, contemplating. "If you have time, could you help me fill in the gaps? I don’t know much about Jimin’s job after the divorce. It’s hard to navigate conversations when I have no idea what changed."

He agrees immediately. "Of course. I’ll drop by again tomorrow or the day after. I just need to check my schedule. I only saw him for a minute or two, the clients are ruthless. They keep pestering me as if I was the well of all information about the stock market."

His words offer some relief, but then he says something that throws you off balance. "I haven’t seen the apartment since Jimin gave me the keys. That was two months after the divorce." 

Your brows knit together in confusion. "I thought he moved in with Rose?"

Hoseok’s expression shifts when he realizes what you’re thinking. "Yes and no, he and Rose only started dating last year. He left the apartment because there was too much sadness there. He said he needed a change, so he rented a place near the company instead. He gave me the keys because Dae and I wanted to expand our family, but… I couldn’t live there. It was too tragic. Therefore, I never used it."

Rose’s words echo in your mind and before you can stop yourself you say it out loud, wanting to be certain. "He was planning on selling it, right?" 

Hoseok nods. "Yeah. He even found a buyer, but… they backed out." 

"Did he say why?" you ask, but he shakes his head. "No. He just said to keep the keys. No new owner, no reason to bring them back to the company." 

"Do you know what happened the night of the accident?" 

"No, no one does. His family doesn’t even know." Before you can explain further, movement catches your attention. 

You turn and freeze. 

Seonghwa.

The young resident stands a few feet away, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief. The papers he was carrying slip from his grasp, fluttering to the floor in a scattered mess. You watch as realization dawns on him as he continues staring at you as though he is seeing a ghost.

Hoseok turns at the commotion, narrowing his gaze as he studies the younger man. There is something familiar in Seonghwa’s features, and you see the moment recognition flickers in Hoseok’s tired eyes. But before he can say anything, you are already moving, kneeling beside Seonghwa to gather the fallen papers with quiet urgency.

Although he stutters, he manages to greet you and Hoseok. Once the papers are collected, he looks at you and attempts to start a conversation, awkwardly asking how you have been. Like Seonghwa, you find yourself at a loss for how to navigate the moment, so you settle for small talk, giving him a polite smile. "I’m well. I hope you are too."

Hoseok, who has been observing quietly, suddenly pieces it together, the young resident from the that night. Recognition flashes in his eyes, but he says nothing, only checking his watch before turning to you. "We’ll talk later, Y/N. I’m already late for work.

You nod, clutching the keys in her hand. "Thanks again."

As he walks away, Seonghwa exhales slowly and shifts on his feet. "Namjoon told me I would be working under someone new," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just… didn’t think it would be you." 

You blink at him, slightly taken aback. "Namjoon never mentioned this to me." 

Seonghwa nods, as if that makes perfect sense. You take a deep breath, adjusting to the reality of your new professional dynamic. "Well," you say, straightening up, "there are a few patients we need to check on. Let’s get to work." 

Sensing the awkward atmosphere lingering between you, you quickly assign him a task. "Check on each patient and inform me when you're done. I still need to change into my uniform and greet the chief." 

Seonghwa furrows his brows. "Greet the chief? Why?" 

You tilt your head. "It’s common courtesy to greet your boss." 

His lips twitch slightly. "You’ve already seen Namjoon." 

You stare at him, processing his words. "Wait… what?" 

"Namjoon became the chief just a little over a month ago."

Although perplexed at information that Namjoon decided to keep from you, you can’t help but feel a bit proud. “Then I guess we immediately go to work.”

Seonghwa smiles as he begins to scan through the list of patients. He explains their conditions, the procedures that were performed, and the potential checkups. As the two of you walk, you’re reminded of the old times when he used to trail behind you. However, instead of the nervous first-year resident who once cowered under your stern gaze, you now see a confident future cardiothoracic surgeon completing his final year of residency.

After a long day in the operating room, you find yourself transitioning from the upbeat environment of the hospital to the familiar weight of anticipation as you make your way to the car. The drive through the bustling streets of Seoul reflects your mixed emotions. 

As you step into the apartment you once shared with Jimin, the soft glow of the overhead lights illuminates the elegant surroundings. Located in an upscale neighborhood, the entrance welcomes you with its polished wooden floors and high ceilings that make the space feel both expansive and intimate.  

In the air lingers a faint floral scent, suggesting that someone has taken great care to maintain the place. You glance around, noticing the carefully arranged furniture that echoes memories of laughter and shared moments. The black sofa, draped with a soft throw blanket, still stands at its familiar angle, as if waiting for you to sink into it once more. 

You can’t help but smile. The same sofa has once sparked a playful disagreement between you and Jimin, who thought its color was too dark for a room designed to catch the morning sun. The large windows allow ample light to flood the space, creating a striking contrast with the sofa.

Setting down the three suitcases, you stroll through the living space, taking in the memories. It’s as if time has stood still; nothing has changed. A wave of nostalgia washes over you, mingling with an unsettling sense of estrangement, as the apartment feels like a memory frozen in time. What truly catches your eye are the photos of you and Jimin, still proudly hanging on the walls of the living room.

Taking an en route to the photos, you catch the lingering feeling of confusion wash over you slowly then all at once as you come near. The photos are in pristine condition, a contrast to what you last remember seeing them. The vision of Jimin lingers as he yells smashing each frame against floor. Shards of glass spread all over the floor. He stomps over it, further crumpling the photos. You trace the wooden frame, fingers stopping at your carved initials. 

Why did he put them back? The question floats in the air, and suddenly you feel like you’ll choke if continue searching for the answer. Instead, you proceed into the bedroom and the sight that greets you is a comforting one.

The bed is neatly made, and not much has changed. But as you stand there, you feel an overwhelming urge to explore further, to delve into the past. Yet, given the emotional roller coaster of the past two days, you pause feeling that venturing too deep might stir up memories best left undisturbed. Instead, you make your way downstairs to the kitchen hoping to find some semblance of normalcy in a cup of coffee. 

You recall that Jimin always kept basics stocked, and you hope he didn’t throw all out. As you reach for the cabinet above the sink where you used to keep the coffee, your movements feel almost instinctual, as if you haven’t lived in another apartment for two years. To your surprise, nestled beside the bag of coffee is a package of white tea, one of your favorites.

But it’s not just the tea that catches your eye. The cabinet seems to be a curated collection of your favorites. It is stocked up on all the items you once adored, from the German chocolate Riesen—Jimin would always tease you about your peculiar liking for them—to your beloved brand of coffee, and even the soy sauce you preferred for your ramen noodles. It’s as if the cabinet had become a small shrine to your favorite things.

As you stand there, staring at the familiar items placed in the cabinet, you feel a new wave of confusion washes over you.  You’re left wondering why he hadn’t removed them entirely. Was he holding onto these memories, or had he simply pushed them aside to avoid the hurt they might bring? The realization that living in this once-shared space might be too much for him sinks in, leaving you conflicted. Part of you wants to cherish these tokens of your past, while another part grapples with the understanding that he likely sought to create distance from reminders of you, leaving you uncertain about what to do with the unraveling emotions swirling inside.

Pushing the emotions aside, you decide to take a quick shower, hoping the warm water will wash away some of the tension that has built up throughout the day. Afterward, you sit down to make a list of things you need to buy for the apartment in order to transform it into a space in which you and Jimin had been supposedly living for the past five years. 

You jot down groceries, hygiene such as shampoos, razors and all the trivial essentials that make a home feel complete. But then you pause, a wave of realization washing over you. All Jimin’s clothes are at his apartment with Rose. You feel your emotional limit approaching as you wrestle with the idea of having to call her and ask for his things. It feels like too much, especially considering your last encounter. Though Jimin may currently see you as his wife due to his amnesia, you are painfully aware that you are, in reality, his ex-wife. 

You started to feel lost and uncertain about what to do next. It was ironic that as a surgeon, you often must make decisions so quickly that you rarely have time to think them through. Yet now, you were struggling to make even the simplest choice. In a moment of clarity, you decided it might be better to ask Hoseok or Namjoon to handle the situation, letting them do the heavy lifting while you figure out the rest.

You decide that tomorrow is a fresh start, hoping things might feel a little better. As you turn off the lights in the living room, the quiet envelops you, and it dawns on you just how tired you are. Climbing upstairs, you hesitate in front of the doors of the bedroom. It feels too soon to sleep there, so you opt for the guest room instead. 

As you settle onto the unfamiliar sheets, just as you feel yourself drifting off, your phone buzzes. You glance at the screen to see a message from an unfamiliar number. 

Sweet dreams—don't let the bugs eat you and think of me. 

P.S. Namjoon finally gave my phone back. 

You stare at the ceiling for a while, the words piercing through the cozy haze of sleepiness. You know it's Jimin, yet confusion washes over you. Why would Namjoon hand Jimin his phone back? Did he go through it? Did he erase the photos of Jimin and Rose? The thought leaves you feeling unsettled, and frustration bubbles beneath the surface.

summary: The gods put her to sleep. The world woke her up for revenge. Twelve hundred years ago, the world nearly ended in a flash of purple lightning and a promise. To save the realm of Ravus from an ancient darkness, demigod siblings Y/N and Jungkook were sealed away in a magical slumber, destined to wake when the world needed them most. But when Y/N claws her way out of the salt and sand of a strange shore, she finds a world that has forgotten her name. The towering marble spires of her home are dust, the Nine Ancients are a myth, and she is a living weapon in a time of peace that's starting to bleed. Worse, she's alone. Her brother is missing, possibly dead; her sword has probably settled at the bottom of the ocean; and a new shadow is rising from the East—a fearsome General who commands the darkness with a terrifying familiarity. Surrounded by a band of mismatched protectors who aren't sure whether to view her as a savior or a time bomb, Y/N must decide if she is fighting to save the future, or if she is the monster the future was designed to forget. Under a sky where the stars have shifted, and the history books are wrong, the "destiny" the gods wrote for her is starting to look like a death sentence.

main masterlist moodboards

book i: katayn / altharia ~44.9k chapter one ~4.5k chapter two ~5.1k chapter three ~5.1k chapter four ~5.0k chapter five ~7.0k chapter six ~4.1k chapter seven ~5.1k chapter eight ~4.6k chapter nine ~4.4k

book ii: port maris / aethelis ~49.1k chapter ten ~4.5k chapter eleven ~5.0k chapter twelve ~4.1k chapter thirteen ~5.4k chapter fourteen ~5.7k chapter fifteen ~6.0k chapter sixteen ~5.6k chapter seventeen ~6.6k chapter eighteen ~6.2k

book iii: the stelreth mountains / kragstin ~45.5k chapter nineteen ~5.1k chapter twenty ~4.9k chapter twenty-one ~4.8k chapter twenty-two ~4.7k chapter twenty-three ~4.3k chapter twenty-four ~4.1k chapter twenty-five ~5.1k chapter twenty-six ~6.8k chapter twenty-seven ~5.7k

book iv: the vespar steppes / the cerulean expanse ~50.1k chapter twenty-eight ~4.4k chapter twenty-nine ~5.0k chapter thirty ~5.0k chapter thirty-one ~5.3k chapter thirty-two ~5.3k chapter thirty-three ~4.6k chapter thirty-four ~5.5k chapter thirty-five ~4.9k chapter thirty-six ~10.1k

book v: draykspire / the weaver's keep ~49.7k chapter thirty-seven ~5.2k chapter thirty-eight ~5.0k chapter thirty-nine ~6.2k chapter forty ~6.0k chapter forty-one ~7.5k chapter forty-two ~6.0k chapter forty-three ~5.1k chapter forty-four ~4.6k chapter forty-five ~4.1k

book vi: aethelgard / meridia ~42.3k chapter forty-six ~6.0k chapter forty-seven ~4.0k chapter forty-eight ~3.7k chapter forty-nine ~4.6k chapter fifty ~4.2k chapter fifty-one ~3.6k chapter fifty-two ~5.1k chapter fifty-three ~5.5k chapter fifty-four ~5.6k

book vii: ravanis ~37.5k chapter fifty-five ~4.3k chapter fifty-six ~4.0k chapter fifty-seven ~3.1k chapter fifty-eight ~5.5k chapter fifty-nine ~4.9k chapter sixty ~6.8k chapter sixty-one ~5.0k chapter sixty-two ~4.6k chapter sixty-three ~6.1k