#ot7 fic

Jin laughs softly, the sound warm and comforting. “Of course, I’ll stay. What do you want to do?” he adds with mock seriousness, “To be honest, I’m not sure screentime is advisable for you right now.”

“I mean, anything is fine.” You shrug. “You could just talk—about yourself, about the people outside this room, about your world.”

“My world, huh?” His lips quirk into a wide smile. “Well, I live here with my six younger brothers.” As if summoned, a loud crash echoes from somewhere down the hall, followed by a cacophony of shouts—half in agony, half in laughter.

 Jin rolls his eyes so exaggeratedly you can’t help but grin. “That’s them, by the way. The rascals causing the chaos.”

“Tell me about them?” you ask, your curiosity piqued. You had heard all these loud noises the past few weeks, but you knew nothing about the people causing them.

“Let’s start with Yoongi,” he begins. “He’s the second oldest.”

“Dr. Min?” you ask, eyes widening in recognition. “I didn’t know you were brothers.”

“Yep,” Jin confirms with a wink. “Though it’s hard to connect my worldwide handsome face to his old-man energy.”

You laugh, shaking your head at his antics. “He doesn’t seem like an old man to me.”

“That’s because you haven’t seen him groaning about his back after sitting at the piano for two hours,” Jin retorts. “Speaking of which, he’s incredible at playing. You should hear him sometime.”

“I’ve always wanted to learn the piano,” you admit wistfully.

Jin brightens. “Once you’re better, I’ll ask Yoongi to teach you.”

“Really? You’d do that for me?” You look at him, startled by the consistent kindness he’s shown you since you arrived.

“Of course. Anything for you.” His gaze softens, and you feel warmth bloom in your chest. He continues. “Then there’s Hoseok. You’ve probably heard him—he’s loud, very loud.”

As if on cue, another booming cheer erupts from the hallway, and you hear someone yell, “Dance-off time!”

Jin sighs dramatically. “That’s him being quiet, mind you.”

You giggle at his expression, and Jin gives you a playful grin before moving on. “Namjoon is the one recommending books to you.” He gestures toward the stack on your bedside table.

He had asked you two weeks into your bed rest if you’d like reading and brought some really varied book recommendation stacks. “He says you have great taste and even invited you to his book club.”

Your eyes light up. “Oh, I’d love to join!”

“He’ll be thrilled,” Jin chuckles. “It’s just him for now, so he’s been looking for new members.”

“What about the others?” You ask, eager to hear more.

“Ah, let’s see. There’s Jimin. He’s sweet but also loves teasing everyone. If you ever need someone to cheer you up, he’s your guy. He’s great at dancing, too.”

“And?” you ask.

“Taehyung,” Jin says fondly, “Taehyung is an artist at heart. He’s a bit eccentric but in the best way. Loves photography, painting and collecting random things that somehow make sense to him.”

“Sounds like fun,” You muse.

“Definitely. And lastly, Jungkook, the youngest. He’s insanely talented but also a bit of a troublemaker. Always trying to outdo himself and everyone else.” You smile, imagining the lively household Jin is describing. You grew up alone, with only your mother and dad to call as family, so to hear about a large group of siblings felt so interesting. You wondered how they might be, seeing as Jin was such a kind and beautiful man.

“How about this?” Jin suggests. “Join us for breakfast tomorrow. It is about time you left this room,” You still looked unsure, so he added, “I’ll make all you two types of bulgogi and at least ten side dishes.”

“Oh, no! You don’t have to—” You start, but Jin cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “Nonsense. It’s settled. I’ll see you at breakfast.” He grins, “Or is it brunch?”

You woke the next morning stuck between dread and anticipation, the two emotions tangling so tightly in your chest you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

You moved slowly, deliberately, as if care itself could steady you. You brushed your teeth, washed your face, took a long shower, letting the familiar scent of soap bloom in steam. You put on the lotion Jin had gotten you, applying skincare with gentle precision. You had washed your hair, dried it, combed it through until it fell obediently over your shoulders. You redressed the wounds carefully, especially the ones at your neck which were still tender and half-healed. The fabric of the pants and sweatshirt Jin had washed and left for you yesterday felt soft in the gentlest way.

You sat in the lounge chair by the window, hands folded in your lap, staring at nothing. Minutes passed and with each one your pulse climbed a little higher. The silence wasn’t comforting at all, instead it was amplifying everything. You exhaled sharply and you stood up, smoothing your sweatshirt as if preparing for battle. One last look in the mirror, not to admire, but to check. You slipped your feet into the ridiculously soft slippers, their comfort almost comical against the storm in your stomach.

You swung the door open. The hallway was empty. And for a split second, a strange stillness washed over you, not relief, not fear. Just the hollow, echoing awareness that you were stepping into something new without anyone escorting you there. You stepped out, exhaling the breath you held.

It had been nearly two months since you’d arrived at the packhouse, and this was the first time you’d stepped beyond the safety of the room. You knew logically that you were safe here, no shackles, no locked doors, no cold stone walls, no shadows waiting to swallow you whole, and yet, something restless lived beneath your skin.

The hallway was wide and sunlit, the wooden floors warm under your feet. Built-in shelves lined the walls, holding framed photographs, small sculptures, and pieces of artwork collected over the years. It felt lived in. One particular painting caught your eye; an artwork washed in deep blues and silvers, almost lunar. You slowed, drawn to it, taking a hesitant step closer.

A door opened by you. “It’s bulgogi time, everyone!” a voice called out in an exaggerated sing-song tone. You nearly leapt out of your skin. Your shoulders hunched instinctively, breath catching as you spun around. Your face registered fear even before your mind did, not true fear but something sharp and electric. Your heart was racing, hammering against your ribs.

“Oh—shit,” the boy breathed. He approached quickly but carefully, dropping into a crouch a few feet away from you, hands raised slightly as if approaching a startled animal. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he said, voice softening instantly. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You lifted your head and promptly forgot how to think. He was shirtless. For a full second, your brain went completely blank. You blinked. Once. Twice. Your eyes lifted to meet his, and then, traitorously, dropped back down again.

His eyes widened. “My bad—again,” he said quickly, crossing his arms over his torso in an almost comically modest gesture. It reminded you absurdly of a vintage film heroine clutching a towel. “I’m not used to there being a lady in the house.” He gave a sheepish little giggle that died almost immediately when he saw your expression.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern replacing embarrassment. “I really didn’t mean to scare you.”

You realized then that you hadn’t said anything. That silence had become your default again. “Yeah,” you managed finally. Your voice felt rusted from disuse. “I’m okay.”

He frowned slightly. “I must’ve really startled you,” he murmured. “Your heart’s still going a mile a minute.”

Your eyes snapped back to him. You stared. He stared back, patient, observant, waiting. You’d gone quiet again, and before panic could bloom fully in your chest, another voice drifted down the hall.

“Hobi-yah.” Yoongi stepped into view, exasperation lacing his tone. “Did we not tell you to keep your decibels under control for at least the first week Ahmi is out of her room?”

“Ah—hyung!” Hobi grimaced. “I didn’t realize she was out—”

“And—,” Jin added, appearing behind Yoongi like a second wave of authority, “—clothes are not optional.” He fixed Hoseok with a pointed look. “Respect the feminine presence in this house, Hoseok-ah. Wear a damn shirt.”

Hoseok lifted his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I get it. I’m the villain.” He shot you one last apologetic glance. “Sorry again.” Then he retreated into his room, the door clicking shut far more gently this time.

Silence settled again but softer now. Yoongi’s eyes flicked over you briefly, assessing, before his voice dropped a few degrees. “You alright?” You nod, straightening up to your height, and looking at Jin again.

Jin, despite his scolding moments earlier, looked openly concerned. “I am okay,” you tell him, wanting to ease his worry. “Really,” You press. The hallway no longer felt quite as overwhelming, when he smiled softly at you.

“C’mon,” Jin said gently, his voice softer now. His hand settled at the base of your back, not pushing, not firm, just there. You let yourself be steered out of the hallway, down the wide staircase, your fingers brushing the smooth wooden railing as you descended. The space below opened up gradually, and when you reached the last step, it felt less like entering a room and more like stepping into air.

The living, dining, and kitchen area flowed together in one expansive sweep. There were no harsh divides, just subtle shifts in furniture and lighting that suggested purpose without confinement.

Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the back wall, flooding the entire space with daylight. Warm golden light that spilled across wood floors and stone accents. It reflected softly off glass surfaces and metal fixtures, making everything feel alive. Your eyes squinted slightly. It was brighter than what you’d grown used to.

The living area sat slightly sunken, almost like a modern conversation pit. Two massive sectionals faced each other across a low stone table, with thick woven rugs anchoring the space. Throws were carelessly draped over armrests. A wide hearth of pale stone framed a modern fireplace, currently unlit but commanding attention nonetheless.

To the right, another seating area curved toward the windows, armchairs angled toward the view, as if meant for late-night talks or early morning coffee. A long bookshelf ran along one wall, filled with an odd mix of hardbound novels, vinyl records, framed photographs, and small sculptures that hinted at shared history. Beyond the living space stood the dining area.

The table was solid wood, long, heavy, capable of seating at least fourteen comfortably. The chairs didn’t match perfectly, but they complemented each other, as if added over time and one side held a long, solid wood bench. Above it hung three pendant lights, matte black with warm interiors that probably cast a golden glow at night. You could almost imagine it.

“Pick any seat,” Jin said warmly. “The boys aren’t territorial over the chairs.”

“I’ll sit beside you,” you replied quietly. “Tell me which one is yours.”

“I always take the bench,” he grinned. “But I’ll sit next to you even if you choose the prettiest, most comfortable throne in the middle.”

“The middle chairs are very cushy,” Yoongi called on his way to the kitchen. “The boys used to fight over them. There were casualties.”

“Translated,” Jin said dryly, “the younger brats claimed the chairs, and we were exiled to the bench.” Yoongi snorted.

“But today,” Jin continued, turning to you with a soft smile, “Ahmi is the guest of honour. The brats can take the bench.”

“I don’t want to—” you began quickly.

Jin gently shushed you. “Their well-fed butts can survive one meal on hardwood.”

You nodded, though a small knot formed in your stomach. You didn’t want to disrupt their rhythm. Didn’t want to feel like an intrusion. You’d already startled Hoseok upstairs. You probably kept upsetting their balance just by existing in it. Jin pulled out one of the centre chairs for you, the very one Yoongi had called dangerously cushy and you slipped into it carefully. The seat was softer than expected. You folded your hands neatly in your lap, back straight, posture almost formal.

You felt like you were being introduced to royalty instead of family.

“Good morning, everyone~” You stiffened at the familiar, jovial voice before you saw him. Hoseok appeared at the top of the stairs, this time very much clothed, followed by a taller man with broad shoulders and thoughtful eyes. You rose instinctively to your feet.

“You’ve met Hobi, of course,” Jin said lightly. Hoseok offered you a small, apologetic grin.

“I am really sorry, Ahmi. I genuinely didn’t hear you earlier, and I promise I wasn’t trying to give you a heart attack.” He bowed deeply.

You bowed immediately in return. “No, no, Hoseok-ssi. I’ve just been… jumpy lately. It wasn’t your fault at all.”

“Call me Hobi,” he said, laughing softly. “Hoseok-ssi makes me sound like I pay taxes and complain about back pain. I am not fifty, I swear.”

Before you could respond, Yoongi called out, “Hoseok-ah. Help me carry these to the table.”

Hobi gave you a playful salute. “Duty calls,” he declared, then bounced toward the kitchen.

The taller man stepped forward. “I’m Namjoon,” he said, offering his hand. You hesitated just a fraction before taking it. His handshake was firm but gentle.

“You have excellent taste in books,” he added, smiling in a way that felt both amused and sincere.

Your lips curved before you could stop them. “The book club president,” you teased back softly. “You have a beautiful collection.”

“But apparently my taste is questionable,” Namjoon gave a definitely uncharacteristic pout of misfortune.

You turned sharply to glare at Jin. “You told him?” You said, the accusatory tone making Namjoon laugh.

“I presented it as constructive feedback,” Jin defended, before he could continue, you turned back to Namjoon quickly. Your face warmed in embarrassment.

“I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant—your collection is very far-reaching. You read authors from everywhere. Different styles, different eras, different languages. It’s just… hard to pinpoint what is that you exactly enjoy.” You cringed inwardly. That hadn’t sounded better.

Namjoon blinked at you once and then laughed. “I was teasing you,” he said easily. “You’re right. I read anything that keeps my brain occupied. Philosophy, poetry, sci-fi, political essays, obscure Lithuanian novels—”

“That might explain the chaos he carries around,” Jin muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Exactly,” Namjoon nodded solemnly. “My shelves are organized. My taste is not.” A small laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it.

“Aww,” a new voice chimed from the staircase, warm and honeyed, “—she has a cute laugh, hyung.”

You turned to the voice. A shorter beautiful man with bright blonde hair was descending the stairs with effortless grace, sunlight catching in the soft waves of it. Behind him followed someone taller, broader, quieter, his steps heavier, more measured.

“Jimin’s a bit of a flirt, Ahmi,” Yoongi informed you flatly as he set a bowl of rice onto the table. “And Jungkook needs time to thaw before you see his true colours.”

“I am not a flirt,” Jimin shot back immediately, scandalized. He reached the bottom step and walked straight toward you like you were the only fixed point in the room. You froze. He stopped just a breath away, his eyes bright and openly curious. There was something feline about his movements that were fluid and deliberate.

Before you could prepare yourself, he gently took your hand. He bent slightly and pressed the faintest kiss against your knuckles, his lips barely grazing your skin.

“I’m Park Jimin,” he said softly, looking up at you through his lashes with exaggerated sweetness. “But since you’re so beautiful—you can call me Oppa.” Your brain short-circuited. The room seemed louder and brighter.

“Um…” You blinked at him, still very aware of the warmth of his hand around yours. “No?”

There was a split second of silence and then Jin burst into his signature, windshield-wiper laugh. “Good girl, Ahmi!”

Yoongi snorted. Hoseok clutched his chest dramatically. “Rejected on first attempt. That’s rough.”

Namjoon hid a smile behind his glass of water. Jimin, meanwhile, gasped like you’d mortally wounded him. “You didn’t even hesitate.” Jimin placed a hand over his heart. “I was being welcoming.”

“You were being shameless,” Yoongi corrected.

Jimin ignored him entirely, turning back to you with a softer expression, less theatrics and more sincerity. “I’m really glad you’re here now,” he said quietly. “We’ve all been waiting.”

That softened something in your chest. “I—” Your voice almost caught, but you steadied it. “Thank you.”

Behind Jimin, the taller man gave you a small nod. You nod back, instinctively. He didn’t step forward immediately, just gave you space. His eyes flickered over you briefly before turning them away when your eyes met.

“He’s shy at first,” Jimin stage-whispered very loudly, making Jungkook shoot him a look.

“I’m not shy.”

“You didn’t even say hello.” Jungkook hesitated.

“…Hi,” he said, directing it to you properly this time. But his eyes flickered away right as they met yours once again. You now could see the blush creeping up his face.

You offered him a small, polite smile. “Hello.”

Jimin leaned slightly toward you again, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Don’t let them bully you. If anyone gives you trouble, you can sit next to me.”

“But you are the trouble,” Jungkook deadpanned.

“I am charm,” Jimin corrected, flipping his hair.

“You are delusion,” Yoongi added dryly. Jimin clicked his tongue but finally released your hand, though not before giving it one last, deliberate squeeze.

“Where’s Tae?” Jimin asked, glancing around. “He had a full identity crisis last night trying to pick a suit for the occasion.”

“A-a suit?” you repeated, suddenly hyper-aware of the oversized sweatshirt and soft lounge pants you’d borrowed. Your fingers instinctively smoothed the hem. You hadn’t even brushed your hair properly.

“Ahmi-yah,” Jin said gently, sensing the shift in your demeanour. “Relax. This is completely informal—” He looked up toward the staircase and froze. “Tae—” Jin’s voice rose a full octave. “What the hell are you wearing?!”

All heads turned. You turned too and your brain momentarily left your body.

Descending the stairs like he was stepping onto a red carpet was a tall man with sharp features and effortless poise. He was, in fact, wearing a suit. Not just a suit, a deep emerald velvet blazer tailored to perfection. Crisp white shirt underneath. Black slacks. Polished shoes. A silver brooch pinned at his lapel. His dark hair was styled deliberately, falling artfully across his forehead as if wind machines followed him indoors. He paused halfway down the stairs, tilted his head almost akin to a puppy.

“I dressed appropriately,” he said smoothly. “This is a special occasion.”

“This is brunch,” Yoongi muttered sighing tiredly. Tae ignored him entirely, his gaze locking onto you. He descended the rest of the stairs with slow, controlled steps. When he reached the bottom, he adjusted his cuffs and offered you a small bow, deeper than necessary, almost theatrical but not insincere.

“I’m Kim Taehyung,” he said, voice low and warm. “I wanted to make a good first impression.”

Your throat went dry. You were painfully aware of your borrowed clothes now, of your messy hair, of your heart beginning to beat a little too fast.

“I— you look…” Your brain scrambled for vocabulary. “—very prepared.” Behind you, Hoseok snorted.

“He tried on four different jackets,” Jimin stage-whispered. “He asked if charcoal made him look emotionally unavailable.”

“Green does,” Yoongi replied without missing a beat. Taehyung shot them a lazy glare before returning his attention to you.

“You don’t need to feel underdressed,” he said quietly, as if reading your thoughts. “You look comfortable—that matters more.” The comment wasn’t teasing. It was grounding. Something in your shoulders eased.

Jin let out a dramatic sigh. “Fashion week is over. Sit down, Taehyung.” Taehyung gave one last small smile in your direction before moving to the table. “Alright, enough theatrics everyone,” Jin announced, clapping once again. “Sit and eat, before the meal gets cold.”

“I made everything I promised, Ahmi,” Jin said, as he pulled out your chair, “Beef bulgogi, spicy pork bulgogi, beef and radish soup,” He pointed at each dish, and went on to list over fifteen side dishes, making you wonder since when he was cooking and a little guilty, he had to cook so much.

“Thank you, Jin,” You smile, awestruck but grateful, “Everything looks and smells delicious,” Jin smiles bashfully at your compliment, moving to pull the chair next to you. Jimin made another bold attempt toward the chair beside you. Jin cleared his throat pointedly. Jimin froze mid-step, slowly, dramatically. He pivoted toward the bench instead.

“You wound me daily, hyung,” He muttered, pouting.

“You’ll survive,” Jin replied calmly, taking the seat beside you as promised. Yoongi took the other seat on your side, giving you a small smile when you looked at him. The rest of the five naturally had took on the bench. The seat directly across from you on the bench side, remained empty. Three pairs of eyes noticed at once. A silent understanding passed between the youngest three.

Jimin straightened first. “I think,” he said smoothly, “I should sit there. For balance.”

“For balance?” Jungkook repeated.

“Yes. Aesthetic balance.”

Taehyung leaned back slightly, unimpressed. “You just want direct eye contact.”

Jimin didn’t deny it. Jungkook crossed his arms. “We’re not arguing over a seat.”

“We are,” Jimin said calmly.

“Settle it quickly,” Yoongi muttered, already taking a bite of the seafood pancake.

Jimin perked up instantly. “Rock, paper, scissors!”

Hoseok and Namjoon took to the end seats on the bench, leaving enough space for the three in the middle. You blinked. They were absolutely serious. The three of them stood shoulder-to-shoulder at the end of the table like warriors preparing for battle.

“One round,” Jungkook said.

“Best of three,” Jimin countered.

“Only chickens need three rounds to decide,” Taehyung replied coolly.

“Fine,” Jimin agreed.

“Rock—paper—scissors!” They crouched slightly. Hands shot forward. Jimin put out scissors. Jungkook put out scissors as well and Taehyung put out a rock.

Jungkook blinked. “No.” Jimin wailed dramatically.

Hoseok burst into laughter. “Clean sweep!” Taehyung didn’t celebrate but looked smug enough to annoy the other two. He simply adjusted his blazer sleeve like this had always been the inevitable outcome.

Jungkook stared at his defeated scissors. “I demand a recount.”

“There is no recount in rock-paper-scissors,” Namjoon said wisely.

Taehyung exhaled through his nose but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at his lips. Taehyung slipped on the bench seat directly across from you back and sat down with unhurried grace. Jimin and Jungkook sulked dramatically; Jimin dropping to Taehyung’s left with exaggerated despair, Jungkook taking the right side with dignified resignation.

“You cheated spiritually,” Jimin accused.

“I simply won,” Taehyung replied, folding his hands neatly on the table.

From your seat, you could feel your confusion fighting with something lighter. This was ridiculous, loud, unnecessary and completely harmless. Taehyung glanced up at you, just briefly with victory in his eyes.

You looked down quickly, pretending to focus very hard on your soup. Across from you, the two youngest continued muttering about ‘rematches’ and ‘strategic errors,’ while Namjoon and Hoseok settled onto the bench, and Jin quietly added another slice of bulgogi to your bowl like none of this was out of the ordinary. The absurdity of grown men battling over seating arrangements made something loosen inside your chest.

“We lost the visual advantage,” Jimin muttered.

“You’re acting like this is combat,” Namjoon sighed as he moved to grab some more pork.

“It is,” Jungkook agreed solemnly, sliding onto the bench beside him. Jin ignored all of them and focused entirely on you. He placed a bowl gently in front of you first—rice, fluffy and steaming. Then a bigger bowl of soup. He added portions of beef bulgogi with careful attention, and even pieces of pork before asking quietly, “Too much?”

You shook your head lightly at the extra portion.

Jin studied your face for a second longer, then nodded once, satisfied. He’d been quietly tracking things; how much you ate, how often you finished your meals, how your appetite had grown since that first fragile week when even a few bites had exhausted you. He had noticed you loved eating a lot, so he always brought you different dishes to try and enjoy. Only after your bowl was filled did he finally serve himself.

The table settled into a rhythm. Chopsticks lifted. Ceramic clicked softly. Someone reached for water. Low conversation threaded through the space, overlapping but not overwhelming. The food was amazing like always. You let the noise blur into the background and, for the first time without panic clawing at your ribs, really looked at them. Now that the rapid introductions were over, now that your pulse had steadied. They were all distractingly good-looking. Not in the same way. Not identical. Each carried something distinct.

Jin, beside you, felt almost unreal up close. Broad shoulders beneath a simple shirt, posture relaxed but assured. His face was striking in that balanced way, sharp lines softened by warm eyes. He looked like someone who could command a room without raising his voice, yet would kneel to fix a loose shoelace if you asked. There was authority in him, yes but never intimidation. Sitting next to him felt like leaning against something steady and solid. A calm you hadn’t known you were missing.

Yoongi, on your other side, was the opposite kind of presence. Quieter, denser and composed in a way that felt carved rather than grown. Dark hair falling just enough over sharp eyes that seemed to register everything without announcing it. He spoke rarely, but when he did, it was precise and efficient. There was something undeniably feline about him; pale skin, delicate features, a brooding gaze that softened unexpectedly when he smiled. And that smile, small, gummy, and disarming, was startling against his otherwise controlled demeanour.

Namjoon, seated across on the bench, was larger than you’d first registered. Taller, broader, carrying himself with quiet intellectual weight. His features were strong, handsome in a thoughtful way rather than flashy. When he spoke, even casually, there was intention behind his words. His hands were big, movements occasionally awkward as if he forgot his own size but you could see the care in the way he adjusted his strength around objects and around people. He looked like someone constantly balancing ideas in his head, philosophy and curiosity layered beneath muscle.

Hoseok seemed to emit light. Even sitting still, there was a current to him; expressive face, high cheekbones, skin clear and luminous. His smile came easily, full and bright, but when his eyes flickered to you, that brightness softened instantly. It dimmed into something protective, almost tender. He’d startled you earlier, but he looked more troubled by that fact than you ever had been. His warmth was so immediate that it almost disguised how handsome he truly was at first glance.

Jimin, currently sulking in exaggerated defeat beside Taehyung, was compact but magnetic. There was easy-going beauty in him. The way he tilted his head. The way he folded his hands. The way he pouted just enough to be dramatic but not enough to be childish. His jawline was sharp, but his cheeks still held softness. His lips were a natural pink that made you briefly and traitorously wonder if they’d always looked that way. When he smiled fully, his eyes curved into crescents, and you could absolutely imagine how easily he made people blush. Flirtatious, yes. But observant. Calculating in a gentle way.

Jungkook was quieter than the others but not smaller for it. If anything, the silence made him more noticeable. He was broader through the shoulders, his build solid in a way that felt earned rather than decorative. The fabric of his t-shirt pulled naturally across his chest and arms when he reached for something, muscle shifting beneath like it was simply part of him, not something he displayed, just something that existed. His face was unfairly handsome. Large, dark eyes framed by thick lashes, soft at first glance, almost doe-like but sharpened by the way they focused.

A few piercings glinted when he turned his head, small flashes of silver against warm skin. They suited him. Not flashy, not rebellious for attention’s sake. Just a quiet edge that contrasted with the softness of his eyes. There was youth in him, but not immaturity.

And then Taehyung, seated directly across from you.

Taehyung didn’t need to try to be noticed. He simply was noticed. Even seated casually across from you, even with his brooch removed and his blazer slightly loosened, there was something composed about him. Intentional. Like every line of his body had been arranged with unconscious elegance. The emerald of his jacket caught the light when he shifted, rich against his skin tone, dramatic without being gaudy.

Strong brows. Straight nose. A mouth that seemed sculpted rather than grown. His features weren’t soft like Jimin’s or sharp like Hoseok’s, they were balanced in a way that felt almost classical. And yet there was something playful hidden underneath, something that flickered in his eyes when he thought no one noticed. He looked every bit of the art you had heard he adored.

“So, Ahmi,” Jimin began smoothly, resting his chin in his palm as he cast an exaggeratedly sharp look at his older brother, “do tell us about yourself.”

His eyes flicked toward Jin again, playful but accusing. “Jin-hyung only ever sings praises about your manners and beauty.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “I’m certain you’re far more accomplished than that. Surely a lady like you deserves to be known for more than just her looks.”

Your brain stalled again. You swallowed. “Um…” The word came out smaller than intended. “I—I don’t really have any remarkable achievements, I’m afraid.” Other than getting kidnapped by monsters, your mind supplied unhelpfully.

Hoseok barked out a soft laugh. “Ignore whatever theatrical nonsense he’s performing, Ahmi.” Jimin gasped in mock offense. “Just tell us about yourself,” Hoseok urged gently. Then, seeing the way your fingers tightened slightly around your chopsticks, he softened further. “Or… actually how about we start? And you can follow in a similar way?” You nodded quickly, grateful for the lifeline.

“I’ll go first,” Hoseok declared, grabbing his spoon and holding it like a microphone. He cleared his throat theatrically. “I am Jung Hoseok but you can call me Hobi. I am twenty-four. Born on February eighteenth. I help with the family business,” He tilted his head proudly. “But what I truly enjoy is dancing. I’m a part-time instructor at the Seoul Dance Academy.” There was warmth in the way he said it, like dancing wasn’t just work.

You tilted your head slightly. “Where did ‘Hobi’ come from?”

“It’s from J-Hope,” Jimin chimed in immediately, barely suppressing a giggle behind his palm. “He’s the Jung Hope of Seoul Dance Academy. Jung Hope. Hope. Hope-ie. Hobi.”

Understanding lit up your face. “Oh! Hope because you’re bright and happy?” You clapped softly to yourself, pleased with the connection. “That’s adorable. It’s such a cute nickname.”

Hoseok froze, then dramatically turned toward Jin in pride. “Did you hear that, hyung? I’m cute.”

Jin didn’t even look up from his plate. “Don’t let it get to your head.” The table laughed, including you.

“I’ll go next,” Jimin announced, snatching the spoon-microphone from Hoseok with unnecessary flair. He sat up straighter, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from his shirt. “Park Jimin. October 13th. Twenty-three years old. I also assist in the family business which let me tell you, is tragically dull but I am, in contrast, an exceptionally talented dancer.” He paused for effect. “I teach at Seoul Dance Academy as well. With Hobi-hyung.” There was satisfaction—but it wasn’t arrogant. It was earned.

“Are you trained in any particular style?” you asked, leaning forward slightly. The second mention of dance had sparked genuine curiosity.

Jimin’s eyes brightened at your interest. “Contemporary and modern.”

You turned back to Hoseok. “What about you?”

“Street dance,” he grinned. “Hip-hop, locking, popping. Anything that lets me move.”

“Do you dance, Ahmi?” he asked, tilting his head curiously. The attention shifted again, but this time it felt lighter. You felt a little bashful under their interested gaze.

“A little,” you admitted. “My mum was a ballet dancer before she retired, so most of my training came from her.” A small smile played on your lips. “She was… very particular about technique.”

“You trained under your mum?” Jimin straightened immediately, all teasing gone, replaced with sharp interest. “For how long?”

“A few years, on and off,” you said. “We moved around a lot, so it wasn’t consistent. I picked up some contemporary and modern later, but nothing too serious.”

“That still counts,” Hoseok said quickly. “Ballet foundation—especially like that—is no joke.”

“You should come by the academy sometime,” Jimin leaned forward, elbows resting on the table now, eyes bright. “We run workshops—contemporary, fusion, sometimes even ballet crossover.”

“You’d enjoy it,” Hoseok added, his grin softer this time. “No pressure. Just… come have fun.”

There was no mockery or teasing, just genuine enthusiasm at sharing the same passion. Across from you, Taehyung had gone still again, watching the exchange with thoughtful eyes. Jungkook’s gaze lingered a second longer when you mentioned ballet, as if picturing it. Jin placed another small portion of food onto your plate without interrupting the conversation. Yoongi filled your glass with warm water.

“I’d like to, someday,” you said.

The words sounded agreeable enough, but even to your own ears they lacked certainty. The idea of dancing again felt distant, like something belonging to a version of you that existed before fear carved hollows into your days. Lately, even joy felt exhausting. Reading was easier. Reading was safe. It wasn’t happiness—it was escape. And with how wildly different Namjoon’s book recommendations were, you could disappear completely. Exist between pages instead of inside your own life.

“I’ll go next,” Taehyung announced, lifting the spoon-microphone with dramatic reverence. He sat up straighter, shoulders squaring as though preparing for a performance.

“I am Kim Taehyung. Also, twenty-three. December thirtieth.” He tilted his head slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. “I like dancing. I like taking pictures. I like art. I like jazz. I like doing a lot of things.” The enthusiasm in his voice made you laugh before you could stop yourself.

“I heard you paint as well,” you said, warmth returning to your tone. “Have you been working on anything? Can I see some?” For the first time, his energy quieted.

“I haven’t completed the recent piece, it is the closest to my heart,” he admitted, fingers absently tracing the edge of the spoon. “Not with everything that’s happened recently.” You stiffened faintly. The shift in his tone was subtle, but real. The ‘recent happenings’ hung between you like an unspoken understanding. He noticed your reaction and softened immediately. “I’ll finish it soon,” he said, voice low and certain now. His eyes held yours steadily. “You’ll be the first to see it. I promise.”

“Ooh,” Jimin sing-songed. “That’s a privilege.” Taehyung didn’t deny it. He simply smiled.

“Guess it’s my turn,” Namjoon said, taking the spoon with far less flair.

“I’m Kim Namjoon. Twenty-four. September twelfth.” He adjusted his shirt unconsciously as he spoke. “I handle most of the strategic side of the family business. I read a lot. Probably too much.” He smiled faintly. “I enjoy museums, poetry, philosophy.”

“And breaking things.” Jin added helpfully, making the rest chuckle including Namjoon.

He sighed. “It’s not intentional though, only accidental.”

“You recommend books like a literature scholar,” you said softly before you could stop yourself. His eyes flicked to yours, surprised.

“Do I?”

“They’re all very different.” You say, “But immersive.”

Something in his expression shifted, pleased, but contained. “I’m glad.”

Yoongi didn’t reach for the spoon.

“I’m Min Yoongi,” he said simply. “Twenty-five. March ninth.” He leaned back slightly, arms crossing loosely. “I am a doctor. I prefer quiet.” His gaze lifted briefly to you. “Noise gets exhausting.”

“You live with six brothers.” The corner of your mouth twitched. “I can’t imagine you getting much quiet,”

“I said I prefer quiet,” he corrected dryly and you giggle at his correction. You turned to Jungkook, finding absolutely no other way to ignore Jimin who had been pretending to reintroduce himself again, with his spoon-microphone near his face, that Taehyung nearly wrestled out of him and held out to Jungkook. He hesitated a second before taking the spoon from Taehyung.

“I’m Jeon Jungkook. Twenty-one. September first.” His voice was steady, sweeter than expected. “I box and do martial arts.” He shrugs, “I like working out and cooking.” That made sense and you could see it in him, the alertness, the way he tracked movement without appearing to.

He added after a second. “And eat—sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Jin scoffed lightly. “You devour the kitchen.”

Jungkook’s ears flushed slightly pink. “Hyung—” You smiled softly at that; it was endearing to see the relationship the brothers seemed to share. Jungkook finished, a little stiff at the attention, and gently set the spoon back in the centre of the table like he was returning something ceremonial. There was a beat of silence.

“Ahem.” Jin reached forward and claimed the spoon with exaggerated dignity. “How rude,” he said lightly, arching a brow at the rest of them. “The eldest nearly forgotten.”

“You were too busy feeding her,” Yoongi muttered and your cheeks heated up. Jin ignored him completely. He straightened in his seat, shoulders rolling back effortlessly. “Kim Seokjin. Twenty-six. December fourth.” His voice carried natural authority, warm, but unmistakably firm. “I oversee the primary operations of our family business.”

“That’s a very vague description,” Namjoon commented mildly.

Jin shot him a look. “It’s intentionally vague.” A ripple of amusement passed around the table. “I also cook,” Jin continued, gesturing lightly toward the spread before you. “Clearly better than some people appreciate.”

“I appreciated it,” you said quietly, gesturing to your empty bowls and plates. His gaze softened.

“Good,” he replied, and there was no teasing in it. “Then my work is done.” He tapped the spoon thoughtfully against his palm. “I enjoy fishing. Traveling when time allows. Collecting recipes from places I visit.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “And making sure everyone eats properly.”

“Especially you,” Hoseok sing-songed, wiggling his eyebrows at you and your blood rushing up to your cheeks again. Jin didn’t deny it. He simply reached over and adjusted your bowl a fraction closer to you, as if the motion alone proved the point. There was something about the way he spoke; less flashy, less bright, less deliberate than the rest. Jin didn’t try to impress. He stated facts. He existed solidly within them. When he finished, he didn’t toss the spoon back dramatically. He placed it gently in your hand.

“Now,” he said quietly, turning slightly toward you, “—continue.” His tone wasn’t pressing. It was steady and supportive, like he was anchoring you before you stepped back into deeper water and so you did.

Seven faces looked at yours, not expectant in a demanding way; just open and curious. You swallowed.

“I am Yoo Ahmi, twenty-one years old.” you began quietly. “I was born in China, but my parents moved around a lot due to my father’s job. He was a Diplomat. So, we barely spent a year in one place. I was homeschooled till university. I’ve lived in China, Japan, Vietnam, Taiwan, Hong Kong, Canada, the UK, Switzerland, France…” You let out a small, almost breathless laugh. “It’s easier to list where I haven’t been.”

Hoseok’s eyes widened. “That’s incredible.”

“It sounds exciting,” you admitted softly. “But it was mostly temporary. I never stayed long enough to call anywhere home or make any real friends.” Jin’s posture shifted beside you, so slight most wouldn’t notice. But you did. “This is my first time in Korea. Even though I’m Korean.” You gave a small, almost self-conscious smile. “I wanted to finish university in one place. Just once. So, we stayed in—” You named the city quietly. “The plan was always that I’d graduate there and then move to Korea.”

You rolled your eyes faintly, fondness threading through it. “But Appa said we’d spent far too much time away from home. That it was time to return to our roots.” A few of the boys exchanged subtle glances. “I didn’t want to,” you admitted. “But he bribed me. Said we’d build a house that looked exactly like my Pinterest dreams.” A tiny, broken laugh escaped you. “He knew that would work.” You drifted somewhere else for a moment, back to that version of life where the future still felt solid.

“He promised it would finally be ours. So, we packed everything again and moved to Seoul.” Your voice thinned. “We stayed in an apartment while searching for property. And then, we found one.” Your fingers curled into themselves. “It was near the woods. There was a wide stream nearby. The backyard was huge. Omma said we could host summer dinners there. We’d already started unpacking and decorating, pulling things out of boxes.” You swallowed.

“But I never got to actually live in it.” The table had gone completely still. No one touched their food. No one interrupted. “Omma and I went out to buy ingredients to make tteok,” you continued, your throat tightening. “She said if we shared it with the neighbours, it would help us integrate, make a good first impression. It was supposed to be the last move after all, the last beginning.”

Your breathing grew uneven. “We were on our way back when we-we got kidnapped by—” The word wouldn’t come. Your pulse roared in your ears. “By—” Monsters sounded childish. Creatures sounded fictional. Men sounded too human. Your breathing hitched sharply.

Around you, every trace of playfulness vanished. Jin’s hand moved closer to yours, not touching yet. Just there. Yoongi’s jaw set hard. Jungkook’s shoulders squared almost imperceptibly. Hoseok’s brightness extinguished completely. Namjoon’s gaze sharpened with focus. Taehyung and Jimin looked almost unreal in their seriousness, like masks had been stripped away.

“You don’t have to tell us more,” Jin said gently, he put an arm around you, “Not right now.” The silence that followed wasn’t suffocating. It was shielding. And somehow, that made it easier to force the truth out.

“I don’t know what they were,” you breathed, tears spilling despite your effort to stop them. “They were monsters, fangs and sharp nails. They had eyes that weren’t right, it was inhuman.” Your voice trembled violently now. Jin held your hand his, stroking with his thumb, “They bit Omma, drank her blood.” Your hands shook. “They were cruel. There wasn’t just one. There were many. He kept touching me—” Your breath stuttered. “I begged them—him to let us go. I begged them—him to let my mum go.” No one moved.

“They fed on us, over and over.” A sob tore from your chest before you could contain it. “She kept telling me Appa would come, that he’d find us.” Your vision blurred. “He did find us,” you whispered. Jin’s hand finally closed around yours. “But they killed him too.” The words dropped like stones. “They hurt him first. And then they killed him.” Your voice fractured completely now. “The feeding didn’t stop. It just kept happening and happening. And one day… Omma didn’t wake up.” Tears slid off your chin and you sobbed.

“There were many like me,” you continued hollowly. “So many. Some of them died. I kept wondering when it would be my turn.” The room felt smaller, tighter but not because of judgment, but because of fury.

“After Omma—” You blinked hard, as if forcing yourself back into your own body. “I don’t remember much. I remember being bitten. Feeling tired. Dizzy. Restless. Like I wasn’t inside myself anymore.” Your breath trembled on the way out. “And then I woke up here.”

You smiled. It wasn’t hopeful. It wasn’t grateful. It was simply the only expression you could manage when there were no more tears left to fall. The silence that followed was deafening but not fragile, not uncertain.

Jin’s hand remained wrapped around yours, firm and immovable, like the foundation of a house that refused to crack. His thumb pressed once against your knuckles, steady and grounding. Across the table, Yoongi had gone utterly still. Not the relaxed stillness of someone at ease, but the kind that preceded violence. His eyes were dark, flat, calculating. A storm held behind glass. Jungkook’s knuckles had blanched white against the edge of the table. The wood creaked faintly beneath his grip. His jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle ticked near his ear. He hadn’t blinked in several seconds.

Hoseok’s brightness, the laughter, the warmth had vanished entirely. His eyes shone, not with pity, but with something sharper; protective and furious. As though joy itself had been insulted. Namjoon inhaled slowly before speaking, like he was containing something vast and dangerous inside his chest.

“They won’t touch you again,” he said, each word was measured and precise. “We will protect you. At all costs.” It wasn’t a reassurance. It was a vow for them. Across from you, Taehyung’s usual softness had burned away. What remained was something ancient and resolute. His gaze held yours without wavering, emerald jacket catching the light as if nothing about him had changed, yet everything had.

Jimin’s lips had parted slightly, his usual pout and theatrics replaced by something painfully quiet. His eyes shimmered, but he did not look away from you. His softness had hardened, not into coldness, but into promise. Almost all of them were holding back tears, not because they pitied you. But because something in them had shifted irrevocably.

It was one thing to look at victims from a distance; to feel anger at monsters, regret at arriving too late, frustration at the limits of power. It was another thing entirely to watch someone at your own table recount the moment their world was torn apart. To imagine their pack member, because that was what you were, waiting in the dark for death while her parents were slaughtered.

The wolves felt it like a blade through their own ribs. Their hearts, creatures built for battle, for dominance, for protection, softened in a way that startled even them. You had spoken the worst parts aloud. And instead of shattering the room, you had changed it. The air felt different now, heavier but steadier. The grief you had carried alone for weeks, months, perhaps longer than that, no longer echoed into nothingness. It landed here, on the table, in their chests, shared among the seven sets of shoulders that bore it without hesitation.

For the first time since that night, you were not the only one holding the memory of parents’ last breaths. Your grief had witnesses. It had warriors.

You became aware of your own tears only when one slid off your chin and onto your hand. Heat rushed to your face. “I’m sorry,” you murmured automatically, voice small. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t.” Jin’s tone wasn’t sharp, but it was absolute. “Don’t ever apologize for surviving.” The words settled around you like something solid, protective and final.  His arm remained around your shoulders, drawing you slightly closer; not enough to trap you, just enough to steady you. Hoseok silently passed him a napkin, and Jin used it carefully, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks as though you were something precious and breakable.

“We’re grateful you shared this with us,” Jin said softly.

Yoongi nudged a glass of water toward you. “Take a sip.” You did. Your hands trembled less than before. The air began to loosen.  Not because what you’d said mattered less, but because they had accepted it and held it.

“You know,” Hoseok said after a moment, clearing his throat lightly, “We were going to get dessert anyway. But now we definitely are.” Jimin’s head snapped toward him.

“Hyung, don’t pretend this isn’t your excuse to empty the hundred-box melona stash you impulse-bought when it went on sale.”

Hoseok gasped. “It was a calculated investment.”

“Can you believe it?” Yoongi deadpanned. “We still have over fifty left over.”

“It would’ve been a sin to pass it up!” Hoseok defended, pointing his spoon accusingly. “Do you know how rare that discount was?”

“Maybe Jin-hyung should make a proper dessert,” Jimin mused dramatically. “Like tiramisu. Something fancy.”

“We just ate,” Namjoon pointed out mildly.

“This is clearly an emergency,” Jimin countered without missing a beat. He turned to you, eyes bright again but softer than before. “How do you feel about being tortured with melona, our guest of honour?”

Despite everything, you giggled. It surprised you more than them.

“What do you want, Ahmi-yah?” Jin asked, brushing a stray hair from your face with his thumb.

“I… I don’t know.” You hesitated.

“What’s your favourite dessert? Would you enjoy a Tiramisu?” Jin leaned back slightly, considering. “Proper tiramisu takes time. A few hours to chill and all. Ideally a day.”

“A whole day,” Jungkook repeated, eyebrows lifting slightly. “That’s 24 hours!”

“Hyung,” Jimin protested, “that is forever for an emergency.”

“I like tiramisu too,” you admitted quietly. “But I can make do with ice cream.”

The corner of Jin’s mouth curved faintly. “I’ll make Tiramisu for you anyway.” He gave you a squeeze, his arm around you still in an embrace.

“Actually…” Namjoon interjected gently, glancing between you and the others. “While we wait for dessert, maybe someone should show Ahmi around properly.”

“The house is big,” Hoseok added. “She hasn’t seen it yet.”

Jimin shot up slightly in his seat. “I volunteer.”

 Taehyung casually adjusted his blazer sleeves, as though this were a diplomatic assignment and said, “I can escort her around as well,”

Jungkook looked at you, and nodded to himself, but didn’t speak, and he didn’t look away either. Yoongi raised a brow at the three of them. Jin studied you carefully, watching your breathing, the way your shoulders had finally relaxed a fraction and then he decided.

“Maknae line.” All three youngest straightened instinctively. “Show her around,” Jin said. His voice was calm, but deliberate. “Slowly, and don’t overwhelm her with your chatter and clutter.”

“Yes, sir!” They saluted, like in military and turned to you.

Jimin grinned softly at you. “Come on. We’ll start with the front door, like any property tour.”

Taehyung stood, offering his hand in an almost courtly gesture. “The scenic route.”

Jungkook moved to your other side without comment, close enough that you’d feel it if you stumbled but not touching. Behind you, the older four remained seated. You hesitated only a second before standing. Jin’s arm slipped from around your shoulders, but his warmth lingered. He gave you one last assessing look, as if confirming you were steady enough on your feet before nodding once.

“Don’t run,” he warned the three youngest calmly.

“We never run,” Jimin replied with immediate offense.

“You absolutely run,” Yoongi muttered.

Taehyung ignored them both, already reaching into the freezer drawer nearby and pulling it open with quiet confidence.

Hoseok gasped. “Don’t take more than four!”

“Hyung,” Jimin scoffed, grabbing one green-wrapped bar and tossing another to Jungkook. “This is an at least a two melona per head event.” Jungkook caught it easily with one hand. He peeled the wrapper halfway down, then paused, waiting for you.

Taehyung selected one carefully and stepped closer, offering it to you with a small flourish. “For the guest of honour.” You chuckled but accepted it, fingers brushing the cold plastic.

Jimin already had his open, dramatically biting into it. “If we disappear for too long, assume we got distracted by the movie room.”

“Or the art room,” Taehyung added lightly.

“Or Jungkook’s obsession with reorganizing the gym,” Jimin whispered loudly.

Jungkook gave him a look. “You’re the one who keeps arranging them wrong.”

“It is aesthetic.” Jimin offered.

“It is stupid.” Jungkook snapped back, pointing his melona at Jimin.

Behind you, Jin shook his head, though there was the faintest curve to his mouth now. “Slowly,” he repeated. “Go,” Jin ordered, though there was no real heat behind it.

Taehyung offered you his arm, to link it, still playing a gentleman. You laughed again, looping your arm with his, as he led you out of the kitchen area. You took a tentative bite of the melona. It was sweet, cold and unexpectedly comforting. The three youngest adjusted their pace without speaking about it, falling into step around you naturally. Jimin slightly ahead, walking backward as he narrated. Taehyung beside you, with his arm linked with yours, matching your stride. Jungkook just half a step behind and to the side, a quiet presence.

As you moved away from the dining area, the hum of the older members’ low voices resumed behind you. But ahead of you was space and light, the open stretch of the living area. Jimin gestured grandly with his half-eaten ice cream. “Welcome to the main living hall. Floor-to-ceiling windows, strong wood beams. Excessive but tasteful.”

Taehyung shot him a look. “You sound like a brochure.”

“I could be,” Jimin replied smoothly. “I also could be a real estate tycoon.”

And just like that, the heaviness in your chest didn’t disappear, but it shifted. Thus, the Bangtan Packhouse tour began, with the four of you holding melting melonas in your hands.

—next chapter •  chapter four

—author's endnote •  feedback and thoughts are really appreciated! It keeps me motivated to write more and definitely makes me happy! I hope all of you are doing well, lots of love and take care, aksh 💕

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Jin flashed you a cheeky smile. “I hope you three are not planning anything indecent in the house while the others are gone,” he said, watching your face turn red as your eyes went wide with panic.

“He knows,” Yoongi whispered in your ear. “It’s alright.”

“Wh-what?” you stammered. Jin’s eyebrows raised. Did they not tell you? Should’ve he said nothing? He didn’t mean to put you in the spotlight. As much as he thought Hoseok and Yoongi were being stupid and reckless, he didn’t hold it against you. They should’ve known better than to play with a lady’s heart, much less with a beautiful one like yours. 

Jin paused his thoughts. Well, he wasn’t wrong. You were beautiful, he’d give Hoseok and Yoongi that. Which makes even less sense that Hoseok would even dream about sharing you. If it was him, he’s keep you locked up in his room for only his eyes to-

There it was again. To be honest, he’s never seen anyone with your type of beauty before, the kind that seemed to be haunting the more he looked; calling out to him like intrusive whispers in his ears. He’s met countless women that would’ve been a sea of roses compared to your quiet daisy-like charm, had had his pick and courted a few of them even, and yet you, the one Hoseok had claimed first…

As Hoseok, Yoongi and you engaged in a furious bout of whispering, Jin distracted himself by getting a drink, his movements deliberate and slow to give them some space. It wasn’t his first time seeing you and yet this time he needed to get his thoughts in order. They were all over the place and Seokjin was a tidy man. Still is. 

When the furious under-breaths talk finally subsided, Jin turned around, feigning nonchalance as he put his plans into motion. “So,” he said, looking at the three of them. “I don’t know what your plans were but Yoongi, aren’t you supposed to be joining Jungkook at that timber council?”

He watched as Yoongi’s eyes grew wide in alarm. It doesn’t take him long to disappear out the door again in a cloud of dust, mumbling curses as he went. Now how does he get rid of Hoseok? But that problem solved itself, much to Jin’s relief.

“Shit,” Hoseok cursed. “I promised Taehyung I’d help him at the shop.”

“Today?” you frowned in concern. “But isn’t that tomorrow?”

“The same day as Kook’s timber council, that’s how I remembered it,” replied Hoseok as he gathered up his things. “Sorry, love.” He planted a soft kiss on your temple. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

The silence that followed was awkward to say the least, as you shuffled from one foot to the next, contemplating on what to do. “I guess I’ll go, too,” you murmured without looking at the oldest brother. 

“Why? Stay. Let me get to know you better. Since you’re dating my brother. Ss.” Jin offered with a smile. “Come. Sit. I’ll make you a cup of tea. Do you like whiskey in it?”

“Pardon?”

Jin laughed. “I jest. Don’t worry, no whiskey for you, little one.”

“I can drink,” you retorted and Jin noticed the pout on your lips, the pout that he’ll grow to love one day. You joined him to watch what he made. He moved around the kitchen almost fluidly, flitting from the cabinet to grab one thing and then coming back to add them into the tall jar of dark brown liquid. Tea, you supposed, but couldn't be sure because of the smell from the whiskey bottle that was opened next to it. 

Jin took out two mugs and poured out the tea. He handed one to you but not without noticing the way you glanced at the opened bottle of whiskey briefly before taking a small sip, smacking your lips to taste it. Jin smirked behind the rim of his own mug. “Come, come,” he called, leading you to the back of the house. “Walk with me, little one.”

You tried but Jin’s legs were longer.  Every one of his strides equal to two quick steps of yours as you desperately prevented the tea from sloshing too aggressively against the side of the mug. When he finally stopped, you’re standing a few feet away from a small creek that seemed to be coming out of the woods and running across the land towards the direction of town. 

“Can you swim?” 

Jin watched as your eyebrows arched in surprise at his random question. “Yes,” you replied but it sounded more like a question. The look on your face tickled him so he asked, “Would you like to? Right now?”

It took you five whole seconds (Jin counted) to finally gasp out, “No!”

Jin laughed, one hand on his side. Again, your answer had a rising tone at the end and it amused him. It was like you weren’t even sure of your own answer even if the look on your face told him that you think he’d lost his marbles. It’s the middle of fall and although it was a sunny warm day, the wind still had a nipping chill to it everytime it blew through your hair. 

“Calm down,” said Jin with a smile. “I’m jesting.”

“You jest a lot, sir,” you said with a pout, eyes glancing back towards the water. For a brief moment, Jin thought he saw a twinkle in your eyes, like the thought of actually going into the water did cross your mind and it made him curious. Curious about you. Curious for you. 

Jin approached you, standing side by side close enough that your skirt brushed his fingers every time it fluttered in the wind. The fabric was soft and Jin found himself wondering if your skin would be softer. For a brief moment, an emotion he didn’t recognise flared inside his chest; hot and red at the thought of Hoseok and Yoongi being able to freely hold your hand if they wanted to. He fisted his fingers, nails digging into his palm as he smiled at you, a smile that made you blush and turn away instantly, heart fluttering. 

Jin looked back towards the water at his feet. A question formed in his head and he opened his mouth to ask you, hesitating only once, thinking it might be cruel. But his curiosity got the better of him. “If Hoseok and Yoongi were drowning,” he said, arranging his words carefully, “which one would you save first?”

You slowly turned to look at him, your face a mixture of surprise and confused at the sudden yet morbid question. You studied his face but Jin didn’t give anything away as he waited for your answer. 

“That’s like asking who I love more, my mother or father,” you said quietly. Jin shrugged his shoulders. “But I have neither,” you continued. “So…”

Jin looked back at you, waiting.

“Which one would you save first?”

Slightly taken aback, Jin retorted with a laugh, “Whoever was closest to me, of course.” He laughed a little more before the question mulled around in his head. “But honestly, I don’t know. I want to save them both.” He scoffed at himself. “That was a stupid question.”

A long quietness descended between you and Jin as you both entertained your own private thoughts, the tea growing cold in between your palms. Jin thought of turning back around, back to the house so they can move away from this awkwardness. Just as he worked up the determination to invite you back to the house, you speak, your voice so low Jin almost missed it.

“I’d die along with them.” 

You take a deep breath. 

“We’d all have died. If I can only save one, half of me would’ve died with him and what kind of life would that be?” Your forehead furrowed ever so slightly. “And neither of them would live if the other died. Not truly. Thus, no one will have survived.”

Jin stared at you, unblinking. Then nodded his head sombrely. He understood it clearly so he didn't bother to say anything more. 

Unbeknownst to him, and as dark as it was, that was the moment he fell; the moment his fate was sealed to a kindred spirit, forever to be intertwined with yours; seven souls growing like grape vines around an arbour that is you. And if he knew then, he’d reckon he’ll be okay with it. There would be nothing else Jin would live and die for. 

~~~

“Would you take a bullet for me?”

Nick guffawed out loud at the question, moving away from me to the other end of the couch. The movie on the TV was paused. “Hell nah! That’s crazy!”

I rolled my eyes at his dramatics but it slightly stung anyway. “It’s just a hypothetical question.”

“You’re chronically online, babe,” he said, getting up to get another beer from the fridge. “So influenced by all those fake relationships you see on there. You need to get a hobby.”

“I have a hobby,” I murmured under my breath.

“Like, I don’t know, learning how to cook?” he continued, not listening.

“What’s wrong with my cooking?” I snapped, standing up to face him. 

Nick shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t know. I’m tired of eating pasta on Fridays.”

“Pasta Fridays was your idea, Nick,” I countered. 

Again, he shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe you should learn how to make that meanass lasagna Rosie makes all the time.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean, Rosie makes it all the time?”

Nick groaned, rolling his eyes now. “See, you’re always focusing on all the wrong things.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I’m going out. It’s suffocating here.”

The door slammed behind him and in my seething rage, there was one thing I agreed with him: it was getting suffocating here.

***

Heavy. So heavy but I willed my arm to drag Jin out of the water. 

My arms and chest burn but the pain is barely noticed as adrenaline propels me, teeth grinding against each other so hard my jaw is numb. Or is it the frigid water? It feels like I’m fighting against a bag of rocks that only wants to pull me back down to the bottom of the muddy pond. The shore feels like a welcome home once my feet can finally find footing, now able to pull Jin out of the water from under his armpits. Being on land, his full weight seems to have doubled than when we were in the water. 

Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.

Oh, God, please.

I lose my footing and fall on my back, Jin’s head against my stomach. I scramble back to my feet, putting his head gently on the ground and kneel next to him. His dark hair is plastered lifelessly against his forehead, his usually plump lips blue and his face pale. His chest isn’t moving.

Nononononononononono.

Oh, god, please no. 

CPR. I’ve taken the class. I should know how to do this. But I can’t remember. What’s the first step? Fuck!

Please wake up. Please wake up. Please wake up.

Okay. Calm down. I can do this. Chest compressions. Rescue breaths. Okay. I can do this. Oh my god, he’s so cold. Is it too late to even try? I pressed my palm against his chest at the right location and that’s when it hit me, the reality of the situation. The once strong chest is now laying rigid under my fingers. It’s not right. 

Okay, chest compressions.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5…17, 18, 19, 20, 21…28, 29, 30.

Pinch nose, tilt head, breathe. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

Repeat.

11, 12, 13, 14, 15…25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30.

Pinch nose, tilt head, breathe. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

Nothing.

Please, wake up. Please. 

6, 7, 8, 9, 10…17, 18, 19…29, 30.

Breathe. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

Nothing.

I scream my throat raw, vision blurry from the tears pooling in my eyes. Desperation turns into frustration, pressing against his chest so hard my shoulders are turning stiff. It angers me even more to think that I have to follow the rhythm of that stupid song to keep it at the right pace. Stupid song. Stupid Jinnie. 

Chest compression. Breathe. Repeat. Chest compression. Breathe. Repeat. Chest compression. Breathe. Repeat.

Another scream of frustration escapes my lips, calling out his name. I don’t know when I started but the crying feels more hysterical now, the tightness in my chest like a cord is wrapped around my heart squeezing it like a vice. Every breath I take feels like a betrayal towards Jin lying there motionless; the air grates against my windpipe, my lungs unable to properly carry out the oxygen to blood process.  Every fibre of my being is in anguish, the pain so physical I feel like an invisible hand is pulling me apart bit by bit.

“I’d die. I’d choose death.”

That’s right. If I can’t save Jin then death will be the only solace. 

My hands cease compressing his heart, slowing down as the burning in my muscles intensify. The world seems to be coming to a halt, too, spinning slower and slower at a slight tilt. I can hear my own heart in my ears, the slow thump, thump, thump, as I slump forward to rest my head on Jin’s cold, unmoving chest. His shoulders, once so wide and strong, now look deflated and hunched in the absence of life. Jin. My Seokjin. Seokjin. 

Kim Seokjin.

That’s right. That’s his name. Why now am I remembering that? What use is his name now?

Kim Seokjin.

I trace my fingers along his jawline. His beautiful face looks peaceful, that perpetual slight frown that he seemed to always have on his face like he’s always worried is gone. He looks young, no more than thirty, perhaps. I scoot up closer to his face, taking my time to take in every detail of his features - his eyelashes, the three moles on his cheek, his luscious lips - like it was my last time, saving them away into my long-term memory so as to not forget him. 

Again.

That’s right. I don’t want to forget him again. 

“Seokjin, please. Don’t make me forget you again.”

~~~

Karma watches you through the leaves, the blackness of his fur camouflages well in the shadows, keeping him hidden for as long as he needs to be. 

He had watched you drag Seokjin out of the water. He watched you pummelled against his chest to get his heart to beat again. He kept himself hidden as you screamed and sobbed against Seokjin’s lifeless body. He bided his time. He needed to see.

His twin tails swish curiously, carefully missing the trees around him to avoid making any sounds. His bicoloured eyes narrowed infinitesimally as he watches you lean over Seokjin’s face, close enough that your noses are touching. This is it, he thinks. His whole body tenses, waiting for till the last second as your lips connect with his. 

Karma jumps out of his hiding place and slithers up close to your side, nudging you lightly. You ignore him, tears streaming down your face, switching between pleading under your breath and saying goodbye. 

It’s my turn.

~~~

“Mreoow.”

Startled, I look up, coming face to face with Karma’s blue-yellow orbs staring intently straight into my eyes. 

He nudges against my arm, soft and gentle, once again looking up to look at me. He glances towards Jin once and his eyes glow brighter. Huh?

Karma lets out another meow, softer this time. I can hear him purring like a little engine, eyes transfixed on Jin’s face. I finally sit up, hesitantly moving away but never not touching Jin. I can’t bear to be away from him. 

I watch as Karma jumps atop Jin’s chest, his paws kneading against the shirt and the first thought I have is that Jin would have been complaining about cat hair if he was awake. 

Karma purrs louder and it’s an odd thing to say but it feels like the sound is vibrating in my chest. With every passing second, he only becomes louder so much that I’m starting to think it’s all around us, buzzing in the wind. The trees around sway, leaves rustling noisily to combine with that vibrating buzzing sound. Everything is shimmering and the earth seems to rattle beneath me. 

Fear struck my heart and I’m in between panicking to run but not wanting to leave Jin lying there alone with that strange cat I had called my own. Karma’s twin tails are sticking straight up, entwined around each other. There’s electric static thick around Karma, like if I reach out my hand to touch him I might get electrocuted so I remain still, my heart in my throat. The hum gets louder and this time it’s for sure not that of a cat’s. 

And then Jin’s eyelids flutter.

~~~

“What does it mean?” You waved your hand at the Anam Cara symbol Jin was carving into the wood. His wine-stained lips reminded you he was on the verge of drunkenness. 

“It means I love you.”

“Really?”

Jin turned to look at you. He wasn’t smiling but the gaze in his eyes was intense. “I love you.”

You stared at him, licking your lips. 

“I said I love you.” Jin leaned in closer, his breath tickling your cheeks. He watched your throat bobbed but you didn't move away. He eyed your slightly parted lips, an invitation he’s accepting gladly. 

He closed the gap, lips brushing yours. “I love you,” he whispered one last time. 

***

“Seokjin?”

It’s dusk, the sky above him tinged red. It takes awhile for his vision to adjust and when it finally does, the first thing he sees is a pair of red, brimming eyes. 

 “Seokjin?” you call out again, your voice cracking. 

He blinks a few times and tries to get up but the weight on his chest stops him from doing so. He strains to look down and is met with the cat’s wet nose. He gags, clamouring to sit up and throwing the cat off. Neither you nor Jin paid any attention as Karma scampers off into the forest as you tackle Jin straight back down to the ground, wailing.

Flabbergasted, Jin lay there staring up at the sky that’s growing darker. He can see a lone star already peeking out and he rummages through his brain trying to remember why you’re so distraught, hands already wrapped around your cold body. 

Wait a minute. You’re wet. He looks down but only sees the top of your soaked hair. He’s wet, too. Drenched. 

“What happened?”

You pause, sitting up and looking at him first in confusion and then your forehead dips into a frown. The softness in your eyes remains but your face crumples once again. But this time in anger.

“You died, that’s what happened! How could you do that to me?!” 

A bewildered Jin sits frozen in place as you thump your fists against him, screaming the same thing over and over again. “You stupid, stupid old man! Walking into the forest all drunk like that! What were you thinking?! If you want to die so much then I’ll kill you myself!” 

Your words start to mix together, incoherent and mostly nonsense to Jin as the rage subsides into tears again but the pounding on his chest never stops and it is starting to hurt a little. His whole body hurts, actually. Jin finally wrestles you, getting ahold of your wrists in one hand and cupping your chin with the other; soft, gentle touches that relent you of your struggling but not the waterworks.

You’re heaving, shoulders moving up and down as you glare at Jin. He isn’t smiling nor is he angry. He understands better than anyone the emotions you’re grappling with because he, too, had once been there. Right here. Right in this same place. The situation had been slowly dawning at him as he recognised his surroundings. How selfish had he been to put you through that; a pain so unbearable it’s a mark on both your soul and his. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs softly. He pulls you closer. “Forgive me.”

You shake your head, wet hair flying into your face. 

“Forgive me, little one,” Jin sobs.

Again, you shake your head, more determinedly this time as Jin continues to chant the words, chest aching not from your punches earlier but from the contrition that’s crushing his once-stilled heart. Finally, you straighten your shoulders and look squarely into his eyes.

“No,” you say through shaky breaths. “Not…until you tell me what it means.”

Jin cocks his eyebrows. 

“The symbol on the attic door,” you explain. “I-” you take a deep breath. “I remember you carving it in. Maybe…maybe from a previous life.”

Jin’s mouth falls open. 

“What does it mean?”

Jin’s mind is still reeling at your revelation of a memory. Maybe it was brief, maybe it was just that specific one but you’re remembering nevertheless, and not just any past lives but that first one, where it all began. He’s also trying to remember what symbol exactly you’re talking about. Then it hits him. You’re alluding him to something.

“The Anam Cara, Jin,” you stress, getting impatient. “What does it mean?”

“I love you,” he breathes out just as he pulls you into him, lips crashing together and it feels like forgiveness as you lean into him to deepen the kiss. He feels your arms wrap tightly around his neck and your legs around his waist and he relishes in this warm, golden feeling, welcoming the love of his life home. Safe, in his arms. Finally, finally.

But not for long.

~~~

“Hyunnnggg!”

“Jin hyunngggg!”

“Hyunngiieeee!”

I look back at Jin, flushing my forehead against his, my fingers in his hair as I hear my name being called out in the distance. Nighttime has finally enveloped us and the wind is starting to bite. I press my lips against his once more, feeling how plush they are, how soft the way Jin kisses me back like I’m delicate. Like he’s holding back. And how warm. Warm, warm lips on warm, warm skin. 

“What do we tell them?” whispers Jin, tucking my hair behind my ear. 

“That you’re an idiot,” I say wetly through a smile. 

Jin scoffs. “Like that’s news to them.”

I laugh.

“There you are!”

We both jump as Jimin suddenly bursts through the trees, a flashlight in one hand. “Hyung!” he cries, making a beeline towards us. “Oh, thank god!”

I barely escaped Jimin’s wrestling hug as I subtly moved aside to make way. He grabs the older man into a tight hug, saying nothing as they embrace. When Jimin finally pulls away, I see the tear track down his cheeks. He gives Jin a once over before noting the wet clothes. He opens his mouth to ask but is cut off by loud rustling noises as another person tumbles into the clearing.

It’s Jungkook, eyes wide and panicky. His eyes lock in on the three of us and it doesn’t take long for him to rush forward and literally pull Jin into his arms. As Jungkook and Jin share a moment, Jimin turns to me.

“You’re wet,” he says, taking off his jacket. He drapes it around my shoulders wordlessly before enfolding me into his arms.

“You idiot!” 

I look up in surprise to see Hoseok in the treeline, squinting a little as he shines his light towards us. My surprise quickly turns to fear, cowering into Jimin when his angry gaze falls on me next. “Both of you!” He yells. “Going into the woods like that!”

He marches over towards Jin and pulls him up by his shirt collar so much so that Jin is forced to stand. “I could punch you right now,” he hisses but doesn’t, roughly mandhandling Jin into his arms. “Asshole. Don’t ever do that again.”

It takes another few minutes for the others to arrive, including Mr Chang in the search party. The walk back to the house is a quiet one and I’m so drained of energy that my limbs feel like sandbags, even when carried on Taehyung’s back. My whole body aches like I’ve been hit by a truck and it takes an effort to keep my eyes open for Taehyung’s sake. 

We are met by Mrs Oliviera by the edge of the forest, warm blankets in her hands as she drapes one over me and tosses the other to Jin, her face frozen in a disapproving scowl as she immediately fusses over the thin scratches all over my face, neck, arms and legs. She switches from fussing over me to berating Jin, as well as pointing out all the little wounds on him, too, and warning him to take care of them inside. For a mousy housekeeper who doesn't usually talk all that much, it’s only her voice that I can hear as the world is shut out behind my eyelids. And for some reason, it brings me relief.

~~~

Taehyung feels you going limp and he adjusts your position so that you remain secure on his back. It’s not when Yoongi offers to switch that he realises how much his back hurts that he happily obliges. They, too, had trekked the woods in half-blindness the moment they could. 

Yoongi carries you in his arms up the stairs as carefully as he can, careful to leash in his anger at not being fast enough, at not being there when it happened. Thankfully, Mrs Oliviera is right at his heels, following him into your room as she instructs him to place you in the bathtub instead of the bed. You groggily open your eyes but Yoongi doesn’t linger long to let Ollie do what needs to be done to get you out of your damp clothes and warm you up. Instead, he goes to the room across the hallway because there’s another person that needs to be taken care of: Seokjin.

He knocks softly once before pushing the door open to reveal the room already cramped with five others. He hears water running in the bathroom and takes his place on the edge of the bed, waiting as the others are. No one says a word. No one looks at each other. No one questions nor makes a move when forty minutes pass and the bathroom door is still closed with Namjoon leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door.

Once, Yoongi thought he heard sobbing from inside the bathroom but neither him nor the others even lifted their heads. They let him be, giving the space he needs but remaining close enough in case they need to act fast. Yoongi is not worried about Jin doing anything drastic while he’s alone in there; that’s not why they’re here. They’re here because they couldn’t be before, earlier in the day or even back then. It’s compensation, for which he’s not sure.

Yoongi should’ve known better. He should’ve at least made sure Jin was okay while the others fussed over you that day in the past. You had drowned, yes, but Jin had been the only one there, saddled with guilt for all those decades. And this time, if you hadn’t been there for Jin, he can’t even bring himself to imagine what would’ve happened. 

You had somewhat briefly recounted the details of what happened before they found you but something nags at the back of Yoongi’s head that you’re not telling the full truth. Jin had fallen into the water, you had jumped right in and pulled him out. You managed to pump his heart back, dislodging the water Jin’s lungs. That’s it. 

That’s it? He had asked then but you had nodded tiredly so he didn’t push. He kept quiet even when he had noticed you and Jin exchanging glances. 

Something else happened. Something that had given them their physical forms back before they raced each other into the woods. Something else happened in between them turning to ghosts and unable to move away from Solomon’s Manor to slowly materialising back into existence, from between Jin jumping into the water and them finding the two of you in that forsaken place but today, Yoongi knows, won’t be the day they learn about it. He just has to sleep tonight with that unknowingness sitting on his chest. For tonight, at least. 

The bathroom door opens and Jin steps out. The bright and cheerful man isn’t there and Jin has a gaunt look on his face. He looks up and tries to smile but it’s sour and Yoongi wishes he’d stop. For the first time in a very long time, Yoongi thought Jin’s shoulders looked too small, too fragile. 

“Yah,” Jin calls out in a false happy voice. “Why are you all still here? I’m tired and I want to sleep. Get out.”

They don’t respond. Jin tries again, stumbling forward and trying to shove Jungkook with his foot. “Yah, move. Get out. Please. I’m tired. I want to sleep.” He’s chuckling as he switches to nudge Jimin with his other foot and pushes Hoseok’s shoulder lightly from the bed. “Move, yah!”

Jin sits down in his bed and makes an effort to crawl under the blanket. He tries one more time to shoo Yoongi and Hoseok off the bed but they’re not budging, moving only to let him into the bed before the scoot closer. Jimin approaches him then with the first aid kit, quietly holding Jin in place by the chin as he tends to the scratches on his cheeks and neck while the older man whines and pleads for them to leave, muttering non stop. Yoongi can almost see it; Jin is stretching so thin he’s breaking.

And then he does.

It starts small. A sniffle and a crack in his voice before Jin shrugs off Jimin’s hands and hangs his head in between his knees. The crying is quiet but the shaking and heaving of Jin’s body are a dead giveaway as he wretches. Yoongi reaches out an arm to rub his back, eyes staring at a spot on the carpet. His own eyes are wet.

Jungkook climbs onto the bed to sit close to Jin as Jimin sinks his hand into Jin’s hair, rubbing the back of his head and neck as he presses his thumb and forefinger into the corners of his own eyes. Taehyung comes from the other side and pulls Jin sideways into his chest, holding the eldest close as he rocks from side to side. 

 The questioning, the scolding can all be put aside for now. Jin is here, Jin is alive. He might not be okay but he’s here with them and Yoongi can deal with that. They can deal with that. Jin is in pieces but they can handle that; they can put him back together, piece by piece. He’s here so they can heal and rebuild. Him or themselves, it doesn’t really matter. They can have a do over. Not today but maybe tomorrow. When Jin is feeling better. 

Right now, they hold each other close and they stay together because that’s what Jin needs. What they need. This feeling in Yoongi’s heart is one he’s not familiar with yet nostalgic. It’s something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time but it’s coming back to him now. It’s when you’ve unclogged a sink or untangled a cord. It’s when you remember that word that was on the tip of your tongue or when you’ve done that one chore you hate. It’s the feeling of harbouring a longtime crush and finally being able to spill your guts. 

It’s overcoming a hurdle and now knowing the worst has passed.

It’s saying I love you after waiting for so long.

It’s the end of an awful storm and the clearing of the skies, Yoongi thinks as he lays his head down on the extra pillow, his hand still on the small of Jin’s back who is now almost quiet in Taehyung’s arms. They never drew the curtain closed for the night as seven bodies piled into the queen-sized bed. How they fit, Yoongi doesn’t know but he does know that it’s going to be okay.

Tomorrow, all will be just fine.

~~~

“This is getting interesting.”

The other white clad figure hums in agreement. “It’s nothing we’ve seen before.”

“You reckon this will be it?”

He takes a short while contemplating his colleague’s question before finally answering, “Who knows.”

a/n: this series has been going on for so long (timewise) that it started before BTS enlistment and now they're coming back and it's still nowhere near finished lol

Next: coming...someday

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Jin signed you in for your appointment, the two sales clerks eyes widened in recognition at the sound of your name. Immediately you were whisked into a back room. They brought in a bottle of the most expensive champagne and poured each of you a glass before insisting you sit and wait for the owner of the store.

The couch was too rigid and the lighting to harsh as you did your best to look around at the glaringly bright surroundings. You did your best to sit upright, refraining from cuddling into one of the men around you as it would be deemed inappropriate, hardly a way to convincingly sell the monogamous wedding of the decade. Jungkook's hand was all you allowed yourself to cling to, and even that was short lived as the owner entered the room and forced you to stand so he could assess you.

He asked you a few questions about your style and the type of dress you were looking for. You stumbled at every question, Jin and Hoseok answering for you on occasion instead. The owner looked at you briefly with something akin to pity or perhaps scepticism and then did his best to locate a variety of dresses to strap you into.

Sent into a dressing room at the back, you took deep breaths trying your best to hold back tears you felt forming. One of the original sales girls knocked on the side of the dressing room and made her way into the space with three dress options. She helped you into a princess ballgown first. A dress so wide you weren't sure you could make it back through the doorway in it, it was vastly unclear how they had managed to get it into the store in the first place. She buttoned the back and fluffs out the train ad best she can, then sent you on your way back to your wedding party.

You stepped up on to the raised platform in front of the men, each held a different expression on their face. Jin, the helpless romantic, looked like stars were coming out of you. Jungkook looked unsure, his head tilted and eyes squinted slightly as if doing a hard math problem. And Hoseok just buried his nose in his champagne. You were almost afraid to turn and look at yourself, in fact you couldn't quite decide if you wanted to see at all, or if you just wanted to pick this one and run away.

Before you could speak the sales team helped you to turn and positioned a tiara in your hair. The dress was gorgeous... but it wasn't you. Looking in the mirror, you struggled to place the woman in the reflection, she looked small and scared. Nothing at all like the woman you had tried so hard to build over the last year, but a lot like the 18 year old that had never gotten her chance to live.

You were forced to close you eyes to avoid her pleading gaze. Your head hurt and even deep breaths seemed to be difficult, perhaps due to the corset that was suddenly too tight.

"Not this one" You manage to squeak out.

The sales team nod and your main attendant led you back to the dressing room and produced a mermaid dress. You couldn't even bring yourself to walk out in this one, the fabric too tight on your thighs, it felt like you were stuck.

Four more dresses were brought in and thrown out again, each time you paraded in front of your party they looked less and less convinced and you felt more and more constricted. Lace rubbed against your skin uncomfortably and tulle scratched in weird places.

Finally you walked out in a reasonably plain A-line dress that the sales team had fought against for being too plain. And perhaps they were right, but if that were the case why would they have shown it to you in the first place. You stared at your reflection for a while, tuning out those around you. You looked a lot more like yourself, but it didn't really look like a wedding dress, so much as a formal white gown.

Arms sliding around your waist woke you from your thoughts. Jin's head nestled on to your shoulder joining your reflection.

"Where are you, love?" He asked softly.

"I'm right here," You replied, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

"I've sent the sales team away, it's just us now. Tell us what you really want not what you think everyone else wants."

Your throat constricted as you tried to protest. Tears fell freely down your cheeks and immediately Jungkook and Hoseok are next to you as well, Kookie's hand found yours once more while Hobi used his sleeves to wipe at your face. You allowed them to comfort you for a little while, reminding yourself that they were with you the entire time.

"I don't know what I want," You answered.

"I think you know more about what you want than you think, really look around this room and tell us what speaks to you," Jungkook supported.

You did as he said and looked around properly for the first time, really focusing on the clothing in the room. But your eyes keep drifting to the reflection in the mirror. It really is a beautiful dress, even if it isn't the most bridal and it's the first one that didn't restrict you in someway.

"I think this is the dress." You said firmly.

"I thought it might be," Jin said in a way that makes you think perhaps it made its way into the pile by his hand rather than the sales teams.

"Great, You really do look beautiful in it Y/N," Hobi said kissing your cheek, "Now lets get it wrapped up so we can get out of here and go for ice cream instead." He grinned.

Fortunately Taehyung had agreed to do everything else related to the wedding.

____________________________

The jewellery store gave off fortress vibes. Or at least that's what Jimin thought. Two guards were posted at the door and Jimin clocked at least three more inside. It made his skin itch, but Taehyung seemed right at home. He sauntered up to the counter with the three other men nervously in tow, afraid they might touch something and make it dirty, never having felt quite as poor as they did in that moment.

"Mr. Kim... wonderful to see you again," The salesman beamed at Taehyung before peering cautiously at his entourage. "Another tennis bracelet for a paramour?"

The man reached for a cabinet filled with glittering silver bracelets but Taehyung stopped him swiftly.

"Aha... not this time," He looked sheepishly at his other lovers.

Jimin giggled uncomfortably while the other two shrugged, minds too focused on the pries listed within said cabinet.

"No, I'm in search of my wedding bands today." Taehyung announced.

He drifted over to another display on the other side of the counter.

"And perhaps some gifts for my groomsmen" He winked.

"Of course Mr. Kim," the salesman bowed.

The two discussed colour and cut for a long time while Jimin wandered around the store with Yoongi. Namjoon listened in on the discussion, his face slowly getting paler as prices were ignored in favour of fashion.

Jimin held Yoongi's hand and made up a fun roll play in his head hoping the older man would play along with him.

"And what will we have for our wedding bands dear?" He asked batting his eyelashes.

Yoongi rolled his eyes, but a small smile pulled at the corner of his lips anyway.

"What style would you like, dear?" He asked earnestly, having taken Jimin's other hand so they were now facing one another.

"Do you think 3 carats is too big?" Jimin pouted slightly.

"Nothing is too big when it comes to you," Yoongi winked making Jimin blush.

He swept away a rogue hair that had fallen across Jimin's forehead, leaning in with the intention of kissing him. However a pointed cough from across the store dragged them back to the task at hand. They hurried back over to Taehyung and Namjoon to find them looking at a gorgeous white gold band with intricate patterns engraved around.

"It's beautiful," Jimin sighed, leaning into Namjoon.

"Isn't it a little masculine?" Yoongi pointed out.

"I said the same," Stated Namjoon.

"You miss understand sirs," The sales man cuts in, "This would be the groomsmen gift,"

They all looked closer at the band, almost positive it's intended purpose was a wedding band. The letters L-O-V-E loop in cursive, hidden within the pattern, only found by those scrutinising the article harshly.

"We deal well with discretion at this store," The salesman adds pointedly.

"Wonderful, I'll take six of them please," Taehyung nodded approvingly "Now for myself and the wife..."

Taehyung spends more time scrutinising matching bands, but none seem to be quite what he is looking for.

"It's not here... whatever it is" He sighed

"We are able to custom make pieces if you would prefer Mr. Kim... ordinarily it would take much longer to create the piece I feel you are searching for, but for such a loyal customer, I'm sure we can find a way to make an exception."

The man called a designer in from the back and they set to work on the creation process. In the meantime Jimin and Namjoon went to walk around the district, leaving the creative types to the their new project.

They walked together for over an hour, holding hands and talking n hushed tones, occasionally stopping to peer into other windows full of inexplicably expensive trinkets. By the time they circled back to the original store they were cleaning up the completed design and packaging it ready to be sent on to the workshop to be created.

"Aw I wanted to see it," Jimin complained.

"You'll just have to wait for the wedding day like everyone else," Taehyung ruffled his hair and handed his black card over to the salesman.

They watched as seven ring boxes were packaged into the same bag and bid goodbye to those in the store.

"Why was there seven? Did you choose yours Tae?" Namjoon asked.

"I just decided it would be best to match with all of you in the end," He shrugged and the topic was dropped.

They moved on to a tailor nearby, ready to get their suits fitted professionally. Something Jimin had never done before, but it seemed that Namjoon and Yoongi had at least some experience in this area. They all flipped through swatch books occasionally pointing out a shade of marron or burgundy to Taehyung but he would shake his head and pick up another brochure to leaf through.

Jimin tried his best to join in, picking up another catalogue of tiny fabric swatches but he couldn't work out exactly what it was they were looking for, they all seemed so similar to him. Eventually Taehyung took pity on him and called him over to look through some options with him.

He explained each fabric to him, the weight, the feel, the speed at which seven suits would be able to be made. Jimin listened intently, he enjoyed this side of Taehyung, so sophisticated and so different to his usual goofy side.

Eventually the tailor sauntered into the room and shook Taehyung's hand in a familiar manner. They talked about previous plans Taehyung had already sent over and set about measuring each man. It tickled as the tape measure went up against Jimin's inseam causing the tailor to tut disapprovingly, but Taehyung just looked at him fondly. As the tailor pulled away, Taehyung rested his head on his shoulder.

"What I wouldn't give to see you in bridal wear instead..." He mused.

Jimin's face felt very warm all of a sudden as he stammered over his words. Taehyung chuckled and kissed his cheek just as the tailor returned with a small selection of gold silks for Jimin to choose from for the lining of his suit.

Namjoon chose a deep blue silk to line his suit, Jin's was a lovely sky blue, and Taehyung selected a ruby red that beautifully complimented the external deep burgundy. 

They set an appointment for the remaining men to get their measurements taken the following day and set out on the much smaller tasks of their day.

Jimin and Yoongi headed to a printer to finalise place setting cards and venue signs, while Namjoon and Taehyung took on the task of finding a chef good enough, and crazy enough to agree to a wedding of five hundred people in less than three weeks time.

By the time they all crawled back into the guest house they were shattered. Jin cooked a dinner for everyone with Jungkook's help and the entire house ended up turning in for an early night. 

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It has been the absolute-no-good-terrible-fucking-shit-bitch-cock-sucking week from hell and all you want to do is down a very large glass of cold water, shower in scalding hot water for perhaps too long, get dressed in your rattiest holiest (and comfiest) pair of sweatpants the baggy bambie tshirt you got from the discount racks at H&M, curl up on your bed, and smoke a joint before you fall asleep. 

Hopefully your neighbours won’t complain about the smell but quite frankly you don’t give a crap if they do. If anything else goes wrong then it will just be par for the shitty course. And you can blame it on Hoseok and Yoongi like you did last time. Though, the last time was their fault but that is neither here nor there. 

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You ignore it. You know it’s going to be Jimin or Namjoon asking if you’re okay. Again. You had needed a break from the group chat and apparently that was “concerning behaviour” (Jimin) and was worth a “check-in because everyone has bad weeks but you don’t need to lock yourself away” (Namjoon). The thing is that you are sure you do want to lock yourself away. The last few days of work stress which, of course, was accompanied by existential dread and wondering if this really was your choice in life or if you had fallen into this career path because of capitalism, or, if maybe, this was just okay because you could at least afford to pay for the thing you did love doing; your nephew’s birthday party was coming up, add onto that with the fact that your parents were aging far too quickly for your liking, and you were suddenly carrying a dark cloud on your shoulders that seemed to be made of nothing but negativity and you wanted to lock yourself away from everything. 

You wanted to give into the doubt and self-hatred that had taken advantage of all the self-care doors you had forgotten to close during the week and let yourself fall into the belief that all of your friendships, no matter how small, hated you.

So, yeah, you were going to ignore Namjoon and Jimin’s concerned text messages and you were going to fall asleep alone and wake up to hopefully a better day with less everything but more croissants and coffee. 

You felt bad for the ignoring and you knew that maybe you should let them reassure you that you were doing okay but hadn’t your therapist told you that self-assurance was more important than reaching out for reassurance? (She had also said that it was okay to reach out but you were ignoring that.)

You tapped your earbuds three times and skipped past the next several songs until you heard the familiar notes of a song that Yoongi had sent you just the other day with a text that had read: heard this and thought of you. You leaned your head back against the bus window and closed your eyes, hands wrapped tightly around the backpack on your lap as you let the music and the voice of the singer invade your head, swirling around and turning the volume of the lyrics on high until they drowned out all the evil words of the negative voices. 

You wonder, for the seventh time this week, why Yoongi thought of you. The two of you haven’t seen each other in person and you’ve not had the energy or nerves to text him asking why he thought of you while he listened to that song, but you have a mental post-it note to do so when your head is a little less foggy. 

Spotify selects the next song for you and the familiar strum of guitar starts. It’s a song you’ve listened to many times but suddenly the lyrics are for you. Written for you and your week. You try your best to stop the tears, wishing them back into your body, but they don’t listen and instead they fall slowly down your cheeks as you bend your head and bring the backpack closer to your face so you can cry quietly into the waxed canvas. 

Ten minutes later, a little embarrassment from standing up with red eyes and wet cheeks as you walked down the aisle of the bus to the door, a little forced pride still lingering as you pretend that you hadn’t just been crying on the bus, you walk up the stairs to your apartment. Your key sticks, as it always does, and you take a breath because you’ve already cried once in a public space and you’re definitely not going to be caught by the Ajumma who lives two doors down, because she will definitely ask you a million questions and you want to be left alone. 

That’s what you want, right? A soft voice asks somewhere deep in the recesses of your brain. Trying to grab your attention amidst the sadness. 

Finally the lock works and you open the door to seven pairs of shoes that are chaotically paired in your entrance. Your heart skips a little as you hesitantly take out your earbuds and the sounds filling your apartment hit you like a wave. 

There is music playing (jazz? Laufey maybe? It sounds like Laufey…), Taehyung’s deep voice singing along, the stove fan, what sounds like a metal utensil hitting a metal bowl in fast succession, and Hoseok’s loud wonderful laugh floating above it all. 

Toeing off your shoes and quietly setting down your backpack you walk gingerly down the short hall and around the wall into your kitchen. They must not have heard you struggle with the lock because they’re all busy and in their own worlds. Seokjin is throwing a small strand of spaghetti at the wall and watching it stick, Jungkook is mixing something that looks an awful lot like whipped cream with a whisk and not with your hand-mixer, Yoongi stands over the stove with chopsticks in hand staring down at the contents in your cast iron pan (a sauce of some kind), Namjoon and Taehyung are dancing together in your living room (some horrible version of the waltz), while Hoseok and Jimin are huddled over what looks like a small cake. 

Jungkook is the first one to notice you as he releases the whisk and massages his arm, face curled up in a wince. That is until he notices you and his fingers still. 

“You’re here!” he says with a smile before he looks around at the rest of the guys.

“I live here.”

Slowly, one-by-one the men glance up from their tasks and give you bright smiles. 

“Taehyung-ah!” Yoongi calls, “turn down the music. They’re here!” 

The music quiets and you give Namjoon and Taehyung a small wave, slowly turning to the rest of the kitchen. 

“What’s going on?” you ask. 

A smile threatens the corners of Yoongi’s lips as Jimin answers, “we’re here to make your week better.” There’s concern written on Jimin’s brow and your heart threatens to weep at that. 

“That’s…that’s not your-”  you start because it isn’t their job and they need to be reminded of this in case they’re doing this out of some sort of weird obligation to you and your sad brain.

“No, but we wanted to,” Namjoon says softly as he leans against the doorframe, arms crossing in front of him and you start to feel a warmth slowly start to slip through your chest. The clouds in your head parting just a little. “We’re happy to.” 

“Oh.”

“Now, go and change while we finish up,” Seokjin says commandingly, pulling a smile across your face as you nod. 

“Yes, sir.”

You turn to start your walk to your bathroom before you pause and look at Jungkook. 

“There’s a hand mixer in the bottom drawer beside the sink,” you say with a pointed finger. 

Hoseok’s laugh erupts filling the room and your smile spreads to a grin as you see Jungkook’s eyes go wide as he explodes “HYUNG! You said you didn’t see one!” 

Yoongi shrugs and gives you a wink, a soft smirk tugging up into his cheeks, before he turns back to the sauce in front of him.

Forty-five minutes later you’re curled up on your couch, full of pasta and cake. The warmth of Yoongi’s sweater under your cheek, Jungkook resting his head against your knee as he sits on the floor with Jimin, Taehyung, and Hobi. Namjoon has his arm around Yoongi’s shoulders with his hand resting on the top of your head like a comforting weight. Seokjin sits in a chair beside the couch watching the rather horrible and wonderful drama that everyone is watching. 

You’re not alone. Your friends love you. 

The negative voices lied. 

“Hey,” you whisper and you can feel Yoongi shift a little to look at you. 

“Hmm?”

“Thanks for the song.” 

You can’t see it but you know that he’s smiling that soft and kind smile he gets when he’s done something right. 

“Of course. I’ll send you more.” 

The negative voices lied. 

This is better than being alone.  

You’re not alone and your friends love you. 

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