#castlebangtan

The large brown table has a mountain of colours spewed on it, ranging from hard-covered to soft-covered, light laughs to deep wails, a short stack of words with sharp statements to a long flow of words that could have imaginations whisked away. The bound pages each have different illustrations depicted, their sheer volume only seeming to be endless when another array of them starts to form right below the table. Among all this, two words are engraved with a swirl into each of them and it’s a name that never fails to raise a hearty smile. 

“Y/N L/N.” 

The man on the other end repeats in the midst of your thoughts, your eyes trailing along with every book he takes out of the cardboard box. His brows are furrowed whenever he leans down, brown locks falling down onto his eyes and flush lips stretched out in wonder. He glances over at you with wide eyes from where you’re seated in the corner, the forecasted dreamy look you hold immediately vanishing into bewilderment. “There’s seriously a lot of them now.”

With a smile, you nod as he places the last batch underneath the table and turns to face you, “All of them did well in the market too.” He picks up a black book with dark purple and red swirls lining the cover, clouds of smoke in the background of a woman who holds a horrific expression, “Even after you created this,” Another book meets his hands, this time with hues of pink, blue and yellow splashed on the surface, a multitude of flowers scattered on the surface, “And then this.”

A chuckle escapes you, springing up from your seat with a cherry grin. 

“Well, you know what they say!” You point a cheesy finger at him, placing a powerful hand on your hip like you were some kind of superhero, “The biggest risks will always lead to the best results.” 

“Or the worst results.” He pursues his lips, “But you have managed to tackle a lot of genres in your writing, I’ll say that much.” 

You stroll closer, eyes dramatically wide and mouth agape, “Was that a….compliment?” 

He whips around, appearing offended. “Hey! I’ve given you plenty of compliments before.” 

“You said my last book was ridiculous and that I wasn’t allowed to turn the main character into a fish.” 

“Because that was ridiculous! Why would you even write something like that?!” 

“It’s unique! You know, the good ol’ being interesting enough to read more?” You smirk, leaning towards him with suspicious eyes, “Are you sure you’re an actual editor, Jin?” 

Seokjin rolls his eyes, placing the book in his hands down with a sigh, “I’m just saying that maybe you could try writing something simple this time around. Something without all the plot twists and weird revelations.” 

You narrow your eyes, not yet ready to budge until he glares at you in exasperation, “Hm, Fair enough. So what’s hot on the market?” 

You eagerly eye him, aware of his tendency to keep tabs on what the current status of the highest selling books were. 

“There’s been a demand for something else recently.” His voice grows wary and you raise an eyebrow, following after him as he brings over a sealed box you’ve haven’t seen before. He slices through the tape and begins taking out the paper packaging, revealing a new set of books that don’t carry your signature. 

“What is this?” You probe, picking one up that has an intricate image of a boy and a girl with glittering golden and silver eyes. “A werewolf story?” 

Jin hums, “There’s other ones too.” 

The books go flying from the box as you toss them out, taking one quick glance before allowing it to meet the pile you’re forming on the table. There’s covers depicting snow with a vampire, an image of a stethoscope, another of a basketball court, and heck, even one with the premise of two people switching bodies. You stare at Jin perplexed, not grasping onto how these random titles were going to be helpful to you. 

He leans back, resting himself on the perch of the table. He smiles like he knows something you don’t ‒ a gesture that has you nearly pestering him for an answer until he finally speaks. 

“How do you feel about romance?”

“The genre?” He nods, “I don’t know, I guess it’s nice? It’s cute and all, and that-” 

He continues to smile and there’s something about it that’s unintentionally connected to the dots for you. 

You’ve made up your mind already, “I can’t.” 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s romance!” You raise up your hands in exasperation, but Jin just stares at you, not understanding the big deal, “You know, people gushing and giggling over each other for an entire book. Who wants to read something like that??” 

“This is coming from someone that wrote about a guy turning into a fish.”

“It was unique!” You chime in again, but Jin simply sighs and slides over the books you had previously yanked out. 

“It’s not what the market wants though, Y/N. All of these books went on to become popular just for being in the genre.” He attempts to reason, placing his hands on your shoulders, “I still think you should give it a shot.” 

Your lips set into a firm line, gaze drifting over to the atrocious covers that Jin’s lined up on the table. 

You suppose it wouldn’t be so bad. After all, you’ve been through writing spurts, endlessly crafting out fantasy words in efforts of making it through the deadlines you’re faced with. You’ve faced the mixture of stress and adrenaline, desperately pushing yourself to keep going even if your tank of fuel is failing on you. You’ve spent the long hours of digging your nose into hours of research, familiarising yourself with something out of your comfort zone just for the sake of making your writing better. 

But...romance? 

A genre you’ve skimmed over in hopes of creating something else, a genre that you’ve barely given a second glance because…...well… 

You research things. You try to improve things. And the best way to improve, is totry…...

Even though you have no clue what you’re getting yourself into. 

“I don’t know…” You quietly mumble, fiddling with the bottom of your sweater. “What if it sucks?” 

“You’ll never know unless you try.” Jin offers, but it doesn’t take away the unsettling feeling in your stomach from just thinking about it. He simply stares as you grow silent, letting out a sigh. 

Reaching over to grab a familiar coat, he tosses it over your head. You immediately react, flabbergasted by the sudden flying article of clothing. 

“What was that for?!” 

“Come on.” He slides his arms through a brown one with a knowing smile, “You work based on inspiration,” He glances around the dusty office, nearly packed with opened cardboard boxes and books, “and I don’t think you’ll get much from here.” 

You grin, slipping on the rough material instantly. 

***

The streets are bustling, packed with crowds of people huddled together. They’re surrounded by cream coloured skyscrapers from a far distance, rows of bare oak trees lining the roads. The scent of fresh winter lingers in the air, newly arrived after the scattering of orange and red leaves on the ground. 

You fist your hands up, a cheer erupting from your throat. A hand suddenly pushes through, covering your mouth. 

“Why are you screaming?” Jin asks in exasperation, staring at you in disbelief when you still continue despite his attempts at halting you. 

You pry his hand off, “I haven’t been outside in so long!!” You instantly run off, bumping into some civilians with no care and then giving them a cheeky wink when they glare at you. Jin rushes forward, grabbing onto you again. 

He sighs, stuffing his icy hands into his coat pockets, “Y/N, you’re supposed to be a writer, not a hermit.” 

“You can’t have both, Jin.” You remind him, “Plus I’ve spent hours working on my deadlines so I’m in need for some fu-Ooh! Look!” 

He whirls around to see you dashing over a pile of leaves in the corner, diving headfirst into them before he can stop you. Giggles escape you as Jin can’t help but smile a bit at the display too. However, that’s when he remembers why he even offered to bring you out inside, leaning over to grasp onto your arm. 

“Alright, come on Miss. Tree Lover.” He helps you up, quirking an eyebrow at the leaves currently trapped and poking out of your hair. You instantly brush them out, following him around. 

“Well?” He says with hopeful eyes as you take in the busy area. 

“Well what?” 

“Really?” He ponders, leaning closer, “No crazy amounts of inspiration yet?” 

“That’s not how it works!” You chide, “It takes more than that, you know? I gotta have a type of feeling.” 

“A type of feeling?” 

You roll your eyes at his obvious sarcasm, “Yeah, like I see something and the urge to write just‒” 

Your eyes spark up at a particular store and before you know it, you’re yanking Jin to come along with you. 

“What is it??” 

“Look!” You point over to the shop burgeoning with hard bound books. Planting your hands against the window, the glass fogs with the warmth you radiate as you peer inside, seeing countless of titles you recognize. 

“Aren’t those…?” Jin whispers from behind you, a huge dreamy smile crossing your lips. 

“Yeah.” You glance at the familiar works in front of you, eyes carefully watching people that walk across the selves. A particular group huddled in the corner catches your attention right away, one of them flicking through pages you’ve probably dispensed part of your soul into. 

She pauses at one page, eyes starting to focus in and appearing intrigued. Her lips have thinned out, lost in thought even with the group near her talking amongst themselves. 

You know that look. 

The excitement in your eyes instantly shifts into tenderness, simply content with watching someone hold curiosity in them from your words. 

But the perfect mirage cracks. 

“Hey guys, check this one out!” 

The girl immediately spins around, shuffling over to view the alluring title her friend has pulled out. However, in the midst of this, the familiar hard bound pages are instantly discarded, plopped back onto the shelf without another single glance. 

Your smile falls, eyes tingeing with dismay. You can only watch from afar as she swipes through new material, her attention grasped unlike before. 

Sight lingering down, you recognize the type of literature she holds. It only contributes more to your sorrow, left hopelessly gazing at the genre you’ve strayed extremely far from. 

Jin is silent from behind you, noticing that your immediate cheerfulness has disappeared within seconds. He’s still silent when you turn to him in disappointment, muttering the words he’s been trying to drill in your head since this morning. 

“I think….I’ll give it a shot.” 

He hums, gesturing for you to leave. “Just try your best, and don’t force yourself.” 

You nod, following after him once you’ve managed to tear your vision away from the scene. Although you’ve come down to the resolve he’s wanted, it doesn’t help at all to take away the unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

***

You already have a concept in your hands. Now all you gotta do is write it. 

How hard can it be? 

Within the span of ten minutes, soft thugs begin to resonate through the room. You lull you head over and over again against the surface of your table, deep exhausted sighs leaving your body. 

Did you really say how hard can it be? Did the you of ten minutes ago actually think this was easy?!

Sinking back into your chair, you stare at the blank document with empty eyes. It hasn’t moved an inch in that time frame and neither have you. 

Romance ‒ that’s it. Just write a story about two people falling for each other and seal the deal with a pretty looking bow. 

But then why are you still stuck staring at the screen?

A groan of defeat leaves your lips and you slump against your desk. A brown-haired individual pokes by your door, raising an eyebrow. 

“All good?” Jin asks. You barely move your head, an indecipherable murmur releasing from your throat. 

“I see…” He hums at the answer, straightening up and leaning against the frame, “If you’re that stuck, why don’t you do some research about it? You usually like that, right?” 

At the sound of the suggestion, your head immediately whips back with a hopeful glint in your eyes. Jin conceals his laughter as you start rapidly typing on your keyboard, taking that as an indication to leave you be as he goes back to editing your recent stories. 

Meanwhile, you’re having the time of your life. 

Of course! Research! The saving grace in a writer’s world! 

You’ve done it countless times before. Whether it was about being knowledgeable in understanding the mechanics of worldbuilding, to figure out the basic meanings of things you’ve previously had no clue about. 

However, the aspect you’re not accustomed to is your screen filling up with random articles. 

“How to tell if you’ve met your lifetime soulmate?” You narrow your eyes, “Ten ways of getting your crush to like you back…?” 

You scroll through, coming across more strange suggestions that give you zero insight for your current situation. Frowning, you wonder if you’re not searching hard enough ‒ until your eyes are left staring at the small advertisement in the corner of the screen. 

“Check out the latest kdrama’s here….?” Hovering your mouse over the link, a broad spectrum of shows flood your eyes instantly. There’s a range of story types and titles, but what catches your interest the most is the tagline. 

In need for some romance? Heal the woes of your lonely heart here then!

You lean back, staring at the shows. You suppose it won’t hurt to check one of them out, after all, it could give you the details you’ve been searching for. 

Making up your mind, you commit the mistake of watching the first episode of a series. 

***

Jin rubs his sore eyes, letting out a low yawn. He’s been unpacking more and more boxes from the publisher, carefully organizing them based on genre for the past couple of hours. After that horrendous task, he has decided to go through the latest story you’ve handed over to him, vision glued to his monitor as he highlights and circles places of improvement. 

He doesn’t want to take the harsh approach, but it goes without saying that your writing has been a little lacking these days. Usually he lets you do your thing and he does his own as long as you meet the deadlines, but he wonders if you’ve sacrificed the caliber in your writing in exchange. 

It isn’t terrible as you would probably take it. It still follows the unique concept trend you’ve focused on for so long. However, there seems to be something missing, something he can’t quite pinpoint even after going through pages and pages. 

With a sigh, he squeezes his heavy eyes shut for a moment before narrowing in onto the screen again. But his thought process is snatched away with a loud thud, and he instantly raises his head, wondering if a book has perhaps fallen down. 

Surprisingly, nothing’s fallen. 

Glancing around, he can only ponder until a boisterous laugh echoes through the walls, closely followed with prolonged wails. He slowly rises from his seat, following the intense sound as the frequency increases. 

He comes to a pause in front of your door, knocking softly. “Y/N?” 

Instead of words, he greeted to a chain of sobs. Twisting the knob to your office, he pokes his head in. 

“Y/N? Are you ok‒” 

To his defence, your office looks exactly how he has initially left it. But now it’s completely dark save for the subdued corner in the room, where you lie wrapped around with a blanket. Your eyes are glued to the bright source of light in the room, namely your computer screen, and there’s a bag of popcorn alongside a box of tissues right next to you. Aside from the strange position, your cheeks are completely drenched and there’s a hysterical look to your eyes. 

He doesn’t know what to say. 

“Uh….” 

The sound of his voice catches your attention, eyes widening, “Jin! Oh my god, Jin, it's so sad!” 

“What’s sad?” 

“This kdrama!” You point to your screen, “It’s so sad! First they were friends, and then they started liking each other, but then they kissed and everything went downhill after this second guy came in!” 

Jin crouches down, barely able to make out what's on screen due to the excessive water sticking to it.

“You’re watching a drama?” 

You hurriedly nod, “Now the girl is starting to fall for the second guy because of a misunderstanding! How are they going to fix all this?!” 

“Y/N…” Jin says in exasperation, “Is this what you’ve been doing for the past couple of hours?” 

You pout, hiding the device that clearly displays episode seven. 

“N-No........” 

Jin pretends not to see it, “Y/N, your next deadline is within two weeks. You really need to start working on this.” 

He grabs hold of your arm, pulling you out of the kdrama cocoon you’ve built around yourself. You let out a deep sigh, pressing your hand against your temples. 

“You’re right...I need to stop wasting time…” You whisper and Jin hums, swiveling around. 

“I have to get back to editing but I’ll come back in an hour once I’m done.” You nod as he turns to leave, slumping back down on your desk with a tired exhale. 

He was right. The moment you clicked onto that link, the hours spun by faster than you could count them and you’ve got nothing done at this point. 

Prying open your laptop again, you resume back to the blank document. 

***

Jin has assumed his words have knocked some sense into you as he makes his way back to your office. 

What he doesn’t assume, is to see you sitting on the ledge of the broad window with a book in your hands. 

“You’re reading…?” He wonders. Normally he wouldn’t even question it, but his eyes drift over to the blank document once again and something tells him there’s more to the story than he initially thought. 

You look up surprised, as if you hadn’t expected his arrival. His eyes stray over to the title of the book in your hands, a groan leaving him. 

“Oh god, not this again Y/N!” 

“It’s to help me understand!” You try to reason, but Jin is short of a few words when you’re reading a bulky thick book called ‘The Philosophy Behind Romance’. 

“How is this supposed to help you?” He points to the book and you defensively curl your arms around it. 

“Hear me out for a minute!” You quickly place it in your hands and rapidly flip through the pages. “Romantic love is considered to be a relation higher than the metaphysical and stems from a desire that transcends the physical body.”

Jin frowns, “What does that even mean?” 

“I have no idea. But!” You hastily intervene as Jin looks like he’s about to protest, “I think it can help me with creating the story.” 

“I don’t think any of this is going to work.” 

“What?” He walks over, taking the book out of your hands and straight up discarding it into your trash can. “HEY!” 

“You’re starting to run out of fuel.” He states, noticing the way your expression sours. You know he’s right, but won’t admit it. “You need to get away from all this.” 

He gestures to the book and the blank document you still have pulled up, reminding you of the ill circumstance you had yet to do something about. 

A dreary sigh leaves your lips, brows knitted together, “I’m trying Jin, I really am.” You gesture to the same empty document, “It’s just so hard. I-....I don’t know what to do.” 

Jin places a hand on your shoulder, nodding, “You’re out of your comfort zone and you’re having writer’s block. It’s understandable, but I don’t think research is what's going to help you this time.”

 You pout at that, but then Jin swivels around and hands your coat to you. 

“Why don’t you try going out for a walk? Clear out your mind and come back with some fresh inspiration?” 

“That doesn’t sound too bad…” You reminisce. Tugging your arms through the sleeves, Jin smiles and opens the door for you, ushering you towards the stairs that descend down. You wave at him before disappearing, hoping to yourself that you can get something out of this to clear away the clouds brewing over your creative mind. 

***

Glittering stars fill up the night sky, a bright crescent moon twinkling and illuminating the empty roads. Save for the sound of awake crickets and the faint honking of cars nearby, the sidewalk you trudge on is completely silent. 

It offers a different scenery compared to your cramped office room, something you didn’t realize you would appreciate as much until it dawns on you that you’ve probably spent several hours in the midst of trying to figure out your story instead of actually writing it. After all, you have been posed with a solid issue and as time spins by, you begin to think that it’s more than doing some mere research could possibly resolve. 

Tugging the hem of your coat closer to your red nose, your eyes glance around. You attempt to take some of Jin’s advice to heart, pondering if anything nearby can perhaps spark a flame of inspiration that you’ve been desperately lacking. 

That’s when you see it. 

Your brows furrow and you have to blink your eyes twice for it to make sense. Sheer curiosity traps you as you saunter over, tilting your head to the side and then to the opposite direction until you blink once more. 

Strokes of black and blue envelope the delicate white background that peeks through, specks of gray and white blotted carefully where the lines meet. There’s a peculiar circular shape portrayed in the middle of it, messily splattered with a hue of dull yellow. It looks like something you’ve come across before, something that felt familiar, something that‒

Your eyes look up, the same image appearing right above you. 

A frown mars your lips and when your vision focuses back on the piece, a head full of blonde hair sticks out from behind it. 

You’re almost ready to unleash a scream, not quite expecting movement from the presumed stationary canvas. You hear a soft sound, seemingly sounding like a low mumble, before silence takes over again. Raising an eyebrow, you take a step forward. 

It occurs to you that the canvas you had noticed was actually perched up against a wooden bench, and on that bench, is a person that’s sleeping. 

You hesitantly peer at them, noticing that the stranger was in fact a man. He appears to be in the middle of a snooze fest, chest lightly rising in the midst of soft snores escaping him. His face is entirely covered with a black beret, strands of blonde hair peeking out. 

There’s a list of questions in your mind, starting from why he was randomly lying down on the bench in the middle of the night to the painting that’s positioned next to his head. While the absurd scenarios explaining his situation run through your mind, his arm moves and you experience your second heart attack for the day. 

The beret falls down onto his lap as he stretches his arms, a deep yawn passes by his lips. You remain frozen as he does so, having moved a couple inches away once it dawned on you how odd it would probably be if he found out you were staring. 

He sleepily blinks his eyes, narrowing them at you. You’re about to explain yourself, but he instead asks you a question. 

“What time is it?” 

“Uh…” You scramble around for your phone, the screen lighting up, “11:34pm.” 

He hums, getting up and dusting off his jeans. Grabbing the fallen beret, he pushes the strands of his blonde hair back into the hat, revealing strong eyebrows underneath. He pulls out an old camera, hanging it around his neck and letting it drop down onto the brown coat he wears. 

His feline-like eyes glance at you in wonder, drastically different from his sleeping appearance on the bench. You let out an awkward cough, a light hue of pink spreading over your skin.

After a moment of silence, he speaks up. 

“Do you like my painting?” You raise your brows and blink. 

“Your painting?” He nods, a soft proud smile looping on his lips. You peer at the artwork in curiosity again. “You made this?” 

He hums, observing it with you, “I waited for hours to paint it.”

He points to the sky and the image finally begins to piece together for you. The black and blue embodying the sky, the shimmering stars scattered all over and the radiant moon, painted so brightly in the centre of all of it. 

“You waited out here to paint the sky?” 

A drawn out sigh escapes him, “Yep. I’m kind of stuck in a rut, you see.” He gestures to the painting again with a somber look in his eyes, “I wanted to paint something different, but I didn’t have any ideas, so I came out here instead to get the experience.” 

“Experience?” 

He hums, “It’s a lot easier to experience the moment than having to imagine it in your head.” 

“R-Right…” You whisper, still staring at his painting like you were stuck in the middle of a daze. You’re alarmed when he suddenly bends down and picks up the canvas with one arm, pivoting around to face you. 

“I have to get going now. Spent too much time painting that I didn’t get enough sleep.” He warmly smiles at you, outstretching his hand, “It was nice meeting you.” 

You take it confused and he gives you a small nod before leaving. You watch his back disappear, gaze averting to the large canvas tucked underneath his arm. 

Spinning around to head back, you dwell on his words more than you would like. 

Maybe this whole time your writer’s block was stemming from something else, something you truly didn’t realize was important until now. 

Experience. 

But how do you experience something that’s supposed to be completely natural? Something you’re utterly clueless about? 

Letting out an exhale, it seems like there’s only one person who can give you clear answers. 

***

You start off the next morning at a place you would never consider yourself to express interest in. 

The art museum. 

You recall hearing whispers and murmurs of a new art showcase going on, your curiosity only seeming to drag you there. The sudden spike in motivation causes Jin to question about your early departure, to which you retort that you’re drawing closer to grasping a solid idea for your story. 

Heading in, the gallery is completely adorned in pieces of art. There’s various types ‒ paintings, sculptures, graphic design ‒ you name it. You don’t realize you’re standing in awe until a couple behind you urges you to keep moving, an action that strains a sheepish smile across your lips as you hurriedly scurry away. 

You constantly glance around, observing each work you come across. One painting captures your attention, hues of pastel pink and mint green mixed together on the overlay of a figure carrying a smaller figure in their hands. Your lips set into a firm line as you draw closer, eyes tracing the outline. 

“You won’t understand it better if you keep staring at it like that.” 

You whirl around at the sound of the voice, not quite expecting to run right into the person you were searching for. The man smirks, wearing the same brown coat you saw him in last time. 

“How would you interpret it then?” 

He takes a step closer, narrowing his eyes in a way you did and you scoff at his mimicry. 

“I think it’s a painting of a mother and a child. She’s embracing her child and rocking them to sleep.” He points to the outline, “The colors are supposed to represent a sense of joy and relief with having her child in her arms.” 

You blink, managing to piece together everything he said perfectly. The figures do appear like a mother and child, and the colors only emphasize the warmth the outline portrays.

“Woah.” You whisper, probably having not realized all that unless someone told you, “How did you figure that out?” 

He smiles, “I’m the one who painted it.” 

“Oh.” A chuckle escapes him at your embarrassment and you sheepishly smile. Your eyes are drawn to the painting again, but this time you narrow down on the faint signature at the bottom. 

“V?” You raise an eyebrow, “Is that your name?” 

He softly shakes his head, “That’s just what I use for my art. My actual name is Kim Taehyung.” 

You hum and he leans forward, eyes curious. 

You automatically shift away, averting your eyes from his strong gaze. “What?”

“This is the part where you introduce yourself.” 

“Oh, right.” You outstretch your hand, “Y/N L/N.” 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” He shakes your hand and swivels around, tilting his head as a means for you to follow him, “Come on, I’ll show you around.” 

You nod, hurriedly rushing behind him as he points out several pieces and their artists. You take occasional glances around at other pieces of artwork as well, one with a solemn blue background depicting a mountain catching your eyes instantly. 

“That’s really pretty.” You point out, and Taehyung endearingly laughs, glancing at you peculiarly. 

“I wonder if I should be flattered that you seem to like all my work.” 

“Y-You painted that one too?” 

“Yep, this gallery is pretty new so a lot of my work is in here.” He slightly turns his head, enough to see you behind him, “What about you? Got a real keen eye for art?” 

“Not really…” You truthfully admit, “I just happened to be walking by and thought I check it out.” 

He raises an eyebrow, “Are you sure about that?” 

“What do you mean?” 

He suddenly pauses, causing you to stop on your heels before you plummet right into him, “Are you sure you’re not stalking me since yesterday?” 

Your eyes enlarge, “What?! No, of course not! I just came in here because I heard about the recent showcase and thought...uh...” A deep sigh leaves you from your horrible inability to lie properly, “Thought I might run into you…” 

Taehyung pursues his lips, “Now that’s something I’m not sure if I should be creeped out or flattered by.” 

“Please don’t be creeped out!” You raise up your hands in defence, opting to tell him the truth, “I’m just stuck in the middle of writing a book and then I saw you yesterday…you were talking about how experiencing something helps you with your art…” 

His voice spikes up in awe, “You’re a writer?” 

You nod, “Ah, so different cameras but similar lenses…” 

“Huh?” 

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” He fully turns to face you, a huge grin on his lips, “I don’t know if I’ll be of much use, but I can help you out if you’d like.” 

“Really?” Your eyes spark up, “Thank you so much, I-I can’t believe you would want to help me out…” 

“You’ve seen me being stuck in a rut.” He smiles, “I know the feeling.” 

You warmly return his smile, tempted to ask him more about his experiences in painting when a woman with a clipboard suddenly approaches the two of you. 

She intervenes, “Mr. Kim, the gallery would like to confirm your next showcase.” 

His eyes widen, “Ah, yes-” You watch as he shoves his hand into his coat pocket, hurriedly fishing around. 

He yanks out a small card, handing it to you, “It has all my contact information on it, shoot me a message whenever you have the chance.” 

You quickly take the card before he’s dragged away, sending him a nod in response. He grins, waving you farewell before turning and weaving through the crowds of people viewing the showcase. 

Gyrating around, you think it’s best you head back as well, knowing that Jin will be suspicious of the length of your disappearance. As you exit the museum, you glance down, reading the contents of the card. 

The background is an array of colours ‒ ranging from blues, greens, reds and even yellows that are splattered in a way that seems to form a tornado. His art name and phone number are in the corner, eerily reminiscent of the way he paints his pieces ‒ drawing you in with the outlays and colours before declaring himself. 

The corner of your mouth quirks up. 

***

You set out the next morning, the sun beginning to shine brighter as you head closer to your destination. 

You find him by the river, an old camera hanging from his neck ‒ just like the first time you had found him by the bench. 

A grin makes its way to his lips, his hand waving for you when you begin to draw closer. 

“Have difficulty finding it?” He gestures to the river behind you. 

You shake your head, keeping a pondering finger to your lips, “Not really, I’ve been here before. I usually go over there to see the book shops.”

You point over to the area you had last visited with Jin, reminiscing about finding your own books there. 

Taehyung raises an eyebrow, “You’re a fan of reading other’s books?” 

“Of course!” You nervously chuckle, “It’s always great to see what other writers do with their books as well!” 

Taehyung stares at you for a moment, his gaze unwavering. 

“You went to go see your own books?” 

You sigh, squeezing your eyes, “I went to go see my own books.” 

Taehyung lets out a low chuckle and you look down, biting your bottom lip. 

“I’ll admit, it is a little odd‒” 

“Not at all.” He shakes his head, “You found me at my own showcase, didn’t you?” 

You blink, “Right…” 

He shrugs, “It’s a thing for everyone who creates. You want to see how the public reacts to your art.” 

You hum, a tad bit surprised by his straightforwardness. It’s an aspect that no creator would take into consideration first hand, but it’s an integral part of being one. 

The public always warrants how art is received, after all. 

Taehyung lifts his camera, adjusting his lenses before snapping a picture of the bookstore. You watch in confusion as he examines the picture. 

“I’m surprised you like taking photos.” You innocently inquire, “Does it help you paint?” 

Taehyung glances at you. 

“You know the feeling of trying to stop time?” 

Your brows knit together and he softly smiles, “When you take a picture, you capture a moment and stop time for a second. It isn't long, but it’s enough for a photograph.” 

You watch as he slips his hand into his coat pocket, showcasing a small array of photographs. Images of the sun setting with mixes of bold orange and solemn blue are shown to you, another with a stream of ducks making ripples within the water. There’s ones of buildings and people too, but all of them are taken in angles that are captivating shots of laughter and shots of despair that could have easily been missed if the photograph had a lapse of time. 

It almost reminds you of when you’re attempting to capture a particular scene in your mind as your fingertips glide on your keyboard, drawing in an atmosphere that has the reader’s senses all working. 

The corner of Taehyung’s mouth curls, observing the gears in your head turning. 

It only takes you a handful of seconds to notice, a bashful smile lining your lips. 

“Writing is like that too, not exactly similar⎯” You retract immediately, “But trying to draw in the five senses around you and bringing it out into literature…” 

You glance up at Taehyung, curious to see if you were making any sense at this point. He’s no longer facing you at this point. Instead his body is facing the river, eyes fluttering shut. 

There’s a spark in your own, and you hurriedly continue. 

“Like this river isn’t just the scene,” You point out, “it’s the sun shining down and reflecting on the surface near the moss. It’s the birds crossing alongside the path and the voices of people nearby echoing. It’s the faint breeze in the air and the smell of greenery.”

“It’s peaceful,” Taehyung hums in content, “and calming.” 

A soft smile crosses your features, “That’s what writing is like for me, taking inspiration from the real world and capturing it all into words.” 

His eyes open and you notice the knowing gaze he holds, as if everything that you’ve tried to explain is second nature to him. 

“So what has you stuck?” He inquires. 

A deep sigh escapes you, the acknowledgement occurring that he was actually here to help with your current predicament. 

“A new genre.” You admit with a grimace, “I’ve written plenty of different ones before, but there were always ones I understood well and I had no problem with creating stories from them.”

You continue, “And even if it was hard, I’ve always been able to figure it out somehow, you know? If I didn’t know about something, I would research it. If I was confused, I look it up-” 

You decide to stop yourself, knowing that those outlets hadn’t been much help at this point. “I’m just…really out of my element, and the worst part is that it’s exactly what the market wants right now.” 

You cross your arms, a small pout landing on your lips. It’s not like that you haven’t been vocal about your frustrations, but more so that you’re just slumped, unable to conjure anything up onto that document with the slightest clue of where to even begin.

Taehyung ‒ who had been quietly observing you the entire time ‒ puts his camera down and places his finger on his chin. 

“Sometimes when I struggle to paint something new, I procrastinate.” You arch up a brow, “Like bad procrastinate. My canvas starts to collect dust.” 

A chuckle escapes you and he smiles, “But then I try to think why I’m procrastinating. Do I just not feel like painting? Or is it because of something else…?” 

He stares at you intently, like he’s waiting for you to finish his sentence. 

You ponder, “I guess…I’m scared in a way? Of not knowing what I’m doing.” 

He hums, “When that happens, I like taking out my camera. Going around and taking pictures not only gives me experience, but also lets me experience my surroundings better.” He glances around until his eyes land on you, “Sometimes I can find inspiration. Sometimes I can find interesting individuals.” 

Your eyes round and he turns, angling himself back a bit and taking a snapshot of the river. You peer over his shoulder and he moves closer to you so you can view the picture better. 

It’s pretty ‒ he was able to get the forecast of the sun over the bank of the river perfectly, alongside the little daisies growing alongside the shore. 

“Nice?” He wonders and you nod, face brightening, “Good. Now just don’t ask me to paint it, that’ll be scary for me.” 

You laugh and he turns to walk down the bank of the river with a smile. 

***

The next time you get an opportunity to meet Taehyung, there’s a whirlwind in the sky. 

It’s been a couple of weeks since your first encounter with him at the art gallery, but regrets are thrown all over the place the moment the wind blasts through your hair. The chills run down your spine, pickling at your skin as you squeeze your eyes shut. 

Jin tells you not to go, or at most, to re-schedule. But a part of you is incredibly stubborn, frustration running through you when you know you’ll just end up in the same place ‒ staring at that blank document for endless hours. 

As you hug your body as much as you can, you strut down the bustling street and glance back and forth. 

Taehyung thankfully appears within a couple of seconds, his silhouette emerging from across the street. 

Your eyes round. 

He wears the same brown coat he always wears, but this time there’s no beret on his head. Instead his blonde locks are pushed back by the wind, his strong brows furrowed and eyes closed as he tries to navigate himself against the vicious breeze. 

You’re not sure if it's the cold nipping at your cheeks or the shiver running through you, but the way your cheeks burn is enough to notice. 

He glances up, eyes locking with yours. A wide smile stretches up on his lips that nearly makes you falter. 

“Y/N.” 

His deep voice calls your name, concern crossing his features. 

“Have you been waiting long?” 

You shake your head, “I-I just got here.” 

“That’s good.” He hums, glancing around. “Not exactly my ideal weather, if I do say.” 

You laugh, “I’m surprised my ears haven’t managed to fall off yet.” 

The corner of his mouth lifts and before you know it, he’s extending his arm forward. You glance at him surprised, but he nudges you and then gestures in the opposite direction. 

“Come on.” 

You slip your hand in, linking your arms together. Taehyung begins to walk forward, navigating you around the busy marketplace. Surveying around, there’s various stores lined up across the edge of the street, vendors alike having many displays for you to view. 

There wasn’t anything in particular for you to buy, but Taehyung had suggested that it would be good for you to come out with him and explore the new area. It makes you wonder if he wanted you to get more experience going out since after all, you spent more of your time writing and being bit of a hermit. 

You peer over at him, noticing his eyes occasionally flickering and observing all the stalls he went past. It was one thing you had learned about Taehyung quickly, that it didn’t matter where he was or what he was doing, he always had this way of taking in his surroundings carefully, like he was studying every aspect. 

That’s when you hear a soft gasp escape him, his hand finding yours as he rushes forward. His feet then come to an abrupt halt and you nearly trip between your own two feet. 

Regaining your balance, you peer over his shoulder and notice his eyes are sparkling. Before you have a chance to question any of it, your hand is being tugged again, the bell to the store’s door ringing above you. 

Your most straightforward assumption at this point was that the store must have had something to do with painting, but you’re pleasantly surprised to find yourself surrounded with pieces of clay, all decorated with bold and bright colours on various shelves. 

Ceramic Art. 

You distinctly recall reading about it in a book once, but had never gotten the opportunity to see it up front and close. 

A piece captures your eyes immediately, your brows drawing together. 

“That’s a unique one.” Taehyung remarks, stepping to stand beside you. 

Quirking an eyebrow, the question lingers in your mind. 

“I didn’t know you did ceramic art as well.” 

Taehyung chuckles, “I actually don’t.” He puts his hands within the pockets of his coat, “It isn’t my area of expertise, but I like seeing different forms of art. Ironically, I find the way of expressing it to be the exact same.” 

You blink as Taehyung steps away, taking strides towards other surrounding pieces of art and inspecting them. You’re left staring as he gazes at a pot that’s been shaped similar to a moon, swirls of dark blue and yellow specks decorating the smooth ceramic. 

You can’t help the smile that stretches across your lips. 

“It looks just like something you would have painted.” 

Taehyung frowns, before the corners of his mouth quirk up. “I didn’t even notice, I just thought it looked beautiful.” 

“You definitely have a good eye for art.” 

“It would appear so.” He lightly laughs, turning around to view more of the art. 

A part of you curiously lingers, walking up to him. 

You peer over, “Does this mean you see my writing as art too?” 

“Of course.” His head snaps back, “Art’s all about expression, doesn’t matter what medium you choose.” 

Your face lights up.

“However,” He brings up and your eyes widen, “Every artist is never the same. People always have different stories to tell and that’s completely okay. That’s what makes them all unique.” 

A glimmer enters your eyes. After the endless frustrations with your recent book, his words do send you a sense of reassurance. It can sometimes be difficult to have someone else understand why you do things the way you do ‒ even you and Jin have had your fair share of arguments over various disagreements ‒ but it all pinpointed to seeing everything in a different perspective. 

You grin, “I can understand that.” 

His eyes soften, “I think it also means that some genres can be harder than others, but everyone can bring their unique take on them.” 

Brows lifting, your gaze fixates on him. But he spins around, gesturing for you to come over and to observe more art with him. 

You walk over with no hesitation. 

***

The following time you find Taehyung, fall is still letting her leaves shed and he invites you over to his studio.

A part of you is beaming with excitement ‒ having only ever seen his artistic ways when he was attempting to paint the stars and you had coincidentally stumbled across him that night. But a part of you can’t shake away the jitters, jitters that you don’t want to spend time trying to understand, deciding to just push it all away as you set out for the day.

The wind is gustful, snipping at your nose and cheeks. Hues of warm orange and bright yellow litter the ground and top the trees, the sun hiding behind grey clouds that ever so let droplets of water release. 

It’s scenery that grasps you within its clutches, glimmering your eyes with awe and leaving your mouth agape. 

And it’s the same scenery that he seeks to capture. 

You have the simple pleasure of watching as he draws lines of jade for the trees and splatters on specks of orange and yellow. He scrambles to paint the few individuals that walk past his vision, capturing their essence into carefully placed frames. 

His art style lingers between mimicking the surroundings but somehow elevating it as well, drawing in the observer with his interesting use of colour and texture. 

You can only seem to watch, lost in it as well. 

Time flies from you as he adds the final touches to his piece and you finally notice the way his hands are completely stained, some paint having even made its way to his nose. His brushes have seen the light of day, piled next to him in a canister. 

And in the midst of it, he looks upon his painting and grins. He turns to you for the first time since you’ve arrived, breaking the complete silence as he laughs with his deep tone. 

“Well, that was a lot of fun.” 

You can’t help but burst into laughter as well, completely astounded by the difference in his demeanour. Astounded how easily you saw both a painter in his element and a man in his twenties observing his surroundings within the same split second. 

You end up helping him clean each of his used brushes, watching him walk down the street with you as paint still remains on his face and hands. 

***

“Someone seems to be doing well for themselves.” 

The retort breaks you out of your thoughts, your eyes snapping up. 

“Huh?” There’s a book encased within your hands, one of the few titles you had referenced in writing your mystery story. 

Jin laughs under his breath. He hasn’t been able to see much of you for a while, only just knowing that you had met a painter by the name of Taehyung and he was all you would talk about these days. 

He tucks away a book in his own hands, “You were smiling so much that I assumed everything has been working out. Has Taehyung’s advice been that helpful?” 

Your eyes twinkle, spinning around on your heels. 

“It has been! He’s so much fun to talk to, and he’s got great insight, Jin.” Your smile widens, “Who knew seeing eye to eye with a painter would be so easy?” 

Jin grins, “It’s definitely got you in high spirits, I can tell you that.” 

“I need to introduce you to him, Jin. I think you’ll get along great!” You chirp, reaching down to open another box. 

“Woah, woah,” Jin draws closer, halting you, “I’ll take care of that, you’ve got some writing to do, remember?” 

A giant pout arises on your lips, “But I said I was going to help you.”

“And you will, by writing for your new book.” He points out, “Spending time with Taehyung should have sparked something, no?” 

You hum defeatedly, knowing he had a point. You had spent so much of your time with him, it was only hopeful that his words would have incited some creativity to strike you. 

Letting out a big sigh, you drag yourself back to your desk and open up your computer, the blank document is showcased once again to your eyes. 

***

You want to pound your head against the table. 

The good news is that your document is no longer left blank. There’s rough jot notes littered on it, some random junctions from the brainstorming you were doing on ideas for the story. You’re trying to indulge your unique perspective onto the story, concepts for certain scenes stemming from a cool night out in the stars, a riverside and a busy marketplace. 

But it isn’t enough. 

The bad news is that you, out of all people, know that ideas are just a base. You need to build up a coherent story from it, create characters, create dynamics. And you have none of those at this moment. 

It’s like all the surface level information is just complete, not the heart of your story. 

You contemplate on how to begin, eyes sweeping over the jot notes listed on your document countless times. You start pulling at anything in your mind, anything that could be linked to writing romance. 

A deep exhale leaves your lips, shoulders slumping down. Your hand reaches out for your mouse, closing the document tab before going to the search bar, the urge to delve in and research the topic tempting you. 

You know you had tried to take a different approach with this, tried not to linger too much on the various articles, but despite the unique types of experiences you’ve had in the last couple of weeks, there still isn’t an answer to the question in your mind. 

How do people even start to fall in love?

You’re in the midst of searching the question, eyes already filtering through various articles ‒ when suddenly there's a flicker in your dim eyes. 

Halting your racing fingertips against the keyboard, the mouse in your hands is abandoned. 

You shoot up from your desk, yanking the door wide open and running outside. 

***

Jin hums a soft tone in the serene silence, opening up a box to unload the books onto the table. He’s been set on organising the newer ones that had just come in, attempting to distract himself before he checks in on you and your progress with your writing. 

The door comes bursting open. 

The book slips through his fingers and a blood-curdling scream escapes his throat. He spins around, brows furrowed together. 

You stand in a starfish stance at the door, eyes wild and breathing heavy. 

“What happened?!” Jin questions, holding a frantic hand against his racing heart. 

“You‒” You raise a shaking finger at him, still gasping for air. Jin wonders why you even decided to run so fast when he’s literally a couple of doors away. “You have a girlfriend.” 

He blinks, sheer unamusement crossing his features, “Seriously? That shouldn’t be news to you!” 

“I know!” You raise your hands in defence, “But I have some questions I want to ask you.” 

He cranes his head to the side, “You’re going to interview me?” 

“Kind of.” Jin doesn’t have time to react when you’re already reaching out for a chair, dragging it closer to him. 

He sits down opposite to you with a groan, “At least tell me this is for the book.” 

“Hold on.” You settle down, scrutinising him, “Do you love your girlfriend?” 

A scoff escapes him, “Of course I do!” 

“Good, now how did you fall in love?” 

Jin blinks, surprised by the genuine question. You seem interested as well, eyeing him intently. 

“We met back in college.” He softly smiles, his complexion tinting pink, “She was close to someone in my friend circle and I thought she was really cute.” 

“Was it love at first sight?” 

“Sort of.” Jin tilts his head, “She was kind, but I wanted to get to know her before anything so we became friends first.” He explains, “Eventually, I realised I liked her a lot and asked her out.” 

You hum and Jin doesn’t even realize you’re writing something down, pen in hand as you scribble onto a piece of paper. 

“I can’t believe you wanted to hear about my experience.” He remarks. 

“Well, I don’t really understand the romance genre in general.” You mumble, still writing. “And Taehyung said that sometimes experiencing things can help with his art, so I thought talking to someone who has experience would help me.” 

Jin quirks a brow, a scrutinising look brewing in his eyes. It catches you off guard when you finally look up, taken aback by him surveying you. 

“What?”

He narrows his eyes, “What’s the deal with Taehyung?” 

You stare at him wide-eyed. “Deal? What deal?” 

“You know what I mean.” Leaning back in his chair, he crosses his arms. The suspicious look in his eyes doesn’t disappear. “Ever since you met him, there's been a lot of ‘Taehyung this’ and ‘Taehyung that’.” 

You sigh, his words drawing out a conclusion from you. 

“He’s not being distracting, Jin.” You firmly state, much to his surprise. It was always a rare occasion for you to be completely serious. “I’ve learned a lot from him, and he’s truly really fascinating and inspiring to be around.” 

A soft smile spreads on your features, recalling all the fond times Taehyung was either teaching you about the way he viewed the world or the places he would take you to explore. 

You’re so caught up in your own thoughts that you don’t realize that Jin is still staring at you, the suspicion only increasing further in his eyes. 

Jin doesn’t beat around the bush this time. 

“Do you like Taehyung?” 

You nearly choke, reality bringing you back as the air leaves your lungs in an instant. Glancing up at Jin mortified, you wonder how he drew up that conclusion. 

“W-What?! No!” A hue of pink scatters onto your cheeks and Jin quirks his head to the side, like he’s not impressed. 

“Really?” He wonders out loud, “Since that museum trip of yours, your head seems to be up in the clouds and as someone knowledgeable in the romance department,” He flutters his fingers like he’s throwing sparkles at you, “I’m starting to think otherwise.” 

“That’s crazy!” You retorted in defence, “I can’t like Taehyung!” 

“You can’t?” He says playfully, “That’s far from don’t.” 

You hurriedly get up, collecting the notes you’ve written. “I-I need to get back to writing.” 

The corners of Jin’s lips lift, since this is the first time he hasn’t had to ask you himself to work on your book.

***

He’s just assuming.

You think, hurriedly slipping into your chair. Tapping on your computer, you wait for the pitch black screen to light up. 

There was no possible way. Taehyung was simply just helping you with your writer’s slump. 

Blinking your eyes a couple of times, you attempt to shake away the lingering thoughts and bring yourself back into focus for this novel. 

Only for your eyes to land right on your lit screen, the search you had begun popping in front of your face. 

The curiosity is drawn out from you, and before you know it, you begin to scroll. 

Majority of them fall within the same bracket of the research you were attempting to do in the beginning process of this book, with links advertising love advice and even counselling. A new link to a kdrama even pops up, something you have to will yourself to ignore. 

Until one article crosses your eyes, one that has you more curious than ever. 

Having difficulty in finding out if you’ve fallen in love? Find out here!

You frown, hovering over it for a split second. But then you shake your head, reciting to yourself that it was for the sake of writing the novel. 

The articles flashes before you, paragraphs of information presented that you proceed to skim through. 

“Falling in love is compared with the feeling of euphoria…” 

You mumble under your breath, moving past it. 

“....There is a semblance of love and trust…” 

An idea for a climax ‒ you note ‒ that would tie in nicely with the finale of a romance book. 

“...Rifts are commonly experienced…” 

You have to create conflict somehow, maybe a difference in opinions. 

“Usually the act of falling in love progresses within five steps𑁋“ 

Your nose crinkles, the corner of your lips twitching. 

“There’s steps?” You mutter, body abruptly freezing. Drawing closer to your screen, your eyes slowly drift over the words. 

“Stages are reached, each increasing with the notion of being in love. They are known as,” 

Attraction. 

Curiosity. 

Attachment. 

Denial. 

Acceptance. 

It’s a list. 

Your genre can follow a list? 

Tossingthe thought into the back of your mind, you eagerly continue, curiosity running haywire at this point. 

“Attraction is the initial stage, symbolising the origin of interest and can be considered on physical guidelines.” 

“Curiosity follows as second, with interest in the person only increasing as time passes by.” 

“Attachment signifies the creation of a bond, the mind filled with new thoughts and changes.” 

“Denial is the hesitance, acting against any forms of acceptance.” 

“Acceptance. Welcoming the thought that you have fallen in love.”

Your mouth twists, each stage sounding more vague and philosophical as the one that came before it. The thought of digging out your ‘The Philosophy Behind Romance’ book from where it was discarded suddenly occurs, until you find yourself re-reading the stages a couple of times over again. 

As you lean back into your chair, there’s a glint in your eyes. 

Your biggest mistake was assuming you had the willpower to wave off the lingering thoughts, because they come pouring right back in before you can stop them. 

If by any chance, he was right𑁋

The stages would have to be followed….

Right? 

You cross your arms, skimming through the contents once again. 

Attraction. 

Did you find Taehyung attractive? 

You recall first finding him underneath the glittering moonlight, his sleeping form residing on the bench and his artwork displayed just inches away from him. You can remember him stirring, his feline like eyes holding a strong gaze that almost made you lose your breath. 

It’s the same gaze he holds while he’s painting, you pinpoint, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. 

You abruptly blink, shaking your head. 

Curiosity. 

To say you didn’t find Taehyung interesting, would have been a huge understatement. 

He was different from you, but not in a way that you couldn’t understand. Instead, you found yourself a lot more alike than you had expected, his artistic lens meeting yours. 

Attachment. 

What even is that? 

You can’t help but ponder, thinking at the most you were attached to your writing and books, having an avid imagination since you were young and always finding your footsteps gravitating towards the library. You would find yourself absolutely consumed with the different worlds, eventually leading you towards a career within it. 

It was a bond in a way ‒ one that you would always have. 

Your lips pursue, a hardened expression taking over. 

Was it possible to have the same feeling with another person? 

You let out a long sigh, eyes flickering over to the next stage. 

Denial. 

You freeze. 

The hesitance, acting against any forms of acceptance.

The thought snaps into your head unannounced and soon you’re scrambling, attempting to get back to working on your book. 

A low chuckle leaves you, tinged with nervousness. 

“There’s no possible way…” 

***

You stand awkwardly in front of the door, swaying between your two feet. 

The home before you is small, looking only to being one-story high and consisting of old granite. There’s an exceptional amount of greenery near it, with a small garden at the side where you can notice subtle cherry tomatoes growing. 

There was no telling how you could have best reacted when Taehyung had suddenly messaged you, asking if you would like to come over. You had accepted as always, but you didn’t realize what that exactly entailed until you were standing a mere couple of footsteps away from his door. 

Looking down, you groan, wishing Jin had never said anything to you. 

The sound of a lock turning has you abruptly on guard, the door yanking open before you can even collect yourself. 

And it seems like Taehyung doesn’t give you that opportunity either. 

He’s dressed in a casual tee and sweatpants, blonde hair falling to his eyes and a bit ruffled. It’s a stark contrast to constantly seeing him in his brown coat and beret, a casualness that feels too utterly unfamiliar for you. 

“Hi.” He says in a low voice, greeting you with a warm smile. 

For a moment, you could feel time stopping ‒ one simple thought occurring to you. 

He really is beautiful. 

Taehyung seems to notice your daze, brows furrowing for a moment. 

“Y/N?” 

“Uh, hi!” You squeak, probably too many octaves too high. 

“Is everything okay?” He ponders and you aggressively shake your head, to which Taehyung stares at you peculiarly for, but ultimately decides to take your word for it. 

“Come in.” He steps back in and leaves the door open for you, gesturing to you to follow. You carefully step forward, getting welcomed to the humble abode he calls his home. 

The inside is spacious and ornate, the walls being painted with striking colours and light decorations littering the area. The interior seems to match the exterior in a way, appearing rustic but unique at the same time. 

It’s cozy. And comforting. 

“I apologize for it being messy.” Taehyung states from behind you, quickly picking up a couple of art books on the ground and moving them into a nearby shelf. “My two roommates left to go out of town, and I’ve been here by myself.” 

“That’s okay.” You say right away, only to realize that also meant the two of you were alone in here. 

He seems to read your mind as well, quickly continuing, “I brought you here for a reason, though I’m not too sure how you’ll take to it.” 

You glance at him confused and he walks past you, heading towards one of the doors in the hallway. 

Following behind him, he turns to face you. “You saw what my recent art pieces were like at the showcase, but I wanted to do something different for my next pieces. Something more abstract," He explains, eyes lighting up, “and something that’s a bit more fun.”

He opens the door and your mouth falls agape. Because before you is a completely empty room and in the center of it stands a giant blank canvas. 

“What…?” You whisper in awe, walking towards it. Taehyung leans against the door frame, a huge grin on his face as he watches you. 

You turn, “What is this?” 

“I know you’ve been struggling with your novel,” He confesses, “and I thought we could paint this together. Give your creative mind a nice break.” 

You’re still in disbelief and he struts up next to you, a playful tone in his voice you’ve never heard before. “Of course, I’ll give you credit for being part of my piece.” 

A laugh escapes you, shaking your head at his antics. 

Your eyes connect with his. 

“Let’s do this.” 

***

A wave of light orange splatters diagonally onto the white of the canvas. 

You glance at it surprised, the bucket of paint still in your hands. 

Taehyung chuckles, amused with your aim. “Not bad, Y/N.” 

You smile, putting it down as Taehyung grabs a bright green one, putting all his force into it. 

It splatters in the opposite direction, almost creating an ‘X’ shape. 

He whistles at the sight and you dash over to the other buckets, kneeling down for another colour. Taehyung had luckily lent you his clothes for the occasion so as to not ruin your own, but as a result the clothes you adorned were a bit bigger in size, hanging off your frame. 

You pick up a white in curiosity and Taehyung fondly watches as you quirk your head side to side, ultimately deciding to just go with it. 

Chucking the colour against the canvas, the white creates a splatter right in the center. Taehyung hurriedly rushes over to you, a can of smaller paints in his hands with different colours. You chuckle at his eagerness and the way his hands are already stained with colour. 

“Keep going,” He encourages, eyes brighter than you have ever seen, “It looks incredible.” 

You nod enthusiastically, taking the smaller ones and splattering them across. They come out this time as blots and lines, giving more dimension to the base you and Taehyung first made. 

After having used all your energy in attempting to add in more depth with the shapes and colours, Taehyung continues, following your streaks instead of disrupting them. He’s always had an exceptional visual eye, understanding perfectly on where to pick up where you left off, and it’s definitely another one of things you’ve adored about him. 

Taehyung’s eyes are wide, a childish glint in them that you’re so happy to have been able to witness. But you don't know that it matches the same glint residing in your own eyes, mischievousness running through every fibre of your body when you pick up a small bucket of blue. 

He turns and before he has the chance to say anything to you, a hue of azure blue covers half of his face. 

He blinks in shock for a moment, hand coming up to swipe and realize that there was indeed paint on his face. However, his eyes flicker up to connect with yours and all he can see is you grinning from ear to ear. 

It doesn’t take long for him to pick up a red that lands all over the front of your shirt and side of your ear. 

From there, it’s like a chord’s snapped. 

Colours are flying back and forth, from high to low volumes, and in the midst of all this, yours and Taehyung’s voice are running loud, laughs and giggles echoing around the room. As if two children are playing together rather than two adults simply trying to paint. 

Taehyung matches your energy so well, attempting to create even more chaos when there’s orange landing directly on your hair after you skillfully managed to get a splatter of purple on his. It’s when the paint shoots out from your hair onto the canvas that an idea occurs to him, his blue covered hand slipping onto yours. 

“Wait, Y/N!” 

You freeze, staring at him puzzled. He takes your hand, leading you into the front of the canvas before backing away, gazing at you with intent. 

The look in his eyes makes you fidget a bit, wishing he would hurriedly tell you what was on his mind. 

He raises a hand, halting you in place. “Stay there. Just like that.” 

To your surprise, he picks up a large volume of purple, standing right before you. 

“Close your eyes, Y/N. Put your hands over them.” 

His stance finally alerts you to his intentions, eyes squeezing shut and hands reaching over when you feel a wave of cold paint splash all over you. You wait for a moment as it all drips down, collecting into a pool of purple right below your feet. 

Taehyung takes your hand, leading you away from the canvas and next to him as you blink, the piece of art showcasing itself to you. 

There’s colours. Everywhere. All appearing between a mixture of random to extremely skillful. All coming from you and Taehyung. And right in the middle of the mix is you. 

Your silhouette perfectly lined with a gorgeous shade of purple. 

“It’s beautiful.” Taehyung breathes.

You are suddenly very glad there’s paint all over your face, unsure if you would be able to hide the burning expression over your features. 

However, the burn abruptly increases, a stinging sensation coming from your face that wells tears. 

“Ah.” You wince, rolling into yourself as your hand hovers over your eyes. 

“Y/N!” Taehyung’s hands are cupping your face before you can say anything. “Y/N, look at me.” 

You obey his instructions, facing him but keeping your eyes squeezed shut. His thumb pads hurriedly brush out the paint that has managed to drip near your eyes. 

“Is it gone?” You urgently ask, a tear rolling down your cheek. 

“Give me one second.” Taehyung whispers, his hands disappearing for a moment before a cool cloth is pressed against your eyes. 

You let out a sigh of relief and the cloth is promptly discarded, your eyes fluttering open. 

A part of you wishes you kept them closed. 

Taehyung’s face is just inches away from yours, and you can feel the low breaths he lets out. 

It’s a fact he seems to realize in that instance himself as well, and there’s a silence that cuts through the air as you continue to stare into each other’s eyes. 

Your heart pounds frantically within your chest. After what feels like an eternity, Taehyung moves first, attempting to close the gap but keeping his eyes trained on you. You don’t move for a second, kept frozen beneath his entire presence being so close to you. 

It’s when his lips are hovering just above yours, you break the comforting silence. 

“W-Where’s your shower?” You look away, grimacing at how broken your voice sounds. 

Taehyung doesn’t respond at first, a flash of hurt crossing his features that you don’t see. But it quickly disappears and he clears his throat, separating from you. 

“The first door on your left.” 

“Thank you.” You quietly say, turning around immediately. 

You stalk up to the door, halting when your hand meets the knob. Glancing back at Taehyung, he’s standing with his hands in his pockets, staring at the artwork you’ve just made together with a somber look in his eyes. 

Your body stiffens and he glances back in your direction, a small smile on his lips that doesn’t seem to meet his eyes. 

Turning to leave, it’s difficult to ignore the way your chest tightens. 

***

Your shower was supposed to only be fifteen minutes, but it ends up feeling like a century. 

The intent should be to get the copious amounts of paint out of your hair and skin, but as the steam clouds the air and the water drips down from your forehead onto the ground, your head remains planted against the shower wall, eyes squeezed shut. 

It doesn’t help that there’s still a faint pool of purple swirling around your feet. 

Stepping out of the shower, you open the door and peek outside, only to find your clothes folded on a small chair that’s been positioned right before the bathroom. Sheepishly reaching out, you discard the clothing Taehyung had given you and put your own back on. 

You bump into Taehyung within seconds of exiting. 

“Y/N.” His eyes meet with yours and you halt your steps. There’s unease brimming in his, but it’s something he doesn’t try to bring up. 

“You’re leaving?” He ponders and you shake your head, completely confused on what to even say. 

“Taehyung…” You begin, “I‒” 

He raises his hand up, “Don’t worry about it. It’s okay.” 

It’s hard to not let the guilt show up on your face, but Taehyung leads you to the front door, opening it up for you. 

“You helped me with creating a great piece of art.” He says optimistically, “Thank you, Y/N.” 

“O-Of course.” You mumble, casting your head down. 

Before you can step out, his hand finds your wrist. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He whispers, “And I wish you the best of luck with your book. If it’s you, I think it’s sure to come out amazing.” 

His words always have a way of giving you a sense of comfort, your frustrations and conflicts with yourself melting away. 

But you don’t expect what he says next, “If you ever need anything, anything at all,” The gaze in his eyes leaves you forgetting how to breathe, “I’m always here.” 

It’s not until he lets go of you that you remember your intent to leave, slipping away slowly as he closes the door. 

***

Jin doesn’t understand why you’re so intent on giving him a heart attack. 

The door slams open and you suddenly emerge. But Jin doesn’t have time to retaliate about you freaking him out constantly or that you’ve been out all day and that you need to be making more progress with your book. 

Instead, it looks like a piece of your soul’s been crushed. 

“Y/N?” He loudly ponders, simply left just staring at you as you hurriedly kick your boots off. 

“Jin!” You exclaim, seemingly breathless. 

“Did you run here or something?” He asks, a tinge of concern in his words. You simply hand him your coat, heading into your room. 

“Where’s my computer?” You question, glancing at him wildly. He’s taken back a bit, but he answers your question. 

“There was an electrical issue that needed to be fixed so I temporarily moved it.” He points down the hall, “It’s in the spare room with all the hard copies.” 

“Good.” You exhale, dashing over. 

“Wait, Y/N‒” He isn’t able to get a word in, the door closing with a loud thud. 

There’s a plethora of questions at the tip of his tongue, ranging from why it took you so long to what could have possibly happened, but Jin isn’t able to ponder for long when he suddenly hears the frantic typing of your keyboard. 

***

Twenty-four hours. 

Jin crosses his arms, standing in front of the room that you have yet to emerge from since the past twenty-four hours. He didn’t say much after you had barged in yesterday and confined yourself inside, simply locking up for the day and leaving some takeout on the table outside in case you got hungry. 

And that was all due to the look in your eyes. 

It’s a look he’s seen before, on days where you’ve been engrossed in your writing, too occupied with your own racing mind to halt your actions. However, this time he notices a sense of urgency that wasn’t there before. 

Which is why when you do finally emerge, he can’t believe what you’re waving in front of his eyes. 

“Here you go.” You say, handing him the USB in your hands, “It’s all done, the entire novel.” 

“Y/N.” He says astonished, staring at you in pure awe, “How did you manage to write it all?” 

You laugh at that and Jin is a little unnerved, wondering how on earth you didn’t look crazy after staying in that one room for so long and just simply typing. 

“I think I’ll always be a hermit to some degree.” You toss your coat over your shoulders, reaching down for your shoes. 

“Where are you going?” He questions, watching as you finish putting on your boots. 

You smile, “I have to go find someone.” 

Jin’s eyes widen and without saying another word, you turn to head towards the door. 

He scoffs underneath his breath once you leave. 

“I knew it.” 

***

Taehyung isn’t picking up your calls. 

You hurriedly dial the number again on your phone, hearing the familiar ringing over and over until you’re sent to voicemail. 

Once the other end beeps, you mumble underneath your breath. 

“Taehyung, call me please.” 

After leaving the message, you slide your phone into your coat pocket, glancing at the destination you hurried towards. 

The home is still there, appearing exactly how you had just left it two days ago. 

You frantically knock against the door. 

Surely it opens, but to reveal someone else entirely. 

“Oh.” You mutter, your expression of relief morphing into awkward surprise. The man standing before you looks equally confused, surveying your face. 

“You are…?” He squints, like he’s attempting to place a name to your face. 

You answer right away, “I’m Y/N.” 

“Y/N?” He repeats, eyes sparkling. “Really? Wow, it’s so nice to finally meet you.” 

A nervous laugh escapes you, “And you are…?” 

“Oh, sorry.” He sheepishly smiles, reaching out his hand. “My name is Jimin, I’m one of Taehyung’s roommates.” 

You nod in recognition, “Are you looking for Taehyung?” 

“Yes!” You suddenly exclaim, “Do you know where he is?” 

“I just got back in last night.” He says with a grimace, “But Taehyung wasn’t here, the last I heard he was preparing for his next showcase.” 

Your eyes widen. 

“Thank you, Jimin! I’ll be on my way now!” He waves you goodbye and you spin on your heels, knowing exactly where you needed to be. 

***

The art museum looks exactly the same, pieces on for display and spectators walking from room to room, inspecting each one. 

However, each exhibit represents a multitude of different artists, none consisting of the one you’re searching for. 

“Excuse me.” 

You poke a lady that’s wearing a gallery uniform, expectantly looking at her. 

“Where is Taehyung’s‒” You bite your tongue, “Sorry, V’s exhibit?” 

“Ah, I’m afraid we’re in the midst of clearing up for his next one.” She says with remorse, “There are some of his pieces still left over there if you’d like to view them.” 

“I see…” Your shoulders slump in defeat, but you do thank her for helping you out. Heading towards the direction she pointed out, you find the paintings from the last time you had visited the museum. 

The corners of your lips curl up. You recall being here, attempting to find the peculiar man after seeing him underneath the starry sky without knowing much about how close you would grow to be. 

You come across the same painting, remembering how easily his ability to capture expansive sceneries was. But that’s when you see one of his new pieces, a soft gasp escaping you. 

It’s the painting you created together, fully displayed in all its glory. 

But it’s not the only one. 

There’s a set of three different canvases, all with artworks of you. 

One of them is the same painting of the night sky you saw before, but the sky is painted with a deep purple now, the same colour that was outlined with your silhouette. The moon is completely full, stars scattered around that are brighter with a hue of white. You don’t fall to notice that there’s also a bench added at the bottom. 

Another one of them is a splatter of photographs, photographs you didn’t even know he took of you. There’s images from the river side, pictures coming from the marketplace, and in all of them he’s managed to capture the spark in your eyes. 

The last one has you frozen. 

It’s a portrait, but not just a portrait of you. 

It’s a portrait of you reading.

The image is uncanny, the light hitting your side profile at a lovely angle, the book in your hands being carefully held, the excitement in your eyes even brighter than the photographs. 

Your brows furrow, wondering when Taehyung could have gotten such an image of you. But then you realize he doesn’t ‒ that he’s created the image through himself. 

That’s when your eyes have the instant to flicker down, breath hitching once you discover what he’s named all three pieces. 

My Muse. 

By Kim ‘V’ Taehyung. 

Everything stops, and all you’re left being able to do is to simply stare. 

“I’m assuming I can’t keep this a surprise anymore.” 

You whirl around at the speed of light, recognizing that deep tone from anywhere. 

Taehyung stands before you, a soft smile on his lips. 

“It’s incredible.” You whisper, “How did you…?” 

“I was working on it for a while.” He steps next to you, pointing to the first, “That one was made a few nights after I met you.” He points to the second, “That one was after we had spent time together.” He points to the last, “And that one I made last night, after finishing reading one of your books.” 

You stare at the portrait, observing that the book that you’re reading is indeed one of your own. 

He read the one where a man turns into a fish. 

“You read it?” Disbelief is laced in your voice, mixed with an odd sense of pride. 

“Of course, I’ve been wanting to read one of your books since I met you.” He explains, scratching the back of his head. “You saw my art, but I never got a chance to see yours.” 

You’re simply at a loss of words. You ‒ the person that had a remark for anything and was able to write countless words at bullet speed, had no more to say. 

Taehyung stares at the ground, chewing down on his bottom lip. 

“Has your novel writing been going okay?” He blurts, attempting to draw the attention away from his art. 

That snaps you out of it. “Uh yeah, I actually finished it.” 

“You did?” His head snaps up in astonishment, “Congrats.” 

You warmly smile, “Thanks.” 

After a moment of silence, he clears his throat, “Listen Y/N, I’m really sorry for not expressing it sooner.” He gestures to his art pieces, “I’m not the best with explaining my feelings, so it's easier for me to integrate it somehow into my‒” 

You cut him off mid-sentence, your lips meeting his. The surprise spreads over his face instantaneously, but it doesn’t take Taehyung long to reciprocate, moving his lips against yours. 

You separate from him and he blinks, as if caught up in a daze. 

“You never asked me what my book was about.” You breathe out. 

His brows furrow, “What was it about?” 

You grin mischievously, “It’s about a writer and a painter falling in love.” 

Taehyung seems to be at a loss for words now, gazing at you in pure surprise. 

“Really?” He asks, and you cheerfully nod. 

“Yup.” You find his hands, interlacing them with yours. 

“I’m really sorry.” Remorse enters your eyes. “Romance has truthfully, never really been my genre.” 

Taehyung lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “It’s okay. Maybe we can see if that changes.” 

There’s a giant smile on your lips that he matches with his own. 

Tightening his warm hold on your hand, the pair of you walk away together from the exhibit.

You laugh to yourself. 

    Your father had always beaten you at chess. The complexities of the game were not hard to memorize, it was more so that he thought faster and farther ahead. He’d taught you chess and though you tried your best to succeed and show him that the student can outwit the master, he remained the champion. Every weekend and every break, you challenge him to a chess match. Without fail, he would win. It was never the same, either. The moves cycled. One moment, he opened with the queen’s gambit and the next he was returning with the sicilian defense. There was no counter, in your mind, to his ability to outwit you at every turn. 

    Waking up in a dark room in your old house was not on your yearly bucket list. Well, actually, the list had been quite short and none of it had been fulfilled since the marriage. The list included basic things like freedom and peace in your life. You sniffed the air and, to your dismay, you were met with the all too familiar odor of the basement. To be clear, it was the deep bowels of the basement, hidden behind a bookshelf. 

    While you were contemplating the logistics of dragging your unconscious, completely deadweight, body down three flights of stairs, another thought hit you. Oh yeah. This was where the nasty tortures went down. So, the rationalization of your situation promptly disappeared. All evidence of sanity seemed to go down the drain as you found yourself squinting in the dim lighting. The hum of the lightbulb was starting to grate on your ears and the worst part was definitely the smell. 

    The smell was a mix of mildew and blood—two things that made sense for, well, obvious reasons. You blinked a couple more times and took a few deep breaths. With a couple flexes of the wrists, it didn’t take long to realize the full gravity of your position. You were strapped to a chair, your wrists and ankles tied uncomfortably tight. Now it was time to start really panicking. You didn’t exactly have expertise in escaping cuffs or chains, afterall, you had spent your time at the Min house reading books and lounging in bed. The chair was stained a wine red. It was too dark to see clearly but too light to be in complete darkness. It felt like going insane. 

    “This looks promising.” You muttered before trying to wriggle your wrists again. There wasn’t much give on the ropes. 

    “Settling in?” A familiar figure stepped into the room. Your heart began to beat at pace that betrayed all calm you showed on your face. It was funny that even after all this time, the presence of this man still scared you. After seeing him stand over those three bodies in the kitchen on that fateful day, your outlook of him had changed. He had become a twisted monster in your mind; bathed in gray light in a kitchen overcome with shadow. 

    “I’ve seen worse.” You answered nonchalantly, but even Yoongi killing that man point blank had to have been better than this. Your death was going to be long and drawn out, you just knew it. However, it was hard to focus on that part as Mr. Seong began to circle the chair like a shark on the hunt. 

    “Oh, you’ve seen worse, but have you felt it?” He chuckled. Your face must have paled considerably because he laughed even harder. “Don’t worry, dear, humor your dear old dad.” The man finished his circle and stood in front of you. He towered over you, the armrests groaned as he leaned on them. “Not a hair on you will be touched until the Min’s contact us. Then, the games begin.” 

    You let out a shaky breath, trying to find the words to say, but he left the room as swiftly as he came. You eyeballed the camera in the corner of the room. There was a table behind you full of devices you didn’t want to know about. Then the buzzing light went out. 

    Sitting in the dark, you realized that maybe the dim lighting wasn’t so bad afterall. 

   It wasn’t long after you left that Yoongi realized his errors. Of course you had been scared, of course. He was so accustomed to the physical violence, the threats, of his childhood that he forgot your childhood had been different. Your childhood had been psychological torture. Everyday felt like something bad was going to happen, but you had to endure it. He, on the other hand, got a good knock to the face if something went wrong. What he thought were normal sounds in a house—screams, to be exact—came across quite differently to an unsuspecting bystander.

    So he stood, for a moment, taking in the sight of you leaving, replaying it in his head over and over. In that memory, now engrained in his brain, you were everything he truly had left and you were running from him. He pulled a hand through his hair and then huffed in annoyance with himself. He made decisions every day, he risked lives with the flick of his hand, but he never had to understand anyone before. Yoongi barely knew himself, much less a woman who burst into his life like a hurricane. Yes, what a beautifully twisted storm you were. 

    And he loved storms. He loved when it rained, but you made it pour. Finally, there had been someone in his life who was an equal, and he never doubted that. The man just…didn’t quite understand what to do with this new dynamic. He desperately wanted to get closer while drawing away from you. You were all he had and he swore to himself that he wanted none of it. 

    So why was worry creeping down his back? Why were his hands clenching and his jaw tight? He paced, then. Yoongi went from left to right in his office. The place smelled like his father. 

    “Taehyung, I need to think.” He announced at the remaining guard. The man just tilted his head in response. 

    “But you don’t need to.” Taehyung said simply. His eyes were narrowed in a challenge. Taehyung was probably the only man who could look at Yoongi like that. The younger man was his oldest companion.

    “You’re right.” Yoongi admitted, another thing he’d never do with underlings. He didn’t need to think twice about running after you. No, he just needed a plan. “I just want to try to keep this…clean.” 

    That made Taehyung snort before answering, “when have you ever been concerned about that?” 

    When Yoongi didn’t answer right away, Taehyung’s features softened from a jest to an understanding gaze. 

    “I see.” Taehyung murmured. “You’ve grown soft.” 

    “I am not soft.” Yoongi argued, only to be met with Taehyung’s shrug. 

    “Being soft isn’t always terrible, especially with people you love.” 

    Love? Once again, the word was catching him off guard. It always seemed to fumble out of his mouth with no form. He never had much practice saying it out loud and so it sounded foreign when it left his lips. 

    I had no choice but to love you. He’d felt these words for months. In the beginning, it would have been spoken with a hushed tone or an angered huff. Now, the words were sincere. When he closed his eyes, he could see your face. Your eyes had been tearing up again, still red from sobbing on his shirt. 

    He looked down. The spots were almost dry. It felt like by the time they were gone, you would be gone with them. 

    The phone rang, alarming both Taehyung and himself. Yoongi had never turned to look at the phone so fast. But oftentimes, when the phone rang at the dead of night, it was never a good call. It was especially heart wrenching as he made his way over because of the lack of…you. Now he felt stupid letting you just run away. He understood, in the moment, that you needed space, but his men had yet to find you anywhere on the grounds. When they turned up with nothing for the second time, he had felt his heart sink, not only because of the possibility of you getting captured, but also because he had failed to create a single safe space for you in the past almost year. 

    Fuck. Things really weren’t going well, both in his head and physically. He felt sick to his stomach as he picked up the phone. 

    “Min family.” Yoongi answered gruffly in an attempt to mask his worry. 

    There was a low laugh on the other end of the line. The man on the other side had heaving breaths and the phone crackled with every chuckle. Yoongi could almost smell the man’s rotten stench. 

    “Who is it?” He demanded with increasing confusion. 

    “We have your girl.” The man certainly wasn’t Mr. Seong, as he spoke with a crudeness that didn’t befit the other mafia’s leader. 

    He looked up at Taehyung, who remained stoic. There was something in his eyes, though, that made Yoongi concerned. Taehyung’s jaw was clenched, a sign of anxiety. It was not a good situation when Taehyung was anxious. 

    “What do you wish to do? If you kill her, that is no skin off my neck.” Yoongi played it off, but hell would see flames if you died. 

    “Three quarters of your current territory and all the property you have.” A new voice had taken the phone, this time he most certainly recognized it. Mr. Seong. “We must meet in person to sign the papers,” it was an all too familiar sentence, “come alone, unarmed, and we will make the trade.” 

    What would be better? Losing you or losing everything his father had built? His mind retraced his childhood steps. It went up the stairs, past the open windows and billowing curtains, and into the library. There, he would always find his father reading. 

    Then, he was there. He time slowing and the world piecing itself together in a new light. The library. His father, sitting, with a book in hand, on one of the lavish, green, armchairs. The velvet seemed too soft for the rough calluses of his father’s hands. 

    “Yoongi.” His father beckoned. “Come here.” 

    And he did. He did like a lost dog. 

    “You’ve left me.” Yoongi announced, of all the meaningful things he could say. “You left me and now I don’t know what to do.” 

    He didn’t feel fear, because he knew consciously that this place, where his father stood alive, was not real. It was a figment of his imagination while he worked in overdrive to think of a solution. 

    “You will figure it out.” Mr. Min hummed and Yoongi refrained from a scowl. “You know what I always said?” 

    “We’re Mins. It always ends the way we wish.” Yoongi murmured. The words echoed. 

    “But in that saying, it doesn’t quite mean we throw our hands up in the air and hope, does it?” Mr. Min wondered as he stood. While he paced, a smile grew on his face. Yoongi was slowly realizing what he needed to do, truly. Mr. Min had a look of satisfaction. He’d raised his son well, in his mirror image, almost. 

    “What do you do when there’s a problem as dire as this one?” Yoongi had begun to mirror his father, pacing with no end. 

    Mr. Min halted and slammed the book down on the wooden table beside the armchair. 

    “You think outside of the box, son.” 

    And it was like a lightbulb went on. 

    “I’ve got an idea.” 

    “You’re all the same, you know.” You said loudly, as if that would stop the man before you. Mr. Seong’s hands were so familiar to you; every line, every curve. Those hands, that were now polishing various sharp objects, had picked you up when you were learning to walk. They were the same hands that held you steady and angrily opened doors you slammed. 

    “Tell me more.” He mused, as if you were sitting across the dining table. You used to jabber on for hours unless he shushed you. He often shushed you. It took every ounce of your willpower to hold back the giddy kid inside. The kid was screaming: he wants to know what you have to say! Finally! He wants to listen to you! He wants to be there for you. 

    But your consciousness knew this was simply untrue. The cruel way he so carefully rubbed the oil over each instrument made you more than aware of your situation. You were in a damp room. You were underground where you’d never see the sun again. It seemed pretty straightforward. 

    “Come closer.” You said steadily, maintaining your composure. You were doing your best to make this wooden chair look like a throne. 

    He eyed you suspiciously, but placed the scythe-like knife down on the table. It hit the wood with a harsh bang. Slowly, he approached the throne. 

    “You were never going to let me go, were you?” You questioned, much more the executioner than Mr. Seong. Your eyes searched his, taunting him. Go on. Show your defiance. 

    But Mr. Seong had played this game before. He’d taught you it, after all. Just like playing chess, he made the safest move; one that wouldn’t give away too much, but answered your question well-enough. 

    “I always had my eye on you.” He stated, as if it were normal. 

    “If you were concerned about my well-being, that’s great and all, but I doubt you really thought Yoo-Mr. Min would treat me poorly.” You cursed yourself for slipping up. Oh, right. Yoongi. Things had really been soured. You didn’t expect him to come. You had just run away from your own confession, after all. 

    Even thinking about him, the gummy smile and the languid hands, made your heart quicken. That was not a good sign. Based on the smile your father had donned, it seemed that he noticed these facts as well. 

    “You never loved mom.” You continued your rampage, throwing every possible insult to throw him off. You wanted to get under his skin before he knew he was under yours. This comment seemed to hit home, though, as you saw his gaze waver for a fraction of a second. It wasn’t much, but for someone who was trained through trauma to read the smallest of cues, it was enough. 

    “That is simply untrue.” He announced, as if that would do anything. 

    “Hey, don’t take it too seriously from me, I’m the one sitting in the basement.” You tried to appeal to his funnier side, but that man was gone. All that was left of your father was the mere shape of him. Okay, back to the harsh facts, then. 

    “You just like controlling women. All these ‘mafia’ men do. You’re all the same.” You said with disgust. He seemed to shrug that one off, because it was a known fact anyway. And yet you didn’t feel that with Yoongi. This man really had you soft. 

    “Your manipulation tactics don’t work on me, darling. I taught you some of them after all.” 

    “You didn’t teach me shit.” You cussed. You felt yourself slipping. Who was this beast coming out? Your inner being, the spirit locked away through deals and deception, had turned into a ravaging beast. What the hell did it matter anyway? You had resigned yourself to this fate. You might as well make the most of it. 

    “Like father like daughter.” Mr. Seong shrugged. Your shoulders shuddered in laughter and you threw your head back with a wheezing gasp. 

    “You’re right.” You chuckled, your head lawling back to look at him through the strands of hair that had fallen. The room felt slick, damp, and maybe it was because of your heavy breaths. The way your chest rose and fell created a sickly mist. “I’m just like you, on the inside. I’m all fucked up and there’s nothing, nothing, I could have done. I’m just like you because I am you. I’m your little shitty DNA experiment.” 

    “That’s not true.” He said softly, with a fatherly warmth that no longer interested you. He grabbed a pair of pliers and knelt in front of you. Your eyes followed his movements and you knew where this was going next. You flexed your fingers uncomfortably. “You’re so much more than my DNA. You’re my daughter through and through.” 

    The first clamp. The first twist and pull. The first scream made a guttural exit from your throat. Checkmate. 

    He was getting anxious as he waited. Yoongi wasn’t one to be concerned about any one thing, but time was truly of the essence. Yoongi wasn’t anxious, but he wasn’t all too patient either. He thought it must have been a rookie mistake to allow him into the exact house the hostage was kept at. However, Mr. Seong wasn’t known to be an idiot. There was something else at work here and Yoongi was itching to get to the bottom of it. The living room couch was comfortable and Yoongi was anything but. 

    “Mr. Min.” A maid answered the door. Yoongi glanced up at the ceiling of your house. So this was your childhood home? It seemed like a normal family home. The kitchen in front of him, a doorway next to that. Behind him, a panoramic view of Seoul and the quiet footsteps of Snakes in the grass. 

    “Right this way.” The maid chirped. She was pretty; tightly wound blonde hair in a bun and a soft pink cupids bow for lips. Yoongi was having trouble discerning if she was with the enemy or a simple housemaid caught in the middle. 

    He steadily walked towards the dark hallway to his right. At the end of the hallway was an ominous dark oak, towering, door. He almost scoffed at the display of insecurity. One that needs such an atrociously overpowering door must be truly self conscious inside. 

    The door opened with a low groan and he stepped inside. The man did his best not to pat his pockets or subconsciously reach towards the hidden gun in his belt. 

    “Please, sit.” Mr. Seong, the man with all the power, supposedly. Yoongi narrowed his eyes. He’d always been a bit better at the charisma part of the business than his father, but his father had been a stronger fighter. That’s what people respond to, in this business. His father’s words echoed softly. Pain and more pain. Not feathery words. His father had spat that phrase so venomously that Yoongi suffered its symptoms all these years later. The statement only rung further true when his eyes caught the knife that Mr. Seong was cleaning. 

    It was short and small, certainly precise. That wasn’t too concerning. Yoongi was sure he could take the man in a fight with a knife that small. What made his heart quicken was the white cloth that was being used as a cleaning rag. It was covered in blood. And Yoongi knew fresh blood when he saw it. The silver glinted off the mirror to the right of the man.

    The sight almost made him sick. The thoughts almost ran him ragged, but he realized, with a sly smile, that Mr. Seong wanted him to see it. 

    The Snakes leader sat down slowly. In order for his plan to work, he needed to sell the act. He felt like an actor, waiting to hear the magical word to bring him into character. Oh, he was surely buzzing with contempt. 

    “I’m surprised you agreed to meet me in person.” Mr. Seong began. The clock ticked steadily.

Action. 

    “You didn’t give me much a choice, now, did you?” Yoongi grinned as if to say he was a defeated adversary. 

    “You didn’t negotiate. I’m shocked my rival for years would agree to lay down and die.” 

    “I thought we should bargain in person. A sort of last ditch effort now that you’ve got my hands a bit…tied.” 

    “I knew it.” Mr. Seong had a real shit-eating grin on his face. “You love her.” 

    “Love is a strong word.” Yoongi continued apathetically. “I more so need to show that you can’t mess with my kin and leave scot free.” 

    “Oh I’m sure you do. Well, I’m glad we can end this little rivalry of ours without too much blood.”

    The papers were produced with ease. It felt like an all too familiar scene. But where were you? Yoongi glanced to his side. The gaping hole of space unfilled reminded him of his mission. It was any time now that his men should be finding you. He could see it now. 

    The men, breaking in, rescuing you, then retreating. Him, falling back and retaliating with the full force of the Snakes, razing the home to the ground. Oh yes, it would be perfect, and as there hadn’t been a peep outside the office door, he assumed it was going according to plan. 

    “I can’t say I’m glad. How about we negotiate?” Yoongi said, refusing to pick up the pen that was being adamantly pushed towards him. 

    “Negotiate? At this stage? Why, it would be a waste to have to print all of these again.” 

    “You’re about to become a billionaire either way, Mr. Seong. Reprinting a few measly papers to seal the deal shouldn’t be a concern.” Yoongi tilted his head slightly as if to say what gives? 

    “I will give you that, Mr. Min.” 

    It didn’t feel right to be called that name. It still felt like his father’s name. He glanced up at the ceiling. He felt like he was still standing in his father’s shadow, the gigantic mess that he was left when his father passed. But with this little stunt, if he could pull it off, he could step into the light. A new era of the Snakes could dawn. 

    “I will give you half of my land and half of my owned properties.” Yoongi smiled. “I would still be hobbled and you would have more than enough with your current stocks combined.” 

    “Two thirds.” Mr. Seong countered lowly. “Of everything.” 

    Yoongi shook his head back and forth with a frown. “Greedy greedy little man.”

    “We are both businessmen, you know the deal.” 

    “I consider myself more man than business. But you?” Yoongi stood and began to pace in measured steps. “I think you are more business than…anything else. More than a man, more than a husband,” He stopped and gave Mr. Seong a blank stare, “more than a father.” 

    Mr. Seong slapped his hand on the table and stood up furiously. His cheeks were growing red and Yoongi knew he was starting to win. Mr. Seong pointed an accusatory finger. 

    “Just what do you think you’re playing at, Min?” He demanded, his voice barely below a shout. 

    “Sir, I’m just trying to figure out what your true end goal is? I gave you a quite beneficial deal.” Yoongi’s eyes widened with mock realization. “But it’s not about the deal, is it? Or how much money you’ll get. It’s about pride, for you, now, right? You want to show everyone that you’re better than them, that you were able to best the great Min family. But you know, deep down, that you are a coward.” Yoongi walked towards the man and planted his hands on the other side of the desk. “You took the shameful road. Truly. Kidnapping? Disgusting.” 

    Where was Taehyung? They should have found you by now and he was getting tired of stalling. Yoongi didn’t want to get to the point where his real emotions were involved, but he was at the tipping point. This man was truly abhorrent. He found himself looking at his reflection in the mirror next to Mr. Seong. The person staring back didn’t look like him. 

    “Shameful? You want to talk about shameful?” Mr. Seong growled. He opened his mouth to continue, when there was a dull thud of a noise. 

    The noise shut up Mr. Seong and it caught Yoongi’s attention quickly. The house was so quiet now that they had stopped talking and it was making his ears ring. Still, he heard the thud. It came from behind a bookshelf. As he began to analyze the bookshelf, he began to realize that the shelf seemed to protrude more than the others and that the books in it didn’t look quite right. He turned back to look at Mr. Seong and the man was sheet white. 

    No. It couldn’t be. 

    A secret door. Why hadn’t he thought of that? He really was looking like an idiot. Still, he had to salvage this somehow. He backed away from the desk, trying his best to fight off a surprised expression, and tugged his suit vest back into place. Yoongi began to nonchalantly browse the shelves. The odd book shelf was to his right and coming up as he idly brushed his fingers along the spines. 

    “Not a speck of dust.” He mused. “You must have been excited to host me.” 

    “Yes, quite.” Mr. Seong said, but his voice was ghostly and his breath shuddered. His secret was close to being found out. Yoongi had to make sure his hypothesis was correct before making any brash moves, because otherwise he’d be putting the lives of his men in danger. 

    He had reached the bookshelf with the odd protrusion. He tried his best to look as he did with all the other shelves, letting his hands brush the spines. Ah. So he’d really been tricked. Yoongi hated admitting defeat. Still, he must act like nothing was the matter. He needed to think fast.

    “I’ll do two thirds.” The man announced. “It’s done.” 

    “A last minute change of heart? How unusual.”

    “Would you like it or not?” 

    “I will take your word. It shall be done.” Mr. Seong grumbled and eyed the back of Yoongi’s neck as he turned to print the new copies. 

    Yoongi positioned himself subtly, allowing himself to see Mr. Seong in the mirror. The older man was now fumbling to get the printer running. He looked like a normal old man. 

    “The spines of these books are so plastic-y.” Yoongi said matter-of-factly. This made Mr. Seong halt in his tracks. “It’s almost as if they’re fake.” 

    Mr. Seong’s eyebrows furrowed and he started to turn around when he heard the click of a gun. 

    “Mr. Seong, you are truly scum.” Yoongi stated as he held the pistol to the man’s back. He’d never miss at this range. 

    “Oh, you little–” 

    A siren blared, bathing the room in red light. 

    Five Minutes Earlier

    Taehyung couldn’t remember how he got into the business of picking locks. He didn’t really want to recall either. It must have been something to do with his sordid past or the various car escapades. He enjoyed taking things that weren’t his, to say the least. Now, he had the most intriguing prize to fetch. You had never struck him as particularly odd, but he did note that there was a sadness about you. Even when you smiled and called him Josh, he still sensed something…missing. 

    There was a hole where your heart should be. That’s what he’d decided. And Taehyung wasn’t the kind of guy who could put it back in its place, after all, he only ever took things away. He always made holes with no intention of going back to find replacements. Yoongi was different in that way. 

    Since they were kids, Yoongi had always put things back where they needed to be. If the playroom was messy, Yoongi would help the maids put everything back. Taehyung had only sought to steal what he wanted and indulge in his every desire when he played with Yoongi. There were plenty of guys like Taehyung now. 

    “Hey, bossman.” A new recruit whispered as she put a hand over the housemaid’s mouth. “You found anything?” 

    “Yeah.” Taehyung knelt by the laundry room’s door. “There’s a trap door.” His fine fingers, made for the most delicate of activities, found the slight seam. “Alright. Let’s save our darling Min.” 

    The trap door swung open, pulling a wire with it. The alarms were off in an instant. 

    “Shit!” Taehyung staggered back. “Vanessa!” He turned to see a bullet lace her skull. He had no time to react as another pierced two fingers in his outstretched hand. 

    Bang! 

    Smoke from a gun. 

    Yoongi walked behind the desk and shoved the body off the chair. 

     “What a rival you were.” He said plainly. Then he turned to the bookshelves and walked over. Cracking his knuckles, he pried open the door. It swung out slowly and moved like honey. “You were right, father,” He glanced over his shoulder at the body on the ground. “Pain and more pain.”

    The red light blinked on and off, illuminating the room in alternating blood and darkness. He stared down into the abyss. There were stairs, but he didn’t know how far they went or if they truly would lead him the right way. 

    There was only one way to find out. 

    The steps were damp and there was a pungent smell that grew worse as he went further. It was iron and sweat. There. The previously dull thump was now a muffled scream as he reach the bottom of the stairs. With his gun drawn, he leaned against the concrete wall. The stairs had branched into two small corridors. There were two cells on each side of the hallways. He peered over his shoulder. The fluorescent lights of the hallway buzzed. 

    There was no one here. Maybe Mr. Seong had assumed no one would find this corridor and that guards were unnecessary. 

    “Help!” You screamed until your vocal chords were scratched and raw. You didn’t know what state you were in or how you had mustered the strength to even scream. But you had heard a feint alarm. 

    When the cell door opened, you almost winced. The pitch black room was purged with light. You didn’t know if you should cry from exhaustion, hope, or fear. 

    A figure stood in the doorway, but it was a familiar shape and a familiar voice that greeted you. 

    “Yoongi?” 

    “What did they do to you?” Yoongi rushed over and you could feel the air shifting to something deadly, despite your glee at seeing him. 

    “A real number.” You whispered. Your voice was gone. You didn’t have any more strength left in your body. Pulling nails sounded like heaven at this point. 

    You knew you were safe now. You didn’t look at his gentle hands undoing the cuffs and chains or the way his breath came short and panicked. You looked at his face and you absorbed the concentrated quirk of his eyebrow and the way his lips pressed together. 

    “You,” You began with a croak. 

    “It’s okay you don’t need to–” 

     You held up a hand. “I–” You gathered all your will power. “I must, because I might not make it out of here.”

    “No, you’ve got all the time in the world.” 

    “You have always been safety for me.” You whispered. “Your touch, that very first day…” You felt your eyes glazing over, but you fought back the dizzying fog in your mind. You fought back from letting your head fall limp. “...in that one touch, you taught me that a hand does not always mean violence. You taught me that your hands will always be safe… If I die, bury me.” 

    “Stop talking like that.” He said seriously, his face was fallen into deep shadow. His eyes grim as he hoisted you into his arms. “You will make it out of this alive. Save the monologue for years from now. Save it for when we’re old and wrinkled. Hell, never tell me.” 

    “Just listen!” You wheezed and your chest ached. “If I die, take the time to bury me, please.”

    “If those are your last words, I don’t want to hear them.” 

    You found yourself smiling despite his harsh declaration. 

    Opening your eyes felt like a dream. With the morning sun streaming through the billowing white curtains, it all felt like a dream. You didn’t dare move. You didn’t want to break the illusion. Your eyes searched the room. It was everything you remembered, every detail, right down to the missing vase. You were focused on one thing in particular, though, a new addition to the room. 

     “Why are you asleep in a chair?” You coughed and tried sitting up, wincing. Yoongi was up in an instant. He had looked so peaceful while sleeping, but his new expression was of concern, worry. You looked down at yourself. Had you ever seen so many bandages at once? Well, not on a person. Your arms to your legs. 

     “Are you feeling alright?” Yoongi whispered. “I was really worried. You were…saying some scary stuff.” 

    “I remember.” You announced. You were done being reasonable. You were injured, pretty terribly, if the bandages meant anything. But it was the fear lingering in Yoongi’s gaze that unsettled you. “I’m alive, why are you concerned?” 

     “I–” He stopped short. “I guess because, I care for you.” He gently took your hand and it didn’t hurt as much as when you moved on your own. “And I admire you.” 

     That was what made you perk up. 

    “I admire that you are so strong in the face of adversity. You were terrified, I saw it when you first moved in, yet you still found your way to the kitchen and asked for a bandaid.”

    You smiled at the memory. You were so naive, so confused about your father’s motives. 

    “I…I admire you too.” You placed your other hand over his. “And I think I just might love you, but I don’t know yet.”

    “Is it enough to stave off the divorce papers?”

    His gummy smile and the boyish gleam in his eyes made you laugh. It was instant regret as your lungs begged for mercy, but it was worth it. 

    “Yeah, I think I’ll stick with you for at least a few more months.” 

    “Good, because my only other option is Taehyung for company and he won’t stop moaning about his fingers.” 

    “What happened to his fingers?” You asked, bewildered. 

    “Ah, two got shot off, but no worries. He’ll live.” 

    “That sounds like a big deal! Actually, I’ll call over Taehyung and let him know his feelings are valid right now.” 

    “No, no!” Yoongi laughed and it was such a genuine ring that your heart quickened. After you were both done chuckling, a cool breeze blew the curtains once more. 

    “What happened to the Seong clan?” You asked, looking out the window. 

    “Burned to the ground. The few stragglers we’ve dumped onto our allied gangs who need an extra man.” 

    “I see.” You whispered. Then you turned to him and lightly gripped his shoulder. “We’ll be okay, right?” 

    He took a breath and allowed himself a glance into the brilliant blue sky. Then, he turned to you and pressed his forehead to yours. You reached up and gently cupped his cheek. He tilted his head and his lips met yours. It was a soft kiss, innocent and in love, all the things you wished could just describe your relationship with Yoongi. Maybe in another time or universe. Maybe you two could simply just be innocent and in love. Until then…

    “Yeah, I think we’ll be okay.” He breathed.

    “I think so too.”

Fin

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He followed you down the path until you were standing in front of the house. “We are stories. Each day, each moment, many moments together. The world is a story. Sad and happy, exciting and boring, sometimes disappointing. Who we are is a collection of stories. The ones we tell and the ones we keep locked deep inside us. They shaped us, even the ones we don’t remember.”

Yoongi’s life wouldn’t have made a good story. It was full of pain and blood and lost hope. He didn’t like the role he played in it, who he was in his darkest moments. But maybe it was better now. It was brighter now.

“Is that why you do what you do? Because you don’t want to be a villain? Someone the audience won’t like?” he asked.

You were so immersed in stories. Your job, your whole life seemed to be about them. You couldn’t be so deeply invested in something and not let it affect the way you acted. Yoongi wondered if that’s why you did everything, risked your life on more than one occasion in ways no one else would. No one cared so much about what happened to hybrids. There had to be an explanation and that seemed like a logical one. 

And yet that didn’t seem right. Not completely. 

“I’m not a movie hero,” you said. “I don’t think I try to be one. I try to do my best. Stories are about morality in a way and everyone can perceive them differently. Everyone will have their opinions.”

Your shoulders touched and he was aware of how close you were. “You act like a movie hero. Who would go into a hybrid auction, put themselves in danger, with nothing to earn?”

“Someone foolish.”

He couldn’t stop the smile that curved his lips. He had the same thought when you had called them from Seoul to tell them you would go undercover for the police in a hybrid auction. Oh how foolishly brave you were. “That too, I guess.”

“I went in the first time,” you said, looking at the rundown house. “The roof looked like it would fall down any moment but I went in anyway. I wanted to see what was inside, what life was left in it.”

A tree was leaning heavily on one of the walls, threatening to break through. The roof still looked like it could cave in at any moment. It was a dangerous gamble to go inside and yet you had because of some unsated curiosity and the thirst to know what it had once been. 

Yoongi couldn’t figure you out. You looked so put-together, a perfect woman on the cover of a business magazine, the personification of success but then you did things like walk into a house that could collapse on your head—what a terrible image that made—and adopted seven hybrids with traumatic pasts for no reason other than wanting to help. 

“You went into a house knowing the roof could fall down on your head?”

“I told you, I have my foolish moments,” you said. “I wasn’t alone though. At least I had that much common sense.”

He wouldn’t have put it past you to go into the house even if you had been alone. You would have at least considered it. 

“Did you find anything?” It seemed important to ask. He tried to imagine what stories you would have come up with. What would it have been about if you were to make a movie about this house? How did your mind work?

“Not much. A few pieces of rotten furniture, a couple of broken plates in the kitchen, a very very old vase. Little signs of life. There were lines carved on the wall, horizontal, like they were measuring children’s heights. Scratches on the kitchen counters. There was a frame broken on the floor, I couldn’t see the photo well, it was yellow with age.”

He didn’t ask more although he was curious about what you made of those little pieces you found. If you fit them together and created a new picture. If they sated your thirst. He stayed quiet next to you and looked at the house. 

“Let’s walk some more before our time is up and John sends a search party for us,” he said in the end. Gently, his fingers caressed the skin of your wrist. He didn’t let them linger. He could feel heat gather where he touched you, the memory of the softness of your skin pulsating on his fingertips. 

“Don’t underestimate him. If we’re late, he is going to call a search party.”

“I don’t underestimate him. I know he will.”

The sharp sound of a door creaking open pulls you up from the mental pit you had dug yourself into. When you finally blink your eyes open, looking up with eyes shiny with unshed tears, Taehyung’s blurry form appears in the doorway. “Hey, what’s wrong?” His deep voice is soothing and he takes a few steps towards you.

You try to force out an “I’m fine,” but all that comes out is a choked sob and you bury your face in your hands to muffle the sounds of the cries that you can’t seem to stop. They’re falling out of your mouth so easily and you don’t know why. Neither does Taehyung, and he immediately crouches in front of you where you sit on the bed.

“What’s wrong, (Y/N)?” he asks again, voice soft. “Can you tell me why you’re crying?”

“I don’t know,” you force out through your sobs. “I just don’t know.”

“All right. That’s fine, love,” he reassures you with a low voice. It’s slightly raspy from lack of volume, a detail you don’t know why you noticed. “Can you look up for me?

You’re still hiccupping out tears and your face is gross, you can feel the wetness on your hands. You shake your head. “No,” you squeak out, and Taehyung sighs.

“I know you don’t want to, but I just want you to be able to breathe properly, (Y/N).”

“I’m all snotty,” you force out your words, shaking your head again and taking a long gasp of air at the same time. “I don’t want–”

“Shh, I know,” Taehyung hums. “I’m going to get you some tissues, okay?” You don’t want him to go, but you nod anyways, keeping your face safely away from his too-kind eyes and sweet smile.

You immediately know when he’s gone and when he’s back, the air around you feels much colder without his presence, something you didn’t realise until he found you. He returns quickly and you manage to wipe your face with the tissues. When you finish, he tilts your face up and you avoid eye contact. He gracefully lets you and you thank him silently for that by squeezing his hand that now is on yours.

Your sobs quiet down although you’re still breathing hard. Taehyung rubs your back soothingly. “I’m sorry,” you rasp out when you finally feel you can manage more than a few words at a time. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Hey, it’s all right, love,” Taehyung immediately says, and you just know he’s pouting inadvertently. “We all have these times. Are you feeling better? Do you want to talk about it now?”

“Not right now…” you breathe out. “I’m sorry, I still just don’t know.”

Taehyung nods seriously, finally moving up to sit beside you, keeping his arms wrapped around you. “That’s okay. Sometimes we just don’t know why we do things. Do you want me to stay with you?”

“Summer is ending and I barely felt it,” you said. When you were younger you used to spend summer days swimming and chase the nights until you found the sun with your friends. This year you had only seen the sea from afar or through the window of a plane. “I miss the sea. I miss swimming in water that isn’t in a pool. We should have gone on a trip somewhere with a beach and not as many people as Los Angeles.”

“We can do that next year or whenever your next break is. We can find a place that will be warm enough to swim, can’t we?”

“I’m sure we can.” You had no idea when your next break was. Autumn and winter were full with filming, premieres and press tours. The small breaks in-between were for one or two days and you would usually spend them going over emails and talking with executives. But you would make this happen. “I haven’t been on a leisure trip in a while. It would be fun. We could rent a place by the beach, we could go swimming whenever we wanted, spend the day there. I would drag you into the sea because you would be too afraid to go in.”

“I wouldn’t!” Seokjin protested.

You pushed back against him to tease him. “You totally would. You were terrified to get into the pool where you can clearly see the bottom and there are no currents to be afraid of.”

“I didn’t know how to swim then! And I wasn’t terrified, I was a little scared which is normal, that’s all,” he defended himself.

“A little scared isn’t what I would describe it as.”

“I wasn’t terrified! I wouldn’t have got in the pool if I was!”

You laughed at how defensive he was. It was funny to rile him up, if only just to hear how quickly he could speak. You were too focused on him that you didn’t notice that Jungkook and Taehyung had got up until they had almost reached you. Taehyung was hurrying after Jungkook, struggling to keep up with his fast strides.

The bunny called your name excitedly before they stopped in front of you. “Taehyung wants to go to the lake. Can we please go before your break ends? You said we can go swimming in the summer.”

You had been planning to go to the lake but something always came up. It was only around thirty minutes from your house but you hadn’t been there since early spring.

“There is the trip you wanted,” Seokjin said.

Sometimes, it was hard to believe everything was a coincidence.

“Well, it isn’t the sea. But you can prove to me that I won’t have to drag you into the water there.” At his indignant expression, you turned to the two hybrids. “Of course we can go. There aren’t many days of my break left though. We can go tomorrow if you want, stay there until nightfall.”

Jungkook smiled widely and clapped his hands. You caught the twitch of Taehyung’s lips although his head was bent. “Yes! Thank you! I have never gone swimming in a lake. It will be amazing.”

His excitement was contagious, it got your mind brimming with ideas on how to make tomorrow special. “You should ask the others first. See if everyone agrees about tomorrow.”

“They do,” Jungkook said.

You chuckled. “Okay, ask them just to be sure.”

“You could invite John too,” he added quietly. “And Alice. We haven’t seen her these days and Taehyung hasn’t met her yet.”

You weren’t surprised that John was being missed, he was such an important part of your life and as an extent he was an important part of your family’s life as well. Like you, he was on a well-deserved break and it was almost two weeks since the last time you had seen him and the messages you often exchanged didn’t make you miss him any less.

However, you were worried about overwhelming Taehyung. He had met John back in Seoul but those were memories you didn’t want him revisiting and although little Alice was a charmer she hadn’t developed a filter yet. She was a curious child and you wouldn’t be able to answer all of the questions she was bound to have. Not honestly, at least.

“Inviting Alice isn’t a bad idea,” Seokjin said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “If Taehyung is okay with it, of course.”

Jungkook turned to Taehyung then and proceeded to try to explain to him with simple english and a few hand gestures who Alice was. He didn’t fail to mention that Alice was very cute and gesture how tall—or short in her case—she was. Taehyung seemed thoroughly confused in a way that had you wanting to squeeze his cheeks.

“Hobi,” you called. “We need your help!”

Hoseok’s fox ears twitched. He shot up, ran barefoot across the garden and tackled Jungkook, who was delighted to be in Hoseok’s arms. Both of them laughed wildly, bumping their foreheads together.

“What can I help you with?” he asked, his mouth forming a heart.

“We are planning–” you started but were swiftly interrupted by Jungkook.

“We’re going to the lake tomorrow!”

Hoseok’s face lit up. “Are we? I’ve never been to the lake! Are we really going?”

“If everyone agrees,” you conceded.

It had slipped your mind that Hoseok and Yoongi hadn’t been there on your last trip. It had been only a few weeks after adopting Seokjin as a means to put a pause on your workaholic tendancies. It wasn’t likely that they had ever visited it. Other than Namjoon, no one was very keen on treading the treacherous ground that led to the lake on their own. The trip was a chance for the hybrids to get out of the house and experience something they didn’t get to do often.

Seeing John and Alice was an added bonus. Hoseok lit up like the sun when you told him to ask Taehyung if he was comfortable with them joining you. Taehyung looked at you, his gaze heavy with thousands of things he didn’t say. He averted his eyes too soon as if he caught himself doing something improper.

“He said if that’s what you want,” Hoseok translated.

You cursed the language barrier. There were thousands of things you wanted to say too, you could build mountains with them and watch them grow taller and taller until they crumbled. There was no point in them, not when he couldn’t understand. It wasn’t the same hearing it from someone else.

“It isn’t about what I want. It is about what he wants,” you said. Hoseok translated again and Taehyung looked confused like there was something he couldn’t understand.

“He doesn’t mind,” Hoseok said in the end.

Even if he did, you doubted he would tell you. There wasn’t anything more you could do.

Jungkook looked at you expectantly, his eyes wide and sparkling. You gave in, “Alright, go tell Namjoon and Yoongi and make sure they agree. I will text John to see if they can make it.”

He jumped up and down—a reaction that could be due to his bunny genetics and was way too cute for you to handle—before running off to tell them. By the way they were looking at you and their superior hearing, they had already heard most of your conversation.

 You leaned back against Seokjin again as Hoseok took Taehyung by the hand and followed Jungkook, gesturing at the direction of the lake as he spoke.

“Looks like we’re going to the lake tomorrow,” you said, typing a message to John. “You’ll have to brave the forest again.”

"Sadly, there isn't. Unless you can fly."

He groaned purely for show. “Not again! What have a done to deserve this? These feet weren’t made for dirt and roots. Isn't there a way to get to the lake without walking through the forest?"

A new message appeared on your screen. John was as diligent at texting as he was in every other aspect of his life and he disapproved of your tendency to see the messages but leave them unanswered until later.

“They don’t have anything planned for tomorrow and Alice is apparently jumping all over the house right now, singing that she will go to the lake tomorrow to see all her new friends.”

“She is adorable,” Seokjin cooed. “I want to squeeze her.”

“You can do that tomorrow. She likes the attention.” You straightened and grabbed his arm, wrapping it around your waist before sinking back. “Better.”

Not many preparations were needed for a trip to the lake. After all, it was only a relatively short walk from your house. If you needed anything, you could send Namjoon who could make it back in half the time compared to the rest of you. That of course didn’t stop Seokjin from waking up before the sun had risen to make an array of snacks and baked goods to take with you.

You found him in the kitchen, wearing his cute pink apron streaked with flour. He was determined to make the best cheesecake any of you had ever tasted because you had mentioned it was Alice’s favorite. There was no chance you could changed his mind so you joined him. You worked together in the chef’s kitchen for about thirty minutes before Jungkook and Jimin arrived set on helping you.

The cute baskets with the blue and white ribbons you had brought back from Virginia were filled with sandwiches, pies, croissants, cupcakes and the much-anticipated cheesecake. The delicious aroma lured the rest of the hybrids to the kitchen. Hoseok batted his eyelashes at Seokjin who fed him a cupcake while a few more disappeared mysteriously.

Helen and her team would be arriving soon to do a deep cleaning of the bedrooms and the main rooms. The Castle hadn’t had a good cleaning since you arrived from Seoul. At first, you were worried about raising any questions about Taehyung’s presence and after his papers were ready, you were worried about him feeling uncomfortable with new people in the house. Your trip to the lake was the perfect chance for the Castle to get a good day of cleaning. You had also asked the company that made the piano currently residing in Jacob’s studio to send some people to move it to the living room and they would be coming later in the day.

The doorbell rang for the first time this morning. John had texted you that they were on their way so you knew who it was without looking through the peephole. Alice trapped you in a tight hug and you picked her up, turning around in circles to hear her laugh.

“Put me down! Put me down,” she said, her breaths short and mirthful.

“Should I? Are you sure?” you asked, bumping your noses together.

Alice scrunched her nose, nodding. “I need to say hello to my friends. I said hello to you.”

You chuckled and put her down. “You’re right. Go say hello to them, they’re waiting to see you.”

Jimin and Hoseok had followed you into the living room and they were the first ones to be attacked by Alice’s super tight hugs. She might be tiny but her hugs were inescapable.

“She likes them a lot,” John said. A pink sparkling backpack, a stuffed mermaid hanging from one zipper, was slung over his shoulder.

“Alice likes everyone a lot.”

Hoseok had picked her up to take her to the kitchen and Alice placed a large kiss on his cheek to thank him.

“She has good instincts about people. She disliked that Walker guy the moment she met him.” Josh Walker was a producer you had worked with twice in the past and vowed to never work with again. A huge gossip in the worst way possible and a master at avoiding responsibilities. “And she didn’t–” He cut the sentence in the middle.

“She didn’t like Jacob either,” you finished for him. Alice was a polite kid but it was obvious when she disliked someone. She hugged you, held your hand and sat on your lap and she only spoke to Jacob when it was necessary. And it wasn’t just you, it was the same with Taylor and Zayn, who she both loved very much. Only Jacob didn’t get the same treatment. “You can say it. I’m over him, you know.”

John’s smile said more than any words could. “I believe you are.”

You believed you were too. You had been for a long time. He was a part of your past and you were done living in it. Sometimes you forgot about him now when once his name was was written all over the Castle. The memories were faded, more radiant ones taking their place.

“I think out of everyone she was the happiest when she learnt we broke up,” you said. “She was so pleased she’d never have to play nice with him again.”

At the time, although it had seemed funny to you, it had also hurt a little. In the end, it was for the best.

“She was trying to play matchmaker and get you together with her favorite teacher. It was one obstacle out of the way.”

You laughed remembering how she would show you pictures of him, telling you he was very handsome and very clever and he liked reading books just like you. One day you had been with John when he went to get her from school and Alice had dragged you inside to meet a very much awestruck teacher.

“At least she has forgotten about that now,” you said.

John sent you an amused look. “Wait until she gets back to school and she remembers how dreamy her teacher is and that you are still single.”

“Let’s go find your little troublemaker before the boys kidnap her,” you said, eager to end the conversation. John was gracious enough to grant you that.

In the kitchen, Alice had spotted Yoongi and climbed on the chair next to him. She had developed a soft spot for the panther hybrid since her last visit. On his part, Yoongi didn’t know what to do with a small human and how to entertain her. To his credit, he was doing just fine.

Hoseok was doing silly dance moves to make her laugh and Jimin was sitting on Yoongi’s other side dragging his nails down the panther’s back. Yoongi didn’t react. Jungkook and Seokjin were tying the ribbons on the baskets into bows and Namjoon was attempting to do the same unsuccessfully.

The only one missing was Taehyung.

“Okay, we’re almost ready to go,” you said, calling everyone’s attention. “Can someone go get Taehyung?”

“I’ll go. He must be awake by now.” Hoseok offered and left to fetch him.

Alice’s large eyes turned to you. “Is Taehyung the tiger hybrid daddy told me about? He said to be extra polite to him. Is it true that he doesn’t speak english?”

“He understands the basics, Hobi helps with the rest. He translates what we say to him so we can all understand each other.”

She nodded like it was the most important thing she had heard today. “But why don’t you learn korean? Won’t it be easier to talk to him then?”

You stared at the six-year-old for a long moment, speechless. “That would make things easier, wouldn’t it? Maybe we should try.”

Alice smiled widely, showing one missing tooth and one half-grown. “You should. Mommy says understanding others is important.”

“She is right,” John said, patting her head. “You should listen to others and understand them.”

“Mommy is always right,” Alice emphasized. “More often than daddy.”

John sighed in a ‘I’ve-listened-to-that-many-times-and-I-am-not-going-to-argue’ way. “Thanks, monkey. I appreciate it.”

Alice giggled before her attention swiftly shifted, like children’s attention tended to do, to Yoongi’s tail and the way it moved. Luckily she didn’t try to pet it and didn’t ask either, remembering how John had told her it was rude last time. She restricted herself to asking questions like if he could move it at will, whether it hurt if he accidentally sat on it and more. Yoongi answered willingly, if a little flustered at the attention.

John weighted the baskets in his hand. They were full to the brim with delicious food and if you had let Seokjin get his way, there would be more. Enough to feed half the city.

The doorbell rang again, signaling that Helen and her team were here. John followed you to the living room to greet her and catch up. It was strangely like they were your parents when they talked about you. They acted like you weren’t standing right there and listening to everything.

Since you were little more than a ghost in this conversation, when Hoseok and Taehyung climbed up the stairs, you went with them back to the kitchen. Alice had gotten her hands on a vanilla muffin and her mouth, nose and cheeks were smeared with blue icing.

You put your hand on your waist and regarded her. “You can get anything with your puppy eyes, can’t you?” Alice gave you an innocent smile, her lips painted blue. “Who fell for it first?” She pointed at Yoongi and your stern facade cracked. Apparently it wasn’t only Alice who had a soft spot.

“It’s just a cupcake,” Yoongi said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“It is just a cupcake but it will fill her stomach with sugar and then  she won’t eat the food Jin worked so hard on,” you said, grabbing a napkin.

Alice licked her lips. It didn’t make them look any less blue. “Jin worked hard on the cupcakes too. They are super good. So good I could eat ten of them.”

“Thank you,” Jin said, his cheeks bunching up in an adorable smile. “But eating ten of them will make your stomach hurt.”

Alice opened her mouth to speak while you wiped the icing from her face before her eyes landed on the hybrid she hadn’t met. “Is that Taehyung?”

“Yes, this Taehyung,” you said, still trying to clean her face as best as you could. “And right now you look like the Cookie Monster.” Alice giggled like fairy bells.

Taehyung was looking at Alice in wonder.

“Taehyung, this is Alice. She is John’s daughter,” you said, getting up to throw the now blue napkin away. Alice’s face was as clean as it could get without washing it with water.

Hoseok didn’t translate, it was simple enough english for Taehyung. “Hi,” he said, waving at her shyly. You resisted the urge to coo at him.

Alice waved back enthusiastically. “Hello! You are very pretty.”

Taehyung’s lips parted in surprise. “Thank you,” he said shakily.

Helen and John walked in then, a broom in Helen’s hand. For her, it was an accessory. It didn’t mean she would start cleaning by sweeping the floors.

“Goodmorning to everyone,” she said in greeting. Her smile had a motherly quality to it that made people want to be on their best behavior around her. “I see you’re all ready for today. And someone has already dived into the food.”

John eyed his daughter and the pink and white dotted cupcake liner left on the table. “What did we say about sweets in the morning?”

She smiled sheepishly. “Morning is for fruits, we eat sweets after lunch,” she recited.

“What is that then?”

She put her elbows on the table and cupped her face with her hands. “It is a special day today. On special days we don’t have to follow that rule. We ate cake in the morning of your birthday.”

“You’re too clever for your own good,” John said then looked at you. “She’s starting to sound like you, finding loopholes.”

Alice giggled, pleased at that.

“I don’t do that,” you protested.

“Oh yes, you do. And you know that you do it,” Helen said, pointing at you with the broom. “You can get out of anything by talking. I remember Amelia telling me that those poor professors of yours at University had no idea what to do with you. You used to send them those emails when you were absent, right?”

You glued your lips together, searching for a way to get out of this. “I was practicing diplomacy.”

“Is that what we call that now?” John asked, amused.

“Forget it,” you said. “Let’s go, let’s go. We have a lot of walking to do and it’s best to be out before the heat spikes.”

It was a beautiful day, the kind of Californian weather you would see on postcards. The sky was clear except a couple of fluffy white clouds gliding across. The perfect day for a small adventure. You had worn your bikini underneath your clothes, planning to go in for a quick dip in the lake and you had persuaded Seokjin, Jungkook and Hoseok to put on swimming trunks. Alice was also wearing her swimsuit, the wide neck of her shirt didn’t cover the hot pink strings.

In your backpack, you had packed a first-aid kit, two bottles of sunscreen, a pen and a notebook—just in case you got inspiration—, a towel and anything else you thought you might need. You had written down a list last night on your phone and you hoped you hadn’t forgotten anything.

Your way down to the lake was filled with laughter as you stepped over protruding roots and each of you tripped at least once. Excluding Namjoon, who in his many walks had memorized each stone and root. John was carrying both a basket and the small portable fridge stocked with water bottles, fresh orange juice and lemonade, coca cola bottles and a few cans of beer. Jungkook, Namjoon and Yoongi were holding the other three baskets.

The moment you emerged from the trees, Alice sprinted to the lake and dipped her hands in. “It isn’t cold!” she shouted. “Can we go swimming?”

“Why don’t we rest for a bit first?” you asked. Swimming would be a great relief from the summer heat but your legs were tired from walking and your throat dry.

Namjoon stood next to you and placed a hand on your back. It sent a pleasant tingle up your spine. Wordlessly, he handed you his water bottle and you gulped down half of its contents.

You and Jimin laid down the two large checkered blankets, one in red and white and one in blue and white. On top of them, you placed the baskets to stop any sudden gusts of wind blowing them away. It was too early to unpack the food. You had finished breakfast not an hour ago and you weren’t hungry yet.

Alice bounced over to the fridge and rummaged through it for a drink. Victorious, she held up a bottle of coke like a trophy.

In the hour you hadn’t checked your phone, a line of messages had filled the screen of your phone. You had pulled it out to look at the time. Nine thirty. Seven emails from work and four texts, two from the producer of the Raven Cycle and two more from the showrunner. A reminder that soon, this would be over and you would go back to leaving as the sun rose and returning when it had long left the horizon.

But it wasn’t over yet. This was a day of relaxation and you wouldn’t let yourself ruin it. You put your phone on silent and shoved it deep inside your backpack.

Hoseok shouted your name before he was crushing on you, sending you down on the blanket. His laughter filled the air as Alice also jumped on you. She was as light as a feather but you both groaned when she landed on you.

“I caught you,” Alice proclaimed. “I win!”

You were roped into playing hide and seek with the two of them, Jimin and Jungkook. Taehyung sat on the edge of the blanket watching you. He looked like a painting by a long dead artist, whose name was shadowed by his art. Someone who dreamed of beauty but lived in pain.

In a truly unpredictable turn of events, Alice got Yoongi to join you. He was quick, much quicker than you. To run away from him, in a childish fit of desperation, you took off your shirt and your shorts in record speed and dove into the lake. Only a few steps from the shore, it was deep enough for you to disappear in the water. The shouts and the laughter got muffled. Water took over your senses, they were dull under the surface but the world was so vibrant.

You emerged and swallowed mouthfuls of air. You must have stayed under longer than you’d thought because your lungs ached for it.

When she saw you, Alice cheered. “I’m going in,” she told her father and John didn’t oppose her. He helped her take off her clothes and she ran to you, water splashing everywhere. You swam to the shallow part and she fell right into your arms. Over her head, your eyes locked with John’s. He trusted you with her.

 You goaded Seokjin into getting in the water too, reminding him what he said to you last night. It took a few tries but soon he was in the water with you, Alice clinging to his waist like a koala. You didn’t stray far from the place that your feet could touch the ground just in case. You were a great swimmer, good enough to act as a lifeguard, but you took care so it wouldn’t come to that.

After a lot of playing around, throwing water at each other and seeing who could swim the fastest—Alice won each time, complaining that you were letting her win—you climbed up the rocks and rested back on your elbows. Your skin and hair were dripping water, the sun slowly drying you. You watched Jungkook and Seokjin chasing each other as Alice and Hoseok acted as what looked like referees. For what, you weren’t sure.

This would be one of the first scenes of a movie. Bright, beautiful and full of life. Summer music playing in the background, a soft but happy song. You could see the montage in your mind, the way they would cut and stitch together the scenes. The close-ups and the movement of the camera.

Or it could be the Supposed Victory, just before the disaster. Before everything went wrong and the world crumbled. A moment of unrestrained joy when the protagonist believed everything would work out.

Or it could be the ending. It didn’t feel like one.

Alice was sitting next to Taehyung the next time you looked for her. His mouth wrapped clumsily around english words you couldn’t read as he pointed to her hair. Alice touched her head before a bright smile took over her face. She unclipped one of her rainbow butterfly clips and offered it to him. He held it reverently like it was a small miracle, unsure what to do with it. Alice took it again and clipped back the strands of hair that were falling in his face. 

She was a force of nature, sweeping up everyone in her path. You longed for the sweet innocence and her pure heart. She was everything that was good in this world.

You wondered who you would have become if you had parents like John. Parents that would always be there for you, do everything for you, give you everything they could. How different would you be? Would you have the same drive? The same unrelenting ambition? If your parents had cared, would you be there, in that moment?

No, probably not. You decided you didn’t want that then. You had found your own family. You weren’t connected by blood but by choice. They had been there when you needed them in all the ways your biological family failed to be. You didn’t want to be any other version of yourself but this. The one who had them, who loved them, the one who was loved by them.

Seokjin, wrapped up in a fluffy blanket, wet hair falling in his eyes, called for you to climb down to eat. The food was piled on the blankets and Jungkook was already munching on a piece of pie. Dutifully, you descended, pinching Seokjin’s cheek passing by. He complained but it was drowned by the delighted noises as the food was revealed.

“Wait, wait,” you said, getting up not a full minute after you had flopped down on the blanket. “I want to take a photo before the food disappears.”

“Quickly,” Jungkook begged, eying a sandwich lovingly.

“For you, as quickly as I can.”

That seemed to make him happy. You reached into your backpack for your professional camera, it was in a padded case that had cost you as much as a regular camera would. In University, you had taken a few classes of photography as a part of your degree. It was useful for your profession and for your social media presence. Most of all, it was good for memory keeping.

You rushed to a spot a few meters away from the blankets and lowered yourself to find the best angle. “Smile!” you called.

You captured around five photos and looked through them. Taehyung was smiling, tentatively at first, just a tiny tilt of the lips and wider in the last ones, following the others’ example.

The photos were beautiful. As magical as a fleeting moment of happiness you would never forget. You were going to frame them.

“Give me the camera,” John said, getting up.

You gazed at him suspiciously. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Take a photo. What else would I do?” he joked. “Go sit with them. Get in the frame."

You giggled, sitting down at the blanket. Alice didn't waste any time and climbed into your lap. You wrapped your arms around her waist and she leaned back into you. On your side, Hoseok threw an arm over your shoulder and smiled blindingly.

John handed you back the camera and everyone gathered around to peek at the photos. Alice pointed to every photo and said it was her favorite until she concluded that her favorite was the one that you were kissing her cheek because you were in it and it was cute.

"I see how it is. The photos she is in are the ones I'm not in," John said.

"I have so many photos with you," Alice shot back, opening her arms as if to show how many they were. "You can't have it all."

Not even John could stop himself from dissolving in laughter. Alice was an expert at throwing your words back at you.

When everyone was satisfied with the photos—you put your camera by your side, easy to reach in case you wanted to take more photos—lunch began. Swimming created a weightless hunger, a kind you hadn't felt in any other circumstances. Food tasted ten times better after you had been swimming. Seokjin's food was already delicious so it tasted like magic, the way you imagined all that mouth-watering food from movies or books would taste.

You were filled to the brim yet when the desserts were out, you couldn't stop yourself from accepting the piece of cheesecake Seokjin thrust in your direction. The cream was soft and light and the homemade blackberry jam elevated the taste.

Alice was attacking a bowl of fresh strawberries and dipping them in chocolate. The chocolate dripped, staining her mouth and hands but she didn’t care.

“Are they good?” you asked.

She nodded enthusiastically, giving you a big smile that showed off her chocolate teeth. She lifted the bowl towards you.

“That’s too much sugar for one day,” John said but didn’t say anything else to stop her.

Jimin was laying his head on your shoulder, drowsy after a big meal. You picked up a strawberry from the bowl Alice was holding up for you and dipped it in chocolate. Acting thoughtlessly, instead of bringing it to your mouth, you nudged it against Jimin’s lips, coating them with chocolate. His mouth parted easily, letting you feed him. A blush tinted his cheeks as he bit down.

His pink lips looked sinful covered in chocolate. His tongue darted out to lick them clean. You couldn’t take your eyes off him.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Can I… Do you want one?”

Your heart was beating louder than it should. Alice had turned her attention back to Yoongi. When your eyes locked, you couldn’t read them. You never could.

You turned back to Jimin, his eyes mirroring the sky. “They do look delicious.”

Jimin picked up a strawberry and—a little clumsily—fed it to you. Your lips nearly touched his fingers, only a breath away. It was the best strawberry you had ever tasted. Nothing could ever compare to it.

“I want a strawberry too,” Jungkook said, timid in a way he wasn’t often anymore. Like he wasn’t sure you would indulge him.

“Come here then, bunny.” As soon as you finished, Jungkook crawled across the blanket to sit on your other side. He opened his mouth, waiting. Your brain was a train wreck, going off the rails, jumping off bridges.

You lifted a strawberry to his lips the way you had done with Jimin. He munched on it slowly, his eyes not leaving yours as if he were hypnotized.

You should snap out of it.

“You’re so messy,” you joked to lighten the atmosphere between the three of you. “How did that chocolate get on your cheek?”

Jungkook stammered and you grabbed a paper towel laughing. Everyone soon followed and Alice managed to get a photo of Jungkook with your camera before you could clean his face. It had to be enough.

"I'm going for a walk," you announced a while later, feeling bloated. "I need to move. I feel like I ate a small town.”

“Where are you going?” Hoseok asked. He was stretched on the grass, his head laying in Seokjin’s lap. Seokjin’s fingers were tangled in his hair.

You shrugged. You hadn’t thought of where to go exactly, only that you had to get up or you would fall asleep with a heavy stomach. “Just a walk around here. There are some parts of these shores I haven’t seen in a while.”

“Don’t be too long,” Jimin said.

“If you’re gone for more than thirty minutes, I will send a search party,” John remarked. He was braiding Alice’s hair back because she had been whining that it was getting in her face. Meanwhile, she was drawing with Taehyung in his new notebook. He didn’t look like a doll then but a little confused, a little fond. A little happy, if you dared to hope.

You pocketed your phone and made a note to yourself to check the time. You wouldn’t put it past John to actually send a search party after you.

“I’ll go too,” a voice spoke up, surprising you. Yoongi rose to his feet smoothly like a predator, his tail curving behind him. Everyone was staring at him but he pretended he didn’t notice.

You couldn’t tell him no. You didn’t want to tell him no. Going on a walk alone with him didn’t spark the same anxiety it would have a month or so ago. You were a little nervous but the flutter in your stomach wasn’t unpleasant. He had changed and maybe you had too.

“Okay, then, let’s go,” you said, inclining your head towards the forest. “We will be back soon.”

Yoongi followed you silently into the labyrinth of trees. There must be something he wanted to talk to you about. You didn’t believe he had joined you simply because he wanted to go on a walk. Yoongi was more solitary than any of the hybrids and although you were getting along better now, you weren’t his first choice of company.

Of course, your mind jumped to the worst possibilities. He had noticed what was happening between you, Namjoon and Seokjin and he was going to confront you about it. Growl and snarl at you the way he had done so often in the past. And what would you do then? He wasn’t going to harm you, you were sure of that. He wasn’t. But his words sneaked underneath your skin so easily, burrowed deep inside you and refused to budge.

It didn’t have to be something bad, you reminded yourself. It could be something else but you couldn’t think of anything.

He would find out about the three of you either way, regardless of how long you put it off. You were a family, you thought of them as your family even if Yoongi didn’t—you had a feeling the rest of them did. It was important for you to be honest with them. If he exploded, if he sneered and accused you of manipulating them, it would hurt too much. You had grown too comfortable with this new Yoongi and it would shatter a piece of you to go back. But you would try. You would get over it. You would have a few new cracks but that’s how life was, you got a little more broken as time passed.

“What are you thinking?” Yoongi disturbed the silence between you.

“Nothing interesting,” you said, ducking underneath a low hanging branch. The summer heat was muted in the shade of the forest. In there, you could forget that you were in California.

Yoongi’s footsteps echoed yours on the drying soil. “You are making that face you make when you are troubled.” Sometimes, you forgot how observant he was. He may not speak much but he was paying attention.

"It's just…" You weren't sure how honest you should be with him. "It's everything. There's too much going on and I've been too much in my head about it."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk? Right now?" you asked. The walk was supposed to help you clear your head and contemplate the situation you found yourself in. Now, one of the main characters starring in your worst case scenarios was offering to listen to you. “Are you sure you want to listen to me rant?”

You saw Yoongi shrug from the corner of your eye. “Are you going to?”

“Don’t feel like ranting today.” You looked up at the mosaic of the sky through the branches. “It’s too good of a day for that. My problems will be right where I left them when we get back home. I should let them go for a day.”

Yoongi hummed. “You should but you don’t look like you’ve let them go. They are still there.”

“I’m trying. It isn’t my fault they won’t go away. It’s too busy in here,” you tapped the side of your head with a finger, “and it’s a headline. It’s hard to look past it.” You had never been good at letting go of things easily. Fears, relationships, people. Your therapist would tell you to find the root of that and unravel it. You hadn’t touched it yet.

“It’s your head,” Yoongi said. “You should be the one to decide what are headlines and what is the fine print. Hell, throw away pages if you don’t want them there. Or hide them away to look at some other time.”

Your fingers grazed the rough bark of a tree. That wasn’t how you looked at it. Your brain threw things at you and you had to deal with them. Most of the time, when it came to matters like this, you weren’t the one controlling it.

“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” you admitted. “I guess I could make a new headline. A better one. Something like ‘Family trip to the lake. Everyone is required to have fun.’ How does that sound?”

A smile tugged at his lips. “It doesn’t sound too bad. It could be worse.”

The trees thinned as you got closer to your destination. This part of the shoreline wasn’t open and spacious the way the place you had picked for your picnic was. Trees dotted the ground and the the water was lower than the ground. A deck that had fallen in disrepair stood alone at the edge.

A path half overrun by vegetation led up to a house that didn’t fare much better. Vines were growing up its wooden walls and a large tree was leaning precariously on its side. It must have been abandoned for years, ten or more if you had to guess. Mold, stale and earthy, permeated the air. Two of the windows were broken. The one remaining curtain was moth eaten.

You liked to imagine its history and the reason it was abandoned. A family lived there for generations but when the times got faster and industrial, they left it in favor of the heart of the city where opportunities were said to lie. A grandson inherited the house but didn’t have the means to take care of it and no one would buy it. A family spent their summers there, swimming in the lake and lighting fires at night, the kids grew up, got jobs and forgot about this place. Memories weren’t enough to keep it alive and even they were gone.

That’s when your inner-storyteller jumped out and the stories turned darker, more interesting. Embroidered with intrigue, isolation, curses, ghosts and death.

Yoongi looked at the house in curious interest.

“I discovered this in my first trip to the lake. There is something compelling about it that makes you want to learn more about it, about the story behind it,” you said. “Who it belonged to, why it is abandoned.”

“Everything is about stories to you,” Yoongi observed.

You followed the overgrown path up to the house. “We are stories. Each day, each moment, many moments together. The world is a story. Sad and happy, exciting and boring, sometimes disappointing. Who we are is a collection of stories. The ones we tell and the ones we keep locked deep inside us. They shaped us, even the ones we don’t remember.”

“If the world is a story, is that why you do what you do? Because you don’t want to be a villain? Someone the audience won’t like?”

Birds chirped in the distance, the song of summer’s passing. The lake was calm but you thought you could hear it licking the rocks and the old deck.

Your whole life you had studied stories. You were fascinated by them, the feelings they evoked, their messages, their hidden meanings, their structure. It was why you were a good director and screenwriter, why people were drawn to your movies and shows. You could fundamentally understand stories, pull them apart until you reached their bare bones and build them up again. Everything was about stories.

Your life had to be the same then. You were a story like all the others. What set you apart?

You weren’t the villain, you couldn’t be. You didn’t want to be.

You remembered all the times in your life you had likened yourself to a character trope or thought how a situation would have unfolded if it were in a movie. Perhaps you were too focused on stories, too deep in worlds that didn’t exist. Did that influence the way you acted? The decisions you took?

“I’m not a movie hero,” you said instead. “I don’t think I try to be one. I try to do my best. Stories are about morality in a way and everyone can perceive them differently. Everyone will have their opinions.”

Yoongi stood next to you, your shoulders touching. “You act like a movie hero. Who would go into a hybrid auction, put themselves in danger, with nothing to earn?”

“Someone foolish.”

His lips quirked up, untangling something in your heart. “That too, I guess.”

“I went in the first time,” you said, looking at the rundown house. “The roof looked like it would fall down any moment but I went in anyway. I wanted to see what was inside, what life was left in it.”

Yoongi snorted. “You went into a house knowing the roof could fall down on your head?”

“I told you, I have my foolish moments.” There were too many of those to count. Little ideas overtook your rational side and tempted you. “I wasn’t alone though. At least I had that much common sense.”

You didn’t say that you had been with Jacob. It felt weird to mention him like his name would be intruding.

“Did you find anything?” Yoongi asked like he really cared about the answer.

“Not much. A few pieces of rotten furniture, a couple broken plates in the kitchen, a very very old vase. Little signs of life. There were lines carved on the wall, horizontal, like they were measuring children’s heights. Scratches on the kitchen counters. There was a frame broken on the floor, I couldn’t see the photo well, it was yellow with age.”

Together, you looked at the house quietly, picturing the life it once held.

“Let’s walk some more before our time is up and John sends a search party for us,” Yoongi said, his fingers brushing the delicate skin of your wrist. The touch was light as a feather. Autumn and winter rolled away and it was spring again. The melting of snow, the first flowers blooming.

“Don’t underestimate him. If we’re late, he is going to call a search party.”

“I don’t underestimate him. I know he will.”

You need to find new friends.

You aren’t particularly close to almost all of them, but you decide that maybe the sanest person, Yoongi, will be your new buddy. He seems just as excited about this idea as you are, only coming along to be entertained by the idiotic actions of your mutual friends.

This is how you ended up with the most annoying best friend you’ve ever had in your entire life. But that’s what best friends are for. Sure, he sleeps through your calls. Sure, he makes fun of you for needing a step stool to reach the napkins. (But honestly, who the hell puts napkins above the refrigerator? He needs a step stool too!) But he’s also there for you at your worst and always checks in with you.

He and his other best friend who also was at that haunted house break-in as you all affectionately call it (who is also technically now your best friend through some transitive property bull that you vaguely remember from math class) make up your small circle of close friends. Although you have to admit, you don’t know his best friend as well as you should.

But that didn’t matter, because when Yoongi is around the three of you have enough fun that the slight awkwardness between you and Hoseok isn’t palpable. He was like the glue holding you three together, and none of you minded that.

Every Halloween, the three of you would gather and do something completely unrelated to Halloween. Maybe it was a fuck-you to the party that brought you three together, or maybe you had never really thought about doing anything festive.

But this year, that changed.

“What do you mean you can’t make it?” You’re upset, and Yoongi can hear it through the phone call. “Are you not feeling well?”

“No,” Yoongi says, voice crackly over the phone. “I just…have a preoccupation. I’m really sorry, I know this is like…our thing. If you want, you can still do something with Hobi. I’m sure he’ll be happy to.”

You sigh. “It’ll be fine. We can just do something next week to make up for it. Don’t worry about it.”

He makes a sound of disbelief. “If you’re sure,” he says carefully. “I’ll see you guys later then. We can plan something on the weekend.”

"Fine by me, I'll see you later." You hang up the call and immediately collapse onto your couch. You’re grumpy now.

Okay, sue you, you don’t like when friends bail last minute, especially when it’s something that has been planned for well over a month. But Yoongi is your best friend so you can let it slide this time.

With a groan, you roll onto your side and make a grab for the tv remote. If nothing exciting is happening then you’re just going to become a couch potato for the night and watch some Netflix. And then you’re going to eat that s’mores ice cream you saved for a rainy day. If you can’t hang out like normal, then you’re going to have a fun night at least.

You get through three episodes before a knock sounds on your apartment door. A quick glance at the clock tells you that a good few hours have passed and it’s just about time for the trick-or-treaters to start their route.

“Just a minute,” you call out, detangling yourself from your blanket and grabbing the pumpkin bucket you have for the kids in your apartment.

As you swing your door open, the words “happy halloween” die on your tongue as you stare at Jung Hoseok at your door in a…questionable Dracula costume. You’re pretty sure the cape is made of duct tape.

“Trick or treat!” You stare at him and Hoseok’s smile falters just a moment before it’s back and even brighter than before. “Hi! Surprise! Yoongi cancelled on us, so I thought we’d just hang and have a fun night and show him what a loser he is.”

“Extremely tempting. Come in,” you laugh and step aside. Your place is a little messy, but not so much that you’re embarrassed about it. “Make yourself at home. You can help yourself to whatever‘s in the fridge or cupboard.”

Hoseok had been over so many times when your house had been picked for hangouts that he looks almost at home. You can’t blame him either, you’re exactly the same way at his and Yoongi’s shared flat. Speaking of which… ”Do you know why Yoongi cancelled? Since you’re his roommate and all.”

“Mmh, looking for that juicy tea? Unfortunately, I’m sad to report that I haven’t been told any more than you have. Hey, do you have any of that yummy fruit salad cup things that you had last time?”

You laugh at his unfailing ability to jump from conversation to conversation and you walk over and point at the side door. “In there. I always keep myself well-stocked, you know me and my fruit salad addiction.”

While he occupies your kitchen, you stand there a little awkwardly. You don’t know what to say, what to do. You’re glad for the company, of course, but it’s just so weird to have only Hoseok here that you’re socially freezing up.

“So, what were your plans on Halloween before I showed up and blessed you with my presence?” Hoseok asks before popping a spoonful of fruit into his mouth.

You hum, finally taking a seat on your kitchen island across from him. “I was just watching my favourite Halloween show. So nothing too important.”

“Ooh, which show?” And he’s opened a can of worms.

“The Haunting of Hill House! It has great storylines and the characterisation is amazing. I watch it every Halloween. And the soundtrack is phenomenal. I didn’t think it would be my cup of tea since I don’t really watch a lot of movies or shows, but the opening really drew me in and I’ve been hooked since.”

Hoseok smiles. “You could be a rapper with how you said all that in one breath. I’m honestly not the biggest fan of horror movies, but it sounds like you really enjoy it. What else are you into?”

“I absolutely love Hank Green.” You can’t help but giggle, slightly embarrassed. “Not something you’d expect, but his science videos are always so interesting, and since I don’t know a lot about it, his videos are always easy to follow. I could spend all day just browsing his videos. And libraries! I’m completely obsessed. I’d love to work in one someday.”

“That sounds cool, though. It’s cool that you take such an interest in that. I think furthering one’s knowledge is an admirable quality.” Hoseok punctuates his sentence with another spoonful of fruit. “I’m glad we’re hanging out. I feel like we don’t know each other that well even though we see each other far too much for that.”

You purse your lips. “That’s true. I guess we only really hang out when Yoongi’s here too, and I’m sure we hang out with Yoongi separately a lot too.”

“We do.” Hoseok nods and silence prevails again. It’s still awkward, but not like before. “Well. This has been great. He’ll be totally jealous of me eating your fruit cups.”

For some reason, that makes you laugh more than you should. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you be this sarcastic, to be honest. We should definitely hang out more.”

   “You were wee high,” your father had motioned to about his waist. “When I found you playing by the river.” 

   He moved from his place by the door and sat down in his luxurious leather chair. The man across from you felt foreign, and you somehow felt smaller than a mouse. 

   “You proclaimed that there were mermaids in the river and you wanted to swim.” Your father hummed unhappily. “I had to drag you away.” 

   Your back was rigid and stiff, the feeling of the wood was not enough to support an overwhelming tide of emotion. You had glanced down to the papers on his desk. It was a quick movement, because for some reason you felt as if he’d pounce the second you got distracted. You hadn’t been sure what game he was playing when you first sat down. The stack of papers was unusually tall. 

   “Why must you regale me with meaningless stories?” You snapped.

   “Humor your dear old dad for one more moment before you leave.” There was something heavier in his tone. Maybe he really was sad to see you leave to start your life? 

   You calmly looked him in the eye. “You are making no sense, father.” 

   “I wanted to sit you down so I can apologize.” 

   “For what?” What ever could a hardened criminal like your father have to apologize for? You had never even heard him say the word ‘sorry’ to your mother, much less to you. Maybe it was a few mumbles here and there, but he had never made a grandiose apology. Something in the way he was towering above you right now, in the way he was imposing himself, made you think that maybe this was more than a simple apology. An apology for an unstoppable train. 

   “I would like to apologize for ripping you away from the river once more.” 

   “What?” Your words were barely above a whisper as the gears in your brain tried to turn, but they were blocked at every exit with the hidden understanding of what was truly happening. 

   Papers were shoved in front of you. 

   You couldn’t describe your feelings towards Yoongi as fear, per say. The feeling was a queasy, uneasy, sinking feeling. The part with fear could only come from the knowledge that you’d be killed if they found out about what your father did. 

   You recalled an old news story. The mysterious “snakes”, as the Min family was called by unknowing newspapers, had killed a family of four; all because the father stole from them. There was no doubt in your mind that Yoongi would serve the same punishment to your father. A life for a life. Three lives for a life. You shivered. When you looked at him, from across a dining room table, you could see the darkness in his eyes that he tried to hide. Or maybe it was just your imagination, just like how those promises years ago felt like a fever dream. 

   Promise me. I never want to be a part of your life, your business, or your plans. Don’t even look at me once I leave. 

   That’s what you had told your father all those years ago. Now you were here, in this place, in this living room with fine furs and drapes. 

   “I think it’s time we talk about-” He gestured between himself and you. You refused to meet his eyes, instead focusing on the fine oil painting behind him. It was of two people embracing, the woman’s hand on his arm. 

   “There is nothing to talk about,” You said, “My father betrayed me and that’s that.” Yoongi’s eyes trailed yours, finding the point where you looked into the distance. The painting was swirled with green and yellow hues. The man stared with such conviction and pure intent down at his lover.

   “A Huguenot on St. Bartholomew’s Day,” He stated, his voice calm and tentative. Your eyes finally met his. “Millais.”  

   “I didn’t take you for an art lover.” You hummed questioningly. 

   “I have always loved that painting.” He replied and you found your eyebrows lifting. 

   “Quite mysterious.” 

   “I apologize.”

   You scoffed at his formalities. “Quit apologizing.”

   His smile lifted, so carefully and with such hesitancy that you began to wonder just what was behind those eyes. Yoongi was a mystery to you, really. It was like he wanted you, but was scared to make any moves, especially since your proposition. Time was running out on his clock and it felt like he’d barely made any effort. Did you want it to work out though? A part of you screamed to leave, get out, try and make a break for it as soon as possible. After all, you could always just avoid him for this month.

   “I’ll go first.” He cleared his throat. “My father never asked me how I was doing.” Yoongi stated as he put his knife and fork down. “He never told me that he loved me, but he did do things for me.” A swift motion and his napkin was neatly folded on his plate. 

“He gave me a pat on the shoulder and an appreciative head nod when I did something good. He only seemed to speak criticism, yet he showed love in his actions.” 

   You couldn’t help but see the same man of your father in Yoongi’s father. Although, your father never showed love in any sort of manner. He was…a bit of a tough love kind of father. 

   “Did we have the same father?” You found yourself saying, trying not to laugh at the similarities, despite Yoongi’s more serious expression. This did elicit a surprised response on his face, which you took great pride in claiming. Hah! Got you. Yet, the mental celebration in itself was a cause for concern. It meant you were getting attached to his little anecdotes and goofy reactions. It meant that you were in serious trouble. 

   “I guess we did.” He smiled and his lips pulled into the most adorable gummy smile. He was a charmer, for sure, but you still had trouble feeling comfortable in front of him. The way he softened his stone walls for you was unfathomable. In your past, every effort you had made to connect had been met with resilience. With a dry mouth, you realized that this was how you were treating Yoongi. 

   A child raised by a monster will always, inevitably, become one, right? That’s what you believed. Were you a monster? Maybe emotionally stunted, but you weren’t a monster were you? Your heart plummeted. Oh right, you basically helped cover up his father’s murder. Did blood run thicker than water? You hated to think that you aided your father in any way. What choice did you have? You didn’t want to die. His face, would that be the last thing you saw? 

   As the days trudged on, you were beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, you and your father were one in the same. It wasn’t that you were blood thirsty and cruel like your father, or that you were particularly lacking in emotion. If anyone had asked you what you admired most about your father, you would have said his ability to keep a secret.

  More importantly, his ability to keep a lie. There were certain things you were sure he would take to his grave, secrets no one would ever know. Maybe you could take this secret to the grave, but honestly? Yoongi would probably figure out who did it, and you would follow suit on the chopping block. You had really dug yourself into a hole. 

   You should have just told him when you first realized. A voice in your head scolded. But we were scared. We didn’t know it could get any worse. Another voice whispered. 

   “Holy fuck. What am I doing with my life.” You whispered into the mirror. You leaned against the counter, staring yourself in the face. “Come on! Just say it, Just. Say. It.” You hissed at yourself, dragging your hands unhappily down your face. 

   You slapped the counter with annoyance; annoyance with yourself. You were so fucking stupid. You would have shown loyalty to your new family, your new husband, if you had just confessed. The little voice said in a low rumble. 

   You are going to get yourself killed. The stronger voice warned. 

   “Shut up! Shut up.” You murmured and shook your head. Deep breaths, deep breaths. Like the bloody sun, your body felt on fire. This place felt too cold. You wanted to burn it down. 

   “Miss, are you okay?” A maid knocked on the door. With all this freezing marble, the voice felt like a sharp knife piercing your skull. You were bleeding knowledge like an overflowing sink. Why did this secret bring you so much pain? If you didn’t care at all about Yoongi, it wouldn’t matter. 

   But you did. His smile and the way he so unknowingly made you laugh. Family? You didn’t need a family. Yet you felt like you needed him, his voice, his presence, just to help guide you through this unknown life. His hand on your shoulder, like that would make everything alright. You clung to him like he would make everything alright. 

   “No. He’s not the answer.” You exhaled. “I can’t do this anymore. What am I doing here?” 

   Another knock. “Miss?”

   “Go away!” You barked. “I need to think.” You said to yourself with a deadly tone. 

   The maid’s shoes clicked down the hallway. 

   Suddenly it felt like you were ten, listening to your mother’s heels clicking down the hall as you pretended to sleep. She would stop outside your door every time. You had no idea why she pressed herself to close to the door, why she paused for so long. 

   “Fuck.” You released yourself from the knuckle white grip on the counter and walked back into the bedroom. The manor was so still at night. It felt wrong. You were so used to screaming and fighting, to bottles smashing and tears falling. It was making you shiver. 

   Even under the covers, you couldn’t rest. It all felt too cold, too foreign. Yoongi’s door was nearby. You could always just tell him. Get it all over with. What was it worth, staying like this? 

   Everything told you stop, but you still left the safety of your room. The closer you got to his door, the more and more sure your footsteps fell. 

   “I hate that I’m doing this.” You muttered as you stood outside his imposing doorway. Time to pay penance. 

   “Doing what?” 

   Your heart skipped a beat, and not in the good way, no you were pretty sure you had a minor heart attack. You turned around to see him standing. His eyes scanned your appearance, a little disheveled, and his head tilted in confusion. 

   “What are you doing here?” He inquired curiously. 

   “I–” You started and then stopped before figuring out what to say. Just spit it out. But no, you were a coward. A coward for your own life. “–do you have any more blankets?”

   “Are you cold?” He hummed and scooted past you to the door. He didn’t even hesitate as he unlocked his door and gestured for you to follow. 

   Inside was more colorful than you expected. His room was a dark forest green with bronze accents. His bed posts were silver and draped in gold. The Min family crest rested above the bed. A snake, it’s fangs poised and ready to strike. The tension felt stiff as he rummaged through his drawers. You took the time to wander around his room, your hands brushing metal trophies and green tapestries. Decadence at its finest. 

   Yoongi finally pulled out a dark green blanket that would certainly clash with your lightly colored room. His entire room felt dark and brooding, a little too dark for your taste, but you supposed that’s why he gave you a brighter room. 

   He handed you the blanket and started to walk towards the door. You took that as your cue to leave, but you hesitated at the door. The man stared with a mixture of confusion and careful observation. 

   “Could the man have been a complete stranger with no affiliation or motive?” Yoongi whispered. “Or perhaps they were closer than they appeared. We’ll find them. Take what we need.” He smiled.

   You stiffened, but tried to play it off as a shiver. He took the blanket from your hands and placed it carefully around your shoulders. 

   “We’ll be doing an internal investigation soon.” The man continued. 

   You could barely breathe. This was it. You were about to be killed. His eyes felt colorless and endlessly dark in this imposing light. Finally he let his lips pull into a tight smile.

   “But I wouldn’t be concerned, wife. You’ll be interviewed for protocol’s sake but really, no stress.” He said soothingly, yet your heart was thumping wildly. “I just wanted to let you know, in case you hear anything.” 

   “Of course.” You dipped your head. Then you slowly turned around and walked back to your room. You could feel his eyes on your back, but you were focused on slow and measured steps as you tried not to give away your panic. 

   “Goodnight.” He called to your back. 

   “Goodnight!” You responded, trying to hide the shake. You heard the soft footfalls of his steps and his door shutting. You took off running. 

   You had begun to hear things at night. Footsteps thundering down the halls. Shouting and a bang every now and then. You were at home. Josh, no, Taehyung stood by the door at night now. He often shot you a little smile, but you didn’t often have the energy to return it. 

   “Your father and my father had a lot in common. It’s not wonder they put us two together.” You tried to make conversation, anything to keep the subject off of the upcoming investigation. 

   He seemed almost startled as he looked up from his desk. His head had been buried in papers, his pen scratching against the grain. You had decided to pop in and have a chat. You found yourself pausing by his door and wanting to say something. Anything. Anything to get your mind off your conscience. 

   “I think we have a lot in common too.” Yoongi responded, his eyes refocused on his work. 

   “What makes you say that?” 

   The pen stopped. He sat back slowly, the leather of the chair stretching as he leaned. His hand went to his lips as he considered the question. 

   “Hm, well, for one, you and I had terrible fathers.” 

   You snorted. “Not by choice.” That earned a smile which brought you an unspoken happiness. 

   “I dislike violence, I assume you do too.” 

   “That’s true.”

   “But we have grown so accustomed to the violence in our homes as we grew that what we consider mellow, others might find atrocious.” 

   You fell quiet and let him speak. 

   “Do you ever feel so angry that you won’t ever get the chance to grow up normal? Your childhood has passed and so much of it was out of your control. Now you are where you are and that’s that. There is no chance to go back and change everything. That is just the unfortunate situation we were raised in.” 

   You felt your throat close up. No one had ever been so frank with you. And no one had ever been able to understand your life, but he could. 

   “Yes.” You responded. You entered his office and sat slowly in the chair across from him. His eyes followed you the whole time. “Sometimes, I get filled with rage. And it scares me.” You admitted quietly. His attention was fully on you and you could tell he was truly trying to understand you. You hadn’t felt that in a long time. “I get so angry I want to throw something. I want to react like my father. But,” Your hands folded into fists in your lap. “I just remind myself that I didn’t make myself a monster, he did.” You took another shaking breath and stared him in the eyes. “How could they do that…to a child?” 

   His eyes saddened, his mouth becoming an uncomfortable frown. He hesitantly reached across the table and you reach over, letting him hold your hand.

   “I can’t answer that.” Yoongi said, his voice a soothing scratch. “But I can say that you’re not a monster. At least not in my eyes. I don’t think you will ever be.” 

   You stood and pulled your hands away. What were you thinking? Coming here, having this conversation with him. 

   “I hope so.” You didn’t know if he heard you, but he seemed satisfied with your conversation, a smile on his face as he returned to his work. How could you break his heart with your knowledge? 

  You were sweating now. The green blanket was long discarded on the ground by the time they came to get you. It was all too much. The shouting from those held in captivity, the people murmuring about gold roses. You felt like a rose about to be plucked and all your thorns had been torn off. You felt raw, exposed. 

   Yoongi walked at a pleasant pace behind you, keeping an eye on your hands. Your blood pressure was rising like the swell of a wave. The place they brought you was a basement, a part of the mansion you hadn’t seen before. It was hidden, a trapdoor under the office rug. The stairway was cramped, painfully dark, and every sound was amplified. 

   You’re going to die down here. Yet your soul felt hollowed out, like none of it mattered. It was like you were already a ghost. You didn’t want to die. Suddenly your inner voice was screaming. I don’t want to die! I don’t want to– You clutched the sides of your head and the party stopped. 

   “What’s wrong?” Yoongi quickly hurried to your aid and you accepted his warmth, just like you had in the past. It was instinctual. He opened his arms and you leaned in. 

   “I’m scared! I don’t want to do this!” You cried and it felt so wrong, yet so relieving to let yourself sob in his arms. 

  “It’ll be okay.” He hummed. “You just have to answer some questions. It’ll be short.” 

   “I can’t.” You suddenly pulled away. Your world was spinning, but the words were leaving your mouth before you could answer. “My father did this.” You choked. “My father killed your father. The rose is my family crest.” You moved towards the entrance, edging away as his arms fell limp to his side. 

   “You knew?” 

   “I’m so sorry, Yoongi. I just–I wanted to tell you but–I didn’t want to die!” You felt like a mess as you inched up the stairs. He remained standing at the bottom, his feet planted and his face crestfallen. 

   “You should have just told me. I-I wouldn’t have killed you! That was something my father would do, but not me. I…had a feeling you knew, but I wanted you to come clean. I wanted to…to show you that I wouldn’t hurt you so that you would just say it. I--” His voice cracked slightly and the guards nearby looked away out of respect. “I wanted closure too.” 

   Now you were the frozen one. 

   “I didn’t want it to come to this. I…I really tried to get to know you.” 

   “I didn’t ask you to try to know me.” You hissed. 

   “That isn’t fair! I wouldn’t have held it against you! I just wanted to-to–” You had never heard him raise his voice and it made the hair on the back of your neck stand tall. 

   “To what? Win my affection? I have no other choice but to love you, Yoongi!” You found yourself breaking apart. Because maybe you did have a choice, and your heart chose wrong. 

   “Love…me?” He found himself fumbling with the words and you’d never seen that before either. 

   You felt like a caged animal. Your instincts followed suit. And when a caged animal has the chance to escape, they take it. 

   Through the halls, your feet pounding against marble. Cool and slick with sweat. You passed pillars and busts of the Min family. You raced by the dining room, the marvelous windows of stained glass and the gold tinted metals. 

   “Wait!” His voice was thundering. 

   Out the door. You didn’t look back, couldn’t. You were focused on breathing and trying not to trip. You made it to the bottom of the street when you realized you didn’t know where you were going. 

   The wind whistled in your ears and your hair ruffled unhappily. Silence. Where were the men chasing you? You found yourself muttering under your breath, your lips forming words but sound barely escaping. 

   “To the river to the river.” you whispered. “Just keep moving.” 

   The river always soothed you. It was like a constant in your ever-changing life, which in itself was a bit of an oxymoron. The river always changed, but it changed with you, not against you. The dirt was always a nutrient soil teeming with clovers. The lights of the city in the distance reflected off the smooth stream of water. The toss and turn of the water lapped over new rocks every few seconds, the glistening surface of freedom. 

   “I knew I could find you here.” Mr. Seong said behind you, stepping from the shadows. You knew you had felt a pair of eyes on you. Your eyes refused to meet his and every bone in your body tensed as you sat against the rough rock bed. You didn’t care anymore. You were too tired, too pained in the twisting of your heart, to move. 

   You heard him sit next to you. His long legs stretching next to yours reminded you of another time. He used to pull you into his arms, between his legs, and wrap you in a hug as he rocked from side to side. Why did you still grasp onto what was kind and warm when he had been so cold since? Maybe because your inner child knew he was capable of loving you like he used to, he just chose not to. Maybe that broke your heart more than any betrayal. 

   “A father is supposed to be his daughter’s superhero. A man to look up to.” He mused. “I have not been the best father to you.” 

   Redemption. God, you wanted to allow him in again. To let him be the father he wasn’t able to be before. You wanted to tell him and then you wanted to let him go. He was dead to you. You tilted your head to look at the moon. It was so bright, not a cloud in the sky. The stars were out, but the pollution hid most in a sort of orange and gray hue.

   “You are no father to me.” You found yourself biting out, because you had grown past that younger child, begging for love. No, you didn’t need it, and you didn’t need a father. 

   “Come on, honey, give your father a hug.” He opened his arms and you turned away, standing from the rocks with a decisive crunch. 

   “No. How did you even find me?” You hissed as you brushed off the dirt, still refusing a single glance in his direction. 

   He stood as well and you had forgotten what a big presence he was. He felt like he towered over you, like he took up all the space in this open air. Your safe space, invaded. 

   “I always know where to find you, honey.” He tsked like you had lost a big game, as if you were dumber than he thought. 

   “Get away from me.” You turned to face him fully. His features were made of pity. You wanted to kill him for that. It was when the other steps, the unnatural and distinctly human rustle, fell behind you. All the fight left your body. 

   “No.” Your eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t go against the Min family any more than you already have, would you?” 

   Mr. Seong stepped carefully over the rocks and reached for your face, which you quickly stepped away from. His fingertips just graced your jawline before he took a step back. 

   “Oh darling, you were always a Seong and you will remain one until you die.” He chuckled lowly. His eyes snapped to the men behind you. “Take her.” 

   A crack, a piece of cloth, and you felt the world tumbling away from beneath you. Your world was crumbling. You were already nothing but ruins anyway.

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