why4anne

Your shoulders stiffen when you hear the deep voice coming from behind you.  He has an accent, his pronunciation is kind of wonky but not enough for his words to be unintelligible. You know you’ve been caught. And fear spikes in you. You can practically feel the adrenaline start pumping through your veins. Technically you’re still close enough for them to turn the ship around, although doing so would include a major detour, it would still be possible . They’re going to take you back to where you came from. Everything you’ve been doing will be in vain. 

You’re screwed. You’ll be even more shunned by society than you already were before. Mr. Carrington will be angry at you for embarrassing him. If he still goes through with the wedding it will purely be out of spite, he will do it to punish you. And if you’re his wife he has the right to do whatever he wants with you.

In the scenario where he breaks off the engagement you already know what will happen. Your mom is going to kill you. Maybe not physically kill you but she will kill you mentally. The little freedom you had before will be taken away, she will crush your spirit over and over again for ruining her plans to claw her way out of poverty and your father will let her.

You had been this close to finally attaining freedom. All you had to do was stay hidden for a couple of more days. While the detour would still be a major one right now, it’s still doable. 

Right now there are two ways you can react. You can either get on your knees for this man. You can cry and beg for him to let you stay on the ship. It might work but you doubt it and right now, all you have left is your pride. The other option is to keep your head high. 

You sigh with defeat, there is no point in pleading and crying. They caught you, it sucks, and you hate it but you’re going to get out of this situation with the little dignity you have left. So you square your shoulders and fix your face before turning around to face this stranger.

The stranger who currently holds the power to permanently change your life right now. He is wearing nightwear but you can tell from the quality of the fabric as well as the stitching that the pieces he’s wearing are probably expensive. Your mother’s lessons on fabric and fashion are still useful after all, who would’ve guessed? He is handsome in a way you’ve never seen before. His features are unlike any you’ve seen before. His face is soft with a rounded nose and plush lips but his eyes, his eyes are sharp and focused. 

In his gaze you can tell that he sees more than he lets on. It’s almost like he sees right through you, that he can see all of your thoughts, feelings and dreams. It’s intimidating to be under his scrutinizing stare. You feel exposed and you would’ve been uncomfortable would it not have been for the unexplainable feeling of comfort you got from him.

Somehow you could tell that he wasn’t out to get you, he didn’t want to hurt you. He was just curious, curious about you. You suppose you understand the interest. It’s quite strange for a young lady to sneak aboard a ship going to god knows where. If you were in his position you would’ve been curious as well. 

You’re unsure how to move forward from here. You had been prepared for a confrontation. You had expected him to yell at you and berate you for sneaking aboard the ship and demand answers. Who are you? Why are you here? But…nothing. He keeps quiet, his eyes never leaving you, waiting for how you’re going to react.

Your head is blank, how do you even answer him? It’s not every day you’re cornered by a man on a ship you’re not even supposed to be on.

“My mother used to read this book to help me fall asleep.” Are the words that finally  come out from your mouth? Really? You can’t believe how utterly stupid you sound right now. You’ve been caught red handed and now you’re talking about fairytales, literally. 

But the man doesn’t seem to mind, not at all. In fact, he smiles. It’s not one of the huge grins that would take over one's face when the joy has nowhere else to go. It’s more of a calm smile. The corner of his mouth moves upwards ever so slightly as he smiles with an amused scoff

“Really? Which one your favorite?” His grammar is slightly off but what he’s saying is definitely good enough to understand. You are impressed by his skills. It’s not every day you meet people who know more than one language and if you do it’s most likely either French or Italian, a product of the obsession over the opera. 

You think about it for a minute, which one is your favorite? You liked all of them for different reasons. After thinking about it for a minute you finally answer. “I like Cinderella” You answer, he seems to appreciate that you took your time to actually think about your answer. You don’t know the guy very well, if at all, but you somehow figured that he would be the kind of guy who prefers well thought out honest answers over quick, surface level ones. 

“Cinderella? Why?” Is this man being serious right now? Why is he interrogating you on your favorite fairytale and not interrogating you as to why you’ve snuck aboard his ship? He really needs to get his priorities straight.

“I like the thought that there is a better life for yourself if you simply take the leap of faith. Cinderella would’ve never found her prince if she hadn’t defied her evil stepmother and went to that ball.” You decide to give him your honest answer, deciding that it’s probably unwise to anger or upset the guy who could very easily ruin all of your plans, even if his questions were strange.

“Ah, you're here because you don’t like your mother? You want better life?” He questions, his eyebrows raising slightly as he studies you. He is almost right on the mark. How did he know all that? His questions aren’t silly random ones. He wasn’t asking you that because he wanted a book recommendation, he asked you that because he knew that you would give yourself away. He just got all the answers he needed in less than two minutes. 

He hums softly at your answer, like he’s filing it away somewhere, analysing it deeply in just the span of a second. For a moment, neither of you speak. The silence stretches too long, too heavy, until it becomes unbearable.

Then “You not scared?” His question is simple. Too simple. But it hits you harder than anything else he’s said.

Your brows knit together slightly. “Of what?”

His gaze doesn’t waver, he is still analyzing you. Storing every single move you make into some place in his brain. You wonder what it’s like to constantly be studying everything like he is doing. It must be taxing, but he seems to do it without a second thought. Almost like it’s natural to him, instinct.  

“Unknown. New place. New people.” He tilts his head slightly as he asks. “No way back.” Ah, so he does understand. You let out a quiet breath, your grip tightening slightly around the book in your hands.

“I was,” you admit reluctantly. You’re never this honest. The conversations you usually have have no room for honesty. People usually want to hear the answer they like, the polite answer. Yes, the floral arrangement is splendid, yes the food is delicious. But he doesn’t want a surface level disingenuous answer. He wants to understand you, understand you at your core. “I still am. Scared I mean” You continue,  there’s no point in lying. Not to him. His eyes sharpen just slightly at your honesty. “But staying was worse.” That seems to interest him. There’s a flicker of something in his expression. Approval? Curiosity? You can’t quite tell. He takes a slow step closer, his proximity should feel threatening, but oddly enough it doesn’t. It feels suffocating, yes, but not dangerous.

“Most people prefer safety.” He says quietly. He is not accusing you of anything yet but it’s clear that he wants answers. 

Your lips press into a thin line as you think about how to answer him. You feel exposed, you can tell that he sees through your answers. Even if everything you’ve said up to this point has been truthful there is still more to it. This man wants depth.

“Well,” you murmur, “safety was going to ruin my life.”

That earns you another one of those small, almost invisible smiles. This time, it lingers a little longer. He studies you for a moment, like he’s weighing something in his mind.

“You hide two weeks.” He states in his imperfect English. It’s not a question nor an accusation, simply a statement. It leaves no room for excuses or lies.

Your breath catches, so he knew. Of course he did. If anyone on this ship was going to know it would be the man before you. This man with his sharp, catlike eyes probably saw everything, even things that were so desperate to stay hidden.

Heat rushes to your face, a mix of embarrassment and panic. “You-”

“I see you.” He interrupts calmly. His tone is not cruel and not mocking, just… factual. Is this guy always like this? “I not tell.” 

Your heart stutters at his words. “What?” The words escape your mouth before you can stop them and afterwards you feel stupid for the surprised look on your face.

He shrugs slightly, like it’s not a big deal. “I not tell the crew.” A pause. Then, more pointedly, sharper than before. “Unless there is problem.” For the first time he actually hardens his tone. There it is, he offers not the kindness that your peers often do, the fake kind. Neither does he offer  the cruelty your mother has shown you these past couple of years. He offers a condition.

Your throat goes dry. The mere thought of getting in trouble with this guy sends a shiver down your spine. “And what exactly qualifies as a problem?”

His eyes meet yours again, sharp and unreadable. “You make trouble,” he says simply. “Or you lie.”

He pauses for a minute, studying your reaction thoroughly, even more in detail than he has done up until now.

“You lie?” He finally breaks the silence, the question hangs in the air between you. And suddenly, this isn’t just about being discovered anymore. It’s a test. He knows the answer, but he wants you to say it outloud.

“No!” You blurt out before regaining your composure. “No, no I’m not lying. My mother she…” How do you explain this to this stranger? “My mother is a controlling woman. My family has financial troubles so she wants to marry me off to a rich man. The problem is that this man is more than double my age, older than my father even.” 

You realize as you’re talking that this is the first time you’re actually speaking of your family’s troubles out loud. Never once before have you actually voiced what’s been troubling you. Back home this is treated like the dirtiest of secrets. Money problems are not something that comes up in polite conversation and if the topic seems to even slightly touch on anything even close to finances any well mannered lady promptly switches topic.

Something about this guy just has you spilling all of your deepest and darkest secrets just like that. You’re unsure if it’s because of the weight of his knowing gaze or if it’s because of the power imbalance of the situation you’ve found yourself in but you just can’t help it. The truth is blurted out before your brain can catch up with your mouth.

Your answer seems to have piqued his interest as his eyebrows raise ever so slightly. Fascinating, you don’t think you would’ve noticed such a subtle change in expression on anyone else. Maybe being around this observant man is rubbing off on you? 

“You’re poor?” Gosh, this man really doesn't beat around the bush does he? You can almost physically feel your pride taking a hit. Poor? Technically that’s true but there is so much more to it, he’s missing so much context by simply filing it down as you being a poor woman down on her luck looking for luxury.

“I wouldn’t necessarily call me poor.” You feel the need to explain yourself to him. To give context to the situation. The thought of him simply seeing you as some social climbing scheemer doesn’t seem right to you. “My father is a nobleman but he made some bad investments in the past. Also, I do not appreciate you talking so bluntly about my family’s financial situation. Honestly you’re being very rude right now. What kind of gentleman asks a lady these things?”

“Mhm” The man before you hums thoughtfully, taking in all that he’s heard and analyzing it. “You are a lady, but you’re poor. Father of yours incompetent, mother bad, like an evil stepmother. No more suitors if you decline the old man, am I right?” He points to the book in your hands as he mentions the evil stepmother. 

How in the world did he gather all of that information from your defensive answer? You really can’t hide anything from this guy. The way he asks simple questions that seem so innocent but in reality he is coaxing you to tell him the exact answer that he’s looking for. The way that he dissects the answers you give him, reading in between the lines to get to the root of the words. It’s scary, it’s dangerous. 

If he’s this good at what he does in English, a language he’s only partially fluent in, you can’t even imagine how lethal his mind is in his native language. 

“Listen, if you’re going to turn me in and force me back home, just do it.” You sigh, you’re tired of his mind games, his scrutinizing stare. You don’t want to give him more pieces of your life, pieces that you’ve never given anyone else the privilege of knowing.

For a moment nothing happens. There is no anger, no orders being barked, no footsteps rushing to drag you away. Just silence. Then a quiet exhale, not yours but his.

You blink, caught off guard. When you look at him again, something has changed. Not completely, but enough.

“You talk too much.” Your brows furrow slightly at his statement.

Excuse me? Who does he think he is? But there’s no bite in his tone. No real irritation. If anything, there’s something almost… amused beneath it.

“I ask simple question.” He continues, tilting his head slightly. “You give whole story.”

Heat creeps up your neck, equal parts embarrassment and frustration.

“You’re the one who keeps—” He doesn’t give you a chance to finish before he interrupts you

“I didn’t say that I turn you in.” That stops you completely.

Your lips part slightly, but no words come out this time. He watches you carefully as you take his words  in.

“You assume too fast.” He adds, quieter now. “You need to learn when to keep secrets.”

Your grip tightens around the book.

“Then what are you doing?” You ask, your voice steadier than you feel. Look at you, with all of this bravado. You didn’t think you had it in you. “Interrogating me for fun?”

He pauses before giving you a small shrug. “Maybe.”

You stare at him but he doesn’t look away at your gaze.  And somehow, that answer feels more honest than anything else he’s said. Another beat of silence passes before he finally straightens slightly.

“Our ship is big.” He notes matter of factly. “But the crew is not stupid.”

Your stomach drops at his words. Is he not the only one who knows about you?.

“If you hide.” The man continues, “You hide properly.”

“And you would know how to do that?” Your eyes narrow just slightly. That earns you a faint smirk. Finally a crack in that unreadable composure.

“I already know you’ve been here for two weeks.” He points out. “You think others won’t?”

Right… Your pride takes another hit. Your hiding wasn’t as brilliant as you had originally thought. You had truly thought that you have been undetectable for the last two weeks.

“Come.” He steps past you then, close enough that your shoulder almost brushes his.

You freeze at his words. He can’t be serious. Does he really expect you to follow a complete stranger to god knows where. You know what happens to women who put too much trust in unknown men and you are not interested in becoming a victim. But you know that you don’t have a choice. The ship is a confined space where he knows everybody and you know no one. If you refuse, if you run away he’ll chase you down, he’ll do what he wants to do and then he’ll turn you in.

“What?” Is the only word that you can think of right now. He glances back at you, expression unreadable but expectant.

“If you stay.” He says simply, “You listen to me.”

There it is once more. Once more he does not make a request of you, he sets down a condition. Your heart pounds at the implication. You’ll be under his rule, just like how you’ve been under your mother’s rule for so long.

“You said you wouldn’t tell.” You press, not moving yet. You refuse to accept his deal before knowing his intentions.

“I won’t.”He pauses for a  beat. “Unless there is a problem.” He repeats the same words from before. A problem…

Again, that word. What kind of problem does he think you’ll create? 

You hesitate, every instinct in you screams that following a strange man deeper into a ship you weren’t even supposed to be on is a terrible idea.

But so is staying here. So is getting caught. So is going back. Actually, going back would probably be worse than whatever it is that this man has in store for you. Nothing he does will be something that Mr. Carrington also would’ve done to you. Your fingers tighten around the book once more.

“And if I say no?” For the first time he looks at you like the answer is obvious. He looks at you with a confused look, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re joking or if you’re truly stupid. It makes you feel like a five year old. Your cheeks turning hot in embarrassment at his judgement

“Then you get caught.” He says with no hesitation and no sugarcoating. Just the truth. You’ve noticed that this is a pattern with this guy. He is blunt, not rude, just very direct. He doesn’t do bullshit and he doesn’t give overly long explanations, he just states facts. Either he is the best liar you’ve ever met or the most truthful person you’ve even met because from what you can tell he hasn’t lied about- or hidden anything this entire conversation.

Your breath falters slightly. Of course, of course that’s how this works. This was never really a choice, not really. Pest or cholera, do you want to listen to his commands or do you want to go back home? You swallow, then you slowly step forward. You follow him to wherever he’s leading you. 

His pace is brisk as he leads you through the long, monotonous halls of the ship. Some of them you’ve memorized after two weeks onboard, some of them are yet to be discovered by you. But he seems to know the ship like the back of his hand. 

“Where are we going?” You whisper yells to him as he continues to walk with you. You know that it’s not a good idea to make any sort of noise right now, this man may have taken pity on you but it’s not guaranteed that the next person who finds you will. However, curiosity is eating you alive. Is he taking you to the jailcell? God you hope not. You really don’t feel like being held prisoner right now, or ever. 

“To my suite.” He answers curtly. That makes you stop in your tracks. His suite? That’s unacceptable, a lady of your status cannot be seen alone with a man, especially not in his bedroom. It would be absolutely scandalous! 

Even if you logically know that it does not matter, that all of the social rules you’ve been following for your entire life are essentially null and void right now and have been since the moment you left your house, your mother’s disapproving voice is still echoing loudly in your head. It is as if a physical force is making you stop, preventing you from going any further.

The man turns around and looks at you with a confused frown on his face. Does he not understand the implications of his request? Are the customs from where he comes from really that different? 

“Why did you stop?” He huffs in slight annoyance, looking around for any sign of peeping eyes. Is he nervous that you’ll be discovered? No, that can’t be it. Why would he even care?

“I cannot go into your suite!” You protest a little too loudly but you can’t help the volume of your voice right now. This is absolutely insane, you’ve never even spoken unchaperoned to a man that is not your father. How can this stranger expect you to just follow him into his suite?

“Why not?” The man asks, seemingly not understanding why you’re so opposed to the idea. He looks at you as if you’re the crazy one. How dare he? He is the crazy one in this scenario! How can he expect a lady to just follow him into his private quarters?

“I-I… What do you mean, why not?” You’re too stunned to speak at first, only managing to stammer and blink at him in absolute disbelief. The nerve of this man! Why not?  You almost scoff as the words are replayed in your mind. Why not? Maybe because such behavior is unacceptable on so many levels. Does he not understand that? Is he daft?

“I mean just that. Why not?” He repeats his words, somehow managing to sound even more condescending than the first time. It makes you want to slap that stupid questioning look off his face. He knows very well why you are opposed to the idea. Does he not?

“It’s inappropriate! I’m a lady of gentle upbringing. To ask me such a question- to make such a request- it’s inappropriate! It’s rude! Quite frankly it’s preposterous! What do you take me for? A common jezebel? I will have you know that I am the product of many generations of fine pedigree. I will not be treated this way!” He interrupts you by laughing. Is he being serious? Is he seriously laughing at you right now? How dare he? You have half a mind to scream for assistance but you know that it will do you no good.

“Why are you laughing?” You ask, outraged at his casualness to your very valid concerns. No gentleman you’ve ever come across would dare to laugh in your face in this way.

“You’re talking too much again.” He stops laughing and looks at you again. His expression goes from that of lighthearted amusement to that of sincere honesty. “Listen to me. I know how this looks. I understand that this not a common request to make. But in this situation I don’t believe there is better option for you.”

His English is still slightly broken but you get the point. He is right. His suite is probably your best bet right now and you hate that fact. Everything in you, all of the years of your mother’s lessons,  is screaming at you to decline. To refuse his offer and say that you’d rather stay hidden than go with him. But the thought of actually being able to sleep comfortably is so tempting.

“I- I don’t even know you.” You protest weakly. You don’t even understand why you’re still opposing the idea. He’s right. You hate that he’s right.

“My name Yoongi” He simply states. You wait for him to introduce himself further but he doesn’t. What did you honestly expect? Getting answers out of this guy is like screaming at a mountain to move. “Now let’s go…” He trails off, he’s waiting for you to introduce yourself.

You quickly give him your name, nothing less nothing more, just like he did. Two can play this game. He nods, satisfied, and continues walking. You wonder what kind of role he serves on this ship. Is he a crewmate? A passenger? He’s still young so you assume whatever role he has is not one of major importance.

His room told a completely different story though. It did not look like the simple staff quarters with minimal furnishing that you’ve imagined. No, his suite was big. It was filled with furniture that looked to be of good quality, the walls were covered in fine wallpaper and on them hung exquisite artwork in some of the finest picture frames you’ve seen. Who was this guy? 

You linger near the doorway longer than necessary. Your eyes sweep across the room again, slower this time, careful, calculated. Every detail inhere feels… intentional. Nothing like the rest of the ship you’ve seen. Nothing like the life you just ran from either.

You take not of the way his desk is filled with papers, the way his closet is bigger than the average one. What is it about this guy that makes him special? What makes him warrant such importance? He must either be someone who serves a very important role in the crew or he is a wealthy passenger.

If you only could get some answers out of the guy, Yoongi, as he had introduced himself as, you would’ve probably be able to make an educated guess. But you knew you wouldn’t be able to get any answers out of him. 

You don’t understand how he does it. How he asks just the right questions for you to unknowingly give him the answers he wants. How he rials you up in just the right way for you to get frustrated and willingly blurt out more information about yourself. He would make a great detective. Maybe that is what hen was? A world class detective sent to your former city to investigate a murder case?  

“You’re staring.” His voice pulls you out of your thoughts. It’s a statement, not a question. You’ve come to learn that such statements are common for him. He doesn’t bother asking you questions, not when he already has the answer.

You straighten immediately, your chin lifting slightly. “I’m observing.” 

A beat of silence follows. Then a quiet huff of amusement escapes him.  “Same thing.” He grumbles quietly. Coming from any other person, you’d conclude that they’re angry, but he doesn’t give off that impression, he is calm to a fault.  Your lips press together, but you don’t argue this time. There is no point in denying his claim because he’s not wrong. Gosh how you wish this Yoongi guy could be wrong just once so you could have the pleasure of calling him out on it, to wipe that smug look off of his face. What pleasure it would bring you to finally knock him off his high horse.

Your gaze flickers back to him instead. “You said this was the best option. Why?” You say slowly. Your voice is measured, you don’t want to give him even more material on you so you watch your words very  carefully. 

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he walks past you, moving deeper into the room like he has all the time in the world. Which, annoyingly, he might. He is not the one in danger of being discovered here, you are. And he knows it, the smug bastard knows it and he is toying with you.

“No one comes here without reason.” He says finally.  You’re not surprised at his answer. Who would willingly go to his room and engage in a conversation with this all knowing brick wall? Yeah, no thanks. 

Your brows knit together as you question him once more. You will get the answers you need from this guy, even if you have to verbally poke and prod him for hours.“…Meaning?”

He glances at you over his shoulder before finally turning around to properly meet your eyes. In the gentle glow of the lamp he actually looks very attractive. It’s a foreign attractiveness to you, you’ve never seen anyone with his type of features in your life but you can’t help but find them harmonious.

 “If crew see you in halls, problem.” He pauses before continuing his sentence. You’re unsure if it is because he can’t find the right words in English or if it’s because he is trying to formulate his answer in the most conspicuous way possible.

“If they see you here.” He shrugs lightly, giving you the slightest of smiles. “My problem.”

That catches you off guard. His problem? Is he really willing to take the fall for you? To pretend that you’re some secret lover that he snuck onboard? It would seem like a somewhat plausible explanation for your presence onboard the ship, you’ll give him that.

“You would take responsibility for me?” You ask before you can stop yourself. The moment the words leave your mouth, you almost regret them. It sounds too close to something fragile, too close to trust. And you are not ready to put your trust in a stranger yet.

You expect him to scoff at you, maybe laugh at your naive question. Maybe he would take pity on you and reassure you, explain further. But he doesn’t react the way you expect.

He doesn’t soften, he doesn’t reassure, he doesn’t deny it either.

“I control my space.”He states simply. Your breath stills slightly. That’s not comfort but it’s not dismissal either. It’s something else, something… steadier, honesty.

“And what exactly does staying here involve?” You ask carefully, your fingers tighten slightly around the book again.

This time, he looks at your face carefully before answering. He studies your features, your expression and you can’t help but grow a little antsy at his through observation of you.

His expression is calm and measured as he answers. “You stay quiet.” He takes one step closer to you. “You don’t touch things.” Others step closer. “You don’t lie to me.” His eyes lock onto yours again, sharp and unwavering. “And when I say hide” A beat, he is almost close enough to stand chest to chest to you. It should feel uncomfortable but somehow it doesn’t. Intimidating yes, but not uncomfortable. “You hide.”

The room feels smaller suddenly, it’s not the same kind of feeling as when you were breaking down in your childhood bedroom. It’s not panic and despair. It’s not because of his presence either but because of the weight of what he’s offering and what he expects in return.

You swallow before asking your question “And what do I get in return?”

For the first time he pauses, actually pauses. Not like the pauses he’s done before where it felt like he was making a theatrical move to add to the weight of his words. This time it feels like a genuine pause. Like he’s considering how to answer.

“You get what you want.” His voice is quiet but you have come to learn that this man does not require volume in order to be powerful. His mind and tongue more than do the trick.

“And what exactly do you think I want?” Your brows pull together slightly.

There’s the faintest hint of that smirk again. “Not to go back.”…Right, of course he would know that. Silence settles between you again. But this time it’s different. Less suffocating, more defined.

He takes a step to the side to give you a clear path inside without any obstacles. You slowly step further into the room. The door closes behind you with a quiet click, it feels very final. You’re inside his room now. Under his observing gaze but also under his protection.

“Why are you doing this for me?” You question him. He knows so much about you yet you know nothing but his name. “What is in it for you?” You have to know, why is this stranger offering to help you? To take the fall for you? 

“You fascinating.” He answers simply, without any shame or embarrassment. Just fact, so very him. You would expect someone to be bashful about his interest in you but he isn’t, at least he doesn't show it. 

“I’m fascinating?” You can’t help but ask him, this might be the closest to vulnerability you’ll ever get him. You expect him to explain further, to build on his statement, maybe finally being real with you.

“Yes.” He nods and your hope deflates when you realize that he will not continue that sentence. A simple yes, my goodness you want to force the answers out of his stubborn mouth. 

You huff an annoyed breath and decide to drop it, this guy is impossible. Instead you decide to let your gaze wander across the room once more, this time more thoroughly. You notice how well made all of his objects are. The desk that you thought was just ordinary seemed to be made with a high quality material and carved in intricate patterns along its legs. The frames you thought were made out of polished wood actually seemed to be made out of gold, or at least gold plated. He also has decorations made out of gold, pearl and a green gemstone you’ve never seen before. 

Whoever this Yoongi is, he has money, lots of it by the looks of his room. You’re starting to suspect that he’s no ordinary passenger after all. 

You look over the artwork he has displayed and in one of those golden frames you see a portrait. One that looks eerily similar to the man before you. You’re unsure of his culture’s customs and clothing but from what you can tell, the traditional garments he is wearing in the portrait seems to signal importance and status. Who is this man really?

You look at another one of his portraits and see his face again, this time in a group portrait. He is sitting with six other guys, all of them sharing similar features yet entirely different ones at the same time. All of them are wearing the same traditional garments as before. 

You grow more and more curious the more you look around. This man before you seems so inconspicuous, a simple man of little importance, but his room is telling you an entirely different story. One of wealth and status.

You walk over to the pictureframe hanging on the wall. Your fingers hover just inches from the painting. But you don’t touch it, you remember his rule and you dare not break it. So instead you lean closer and carefully study the painting. It’s beautiful, wellmade. The details are too precise to ignore, the fabric, the posture, the way the others are positioned around him.

Not randomly, never randomly with him. Your gaze flickers back to Yoongi, studying him once more and then back to the painting, then to him again.

“You’re not just an ordinary passenger.” It’s not a question. It’s the first time you state something with certainty. You can understand why he does it now. It’s actually quite fun. Observing someone then stating facts about them. 

For a moment he doesn’t respond. And that, somehow, tells you more than anything else. You take a slow step back from the painting.

“Those clothes, the ones you and the other men are wearing in the picture.” You continue, quieter now, piecing it together out loud like a jigsaw puzzle “They’re not decorative. They mean something.”

“You’re all positioned equally, no one is above the other, not like a traditional portrait.” You turn your body away from the painting so that you’re facing towards him. You might be way off the mark, his culture might have entirely different styles of portraits. But you make a guess with the information you have. “And you’re all wearing similar garments, well made ones, and expensive looking jewelry.”

Your heart starts beating faster as realization sets in. He isn’t as simple as he seems to be. He is someone of importance and now it’s up to you to figure out just how important he is.

“Who are you?” A heavy silence follows your question. You study his face now, look for any change in expression he might make. And for the first time you feel like you’re the one asking the *right* question. Yoongi watches you, calm as always. He shows no fear, he isn’t scared. He shows no annoyance either. He watches you with something else going through his mind, something else, something sharper. You think you might even see the slightest hint of  him being impressed by your analysis.

“You observe too much.” His voice is husky and quiet yet it holds so much power. You wonder what it is like to exude authority just by the tone of your voice. You’ve never felt like you have any agency over any aspect of your life. But this guy, you could never even imagine him being overruled by someone, let alone a snobbish woman like your mother or a sleazy man like Mr. Carrington.

His words are  not a denial but they’re not an answer either. He has really mastered the art of non-committal answers it seems. Every time you think you’ve got him he obfuscates. 

“That’s not an answer.” You push back, your voice steadier now. “You expect honesty from me, don’t you?”

Something shifts after you say that. Subtle, but real. He exhales quietly, glancing past you toward the portrait for half a second before looking back at you.

“My family…” He starts, slower than before, choosing his words more carefully this time. Gosh, he is harder to crack open than a diamond “…they important where I come from.”

That’s it, that’s all he gives you. But it’s enough. He is important, not only wealthy, not only known but important. You already figured as much. Still sour stomach tightens slightly at the implication. Is he a part of his society’s nobility? Is he an aristocrat just like you? WIll you be trapped in the same cage once you reach land?

“Important how?” You press him further. You really want answers from him. You want to understand him.

His gaze sharpens immediately. And just like that the door that was just starting to open slams shuts again. Not a physical door of course,  but one inside of him. He had barely started to open up and now you can practically see him shut close like a clam in hiding.

“You ask too much now.” He grumbles disapprovingly. Ah, there it is, the line. You crossed it and he does not like it. Your jaw tightens slightly.

“I think I have the right to know who I’m trusting.” You protest but it sounds more like a petulant child who’s complaining. You sound too much like the spoiled brat your mother saw you for and you hate it.

“And I think,” He steps closer again, voice still calm but firmer now. He is more intimidating like this, but not frightening. Now that you think about it, you’ve actually not seen him as frightening even once during your conversation.  “You forget who is helping who.”

That hits hard. The room goes quiet again and you shrink in on yourself. You’ve overstepped a boundary you didn’t even know was there and you have a feeling that it will take a long time to bridge the gap that was created. He didn’t seem like the type to just brush mistakes off, to forgive and forget. No, you’re going to have to work to get back to the place where you were. wherever that was. 

The silence is thick and heavy. It’s different from the silence that was present earlier. That silence was laughter somehow. It was just silence, nothing more nothing less. This silence is a test. He’s seeing what your next move will be and you have a feeling that if you make the wrong one there will be consequences. 

You hold his gaze for a moment longer then look away first. You don’t do it in defeat, you do it in recalibration. Fine, if that’s how he wants to play this you’ll play along.

You step back slightly, putting space between you and him. “Then I’ll stop asking,” You say coolly. It’s a lie and he knows it. Of course he does, he seems to know everything. You can see it in the slight tilt of his head. But he lets it go. For now. 

The silence creeps back once more. It isn’t the thick heavy kind that lingered before. It’s the light kind. The kind that you suspect will be filling most of your interactions with Yoongi. 

A knock breaks the blanket of quietness hanging over the room. Sharp and sudden. Both of you freeze and your heart drops into your stomach.

Yoongi’s reaction is instant. “Hide.” There is no hesitation in his words, no explanation, just command. You wonder if this is how he was seen in his home country. A man of power and respect who can command a room with just one single word. Maybe he is a high up general in the army? That would suit him, but right now is not the time to play with ideas, right now is the time to hide.

“Where?” You whisper back in panic, looking around for a suitable hiding spot. His bed has too small a gap for you to hide under it and his desk isn’t a closed one so it’s a no go. Behind the curtains could work but every movement you would make would make them move. 

“Closet” Yoongi answers curtly, decisively. You turn to head towards it when you realize that he’s escorting you there. He hurriedly puts a hand on the small of your back and guides you in the direction of his big mother of pearl closet. 

His touch is more gentle than you would expect from him. With how curtly and directly he talks you would expect his movements to match that. But they don’t. While his touch is hurried it’s still soft. He’s not shoving you in the direction of his choice. He is showing you the way. 

He opens the door of his closet and motions for you to get inside. You do as you are told and just as he closes the door behind you, the door to his room is swung open. A man enters, speaking a language you don’t understand, the same one the crew was speaking while you were sneaking aboard the ship.

Jungkook decides that Yoongi is taking too much time to answer him. How typical of his hyung to get lost in thought and not answer. 

Jungkook didn’t knock twice, he never did. The first knock had barely echoed through the wood before he pushed the door open, stepping inside like he already owned the place which, in a way, he liked to believe he did.

There were no doors on this ship that were off limits for Jungkook, not really. And he knew Yoongi-hyung might act annoyed with him but he would never lash out.

“You’re awake.” Jungkook's voice was light, almost teasing, but his eyes were already scanning the room. Yoongi didn’t like unannounced visits. Everyone knew that and that was exactly why Jungkook did it.

His gaze flickered across the space, quick and sharp despite the casual slouch of his posture. The room was the same as always. Neat, composed, everything in its place. Too in its place. Yoongi really needs to stop being such a perfectionist and live a little. Jungkook leaned slightly against the doorframe, arms crossing loosely over his chest as he tilted his head.

“I heard something.” Yoongi didn’t look at him immediately at Jungkook’s words. He moved calmly, almost lazily, toward his desk as if Jungkook’s presence was nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

“Then you should get your hearing checked.” Yoongi answers in his usually gruff tone, but Jungkook knows that there is no true bite to it. His hyung is all bark and no bite and Jungkook loves to push it.

 Jungkook huffed a quiet laugh at that, pushing himself off the frame and stepping further into the room.

“Hyung,” he drawled, dragging the word out with mock offense. The guys all saw him as the little brother. Slightly annoying but he got away with it because of his status as the youngest. “I’m serious.”

But even as he spoke, his eyes kept moving. The curtains hung as normal. The bed was neatly made just like it always is. The corners of the room have nothing out of place.

But still, something felt off. He couldn’t quite place it, but there was a shift in the air. Subtle, almost invisible but Jungkook had always been good at picking up on things like that. There was a tension that didn’t belong.

His gaze flickered briefly toward the closet, then away, then back again. Yoongi followed that movement, just for a second, it was too quick for most people to notice. Not too quick for Jungkook though.

Ah, there it was. The corner of Jungkook’s mouth twitched upward in a teasing smile. Interesting, very interesting. What is Yoongi hiding?

He took another step forward, slow this time, deliberate. “Are you sure you’re alone?”

Yoongi finally looked at him then, expression flat, unreadable. “Do you see anyone else?”

Jungkook hummed, rocking slightly on his heels as if he were actually considering the question. “Well…” He dragged the word out again, eyes flickering around the room once more, “You’ve been known to keep secrets.”

That earned him a look. A sharp one, a warning one.

Jungkook grinned. There it is. He liked this. Poking at Yoongi, pushing just enough to get a reaction. It was like trying to crack open a locked box, annoying, maybe, but satisfying when it worked.

Most of the time, it didn’t but that didn’t stop him from trying.

“You’re bored,” Yoongi said flatly..

“Very,” Jungkook replied immediately, not even attempting to deny it. “Is it one of the maids? Are you having a secret lover?”

“No you psycho!” Yoongi exclaims in protest. His tone is annoyed and he’s looking at Jungkook like he can’t wait for this conversation to be over and go back to whatever he was doing before.

Jungkook throws his head back in a laugh. He loves to get a reaction out of Yoongi. He is way too fun to rile up. Once he is finished with his fit of laughter, his gaze drifts again, slower now, more thoughtful. There it was again, that feeling.

Like the room was…occupied. Not visibly, but in presence. It felt thick with tension. Someone who knows Yoongi less might assume that it’s the same tension that always lingers around the stoic man. But this is his Yoongi-hyung, Jungkook has known him his whole life and he knows that whatever energy was in that room, is a foreign one. The vibes were off. Jungkook’s brows knit together just slightly before smoothing out again just as fast. He let out a soft breath through his nose, shaking the thought off.

If something was actually there, Yoongi would’ve handled it already. Yoongi never leaves things up to chance. That is what he likes about his hyung. He is calculating and smart. Jungkook always feels safe in his presence. Sometimes it was annoying, nothing escapes Yoongi, keeping secrets from him is near impossible. That time when Jungkook was hiding the fact that he broke an antique vase he thought he had gotten away with it until Yoongi exposed him.

“Anyways, everyone else is asleep,” Jungkook continued, tone lighter now as he flopped down onto the edge of Yoongi’s bed without asking. “Or pretending to be. It’s boring.”

Yoongi didn’t respond. Jungkook glanced at him sideways. “You don’t ever get bored?” He asks even if he knows the answer already.

“No.” Jungkook can’t help but scoff at the short answer. Yoongi-hyung, don’t go spilling all of your secrets. He thought sarcastically.

“Liar.” That earned him another annoyed look from the older man but Jungkook just smiled wider.

Silence settled between them, but unlike with Yoongi and whatever tension had existed before he walked in, this silence was easy, familiar. The two of them have known each other since they were in diapers. Well, Jungkook was in diapers, Yoongi must’ve already been potty trained when Jungkook was born but that’s besides the point. The point is that they would trust each other with their lives, they were brothers in every sense of the word except for blood. 

Jungkook leaned back slightly on his hands, gaze drifting lazily up toward the ceiling. Still, that feeling of wrongness didn’t leave. His eyes flickered, just for a moment, toward the closet again.

He tilted his head. Then, deliberately and suddenly He stood. Yoongi’s posture shifted almost imperceptibly.

“Don’t,” Yoongi simply said. Just one word, calm but firm. It was a clear boundary, a line drawn in the sand. Jungkook respected Yoongi way too much to cross it, but that doesn’t mean that he won’t tease him about it.

Jungkook paused mid-step then slowly turned his head to look at him. And then he smiled. Not the wide, playful grin from before. He rarely shows this side of himself, the obsessive and sharp one. One that is driven purely by the thrill of curiosity. No, Jungkook mostly prefer the show his playful, easygoing side. 

“Don’t what?” Jungkook questions, pushing back. Yoongi didn’t answer immediately. That, more than anything, was suspicious. Jungkook took one step toward the closet. Then another, slow and unhurried, testing. Yoongi watched him like a hawk the entire time.

The room felt tighter now. Quieter. Like something was about to snap. Jungkook stopped just a few feet away from the closet door. Close enough. If he reached out…His fingers twitched slightly at his side. Then they stilled and just like that, the tension broke.

Jungkook exhaled a quiet laugh, stepping back again as if the thought had never been serious to begin with. “Relax, hyung.” He said lightly, running a hand through his hair. “If you’re hiding something, I’m sure it’s not that interesting.”

A lie, but an intentional one. Yoongi said nothing, only observing. Jungkook turned away, stretching his arms above his head as if he hadn’t just been seconds away from opening that door.

“Anyways” He continued casually, walking back toward the door, “if you hear ghosts or something, don’t come crying to me.”

Yoongi gives him no reaction, only a scoff. Typical. Jungkook paused at the doorway, glancing back one last time. His eyes flicked briefly, subtly, to the closet then to Yoongi.

For once Jungkook stays quiet. He’s taking a page out of Yoongi's book, observing the situation, analysing before his lips curved again. Back to his default playfulness but with a new knowing undertone.

“Sleep well, hyung.” He starts with his eyes full of mischief. He opens the door and it seems as if he’s going to exit the room with no further words. But of course he doesn't. What would be the fun in that? Instead he turns around once more. “Don’t forget to pull out, can’t have any royal bastards running around.” He blurts out before slinking out the door. And then he was gone.

Jungkook walks back to his own room with a chuckle. His steps are unhurried as he walks along the hallways of the ship. Yoongi-hyung sneaking around with a girl, Jungkook didn’t think he had it in him. He chuckles at the thought of Yoongi of all people flirting. 

He can imagine Seokjin, Jimin and Taehyung romancing a woman and sweeping her off her feet for a night. These three along with himself were the most prevalent womanizers of the group. But Yoongi? Jungkook knows that the man is no saint, he has had his fair share of women share his bed, but Jungkook has never truly thought about it before.

He can’t even imagine Yoongi trying to be charming but the thought does amuse him. Which maid had fallen for Yoongi’s gruff personality? Maybe it was miss Choi? She seems to be the type to like a mysterious man. Whatever, let the man have his fun. They’re going to be stuck on this ship for several months on end, might as well make the best of it. 

Now that he thinks about it, perhaps Jungkook should follow in his hyung’s footsteps and find a woman of his own to spend these months on the water with. Might as well have something to pass the time with. 

Let's see, which one of the maids should he go for? Miss Lee? No, she would never be able to keep a secret. Miss Han? No, she’s too proper, Jungkook can only imagine the outrage she would react with by such a request. Miss Kang? No, she’s too shy, she would get spooked if Jungkook approached her.

Jungkook sighs as he goes over all the maid in his head. Some are too old for him, others too shy, many are too chatty and won’t keep a secret. Even if he is what some would consider a playboy, he knows his station. A man in his position, while encouraged to explore, needs to have a certain level of discretion. He can't have all of his affairs aired out by some maid getting carried away in a gossip session. 

His steps slow just slightly. That same feeling from Yoongi’s room creeps back into his mind. It’s subtle, nagging, persistent.

Jungkook frowns faintly, hands slipping into the pockets of his nightwear as he turns a corner down another quiet hallway. The ship creaks softly beneath his feet, the ocean shifting beneath it in a steady rhythm.

Occupied, the word comes to his mind again. Occupied, the word truly hits the head on the nail, that’s what it felt like. Not like Yoongi had a random woman in there. No, Jungkook had seen that before, heard it before. This felt different. It was more secretive. Almost quiet and hidden, forbidden in a different way than a fling would be. Is Yoongi actually serious about this woman?

Jungkook’s brows pull together just slightly before he lets out a quiet scoff at himself. He is being ridiculously nosy and he knows that. But still… “You’re overthinking it.” He mutters under his breath.

But even as he says it, he knows that’s not entirely true. Jungkook wasn’t the type to overthink things. He moved through life with a carefree air around him. He doesn’t read into things without reason. He takes it easy, he has fun. But he isn’t stupid, some people might think he is, but those people couldn’t be more wrong. He sees things, He notices things, even if one might think he is oblivious.

And when something felt off, it usually was. His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek as he slows to a stop near one of the windows lining the corridor. Moonlight spills in through the glass, casting faint silver light across the wooden floors.

For a moment, he just stands there deep in thought. Then a grin slowly creeps back onto his face.

“Oh, this is interesting.” He hums quietly because if Yoongi was hiding something… Jungkook definitely wanted to know what.

He pushes himself off the wall and continues walking, slower now, more thoughtful than before. He could confront him again. He could push harder, poke more. But that wouldn’t work, not with Yoongi. Yoongi would shut him out completely.

No, if Jungkook wanted answers he had to play this differently. He has to be smarter. A quiet chuckle leaves him as he reaches his door, pushing it open and stepping inside.

“Keeping secrets from me, hyung?” He murmurs to himself, amused. He closes the door behind him with a soft click, leaning back against it for a moment. “You should know better.”

His room is messier than Yoongi’s, less structured, less controlled. Clothes draped carelessly, boots kicked off near the bed, a stark contrast to the older man’s precision. Jungkook moves further inside, running a hand through his hair as he lets himself drop onto the bed with a soft exhale.

The ceiling stares back at him but his mind isn’t on sleep, not anymore. It’s on the way Yoongi had said don’t. His tone wasn’t annoyed, not teasing either. It was firm, protective in a way Jungkook hasn’t seen from his hyung before.

Jungkook’s eyes narrow slightly. “Yeah” He murmurs quietly, a slow smile tugging at his lips. “Definitely something.”

He lets out a quiet breath through his nose, turning his head slightly to the side.Should he tell the others? The thought crosses his mind briefly. Seokjin would overreact. Taehyung would get curious. Jimin would absolutely make it worse. Namjoon…

Jungkook pauses. Namjoon would figure it out too quickly. And somehow, that doesn’t feel right. This, whatever this is, feels like something Jungkook stumbled upon. Something his.

His grin sharpens just slightly. “Guess I’ll keep your secret… for now.” The words are soft, almost thoughtful. But there’s excitement there, a morbid curiosity. The kind that doesn’t go away easily.

He shifts onto his side, pulling the blanket lazily over himself, though sleep still feels far away. Because now he has something to figure out. And Jungkook has never been very good at letting things go.

The first thing you notice when you come to your senses is that you’re warm. The heat almost feels like a hug radiating throughout your entire body and warming up your core. It reminds you of lazy days on a nice beach in the summer with the waves from the sea slowly reaching the shoreline. 

Now that you think about it you can almost hear the sound of the waves from the ocean lapping right beside you, you can almost feel the sand beneath your fingertips. The feeling of the tiny grains of sand somehow finding their way into every part of your damp body, getting stuck in your hair and under your fingernail only to later be found in your bed. 

You try to open your eyes but the moment you do you are blinded by the light shining directly into your eyes. You quickly close them again, trying to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling of the brightness overwhelming your senses.

You can’t help but feel comforted by the sensations around you once your eyes recover. You can feel lukewarm water rhythmically cover your body as the waves roll into land. It has been years since your mother and father decided to take you to the beach. You couldn’t have been older than 10, still a little girl without any care in the world. That was 10 years ago when your family still had more money than you knew what to do with it. Before your family was knee deep in debt, before you had to worry about your mother’s need to find you a husband taking over every aspect of your life.

It had been the last time you had felt… free. Before everything changed in an instant. Before rules, before expectations, before your life had been decided for you by forces you have no control over.

Nowadays everything you do is calculated by your mother. The things that you wore were picked out by her to make you more appealing to the men of high society. The way your mother insisted that you talk in order to sound every bit the well raised young lady you supposedly were. Even the way you walked, slowly with purpose and with a straight posture, was engineered by your mother. 

No one ever asked what you thought of anything. Not truly. They asked questions only to hear the correct answer, the proper answer. The answer that reflected well on your upbringing and your status. Most of the time it makes you want to scream in frustration. But you’ve learned to deal with it. That seems like all you’ve been doing for years. Dealing with it, burying any ounce of personality you possess in favor of the version society expects of you

But here on the beach your mother’s words can’t reach you. In fact, nothing can. Because the only thing you can think from the moment you open your eyes is: How did I get here..?

Your throat burns faintly, as though you had swallowed seawater. Your limbs feel heavy, unfamiliar, like they don’t quite belong to you. Everything feels so surreal. 

You rack your brain for any clue on how you ended up on your back in the sand but everything is a blur. The more you try to think the worse your head throbs. You vaguely remember an argument with your mother. The topic of money and the urgency of you finding a match that would benefit the family comes to mind. You vaguely remember something about a man coming up. An argument… Is that how all this started? That can’t be right. How can an argument end up with you on a beach?

Somewhere in the distance you hear voices. Who is that? They sound familiar somehow. Instinctively the leftover tension in your body dissolves. Somehow you know that you’re safe when you hear those voices. You lay there motionless for a while longer, enjoying the feeling of not needing to be anywhere, of not needing to be anything. The voices become louder and clearer as they come closer to you. Why are they so stressed out? This is the beach, a place to relax. Can’t they see that you’re having a good time.

It kind of annoys you when they grow louder. They should just let you have your moment of peace. You feel a hand touch your shoulder and shake you, carefully at first and then grow more forceful when you don’t move. 

Someone rolls you over on your side and as they do so, your body is racked with cough as air finally fills your lungs. You can feel the salty seawater scratch your throat as it moves from your lungs and out your mouth. You can hear comforting phrases from the people who surround you. Hands are gently stroking your back as you couch, encouraging you to keep going. 

As the uncomfortable coughing dies down and the last of the water exits your body, it hits you suddenly, like a lightning strike from a clear blue sky. You remember how you got here.

“Mother, I told you a million times already: I don’t want to marry a 50 year old widower just because he has money!” You exclaim, stomping your foot on the ground like a petulant child, which you were in your mothers eyes.

“You don’t have a choice! In case you’ve missed it, we’re on the way to financial ruin after your father’s investments in the gold mine fell through. If you don’t marry Mr. Carrington we’ll be done for! The bank will cease all of our properties! We will lose our title!” Your mother’s face looks more sour than a lemon every time she mentions your family’s gentle poverty. The fall from grace had hit her especially hard. She has never been anything but a high class lady, used to having everything her heart desires at the tip of her fingertips.

Your family had once been a wealthy noble house. Your father was a baron and your mother, his baroness, was born as a viscount’s daughter before marrying your father. Back in those days your father had been the epitome of grace and wealth. While only having the title of a Baron, he had the wealth of a prince and he only had eyes for your mother. Your last name was one that had carried respect. It still does to an extent, but the money in your bank has since long run dry. 

Your father had invested heavily in a gold mining operation in 1885. In the beginning everything was going according to plan. Your family was enjoying more riches than you could ever spend. That was until the businessman your father had made the deal with ran off without a word in 1904 and took your father’s money with him. After that disaster your family wasn't swimming in money anymore, you were drowning in debt. 

Your parents have taken out numerous loans in order to save face, to preserve the family’s reputation, at least until you were old enough to be married off to a wealthy man. The hopes were that your husband would save your family from financial ruin. 

You’ve watched your parents’ love match crumble under the weight of the looming  poverty. The dinner table that was once filled with light conversation and laughter was now quiet and tense. The hallways that were bustling with staff were now empty, your mom having to take on tasks she’s never done before in her life after the majority of the staff had to be let go. The drawing room where your family used to gather to spend time together was now collecting dust.

The only staff members left were the groundskeeper, a footman and two maids. Going from a staff of over fifteen people down to four had been an adjustment for everyone. The food had gone from lavish buffets to modest meals. Meals had become quieter, smaller. No one noticed whether you had eaten your fill, if you enjoyed the food before you. They only cared  whether you had behaved correctly at the table. How your table manners were while you were eating the bland food. 

“I don’t want to marry some old man just for money!” You try to protest but your mother was having none of it. She wanted you to do your duty, to help the family out of this financial hole. You were their only hope, their only child.

“You insolent child! You don’t have a choice, this is your path in life thanks to your incompetent father. If you want to be cross with someone, be cross with him. Everything I do is to make sure you never have to suffer like I do!” Your mother screams at you, something you’ve grown more and more used to over the years. Your mother holds a lot of bitterness and resentment towards your dad and the situation he has put her in and you’re an easy outlet for her to take out all of her frustrations- and put all her hopes and dreams of a better life on.

“You’re basically selling me like price cattle for money!” You protest back, you’re fed up with your mother seeing you as nothing more than a money pouch. It wasn’t always like this, before the debts started piling up she was warm, loving. She used to love being a mom, she kept telling you about how amazing her love match was and how she wanted the same for you one day. But when the money dwindled so did your mom’s love and gentleness. She went from the rock you could always lean on, to a boulder tied to your ankle, pulling you down into the same despair she feels.

“So what? You want a love match, huh? See how well that went for me! I’m wearing the same clothes I have had for over five years! I don’t have enough staff to take care of the household. I have no dignity left! And worst of all I have to marry my only child off to a man more than twice her age to make sure that she never gets put in the position I am in right now!” Your mother’s words shock you. You’re unsure if she’s upset because she feels bad for forcing you to marry Mr. Carrington or if she’s upset because of what society will have to say about your unsavory match. But if you know your mother, chances are high that it’s the latter. 

Your mother is not an inherently unkind woman, but she is selfish and spoiled. When she had basically unlimited resources she didn’t feel the need to hoard everything for herself or use the people in her life as pawns for her benefit, it’s easy to give if you have nothing to lose. She showed you love, bought you pretty dresses, spent time with you. But the moment things got hard the kind version of her disappeared. She believes that the world owes her comfort and happiness, that’s just how she was raised. And she resents everyone who are close to her for not providing her with just that,

Your father has also changed since the money disappeared. In your memories your father looked so young, so untroubled. You remember him as a mischievous young man who spent his days playing with you, attending to his wife and taking care of the family finances. But when the news reached him that his business partner had run off something broke in him. He stopped playing in the garden with you and he stopped having deep conversations over tea with your mother about topics of little importance, preferring to spend all of his time alone with a bottle in his study. 

His hair became sprinkled with gray strands in the blink of an eye, his smile disappeared and so did his playful attitude. As they did, his smile lines were replaced with deep frown lines, a permanent show of his mood. He was a man who failed and he hated himself for it. He hated that his wife resents him, that she has to live a subpar lifestyle and he hates that he has to put this kind of burden on his daughter’s shoulders. 

Had he been a stronger man, perhaps he would’ve figured out a way to get himself and his family out of this hole that he has gotten you into. Maybe he would’ve put the little money he had left into investments instead of into alcohol, but your father was not a strong man. He had never had to be one. He was born into wealth, the oldest son of a Baron, destined to inherit the title. He has never in his life had to get his hands dirty, not truly. And when things went down, he didn’t rise up to the occasion, he fell deeper into despair.

You can’t claim that the financial change hasn’t affected you either. You were only fourteen when the money ran dry. You went from a happy young teenager to a more hardened version of yourself. You stopped trusting as blindly as you used to. If your parents, the people who were supposed to keep you safe and love you no matter what, couldn't provide you with a stable life and unconditional love, then who would? Sometimes you miss the naive young lady you used to be. Once upon a time you had been boisterous and free.  You used to laugh without thinking. Loud, unrestrained, unbecoming of a lady. You couldn’t remember the last time you had done that. Back then you could afford to be loud and obnoxious. No matter how much of your personality you showed you knew you’d be alright. You had your family name to fall back on. If your personality was unsavory for a lady and you were unable to find a husband you could always become a wealthy spinster. Not that it was likely that no men would be interested in you. Back then your dowry would be enough to attract the cream of the crop, now, it is barely enough to attract the bottom of the barrel of gentlemen.

“I don’t need a love match! But I don’t want to marry an old man who is the same age as my father!” Your protests seem to fly right over your mother’s head. She doesn’t want to hear it. In her mind this is already a done deal. The only thing she was thinking right now was probably how unbecoming it is for you as a young lady to be this loud and opinionated. She had taught you that strong emotions were taboo, that tears were to be hidden, anger swallowed whole before it could bubble to the surface. She had drilled this into your head since it became apparent that your family’s status could no longer guarantee you a match. And you had listened, after all you wanted to make your mother proud. But this is where you draw the line. You will not marry that old man without a fight.

“You don’t have a choice! No other man will have you thanks to your father’s incompetence” Your mother’s words are true. Had things played out differently over the years you would’ve been one of the most sought after girls in society. A baron’s daughter from a respectable family with a long lineage without scandal. Your last name along with your good manners and beautiful face would’ve almost guaranteed you a favorable match. But people know about your financial troubles and any respectable aristocratic bachelor is staying far away from such scandal. Which is why Mr. Carrington seems to be your only option, the only man who would have you. He is a part of the gentry with no noble blood in his family but he is one hell of a businessman and had accumulated a big fortune throughout his life. The only thing left that he does not have to stroke his ego after he has acquired both wealth and power is a title. He wants to be apart of the nobility and that’s where you come into play. 

With no male heir in the bloodline and you being the only daughter of the baron, whoever marries you also inherits the title. You could see it in Mr. Carrington’s eyes every time you’ve met him. The disgusting social climbing greed that makes him practically salivate at the thought of finally getting that title. 

You feel more like an object than a person when you speak to him. He never asks you about your interests or your wants or opinions. No, he only ever talks about himself, what he likes, what he wants for a wife. Someone quiet and obedient and of course someone who can bear him many sons, something his late wife failed to do. 

His late wife. A young woman of the gentry who was unfortunate enough to get involved with this man. Her family was also a wealthy one and from what you’ve gathered from reading in between the lines while speaking with him, he only married her for her sizable dowry. Not once has he said anything remotely kind about her. All he ever does is tell you about her shortcomings and how he expects you to do better than her. He tells you about how she was a bad hostess who didn't know the first thing about entertaining guests and he reminds you that he expects you to entertain his friends several times a week. He tells you about how she failed to give him an heir and promises to make your life a living hell if you fail too.

You can’t help but pity the poor woman. Even in death her husband won’t let her rest. At least you have the prospect of him passing away early and setting you free from his torment to keep you going. Yes, that thought, the thought of becoming a widow is the light at the end of your tunnel.

For you know that your mother will not change her mind. She will not let you get out of this engagement. She wants that money and she wants it bad. So bad that she’s willing to essentially sell her own daughter for it. And your father does not have enough of a spine to tell her no. Ever since the money disappeared he has not said no to your mother, letting her have her way because he’s too ashamed of how he got her into this situation to begin with. 

“Mother, if it is money that you need, I’ll get a job.” You throw out a last hail Mary. You know that it’s a stupid suggestion. The amount of money that your mother desires is far beyond what any job you could get would pay. Realistically there are only so many jobs that you can do as a woman, and as a woman of nobility you having to work would be a huge scandal, maybe even bigger than the debts that your father has accumulated.

“Unacceptable!” Your mother’s voice is so shrill that for a second you worry that the windows might shatter but the message is clear: You will marry Mr. Carrington and that is final.

Your shoulders slump as realization slowly sets in. There is no escaping this. There are no words that you can say to convince her to change her mind. No pleading you can do that will make her take pity on you. To your mother you are little more than a piggy bank. Her ticket out of the poverty you have lived in the last six years. In her eyes you have been an investment, and it’s time to cash in. 

“I curse the day that you were born!” Your voice spits at her with all the rage you feel inside. The words leave your mouth before you can stop them and for a moment, you don’t recognize yourself. You’ve been quiet, compliant, for years now. You didn’t even realize that you had these kind of words in your vocabulary, or this volume to your voice, but fuck did it feel good to finally scream. How is it fair that you are solely responsible for fixing your parents’ money troubles? You feel like crying at the thought of marrying that man. You feel like throwing something, breaking something, but you know that it would only land you in a worse situation. So instead you  storm away, up the stairs and into your room, slamming the door with a loud bang, taking all of your frustrations out at the object instead of at your mother.

You can hear your mother’s angry voice from downstairs calling you all sorts of different names under the sun. Scratch that, that is not your mother anymore, she lost the privilege of calling herself that after she arranged this marriage, after she arranged for you to essentially be sold off for her own benefit. No, she is not your mother anymore, she is the baroness. If all she cares about is her reputation she might as well be referred to as the title that she is so proud of.

Everything is too much. Your chest is heaving but you cannot take a proper breath. This cursed corset is constricting your every move, just like your mother’s rules have constricted you for years now. The more you think about it the more you start to panic. You will live your entire life in a damn corset, tied tightly across your waist to make you look more desirable. You will live your entire life constricted by this piece of clothing, you will never be free. Not for as long as you stay here. 

You will have to follow the rules society has put on your shoulders. You will have to walk the path your mother has laid out for you. The wedding is in a week and from the moment you say ”I do” you will be little more than Mr. Carrington’s play-thing to do with whatever he pleases. 

You need this corset off, you need it off right now! Fuck, you can’t breathe anymore. You try desperately to take it off, to untie the laces that are tied way too tightly. Your fingers grapple with the strings but the knot that your mother tied for you is way too tight for you to be able to get it off by yourself. 

The more you try the more desperate you become. Get it off! You need to breathe! You need to scream! All that comes out of you is a pathetic sob as you fall on your knees in the middle of your bedroom. 

The hardwood floor is cold and hard as you sit there and hyperventilate. Your shoulders shake as your body is racked with sobs. Your shoulders are burning with the effort to try to reach behind your back and untie the cage-like piece of clothing but no matter how much you try you can’t get your corset off to take a proper breath. So you give up. Your shoulders slump as all the fight leave your body. 

All you can do is cry, so you do. You cry desperately as the walls close in on you, caging you in like the pet you are, no, not the pet you are, the pet you have become.

You weren’t always like this. You weren’t always this complicit. How could you have let yourself become this pathetic? Why did you let your mother get this controlling? You should’ve said something before. You should’ve spoken up earlier. Maybe if you kept your fiery spirit you would’ve never ended up in this situation to begin with. But now it’s too late. Hands have been shaken, the date has been set, invites have been sent. 

If you had refused to become the perfect doll your mother desired, would your life have turned out different? 

This isn’t right! You shouldn’t let your mother choose your life for you. But how could you escape this now? Everyone already knows about the upcoming wedding. If you try to back out now you’ll be ruined forever. You will never find a husband. Not even the most desperate of gentlemen would touch you with a ten foot pole if you’re involved in such a scandal. 

You would have to live the rest of your life as a spinster under your parents’ crumbling roof. There would be no prospect of a better life anymore. You’d live in gentle poverty until the collectors come and the money truly runs out. After that you’ll live in true poverty, you and your parents will be thrown out on the streets and have your title revoked. Forever shunned by society. At least if you marry Mr. Carrington you’ll be a respectable member of society. You’ll have money, staff, security. Even if that money is his and not yours you’ll be able to spend it. 

Both of the options feel like a prison sentence, you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t. You’re stuck, and while all you want to do is scream and cry and call this whole thing off, hide in your room forever but you know that’s impossible. 

That thought makes you panic once more. There is no getting out of this, not truly. 

The room feels too small once more, too tight, too much.

A strangled sound tears from your throat as your fingers curl uselessly in your lap, bunching up the skirt you’re wearing. You can’t breathe no matter how hard you try, your lungs refuse to fill properly, each inhale is shallow and trembling.

This is it, this is what the rest of your life will feel like.

Tight.

Controlled.

Suffocating.

Your gaze drifts, unfocused, clouded with tears until it lands on the mirror across the room.

For a moment, you don’t recognize the girl staring back at you.

Her hair is still perfectly styled, not a strand out of place. Her dress sits exactly as it should, pristine and proper. Even now, on her knees, shaking and gasping for air, she looks… just like her mother. 

You’ve always been told you look like your mother and up until this moment you’ve seen it as a compliment. Your mother is known for her beauty. Back in her debutant days she was the most desirable of young ladies. She has changed with age, the beauty of her youth has changed into something more mature. She looks more bitter nowadays than you remember her looking in the past. In the past when you were proud to be your mother’s daughter. But now you’re disgusted by the fact that her face can be mirrored in yours. 

A bitter laugh bubbles up in your chest, warped and wrong. Is this what your mother sees when she looks at you? Not a daughter or a person. Just an extension of herself that she can do with as she pleases. Not someone, but something. Something to be displayed and then traded for money to the highest bidder. A disobedient but still presentable child who is making a scene but will come around in the end.

Your hands tremble as they slowly press against the floor, grounding yourself.

No. No, this isn’t right. You will not give her the satisfaction of succeeding. She can’t ruin your life and get everything she wants. Something inside you shifts. Something sharp, sudden, irreversible. You are not a thing to be sold, you are not a title to be traded. You are not his, you are not hers. Your life is your own and you’ll be damned if you’ll live in this corset for the rest of it. 

The thought comes quietly at first, then louder, then it roars: Run!

Your breath stutters. Run? The word feels foreign, it feels dangerous and impossible. And yet…

Your eyes flick toward the door, your mother is still downstairs. The house is still, the world outside is still there…Waiting… Is it waiting for you? A life outside of this iron cage with gold plating that’s beginning to chip?

Your heart begins to pound, not with panic this time, but something else. Something you haven’t felt in a long time. It’s wild and it’s alive. It’s defiance and determination. If you stay, your life is over. If you leave everything is unknown. You pause for a second. Loathsome security or the unknown? That is the question. 

Unknown is better than this. Unknown means possibilities. You have to give yourself that. You have to at least try to give yourself the possibility of a better life for yourself. A life of your own. Not the life that your mother wants for you but something that you can decide. 

Before you can think better of it, you push yourself to your feet. Your movements are unsteady at first, your body is still trembling. You're unsure if it’s trembling because of the breakdown you had just a minute ago or if it’s trembling because of the adrenaline pumping through your veins. But no matter how shaky you are, urgency takes over quickly.

You cross the room in hurried steps, your hands fumbling with your wardrobe. You don’t think, you just grab. You grab whatever your irrational, adrenaline filled brain thinks is necessary. 

A cloak, a pair of sturdier shoes, anything that doesn’t scream baron’s daughter. You grab the simplest clothes you own and shove them into the bag. You look at the corsets hanging in the closet and for a moment you debate whether or not you should pack them. After you ponder for a minute you decide that it’s the reasonable thing to do. You won’t be able to show yourself at all if you don’t have a corset on. However, you decide to only pack the softest ones, the ones that you can still breathe in.

Your reflection catches your eye again as you pass the mirror. For a split second, you hesitate. Then your hands move to your hair, roughly pulling pins free. Strands fall loose around your face, wild and improper. Good, you look less like her now, less like what they made you. 

After the valise is packed all you can do is wait. You can’t escape now, not during the middle of the day. Your parents are still awake, the maids are working all throughout the house and the groundskeeper is in the garden. If you try to leave now you’ll for sure be caught. No, you have to wait until nightfall. 

You sit quietly in your room, the silence is deafening. But unlike the many days and nights you’ve spent cooped up here before, the silence doesn’t feel suffocating. Before this tipping point nights were the worst. The silence stretched endlessly, filled only with thoughts you dared not speak aloud. Thoughts on how you hated the life you lead, how you wished for it all to end somehow.

Now you can finally see that end in your mind. It’s different than you used to imagine it. Before you only saw everything fading to black and putting you out of your misery. But now there is a blurry light at the end of the tunnel. You’re unsure of what lies behind the light but all you know is that it’s not nothingness, it is something.

Night comes slowly, so slowly that it feels like eternity before the darkness finally graces you with its presence. First the blue sky transforms into pinkish orange hues before they fade to the dark, starsprinkled nightsky you’ve been waiting for. 

When you hear the grandfather clock in the hallway signal that the clock is midnight you finally start moving. You pick up your valise, heavy with clothing and look at your room for what you think is the last time.

It’s still decorated for a child. After the money disappeared, renovating your childhood room was far down on the list of priorities for your family. You outgrew this room years ago but you still feel a pang of sadness at the thought of never seeing it again. Memories from your childhood flood your mind. Memories from before everything changed and your mother turned rotten. She used to read you to bed even if it was unbecoming of a lady of her status to handle childcare. You know that once upon a time she had loved you but that love turned into something ugly over the years. You guess that financial burdens really do change people. Maybe she’ll love you once more after you fix her problems?

That thought is almost enough to make you stay. Almost enough to coax you to unpack the bag and throw away this foolish plan. Almost. But not enough.

You turn your back to the room where you went from a baby, to a girl into a woman, saying a quiet goodbye to all of those phases of your life as you quietly open your bedroom door.

The hallway is quiet as usual. Had this been ten years ago there would’ve probably been a stray maid or two who were finishing up a task they hadn’t gotten done during the day. But now the two poor maids who are still employed by your household are so exhausted at the end of the day that you know they’re sleeping soundly in their quarters. 

The sound of your shoes is dull as you gently tiptoe on the hardwood floors of your home. Years of living in this very house has made you extremely aware of how to sneak from your room to the kitchen. 

Normally you would’ve done it to grab a midnight snack without your mother scolding you for eating too much and getting chubby, but today the stakes are much higher. You move slowly and quietly through the house. until you reach the staircase. Once you’re at the bottom of it you take a left and walk until you reach the kitchen. 

On the way there you pass your father’s study and your breath catches in your throat when you realize that the light is still on. He’s never awake this late. Why did he have to be today? This is just your luck. You mutter a curse under your breath before carefully approaching the door. 

It’s slightly ajar, just enough for you to see in and vice versa, for him to see out. Carefully you duck down low, laying your body on the floor in order to not be at eye level before peaking in through the gap. You hold your breath as your gaze moves through the room. It’s not before you see your father passed out on his couch that you breathe a sigh of relief. You get up from the floor and continue your escape. 

Hardwood floors turn to stone tiles as you enter the kitchen and there you see it. The servants' exit. On the other side is the outdoors and you quickly walk over there, no longer worried about if your footsteps are loud or not. The kitchen is far enough away from any of the bedrooms in the house for someone to wake up because of the sound and based on the empty bottle beside your father, he is in deep slumber and could probably sleep through a war right now. 

You move toward the door, your hand hovering over the handle. If you open it there’s no going back. Your life, your name, your place in society will all be gone.

Your chest tightens again, but this time it’s different. Not suffocation or panic this time. It’s fear mixed with something entirely new, an emotion you never thought you’d feel again, freedom. You swallow hard. Then you open the door.

You had planned it all while you waited for the night to fall. You carefully close the door behind you, leaving no trace behind before hurrying off towards the docks. The grand mansions of the nobility turn into the posh houses of the gentry, then they become the modest streets of the working class. As you walk the sidewalk transforms from the well paved ones you are used to, to the uneven stonework that the working class use. But you also notice that as the sidewalks turn more uneven and the houses turn more modest, your steps feel lighter.

You realize that you’ve never walked the streets like this. The only time you actually walk around is while you’re out on a promenade with your mother as a chaperone. And even then, that was a highly planned out event with strict rules and customs to follow. You have never in your life walked to get someplace without having to think about your every single move, not truly. When you needed to go somewhere you would always use the carriage. But now you can feel the stone beneath your feet and you can feel the cold air hitting your face.

You realize that to most people this wouldn’t be such a big deal, it might even be seen as a nuisance to carry a heavy bag on the street in the middle of the night. But to you it’s everything, it’s everything you’ve never been able to do. 

There aren’t many people out on the streets at this time of night. Most people are already tucked into bed by now, resting for the next day. Only you and the occasional drunk or beggar are still out here. You’re glad that you changed into modest clothing before you left. If you had been walking around here in your normal posh attire, you would’ve certainly become a target.

You must’ve walked for hours before you reached the harbour. The black sky is starting to turn purplish pink as morning meets night. Your feet ache and your eyes feel heavy but you dare not stop. If you’re still in the city by the time your parents wake up they could find you. No, you cannot stop now. You have to keep going.

The morning fog is thick in the air and you hear the harbor before you see it. You hear the sailors shouting at each other, laughing and talking loudly. It is so different from the conversations you’re used to. You’re used to polite small talk about safe topics. You’ve had predictable conversations about the weather, about floral arrangements and what clothing is fashionable this season so often that you’ve practically memorized them by now. 

But these sailors speak of their families, the women they’ve been with. Cursewords you’ve never even heard before are thrown around without much care. If a person of your status were to use those words it would be a guaranteed scandal.

When you finally have the harbour within eyesight you look around for a suitable vessel to take you away from here. Your gaze moves over the different boats. Most of them are small fisherboats, way too tiny for you to be able to hide for long enough that turning around is no longer an option. With the fisherboats there is also the high possibility that they will simply go out to sea before returning to this very dock again. 

You need a bigger boat. A boat that will not return here and is big enough for you to hide on.  

You finally spot the perfect one. It is a big boat at the far end of the harbour with strange writing on it. It is not a language you recognize which means that it must be foreign. Perfect, that’ll have to do.

You quickly hurry over there and see people loading on luggage. Whoever owns this boat must not be planning on returning based on the amount of things they’re bringing. The staff look unlike the people you normally see. They all have dark hair and angular eyes. You find it fascinating that people can look so different from yourself but you also find it beautiful. These people come from a land far away from here and you can’t wait to explore it. 

They speak amongst each other in a language you do not recognize. It sounds rhythmic and flowy. Like a stream of words steadily moving through the air. You find it almost calming. Even as they’re shouting orders at each other the language sounds lyrical. It might just be the novelty of it all that’s making you so enthralled. Afterall, it’s not often that you’re exposed to languages, cultures or people unlike those you’re used to.   

You wait for the perfect moment to sneak onboard. All of the staff move off the boat to collectively carry a particularly heavy box. When their backs are turned you hurry onto the gangway and quickly step on the boat. 

It was more difficult than you expected to walk on the unstable pathway while carrying your heavy bag and trying to be both quick and quiet. For a moment you almost trip, you can feel your balance failing and your body swaying. If you fall now it’s all over. There are no do overs if you fail now. You will be sent back to your home and never let out again. You can’t let that happen.

It is by sheer luck and pure determination that your body balances itself again. You’ll be damned if your life ends here. Because that is what would happen if you were to marry Mr. Carrington. Your life would no longer be your own. It would be his to use, to mold and form into something you don’t recognize.

You hurry up your steps after you find your footing again, trying to make up for the time you lost while fumbling to find your balance. Tap, tap, tap, your footstens sound like on the gangway. The sound turns more dull as your feet move from the gangway over to the wood flooring of the ship. 

You realize how entirely unprepared you were to do this as you’er looking over the deck. Where do you hide? You don’t know the first thing about ships. Is there a basement? You feel your pulse start to quicken again, you cannot be discovered. For the love of god, please don’t let me be discovered. Is all you can think.

You snap out of it. Panicking will get you nowhere. You can panic later when you’re hidden but not now. If you panic now you won’t achieve anything. So you force your shoulders to relax and harden your unfocused gaze. Your mind moves a mile a minute as you asses the situation. There are no stairs as far as you can see. They might be on the other side of the ship but if you were to go exploring now the risk of you being discovered is too great. No, you need to make a decision right now.  

Okay think, what can you do? Where can you hide? The only viable option is amongs the cargo. There are plenty of boxes to keep you hidden. There is the risk that those boxes are to be moved again before the ship sets sail but it’s probably your best option. 

You haul your heavy valise once more and move as quickly as possible without making too much noise. You hurriedly move the boxes to make small space for you to hide in the middle of them. Once you’re done you move them again to make sure that you’re hidden from all angles. Luck is on you side today as you find a piece of fabric to drape over the boxes and hide you from above as well.

It’s not until after you’re completely boxed in, pun unintended, that you let go of the breath that has been stuck in your chest since you left your room all those hours ago. You’re really doing this. You’re leaving everything behind to set sail towards an unknown foreign land. 

Most people would say you’re crazy but you know this is the right choice. You would rather start over from zero than marry that foul old man.

For a while, you don’t move, you don’t dare to move in fear of being discovered. Your body is tense, every muscle locked in place as you strain your ears for any sign that you’ve been discovered. Your heart is still pounding violently against your ribcage, so loud you’re certain it must give you away.

But nothing happens. There is no shouting, no footsteps rushing toward you, no hands ripping the boxes away, just… voices.

The voices are muffled at first, then they become clearer. The crew must’ve returned to the boat.

You can hear the heavy box being set down somewhere nearby, followed by the low murmur of conversation. The same unfamiliar language flows through the air again, rhythmic and smooth, rising and falling like waves against the shore.

You hold your breath as footsteps pass dangerously close to your hiding place.

One step. Two. Three. They pause.

Your heart stops. Oh no, they’ve noticed something is wrong with the boxes. Any second now you expect someone to pull the fabric off and discover you. You feel like crying at the thought, at the thought of having to go back to your mother after this. At least you had a small taste of freedom before you’re stuck in a lifetime of misery.

A voice says something, closer this time. It sounds like he’s questioning something. Another voice responds in what you make out to be a dismissive tone

A beat of silence. Then…The footsteps continue.

You nearly collapse in on yourself from relief, your body sagging as the tension leaves you all at once. That was close. Vay too close.

You press a trembling hand against your mouth, trying to quiet your breathing. You can’t afford to make a single mistake. Not now. Not when you’ve come this far.

Time passes though you’re not sure how much. Has it been minutes? Hours?

It all blurs together in the darkness. Eventually, the sounds around you begin to change. The shouting grows louder, more coordinated, urgent, but not frantic. You hear the unmistakable creak of wood shifting beneath weight.

The groan of something massive being pulled. Then a deep, resonant sound echoes through the ship.

Your breath catches in your throat as it hits you. They’re leaving, the ship is actually leaving the dock. You’re leaving the city where you grew up. The city that holds all of your happiest memories but also all the most miserable years of your life. 

A strange feeling settles in your chest. It isn’t fear or sadness, not entirely. It’s something heavier, something final. There is no turning back now even if you wanted to, even if you begged, even if your mother came running down the docks screaming your name,

You are already gone, both physically and mentally this time. The realization washes over you slowly, like the tide creeping up the shore. You’ve done it, you’ve left. You left your life behind to start anew and there is no going back now. 

A shaky breath leaves your lips, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. You don’t know where you’re going. You don’t know what will happen to you. But for the first time in years, maybe even ever, your life is your own.

That thought both excites and terrifies you. You can feel the adrenaline leaving your body and unexpectedly you feel tears well up in your eyes. The thought of never going back to the city where you spent your entire childhood and early adulthood is a heavy one. Even if the last couple of years have been miserable it was still a part of you. 

Even the thought of never seeing your parents again makes you irrationally sad. In your memories you can still see the younger versions of them. The versions where they were happy, present, loving. They used to be your world, you lived for their affection, still did up until a couple of hours ago. You have spent the last six years trying to gain that affection back, ignoring insults, objectification and being overlooked. But the arranged marriage to Mr. Carrington was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

No matter how sad and hollow you feel right now, no matter how much your hands are shaking both from the adrenaline crash and the gripping fear of the unknown, you know that you made the right decision. The only decision that wouldn’t equal a lifetime of unhappiness.

The first day onboard this unknown ship drags on. You don’t dare to move from your spot yet. It’s too risky to do it during the day when the entire crew is active and awake. It’s especially risky right now because if they were to find you the boat is still close enough to the harbor that it would be possible to turn around. You can’t let that happen. Your mind is already set on finding a new path in a land far, far away from your old life. To go back now would crush you.

So you stay hidden. Even though your body is aching and your legs are screaming to move you dare not move. Instead you wait.

You wait for the light shining through the fabric above you disappears and darkness falls like a blanket over the world. As the light dwindles out, so does the noise. The voices that have been heard all throughout the deck all day become more quiet until they disappear. The footsteps that have made a steady rhythm for hours go quiet and only then do you dare to move.

You carefully lift up the fabric that has been keeping you hidden and peak your head out. The deck is empty and the lights are turned off. You assess the situation and make a loose gameplan in your head. 

Your priority right now is finding food and water, you need to survive long enough to make it off this ship. 

You make your way out of your hiding place, taking off your shoes to be extra quiet. You can’t help but be a little amused at the thought of your mother knowing that you’re walking around barefoot. She would have an absolute fit if she knew. But she never will, she'll never know anything about you ever again.

You gently pad along the wood deck of the ship, looking out for any sign of people awake. You search for anything that can pass as food or water. You curse when you realize that they most likely wouldn’t keep the edibles up on the deck where they could easily be soiled by rain or knocked overboard. You’ll have to go below deck.

The world below deck is completely uncharted territory for you. But you guess you’ll have to get used to it. Your whole life is uncharted territory from this point forward. 

It takes a minute for your eyes to adjust to the dark halls of the ship. You try to figure out the way to the kitchen but you soon give up and decide that you’ll just have to walk around until you find it. 

Your sense of direction is tested to it’s absolute limits. Not only is it dark so you can’t see properly, all the halls on this ship seems look exactly the same to you and not to mention that you have to stay quiet as a mouse while you’re searching. It feels like a mission impossible to find that godforsaken kitchen but eventually you do. You peak into a room where the door is slightly ajar and finally you see something that looks like a kitchen. 

You open the door as quietly as you can, having to do so very slowly when you realize that it’s creaking on the hinges. Once the door is open enough for you to slip in you look yourself over the shoulder one more time, making sure that there isn’t anyone around before entering and closing the door behind you.

You make quick work of it, looking over as many drawers and cabinets as possible. Most of the food there are ingredients you don’t have any use for at the moment. You're not desperate enough to eat pure flour yet. 

So you keep looking, there has to be some fruit or bread or something of the sort somewhere around here. You finally find the storage room where they keep the ready to eat food. You use your dress as a basket, once more thinking about the scolding from hell you’d get from your mother if she were to see you now. 

You grab everything that you can carry, making sure that you don’t grab too many items of one kind of food in order to not make it obvious that someone has been here. You grab three apples, a couple of slices of bread, some carrots, a handful of oats and some plums. 

You keep looking for water and finally find some glass bottles, you grab one and then quickly make your way back to the boxes you call home. How sad, a baron’s daughter literally living in a box. Your birthright was to live spoiled and sheltered in a manor, switching between your country estate and the house your family owns in the city as the season changes. 

You were supposed to never lift a finger, having staff do all the hard work for you. You were supposed to be the cream of the crop but life didn’t play out that way. No, life dealt you a winning hand only to take it away and now you’ll have to work for your victory. You have to risk it all in order to find happiness and you’re both grateful and bitter about that fact. 

Grateful that you even had the guts to uproot your entire life and escape from the rusting cage that was your home. You’re going to see more of the world than anyone you know has, you’re going on the biggest adventure of your life.

Bitter because there is still a part of you that longs for your former life, the life you were promised at birth. When you were a little girl you were so excited to properly enter society and find a suitable match for yourself. Your biggest dream as a child was to grow up and be exactly like your mother. Find a good man who loves you, who takes care of you and have beautiful little babies with him. 

You realize that you might still experience that but it will never be the same. Even if you get everything you ever wanted. Even if you get the husband, the beautiful house and the lovely children, you would never be able to show them the pond where you would watch the swans during the summer and ice skate on during the winter. You would never be able to introduce your husband to your father who would give his approval for him to marry you. You would never have your mother over for tea in your drawing room. 

Whatever life you have in front of you is going to be completely separate from the one you’ve lived. There is a clear before and a clear after. There is your life before you got on this ship, the life of a baron’s daughter whose father’s wealth was crumbling before her eyes. And then there is the life of a runaway noble woman who got on a ship. What that life will look like you’re still unsure but sooner or later you will find out. 

You hope that one day this will all just be a small chapter in the story of your life. You hope that you’ll sit before a warm fireplace with one of your grandchildren in your lap and another one sitting beside you on the couch and happily tell them about how you escaped from your old life and eventually met their grandfather.

That thought is what keeps you going for the next couple of days. The thought of a better life where all of the problems of your past are so small that you can barely remember them. As the days start to bleed into each other, the only sign you have of the passing of time being the sun rising and setting and the only action being your little trips to the kitchen to refill your food and water supply. The thought of your life once the ship reaches its destination is what keeps you going.

Yoongi has always been an observant person. Some people might call him broody but he prefers the term aware. It’s hard to keep secrets from him, not with his knowing eyes looking at you with a questioning gaze. 

He is not one to make rash decisions without thinking. He would much rather sit back and let the situation unfold itself before he steps in. 

So when he notices that the food is disappearing at a slightly faster rate than it should he keeps quiet. It’s not enough to raise any alarm, they brought more than enough. He keeps a mental track on all the produce that seems to be taken. All of it being things you can eat raw, interesting… 

The girl is smarter than he thought. It has been two weeks since they left and she has yet to be spotted. By anyone besides him that is. He had his suspicions from the very first day. He noticed that the wooden boxes weren't in the formation the crew normally put them when they’re packing. 

At first he brushed it off, sometimes coincidences are just that, coincidental. But when he heard muted footsteps outside of his bedroom door at one in the morning his curiosity peaked once more. He had stuck his head out of his door and saw the back of a woman. 

She wore the kind of clothes he had seen the foreign people of the land he and his companions had visited for the last year. Her hair was flowing down her back in a way he had learned was scandalous in their society.

After that evening he had kept his eye out and when he was looking for it, the signs of her existence were quite obvious. It wasn’t just the food that was being taken that indicated that she had come out of her hiding place during the night. 

He kept track of the doors before he went into his room in the evenings. He noticed which ones were ajar, which ones were open and which ones were closed. By the morning, the order was rearranged. She has gotten bold, he noted. In the beginning she only ever went to the kitchen and back but as the days went by she started exploring.

One evening she had been in their music room. He noticed it when he went inside to play the pianoforte. He saw that the sheet music was in different order than he had put it in the day before, she had gone through it. He wonders if she plays or if she only saw the notes on the paper as ink without meaning.

Another day he noticed that she had been to the small art gallery on board. One of the chairs in the room had been moved slightly to the left during the night. He smiles to himself as he notices it. She is getting bolder, using their furniture.

He figures it must be because they’re nearing the point in time where turning around is no longer an option. If she can hold out for another week or so they’re going to be too far away from where they left to warrant turning around. She will get to stay on the ship and she knows it, she's smart, he'll admit that.

One night heard her footsteps outside of his door again and this time he decided to follow her. He kept sneaking behind her. At first she went into the kitchen to grab her food as usual. 

Yoongi had made sure that her normal items were in the tiny storage room in the kitchen. He didn’t know if she knew about the big storage room yet but he figured that she hadn’t found it yet. So he kept her favorites in stock here to make her life a little easier.

He stayed out of her sight, not wanting her to see him yet. He didn’t really know why he let her think she was still undetected after all these weeks but he found her quite fascinating. What could make a woman board an unknown ship just like that? So he did what he did best, stayed quiet, observing and analysing. 

After she exits the kitchen with her basket, something he knows is a new addition to her inventory after he conveniently “forgot” it in the storage room four nights ago. She walks down the hall once more but this time, instead of taking the left turn that would lead her to the stairs to the deck, she took a right.

Yoongi follows her, curious as to where she’s going. She walks along the hallway confidently, she must’ve already memorized this part of the ship, until she gets to the door to the library and gently pries it open. 

Lucky for Yoongi and his morbid curiosity, she leaves it half open behind her. He positions himself so that he can see her but she can’t see him and simply watches her.

He watches as the woman walks along the bookshelves and gently runs her fingers along the spines of the books. Most of them are in Korean, which Yoongi can almost with a hundred percent certainty say that she can’t understand. He sees her look at the foreign language with an alphabet so unlike the one she is used to. She keeps looking at all of the books until she reaches the small section of the library that contains books in English. 

The guys had bought them in order to improve their language skills. So far Namjoon was by far the most proficient out of the seven of them, he could almost speak the language as well as a native could. The guy had a knack for picking up complex concepts and intricate details at a speed far exceeding that of the average person. 

Yoongi would like to think that he himself was at least basic conversational after spending so many months abroad, learning the language. If he could guess, he would say that he and Seokjin knew enough to have a semi complex conversation if they truly wanted it. 

The other four guys are at varying stages of beginner English with Jungkook and Hoseok being the best at pronunciation and Taehyung seeming to understand at least sixty percent of what is being said. 

Jimin was probably the least knowledgable but he could say basic phrases and could probably hold a surface level conversation semi-well.

The woman before him grabs one of the English books from the bookshelf. A book with a compilation of classic European fairy tales. Yoongi in particular had relied heavily on that specific book when he was learning how to read the English alphabet. 

He couldn’t help himself. His legs were moving before he could think. Before he knew it he was right behind her. She didn’t seem to notice the presence behind her yet, too engulfed in the book in her hands.

He should turn around and leave her alone. If  he was to keep observing her like he has been doing the past few weeks he can’t let her know that she has been discovered, that would defeat the whole purpose. But the urge to speak to her was too strong and he didn’t even realize what he was doing before the words escaped his mouth.

“I like that one”

yourusername:

liked by joeyb_9, taylorswift and others

yourusername: Just a little something I wrote recently🤭

Juno out tonight 8pm EST

view comments:

user1: Girlie is finally releasing music again?? Album when???

user2: Pop is back!

user3: you'll find me SCREAMING

user4: Juno?? Like the goddess of love and marriage..?

- user5: Wait! You're onto something!!!!

- user6: y'all what if she means the movie

- user7: what movie?

- user6: Dang, you're making me feel old

taylorswift: They're not ready for it

- user8: TAYLOR????? HELLOOOO??

- user9: REP TV REFERENCE!!!

- user10: easter egg??!!!

- user 11: girl that's a whole easter basket

joeyb_9: nice dress

- user12: excuse me? sir?

- user13: I just know they're up to something

lahjay10_: Joe has not stopped smiling all morning practice

- user14: It's about him then???

- user15: He's giggling and kicking his feet I just know it

user16: Joe can you fight??

- joeyb_9: yes I can

- user16: oop- I was not expecting that

- user17: he gagged you fr

user18: I don't know if I wanna be her, or be with her

- user19: the struggle is real

yourusername:

liked by joeyb_9, zendaya and others

yourusername: oops... wrong pic🤭 Juno out now btw

view comments:

user1: you're this thirsty on main????!!!!

user2: girl calm down

user3: NOW THATS WHAT I CALL AN OVULATION SONG

user4: I'm actually speechless after listening to this...

- user5: No becuase WHAT DO YOU MEAN MARK YOUR TERRITORY???!!

user5: hold me and explore me??? GIRL!

user6: SOMEONE NEEDS TO CONTROL MY GIRL Y/N

- user7: we need to spay her frfr

user8: tf you mean freaky positions???

user9: I mean, have you seen her man??? I don't blame her

- user10: The only pop-girlie with a hot boyfriend I fear

- user11: Louis Partridge exists yk

user12: I was gonna say you swan🦢 he frog🐸 but I fear can't

user13: how are you able to look your parents in the eyes after this girl???

user14: She and Joe be freaky like that ig

joeyb_9: I feel honored

- user15: YOU GUYS ARE INSANE!!

- user16: did not expect this when I woke up this morning

- user17: Joe, are you well???

user18: I always knew they were freaky

yourusername:

liked by joeyb_9, milliebobbybrown and others

yourusername: One of me is cute, but two though?

Surprise! Double whammy you guys 34+35 out now!

view comments:

user1: SHE'S INSANE!

user2: nah what do you mean 34+35??? you freakyyyyy!!!

user3: tf you mean "got the neighbors yelling earthquake"????

user4: What kind of freak-juice do they put in the water in Cincinnati?

user5: Let me breath, damn. I haven't even recovered from Juno yet

joeyb_9: I can make sure that there is two of you by this time next year

- yourusername: I just might let you🤭

- lahjay10_: BRING BACK SHAME!!!!

- jjettas2: NORMALIZE BULLYING!!!

- user6: Ja'marr?? Justin?? hello???

- user7: I stand with Justin and Ja'marr because writing this on main is CRAZY

- user8: WE NEED TO PUT BOTH JOE AND Y/N IN HORNY JAIL!

user9: That's enough screen time for you missy

user10: THESE LYRICS ARE CRAZYYYY

- user11: They're not even trying to be subtle

user12: Didn't Joe say in one interview that he goes to bed by like 8pm. Tf you mean "we started at midnight, go 'til the sunrise"??

- user13: One of them is lying and I think it's the blonde one

- user14: both of them are blonde

- user13: @/youmissedthejoke

user15: yall are acting like this is sum crazy shit but if I had a boyfriend who looked like that I would be acting WAYYYY worse

- user16: FR! Like if I looked like Y/N and my bf looked like Joe, you would not be catching us leaving the house

yourusername:

liked by joeyb_9, alix_earle and others

yourusername: Have you ever tried this one?

view comments:

user1: Ma'am there are kids on this app

joeyb_9: yeah we did it last night, remember?

- yourusername: no, can you remind me😇

- lahjay10_: EW EW EW EW EW

- lahjay10_: THAT'S ENOUGH!

- lahjay10_: I NEED BLEACH FOR MY EYES

- lahjay10_: I'M TELLING MANAGEMENT!!

- lahjay10_: THIS IS AN HR ISSUE

- user2: is Ja'marr okay?

- user3: He's crashing out

- user4: bro is tweaking

user5: we can try it out if you want to🤭

- joeyb_9: She's busy

- user6: we need lock him up or something

- yourusername: would handcuffs suffice?

- user7: EXCUSE ME!!???

- user8: Girl this is a public comment section!

- user9: Saying that on Beyonce's internet is CRAZY

user10: looked at myself and sighed

user11: girl, who is in charge of your social media??

user12: we need to lobotomize her or something

lahjay10_:

liked by teehiggins, andreiiosivas and others

lahjay10_: The trenches look a little different when you in the inside of the Spectre.

view comments:

user1: #unblocky/n

user2: #unblocky/n

user3: #unblocky/n

user4: #unblocky/n

joeyb_9: #unblocky/n

- user5: help- not Joe joining us

- user6: y/n is this you?

- joeyb_9: Nope, this is actually Joe

- user7: I can't with this man😭

lahjay10_: aight what the hell is going on?

- user8: #unblocky/n

- user9: #unblocky/n

yourusername: I'VE BEEN UNBLOCKED!!🥳

- user10: welcome back queen

- lahjay10_: hope you happy now

- yourusername: the happiest😁

yourusername:

liked by joeyb_9, andreiiosivas and others

yourusername: AAAAAAAHHHH! JOE BURROW PLEASE PUSH ME UP A WALL AND THROW ME ACROSS THE ROOM! I wanna climb this man like a tree. I wanna gnaw on his biceps like a beaver and I wanna scratch his back like a goddamn feral cat!

view comments:

user1: is she okay?

user2: I can just tell that she's ovulating

user3: well you can actually do that if you want to #wearenotthesame

user4: on main is CRAZY

user5: I didn't realize this was Y/N's account, deadass thought it was a horny fan-account💀

joeyb_9: That can be arranged

- user6: He's so nonchalant with it😭

- user7: I know I should be used to this by now but at the same time his comments never fails to flabbergast me

- user8: Remember when we used to have shame?

- jjettas2: pause.

user9: Yall are calling her crazy but she's so real for this

user10: I can't with this girl💀

andreiiosivas: are you okay?

- user11: Help not Andrei lowkey being concerned😭

- user12: She just ovulating, don't worry

[This post has been deleted]

yourusername:

liked by joeyb_9, lahjay10_ and others

yourusername: Juno is now number one on the Billboard hot 100! Thank you so much to everyone who streamed🩵

view comments:

user1: this caption does not sound like my girl Y/N

user2: where is crazy Y/N?

user3: did you get your social media hacked or sum?

user4: I think her team took her social media away😭

- user5: yeah cuz her last (extremely unhinged) post was deleted too

- user6: Noooooo! I lived for Y/N's posts

- user7: me too girl😔

user8: I'll miss you diva💜

user9: #wewanty/n

- user10: #wewanty/n

- user11: #wewanty/n

- user12: #wewanty/n

user13: congratulations, but please give my girl back her account

user14: The biggest sign that this isn't Y/N is that Joe didn't comment

- user15: fr! he always comments on her posts

- user16: he's silent protesting💀

lahjay10_: I can finally scroll on instagram without getting a jumpscare🙏 I used to pray for times like this!

- user17: Ja'Marr😭

- user18: Bro rejoicing💀

joeyb_9:

liked by lahjay10_, sam_hubbard_ and others

joeyb_9: Since someone got her social media privileges taken away, I had to be the one to post this photo of her because she said: "I look cute in this photo, the world deserves to witness it"

view comments:

user1: get yourself a man who posts you on his instagram when you can't!

user2: she was right, I had to witness this🙂‍↕️

user3: mother is mothering!!!

lahjay10_: you down bad bro

- joeyb_9: and?

- user4: THAT'S A MAN!

- user5: I swear my pants were JUST on

jjettas2: what happened to the social media break?

- joeyb_9: boyfriend duties called

- user6: When he breaks his social media break for you>>

user7: Thank you for blessing us like this🙏

user8: I am straight, I am straight, I am straight

user9: Joe is so lucky😔

- user10: He gets to wake up to this everyday😫

- joeyb_9: It's a pretty sweet sight ngl

- user 11: STOP😭

- user12: bro be reading all the comments

- joeyb_9: gotta make sure only nice things are said

- user13: stop that's so cute🥹

One year later:

yourusername:

liked by joeyb_9, jjettas2 and others

yourusername: I let him make me Juno

view comments:

joeyb_9: Prettiest mommy in the whole world ❤️

user1: OMG I AM TOTALLY NOT FREAKING OUT!

user2: mother is a real mother???

user3: Those unhinged posts actually led to this???

user4: CONGRATS!!!!

jjettas2: Congratulations you two! So happy for you!

teehiggins: QB loading...

lahjay10_: Blessed to be baby Burrow's uncle🙏

sam_hubbard_: Congratulations!❤️

andraiiosivas: The best parents!