#jhopeedit

Warnings : reader being chased in the street by a cop, lots of unsaid stuff and some characters making weird threats, lots of running and jumping on trains and skating (no shit), bits of mystery because that's one of my fics duh, reader is hit by a train at some point, a converse high joke hidden somewhere, hobi is the sweetest as always, mention of oral (f) and sex, dry humping, riding, it's pretty soft to be honest, minors dni!

Authors note : For anyone wondering, yes, I got a bit carried away and wrote a whole lore around a mobile game. I had fun tho :') I don't think you need to be familiar with said game to understand this fic by the way, just trust me and give it a chance ! (pretty please)

Gentle reminder that all rights are reserved, so please do not copy, translate or repost my stories under your name. Also I do not own BTS or their actions, the stories are entirely fictionnal and does not depict real-life events or involve any actual member of BTS.

This city stinks. Literally and figuratively.

Heaving a soul-deep sigh, you shake a spray can half-heartedly, not even checking the color beforehand.

When you first arrived in Southline a few months ago, you genuinely thought you were going to love it here. Genuinely. You couldn't wait to explore the different neighborhoods you'd seen in the brochures —to learn all their secrets, maybe even meet people who could help you discover this city that seemed to overflow with mystery. God knows there's no shortage of that here.

And you did meet people —all of them completely unhinged. Most are overfit lunatics who, sure, know every back street like the back of their hand, but move way too fast for you to ever keep up. And they all have this way of talking, of carrying themselves, that's just a little… off. Not to mention that hanging around with them hasn't helped you uncover a single one of those famous mysteries —if anything, you got the distinct impression it was the opposite. Like they were actively steering you away from them.

So now you're the one keeping your distance. Wandering on your own, trying to find the hidden spots without getting lost along the way. Which, needless to say, isn't going great.

This is how, as the afternoon winds down, you've ended up stranded in the middle of the Docks, standing between two parked trains, messing around with some abandoned spray cans to keep yourself busy.

One stroke. Then another. Then another again, until a ridiculously lopsided smiley face takes shape, as though looking down on you. You stare at your masterpiece with a dubious pout. Yeah. Definitely not your thing, tagging.

What are you even doing here? Something is clearly escaping you. When, a few hours ago, you decided to stray from the tourist streets you usually stuck to, it was driven by an irresistible urge to get closer to the water. As if every part of you was screaming to do it, as if the answers to your questions would be waiting there.

Next time, you'll ignore that stupid feeling —because this place is nothing more than an old commercial port, and it's answering absolutely none of your questions.

Sighing again, you grab another can and focus on your lines, trying not to think about the little group of lunatics that took you under their wing when you first arrived. About ten boys and girls, a little older than you, completely out of their minds but kind enough, who welcomed you in. You thought they'd help you, at first, but you quickly understood that road was going nowhere. If only Jimin didn't go so cold every time you asked him anything…

“Hey! You, over there!” A voice yanks you sharply out of your thoughts. You startle, rooted to the spot by the fury in that bark. The spray can slips from your hand, rolls to your feet, but you barely register it —your eyes have already found the source of the voice: a man in his forties, a few meters away, pointing straight at you with a furious expression as he blows as hard as he can into a whistle. A monstrous dog stands at his feet, grey and hairless —but with plenty of teeth— eyeing you like you're a problem to be dealt with.

“You're under arrest!” The man bellows, closing in, blowing into his whistle again, and only then do you notice with dread what he's wearing —a green uniform with yellow insignia. City police.

“We're not exactly allowed to tag, which is what makes it so fun,” Jimin had explained with a wide grin, when you'd asked him why he and his crew got such a kick out of vandalizing walls and train cars. His grin had quickly turned into a grimace. “Not allowed at all, actually. The cops have been trying to nail us for vandalism for years. If one of them ever catches you in the act, uh… Run, I guess?”

Now would probably be a good time to kick yourself for keeping such terrible company, people who are utterly incapable of giving decent advice —and yet you do exactly what he said: you run.

You've only just arrived here, and you still haven't found the answers to your questions —there's no way you're ending up behind bars already.

You bolt before you've even had time to think about it  —and you've barely taken two steps when that piercing whistle sounds again behind you, followed by barking. You glance back over your shoulder —only to discover with horror that the officer has broken into a run after you.

And gosh, this hairless dog really is ugly.

“Come back here!” He roars, beside himself with rage, as his brute of a dog strains against the leash to get to you.

“You've got to be kidding me!” You gasp, pushing your legs harder to pick up the pace. Jimin could have warned you their cops were unhinged too, seriously !

Refocusing on your feet and where you're going, you try to recall the city map —the priority is getting out of the Docks as fast as possible. You barely know this area, but if you can make it back to the city center, you could manage on the main roads…

Fat chance. The main reason you ended up spray-painting some poor train in the first place is that you were completely lost —an urgent chase isn't exactly the moment you're going to find your bearings.

So you just follow your instincts. You run and run, your shoes sending dull thuds into the air as they pound against the metal rails. Except luck isn't on your side —you go right at an intersection, only to find yourself in a dead end, blocked by more train cars and a blue shipping container. Out of breath, you scramble up a small wagon that comes up to your shoulders, then climb onto a larger one. You're nowhere near as fit as Jimin and his friends —that one move costs you a considerable amount of time, and by the time you make it onto the roof, the furious officer and his dog have caught up. You swear that wretched animal smirks at you before spitting on the ground.

“You!” He jabs a finger at you, seething. Your stomach drops —you don't waste a second asking for mercy. You run.

You can hear him screaming in rage behind you through your ragged breathing —not a good sign, given how loud he is— and you clench your fists to force yourself to push harder, because if this maniac is doing what you think he's doing and climbing up onto the wagons after you, then you're in serious trouble.

You reach the end of the wagon before you've figured out where to go, and nearly have a heart attack when you get to the edge. The ground is two meters below —not far enough to die —or so you hope— but far enough to break something if you land badly, and then it's all over for you.

Unless maybe you…

Your legs are eating up the distance to the edge too fast. Seven meters. Five. Three…

I’m out of my mind, you think, eyes locking onto another train parked a few meters away. Completely and utterly insane —Two meters, one…

Tell my parents I love them, you beg silently, just before launching yourself off the edge of the wagon with everything you have…

…Just in time to land on the roof of the next one, catching yourself as best you can on your trembling legs. You pause, frozen with your breath heaving, as if moving just an inch would make you fall over.

You can't believe that worked.

Without even looking, you can hear the officer still coming, and his beast of a dog snarling. You glance at a point far ahead, toward the mass of containers being shifted by cranes toward the cargo ships and the perfectly aligned moving trains —and as you straighten up, hacking up your lungs in the polluted Docks air, a clear path takes shape in front of you.

Right. You must have genuinely lost your mind —that's the only explanation for the decision you're about to make. Or maybe a furious cop breathing down your neck is all the motivation you need. You don't stop to decide which —you run.

Again and again, with everything you've got —and when you reach the end of the wagon, you clench your fists and jump. You managed it once, you can do it again —and sure enough, you can. You catch yourself clumsily, scraping your knees in the process, but you make it, and you barely spare a thought for what you just did before you're  running again.

You leap from wagon to wagon despite the stitch building and spreading in your side —glancing back now and then to make sure the old man is still following, and God, his stamina. Why are you nearly dying when this seems like nothing more than a pleasant stroll to him?!

You cry out in fright when a tunnel looms on the horizon, just high enough to graze the rooftops of the train cars without scraping —but not high enough for you to pass through standing. You're coming in too fast, and there's no room to climb back down without getting caught —so you do the only thing that comes to mind. You jump, grab the roof of the tunnel entrance, and haul yourself up with the last strength left in your arms.

Suddenly the ground beneath your feet is concrete, not dirt and rails, but you don't stop to dwell on it —you run, on autopilot. The ground shakes underfoot, the barking echoes behind you, but you —

Wait. The barking?

You throw a glance over your shoulder, and if you weren't running as fast as your legs can carry you, you would definitely have stopped dead. The old man still is right there with his dog, whistle going, keeping pace without slowing for even a second.

And that's when you understand —he's done this kind of chase before, and he knows you haven't. He's just waiting for you to take a wrong turn. Tears of panic prick at your eyes at the thought —because you don't know the way, and you can't keep up this speed for much longer. You’re going to get lost, or you're gonna have to stop to cough up your lungs, or you'll…

A cry tears out of you when the ground disappears from under your feet. Not disappears exactly —vanishes as the tunnel ends. You drop hard onto a wagon, a sharp yelp of pain escaping as your knees slam into the metal, but you catch yourself just in time to avoid also going face-first into the ground —because this train is very much in motion, moving fast enough that you can barely get your footing.

Your legs are shaking by the time you manage it, and despite barely being able to keep your balance, you somehow find it in you to throw yourself sideways onto another train —this one stationary.

The barking keeps ringing in your ears, suddenly close enough to make you flinch —you stumble, startled, and slip over the rounded edge of the wagon. You yelp, your hand catching a metal bar that slows your fall, but hitting the ground only makes things worse. Your head is spinning, you can't catch your breath, and you have absolutely no idea where you are.

You only know two things: you're no longer in the Docks, and a train is hurtling straight toward you.

Everything crashes together in your head. You have no strength left, no idea where you are, and no idea how to get out of the way of the wagon bearing down on you, because you're hemmed in on all sides by stationary trains. Your legs are shaking so badly you nearly crumple again, your hair whipped up by the wind the approaching wagon is pushing ahead of it, growing bigger by the second…

The driver sees you, a sharp, alarm-like whistle suddenly blaring, but it’s not like he can stop the train altogether. Behind you, you hear the officer shout, triumphant, but you’re too frozen to move —only able to watch as the train gets closer, and closer…

You suddenly hear the officer call, way much closer than before —but it's not his voice that snaps you out of your daze.

No, it's the other one —far calmer and steadier, cutting through the chaos from your left.

“Hey, psst! Over here!”

The time seems to stop, the train to slow, as if giving you a moment while you turn your head toward the source of the voice, dazed.

At first you see nothing —just a blinding light that makes you squint. Then something takes shape. A silhouette, hooded, perched on the roof of a wagon, and a hand, outstretched toward you. “Quick!” the voice thunders, more urgent now, and you don't think. You grab the hand.

Everything snaps back to life in a fraction of a second. You're hauled off the ground by what feels like superhuman strength, and you barely have time to process what's happening before you collide with a solid, steady body —just as the train tears through the exact spot where you was standing less than a quarter of a second ago, moving fast enough that the wind it produces nearly knocks you both over. In the distance, you hear the officer's whistle, but you barely have time to worry about how close he is before the silhouette suddenly tips backward, taking you with it, one hand placed protectively at your back, ignoring your cry of fright. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut, helpless, as the unknown figure takes the brunt of the impact when you land on a surface that is painfully hard and unstable.

For a few seconds, you can't move. Literally. You're frozen in place, as much from the terror of what just happened —you almost got hit by a train, for God's sake— as from everything happening around you. The ground shakes beneath your body, so violently that you feel every vibration in each of your limbs, and the wind roars so loudly in your ears that you can't hear anything else. When you manage to open your eyes again, you're blinded once more by a bright light that wasn't there in the Docks —that wasn't anywhere in this city that you'd ever been.

You don't have time to question that, though. “Now,” that same voice thunders again, calm and self-assured —and you barely have time to try to understand what it means before two hands lift you by the waist and you're suddenly carried into the air before you can react. You try to grab onto the silhouette, panicked, and only now do you understand that the ‘ground’ you'd been standing on was actually a fast-moving train, and that your new companion has literally just jumped off it while it was still in motion.

You scream uncontrollably. You're going to die. This time, you're sure of it —you're going to die, you're going to die, you're going to die, you're going to —

Your companion lands on a wooden platform, so lightly that you barely feel the impact. He then sets you down calmly, with a gentleness that surprises you so much your legs give out, and you crumple to the ground, too weak to hold you up.

In a near-daze, you draw your knees to your chest, tears blurring your vision.

This is insane. In the span of a few minutes, you almost got arrested by a cop, almost got hit by a train, almost died smashed into the ground… and you're fine.

It takes you a few seconds to calm down enough to realize it. Apart from your palms and knees being a little scraped up, and a deep ache in your leg muscles, you're fine.

Slowly, you lift your head and take in your surroundings. You freeze all over again when you notice how far up you are — much higher than when you stupidly climbed onto that wagon earlier —before relaxing once it becomes clear that the wooden platform beneath you is more than solid. It's attached to some kind of green crane, but that isn't what catches you off guard.

No —it's everything around it. Trees. Dozens of trees in a stunning, lush green, gleaming in the brilliant sunlight that floods the perfectly blue sky above your head. In the distance, the same landscape stretches out, except those trees are a vivid, shocking pink — swaying gently in the breeze like candy floss at a fairground.

You had never seen this place before —and God, it takes your breath away. Where on earth have you landed?

“Anything broken?” You startle when the silhouette crouches down in front of you, suddenly reminding you you're not alone. Here, beneath this perfectly blue sky, you can make him out more clearly —a guy around your age, wearing ridiculously colorful sneakers, baggy blue jeans and a grey hoodie pulled up over his face that hides his features. He reaches a hand toward you, looking almost worried, but everything in front of you makes so little sense that you can barely process his question.

“What is this place?” You ask instead, your eyes drifting across the surrounding landscape with a mix of nerves and fascination. “This isn't the Docks anymore, is it?”

The guy pauses, caught off guard by your response, before a small laugh escapes him. You may not be able to see his face under that hood, but you'd swear a huge smile has just split it in two. “No, definitely not the Docks. That's almost an insult, honestly.”

“So where are we?” You press, your curiosity —and that damned feeling, the same one that drove you to the Docks earlier— pushing you forward. That voice screaming at you that the answers to your questions are here.

“You're in Dolorean Park, sweetheart,” he answers, sounding so proud he's almost smug as he tucks his hands into his pockets. “The old guy won't follow you here —different crew takes over in this neighborhood, and even if that weren't the case, I’m pretty sure we lost him. He's getting tougher by the day, I'll give him that…”

You're barely listening —your brain short-circuited the moment he said the words Dolorean and Park.

It simply isn't possible —he must be mistaken. He's talking about Dolorean Park, the thriving neighborhood that houses the largest history museums in the entire country, that shelters endangered plant species, the one they talk about so much in the brochures, online… everywhere?!

“That can't be true,” you murmur, stunned, barely managing to keep the excitement out of your voice.

“Of course it can,” he replies, oblivious to the joy exploding inside you. “Quietest part of it, sure —all the action happens further west, but you'd better not go near there while the old man's after you. What on earth did you do to wind him up that badly? I haven't seen him like that in a long time…”

Jimin had told you it was impossible to get there. That it was too far, that with the new museum that had recently opened it was too risky… Had he lied to you? All it took was jumping off a moving train?

“I, uh… tagged a parked train,” you mutter, bewildered. You have to shake your head to remember the guy is talking to you, honestly, and when you manage to refocus on him —ignoring your heart hammering at the thought of finally being in Dolorean Park— he bursts out laughing.

He puts a hand on his stomach to steady himself, shaking his head as if it's nothing more than an old joke. “Yeah, doesn't surprise me with him. Watch yourself next time, the old guy doesn't take kindly to anyone messing with his precious trains.”

He must read the confusion on your face, because he tilts his head to one side, that wide smile peeking out from under his hood. “You're new here?”

You frown slightly, but nod anyway, brushing off your palms. “Mm-hmm. You? Who are you?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, but something shifts in him. His smile seems to fade, and he turns almost distant, even though he hasn't moved an inch. “Oh, nobody important. Will you be able to find your way home?” He changes the subject, glancing off into the distance. “If you want to get back to the Docks, just follow the road east, trains are quiet at this hour. If it's the city center you're after, head toward—”

“What's your name?” You cut him off, barely paying attention to the directions. As if you're leaving Dolorean Park now that you've finally found it.

You’ve entered full detective mode, at this point —meh, not your fault your curiosity gets picked when people try and hide things from you— and if you weren't so focused on trying to make out his face, you might not catch the way he sighs. A tiny, discreet little sigh, but a sigh all the same.

“Why do you want to know?” He mutters, almost grumbling.

“To thank you, obviously,” you shoot back, annoyed by his sudden change in tone. “You saved my life, it's the least I can do.”

“No need to. Anyone would have done it.”

“Still. I insist.”

“Just tell yourself it was fate,” he grumbles, and you swear he rolls his eyes under that hood —but when you wobble trying to get back to your feet, he holds out a hand to help you anyway. His hand is warm and calloused in yours, and he surprises you again by pulling you toward him at a startling speed, as if you weigh nothing at all. “I told you, I'm no—”

You stumble, caught off guard by how quickly you find yourself upright, grabbing onto his chest to keep from falling. He hastily plants his other hand in the small of your back, planting one foot behind him to steady you both and stop you from toppling off the platform. You don't even want to think about what would have happened without that, because at that very moment a train tears past at full speed just below you —it would have hit you for certain.

It passes so fast it throws the air into motion behind it, sending the trees swaying and the lampposts swinging —but more than anything, it sends the hood of the boy holding you carefully in his arms slowly sliding back, until it gently plops down on his shoulders.

Your breath catches when a perfectly straight nose, a sharp jaw and two bright eyes framed by a sweep of dark hair come into view. His mouth forms a small surprised oh as your gazes meet and lock. The tops of his cheeks —and certainly yours too, if you’re being honest— flush from the sudden closeness.

This boy has a perfect face, with high cheekbones and fine features, and God, you want to pinch his cheeks so badly.

You must be blushing even more than he is, because a slow smile spreads across his lips, a spark of mischief lighting up his eyes. You watch those bright eyes move across your face, his smile growing wider with every second, leaving you completely unable to move or speak. His smile is seriously dazzling. He seems to be thinking, attentive, taking his time with every detail of your face, then shrugs one shoulder as if reaching a quiet decision.

“You know what?” he breathes, all smiles, and you flush even deeper when his breath grazes your cheek and sends a trail of shivers down your spine. “Let's start over.” His hand presses more firmly against your waist, as if he's suddenly holding you to feel you against him rather than to keep you from falling. His eyes are so bright you can't look anywhere else. “I'm Hoseok, but all my friends call me Hobi. You ?”

His fingers slowly trace the small of your back, a quiet invitation, and you have to force yourself to swallow before you murmur your name, your chest tight from how your heart is beating its way out of your ribs —because of a very different and new kind of excitement now.

He smiles, repeating your name in a murmur, as if testing how it tastes on his tongue. Then, with yet another sideways grin, “So… I heard you're new here?”

The hours that followed were enough for you to understand two things. 

The first, that the Dolorean Park neighborhood is even better than anything you could have imagined. More lush, more beautiful, more full of hidden corners just waiting to be explored. More alive, more full of beauty and dreams that seem to come to life before your eyes, and so much more besides.

Full of wonders that did nothing but make your eyes light up and leave your mouth hanging open in awe.

"This is incredible," you couldn't help but breathe, overwhelmed, when Hoseok took you into the district's biggest museum and you found yourself standing before the skeleton of the largest dinosaur that ever lived —a nine-meter T-rex, its skeleton displayed in full, which is nothing short of a feat.

Hoseok just shrugged, a small, smug smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he draped his arm over your shoulder. “Not really. It wasn't even found here, the city just had enough money to buy it first.”

“You're completely ruining the fun for me,” you grumbled in response, shooting him a withering look. That made him laugh, and he tickled your ribs in revenge.

“If that's all it takes to impress you, you're not ready for what's coming,” he said lightly, but with his eyes fixed on yours, full of promise.

Jung Hoseok then made it his mission to show you every last detail of the city. He took you through secret cellars, accessed through trapdoors hidden in the middle of parks. Introduced you to every piece in the museums as if he owned them, every shop on the main streets as if he ran them himself, all while pointing out every hidden corner and showing you which trains to climb onto to quickly get from point A to point B.

That was when you understood the second thing : that Hoseok had clearly lied to you earlier when he claimed not to be anyone important.

He seemed to want to talk about anything but that, so you said nothing —yet you did notice how he knows this neighborhood like the back of his hand. Not the way Jimin does, having learned to navigate it to survive with his crew, but as if he had a genuine interest in this place, a real connection to it. You noticed how, while he got you into every museum for free, it was never through the main entrance —always through a door at the back of the building. And the way he always takes care to glance over his shoulder when guiding you through the streets, just before placing his hand in the small of your back and smiling at you as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

Maybe you should have said something —probably. But how could you have focused on that, when every smile he threw your way was softer than the last, each one sending your poor heart into a flutter? How, when every word that left his mouth had you hanging on his lips, hungry for more, when everything you said seemed to fill him with such immense joy that sometimes he'd double over laughing?

You've only known him for a few hours —if you can even call it knowing someone, after meeting like this by chance— and yet it feels like a lifetime. In the way your sentences bounce off each other, the way your thoughts run in the same direction. In the way his steps fall perfectly in time with yours, the way his hand always finds the small of your back, where your fingers ache to tuck themselves into his. In the smiles you exchange, the knowing glances that could almost make you believe you share some secret.

Maybe you should be asking questions. You probably should. But being with him, even for just a few short hours, is so simple, so peaceful, that all you want is to forget that one tiny, minuscule detail that doesn't quite add up.

So instead of asking questions, you lose yourself in his chocolate eyes, in his tousled hair and his irresistible heart-shaped smile —without even being frightened by how easy it is.

“Why was that police officer so angry, anyway ?” You ask suddenly as we watch the violet hues spreading across the sky as the sun goes down, sitting on the edge of a bridge with your legs dangling over nothing. Your head has somehow ended up resting on his shoulder —you're not usually the type to take risks like this, sitting over open air that way, but with him beside you, his chest rising and falling gently with each breath and his warm thigh against yours, you suddenly don't have a single worry.

“Hmm ? Who ?” he asks, lifting his head with a confused expression like a lost little animal. “Oh, the old guy? No idea,” he shrugs the shoulder that isn't holding your head. “As far as I know, he's always been more or less like that. With him, you don't touch the trains —that's a guaranteed way to end up in trouble.”

“But everyone tags trains, don't they? I've seen loads of people do it, and those spray cans weren't even mine, I found them there,” you explain, puzzled. That makes him laugh softly.

“Yeah, but usually people do it in more out-of-the-way spots. What were you doing at the Docks anyway? There's nothing there but cargo ships.”

You shrug. “I grew sick of the city center, I was looking for something different. If you knew how long I'd been dreaming of finding Dolorean Park…”

“Well, why didn't you just go ?”

“You think I didn't try ?” You sit up to face him, your pride stung. “How is it that everyone talks about nothing else online, that this neighborhood is the pride of the whole city, and yet once you're here, not a single sign or map leads you to it ? And nobody seems to even know where it is, for God's sake.”

“Where's the fun in reading a map ?” He replies, all smiles. “That's what makes it cool : you either discover this place because someone shows you, or because you stumble onto it by accident.”

“That's ridiculous,” you shoot back, crossing your arms like a sulky child, which makes him laugh even harder.

“And you haven't seen anything yet,” he replies with a grin, tapping the tip of your nose with his index finger before stretching and getting to his feet. You stifle a yawn as you do the same, but freeze when you notice a small object that's fallen from his pocket in the movement. You grab it on instinct, holding it up in front of your eyes to get a better look.

It's a small metal ring, more oval than round, cut in two by a rounded x. The edges are a little worn, as if the ring has a few years of life behind it, but the metal is strangely warm between your fingers.

You frown, confused. “What’s this ?”

“Hmm?”

Hoseok, mid-stretch, turns distractedly at the sound of your voice —only to freeze when he recognizes the object in your hand. He doesn't even try to hide it this time: he stays completely still for a few seconds, eyes slightly wide and fixed on the ring, arms still half-raised from his interrupted stretch.

It only adds to your confusion, but you don't get the chance to tell him so —because he surprises you by suddenly shrugging. A little too sharply, perhaps, shaking his head more forcefully than necessary —as if he's fighting some internal voice and making a decision in spite of it.

You expect to find him frowning, maybe even guarded, when he looks back up at you —but instead, a wide smile splits his face in two, and a spark of amusement lights up his eyes.

“A fun little gadget,” he says, cryptically —and seeming very pleased with himself, an almost childlike snicker escaping him at your baffled expression. He steps closer, reaches out to take the ring back, but closes his hand before you've placed it in his palm. “You know what ? It might actually come in handy for you. Get up, there's one last thing I want to show you.”

“Stop, stop, please, SLOW DOWN!”

“Focus on a fixed point,” Hoseok tries to advise you, despite it being abundantly clear that he's desperately trying not to laugh, completely unmoved by your terrified screaming.

When he brought you down from the bridge and asked you to stand on the rails with the ring, you honestly thought he was having you on. Then he pulled another ring from his pocket —bigger, and looking even older— and stood beside you on the next track over. You started complaining, because he refused to explain anything —and then the idiot grabbed your hand, started running, dragging you with him, then grabbed your ring, pushed the x inward and threw it to the ground. You barely had time to jump before a metal hoverboard appeared beneath your feet.

You nearly went flying onto the rails —not only because the thing is in no way optimized for balance, but because it goes fast. Much faster than you could ever run —faster than some of the trains that cross the city, you'd bet.

Hoseok caught up quickly, his own board beneath his feet, and from the ease with which he does it, it's clear this isn't his first time. Grabbing you by the arm, he somehow managed to get you up to a speed where the landscape blurs before your eyes, and a nameless panic takes hold of you.

If you hit something, you'd be crushed for certain.

“It's okay, we can't fall,” Hoseok says then, catching your eye as if he can read your thoughts. “If we hit something, the board sends out a shockwave that cushions the impact. Like an airbag.”

You nod automatically, but you're not really there —in fact, you can barely hear what he's saying. Everything is moving too fast, the board pitching too much, and all you can picture is slipping and snapping your neck on the rails. The same feeling as when the officer chased you takes hold, and you feel tears of panic welling in your eyes —immediately swept away by the fierce wind battering your face.

“Hey, it's okay,” Hoseok repeats, softer and firmer at once, taking your hands in his. His gaze meets yours, dark and steady, and you cling to it like a lifeline, an anchor.

A sharper turn forces Hoseok to steer the board with his feet, sending you lurching sideways in a swerve that shakes you both and tears a cry of fright from you. You grab onto Hoseok like your life depends on it, crushing his fingers, and he lets you without flinching, his thumb tracing soft circles on the back of your hand.

“Look at me,” he says firmly, meeting your eyes again. “Don't worry about the rest, just focus on me, okay? Y/n, look at me,” he insists, keeps talking to you gently until your eyes don't leave his, fixed and determined.

And only then, with your gazes locked on each other, does he smile. A proud, amused smile, but above all an incredibly free one, as the wind narrows his eyes and whips his hair around his head, making him look a little wild. Free as the wind itself.

Faced with him, with that unbounded smile and those joy-filled eyes, everything suddenly feels so much simpler. As if anything were within reach, as if nothing could stop you.

So you let go. Just a little. Your grip loosens in his, and he gives you his big heart-shaped smile when he notices. You can only smile shyly back, a little more at ease than before.

At least, until he fixes his gaze on something in the distance.

“We're almost there,” he says, pressing your fingers gently in encouragement. “Ready?”

“What?” Your eyes follow his gaze, only to find an elevated bridge running perpendicular to your rails, leaving nothing but two parallel tunnels —too narrow to pass through side by side. Panic rises when you understand what that means. “You're kidding, right?!”

The tension is unmistakable in your voice, and he smiles softly, his thumb drawing small circles on the back of your hand —which does nothing to change the fact that the tunnel is getting closer by the second. “You'll manage, it's only for a few seconds…”

“Hoseok, no, I can't—”

“Fix a point in front of you —not the ground! A point ahead of you!”

“HOSEOK!” you panic, try to hold on to him, but he's far more skilled than you on his board, and pulls away without effort.

“And bend your knees!” You hear him shout, just before he falls back and disappears into his own tunnel, a concrete wall splitting you apart.

The wind hammers your ears, drumming in your skull as you try as best you can to follow his advice —bend your knees, even though you're already struggling to stay upright, and fix a point ahead. Useless. You can't see anything, and it makes you dizzier than anything else. You squeeze your eyes shut instead, tightly, as if that could magically bring you back safe to your bed.

At some point the wind eases in your ears, and from the cool air around you you understand you've come out of the tunnel —but that's not what makes you open your eyes. No, it's the light that surrounds you then, filtering through your eyelids —a light that is at once soft and dazzling, shifting from pink to violet to blue, irresistible and beckoning in the night. Neon light.

You open one eye hesitantly, then the other, and you're immediately dazzled by enormous futuristic buildings, vehicles and pedestrians moving in every direction, and above all, everywhere, giant screens blazing in the night.

“Y/n, jump!” Hoseok's voice rings out close beside you, pulling you from your daze, just before he shouts a word in a language you don't understand and the board retracts under your feet.

He could have maybe given you time to jump first.

You brace yourself, expecting to hit the ground hard and probably look ridiculous doing it —but instead a cry escapes you as you're launched into the air, arms and legs flailing.

For one instant, you feel like you’re flying through a dream, surrounded by beautiful blue, pink, violet lights that give everything an almost magical quality —the next, you land on a solid body and two strong arms close around you, catching you as if you weigh nothing.

“Told you you'd manage,” Hoseok says smugly, all smiles, and you ruffle his wild hair in retaliation, drawing a delighted laugh from him.

He says that word you don't understand again and steps off his board —far more gracefully than you did— before gently setting you down, making sure you're steady on your feet before stepping back. Seeing you wobble slightly, he keeps a hand on your waist regardless, oblivious to the blush spreading across your cheeks at the warmth of his palm so close to your skin, separated only by a few thin layers of fabric.

He holds out his hand, palm facing the ground, and says another word in that strange language —both rings reappear and glow azure blue at the sound of Hoseok's voice, before literally lifting themselves into the air and flying back into his hand.

“Okay, seriously, what are those things?!” you exclaim, staring.

He just gives a sideways smile. “Don't you want to focus on the scenery instead? You're ruining my whole surprise.”

You raise your eyebrows, startled, before tearing your gaze away to let it drift across said scenery. And God, what a sight.

Here, the trains running the rails are immaculate, all smooth lines and neon light. The buildings are a perfect white, dressed in giant screens at every angle —strings of lights hanging from lampposts line the pavements and bathe the street in a warm glow, so that despite the darkness, it's as bright as daylight. Beautiful palm trees are lined up along the curbs, cats lounge in front of the glittering entrances of restaurants and casinos…

“Welcome to Sunrise Boulevard,” Hoseok murmurs in your ear, proud of his surprise and the obvious effect it's having on you.

Sunrise Boulevard. The city's final neighborhood —the neighborhood of the future. At the cutting edge of technology. They say that the people who live here no longer die of old age, because medicine has advanced far enough to do away with that problem, and that's why there are so many places of pleasure and leisure here. You don't die anymore, so you pass the time having fun.

Normally, you might have laughed at that. But what's in front of you is so beautiful you can't even manage it.

“It's stunning,” you breathe, overwhelmed.

“Isn't it?” Hoseok replies in the same tone, like a secret shared between just the two of you. When you turn to look at him, stars in your eyes, you find him already watching you, with an intensity that makes you wonder if he ever stopped. You smile at him, something catching in your throat, and open your mouth to say something, anything —anything at all that might explain the color in your cheeks, or the intensity of his gaze as his eyes leave yours and drift to your lips instead.

Your voice dies in your throat when he gently raises his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, before cupping your cheek with the lightest touch, unaware of the shivers racing down your spine.

Then, slowly —slowly enough to give you all the time you could want to pull away— he leans in, bringing his face close to yours, lips slightly parted. His eyes suddenly uncertain, almost shy, and hungry at the same time.

A tender smile spreads across your lips —and then you rise onto your toes, and close the distance between your mouth and his.

Hoseok kisses you slowly, taking the time to taste your lips and savor them. His hands find your waist with the greatest care and press you against him, slip under your t-shirt to explore your skin, his tongue mapping your mouth tirelessly. His scent wraps around you as you loop your arms around his neck and he draws you closer still, always closer, until your body is pressed so tightly against his that you feel nothing but him, and he nothing but you.

When your mouths finally part, it's purely for lack of air, and he sighs against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours as if even the smallest separation costs him.

“Even better than I'd imagined,” he murmurs, covering you with that wide, dazzling smile, and he kisses you again as a joyful laugh escapes you.

He tastes like summer —sunlight and honey on the tip of your tongue.

That same taste that refuses to leave your tongue as he takes you through his favorite corners of the neighborhood, the ones he thinks you'll love, and all the others too, simply because we can. Always surrounded by blinding neon lights, often slipping in through the back door, but always laughing, smiling so hard your cheeks ache.

That same taste as he refuses to let go of your waist all evening, holding you against him as though the separation would kill him. Even when you tease him about it, when he pretends it's to make sure you don't get lost or to guide you —though you can clearly see his small, satisfied smile, and the way his hand fits perfectly in the curve of your hip as if it had been molded to rest there.

That same taste as he looks at you, each time, with that soft and warm gaze, protective and longing. With his enormous smile, so beautiful and dazzling and sincere.

That same taste as he kisses you in an alley, sheltered from prying eyes, devouring you as though it were his last meal.

Still that same taste as his hands trace a path across your skin for his mouth to kiss every inch of it, as he whispers promises in the shell of your ear while your hands explore his skin. He maps your body with his lips, as delicate in his kisses as if you were made of porcelain, yet as direct and urgent as a man who hasn't eaten in weeks as he buries his head between your legs, teases your bud with his tongue, slides his fingers inside you until your whole body burns with desire, until you writhe beneath him, clutching his hair.

When he enters you, it's with a kiss, his lips leaving yours only to make sure one more time that you're certain, before diving back in, as though even the smallest distance between you cost him —even as the movements grow more urgent, clumsier as the tension builds, until your names are the only thing you manage to cry out.

Still that same taste of honey and sunlight as he laughs against your mouth, your sweat-slicked bodies pressed against each other under the thin hotel room blanket, grinning like two idiots.

He plays with a strand of your hair, twisting it between his fingers, thoughtful as his eyes drift across your face, as though filled with wonder.

You wrinkle your nose and hide your face so he won't see how much it makes you blush. “Stop that,” you mumble, embarrassed, and it only makes him smile wider.

He gently catches your wrist, drawing it away from your face to press his lips to the inside of it. “I can't help it when you're this beautiful.”

This time you turn your head entirely to hide in the pillow, and his delighted laugh is enough to spread a wide, blissful smile across your face.

Your gazes lose themselves in their admiration, too busy marveling at the sight your content faces and tired bodies have to offer, the soft silence doing nothing to stop the words your eyes exchange every time they meet. A quiet stillness, broken only by the sound of his gentle hands moving across your skin, in contrast with the wild evening that preceded it.

“How do you know all of this ?” You whisper after a moment, as if afraid to break the serenity of it. “All these secret spots, these beautiful places, these ways into any museum or casino... How do you…”

“I explored,” he answers with a slow, almost lazy smile, though no less sincere. “I was like you, at first, and then I explored —spent days and nights wandering around hoping to find something, and... one thing led to another. It'll come to you, you'll see.”

He laughs at your unconvinced pout, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before letting his fingertips brush your cheek —a gesture of infinite tenderness that never fails to make you blush, and one he never seems to tire of.

“Why had I never seen you before?” you ask then. “I've been here for over a month, and Jimin had never mentioned you…”

And yet Jimin had made a point of introducing you to everyone, and God knows he has a lot of friends.

At that, he seems to hesitate. Not the same way he did earlier in the day, when he would freeze completely and his eyes would widen in horror —no, this time he simply takes a moment before answering, his fingers lightly grazing your cheek as his gaze drifts into the distance, lost in thought.

His brows twitch, as if he's frowning before catching himself, and you can't quite tell whether he sighs or takes a deep breath before breaking the silence again.

“I'm not really—”

He doesn't finish his sentence. He doesn't get the chance —because just then, the stillness of the night is suddenly shattered by the very distinct sound of an explosion.

Not very loud —you'd bet they didn't hear a thing in the casinos or clubs down the street— but the silence in the room had been so complete that it seemed deafening. Not a normal explosion: more like the sound of metal twisting, of earth caving in and air being suddenly sucked away. All at once.

You flinch, caught off guard —because the sound doesn't seem to be coming from very far— but Hoseok sits bolt upright, as if struck by lightning. Driven by some reflex you can't name, he turns toward the window, and while you see nothing but the neon-lit city beyond it, whatever he sees there drains the color from his face.

“Shit,” you hear him mutter to himself, “Shit, shit, shit, shit!” He swears as he leaps out of bed, scanning the room for his things.

“What, what?!” you sit up too, panicked, clutching the sheet against you as if it might protect you from some potential attack. “What's going on?”

He doesn't answer, too busy clumsily pulling on his jeans while throwing glance after glance at the window, looking every bit as panicked as you are, if not more —worried, even.

In fact, he goes so suddenly quiet as he pulls his hood up and gathers the few things that had slipped from his pockets that it almost frightens you. What the hell is going on? “Hoseok?” you press, your tone making the unspoken question plain, and he finally seems to hear you, biting his lip as his eyes dart back and forth between you and the window, struggling to lace up his shoes.

He bites his lip so hard you're afraid blood might start to bead. “I have to go,” he finally breathes, and his eyes go wide, full of remorse and guilt, so much so that you almost forget the ache in your chest at his words. Almost.

The disappointment must be written across your face, your mouth twisting into an oh you can't even assign an emotion to, because he limps over to you, visibly hesitating, clearly hating himself for it. “I'm sorry,” his voice is so steady you can't even bring yourself to doubt his sincerity, which is probably worse. “I really would have wanted to stay, or at least walk you home, but I…”

Again, his eyes snap back to the window, where another dull sound can be heard, and he flinches too, his features twisting into something you can't quite read —all you know is that it looks like fear.

“I promise this isn't just an excuse to leave,” he turns back to you, pleading with you to believe him, and you realize with some surprise that you do —as simply as that. “Y/n, I'm so sorry, I…”

“It's okay,” you cut him off gently, almost moved watching him glance at the window again with a hard swallow, clearly frightened. “It's fine. Go. Go on.”

You pair your words with the most sincere smile you can manage, and while it isn't very wide, it seems to reassure him a little nonetheless. “You're sure? I hate leaving you here like this…”

“I'll find my way home, Hobi, don't worry,” you assure him, warmly, and after a few seconds he finally nods, even if it's still plain from his face that he hates the way things have turned out and is blaming himself.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” he says again, just before leaning in to kiss you, one hand resting in the curve of your waist. You let him, kissing him back with the same force, and he sighs against your lips when you slide your hand into his hair. He eventually pulls back to look at you, wetting his lips as though hesitating, and you pat his cheek gently to encourage him.

His dark eyes meet yours with an unspoken question —just like before, all you have to do is hold his gaze for him to understand your answer, and he nods, pressing his lips to your cheek before straightening up, as hurried as before.

As simple as that. One look, a small nod, and you understand each other.

Once at the door, though, he stops, still hesitating, and before you can urge him to leave again he turns back toward you, digging frantically through his pocket.

“What are you—”

“Keep this,” he cuts you off, without room for argument, extending his hand toward you. In his palm sits the small ring with the x, the little magic board he had you try out earlier. You stare at it, incredulous.

“Are you sure?”

He nods furiously. “I'd rather you have one. But,” he closes his hand around the ring just as you reach for it, pointing a finger at you with a seriousness that surprises you a little. “Only for emergencies. Are we clear ?”

You don't quite understand why he's insisting on this, or even why he's being so careful, but you'd never seen him this serious, and whatever that explosion is that's worrying him so much, it has him genuinely shaken, so you'd rather not argue.

“Promise,” you nod, almost solemnly, and he does the same before opening his hand to let you take the ring.

He leans in one more time, pressing the quickest, lightest of kisses to your lips.

“I love you,” he lets out in a whisper, before disappearing —almost literally.

By the time you open your eyes again, heart hammering after that last confession, the door has already clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the flat, heavy silence.

Through the window, you hear the strange explosion sound again, a little louder this time, and then nothing.

Nothing at all.

You’re a little ashamed to admit it, but you spend the days that follow trying to find Hoseok.

In your defense, it's not as if you have anything else to do. Before, your days were spent trying to convince Jimin to show you the way to Dolorean Park, or trying to get there on your own. You're fairly good with directions —it only took Hoseok bringing you there once for you to remember the route and find your way back by myself. Same for Sunrise Boulevard.

You started going back the day after he left. You retraced the spots and shops he'd introduced you to as ‘his favorite places,’ then went back to Dolorean Park to do the same, before, out of desperation, returning to where you'd first met him at the Docks. All for nothing.

Day after day, it became a routine: you'd start by going to all the places we'd been together, then go off exploring on your own before heading home in the evening. The whole time, you kept the little ring tucked in your palm, at the bottom of your pocket —but it's evidently not a lucky charm, because the days quickly turned into weeks, and still no news of the tall, dark-haired guy. In fact, not the slightest trace of his existence. Nothing to prove you didn't imagine him, his heart-shaped smile and the taste of honey that lingers on your tongue.

“Who?”

“A tall guy with dark hair, kind of messy, and, uh… a huge smile ? He smiles all the time,” you try to explain to Jackson, a tall guy with white hair who's part of Jimin's crew, well aware that describing what Hoseok was wearing wouldn't be much help, given that it was weeks ago and his outfit was pretty unremarkable.

He thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “Doesn't ring a bell, sorry. I don't really know the new people.”

You nod, stopping yourself from pointing out that you're fairly sure Hoseok is anything but new around here. Not with the ease with which he moved through the streets, the way he knew everything and everyone.

Jackson apologizes again and walks away —you don't push it, because behind him, Namjoon is eyeing you with a sour look. Like everyone else, actually. The whole crew has been avoiding you a little —they're not outright unkind, but it's clear they'd prefer you kept your distance. It's been like this for a few days —since you talked to Jimin, actually.

He was the one who came to find you one evening, looking almost worried at what was bordering on a small depression, because you'd been searching relentlessly every day and turning up not a single trace of Hoseok. Sweet, really —so sweet that you cracked open. And you're so used to Jimin's warmth that you told him everything.

Everything: the old officer who chased you, Hoseok saving you before taking you to Dolorean Park and then Sunrise Boulevard, his hasty departure… You don't think you've ever regretted opening up to someone so quickly.

While he was empathetic at first, sorry even, his expression closed off more and more as you spoke, and by the time you'd finished, he could barely look you in the eye, a distinct chill having settled between you. It was plain that Jimin wasn't a very good liar, and that he preferred to say nothing —but you had the sense that he was very good at keeping secrets.

“You really don't know anything?” you'd asked anyway, out of desperation.

He took a long time before answering —and throughout, his eyes stayed fixed on the metal ring with its x in the middle, which you were holding in your hands after taking it out to prove you weren't making things up. The way he stared at it told you he didn't think you were —and that he was taking you very seriously.

“I know one thing, Y/n,” he said at last, in a voice so cold compared to his usual warmth that it barely sounded like him. “And that's that you should be very careful.”

Since then, radio silence —you only catch glimpses of him from a distance, and very rarely at that, so much so that you're starting to wonder whether it's just a habit in this wretched city, to avoid you the moment something goes wrong.

But you don't give up hope —you met Hoseok without Jimin's help, you'll manage to find him again without it— and you keep searching, day after day. Until you can't anymore.

You have a train leaving tonight, to go back to your parents. It wasn't planned, but honestly, nothing that has happened was, and it's becoming increasingly clear that you're wasting your time. You've combed through this city so thoroughly looking for Hoseok that you know it by heart now too —maybe not like the back of your hand, but you're fairly certain you know a good number of its hidden corners— and it saddens you to say it, but you've seen all there is to see. You're not going to spend your life searching for a guy you haven't seen in so long that you're almost convinced you dreamed him.

So that day, rather than looking for Hoseok, you decide to make the most of the hours you have left here. You feel a little guilty at first —but when your self-pity starts to annoy even you, you tell yourself that if he'd wanted to find you, he wouldn't have waited two months to do it. Right?

So in the morning, you head to the Docks to watch the cargo ships come in and unload their containers. You go for lunch on Sunrise Boulevard, in a restaurant full of celebrities and paparazzi, then wander through Dolorean Park, treating yourself to one last visit to the museum before buying yourself an ice cream to lift your spirits —seeing that wretched T-rex without Hoseok beside you to make fun of it is more painful than you would have thought.

In the evening, you find yourself in the city center where you spent so much time, perched on a train roof at one of the highest points, watching the golden rays of the setting sun spread across the city. From here you can see the lush green trees of Dolorean Park, the mountains of containers at the Docks and the giant screens of Sunrise Boulevard, all within reach, close enough to touch if you just stretched out your arm.

You lose yourself in the view. That's probably why you startle so badly when footsteps approach and someone comes to sit beside you.

You look up in surprise at the fair-haired boy with fine features sitting very upright —Jimin. You're struck silent for a moment. He who had been avoiding you so carefully, here he is coming to find you of his own accord. He breaks the silence before the questions in your head get too loud.

“I heard you're leaving ?” he says in his soft voice, without ever taking his eyes off the city in the distance. His light eyes look almost translucent in the glinting sunlight.

Slowly, you nod. “There's nothing left for me here.”

He looks at you, and it's your turn to glance away. You clench your fists, stare at your dangling feet. That admission hurts more than you would have thought. You didn't find what you were looking for, in the end.

“Are you still looking for him ?”

It shouldn't, it really shouldn't —but that question infuriates you. So much so that you're not even moved by Jimin's soft, hesitant voice, or the guilty look he gives you. No, you're just angry —because he was so welcoming, and the one time you truly came to him for help, he left you to fend for yourself with some useless advice. You're leaving tonight —it's a little late to make up for it now.

“Oh, so now you want to talk about him ?” You say, perhaps a little more sharply than necessary. He doesn't hold it against you —if anything, he looks a little ashamed. Just a little.

“Listen, Y/n, there's…” He scratches the back of his neck, lets his gaze drift into the distance as he sighs and hesitates. “No offense, but you're relatively new here. Things happened that I'd rather not see happen again. Things you have no idea about.”

He doesn't shrink back, ashamed, or flare up, furious like you: no, he stays calm, upright and measured, almost composed as he explains things to you, even though it's clearly costing him.

“And so ?”

“Let's just say I… do my best to make sure certain things don't happen again.”

“Why you ?”

“Because it's my role. And apparently, I'm much less good at getting people to listen to me than the one whose role it was before,” he grumbles, sounding almost bitter. An emotion you'd never seen on his face —but given how terribly well it suits him, you suspect it isn't new, and that he's simply learned to hide it.

“And what does that have to do with me ?” You try, well aware that it's not every day he'll answer your questions like this.

He turns to face you then, his gaze finding yours with an intensity that reminds you so much of Hoseok's eyes that it twists something in your chest.

“Because you're about to make exactly the same mistakes.”

“What? How? How would you know?” You exclaim, almost offended. You don't want to cause any trouble —you just want to find the one guy who ever made you feel this good, this free, who told you I love you right before disappearing, is that really so much to ask?!

“That,” Jimin simply answers, pointing at the ring you'd been absent-mindedly fidgeting with between your fingers. He still pulls a slight grimace looking at it, but this time you can also read a trace of sorrow in it. “We used to have them. Except ours were single-use. We'd activate them during runs on the rails, to protect ourselves in case of a fall, then the boards would dematerialize and that was it —you had to get another one. I didn't believe your story at first, I'll admit, but when you said he'd made it go back to its ring form, I…” Something breaks in his expression, and he shakes his head. “If that's true, then it changes everything.”

Silence. You have no idea what you're supposed to say to that —all you know is that Jimin's gaze is heavier than you've ever seen it. Heavy with meaning, but heavy with grief and remorse too. Whatever happened before you arrived, it touched him more than anyone else.

“You know where he is, don't you ?” You try gently, doing your best to hide the excitement in your voice. Jimin knows where Hoseok is. You're sure of it.

He hears it anyway, of course. “It was a long time ago,” he grumbles, looking like he regrets every word already. “Several years… And I'm warning you now, I’m not coming with you. There's no way I'm setting foot back there.”

“That's fine, just tell me—”

“No, Y/n, listen to me,” he insists, taking hold of your wrist to calm you down. “You need to know that… We all thought he was dead.” His words hit you like a blade, rooting you to the spot. He holds your gaze, gripping your wrist tightly as if clinging to an anchor, his eyes suddenly glassy. As if he's on the verge of tears. He swallows with difficulty, without letting go of your gaze.

“If you're telling the truth, and he really is alive, I…” He scratches the back of his neck, tears gathering in his eyes. “I never would have thought… Could you… bring him back? Or at least try ?”

You nod, resolute —even more so in the face of his hopeful look. “I promise. Just tell me where I need to go.”

“That thing took my best friend from me, Y/n,” the tears don't stop him from keeping that painfully serious expression. He's scared —that much, at least, is clear. “Be careful, please, I…”

“I promise.”

He looks at you for a few seconds, as if he can't quite believe you're willing to take such a risk —then he sighs, resigned. “I have a feeling I'm going to regret this… Alright. There's a bridge, right on the boundary between the Docks and Sunrise Boulevard…”

“He could have made more of an effort with his handwriting,” you grumble, turning the sheet of paper every which way to try and decipher the scribbles Jimin made on your city map. The bridge he pointed you to is on a street where, surprisingly, you'd never set foot —for the simple reason that there's nothing there. It's just the tail end of Sunrise Boulevard and the beginning of the Docks: a kind of no-man's land that's neither truly modern and clean like one nor dirty and industrial like the other, just… a little empty.

Jimin's terrible handwriting doesn't stop you from finding the bridge in question, though, and you fidget nervously with the ring in your pocket as you approach it.

It's a bridge fairly similar to the one Hoseok had you cross to get from Dolorean Park to Sunrise Boulevard: a road one level up, running perpendicular above the rails you're standing on, supported by a thick tunnel. Except this one is twice as wide as the first one you saw, and so long you can't see where it ends. In fact, you doubt it does.

One of the signs at the tunnel entrance collapsed long ago, lying dented and dust-covered across the rails, and a train stands motionless, waiting for someone to come and start it up again. Jimin didn't say anything about this, but just seeing it —or the lights inside the tunnel, completely dead— tells you this tunnel hasn't been used in a long time. And honestly, you get it. You don't really want to go in there.

Taking a deep breath, you close your fingers around the cold metal ring. This is where Jimin last saw Hoseok. If you have any chance of finding him, it's here.

So despite the hesitation and the small voice in your head screaming at you to turn back, you move forward. Slowly, carefully, watching exactly where you put your feet and pulling out your phone for light when the darkness grows too thick around you.

After a few minutes of walking in complete silence —ears straining, purely because the thought of someone coming up behind you is making your blood run cold— something catches your eye from the corner: a bluish glint on one of the thick pillars in the middle of the track.

You point your flashlight toward it —and freeze when you understand where the glint is coming from. A huge metal circle, more oval than round, about your height, cut through the middle by an enormous X. Exactly the same symbol as on the ring Hoseok gave you. It shimmers under the light of your torch, like a silent taunt —and yet that's enough to root you to the spot.

This can't be a coincidence. Jimin recognized that symbol immediately, it was on Hoseok's ring too —and now here it is, right in front of you, waiting in the dark…

This time, your curiosity is too strong: you want answers, and you want them now. So, no longer bothering to be quiet, you make your way along the rails toward it, determined to understand. Maybe if you press the X, like with the small rings, it'll activate something? What if it were a secret passage?…

Except you never get the answer to your question —at least not the way you'd expected. Because before you even have time to reach the enormous ring, cursing when you trip on the rail and have to grab a barrier to stop yourself falling, the thing you were dreading most happens.

A sound echoes behind you.

Not the kind of sound a can might make if you'd accidentally kicked it, or the wind snapping between the walls —no, a very distinct sound of footsteps. The footsteps of someone who isn't trying to hide.

You freeze, stunned, sweat running down your back as your blood turns to ice. On instinct, you lower your phone to conceal myself, before realizing that if someone is behind you, they've clearly seen you for a long time. So, holding your breath, you finally pivot, turning your back on the ring on the wall to face whoever has just arrived —and you'll be honest, at this point, you're terrified.

At the entrance to the tunnel, perfectly still, hands in his pockets, stands a man whose face you cannot see. All you can make out is that he's not much taller than you —but his stillness, and above all the mask he's wearing, are enough to make your skin crawl. A perfectly smooth mask covering his entire face, with two cat ears on top and two large red eyes that glow in the darkness.

Every instinct is screaming at you to leave, but you can't —you can't move.

The man's voice reaches your ears then —soft, but low and measured. Almost delicate, as if he were whispering in your ear, but he's speaking in a language you don't understand, one you've only heard once before —from Hoseok's lips. You recognize it in the intonation, in the strange, guttural way the words are shaped, but just like when you met the dark-haired boy, you have no idea what any of it means.

“Jimin told me to get here,” you manage to stammer, without your voice shaking too badly. The cat doesn't seem pleased by your answer —he goes suddenly quiet, his large red eyes narrowing to two slits that chill your blood. You vaguely see him draw a hand from his pocket, holding something that looks dangerously like a remote control between his fingers —but you're too busy trying to contain the panic rising inside you to pay it much attention. “I'm looking for—”

He doesn't let you finish —he presses a button on the remote, and a second later, the wall explodes behind you.

No —it doesn't explode. It's as if it's swallowed and pushed back at the same time.

A cry leaves your lips, terror seizing you as you spin around and see the enormous ring on the wall blazing with a blinding azure light that forces you to squint, one hand raised in front of your face. It glows so intensely the tunnel is lit up like broad daylight, and soon it begins to vibrate, making the walls, the ground, everything hum.

The first crack spreads from the pillar where the ring is fixed, inching dangerously close to your feet. Dozens more follow almost immediately, and you understand with horror that the ground is fracturing under the force of the explosion. The tunnel is going to collapse.

You stumble over your own feet trying to flee, ignoring the debris ricocheting around you. The man with the cat mask is still standing there, motionless in the middle of all this chaos. You try to get closer, reaching your arms toward him and crying out for help, but he doesn't move, and the ground literally gives way beneath your feet, opening into a gaping hole that takes you down with it.

As you fall into the crack, swept along by the pull of air, the man's voice is the last thing you hear, carried on a strong accent you don't recognize —but his words, those, are perfectly clear.

“Jimin should have minded his own business.”

You fall, and fall, for what feels like an eternity —tossed by the wind, dozens of meters perhaps, struggling to keep your eyes open against the force of it.

After a few seconds, the air grows warmer beneath you, thicker —you understand with horror that you're approaching what might be a floor, and panic sets in. You reach for something to grab onto, anything, and as the wind roars and thunders in your ears, it's Hoseok's voice that echoes in your mind for reasons you can't explain —as if he were right beside you.

“I'd rather you have one. But only for emergencies.”

You snap your eyes back open, a gulp of freezing air forcing its way into your lungs —and driven by some force you can't name, you grab the ring, which has miraculously not fallen from your pocket, and, remembering what Hoseok did, press down on the engraved X.

The ring vibrates in your hand, lights up with the same azure glow as the tunnel earlier, and the board materializes in seconds, taking shape beneath your feet just in time as a stone-tiled floor appears barely three meters below.

You land hard, and without the board and your reflex to bend your knees, you would certainly have broken something. Enormous chunks of rubble and concrete continue to rain down around you, but the board seems to have switched to autopilot, carrying you away from the collapse without any effort on your part.

It's only once calm returns that you notice how ragged and heavy your breathing is. The collapse slowly dies down to just a few stray pieces of debris, and you nearly choke when an enormous trapdoor opens beneath the mountain of concrete chunks, letting them slide gently somewhere you can't see before swinging shut and leaving a pristine floor —as if nothing had happened.

As you stare at the now perfectly clean spot, stunned, you only then notice that it's actually a strange platform of stone and metal —but that all the walls are made of the same enormous material, and above all, there is no sky.

Whatever this place is, it's dark like the tunnel, and that same ring with an X is engraved into the stone floor. With the silence restored, you pick up a sound of running water coming from everywhere at once, and a quick look around is all it takes to understand the source. Waterfalls. Enormous ones, seeming to pour down from the sky and disappear beneath the floor —except it isn't quite water. It's thicker, like molten lava, but azure in color, and bright enough to light the whole place.

You don't have time to marvel at it. You don't even have time to wonder where on earth you've landed, in fact —above you, another explosion rings out. You flinch, terrified that another collapse is coming —and as if in echo, the circle and X engraved in the floor light up with that same azure glow: but to your great surprise, it doesn't crack the ground the way you saw before. No, instead, the X splits in two, revealing beneath it an enormous fan so powerful that the current it creates lifts your hair. Light appears above, as if the ceiling is fracturing, and you brace for more rubble —but none comes.

Instead, you see two people appear from nowhere, each on a board, hurtling toward the fan —and you barely have time to scream before it launches them into the air at a dizzying speed, so high they vanish from sight entirely. They don't come back down.

All of this happens in a fraction of a second —and the next, the whole thing plays out again. The ceiling collapses, the rubble falls, then the circle in the floor splits open like a trapdoor, swallowing the debris before closing again, and you stand there like an idiot in front of a spotless concrete floor.

What on earth is—

Someone shouts behind you —screams, in fact, so loudly that you flinch, the movement sending the board shooting off at full speed. Now it's your turn to scream in terror —but when you spin around to call for help, you understand that it's pointless. A giant —there's really no other word for it— is running toward you, something that looks dangerously like a baton in his hand, expression furious. But more than that, behind him, what appear to be drones are hurtling toward you, trailing beams of the same vivid red as the cat's eyes earlier, which have every appearance of being lasers.

You panic, scream, and plunge deeper into this strange city lit by its cascades, doing your best not to fall off the board —because those metal platforms will clearly break your neck if you hit them.

You take a corner, sure you've lost them, but doubt creeps in when the tone of the shouting behind you shifts completely. You don't understand their language, but you swear they sound almost… worried. The drones are still circling you, but less to catch you than to block your path and force you to turn back —and it takes you too many long seconds to understand why.

The board has, without your meaning it to, placed itself on a track with rails, and they've just turned a vivid azure, vibrating so intensely you feel every tremor through your entire body. You don't have time to react before an enormous train, appearing to be made of azure-blue smoke, materializes directly in front of you, bearing down at a speed clearly far greater than mine.

You don't have time to react, to decide to swerve, even if you knew how to steer these boards —dozens of people are shouting, screaming words you can't understand, but one voice in particular cuts through all the noise.

A voice you would recognize anywhere.

It's too late to turn, or even jump —the train is so close that in one more second, you'd only have to reach out to touch it…

Something slams into you violently from the side, sending you flying to the left with a force that knocks the breath clean out of your ribs. The board explodes beneath your feet —an airbag, you remember— and the shockwave cushions your fall slightly, making you bounce off the ground rather than smash into the wall with no softness whatsoever. Which doesn't stop every single bounce from sending a sharp pain through your bones. At this point, you don't even have the strength to grab onto anything, and even once you've lost all momentum and come to a stop lying on your side on the ground, it takes long minutes before you can see clearly —and catch your breath.

You can hear shouting. In that same language you don't understand, mostly, but something else too —in a voice you know well. your name, again and again, getting closer.

“Y/n! Y/N!”

The ground begins to vibrate gently beneath your ribs —hurried footsteps, drawing nearer. Someone drops to their knees beside you, and two hands take you carefully and turn you onto your back. Cool air hits your face, but not as hard as the panicked breath of the boy leaning over you, cupping your face in his hands.

“Y/n!” He seems to light up the moment your eyes meet his, and double in worry at the same time. “Y/n, sweetheart, can you hear me ?!”

“Hobi,” you breathe, more faintly than you would have expected. His breath hits your cheek again, as though he'd been holding it until hearing your voice was enough to reassure him. He pulls you closer, pressing his hands to your cheeks and your neck, his fingers trembling frantically.

“Does anything hurt? Are you bleeding? The wagon didn't have time to touch you, did it?!” His wide, frantic eyes make him look almost wild, and the panic in his voice makes it clear he's the one who pushed you out of the train's path.

You want to ask if he's hurt, but he straightens abruptly, shouting something at someone behind him in words you can't understand, with an intonation that sounds a great deal like ‘Get a doctor!’ He fires back again when someone answers —you don't understand the language, but you watch almost with a kind of wonder at the movement of his jaw and his throat as he calls out, the worry and fear palpable in every word.

He's nearly shouting now, trembling like mad —but goes still the moment your hand slides into his hair, pushing the wild strands back from his face.

His mouth hangs open for a moment, his head turning slowly toward you, eyes bright with emotion. He catches your wrist between his slender fingers as you brush his cheek, still gentle despite his panic.

“You're here,” you murmur, giving him the smallest smile.

“Of course I'm here,” he murmurs back, smiling softly before burying his nose in your palm and pressing a kiss there. “How on earth did you get here?” He frets, as if it were somehow his fault.

“I was looking for you,” you find the strength to shrug, with a small smile. He says nothing, unconvinced, but kisses your palm again as if to reassure himself that you're really there.

“Please tell me you're not hurt, I—”

“I'm fine,” you cut him off gently, squeezing his hand in yours. He furrows his brows, not believing you for a second, and you grimace. “Just a bit of pain in my leg. I can't really move it,” you mumble, almost grumble, and his expression hardens. He squeezes your hand in answer, nodding slowly.

His lips are a thin line as he slides one arm beneath your knees and the other around your shoulders. He rises as if you weigh nothing, moving as carefully as he can so as not to jostle you. You hear him speak to someone, his voice dropping to those low tones that suit him so well, but you no longer have the strength to try and follow what he's saying —you let yourself be carried, resting your head against his chest, and close your eyes. Just for a second. Only a second.

One small second to let yourself be lulled by the rapid beating of his heart and his soft scent filling your lungs. A smell of honey, and summer.

“You're absolutely insane for doing that,” Hoseok grumbles for what must be the eleventh time, massaging your leg almost furiously despite the gentleness of his fingers. “You never should have gone near that bridge.”

He pairs his words with a small reproachful look, eyes narrowed, and you sit up, outraged. “It's not like you left me much choice. I looked for you everywhere!”

“That's not—” he starts, indignant, before cutting himself off, looking guilty. He ruffles his own hair and clicks his tongue. “I didn't have a choice, alright? I tried to come back. I really did,” he insists, holding your gaze. “You have no idea how much I blamed myself.” He looks so guilty, so resigned and at the same time so desperate for you to believe him, that all you can do is press your lips together and say nothing. That seems to frustrate him even more —he sighs sharply, letting go of your ointment-covered leg to scrub both hands through his hair. When he snaps his head back up, it's with an absolute chaos of hair in its place. “And how did you even hear about the bridge? Nobody goes there!”

You shrug, unmoved by the accusatory edge that's crept into his voice. Lately, you've done everything to find him —going under a bridge is far from the worst of it.

“Jimin told me where to find it.”

“Jimin ?!” you jump when he nearly chokes. “Please tell me he didn't come with you.”

“… No, why?”

“Good,” he nods, relieved, before shaking his head slowly, eyes slightly wide. “Yoongi would have completely lost it.”

Frowning, you tilt your head a little, lost. You don't know if it's the fact that you hit your head, but Hoseok is talking way too fast for you. “Yoongi ?”

“The guy who opens the portal…” he mutters distractedly, pacing the room. “How am I gonna explain this…”

“Hoseok,” you cut him off gently, sitting up straighter and ignoring him when he tells you to sit back down. “I don't understand anything. Where are we? Why was Jimin so determined not to talk about you, why does everyone shut down the moment—”

“Oh, I bet Namjoon was furious,” he exclaims, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Uh… Well, he's been giving me dirty looks ever since I mentioned you, yeah, but why—”

“He hates me. His girlfriend was hitting on me back when I still lived up top.”

Too much information at once —your brain short-circuits, before rebooting to sort through it. “Up top ?”

He stops pacing and opens his mouth, hesitant, only to close it again after a few seconds. His eyes don't leave mine, resolute, and you can read the reluctance in his gaze even as he scratches the back of his neck and sighs. “Are you sure you want to know? Because it's quite—”

“Whether I want to know why you disappeared overnight?” You cut him off gently, your voice softer than you would have expected. You have no desire to rush him —especially not with the adorable guilty-puppy look he's giving you right now— but you've waited long enough. You want to understand.”Why nothing seems to make sense in this city? Yeah, I'd say so.”

His eyes don't leave you as you get up and walk toward him, and when you're close enough that your feet are touching and you have to tilt your chin up to look at him, a slow smile spreads across his lips.

“…I was going to say it's quite a long story, but since you insist —your wish is my command, sweetheart.” He snickers at the surprise that crosses your face, gently taking your elbow to pull you toward the bed, where he sits down beside you. Let's just ignore what that simple gesture does to your poor heart.

His eyes drift across your face, hesitant, and you squeeze his hand to encourage him. He gives you a smile that you return before sighing. “Back then, a few years ago now, I lived in the city, up on the surface. I was part of the whole crew you met, and Jimin and I were… very close. Inseparable.” His voice is a little strained, and he clears his throat before going on. “He probably explained to you that they barely use boards up there. That's because they don't know how to make them. They can only be made here, in the Undertracks…”

“The Undertracks ?” you can't help but ask, curious. He points a finger at the metal walls surrounding you, the wall lamps blazing in brilliant azure blue.

“That's what we call the underground district. The material needed to make boards —and a lot of other things— is produced here. Anyway. Back then, it was Yoongi who led all the runners, up on the surface. He always loved pushing back against authority… Except Yoongi got tired of having to pay a fortune for boards that only lasted one use. Nobody knew how to get into the Undertracks, and because of all these stupid rumors and rules, nobody even tried to get close. It's like Star Wars —if you go near the Undertracks, you've gone to the dark side. It's forbidden.”

“Seems ridiculous, but okay.”

That makes him laugh. “Wait until you hear the rest. Anyway, Yoongi was of the opinion that it was our right to go there, to make our own boards, and so on… And he convinced a lot of people. Like, a lot,” he breathes, eyebrows raised, and you picture an entire crowd falling through the hole under the bridge. You shudder, but Hoseok looks almost admiring for a moment. “Except a lot of others disagreed, and it escalated into street fights… That's when the police started showing up in greater numbers.”

“Isn't that to stop us from tagging?”

“No,” he laughs softly, amused, and you give him a small shove on the shoulder that makes him snicker. “Originally it's to stop us from causing chaos in the city. Because even though Yoongi and his crew wanted to reach the Undertracks, they still didn't know how, and the other side was ready for them. They drove them out of the city —literally. Yoongi, God knows how, managed to make it into the Undertracks when things were starting to turn bloody. His whole crew took refuge down here, and since then, nobody except Yoongi knows how to activate the portal that leads to it —he's always the one who does it, still.” His eyes drop to your joined hands, thoughtful, and he gently strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. “But the surface clan kept hunting down the ones who'd fled, and they showed no mercy whenever they came back up.”

“So why did they ? Come back up.”

“Because you can't be completely self-sufficient down here. You can produce incredible gadgets and weapons here, but not food or clothes, for example. So every month, a few people go up for a day to get what's needed. We spread it out so nobody goes up more than four times a year, to avoid drawing attention. Once every three months.”

You nod slowly as he watches you with that serious expression. That explains the long disappearance, you suppose. “And so you were part of Yoongi's crew ?”

“Not from the start,” he grimaces. “But you've seen it yourself —by trying so hard to keep people on the 'right' side, they tell us nothing, up on the surface. I guess I was bored, I needed more. Jimin didn't agree, but all I wanted was answers,” he sighs, and you hold your breath as his words echo inside you. You just want answers. “I went to find Yoongi under the bridge, and he offered to explain everything once we were down below. Jimin tried to stop me, but I went anyway, and since then… Here I am.”

“So when you left in a rush, in Sunrise Boulevard, it was because…”

He nods vigorously as you leave your sentence hanging, hesitant. “Yoongi only opens the portal once a month —three times in the first minute of the day, three times in the last. If you miss it, you can't get back in, which means you have to wait until the following month.” His fingers tighten around yours, and his eyes carry the deepest grief you've ever seen as he leans toward you, his lower lip caught between his teeth. "I'm sorry, I should have explained,” he murmurs, looking guilty —and still so sad. You open your mouth to contradict him, to reassure him, anything to bring his adorable smile back, but he grimaces before you get the chance. “To be honest, I didn't think you'd look for me.”

You freeze, arching a brow. “Now that's a little hurtful.”

“I thought after three months, you'd have moved on, given up,” he defends himself, waving his free hand. “I never would have thought… seeing you there was…” Again, he squeezes your hand, and his mouth twists into an emotional, slightly worried expression. “You have no idea how scared I was.”

You shrug, a small smile playing on your lips. “I had to find you, you still owe me hoverboard lessons. I nearly died because of that thing !”

That's enough to break the tension —he bursts out laughing. “I noticed. Your balance is absolutely terrible.”

He holds his stomach laughing, the memory of your fall apparently hilarious to him, and leans slightly toward you in the movement, his face only a few centimeters from mine.

You pretend to be annoyed, pulling a face. “Shut up.” Then, as his laughter dies down, “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

He freezes mid-laugh, his lips forming a small surprised oh, his eyes wide. You swear he even holds his breath, looking at you nervously, and you can't help but smile at the sight.

“Are you serious?” he breathes, as if he can't quite believe his ears. A flush of red appears on his upper cheeks, and he scratches the back of his neck nervously, avoiding your gaze as he stumbles over his words. “Because after everything that happened, I would have thought…”

“Hobi? Shut up and kiss me.”

He doesn't need to be told twice —a spark lights up in his eyes, as though now it's them he can't believe, just before he places his free hand at the back of your neck, as gentle as ever as his thumb comes to brush your cheek. He leans in, his eyes flickering between yours and your lips —and when he closes the distance between you, a shared sigh escapes you both, a smile forming against your mouth.

It feels so good. To feel him close again, that aura so soft and protective and so utterly him, to hear his voice, to have that sweetness on your tongue —like freshly gathered honey gleaming in sunlight.

His lips part, warm and full and welcoming, and you lose yourself in his embrace.

Your arms wind around his shoulders, drawing him closer, letting him pull you against him with hands that come to wrap around your waist —your lips move together, heads tilting slightly to deepen the kiss, and soon his tongue ventures forward, timidly, as if asking permission to enter.

You moan against his mouth when his hands slip beneath your t-shirt, tenderly tracing your burning skin. His mouth leads the kiss, alternating between languidly pulling at your tongue and dancing with it… He presses you closer, the hand at the small of your back flattening your chest against his, making you clutch at his shoulders from the sheer need to be close, always closer…

It's you who breaks the kiss, breathless, and he chases your mouth for a few seconds before pressing his forehead to yours, just as out of breath. Your breathing mingles, his hands roaming your back and along your ribs, unaware of the trails of shivers he leaves in his wake.

“Hobi,” you breathe, your voice much higher than usual, panting. Your noses brush as he leans in to catch your lower lip, sucking and pulling gently at it with a deep sigh.

“God, I love it when you call me that.”

Your lips find his again, a desperate moan lost in his mouth as you pull him toward you, closer, always closer, wanting nothing more than to feel his burning skin against yours.

He's no better, sighing against your lips before his hands slide from your waist to your hips, slipping beneath your thighs to lift you and settle you astride his lap, careful not to jostle your bad leg. In this position, everything feels magnified —his hips directly beneath yours, your chests pressed together, his lips against yours

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” he whispers, groaning when your hands slip beneath his t-shirt and down his back. His fingers grip your hips more firmly, pressing you against the bulge in his jeans, large enough that a cry of surprise escapes you, swallowed by his lips. 

You roll against his hips, legs trembling. He groans, his hands on your hips guiding the movement as his lips leave your mouth and trail kisses along your cheek, your jaw, down to where your neck meets your shoulder —he presses his lips to that precise spot, alternating between grazing and sucking, never once stopping the motion of your hips against him until your head is spinning.

“There, like that,” you moan, tilting your neck to offer him more to kiss —an invitation he accepts immediately. Your eyelids flutter, drooping under the overwhelming sensation of him hard against you —it's as if the clothes between you have ceased to exist, a barely-there barrier between your urgent movements. 

“Let me show you how good I can be for you, sweetheart,” he grazes your earlobe with his teeth, then finds your lips again, all without ever stopping the movement of his hips against mine.

“Hobi, I…” you can only breathe, trembling against him.

“Almost there ?” he murmurs in the same tone, and you can hear in the tension in his voice that he isn't far either. As if sensing it won't quite be enough, he shifts you so you're straddling his thigh, one hand sliding along your body to cup a breast through your clothes, kneading it softly between his fingers. Your back arches, your chest pressing into his, and your eyes nearly roll back when he flexes the muscle of his thigh beneath you —it's so firm, so solid, it feels like he's everywhere at once, even more so with his hand at your chest pulling a moan of pleasure from your lips.

“God,” you breathe, higher than usual, and you feel him smile against your skin.

“Take what you need, sweetheart,” he murmurs like a promise, flexing in rhythm with the movement of your hips against him to press exactly where it counts, until you have to cling to him just to hold on.

He's everywhere at once, entirely focused on bringing you undone —he startles completely when you take him in hand through his jeans, a low groan leaving his lips when you stroke him in urgent back-and-forth motions, matching the pace of your hips on his thigh. He pants, your breath mingling as his forehead drops to yours, breathless, and soon his hand covers yours against him, guiding the movement deeper. You feel him twitch against you, just as close to the edge as you are, just as much of a trembling, moaning mess.

He kisses you as he feels you tense, your eyes rolling back as one last stroke hits exactly where it needs to, making you come apart with a desperate cry. He shudders beneath you, a low groan lost against your lips, and soon it's your name he murmurs as your movements slow and finally stop altogether, leaving only your chests rising and falling as we try to catch your breath, panting.

When you open your eyes, he's smiling at you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear —a smile so tender and sincere that something tightens in your chest. Beneath his soft gaze, you feel like we're wrapped in a bubble made only for you, sheltered from everything as long as he keeps smiling at you like that.

“Thank you,” he murmurs at last, emotion in his voice. “For looking for me. For coming, even if I nearly had a heart attack from how scared you made me.”

You laugh softly, and he smiles, pleased with himself. “You'll make it up to me,” you grumble for form's sake, ruffling his hair.

“Hmm-hmm? What would my princess like?” He rubs his nose against mine, teasing.

“That wasn't bad,” you pretend to think, drawing another snicker from him. “Or… you could come up to the surface with me to see Jimin?”

“What?” He goes still suddenly, though more in surprise than displeasure.

“Just one day?” you press, eyes wide. “He really misses you, you know. He doesn't say it, but he's genuinely hurting from losing you.”

His expression closes off a little, but you can see him wavering. “Yoongi will never agree. He'd kill me,” he says, shaking his head slightly.

“Let him try,” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow.

“Y/n…”

“Just one day. Please,” you plead again, pushing out your lower lip in a pout, giving him your best pleading eyes. His gaze flickers to your mouth, hesitant, and he scratches the back of his neck, studying you, torn.

You press closer to him, arms around his neck, and he gives in. “Alright, I suppose it could be arranged,” he sighs dramatically, but smiles anyway when you lean in to kiss him, delighted. When you pull back, he keeps you close with a lazy smile. He looks at you for a moment, as if lost in contemplation, before closing his eyes, a small crease forming between his brows. “God, what am I going to say to him…”

“He was your best friend, you'll figure it out.”

“No, he was like my brother. Which makes it worse,” he's back to his pained expression when he opens his eyes, and the smile he attempts twists into a grimace. “I'm better at goodbyes than reunions.”

“I noticed,” you laugh softly, before explaining at his indignant look, “You pushed me off a railway to keep me from getting hit by a train…”

“I call that saving your life, but if you'd rather be ungrateful—”

“…Whereas on your way out, you told me you loved me.”

He goes still, his hands freezing on your waist. “…I said that?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod vigorously, delighted, smiling even wider as his cheeks flush red, his gaze dropping for just a second.

The small laugh that escapes you makes him pout, even though he's still just as red. “You know what? Laugh all you want, it's true,” he says, his gaze more intense than ever. “The day we spent together was probably the best of my entire life. I've never felt that with anyone. And when you appeared down there earlier, I was more scared than the day I nearly got hit by a—”

“I wasn't laughing at that. It's the same for me.”

He goes still again, turning crimson.

“…Really?” He finally asks, with so much hesitation in his voice you'd think he didn't believe it for a second.

“Mm-hmm,” you nod, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. “I love you too, I think.” Even you can feel the top of your cheeks warming —but it's worth it for the spark of pure joy that appears in his eyes, and the dazzling smile he gives you.

“God,” he breathes, just before pulling you to him and crushing you against his chest. Literally. You protest, tap his shoulder to make him let go, but he just leans in to kiss you instead. "I love you so much."

Then he holds you against him again, so tightly your heart threatens to burst. He buries his nose in your hair, sighing with contentment, and you let your head fall onto his shoulder, your face tucked into the curve of his neck. Engulfed in his embrace, as much as in his scent that is so entirely him and wraps itself around you completely.

A smell of honey, and freedom.

“Hey, Hobi ?”

“Mm-hmm ?”

“Will you show me around the city ?”

His laugh makes his chest vibrate beneath your head, spreading a quiet smile across your lips. “God, you're relentless.”

Thanks for reading lovelies ! Don't hesitate to reblog, like or comment ! I always love to hear 'bout what you guys thought of it :) Also don't hesitate to ask if you wanna be tagged in my next posts !

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