#rev writes

You haven't seen Albedo in a few days. You know he has been working in his lab, in DragonSpine while he's been absent from your sight. He's been working so hard lately, to the point where he's forgotten to take breaks and some days not get any sleep, given the times you would see him working in his office, you would make sure he eats full meals and gets his proper rest but, since you weren't there for those few days, all of that quickly went down the drain.

You decided it would be a good idea to check up on him, bring some snacks as well. For, you were going to stay a bit longer this time. You grab a small bag and begin putting a variety of different foods inside, and with that, you dress up in warmer clothing and head for the door.

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''Archons, it's cold.'' You murmur to yourself.

Your eyes light up when you see a small pit of fire a few inches away from you. It won't hurt to take a few minutes to warm up by it, right? And so, scurry over to the fire. You let out a sigh and close your eyes. Unfortunately, you couldn't stay there for long, since you didn't want it to get too dark before you reach Albedo's lab. You force your self up and begin your walk again.

A few more fire-stops later and your long awaited destination is reached. You see Albedo standing next to a self, clearly focused on something.

''Hey! 'bedo!'' You wave at him, signaling that you're there.

He looks at you in pure bewilderment. Yeah. He wasn't exactly expecting you. His shock is soon put aside when he sees how freezing you are, cheeks a deep red, you're shaking so much that it seems you could collapse any minute.

''Love, what are you doing here? You're freezing.'' He lightly runs up to you and wraps your shivering figure in his arms. He lets go and, puts on arm around your waist to walk you into the lab.

''Ah, well I wanted to come see you. It's been a couple days, I didn't know you were gonna be away for this long. I.. hope you don't mind.'' You give him a smile.

''Of course I don't mind, dear. I've missed you, you know. Come now, I can't have you shivering any minute longer, I wouldn't want you to get sick.''

He picks you up bridal style and walks over to a fire in the back of the lab. He makes sure to set the bag you brought somewhere safe, he won't forget to ask about it later. In a small crate next to the fire, is a blanket, big enough to cover the both of you. He sits next to the small fire and leans on the rock wall behind him.

''Stay close to me, my love. I don't have much at the moment but, I hope this blanket and my arms are enough to warm you up for now.'' He says as he holds you tightly and close to his chest. He presses a kiss to your forehead and begins to make light strokes on your back.

You grunted, remembering how violent and unstable you’d been when Dante first took you under his care. You’d lashed out at every little thing, wrecking his shop and skewering Dante more times than you could count. Almost ate the pizza guy on one occasion as well, and while Dante brushed it off with his usual aloof humour, you’d refused to answer the door ever since. You didn’t even come down from your room anymore, too afraid you’d slip up and hurt someone. 

You didn’t like hurting Dante, or anyone for that matter, even if Dante was Sparda’s offspring and healed as quick as you did, the thought of hurting someone who had spent so much time and effort caring for you, bringing you back down to earth after that shit at the mansion, left a sick feeling in your stomach. He’d been trying to get you out of the house for a few days now, insisting the fastest road to recovery would be getting you out and about. Make some friends, see the sights. Be normal for once.

But you were still scared. Being in the shop was safe, Dante was here to stop you if you lost the plot. But the thought of losing your shit in a public space, with no one around to keep you under control was fucking terrifying.

You shook your head, tugging the blankets tighter around you and using the vines to stretch out into something resembling a hammock. “I’m not leaving, old man. You’ll have to drag me out kicking and screaming.”

“Alright.”

Your eyes shot down to him, narrowing in suspicion. “What?”

He shrugged, lips tugging up into a sly grin. “Alright.”

You only had time to let out a small shriek before Dante launched himself from the ground, tearing your vines to the side and wrapping his arms around you. You tried to struggle out of his grip, but the duvet you’d so helpfully wrapped yourself in kept your arms and legs pinned. He landed on the ground and swung you over his shoulder, locking your legs against his chest and holding on for dear life. Your body tried to morph, expanding and contracting, sharp, jutting bones piercing through the fabric of you blanket as you tried to wrestle out of his grasp.

“Let me go you piece of shit!”

Dante grunted as one of those bones sliced along his forearm, blood seeping through and staining the duvet. The smell of blood hit your nose and in an instant your struggling stopped. Fuck. Fucking fuck. You’d gone so long without hurting him and now you went and sliced open his arm in a stupid, childish attempt at getting away from him. Self-loathing washed over you, regret and guilt making you stiffen over his shoulder. You should be mad at him for man-handling you. But you knew, logically, he was just trying to help. And that made you feel so much worse about hurting him yet again.

Dante seemed to notice your shift in mood, and patted the back of your thigh, stopping just as he reached the bottom of the staircase. “Givin’ up already, huh? Thought this’d be more of a challenge.”

“Let me down.” You muttered, voice resigned.

He did, setting you carefully back on the ground and watching as you unwrapped the blanket from your body, concern passing over his expression.

You let the blanket drop to the floor and then grabbed his unhurt arm, tugging him along to the bathroom without saying a word. You sat him down on the lid of the toilet and started rummaging through his stuff. Eventually pulling out a bottle of disinfectant and a bandage.

Dante pursed his lips at the sight of the items. “You don’t gotta do that, y’know. It’ll heal up in a minute.”

You hummed, eyes focused on your task as you carefully wiped away the blood and examined his wound. It was deep, but luckily it didn’t hit an artery. If it were anyone else you figured they’d need stitches. But some medical tape and a bandage were all the half-demon really needed. Or, well, not needed. Technically it’d heal just fine on it’s own, but you couldn’t help that flicker of concern you had about the wound going untreated.

Dante sat still and said nothing more, like a good little patient. He knew when you were in one of your moods and if he picked up anything from living with you the last few months, it was that the amount of guilt and self-loathing eating you up inside almost rivaled his own. You were petrified of your own strength, punishing yourself for fuck ups as simple as cracking a glass ‘cause you put it down too hard, or tearing one of his shirts when trying to get Dante’s attention. Eventually you’d just straight up stopped touching him after you accidentally snapped his wrist trying to tug him into the kitchen to help cook dinner.

This was the first time in at least two months that you’d voluntarily touched him. You fingers were feather light over his forearm, small apologies falling from your lips whenever you thought you put just a little too much pressure on his wound while wiping it down. Dante wished you’d stop worrying about this so much, but he’d spent years of his life seeing himself as a freak, something to be feared and reviled. He knew how you felt, but it didn’t make it any easier trying to break through that solid wall you’d built up around yourself.

Progress was being made, sure. You just touching him was a step in the right direction. Even if it was to treat a wound you yourself accidentally caused. He hated that you were still so afraid of yourself. He’d hoped a day out would show you that you had nothing to fear from yourself, but that’d gone tits up right quick before you even left the house.

He exhaled through his nose as you finished patching him up, fingers lightly dancing over the edge of the bandage to make sure it was secure. You sat in silence a moment, fingers still idly playing with the bandage and eyes intent on what your hands were doing. Dante opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off, voice soft.

“Sorry.” you muttered, “that was a pretty shit move on my half.”

Dante shrugged, lips twisted up in a grin. “Ain’t no thing. Probably shouldn’t have man-handled ya’. But hey,” he winked down at you, eyes soft but full of mischief. “Guess I just can’t keep my hands off you.”

You resisted the urge to skewer him and instead simply scoffed at his playful banter. “Jackass.” You muttered, pulling your hand from him and standing. Dante stopped you before you could move away, hands gently grabbing one of your own. You looked down at him, startled at the sudden contact.

“Look,” he started, sounding uncharacteristically remorseful. He raised his free hand to rub at the back of his neck, eyes flicking away from you. “I’m sorry. If you don’t wanna’ go out, I’m not gonna’ make you. I just thought…” He huffed out a breath and stood. Though he let go of your hand, you were still standing awfully close together. The tight confines of the bathroom forcing you two into each others personal bubbles.

“I thought it’d be good, y’know? Get you outta’ the house, do something normal for once.” He looked back to you, raising his shoulders in a lopsided shrug. “But if you really think you ain’t ready, it’s no pressure.”

Ahh, and now you were feeling even more guilty. The dude was just trying to cheer you up, to make you feel better. Speed up your recovery and re-integration into society. And you’d thanked him by slicing his arm open and calling him a piece of shit. A fucking fantastic house mate you were.

You grumbled under your breath, eyes flicking away from him and backing up until you felt the cool porcelain of the sink seep through your shirt. You crossed your arms over your chest, eyes staring intently at the little patch of grime stuck in one the tiles.

“Get out.” You sighed.

Dante startled, blinking down at you. “Wha-”

“Get out, jackass.” You grabbed one of the towels from the rack and ushered him out the door to the bathroom. “I’m gonna have a shower, and then we’re gonna’ get the fuck out of this dumpster shop.”

You slammed the door on his shocked face, mouth agape and eyes wide. It only took a second, but as you turned around to start tugging off your clothes, you heard Dante’s distinctive ‘whoop!’ from the other side of the door. You could just imagine him pumping his fist in the air in a sign of victory.

Hey love,

Dear Jimin,

It’s been months since things ended between us and by the time that you open this letter I would have already left for Busan. You’ve probably picked up the cardboard box I’ve mailed this letter with, its contents softly rattling as you take it into your home; you’ll find bits and pieces of the relationship we shared for the past few years in it and although I’m thankful for the rollercoaster memories they contain, I decided it best to return them to you instead.

Maybe by the time this gets to you, you’re already at the studio while Hoseok brings this pathetic box in for you. He’ll probably be confused, thinking it’s some weird gift from a fan instead and will debate whether it should just be thrown away before setting it on your kitchen counter. You will possibly get this box at the worst of times, maybe right before your world tour begins and have our memories you’ve suppressed into nothingness crash into you like violent waves meeting shore time and time again, abruptly just as you had ended things months ago. You told me things would be okay but you

The dull thud of this box as its dropped from the front of your doorstep, to your counter, and hopefully right into your room, is for you. As much as you would like to avoid the repercussions of what had happened, the thud serves as a reminder that there is so much more for you to unpack than meekly accepting that your heart is broken. Namjoon and Hoseok still check up on me like you should have been doing, but instead you decided it best to disappear, didn’t you?

You were one of my only lifelines in Seoul and now it feels odd to find home in a city where all you could think about is where things had gone wrong. The dregs of our relationship come to follow me wherever I go, and it hurts knowing that these memories replay without you by my side. It makes me wonder if you’ve been suffering as much as I have. It had been isolating to feel so assured that you were going to come back, at least in some way, yet it’s like you never existed instead. As if the moments stretched between us have stretched itself to nothingness, years turned into paper-thin fibres. The time I fell in love with this city was the time I fell in love with you, and I remember clutching your hand with anxiety bubbling in my chest, white noise ringing in my ears, as we took the train to Seoul for the first time together. Jimin, you have come so far from where you began. Didn’t I tell you that you deserved better than what home offered you?

At your place back in Busan, you stared at me in the middle of your room, “I’m so nervous, but you have them printed out right?”

“Yeah I do,” I laughed a bit and waved the freshly printed train tickets in front of you. You were almost entirely swallowed by your black hoodie, snapback slightly off, but were too busy frantically running around your room, looking for your phone and ID.

Then you stared at the papers I had in my hand, almost boring holes into them.

“I’m so nervous.” We weren’t even at the station yet.

“Clearly.”

“Wait, aren’t you nervous too?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to freak you out more.”

“HEY IT’S NOT THAT BAD.” You were always such a whiny baby, but that didn’t help my lame attempt of suppressed laughter.

“Whatever you say.” Then you gave me that annoyed look, but you still took my hand when we got to the station. Our parents wished us luck, that they would visit if we were both successful… And sometime after, they did.

As we were approaching Seoul, you squeezed my hand tighter. I had the window seat, but I looked up at you, “I think you’ll be okay… You know you can do it, I know you can do it—you deserve it more than anyone I know.”

“I guess, but I just wish I could audition with you or be there, you know?” You tell me, saying it as your thumb grazes my hand a bit more fondly. It was oddly quiet, almost like we were the only ones there.

“Me too, but just know you’ll make it… I just know you will. Hopefully I make it, too.”

Then you didn’t hesitate to correct me, without skipping a beat—“You? Not making it? Doubt it. You were recommended for a reason.”

“But this is the National Company! I don’t even know if I’ve prepared enough. Well anyway, this was recommended for you too.” Then you shook your head, almost like you were shrugging the doubts off my shoulders and smiled at me, eyes crinkling to small moons, like they always did. The ticket is here for you now. You can’t use it to take you back to that time or back home, but I can leave it here to remind you where you came from.

The pitter-patter of the rain can’t help but make me smile right now—you did it. It’s a cold comfort, somewhat literal, as the breeze blankets me into a now-familiar embrace. It used to be your arms instead, enveloping me in your warmth and kissing away the tears and the fears that plagued my mind. Loving crescent-like shapes replaced by the cold distance of the night sky’s.

It reminds me of the first few times you began to leave Korea for tours. Although you told me I could’ve gone with you, I couldn’t leave in the midst of rehearsals for our showcase at the National Company. They made me one of their grand soloists that year, perfecting my routine was a priority and it made me wish you were there with me or that I was there with you… somehow. The brief phone calls and the oddly timed ones (thanks time zones) weren’t enough sometimes. Staying up wearing one of your shirts on a video call wasn’t enough sometimes. And somehow, we made it work… We caught up whenever you were back home, times where you’d surprise me during rehearsal or asking me to lunch when I thought you’d still be someplace else. Nights where we would stay up, talking about the things we missed while watching a movie in your room or mine; days where things would get serious and doubts began to cloud our conversations, concluded with tears being wiped by the other; comforting words and gestures.

The longer time we held on, the less time we had for each other. The more success we found in our respective fields, the less present we were for each other. Comfortable silence began to ebb away and replace itself with hesitant touches and calculated movements. We tiptoed around each other’s feelings rather than holding each other through the tears. We made it work, we tried to make it work, and then it didn’t. So, here’s your shirt back.

It used to be a thin veil of cotton comfort, casing me in its threads while you were gone. Then as time passed, it didn’t feel right anymore, like it wasn’t sufficient enough to sew the loosened ends of the uncertainties that came with this relationship. I love you no less, but it made me question if it was worth it, and I know at some point you felt it too.

Maybe it was my mistake being someone in a city too big to shelter their being, who knew absolutely nothing but the comfort from your smile, the seclusion of mirrored walls and the too-bright lights illuminating the too-big stage. It consumed me in its vastness, swallowing me up before I could take the last few steps to exit their expanse. Perhaps we were just love that had gone cold, too comfortable and too afraid to address how things were falling apart in front of us. I want to apologise for the things the boys had to go through, picking up the pieces that you should have been picking up after leaving me without explanation, but why should I apologise on your behalf anymore?

On that same thought, why should I keep these? Each photo you find in this box feels ten times heavier now that they’re memories I don’t want to remember. From the photos we shared at my first showcase, to yours, to our group photos when we still performed together, and the album of polaroids I started with you after our first anniversary… I shouldn’t keep these, but I didn’t have the heart to throw them away.

“Y/N! Do you want to go to the amusement park with us today?” Taehyung had asked me. We were all trainees back then so we couldn’t stay too long. We took too many photos at the photo booth together though, ones of just us and ones with everyone else too. Dahae and Jiyoung were there to keep me company whenever the girls and the boys split up. I remember leaving with them before you because we had training earlier than you did, I also remember we couldn’t hold hands because your company was already starting to promote Bangtan through social media. They didn’t exactly know about me either, so by the time I showed up backstage for your debut showcase, they thought I was some family member, a cousin maybe? Well, until you kissed me in front of everyone else in the room… yeah, that didn’t add up huh? Thanks for being subtle, babe.  

I hope you remember each memory, each photo in detail. Knowing you, you probably do. I know I couldn’t forget them for a reason either.

When times were rough, you had told me that we were pulling a 70-30; that I had to try harder than what I was capable of rather than understanding what I was going through. You disguised it as communication, rather than admitting to yourself that it was a roundabout way of telling me you wanted to end things. You began to believe that you were the only one who bore the weight of our problems, but I was with you with every step of the way, even when the distance and the hours between us had to fluctuate as Bangtan began to reach heights unimagined. Maybe we were both too stubborn to let each other go… because we both knew what we had to do. It was time to let go.

Your hand had held mine then, guiding it in your so-called expertise. The arcade lights were full of life. It felt unreal to be with you then, brimming with laughter, giddy with nervousness but surrounded by a silence that only existed in the world we created together.

Our face masks were on, but for a brief second, you had kissed my forehead without it. Success from what seemed like the tenth or eleventh attempt for the small plushie, “I told you I was a pro.”

I raised my eyebrow, laughing, “What type of pro has to try more than ten times to win?”

“Hey, practise makes perfect.”

“Sure thing, buddy.”

“I don’t know who that is and whose plushie that is but from what I know it isn’t yours anymore.”

“Really?” I rolled my eyes, you were so petty. “Hmm, babe? Does that sound better?”

“Yep.” You passed the small bear to me, holding my hand until we left the arcade and its silence.  

I’m letting you go. Just like the claw finally loosened its hold from the prize, after what seems like the tenth try, it’s time. It’s only fair, the world’s equilibrium once shifted, and now it’s reclaiming itself, slowly falling back into its place.

I never want to be the person in the way of you achieving what you’ve deserved all your life, that would be hypocritical of me, wouldn’t it? But as the time rolled onwards, I faded into the background as your spotlight began to shine brighter. I never imagined being that disposable to you.

Disposable like how you threw away bus and movie tickets we’ve had over the years from our dates. Maybe my sentimental ass just thought it would be a great idea to hoard them to look back together, but that isn’t an option anymore. I kept all of mine anyway, except for ones that flew away in the chill of autumn winds; ones that have made themselves a part of the streets we’ve walked together. Somewhere their remnants are there, someplace else they’re no longer in existence, just like what we have now.

At least the boys had the decency to call me while I was alone in Seoul and all I got from you was half-assed updates via Kakao Talk. Tour was hard, you told me you needed space and I gave you that. You and Hoseok had death threats sprout out of nowhere during the tour, you stopped answering my FaceTime calls during that time… was it unreasonable for me to be scared?

“Dahae, he’s not picking up.”

“Y/N, he’s probably tired… didn’t you talk last night?”

“No. That was Tae, and with all of these death threats I’m seeing I can’t help but get worried? I don’t know, I know he’s probably safe, but I miss him, and we just don’t talk anymore.”

“Long distance is hard, you both knew that it was going to happen.”

“And we’ve been okay for years… but that’s the thing, you know? We’re just okay? Like it’s just mundane or weird now, sometimes I even question if he still wants to be with me. It’s like he’s just saying we’re still together because it’s what’s familiar.”

“Well, do you still love him?”

“Is that even a question? Of course, I do. It just makes me wonder if he still does if he doesn’t even want to talk to me.”

“Hmm, I don’t know Y/N. It seems like you know what you have to do.”

I didn’t even know you were back in Korea that week until Jungkook had asked to get food with me. You barely responded to any of our messages and Jungkook said he barely saw you around, maybe it was paranoia and the insecurities starting to creep up on me, but wouldn’t that seem odd to you, too? The next time we saw each other, it was by accident, I was talking to Taehyung about us and you had walked in the middle of our conversation.

The tension in the room was indescribable, then pent-up frustration and anger bubbled in my chest, “How do you feel about us?” It made me feel so small and vulnerable to ask you, I felt like my paranoia was something that should have been blamed on me for not being enough.

A screaming spree cut through the air. Yoongi had to calm us down, either for our benefit or for his, to continue sleeping, I’m not sure, but I can tell you with 100% assurance that the argument only made me feel like shit and that all we had going for us was going to shit.

A couple of days after, you had gone to the dance studio, we talked through what happened and it alleviated some of the strain. You gave me my own Chimmy, another item you said was to keep me company while you were away. You told me to keep him so that I remember that you were there with me, but were you? Is that what 70-30 looked like to you?

It was in bold red letters in front of us, Jimin.

I’ve spent these last few months wallowing and hollowing myself out because of the isolation. You did nothing to alleviate that pain, rather you perpetuated it. You lied to me. You ended things without explanation, you told me we were going to maintain some semblance of our relationship. You told me you would stay. Attached to my side for a month and then disappeared, this wasn’t what your promise meant. When you gave me your promise to wear those years ago, it was concrete and assuring. A simple band that reminded me daily what we had was worth it all, but I’m done blaming all of this on myself. I’m done justifying it with a promise you failed to keep, a lie wrapped around our fingers.

Dahae and everyone else in the company had seen it happen in snippets, and they told me I deserved better, but how could I believe that when all I knew was you? When our anniversary passed a couple of weeks ago, I shoved all these souvenirs into the cardboard box in front of you now and have shipped it your way. Feel its immensity and its weight. This is what I’ve been carrying without you. How much weight has landed itself onto your shoulders since you left? Or have you passed it onto Taehyung and Jungkook, like you usually do? The necklace you gave me for my birthday is in there too. I couldn’t keep it when its chain kept searing itself into my skin, reminding me of things that were no longer true.

There’s only so much to performing that keeps me going. There’s only so much to staring at mirrored walls all day, dancing until you feel the callouses that have formed over the years thicken more under the repeated pressure. You know how it feels to stare at mirrored walls, to see your own reflection distort in front of you. I felt it too. I began to dim, I began to believe I could only reflect the light that you radiated, but now it’s time to let go because I’m realising my worth. We shone together, we shared the stage, and although stage lights still consume us in different places at different times, I saw myself stumbling more. It was gone, the flame within me began to die out. But it was a part of us, dancing made us love. It was something we shared. As your fame began to skyrocket, the dynamic between us only began to slow down until it ceased to exist.  

So here I am, word vomiting onto these pages for you. Beginning with your confession letter and it’s in there too. This is it, the last thing you’ll hear from me because I’m going back to where it all began. Memories that plague me, ones of us from back home, I’m replacing them and moving forward, now truly accepting that you’re gone, and you don’t care. You stopped, and I don’t want to beg anymore. I don’t want to be miserable any longer because I deserve better than what you put me through.

Good luck, I love you. You know where to find me, but you won’t need it.