So Jeremy was a teenager. Falls in with the wrong crowd, but it’s nothing he can’t get out of. Thinks he’ll stop hanging around them, eventually. Plans on it. But it’s too late, before he tries. One more outing- it’s not something to worry about, not too late-

And one of the bastards actually tries to summon a fucking demon.

Jeremy wakes up at home, and most of his “friends” are dead or missing. He doesn’t know what happened- doesn’t know if he wants to- but it fills he chest with a resting anxiety for months.

And months. 

And still. 

And still. 

And-

Jeremy is 26.

Jeremy is 26 and it’s 1971 and he still doesn’t have answers, but it’s fine. It doesn’t matter. So maybe he can’t sleep, some nights. Wakes with a pounding heart and no explanation for why. So maybe he can’t remember, but maybe there was nothing to remember. Maybe he had left, and couldn’t remember. Whatever happened, he doesn’t know for sure he was even there for.

It’s fine.

Another night, another sleepless night. Jeremy drowns his anxiety in alcohol and stumbles down the sidewalk home. Jeremy is 26.

Jeremy is dead.

Jeremy Dooley dies on a Saturday night, just before midnight, stumbled into the road and didn’t survive to the hospital.

Jeremy Dooley wakes up outside his house, bloodied clothes and stopped pulse, but there.

Alive.

Jeremy wants more answers, has more questions.

He’ll never find out what happened.

Jeremy is 26.

Jeremy is 26 and it’s 1995. A man with too many tattoo’s to count robs a store while Jeremy is in it. A noise- Jeremy picking up a package of chips because he couldn’t give less of a fuck about the man’s gun pointing at him- and Jeremy laughs.

Jeremy has died 18 times, what’s one more?

“What’re you gonna do, shoot me?”

“I might.”

“Okay.” Jeremy shrugs. The man eyes him, then laughs, lowers his gun as the store clerk crawls out of the store, and takes off running. Reaches for the register as Jeremy stands there, watching.

“How old are you, kid?”

“What?”

“How old are you, kid?” He repeats. Eyes Jeremy like he know more than he should.

Then, blandly, Jeremy answers, “Fifty.”

And he laughs again, stuff bills into his pockets and nods. “Yeah? Still younger than me.”

But that doesn’t make sense. He cant be much older than Jeremy actually is. Unless-

But he’s gone. Leaves with a wave while Jeremy is too slow to process the whole thing.

Another question, still no answers.

Jeremy is 26 and it’s 2009. And life is so painfully boring. Questions without answers aren’t entertaining, they’re frustrating, and immortality is so boring. Useless. 

Jeremy meets Matt Bragg that summer, when the other is running from the cops, and stumbles right into Jeremy. 

Jeremy could stop him, could try, could do something.

Could be a good person.

He grabs Matt, pulls him down an ally, and they loose the cops. Laugh about it later, introduce themselves properly, and before Jeremy knows it, he’s a criminal.

Life is more interesting, as sick as it is to say. Matt survives a bullet to the head, four months later, and Jeremy thinks, oh, of course.

Jeremy is 26 and it’s 2014. He moves to Los Santos a few weeks before Matt, because life is getting stale and he heard news of the Fake’s moving there from Liberty city. Their chaos is sure to cause a lot of death, a lot of theft, a general sense of danger.

What else could keep an immortal life interesting?

Jeremy makes a proper name for himself in Los Santos. Rimmy Tim. Purple and Orange covered in blood and chaos. Gets a hold of a too-loose-lipped criminal who tells him the Fake’s are plotting to rob the maze bank, and does so the day before they can.

Your move.

Matt rolls his eyes at him. Call him an idiot with a death wish. The words hold a too-close-to-truth to them that has Jeremy smacking Matt upside the head and heading out to a nearby bar.

Jeremy meets the first of the Fake AH Crew members a week later. Jack. All polite- warning- smiles and compliments on Rimmy Tim’s work. And an offer.

“For you and you’re friend,” Jack says. “To join us.”

“For?”

“A little test.”

In and out, get a jet, make it back alive. “Not with the jet, just after stealing it. If you bring it back, though, you can even join our next heist.”

It’s a joke. A deathtrap. A sure-fire way to get himself killed.

They must want him dead.

Jeremy gets drunk, steals a helicopter, and parachutes into a military base to steal a jet the next day. Only takes it far enough to park it in a field and get out, before he’s caught.

Jeremy dies. Matt meets him a mile away, where Jeremy wakes up outside a shitty restaurant. Dust reforming into a person, Matt tells him. Jeremy steals a car and they sneak their way past police- taking them out as they go- to get back to the jet.

“Here’s your jet,” Jeremy says, nonchalant. Jack laughs in his face, throws an arm around his shoulder, and says,

“How old are you, kid?”

Jeremy freezes, then. For the first time, something hits him.

How have the Fake’s survived so long? How have not one of them died? How-

Those words are familiar.

“Fuck if I remember,” Jeremy answers. Jack nods, smiles.

“Wanna meet the others?”

Geoff is oh-so-familiar. Tattoo’s even greater in number, age still the same. He grins at Jeremy, a small wave. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey.”

Michael, Lindsay, and Gavin aren’t much older than him, he finds out. Jack and Geoff are much older.

And none of them are good people. Thieves, murders, criminals, liars. They’ve probably committed treason, definitely committed terrorism.

Jeremy was a good person, once. Normal, at least. Someone who, were he able to die, might have gotten into a theoretical heaven.

Jeremy is 26, and not a good person, and it’s 2019, and he’s a member of the most well known crew in the states. 

Is too far in with the “wrong crowd” to get out now. Too late to be a good person. So why bother trying? Immortality is boring, but the Fake’s make it much more interesting.

It’s not like he planned on it. Who expects immortality, anyway?

SK: happy brithday my dear best friend~ SK: you’re the best and i love you SK: and i know you didn’t want any surprises SK; so heres a warning! SK: We’re going to have lunch together! SK: with Jihoon too SK: Okay? SK: Hey! you’re up right? SK: maybe not? SK: hey i know it sounds like i was plotting but it wasn’t my idea SK: the lunch, i mean. It was Jihoons SK: So don’t be mad at me? O~O please SK: <3 SK: wait, maybe you are asleep

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. Part of you does want to be annoyed at the last minute warning, but it was hard to be mad at him since he gave you warning at all. That, and he added a 15th message, a picture of himself pouting, as well as another ‘don’t be mad at me.’

You: I’m not mad You: Maybe a little? You:  thank you for the warning You: and birthday wishes You: when’s lunch?

SK: 3!

You: Okay, see you then.

SK: you’re really not mad?

You: no

Sighing, you decided to get up and get ready for the day. Once you’re dressed and fed it’s 8am, and you realize you need to fill the time until lunch. You’d celebrated with your family early, being that you were expecting to end up spending time with your friends today, anyway, even though the actual event hadn’t been what you anticipated.

Another message pops up on your phone, and you almost expect it to be Seungkwan again, but to your surprise it’s not. It’s Jihoon. While you’re busy being surprised, he adds to the number of messages, before you finally read them so you can respond.

WZ: Happy Birthday, ___. WZ: Seungkwan said he already told you about lunch? WZ: the original plan was to invite more people, for the record. You can blame it being down to just him and us on him. he insisted. WZ: I don’t know why. but he’s your best friend, so i figured you’d prefer it this way, if he was insisting. So, see you then? WZ: happy birthday WZ: again. WZ: i didn’t realize I’d said that first.

There’s a pause that follows, where he doesn’t send anything else and you try to find responses to what he’s said. Talking to Jihoon was never your strong suit, even if text messages were easier. It shouldn’t be that hard, either way, you tell yourself. Yet, talking to your crush was never so easy. Pushing that thought away, you form a response.

You: Thank you! You: Well, i’m not a huge fan of crowds? You: or large groups? he probably was thinking about that heh.

More like trying to give you more chances to talk to Jihoon. You can’t say that, of course, but it wasn’t that hard to figure out knowing Seungkwan and how much he knew. 

You: anyway, yeah, see you then

Feeling like that’s enough of a response, you set your phone aside. Then, after a moment, you pick it back up and pull up Seungkwan’s contact.

You: you’re mean You: apparently, you recommended it just be us three You: why

SK: because i love you? SK: It’s your chance!

You: to suffer?

SK: No, __ :)

You: :(

Seungkwan doesn’t respond. You frown, setting your phone aside- for real this time, and going to find something to occupy your time.

Being your best friend and the person who arranged the whole thing- even if it wasn’t technically his idea- Seungkwan comes to pick you up just before 3pm, to take you to lunch. Though, ‘pick you up’ is a bit too generous. He can’t drive, and you don’t have a car, so instead he walks you to the place you’re getting lunch. 

“It’s not far,” Seungkwan assures you. True to that, it isn’t more than a few blocks away that Seungkwan stops in front of a restaurant, and opens the door for you. You laugh at the mock-bow he gives when you walk in, and he grins. The place is by no means fancy, which you’re thankful for, but it is rather nice. Soft colours and a warm atmosphere.

Before you can ask where you’re supposed to sit, or anything really, Seungkwan is pulling you to one side of the restaurant, where you can see Jihoon sitting. When he notices the two of you, Jihoon raises a hand in greeting.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” You say, quieter than you intend, and are glad when Seungkwan gives a louder greeting. Being a booth, someone has to sit on near the wall. You’re not a big fan of the idea, considering your company, but Seungkwan pushes you to sit down before you can argue. He slides into the spot next to you, and you suddenly feel trapped.

He’s doing this on purpose, you think. You try to glare at Seungkwan, though it goes unnoticed by him, before turning to face Jihoon, who sits across from you. Jihoon seems to have notice your glaring, at least, because he raises an eyebrow and motions to Seungkwan with a tilt of his head. You shake yours, not up to answering the silent question.

You couldn’t very well say “he’s trapping me so I can’t escape’ when that would bring the question of what you were escaping from. Saying you were escaping from Jihoon to his face wouldn’t sound very good, without knowing about your feelings.

You feel a bit better once there’s food in front of you, since it offers a reasonable distraction. You feel less better when Seungkwan’s phone goes off and he excuses himself, leaving you alone with Jihoon. Though you can’t call the silence between you totally awkward, you- at least- can’t call it comfortable either. Jihoon isn’t usually the one to initiate conversations, outside of certain circumstance, and you were still nervous around him, meaning you weren’t sure how to start one either.

“So,” Jihoon starts, drawing your attention, “how’s your birthday been?”

“Um, boring? No I mean, it’s good, I got lot’s of birthday wishes, but so far I’ve just sat at home and watched movies.”

“Is that bad?”

“No, It’s fine, just not anything worth calling exciting.”

“That’s good, at least.” Jihoon nods. Then, he makes a confused expression at something behind you, when you turn, you can see Seungkwan waving, before he turns and is out the door. You open your mouth, ready to say something, anything, but can’t really think of anything. Seungkwan passes the window next to your booth and mouths an apology, before running away.

“What a-” You stop yourself, because you’re close to saying something you don’t mean.  You love Seungkwan, he’s your best friend, but he was sort of awful, you decided. How could he just leave you, alone, with Jihoon.

“I guess it was something important?” Jihoon offers, trying to make you feel better presumably. You’d like to believe that, but you know Seungkwan. Instead of arguing as much, you just nod.

“I guess so.”

“Should we cancel the rest, then?”

“The rest of what?”  You look up, finally meeting Jihoon’s eyes for the first time since you’d gotten here.

“Your birthday? Seungkwan said he told you the plans, I figured he meant all of them.”

“I... wasn’t this lunch it?”

“No.”

“Oh.” You make an expression to mirror the word, and Jihoon offers you a smile in turn.

“I wonder why he didn’t tell you the rest?” Jihoon hums, pulling out his phone and after a moment of doing something, shows you his messages.

SK: she probably doesn’t have anything else planned SK: so lunch isn’t enough!

WZ: Okay?

SK: oh i know! SK: Movies~ SK: and ice cream! SK: Ice cream is important

WZ: sure it is. 

SK: lunch, then movie, then ice cream SK: perfect da y

WZ: Da Y

SK: Day! don’t mock me

WZ: sure, why that order?

SK: most effective

WZ: effective how?

SK: Happiness! Trust me, i know my best friend

You try not to frown at the messages. Now you were sure, Seungkwan had planned this from the beginning. He was sending you on a date without you or Jihoon knowing that was what it was. Jihoon puts his phone away, looking at you in silent question. Right, you remind yourself, he had asked if you were canceling the rest of the day. Part of you want’s to say yes, and just go home.

But movies and ice cream did sound nice. Though Jihoon’s presence was both a gift and a chance to ruin your day, you decided to take it as the positive Seungkwan meant for it to be. 

“I mean, I don’t have anything else to do today...”

“Neither do I,” Jihoon says, nodding.

“So... why not?”

“Okay.”

Movies are easier to handle. You don’t actively have to look at Jihoon, and if you do he hardly notices, you have a distraction, and it’s dark enough that you feel like you can hide if you somehow manage to embarrass yourself. You like movies. It helps that the movie you choose is actually really entertaining, you find yourself able to forget you’re here with Jihoon and not just by yourself or with one of your friends who don’t make you nervous.

And there’s popcorn.

Once the movie is over, though, you’re reminded you are, in fact, with Jihoon. He doesn’t ask what you thought of the movie, you’re sure the smile you wear leaving the theater answers that question anyway. Instead, he just smiles and walks by your side as you leave. It’s once you’re outside of the theater, that you remember the next part of the day.

It’s a bit darker out, though not near evening yet, and you almost aren’t sure if ice cream is a good idea. Still, it’s not cool enough out to stop you, so when Jihoon asks if you’re still up for it, you nod.

You’re following Jihoon, just a half-step behind so you’re still close enough to see his face, when your phone goes off. You stop- and Jihoon stops a second later- pulling it out to check who it is. Seungkwan’s name pops up, along with the first few words of his texts. You pull open your messages, sending Jihoon an apologetic look for having stopped suddenly, and read them.

SK: how’s the date? SK: :) SK: you didn’t leave right? SK: I planned this just for you!

You frown, turning off your phone screen without replying. If he’s going to do this without warning, you can ignore him until you go home. Jihoon raises an eyebrow in question, when you put your phone away.

“Seungkwan, apologizing for leaving.” You lie, because you’re certainly not going to say what Seungkwan actually wanted. Jihoon accepts the answer, anyway, and you go back to walking.

Ice cream proves to be a good decision, and a nice way to end your not-date with Jihoon. You manage conversation, even, and you feel probably the most relaxed around him you ever have.

“Thank you, by the way,” You says, once ice cream is gone and you realize you should probably go home. You don’t want to walk home in the dark, by yourself, that’s for sure. So you decided you should head home before then.

“For what?”

“All of today? Seungkwan said the lunch was your idea, at least, and you didn’t have to stay when he left.”

“It’s your birthday,” Jihoon shrugs, “I wasn’t going to leave you by yourself.”

“Well, still, thank you.”

“No problem.”

“So I should... head home. Since we’ve done everything and it’s almost dark, you know?”

“___, you,” Jihoon frowns and titls his head, “are going to walk home, by yourself?”

“Yes?”

There’s a pause. “I’ll walk you.”

“What?” You blink, once, twice, then shake your head. “It’s okay!”

“I want to.”

“Oh... okay.”

So you let Jihoon walk you home. You avoid looking at him, despite being right beside him, and focus on your footsteps. It really had turned into a pseudo-date, you realized. You’re not sure if you should be thankful or not.

Once in front of your home, there’s a pause, before you smile. “Thank you again.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Jihoon pauses, then opens his arm. “Want a hug?”

You try not to laugh, because for once he’s being the awkward one and something about that is rather nice, before you nod. It’s a short hug, because you know he isn’t huge on the things, and because you don’t want to give yourself a chance to reclaim the awkward title.

“Goodnight, Jihoon.”

“Goodnight, and happy birthday again.”

“Thank you.” You wave, before heading inside. Once you’re alone, you allow yourself to sigh in relief and smile. It was a good day, you think.

You: thank you, seungkwan You: i had a nice day You: don’t ever do this to me again

SK: <3 SK: what are best friends for?

Gavin dies at 26. In 1970. As an okay, normal, person.

Gavin dies at 26, only to wake up a kilometer away with a headache, but no injuries.

No heartbeat, either.

Gavin learns how to avoid answering questions at 26, in 1984. (Learns to lie, fluently. Even good people lie, so it’s not surprising an okay person learns to easily.) When the fact that he hasn’t aged in years becomes obvious. Says he’s just one of those people, who always look the same. Says, “what else would it be?” Because what else would it be?

Gavin wasn’t a bad enough person to be cursed, or a good enough person to be blessed.

Gavin was an okay person, living an okay life, and the fact he couldn’t die wasn’t something he thought reflected on him, so he doesn’t address it.

Eventually Gavin moves. Heads to America, and ends up in Liberty City.

Gavin is a bad person. Becomes a bad person at 26, in 1994, in Liberty City.

But that doesn’t happen right away. He can still say he’s an okay person, in 1993, when he kills someone, for the first time. They deserved it, really. Had shot him. So Gavin doesn’t really think that it reflects on him, that he retaliated.

He died from his bullet wound twenty minutes after he stabbed a man to death.

So, then, Gavin is 26, and it’s 1994, and he meets Geoff. Geoff, who’s running out of a store he’d just robbed, laughing and unconcerned with the cops following him- shooting at him- until he runs right into Gavin. Gavin, who jumps, but must not react normally, because Geoff laughs, again.

“Hey, kid, aren’t you worried you’ll get shot, standin’ there?”

And he’s not. Gavin is used to lying, to pretending. (Maybe he reached something less than okay a long time ago, but Gavin had to.) Gavin couldn’t tell anyone the truth, before then.

Who would believe him? Normal, stupid, unimportant Gavin? Immortal? 

It’s easier to lie.

“I can’t die,” Gavin says. An admission he’s never given before. Geoff laughs at him, grabs him, and they run.

Geoff is nearly a century older than Gavin. Has died more times than he can count. (Gavin counts his own deaths. He’s up to 14.)

“So you decided to become a criminal?” Gavin eyes the other, frowning.

“I didn’t just decide to.”

Geoff must have been a good person, once, because he looks away. Looks guilty, for a moment, and then sighs, and it’s gone. Explains how hard it had become to care about anything around him.

It’s all temporary, but he isn’t.

Gavin wasn’t a bad person. But he wasn’t a good one, either. The fall from okay to bad is like falling off your chair. Scary, for a second, but it barely hurts. He barely notices it.

Gavin doesn’t participate, at first. Not directly. He talks to people. (He lies to people.) Let’s them think he’s plain, stupid, normal Gavin Free, who isn’t a threat. Twists conversations to his favour without anyone realizing it.

It isn’t until they- him, Geoff, Jack- move on to Los Santos that he even participates in a heist. Isn’t until there, with their newest recruits- at the time, Michael and Ray- that he kills people who didn’t deserve it. And for a while- for a few months- that hurts.

But Gavin wasn’t a good person, so he gets over it.

“How old are you, now, Gav?” Geoff asks, one day, in 2018. Gavin shrugs.

“Twenty six.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Oh? Was it not?” Gavin looks away. “I don’t remember.”

“Mhm. Sure.”

Gavin died, once. (27 times, actually.) Fell off a roof, crashing into the ground with a sound that to this day makes him sick to think about. He wasn’t a bad person, then. Pretty normal. If he had stayed dead, then, he probably would have been unremarkable.

Unremembered, certainly, by now.

Gavin dies for the 28th time during a heist, when their- he and Jack’s- helicopter is shot down. It’s 2019, and he clings to Jack as they crash, knowing what’s coming. For some reason, he’s laughing as it happens.

The news reports that the Fake’s helicopter went down, but they have yet to find the bodies. In a few months, during their next heist, people will wonder in awe and horror how the Fake’s all survived the last heist. How they survive all of them.

These bad, terrible people that get away with so much, and somehow haven’t died.

If Gavin had died, then, the world would know him as a bad person.

Gavin wasn’t a bad person, in the past. He wasn’t a good person, either, but he wasn’t a bad person. Normal, maybe. For the time. For now, even. For the place. For here, even. Lived as an okay person.

Gavin is a bad person, probably. He’s certainly not a good person, and immortality isn’t an excuse for immorality, probably. Is known to the world as a member of the Fake AH Crew. As their golden boy.

Gavin Free: a completely awful person.

Gavin thinks, maybe, it would have hurt. To realize he was a bad person, if he had thought he was a good person. Like falling off a building. Like hitting the ground and feeling himself break. (Again.)

He didn’t make the fall from good to bad. Didn’t lay there waiting for someone to figure out what to do with the remains of a broken, formerly good person. 

Instead he lays on the floor, fallen from okay to good, and picks himself up. Nobody has to find his body, he isn’t dead.

He’s fine, really.

Gavin Free, awful person, immortal, Fake.

He was only okay, before, so it isn’t worth thinking about, really.

He’s not upset about it. (Gavin is used to lying, to pretending.) He’d reached something less than okay a long time ago, so it’s not worth thinking about now. (He had to lie, before. Couldn’t tell the truth, because who would believe him?)

Gavin is a bad person.

It’s raining when Yoongi leaves the convenience store. The warmth of his coffee does nothing to ease the cold of the rain, as he steps outside. Briefly he wonders if he should just run back to his apartment from here, but he really doesn’t have time to get sick. Yoongi pulls his jacket tighter around him, and glances back inside. The cashier- a young woman with the unfortunate luck to have the word disappointing carved across her cheek- gives him a sympathetic, if nervous, smile. In return, he offers a halfhearted smile, and turns back to the sidewalk, watching the rain for a moment. With a sigh, he resigns himself to running, and pulls his hood up in the hopes it will provide extra protection.

“Yoongi?” The voice- familiar and quiet- stops him. To his left stands Park Jimin, who goes to the college just a few blocks south of where Yoongi- during his days- works. As well as who shares a mutual friend- one Jung Hoseok- with Yoongi.

“Oh, hey.” Yoongi glances, briefly, at the umbrella the other holds, before looking back to Jimin’s face.

“It’s raining.”

“I noticed.”

“We’re you planing to run in it?”

“Yep.”

“Would you… like to walk with me?” Jimin’s question confuses Yoongi for just a moment, before he remembers that they also live in the same apartment building. Yoongi pauses, considering this, then nods.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, give me a second? I was supposed to buy some stuff before getting home.” With that, Jimin shoves the umbrella into Yoongi’s hands, and rushes inside. For a moment, Yoongi thinks about how easy it would be to just go on his own, since he has the umbrella, before pushing that thought aside. That would be more than mean, and he can stand to wait a few minutes.

When Jimin returns, he’s holding a bag filled with at least six cold coffee bottles, and is holding a slushee. Yoongi raises an eyebrow at this, but Jimin shrugs, sipping it.

“Roommate.”

“Ah.”

They head back, together, and separate when they reach the building.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. See you later!”

 There are very few people who are willing to risk themselves, in exchange for fame. In a world where one word said with enough venom, or one phrase that hurts you enough, can etch itself over your skin permanently, it’s a big risk. There are people who become famous, only to have someone who claims to be their fans scream something hurtful at them just to know that their words are scars on that persons skin. There are people who want to ruin them, and do the same. There are those who believe their comments will never reach them, but that somehow get back through one of dozens of sites. There are those who try to ruin someone before they reach fame, and those who throw insults at each other to entertain people.

It’s cruel, and it’s not everyone, but it’s a large enough threat that many fear trying. Those who do either being confident enough not to get hurt, or are able to hide their scars easily. Or, in some rare cases, those who don’t try to hide them, despite any criticism.

Someone who makes music without showing his face, and who preforms only in small venues populated by people with the same wants- dreams, goals, careers- as him, Min Yoongi both does and doesn’t want to rise into that. Fears it, because of the words already there, yet desperately holds onto a dream that a young him had, before the cruelty of the world was revealed to him.

For now, no matter what he wants, he keeps doing what he has been, and working to make up for what his dreams can’t do.

 It’s still raining early the next day, when he wakes. He doesn’t work, today, if only because his boss got tired of seeing him every day for the past month. Yoongi takes this chance to listen back to the newest track he’s created. The mixing he “finished” the day before, while he may have been far too tired to properly judge it, needs some work, so he resigns himself to that task, for the morning.

By afternoon he’s sure he’s listened to his own voice far too much, and that he can no longer be trusted to be the judge of it.

So he sends the most current version of it to two of his friends- who he trusts to give honest thoughts- and leaves deciding he should probably eat.

It could be quite a while before he hears back from them; Namjoon and Hoseok. Namjoon is in a different timezone, and is halfway to finishing a manuscript he’s been invested in for the past few months. Meanwhile Hoseok is knee deep in internships and, between that, his personal ventures into the career he actually wants.

To his surprise, Yoongi receives an email from Hoseok only four hours later, while he’s taken to writing down whatever comes into his mind; writing thoughts for future reference. So he sits up, and grabs his computer, reading the email.

 Two years ago, Min Yoongi and Jung Hoseok weren’t friends. A month before that, they were dating.

Yoongi knows he’s responsible for at least one of Hoseok’s scars, and he can’t do anything about that fact. Neither of them can, or could have. It was something that had to be said, that they both knew was going to be, eventually. An inevitability that they couldn’t avoid. One of them would be hurt.

“It’s okay.” Hoseok had taken Yoongi’s hands, and smiled, despite the clear fear there. Yoongi hesitated, frowned, refused to say what he knew would hurt Hoseok. What he knew would carve a fresh scar into his skin. It’s surprising, to hear Hoseok talk gravely, but he speaks with a finality that Yoongi can’t manage. “I already know, but neither of us will feel better leaving it unsaid.”

“I don’t- I’m not in love with you.”

“I know.”

Hoseok left, that day. The only evidence that Yoongi was right, that the words scared, is his slight wince when Yoongi said it. Yet, he doesn’t say anything hurtful back. Doesn’t try to pay Yoongi back for them. Is clear enough in what was happening, to know that Yoongi tried to make the words untrue. Tried to feel what he knew Hoseok did. But it hadn’t worked. In the end he didn’t, and it wasn’t doing either of them any good.

So Hoseok leaves with the words, “not in love with you,” and Yoongi finds the words, “I know,” trailing over his stomach the next time he looks.

Two years ago, Min Yoongi and Jung Hoseok weren’t friends. Four months after that, after everything is over, Yoongi finds Hoseok sitting outside a convince store, leaned over a warming bowl of noodles. Yoongi stares, and meets Hoseok’s gaze when he looks up. Hoseok offers a smile, surprisingly warm, and Yoongi finds himself dropping down next to the other.

When it was over, when Yoongi was far away from Hoseok’s feelings for him, he had time to process. Time the realize that, “not in love,” wasn’t always the case. That, once, at the beginning and middle, he had been in love with Hoseok, he thinks. That despite losing that, there had been a time where it was true.

“You know, I think…” Yoongi gazes at the table, frowning. “Even if I didn’t, at the end, I think at one point- I think I loved you.”

“Yeah.” Hoseok nods, turns his gaze away. “I loved you, too.”

Two years ago, Min Yoongi and Jung Hoseok weren’t friends. One year ago, Hoseok sent Yoongi a picture of a dog, after barely speaking for months, and Yoongi thought, maybe they’d be okay.

 Today, Yoongi and Hoseok are friends. Hoseok sends Yoongi an email, telling him that he liked the song, but that he’s not an expert on music production. Something felt a bit off, but he isn’t sure what, and tells Yoongi that Namjoon will probably have a better insight into that. Otherwise, he really liked the song, and says he, “wasn’t prepared to cry, so thanks,” at the end of his email. Yoongi replies, thanking him.

Hoseok responds with a small dismissal of this thanks, saying it wasn’t a big deal, and then a P.S. That says,“you should buy an umbrella.”

The next day, Yoongi gets ready for work while thinking that Hoseok is right. The rain has yet to let up, and he breathes a sigh before he sets out for work. One more glance is sent at his window, before he closes his door and stuffs his keys into his pockets. Just as he takes a step, he kicks something, and looks down to find a dark, red umbrella sitting next to his door. It’s almost certainly Jimin’s, and he picks it up with a frown on his face.

There’s a note tied to it. “I got a new one and Hoseok said you didn’t have one, so you can have this if you want? Don’t get sick!”

The day after, he finally gets a reply from Namjoon that simply tells him the song is good, but Yoongi’s voice is too low in the mix. Yoongi spends the night making adjustments with that, until he thinks it’s perfect, and then adds the song onto a blank video with the song title before posting it. He wont- despite always wanting to- check the comments. He knows better, and that’s why he has mods. To make sure that by the time he does look at the comments, they’re less likely to be filled with possibly scar-worthy words. Leaves genuine criticism, opinions- because he has to deal with those eventually- but they get rid of anything blatantly hateful.

Then he finds the clock reading approximately ass o’ clock in the morning- 4am- and knowing he has to work two hours later. With a sigh, he drags himself to bed- any rest is better than none- and sets an alarm. When he wakes, the next day, the rain has finally let up. When he goes to leave, he takes a moment of consideration, before grabbing the umbrella from where he left it beside the door, and taking it with him, just in case.

 That Sunday, two things happen. Yoongi decides enough time has passed for his mods to make it safe for him to look at his comments, and he get’s a text from Namjoon. He deals with the former, first, since he expects Namjoon will have texted him, and then gone to do something else right away, anyway.

This is so sad?

i wanna kno who this is about

ugh ‘I think I loved you’ how dare you do this to me

This makes me miss someone ive never even met ha

His voice !!!

Yoongi scrolls through the comments, the video playing the song they’re about, until he has a good idea of the general consensus. Which is, in short, that it was sad and that they liked it.

With that- for now- out of the way, Yoongi checks Namjoon’s message. It’s a picture, actually, and Yoongi isn’t sure what he’s looking at, at first. It’s a tattooed arm, that much is obvious, but he isn’t sure why Namjoon would send it to him. The bird is pretty, but it takes him a minute to realize that it’s Namjoon’s arm. The one that is scarred with the word, fake. But that word is nearly unnoticeable, under the detailed tattoo.

“When’d you do that?”

“Mostly last month but it was finished a few days ago.”

 When Yoongi is sixteen, he meets this kid named Namjoon in passing. The latter was visiting family in the town Yoongi lived in, and they met outside a CD shop. Yoongi was going to apply for some part time work, while Namjoon was just looking at the selection. This kind of meeting would be something they would both forget, something they would never think about.

When Yoongi is twenty, he meets this guy named Namjoon in passing. Yoongi is working at this store, and Namjoon is buying an album. They somehow get to talking, and eventually end up exchanging information, even though that’s unusual considering Yoongi is working. Later, months later, they talk about hometowns and spiral into a conversation that reveals their having met in passing before.

When Yoongi is twenty, he makes friends with Namjoon, and this leads, eventually, to a discussion about scars. It’s hard to miss, especially when Namjoon has never made a huge effort to hide it, but Namjoon has the word fake scrawled over this right arm. Yoongi makes a bigger effort to hide his, but it’s still not hard to notice. Yoongi has the word fucker scrawled across his left forearm. They take a weird solace in knowing these scars are both the result of broken friendships. In the fact that they aren’t alone in this.

 Yoongi looks down at his own arm, and wonders if he should do something similar. But, no, he doesn’t want to. As terrible as it is, he can’t bring himself to hide it, not from himself at least.

“It’s nice. Planning more?”

“Eventually.”

 It’s a Thursday evening, raining yet again, when Yoongi begins his journey home under the cover of the umbrella given to him by Jimin. It’s a Thursday evening, and Jimin runs past him- likely returning from university- bag held over his head.

“Jimin!” Jimin stumbles at that, spins around frantic, and stops. Then, after a brief pause, rushes over to Yoongi, hiding under the cover of the umbrella that was once his.

“Hey.”

“I though you had a new one.”

“I forgot it.” Jimin huffs, pushing his wet hair out of his face.

“Well, you in a rush?”

“Not really, now that I’m out of the rain.” Jimin grins, and Yoongi just nods. They make their way back together again, idle conversation breaking up their relative silence, and separate once back to their apartments, again.

The next morning, Yoongi checks the weather to see it’s probably going to rain, again. He isn’t sure why he’s doing it, really, but he tapes a note to Jimin’s- and his roommate’s, technically- apartment door frame- so he can’t miss it- that reminds Jimin to take an umbrella.

Later, that night, when Yoongi returns home after working overtime, he finds a thank you in the form of a note slid under his door.

 There are a number of people, in the world, who’s scars will never be visible. Who hide them under clothes or makeup- or who don’t have to make much of an effort to hide them- so nobody will ever know. Yoongi doesn’t have to make much of an effort to hide his, a lot of the time. They’re all in easily covered places. His arms, sometimes, are a problem when it’s too warm, but otherwise he doesn’t have much trouble. Sometimes he wonders about strangers. If they’re like him, or if they just don’t have a lot, or, or, or.

Yoongi has never so much caught a glimpse of Jimin’s scars. It’s not as if he’s been looking for them, specifically, but… he wonders. If the man who gave him an umbrella, and has always seemed generally nice, and who’s friends with Hoseok- which basically guarantees someone isn’t awful- could possibly have that many scars. If many people could have said things worth scarring, to him.

If he would be hurt by the words, in the first place.

Yoongi admittedly doesn’t have that many scars. No more than fifteen, if he counts the long faded ones that are barely visible from his childhood. The ones that remain, visible and obvious and red, are more recent. Sometimes, when someone looks at him for a second too long, he worries. Worries that they’re wondering, too, or maybe that they know. It’s not rational, he knows that, but he can’t help but wonder.

What would actually happen, if someone saw them? Logically he knows the answer is nothing, but…

Yoongi runs into Jimin, as he’s on his way up to his apartment, and Jimin is leaving, and he wonders. Wonders about Jimin’s scars, wonders if the other wonders about his.

“Oh, hey, Yoongi.”

“Hey.”

“Thanks again for the reminder about the umbrella, it rained again on my way home.”

“No problem.”

But their conversations are so normal. Scars are never addressed.

So maybe it’s just Yoongi that wonders.

 The long-running streak of rain finally comes to an end, on a Tuesday morning. Yoongi works in a small coffee shop just off of the nearby college campus. Technically Yoongi was a student there not long ago, but left because it felt like a waste. When he was working towards something he didn’t even want to do. His family hadn’t been happy, the word disappointing on his chest evidence of this.

Someone stumbles into the shop, seemingly losing to the weight of their bag, before looking up at Yoongi and- oh. It’s Jimin, he realizes when he sees the other’s face. Jimin is shortly followed by another of Yoongi’s neighbors- and Jimin’s roommate- Taehyung. While the later laughs at Jimin’s stumbling, and makes his way to one of the many table, Jimin shoots him a glare and approaches the counter. Yoongi offers a smile, as he’s supposed to.

“Hey, Yoongi, I forgot you worked here.”

“Yep. What do you want?”

Jimin recites his- and presumably Taehyung’s- order, motioning with his hands. Yoongi never realized before, but Jimin’s wrists have always been converted in some way. It never occurred to him why, until he notices the small, red, scar on his right arm. Pathetic. Yoongi forces himself to focus on Jimin’s order, rather than the word, and then recites it back, to be sure it’s right.

“That’s all?”

“Yep!”

Yoongi charges the other, and gives the order to another of the shops workers to get started on. When Jimin gets the drinks, and goes to sit with Taehyung, Yoongi feels bad.

Yoongi always wonders about others scars, but whenever he sees them, he feels bad. Feels like it’s an invasion of privacy that he can’t take back. Because these are words that hurt that person so badly they became physical wounds. Who was he to look at those, without permission?

 The first time Yoongi had seen someone else’s scar- that wasn’t a family member- they belonged to Seokjin, his and Namjoon’s mutual friend. At the time, shortly before Yoongi dropped out of college, Seokjin had been his roommate, which made hiding their scars from each other nearly impossible. There wasn’t enough space or privacy. Yoongi was nineteen at the time- hadn’t met Namjoon or Hoseok, yet- and had felt sick to his stomach when he realized what he’d done.

But Seokjin hadn’t seemed bothered. Said, simply, that he didn’t care. That the words didn’t mean anything, because now that they were on his skin, what else could they do to him?

Yoongi didn’t get it. His own scars hurt to look at, still. Filled his chest with anxiety at the realization that someone else could do that to him, and he could do nothing to stop it.

Yoongi wonders, now, what Jimin feels about his scars. What they mean to him.

Because Yoongi knows what his own mean to him. And they’re awful. It’s awful. He hates, deeply, every one of them.

Or, maybe, he just hates himself for believing the insults. Or himself for letting the ones that weren’t, be said.

 So, Yoongi and Jimin have this one conversation. Run into each other, again as they’re both on their way home, and have a short conversation that sticks in Yoongi’s mind.

“You ever worry that if someone knew your- uh- words, that they’d try to use them to hurt you more?”

“Huh?” Yoongi blinks, surprised, before nodding. “Yeah.”

“I lost my scar-covering band, and went through today, and nothing happened.” Jimin frowns. “So why am I still worried?”

“Just because nothing’s gone wrong- or even if you know nothing will- doesn’t mean you’re gonna stop worrying.”

“Sucks, though.”

“Yeah.”

It sticks with Yoongi, for two reasons. One is that Jimin has the same worries as him. Somehow that makes things easier. Makes him feel better. Because it isn’t just him. The second is his own words. He isn’t sure where they came from, in his mind, but he spoke without really thinking about it.

Just because you know you shouldn’t, doesn’t mean you wont worry.

And just because you know they shouldn’t matter, doesn’t mean your scars will stop hurting.

 Two weeks later, Jimin and Yoongi meet in that convenience store. The cashier looks unhappy, when the two start talking- likely too used to groups of people being noisy and inconsiderate of her time- but Yoongi tries to ignore that. He knows they aren’t going to cause her problems.

“Hey can I ask you for something?” Jimin asks, tilting his head to Yoongi.

“Depends?”

“I need music recommendations. For- uh- dance routines? Hoseok’s gonna be back in town, this summer, and we wanna do something together, but haven’t figured out what song to use.”

“Oh, sure. I can send some recommendations to him, if you want?”

“You could just give them to me?” Jimin frowns at him. “Oh, wait, you don’t have my number, huh?”

“No?”

“Okay, give me your phone then.”

 Yoongi and Jimin talk more. It’s a slow thing, that happens. One day, they barely knew each other, and the next they were talking almost every day. In passing, mostly, with the rain gone, but talking none the less. Within a year, the two have become friends.

And the rain is back.

 Yoongi is on his way back from work, as the rain pours down. It’s windy, too, and his umbrella is struggling. Still, it holds up. Then, he hears Jimin’s voice.

“Yoongi, hold up!” The other runs to him, before Yoongi can fully turn to face him. Jimin forces his way under Yoongi’s umbrella, gasping for breath after running.

“Did you somehow forget your umbrella, again?” Yoongi jokes, only for Jimin to raise the remains of his umbrella in front of them.

“Nope. It just turned out the new one was garbage.”

“New,” Yoongi repeats the word. “It’s been a year.”

“And I barely used it!”

“Fair enough.” Yoongi shrugs. “So you want to walk together, I take it?”

“Yep, that okay?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks!” Jimin’s grin is startlingly warm. Yoongi’s chest hurts, and he isn’t sure if it’s because of Jimin, himself, or because he reminds Yoongi of something else. Of the kind of smile he was scared of getting rid of, once.

 Three years ago, Yoongi and Hoseok weren’t friends. Two years ago, they became friends again. Yoongi hesitates, after everything, to ask Hoseok of all people, but he does. Sends Hoseok a short message, to ask a simple question.

How did you know you were in love?

It’s not as if Yoongi thinks he is, suddenly. As if a friendship of idle conversations has caused that. But he doesn’t remember what he felt, back when he loved Hoseok. Doesn’t remember what it felt like, before he fell out of love. His memory is clouded with anger at himself for hurting someone, even if they both knew he had no choice.

I couldn’t really tell you, sorry. Hoseok’s response doesn’t help Yoongi any.

 “You know,” Jimin starts, one day. They sit just outside their apartment building, during a break in the rain. There’s a bus, that comes in a few minutes, that Jimin has to catch, and Yoongi just doesn’t have anything to do at the moment. “Sometimes I wonder what I would have done, if I was born- like- seventy years earlier.”

“Why then?”

“That was before the whole words-causing-scars things started, you know? My grandma was born just a few months before it started, and has none.”

“Oh.” Yoongi nods. He was sure he learned about that, in school, but it had never really registered to him. He was so used to how things were, that a society devoid of it seemed wrong, somehow. Was it better? Or was not being able to physically display the effects of ones words worse?

“Don’t you wonder?”

Yoongi has wondered about a lot of things, but that wasn’t one. “I guess not? I don’t know. I sure do, now that you’ve mentioned it.”

Jimin nods, frowning. “I wonder if it would have made me happier, or not.”

“I doubt the words would hurt less, just because you don’t have to look at them.” Yoongi never looks at most of his words. Some he couldn’t avoid, but he never looks in a mirror, to avoid words like I know. That didn’t stop them from hurting.

“Maybe not.”

 So Yoongi doesn’t think he’s in love with Jimin. Not yet, at least, but the other takes more and more space up, in his life, over time. So, he does what he usually does when things take up too much of his life’s space. Writes about it. Writes about Jimin. It turns, too quickly, into a song.

He hesitates to send to to Hoseok, but knows the other will complain if he finds out Yoongi only sent it to Namjoon. When he hears back from both of them, he gets two very different responses. Namjoon’s, “it’s nice, different from your usual though,” is expected. As is Hoseoks, “somebody has a crush~” though he wishes it wasn’t.

What isn’t expected, is the response after he posts it. Not from most people, their responses are what he expects. But from Jimin. Who knocks on his door, mid afternoon on a Saturday, nearly bouncing where he stands when Yoongi opens the door.

“Jimin?”

“Your new song was really good!”

“Uh- oh. Thank you? You- wait- you heard it?!”

“Uh, yeah? Wait did you not know I listen to them? Hoseok told me about your music a long time ago. Why do you think I went to you for music recommendations?”

“Oh.” Oh, Yoongi thinks, that’s unfortunate.

“Anyway, I wanted to ask a favour about it!”

“What- uh- what’s that?”

“Let me make a routine to it.”

“Like… dance?”

“Yes?”

“You’re asking my permission?”

“Uh, yeah?” Jimin tilts his head, frowning. Unfortunately, it’s cute. “You’re not like a big, record-signed artist, so I’d feel weird not asking you about it. Especially if I film the routine and post it, you know?”

“Right, okay. Sure, have fun?” Yoongi really just wants this conversation to end, honestly. Really would prefer not to talk to Jimin about the song that also happened to be about Jimin. “You know you could have texted me to ask?”

“Oh, yeah, but I was on my way out anyway- oh shit, I have to go.” Realization forms on Jimin’s face, and he’s rushing off before Yoongi can properly respond. “I’ll see you later!”

 So Yoongi’s face isn’t really out there, publicly. His profiles are all icons, or specifically edited pictures to hide his face. His main avatar is a picture of him, yes, but with his face hidden behind his left arm, and the word fucker censored, but visible. Multiple people have asked if it was real, but he’s never answered that question.

When Jimin asks Yoongi if he wants to post the video of Jimin’s routine on his account, too, Yoongi has a feeling someone is going to ask about that. He’s never put his own face on his videos, and nobody else’s either. So he hesitates to change that.

Eventually, though, he decides to do just that. Jimin’s face becomes the first, and only, one on his channel. He asks his mods to be extra strict about the comments, on it, because of that.

Unfortunately for Yoongi: with any harmful words eliminated the comments that remain are still thing’s Yoongi doesn’t find he likes to read. Though he agree’s with a lot of them, there’s an odd weight in his chest as he reads them. Questions- mostly jokes- about if Jimin is the person the song is about. Comments about Jimin himself- positive, if a bit too much in some cases- that Yoongi both agrees with and doesn’t want to read. A few comments of people who recognized Jimin, immediately, and fewer still that didn’t read the description- or the title card, for that matter- who ask if Jimin is Yoongi.

They aren’t bad. They shouldn’t bother him.

Yoongi messages a link to his version of the video to Jimin. Says, “I think my commentators like you more than me,” and tries to tell himself that’s all there is to it.

Jimin responds, “you should see the comments on my post of it,” and gives Yoongi a link to that. Which leads Yoongi to seeing more of the comments that bothered him on his own upload, as well as a few about his song, from people who hadn’t heard it already. And, more unfortunately, means Yoongi now has access to- knows of- Jimin’s own channel.

Which leads Yoongi to watching nearly every one of Jimin’s videos over the course of the next two days.

He’s not proud.

 It’s a day of sun, in between their current season of rain, one Sunday when Yoongi has to work. The work day drags on, especially with the ever-present thought reminding him he needs to go shopping, today. Has gone far too many days without proper food in his house, for someone with a job, and who will have enough for his next rent payment, even after buying food.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity- the low number of customers leaving him bored more than stressed- Yoongi’s shift ends, and he makes his way to the store. Despite being- in name- a grocery store, Yoongi find a stand selling umbrellas, right near the cash registers. Ignores them- he has an umbrella, already- and returns to his shopping.

Then, as he gets everything he needs, he finds himself reaching for his phone. Sending a message that, generally, isn’t a big deal. “Did you ever replace your umbrella?”

“no i havent had the chance :(“

So Yoongi happens to pick up an umbrella, on his way to the register. Happens to buy it, and bring it home. And when he’s finished putting his groceries away, he picks up the new umbrella- it seems about as sturdy as his current one- and makes his way out of his apartment. Makes his way to the door of his neighbor apartment, and knocks for what he thinks might be the first time.

Jimin opens the door, looking as surprised by this as Yoongi feels with himself. Then, after a pause, Yoongi holds out the umbrella, not looking directly at Jimin. “I owed you, for mine.”

“Oh.” Jimin takes it, surprise evident in his voice. Probably on his face, too, were Yoongi to look. “Thank you.”

“Yeah.”

 It’s raining when Yoongi leave the convenience store. The warmth from his coffee does nothing to ease the cold of the rain, as he steps outside. He fumbles to open his umbrella, clumsily, and looks back inside to see the cashier- a young woman cursed with the words disappointing and boring carved across her cheek- trying not to laugh at him. He looks away, hiding under the umbrella. The red of the umbrella is faded, slightly, but it still blocks the rain- and the remaining light of evening- from him just fine. Yoongi holds his coffee closer to his chest, and moves to start his walk home.

“Yoongi!” And he stops. Turns to see Jimin run to meet him, mint green shading him from his own umbrella.

“Oh, Jimin.” Yoongi’s tone remains neutral, despite the vague feeling of nostalgia in his mind. It’s not been nearly long enough to be feeling nostalgic. Only a year. It’s only been a year.

“It’s raining again.”

“I noticed.” Yoongi offers a smile, then looks away from Jimin, when the other returns it. “When is it not?”

“Summer?”

“You got me there.” Yoongi looks back, Jimin is still smiling, his heart twists. “Heading home?”

“After a quick stop.” Jimin motions into the store. “Would you… like to walk with me?”

“Yeah, sure,” Yoongi says, without thinking. Jimin grins, folds his umbrella, and rushes inside. It’s only a minute, before he’s rejoining Yoongi outside. He returns with a bag of bottled coffee.

“Roommate,” Jimin offers as explanation.

“Of course.”

They head back, together. Make their way upstairs, to their floor, together. Stop outside Yoongi’s door to say bye to each other.

 Before Yoongi had met Jimin- before Yoongi had met Namjoon, or Seokjin, or Hoseok- Yoongi was gifted thirteen scars. Had yet to have I know or disappointing carved into his skin. What he did have was Nobody. Etched onto his chest is curved writing- handwriting- so much like the writing of the person who gave it to him. Seeing it, alone, Yoongi thinks people would misunderstand. Assume it meant- assume it hurt because of- something else.

“You’re such an asshole. Nobody is ever going to love you.” Given to him by the first person he’d ever thought he loved.

Yoongi doesn’t remember what they felt like. What being in love with them felt like. It was different, distinctly, from what he thinks he felt for Hoseok. But he doesn’t remember how he felt then, either. Knows he loved, but not what they felt like.

Nobody, from the person who would never love him. I know, from the person he couldn’t love back.

 It’s too obvious, the title. Rainy Season. Too obvious, the words. If I was someone else, could you love me. Would you know I loved you.

It’s too obvious. Yoongi doesn’t publish it, though he gets as far as uploading the video. Stares at the make public button until his eyes hurt, and closes the window. It’s far too obvious. Jimin hadn’t realized, after the first song, but surely he couldn’t miss the obvious if he heard this one.

It’s too obvious, so he doesn’t post it. Doesn’t send it too Namjoon, and certainly not Hoseok.

 “I wonder if it would have made me happier, or not.” Jimin had said. If not having scars from the words- or living in that world, where no one did- would have made him happier. They still would have hurt, but would it have changed something, not having them? Not knowing they were there, carved into his skin.

Yoongi had said they’d probably still hurt, even if they weren’t scars. He doesn’t look at his, after all, but they still hurt. Knowing they’re there, still hurts, but maybe they’d hurt less if they weren’t there at all. Yoongi somehow doubts it.

“Are any of your words still…fresh?” Yoongi asks, one day. They’re walking back, again, together. He doesn’t know how else to phrase it. The scars fade, the less you think about them. Fade into slight marks, the less they hurt. The more they mean to you- the more they hurt, the more you believe them- the more they look recent. Red, raw, like they were freshly carved.

Jimin stares at Yoongi, wide-eyed, and hesitates to answer. The longer the silence, the more Yoongi regrets the question. Moves to say Jimin doesn’t have to answer, when Jimin responds. “All of them.”

All of them. From childhood, until now. All of them. Yoongi slows to a stop. Most of his scars have faded. Most of his scars he can ignore, if he doesn’t look at them. “All of them?”

“Yeah?”

“How…many is that?” It’s too personal a question. Yoongi shakes his head, before Jimin can answer. “No- sorry- that’s not any of my business.”

Jimin nods, and they return to a walk. It isn’t until they’re on their floor, that Jimin speaks again. Just as Yoongi opens his door. “Thirty.”

“What?” Yoongi spins, quickly, and Jimin gives him a weak smile.

“I have thirty.”

Jimin returns to his apartment, while Yoongi stares. Unable to move, unable to breathe. Thirty. Yoongi has fifteen, and Jimin- sweet, talented, nice, genuine Jimin- has thirty.

It isn’t fair. The world, life, the way scars work. How true they are, who said them, how much they’re deserved- none of it matters. The scars are based on how you perceive the words. How you feel about them. How you’re hurt by them.

So people like Jimin have thirty and people like Yoongi have fifteen.

Yoongi repeats this sentiment later, muttered, not really expecting Jimin to have anything to say about it.

“But you don’t deserve yours, either.” And it’s so simple, the statement. Breaks Yoongi from his thoughts of the world being unfair for a moment, as shock hits him horribly.

“What?”

“You don’t deserve your, either.” Repeated, with more force, the words make Yoongi’s chest hurt. Because he doesn’t know if he believes them- doesn’t know if he can- but, yet, he easily believed the ones carved into his skin.

“Oh.” Yoongi leans into him, when Jimin wraps an arm around his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“I’m just being honest.”

 Yoongi posts the un-posted song that evening. Doesn’t read the comments, even a week later, and doesn’t read his texts, either. Leaves early for work, returns late, to avoid facing Jimin.

 Yoongi can’t avoid Jimin forever. They have mutual friends, live in the same apartment complex, and know each other’s schedules too well.

Jimin is sitting outside his apartment, when he returns home. Yoongi can’t turn around and leave, since Jimin sees him, so he approaches. Sits next to Jimin, outside Yoongi’s apartment, and breathes a sigh. Finally, he speaks, softly, “Hey, Jimin.”

“Hey, Yoongi.”

“What’s up?” He can’t muster false casualness, so Yoongi’s words hold all the anxiety he feels. Jimin hums, lightly.

“I heard your song.”

“Figured.”

“It’s lovely. Kind like the last one? Not really your usual, but nice.”

“Thank you.”

“You… can just be you.”

“Huh?” Finally, Yoongi faces Jimin. Jimin, who smiles, stands, and offers Yoongi his hand. Pulls Yoongi to his feet, as Yoongi struggles to process the words.

“You can be you, and I’ll understand.” Jimin pauses, looking away. His own embarrassment is enough to make Yoongi less aware of his own. “And I’ll- and I can- you can be you, and I’ll love you.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t- uh- horribly misunderstand, did I?”

“No- no you- that’s- you got it.”

 Besides comments questioning Yoongi recent change in lyrics, most of the comments are positive. Yoongi doesn’t look through them as much as he usually does, before he finally reads his texts. They… are about what he expects, too. Support mixed with a slight amount of teasing. Which becomes a lot more, when he tells them about what’s happened since he posted the song.

 It’s raining, as Yoongi leave the convenience store. The rain is supposed to let up, but at the moment it gives no signs of stopping. It’s cold- cold enough the hot coffee in his hands doesn’t help much- as he waits outside of the store, umbrella at his side, as he stands under to the awning. Yoongi pulls his jacket tighter around him, and turns in the direction he knows Jimin will arrive from.

A few minutes later than usual, Jimin jogs up to the store, closing his umbrella as he steps under the awning. “Hey!”

“Hey,” Yoongi greets, in return.

“Sorry I had to talk to my professor.”

“It’s fine.” Yoongi shakes his head, and holds out his hand to take Jimin’s umbrella. Jimin gives a small thanks, before heading into the store. Yoongi turns, watches Jimin grab coffee, and make his way to the register. When Jimin turns around to leave, the cashier meets Yoongi’s eyes with a knowing smile that forces Yoongi to turn back around.

Jimin takes his umbrella back, when he exits, and opens it as he steps out from the awning. Yoongi takes a step forward, and is pulled under it before he can open his own umbrella. “Let’s walk together.”

“We were already going to do that.” Yoongi rolls his eyes, but steps closer, under the umbrella.

“It’s raining,” Jimin says, lightly.

“I hadn’t noticed.” Yoongi’s sarcasm gets a short laugh from Jimin. “Summer’s soon.”

“Finally.” Jimin breathes a sigh, his exhaustion with the rain clear. Yoongi feels all too fond. “We should do something.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t know. Go to beach?” Yoongi blanches at the suggestion, and Jimin laughs at him. “Scar covers exist.”

Yoongi knows that, but he’s never had to bother with them. Scars easy enough to hide without them. Still, he looks a Jimin- lightly smiling and seeming unconcerned despite what Yoongi knows of Jimin’s worries- and sighs. “Okay, sure, I’ll think about it.”

“That’s basically a yes.”

“It is not.”

“It is. You love me, you’ll give in.”

“Don’t go using that power for evil all the sudden.”

“Me? Evil? Never.”

“If you say so.”

 A little over a year ago, Yoongi barely knew Jimin. A year ago, he and Jimin became friends. A month ago, they started dating.

“Hey, you know how you let me live here for free? And give me food, and blood, and plan to leave all your money to me when you die?” Changkyun asks, calmly.

“Yes?”

“So like does that make you a- make you my sugar-”

“If you finish that sentence I will personally beat you to death with the home phone.” Kihyun turns to glare at him.

“Why- why specifically the home phone?”

“Well I can’t risk breaking my cell phone.”

From across the room, Hoseok laughs at their entire conversation.

Changkyun is a starving freshman college student who just wants to get back to his tiny dorm and sleep for a week. He doesn’t want to be pulled into an alley and robbed. Yet there he is, with some guys’ foot pushing into him bellow his ribs and another guy telling him to hand over his wallet.

Changkyun does so- slowly- and tosses the wallet away from himself so the second guy-who has a knife- wont get any closer. They take the wallet. For a brief moment they actually seem like they’re going to leave. They take steps away from him while Changkyun pushes himself up in preparation to run once he thinks he can. To run and call the cops.

But then they freeze.

“He’s seen our faces.”

Changkyun tries to run. He’s caught. A hand covers his mouth. Changkyun struggles all he can until they stab him once. And then again. And again.

And Changkyun wakes in a panic, hitting his head on the bunk above him before he tumbles to the floor. He’s alone in the room, which he realizes as soon as his heart stops racing. At least, he thinks it’s racing, but he’s not sure it beats at all any more, and he’s too afraid to confirm this. Light is barely shining through the window, dull. It’s just sunrise.

After a moment, Changkyun breathes a sigh, and pulls himself to his feet. He hadn’t actually had a nightmare of the event, before. Not even after the second time he was in a situation like it, and not following seeing one of the people responsible. So he isn’t really sure what caused it, just that it happened.

The apartment in general is empty, he finds. Kihyun is nowhere to be found, but like usual there’s food left behind, so Changkyun guesses the other must have just gotten up early. Still, food seems entirely unappealing, and blood even less so.

When he was first turned into a vampire- or, rather, when he first woke up after becoming one- Changkyun was told that Minhyuk and Jooheon generally considered their bloodline like an adopted family. So, with nothing else to do with his time, and knowing those two were usually willing to waste time in his company, he asks both of them if they have time to- well- waste with him. A disappointing quest, when both respond with apologies about being busy.

He assumes whatever has Minhyuk preoccupied somehow involves Hyunwoo, and thus crosses the latter off of his list of people to harass. He already knows Kihyun and Hoseok are busy, which was the cause of his boredom in the first place, which leaves two options. Hyungwon, or his human friends.

He chooses the latter if only because he knows he doesn’t have as much time to spend with them as he does any of the vampires.

“You know,” Taehyuk starts, looking at Changkyun as if trying to figure something out, “you remember when you called me, after being gone for three days?”

“Oh- uh- yes?” He does. He remembers trying to make excuses for his absence, in order to not explain he was a vampire, or that he basically died. “What about it?”

“What actually happened?”

“Huh?”

“I know you weren’t telling me the truth, you know. I’m not an idiot.” He sighs, and Changkyun feels guilt well up in his chest. “I just wonder because-”

“Because?”

“You seem different?”

“Oh.” Different. It wasn’t like Changkyun thought he was wrong, either. Far from it.

“Did something bad happen? Can you not tell us?”

“I-” He can’t, he thinks. He can’t tell them. He can’t explain that, and if he tried- “you wouldn’t believe me.”

“I wouldn’t?” The look he gives Changkyun only furthers the guilt he feels. Only further solidifies the feeling that it was a mistake; not cutting ties, not leaving them behind when he had the chance. But he hadn’t wanted that. Hadn’t wanted to lose one of the few things that reminded him that he was still the same person.

“I- look, it wasn’t- nothing-” nothing bad happened? That would be another lie.

“You can’t even finish your sentence.”

“What if- what if I said something ridiculous? Like I died- or I- or I was something crazy like a vampire? You wouldn’t believe that. It’s something just as outlandish.” It was, after all, exactly that.

“I don’t know, I could see it.” Taehyuk offers a brief smile, while Changkyun avoids his eyes. “It would explain why your eyes are red, right now.”

“They’re what?!” Changkyun reaches up for his face, like that will confirm it. He didn’t understand why they were, but maybe his panic was strong enough to warrant that. Which is an upsetting thought, because it would make him more paranoid about interacting with normal people.

“Yeah.”

“I-”

“Still don’t want to explain?”

“Okay.”

So he does. Explains everything, from being robbed, to dying, to waking up in a strangers apartment. Everything he knew about vampires- excluding things specific to the others, knowing that’s not his place to share- to the fact that he was one. To his panic about walking home at night, now that it had killed him.

“So, I assume you don’t want me to tell the others?”

“Not really.”

“Okay, well, can you promise me something, then?”

“Yeah?”

“When you have to leave, you’ll at least keep me updated.”

“Okay, I promise.”

“Hey, so, want to hear something cool?”

“Like- actually cool or sarcastically cool?” Hoseok glances at Changkyun, from the other side of the table. The latter shrugs.

“Depends.”

“On?”

“Opinions.”

“Okay, sure.”

“I told one of my human friends I was a vampire.”

“Why?!” A pause. “No- I mean- you can do that, but I thought you didn’t want to?”

“I didn’t.” Changkyun frowns, replaying the event in his mind. “Apparently my eyes gave me away.”

“Oh, were you stressed?”

“I’m always stressed.”

“More than usual.”

“Yeah, a bit. Did nobody think to warn me about that?”

“Wait- didn’t we?”

“I mean-” Changkyun stops, trying to remember exactly what he was told. “Not specifically. Kihyun said, “under certain circumstances,” but that’s not really specific enough!”

“So what you’re saying is… it’s not my fault.”

“Dude.”

“Well it’s not. I- oh, I know.”

“Know… what?”

“I’m not your sire, so it’s not my job.”

“I don’t have one.”

“A sire?”

“Yeah.”

“I-” Hoseok stops, frowning.

“I mean, yeah, technically I do, but I was specifically told not to refer to him like that, so.” Changkyun shrugs.

“Still.”

“Still?”

“You can put all the blame-” the door opens, though Hoseok doesn’t seem to notice- “on Kihyun.”

Changkyun isn’t the one to speak next. “What?”

“Oh shit, mom’s back.”

"What?" Kihyun repeats, harsher this time.

“Do- do you really want to call Kihyun, mom? Is that what you want?”

“What? Isn’t he group mom? Isn’t that a thing?”

“Yes, sure, that’s the thing.”

“I feel vaguely like you’re making fun of me, and I don’t know why.”

“Just keep not knowing,” Kihyun finally speaks again, making his way into the kitchen.

“Are you stress cooking again?” Changkyun asks, turning his attention to Kihyun, and away from the clearly confused Hoseok.

“No. Just normal cooking? Probably. Haven’t decided if I’m stressed or not yet.”

“Is it,” Hoseok starts, muttering, “is it like dad-”

“Please stop speaking.”

Hoseok does, for a second, before he speaks again. “Oh, yeah, we were talking about Changkyun telling one of his friends he was a vampire.”

“Oh- right- I forgot.” Changkyun nods. “It was a half-accident, but I remembered to keep any details about you guys out of my explanation.”

“Are you okay, then?” Kihyun pauses what he’s doing to face Changkyun.

“Yeah, I think so… stressed, maybe, but.” He closes his sentence by shrugging, realizing he doesn’t actually have words to finish it.

“Maybe you should be the one stress cooking.”

“No, I just say dumb shit when I’m stressed, instead.”

“Like, “Can bite vampire you me,” you mean?” Changkyun glares at Hoseok for that, not wanting to relive that particular failure of speech.

“Oh- no- I think, responding, “okay. That’s kinky,” when I answered a question he asked, might be better.” Kihyun hums in thought. “Or maybe the humble potato thing.”

“Guys.”

“Or saying, “existed,” when I asked what embarrassing thing he did?”

“Guys.”

“No, it was definitely responding, “cool,” when he asked if he could kiss me, and I said yes.”

“Why do you both hate me?”

“You know,” Hyungwon starts, not looking up from his food, “if you want embarrassing stories from their pasts, I got you.”

“Since when do you want to help me?” Changkyun eyes the other with suspicion.

“Between making you suffer, and making them suffer, they win.” Hyungwon shrugs. “You’re amusing when you’re suffering, but they’re even worse.”

“Is- is it just a vampire thing to be a terrible, evil person.”

“I don’t know, is it?”

“Maybe not, Jooheon hasn’t done anything yet.”

“Only Jooheon?”

“Maybe Gunhee, too.” Changkyun nods, to himself. “I guess I could say Hyunwoo, but he hasn’t really had the chance.”

“Not yourself?”

“Oh shit I forgot about myself.” Changkyun pauses, then shakes his head. “No, I spend too much time here, they’ve probably influenced me.”

“Probably.”

“So- like- do you ever eat in your own home?”

“You’ve visited.”

“Sorry, do you ever eat in your own home when I’m not there?”

Hyungwon pauses a suspiciously long time, before nodding. “Yeah, obviously.”

Though you’ll never fully understand someone with just a first meeting, there’s a lot you can learn in the first few minutes you know someone. In the nearly seventy years before Jihoon was born- before the generation born around that time and everyone born after started gaining scars from harsh words- and the years since, this has become even more true. There’s a lot you can tell about someone, if you can see their scars, by what words stick with them. What words they, at one point, believed or hated enough for them to be carved into their skin.

Not every mean thing shows up, after all. If you don’t realize it’s an insult, or, maybe, if you truly, with all your heart, don’t believe it, it wont scar. If you can block the words out, wholly and completely, then they wont be seared into your skin by whatever yet unknown force decided humanity didn’t have enough ways to hurt each other. And, the less you believe them, the more the existing scars will fade into soft marks, instead of blistering, blaring, reds.

There’s a lot you can learn, when you first meet people, by just looking at them. If they choose not to hide their every scar, then which ones are startlingly red- new, or old and truly believed- which are faded, despite matching the same word, somewhere else, that’s harsh and fresh looking- the ones that were more self inflicted, than given. There’s a lot you can learn, in just a few seconds.

Which is as good a reason as any to wear long sleeves, and jackets, and scarves. To make sure that whatever scars he has- few, and faded, but there- aren’t visible when meeting new people. Not that Jihoon makes a habit of meeting new people. More often than not one of his already existing friends introducing him to someone is the only way that happens.

As is, currently, his- unnecessarily tall- friend, Mingyu, has dragged him out of his dorm- when he’s supposed to be studying for a test, the next week- to meet his new friends. A group of people Mingyu apparently shares multiple of his courses with, this year. Not surprising, since he’s downgraded his number of classes to be more manageable, and most of them are relating to his major. Last year he’d signed up for far too many, and spent most of his time stressed. Something which did no favors for him, especially when multiple stressed people spending time together was a disaster waiting to happen.

So, he’d cut back this year, and decided to primarily focus his attention. Thus leading him to meet his new friends. Friends who, of course, needed to meet Jihoon. For some reason. Jihoon’s pretty sure this is just an excuse to make him leave his dorm, but he was also offered free food. Hunger won out over the want to never interact with another human being.

“I still stand by the fact that this is entirely unnecessary. Can’t I just meet your new friends naturally? Or, you know, never.”

“Because then you wouldn’t get free food?”

“I hate you, and your using my weaknesses against me.”

“That’s a lie.”

The first generation often talk about how difficult it was to grow up in a world where not only did harsh words cause physical scars, but also where nobody really understood anything behind it. It’s only a recent study- nearly five years old, now- that figured out that how much the person hearing the words believed them, or were hurt by them, had an affect on how they appeared. Over time, though, things have gotten arguably better.

At the very least, people know better what is going on. How much of an affect their words have. This had always been true, but the fact that it causes physical damage, now, helps solidify what people had been saying for hundreds of years. Words hurt just as much as anything else.

That doesn't stop some people, of course. It certainly doesn't help that sometimes the words aren't even meant to insult, or were simple things twisted around by tone of voice. 

So, really, is it any surprise some people choose to avoid new people, and the risk they’ll say something that causes new wounds?

People who didn’t avoid them are either thick-skinned enough to ignore the words, or open enough to admit that they hurt, but not give up on people in general. It takes a lot for people to be public figures, or even to pursue careers where lots of people will see them regularly. Though he’d met his fair share of both people who were unbothered, and those who chose to interact with others regularly either way, it is still hard for Jihoon to understand the reasoning of it.

Why give anyone else that kind of power over you? The ability to carve reminders of your own doubts into your skin, despite your best effort.

It took a lot to trust the people he was close to, while spending time with them semi-regularly, but strangers? They aren’t worth that effort. People are either worth the risk, or they’re not, and it’s far too easy to find out when they’re not.

People who are worth it are harder to find, and it’s an effort that seems unnecessary when you already have plenty of people in your life.

Unfortunately, despite any complaints Jihoon has, Mingyu is his friend, and he probably would have agreed- eventually- even without the promise of food. Not that he’d go around admitting that any time soon- he’s known Mingyu long enough to know he wouldn’t let that go if he did. Mingyu had been his friend since they were middle school students- Mingyu in the year bellow Jihoon, but being his new neighbor, at that time- and even though they get annoyed with each other, that friendship has lasted so far. If they had to put a reason for it, it was probably that they knew each other well enough to know times when they can use certain words- ones one or the other has as scars- without causing more damage. Because they’re well aware of each others limits, and aren’t nearly as willing to let each other hear those words from other people, as they are from each other.

And, in general, because they’ve both at some point been aware of every one of each others scars.

“Try me, I’ll turn back right away, you giant loser.”

“You wound me, you tiny, bitter man.” Mingyu rushes forward, ahead of Jihoon, to avoid being hit by him. They’re nearing their destination- an on-campus coffee place that also happens to sell the best, sweetest, bread on campus- so Jihoon doesn’t bother to give chase. He still makes mental note, however, to hit Mingyu later. It’s a mental note added to a pile of mental notes consisting mostly of violence towards people he calls friends.

“That’s a lie, shut the fuck up.”

By coincidence- and the fact that their college is fairly small- Jihoon already knows at least one of Mingyu’s new friends. He shares a class with Seungcheol- a class said man happens to be failing- and they’ve briefly talked on one or two occasions. The other two- Wonwoo and Hansol- he’s only ever heard of from Mingyu, and even then it was without knowing their names.

They aren’t, by any means, bad people. At the very least, they don’t seem it. Still, it’s hard to ignore the ever-nagging voice that says that someone doesn’t have to be bad in order to hurt someone else. Idly, Jihoon runs his hand over his left arm, as they talk to him.

“I think Mingyu exaggerated how scared we should be,” Hansol says, leaning against the table.

“Don’t be fooled,” Mingyu puts a hand on Jihoon’s shoulder, only to have it immediately shrugged off, “I was serious about him being evil.”

“How dare you. I’m an angel.”

“Don’t lie to the people.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You once punched me in the face and broke my nose because I tried to wake you up.”

“That was an accident, and also: shut the fuck up.”

People think they’re being nice. 

Contrary to popular belief, he actually used to considered a taller kid. Then most everyone had growth-spurts, and ended up approximately 7ft tall, and suddenly it wasn’t true anymore. People think they’re being nice, sometimes, when they say things that personally offend you. It isn’t as if they’re trying to, it isn’t as if doing so makes them inherently a bad person.

People think they’re being nice. So the faded, curvy, letters- overlapped by the same word, multiple times over- that curl their way up his left forearm really aren’t things he can actively blame anyone for.

Cute.

When they were in high school- Jihoon in his last year, and Mingyu just one behind him- they spent a lot less time together. It wasn’t as if they were suddenly not friends, and more often than not one of them would spend dinner at the others home, since they lived right across from each other. It was just that they had other friends, and didn’t need to see each other much. Then, at one point Mingyu disappeared for three days in February.

It wasn’t like he was just gone or anything. He was at his home. Jihoon knew that much because his parents mentioned it, briefly. But Mingyu didn’t leave his house, or come to school, for those few days. Then, when he returned, it was like nothing happened.

People assumed he was sick. Most people assumed he was sick.

Except one person makes a comment about thinking that they, “finally made one he’d be too ashamed to come back to school after,” and, really, it should have been more surprising than it was. Should have been harder to process. Because Mingyu is a good person, really, and nothing burned into his skin is something he deserves.

And, so, it’s not really surprising when Jihoon gets a detention for kicking someone in the face.

He finds that Mingyu’s shoulder is engraved with tiny, faded, lettering. Giant, followed by a mess of overlapping letters that’s indecipherable. Caused by multiple words, unable to be made out, but hateful none the less, being thrown at the same time.

They separate from Mingy’s new friends (“They’re basically yours now, too,” Mingyu says when Jihoon says something about them seeming like good friends for Mingyu) as it begin to get dark. With excuses about studying, and a pointed look at both Seungcheol and Mingyu, Jihoon manages to escape the situation. Mingyu follows him all the way to his dorm- since they’re only three doors down from one another- in surprising silence.

“Thanks,” Mingyu says, just before Jihoon closes his door on Mingyu.

There’s a pause. Jihoon nods. “You did promise me food.” He closes the door.

Once, when he was very young, Jihoon heard an insult thrown at him that, despite knowing lots of words, for his age, he didn’t understand. All he knew was that it was said harshly, like an attempt to tear him down as a person. So, even though he didn’t know what it was supposed to mean, it etched its way over his right leg, in blocky font.

It wasn’t until years later, when he looked down at it and had a startling moment of realization that it didn’t mean anything.

Fairy.

Mingyu and Jihoon have a mutual friend- most of their friends are mutual, actually- who wants to be a dancer. He’s good, too. He- Soonyoung- has a honestly admirable amount of determination. Even when scars trail over his skin, over even his hands, visible. He doesn’t shy away from attention, nor his scars, and it’s admittedly a feature of his that one can look up to him for.

It should be something that is purely that, too. But people don’t like knowing that they’re incapable of doing something. The fact that he’s able to wear those words so openly on his sleeves- in a literal sense, as well- when Jihoon more often then not hides his from himself, is frustrating.

The fact that it bothers him, is frustrating.

“Hello you’ve reached the phone of Lee Jihoon please don’t leave a message ever.”

“I know this isn’t your answering machine.”

“Beep.”

“Jihoon.”

“What do you want, Soonyoung?”

“More people to come to my performance.”

“And you called me?”

“We’re friends.”

“On occasion.” Soonyoung laughs, and Jihoon finds himself rolling his eyes, despite knowing Soonyoung can’t see him. “Yeah, okay, I’ll try.”

“Thanks.”

When Jihoon was twelve years old, he decided, very adamantly, that he would never leave the house again. He was forced to go to school, despite his insistence that he could be home schooled, but outside of that he’d chosen never to go outside again. It last, too, because nobody really wants to force him outside. His logic is something that his parents can’t argue with, really, even though they want to. Even though they want to assure him he’s wrong.

“If I don’t go outside then I can’t get any more words.”

It’s not entirely true. He could insult himself, and have the same result, if he means it enough. But there’s such a smaller chance, if he doesn’t leave his house. They try to argue that he has to leave the house sometimes. That he can’t avoid people entirely. That there’s enough good to come from it. Just as much of it as there is bad. Maybe even more.

Jihoon is having none of it, though. Refuses at every chance, and ignores everyone when he is forced out of the house.

He keeps this up, too. For years. Then Mingyu become his friend- all but forced into his life by his parents inviting the new neighbors over almost daily, or the other way around- no matter how much he tries to pretend they aren’t. Then, Mingyu makes friends with someone he promises Jihoon will like, and tries to get Jihoon to leave the house to meet him.

Refusal is kept up for a while. Jihoon doesn’t give up so easily that it happens right away. But, as stubborn as Jihoon is, Mingyu is just as persistent.

“You can wear headphones, and not speak directly to him, or whatever you want this time, just please? I want my friends to know each other.”

“Fine.”

Jihoon leaves his house, bundled up far more than anyone needs to, in the late spring weather, with headphones on his ears, and the volume turned up enough it might just damage his hearing. He communicates purely by typing things out on his phone. To his credit, Mingyu still seems to see this as a success, and that’s how Jihoon meets one Boo Seungkwan.

Seungkwan is an energetic, bright, person a couple years younger than Jihoon, who takes the state of their meeting really well. It’s through him, that Mingyu and Jihoon both meet Soonyoung.

Soonyoung, who’s hands bare scars of words that Jihoon has a hard time picturing anyone saying. He wonders, somewhere in the back of his mind, if it’s difficult. If looking at them every day, unavoidably, is painful. If they hurt, still, like fresh, burning wounds.

But they’re faded, soft, and if they hurt, Soonyoung would wear gloves. If they were too much, he’d hide them. If he was as messed up about them, as Jihoon is of the few, easily hidden, scars he has, then he would cover them.

Whatever frustration he feels, part of him does take solace in that. In the fact that it is possible to move past them. To look at them and not feel anger, and guilt, and pain.

It still hurts, knowing he isn’t able to do that yet, but it’s something. And, maybe, the bitter feeling in his gut will turn into a motivation to stop believing other people.

When he’s sixteen, Jihoon stops adamantly refusing to leave the house, even if just every once in a while.

As it turns out, Soonyoung’s performance is just an hour after Jihoon has a final for his English course. A class he only took because it would help his overall progress towards his major, and one he dislikes immensely. It would be easy enough to just say that he has a final right before, and that he wont be able to make it. Even if it’s only partially true- he’ll be a bit late at most, if he does go- it would still work.

Which is why, when he leaves the class, that afternoon, he isn’t really sure why he only rushes to his dorm to drop off his stuff, before heading there. It would be easy enough to avoid, and he’s usually expected to avoid anything that means being around other people.

Still, this is important to his friend, and he cant actually bring himself to lie in order to get out of it.

Mingyu seems surprised, when Jihoon finds him and drops down next to him. Soonyoung’s performance is just a minute away, he managed just barely not to be late.

“You came?”

“Obviously. You can see me.”

“I just mean, you had a final today…”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t have to say it, for Jihoon to understand what the look on Mingyu’s face means. He hits him- because he hadn’t forgotten his mental note to do that, and because he doesn’t like the look- so he’ll stop. Mingyu has no right to look so damn proud about this, of all things.

Mingyu is, undeniably, far too tall. Like, unfairly so. It’s a fact no one would really argue with, and is the reason that comparing someone to him, in terms of height, is entirely ridiculous. Most people would, in turn, think this is a good thing. A quality that, more often than not, is the one used to mock other people. Mingyu has never really cared much about it, according to his own words. He’ll occasionally use this trait as a means to halfhearted teasing of people who are shorter than him- which is most every one of his friends, but especially Jihoon- but otherwise it’s not something he thinks much about.

It’s not.

By the time they are both graduated, Jihoon and Mingyu are fully aware of each others scars. When you’re close friends with people, for a long while, you tend to know them fairly well. Tend to find out things that they don’t always share, or don’t always think about themselves. It’s a scary thing, to have someone know so much that they could use against you.

By the time they both graduated, Jihoon and Mingyu are fully aware of each others scars. There’s a perfectly type-font word on Mingyu’s back that might as well be a matching piece with the messy scrawl on Jihoon’s right shoulder blade.

Sometimes, even if the word doesn’t sound bad, its meaning is enough. The reason it was said, is enough.

Building, is a stark contrast to, child.

The first generation is sprinkled in between people lucky enough to be born just a year, or a few months, before the generation that would end up with scars. Before the populations slow transition into one where words marring your skin is normal. Jihoon’s grandmother was lucky enough to be born just before then, and she, sometimes, looks at him far too sadly.

“I wish you didn’t have to deal with them. You shouldn’t let them get to you, they’re not true.”

It’s strange, really. To hear someone talk about people insulting them and, despite the words mentally sticking with them, having nothing to hide, physically. It’s stranger, still, how words of comfort feel so… wrong. How, “shouldn’t let them get to you,” makes him feel sick to his stomach.

It isn’t like he has a choice.

“How’d you get into my dorm?” Jihoon glances shortly at Mingyu, who’s leaned back in Jihoon’s desk chair.

“Your dorm-mate let me in.”

“Damn it, Jun.” Jihoon would make a mental note to hit Junhui, if it wasn’t for the fact he sees his dorm-mate approximately twice a week in passing. Their schedules being practically the opposite of each other, had more benefits than negatives, but not being able to complain to the person himself when Junhui did something like this, is certainly a negative. “Why are you here?”

“Can’t I just visit my friend?”

“You could. But you don’t.” Jihoon drops his bag next to his bunk, before flopping onto it and glancing at Mingyu, across the room. “What is it?”

“I really did just want to visit.”

“Are you avoiding studying?”

“No…”

“Fine, fine. But did you even come up with something to talk about, while you’re here? Or do you plan to just shut up for once?”

“Have you ever known me to shut up?”

“Yeah, back when you were scared of me.”

“I’m still scared of you.”

“That’s good.” Jihoon sits up, stretching in an attempt to shake off exhaustion. “So what’s wrong?”

“I told you I just wanted to visit.”

“You wouldn’t have had Jun let you in, if that was the case.” Mingyu usually just waits for Jihoon to get back, if he wants to visit. The only reason he wouldn’t, is if he was upset and didn’t want to risk that Jihoon wouldn’t let him in. Jihoon knows him too well not to realize that.

“Was just thinking.”

“A dangerous thing.” Jihoon glances at the clock, before sighing. “Next time bring food.”

“No promises.” Mingyu laughs, spinning in the chair. “I just wanted to share my sweet new scar with my best friend.”

“But you came here instead?” Jihoon motions Mingyu over, despite his joking tone, and Mingyu rolls the chair towards him.

“Yeah, well, he’s really mean, so.” Mingyu shrugs. Jihoon only nods, taking Mingyu’s arm when he holds it out. “It’s not a new word, but…”

“Doesn’t really matter.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s pretty faded already, though.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve already dealt with it, haven’t I?” There’s a bitterness to his tone that is so unlike Mingyu that Jihoon actually fails to come up with a response right away. He knows, if he’s honest, that it’s a very him-like response, more than a Mingyu-like one. The feeling like it shouldn’t have done anything- shouldn’t have scared, shouldn’t have hurt- because he’d already dealt with those feelings. Already reflected on that word. Already understood why it hurt, and why it shouldn’t.

Already moved past this. Should be fine, now.

“Yeah, well, when have feelings ever decided to be logical for once?”

“Sometimes I get ice cream and feel happy. So that’s logical.”

“Now you’re just mocking me with food.”

“Ice cream isn’t food.”

“It is if you hate yourself enough.”

“You worry me.” Mingyu shakes his head, before turning to cough. Jihoon instinctively moves away, knowing Mingyu has a habit of not taking logical precautions not to spread disease. If he’s honest, the fact that none of Mingyu’s scars are related to being a walking epidemic, is surprising. Good, but still, maybe if one were he’d be more cautious. Which is a terrible thought, and one Jihoon pushes aside.

“You worry me, you sky-scraper sized walking illness.”

“Whatever, kid, you’ll survive my coughing.”

“I’m older than you, you walking epidemic.” Jihoon kicks at Mingyu’s outstretched legs, then the chair, forcing Mingyu back a few inches.

“And here I was, going to offer ice cream.”

“I don’t want food that’s gone anywhere near you.”

“Rude.”

Left forearm. Right thigh. Right shoulder blade. Left wrist. Left rib. Under the right of his collar bone. Lower, left back. Words, different fonts. Mostly all easily hidden, with long sleeves and scarves. There aren’t any mirrors in the dorm that aren’t hand mirrors, and it’s easy, really, to hide them from himself. To pretend they don’t exist, because he never has to look at them.

Cute, and Fairy, and Child, and Evil, and Hermit, and Get To You, and Failure.

If you take them, one by one, and go over them- think about why they aren’t true, or why they aren’t insults, or why they shouldn’t hurt- they really shouldn’t hurt. Why do they hurt?

If you take them, one by one, and go over them, you might get over them. Get past them, and decide that they don’t matter, that they don’t hurt. That nobody has enough power over you to make you think about something they said so much. (To make you look at it and know that someone meant it.)

But no matter how many times he goes over the words, again and again, for some reason he comes to the same conclusion.

Even if he should be over this, he isn’t.

And he hates that.

“Are you sure about that? It’s ice cream, after all, which is apparently food.”

“It is food.” Jihoon rolls his eyes. “But actually, real food is probably a good idea.”

“Have instant noodles?”

“Yeah.” Jihoon nods, understanding. Despite joking about not wanting food that’s gone anywhere near him, Jihoon knows Mingyu is actually pretty good at cooking. Even if noodles aren’t exactly a challenge. “Go ahead.”

It’s strange, really, Jihoon thinks. Mingyu stands to move to what could be called the dorm’s ‘kitchen’ while Jihoon flops back to maybe get some rest. It’s strange, but he knows no comparisons to building from him will do anything to Mingyu. Just like any use of all but one of Jihoon’s words from Mingyu wont do anything to him. They’ve mastered using them in ways that make them easier to hear, at least from each other, over the past few years. It’s strange, he thinks, that he can’t hear the words from himself, still, despite this.

“Why are literally all of your pans dirty?”

“Jun is a heathen.”

“Don’t blame your roommate.”

“Fine, we both are. Happy?”

“Yep.”

There was a time, when Jihoon was twelve- and a few years following that- when he refused to leave his house except to go school. The logic of why, and the habit of it, haven’t ever really left. It’s not unusual for him to stay in his dorm for days on end, except if he has to attend class. Nobody is really surprised by this, when it happens.

There was a time, when Jihoon was twelve, that he decided that going out into the world, that interacting with people, wasn’t worth the risk.

There’s a time, when in college, that Jihoon locks himself in his dorm for nearly a week, before he decides that he really can’t get away with this anymore. When he remember that his classes are important, and that most people will just ignore him anyway.

“You’ve risen from the dead, again. How rare. I was worried I just made you up.”

“It’s a talent, truly.” Jihoon breathes a sigh, not bothering to look at Mingyu. “Somebody put me on a cryptid show or something.”

There’s a distinct difference between being afraid of people as a whole, and being afraid of giving them power over you. Being scared to leave your home, for fear someone will say something and give you a new pattern of insults on your skin, is inherently different from being afraid that you’ll allow someone the chance to speak, only for them to take that chance to do something which breaks whatever trust you’re allowing them.

Jihoon spends at most five minutes with Soonyoung, on one summer afternoon. It’s nearly the end of the year, and despite the usual weather for the area, the summer heat is worryingly warm. Soonyoung takes note of this and, without any hesitation, removes his jacket. There are more scars, there, nearly looking purposeful in their patterned arrangement.

Jihoon spends at most five minutes with Soonyoung, that day, and is immediately reminded of something he both admires and hates in the other. It’s less than five minutes, really. Just a few minutes.

“Do you think anyone would notice if I started wearing short sleeves again? Summer is murdering me, and college was already doing that well enough on it’s own.” Jihoon’s question is directed at Mingyu, instead of the person that prompted it.

“Notice? Yeah. Care? Probably not. If they do, I’ll hit them?’

“You’re not about to fight anyone.”

“Are you insinuating that I’m not totally prepared to beat someone up?”

“I’m insinuating that I once watched you try to punch a stationary punching bag and miss.”

“To be fair, I’m pretty sure he had also been spun in circles before that happened,” Soonyoung adds, from where he’s packing up his stuff to leave. He has a final later in the day.

“No this was before that. Somehow he did better that time.”

“Can we just… not remind me of this?” At Mingyu’s frown, the other two nod.

During finals week most people are far too caught up in their own heads to pay attention to anyone else. This is something Jihoon takes solace in, when for what may be the first time in years, he allows some of his scars to be visible.

There’s an itching in the back of his mind, about how bad and idea this is. About how it’ll just make things worse. How it-

“Oh wow, you actually did it. And here I thought It was just me.” Mingyu’s voice is vaguely startling, and Jihoon spins around to face him. They’re just outside the dorm building, so he’s not sure why he’s so surprised.

“Why are you...” Jihoon doesn’t need to complete the question, glancing over Mingyu.

“Solidarity.” Mingyu raises on of arms, the newest scar readily on display, and makes a fist.

“Don’t be dumb, that’s not necessary.”

“Most things I do aren’t.” Mingyu shrugs. Despite not knowing exactly what that’s supposed to mean, Jihoon gives a small snort of laughter in response.

“Yeah, okay. That’s fair.”

If a middle school Jihoon was asked to describe his worst nightmare, it would probably be something along of the lines of being forced to go outside, without absolute certainty that all of his scars were hidden away.

If you asked Jihoon, now, what his worst nightmare was, it would probably be something like having a new scar appear somewhere visible while around other people. That’s probably it. The reason he feels anxious the second he no longer has a test in front of him with which he can distract himself.

Mingyu spends most of the day trailing behind Jihoon when they aren’t in classes (they don’t have any together). It’s borderline annoying, but there’s just enough fondness in having known Mingyu for as long as he has- and the reason behind his actions- that he allows it.

“Hey, you’re back early,” Junhui greets, when Jihoon enters their shared dorm, closing the door in Mingyu’s face. Jihoon shrugs. He doesn’t miss the brief second where Junhui glances at his arms, but Junhui doesn’t comment on it. “Are you really going to leave the poor guy out there?”

“He lives literally three doors away.”

“Yeah, but you know he’s still standing there.” Jihoon doesn’t want to admit Junhui is right, but he knows he is. So, with a sigh, he turns around and opens the door.

“Fine, you weirdo, come in.”

“I’m not weird. Closing doors in your friend’s faces is weird.” Mingyu glances around Jihoon- not that it he actually needs to, so he’s just leaning to the side to annoy Jihoon- and waves at Junhui. “Hey Jun.”

“Hey.”

The one day is far too stressful, and Jihoon has returned to his usual habits by the next day. Still he feels a small amount of accomplishment, at managing to make it through the day before. Something reflected in his unusual willingness to be genuinely nice without even pretending he’s not being. Something Mingyu wastes no time pointing out.

“Who are you and what have you done with my friend?”

“You’re the height of comedy, truly.” Jihoon rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, obviously, why else would you keep me around.” Mingyu shrugs, moving back when Jihoon halfheartedly kicks him.

“Don’t say shit like that.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. What’s up with you?”

“I’m counting yesterday as a success, but that doesn’t change that I’m back at it again today.”

“Progress takes time. Or you know, overcoming years of habits takes times.”

“Don’t suddenly become one of my smart friends.”

“Jokes on you, I was one the whole time.”

“Shocking. Heartbreaking. Call an ambulance I think I’m having a heart attack.”

“Nevermind what I said earlier, you’re definitely yourself. Just as mean as ever.”

“It’s my only defining feature.”

“Okay but, on a serious note: you’re okay?”

“Yeah, obviously. If I wasn’t I wouldn’t be out of my dorm. I don’t know, I guess I expected so much worse that I’m pretty okay at the moment.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“And, uh…”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.” Jihoon meet’s Mingyu’s eyes briefly, and the other nods. “I said it was unnecessary- which it was- but, you know... it might have made it slightly easier.”

When meeting people, in a world where harsh words can leave physical scars, you can learn a lot about a person, right away. Even if you can’t see a single word, there’s a lot to be gathered by the way they hold themself or dress. And while over analyzing these things when meeting someone isn’t really good for anyone, it tends to happen.

A middle school aged Lee Jihoon meets Kim Mingyu and instantly knows three things. Mingyu immediately seems smaller than he actually is, because of his posture. Mingyu’s attempts to cover his own scars are so obvious, that Jihoon can instantly pinpoint where are least two of them are, despite not trying to. And Mingyu isn’t the kind of person he expects to be friends with.

When meeting people, In a world where harsh words can leave physical scars, you can learn a lot about a person, right away. College student, Lee Jihoon has been friends with one Kim Mingyu since middle school, and wonders what he’d think, if he just met him now. If his thoughts of that Mingyu, and current Mingyu, would be different, when it comes to first impressions.

“You know, I thought I’d hate you when we first met.” Mingyu gives a small hum of acknowledgement at this.

“Weird, I thought I would hate you.”

“The perfect start to a friendship.”

“Obviously.” Mingyu laughs, not looking up from his phone.

“Hey, make food.”

“Why do I have to?”

“Because you love me?”

“Try again.”

“I’ll help you edit an essay next year or whatever.”