nyx [she/they]

Fear is a fist that clutches your heart, reminding you of its presence each time it tightens its grip. It doesn’t hurt, necessarily, but you can feel the strength in its hold; the raging tendons wrapped around your tender organ that strain with each heartbeat. A singular emotion controlling your very pulse.

Cigarette smoke billows into the indigo hour of the night, and you find yourself unable to pry the fingers away.

The air on the balcony is cold, but it envelops you in a comforting embrace; it’s a soft coolness, as opposed to the harsh, biting climate of the desert that you’ve become accustomed to. Your skin prickles with goosebumps, but you don’t feel the need to scratch at yourself, to tear the skin from your flesh. It makes you feel alive, even if the definition of that word has changed for you.

Evidence of your newfound immortality, if that’s what you can call it, dangles between your fingers, ashes falling to the ground several storeys below with each gentle tap. It tastes terrible⎯⎯a bitter flavour of death in every pull⎯⎯but it serves its purpose for now. It keeps you grounded, gives you something to focus on other than the slowly growing anxiety that still holds strong in your chest.

Behind you, the balcony door slides open, startling the silent air with its soft drag.

“You’re up late,” Namjoon says. He speaks soft, low, as if hesitant to disturb you. “Or early, I guess. Didn’t take you for a smoker.”

You breathe out a puff of smoke, watching as it dissipates into the darkness. “I’m not.” He steps into your periphery, leaning on the metal railing beside you. “I just needed...something. Found them hidden away in the bookshelf.”

Namjoon scoffs. “Figures. We’re usually a non-smoking household, but sometimes the boys get sneaky. Pass me one?”

You hand him the box. Only two cigarettes left. He brings one to dangle between his lips and, without asking, you hand him a lighter. It takes him three tries, and then he’s sighing smoke into the air as well.

“Thought you were a non-smoking household.”

“We are. Stinks up the place, and it tastes disgusting. But. When in Rome.”

“You calling me Rome?”

He chuckles, but doesn’t answer. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head, despite knowing that he isn’t looking at you. “Too much on my mind.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t think I could if I tried.”

He blends in with the shadows, slightly, though the peaks of his cheekbones catch the dull light that glows through the mist of pollution. “I get that. Would you rather me talk?”

“Not really.”

“Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“Not really.”

So he stays. Until the embers begin to burn your fingertips; until you’re snuffing your cigarette on the metal rail. You don’t think you’ll smoke again. You suppose it doesn’t matter, though. There’s forever ahead of you to change your mind.

Sunlight is just beginning to illuminate the buildings around you when Namjoon speaks up again. He stubbed his own cigarette before it was even halfway done. 

“I’m sure you’re curious,” he says. “About us, about the situation, about everything. And we’ll tell you as much as we can, but...There are some things the boys won’t feel comfortable telling you about just yet. We’ve lived long lives. We’ve done good things and bad things; experienced things we’re proud of and things that haunt us. We may not die, but we’re still human. I hope that you don’t mind being patient with us.”

Your heart aches a little at the melancholy in his tone, as if you wouldn’t give the world for these seven men after knowing them just a day. It feels as if your soul has missed them for a lifetime.

“Namjoon.” He turns to face you, now, and a halo of soft light glows around his face. “I don’t know what you’ve all been through, and frankly, it’s none of my business. If you want to tell me something, I know that you’ll do it in your own time. I’ve got the rest of my life to get to know you all, okay? There’s no rush.”

His smile starts as a twitch, a quirked corner of his lips, but quickly grows wide. Relieved. 

“I’m glad it’s you,” he says. He offers no elaboration, no further words, but you think you know what he means. Because you’re glad it’s him, too. You’re glad it’s them.

With breakfast comes clarity. As you sit at the large dining table, bowls of rice, soup, and several plates of banchan steaming into the morning air, you find yourself feeling calmer than you have since your death. It’s as though the raging tides of emotions⎯⎯uncertainty, confusion, downright fear⎯⎯have finally quelled into a tranquil body of water. There is sure to be a ripple sooner or later, but for now, it is completely still.

Yoongi, the cook of this morning’s feast, takes the first bite, and the rest of you follow. There is so much that you want to say, so many questions that you want to speak into existence, but the bitter taste of apprehension bleeds through even the delicious taste of your meal. You feel like you might choke on it⎯⎯the taste and your words both⎯⎯but your throat closes before you can even swallow.

Ah. There is the awaited ripple.

Perhaps it is the hours of silent companionship, or simply his centuries of wisdom, but Namjoon seems to sense your internal struggle. “If there’s anything you want to ask us, Y/N, go ahead. We’ll answer to the best of our abilities.”

Your throat eases and your tastebuds return to normal. “Well…” Where do you begin? What questions do you ask potentially ancient beings? “I guess let’s start with what this,” you wave a finger around the table, at the seven other sets of eyes who watch you patiently, “is. The situation.”

Namjoon nods slowly. It seems he’ll be taking charge for this conversation, much to the visible relief of the others. “Even we aren’t completely certain of what exactly this is,” he says. “From what we’ve learned, our death granted us immortality, or something to that degree. We cannot die, nor can we get majorly injured. Any wounds heal quickly, and any illnesses metabolise out of our system before they can affect us.”

You nod. All of this you were already aware of.

“As for this,” he continues. He looks around the group, fighting back a fond smile. “We’re all connected. When someone else becomes like us, we all see visions of each other to help us find them. The same happened with you. You saw visions of us when you slept, and we saw visions of you. That’s how we could find you. The dreams gave us enough information to figure out who you were, and then it was a matter of locating you.”

“Which wasn’t easy, by the way,” Jimin adds, though there is no annoyance. “Your files were so deeply buried that we thought they might not exist. And don’t even get me started on accessing the satellite.”

“You hacked a satellite?” You can’t hide the shock in your tone, and you don’t miss the glint of mischief in Jimin’s eyes.

“That’s not important,” Namjoon says, taking control of the conversation once again. “What’s important is this: the eight of us are intrinsically connected now. We might not get the visions anymore, but we are still linked. The easiest way to describe it is that we’re soulmates, though that might not even be true. We were destined to find each other, to be immortal together. Whether it’s for some higher purpose, or just a random curse, we don’t know. It’s better, I think, if we don’t try and find out that reason.”

Now that confuses you. “Why? Isn’t it human nature to be curious?”

Hoseok scoffs. “I don’t think we fall under the definition of ‘human’ anymore.”

You’ll have to file that away for later.

Namjoon ignores Hoseok, and looks straight at you. “If we become too enveloped in trying to figure out the big ‘why’, we’ll get lost in ourselves. We’ll lose our own sense of purpose. If we were chosen, for whatever reason, then we have to trust that our instincts will guide us to do what is needed.”

“Okay.” You suppose he’s right. “Then, could you tell me how old you all are?”

“We don’t do ages,” Taehyung says. He sounds almost amused. “We know the age we were when we died, but we don’t keep track of how long we’ve lived after that. It’s a rule.”

“Then how about...generally? Who was the first? How did you all die?”

All eyes turn to Namjoon. Honestly, you can’t say you’re surprised.

“I was the first,” he says. A faraway look takes over his eyes, as if lost in the past. Seokjin puts a grounding hand on his shoulder. “I couldn’t figure out my actual age if I tried, but it was...a long time ago. I was the chief of my village. Killed for power. The story isn’t too interesting.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, and then Yoongi clears his throat. “I was the second. A slave to some tyrant who thought he was all-powerful. Killed in front of the other slaves to put them in line.” He shrugs, but doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

Hoseok is quick to speak next, his words are short and curt. “I was third. Court execution.” He seems reluctant, as if guarding his past behind the tightly-locked gates of his crossed arms, but you mean what you said to Namjoon earlier; you will wait for them. For however long it takes.

Next is Seokjin, and you have a feeling that his theatrics are for Hoseok’s benefit. “I was the lucky fourth, and a king, at that! Though I was only in the position for a few hours, and all public records of it were thrown into the river with my body. Which is a shame, really, because my portraits deserved to be in museums for all to marvel over.”

“Um.” Jeongguk seems nervous, and you see him hide his shaking hands beneath the table. “I was next. I died of...natural causes.”

“And we came as a set,” Taehyung smiles, arm slung over Jimin’s shoulders. “Died at the very same moment, and woke up the same way! We were best friends, right, Jiminie? On the opposite sides of a war, but I loved him with my whole heart.”

Jimin nods, a wistful smile pulling at his cheeks. “I remember thinking that I was so lucky, to die in his arms. To never have to live a single moment without him. And then we found the others, and I thought that I must’ve been in heaven to be so fortunate.”

“We’re all together,” Namjoon elaborates, though it’s unnecessary. A blind man could see the way they feel about each other. “It may be because of circumstance, though I like to think that it’s because we were all meant to be. Like it’s a gift from the universe, allowing soulmates born in different centuries to find each other.”

“And now you,” Jeongguk whispers. His eyes glimmer, hopeful, and so young despite the obvious years he has over you. You wonder why he doesn’t seem as emotionally aged as the others; what could cause him to cling to his youth the way he does. It doesn’t matter, though. If it means he keeps his heart, it will never matter.

“We don’t expect anything from you,” Seokjin says. “Not romantically or even platonically. You are still your own person, and if you don’t want to be a part of this, in any degree, we won’t force it.”

You are thankful for that. It takes away a pressure that you didn’t even know you had until now. The thought that this is a choice⎯⎯a decision that is completely yours to make⎯⎯relieves you to no end. And yet... 

“I don’t think that’s a decision I can make right now.” You mindlessly arrange the chopsticks on your now empty plate as you try to summon the right words to explain yourself. “There’s so much that I need to figure out, and so many things that I feel I have to do. I don’t even know if I’ve properly processed the situation yet, or if I’m simply in shock.”

“Is there any way we can help you?” Yoongi, as always, seems so genuine. So heartfelt. 

“You already have. So much more than you’d believe.” And it’s true. Independence is your life. You may have been in a team in your old life, a leader of a small group for whom you were responsible, but you were always brought up, always trained, to survive alone. To find comfort in an existence of solitude. Because that’s what the military is; it is removing yourself from others, from the world. You were in a team, sure, but you were all alike in your aloneness. Alone together.

Now, you have this group of men who, without knowing you, have plucked you from your misery and now offer you everything. Offer themselves, their companionship, their help. You are not the one responsible, the one with everything on the line. They have taken that from you with gentle hands, and you give it away gladly. There is not much else that you could ask of them.

Except. Well, maybe there is.

“But…” You trail off, and their eyes just scream patience. You don’t know how they do it, how they’ve grown to be so effortlessly composed and serene, because right now your heart is beating in urgency. It batters against your chest, yelling at you to just ask them, now, but your words falter in sudden uncertainty. They have already given you so much, offered even more; can you truly ask for the help that you now realise you may need?

You look into their eyes again, and know that the answer is yes.

“This mission,” you continue, sitting up straighter. If you speak with confidence, perhaps you’ll start to feel it. “As far as I know, it was never completed. When our team went in, it was under the belief that we’d be able to rescue all of the children safely and relatively unseen. Someone on the inside tipped them off, but they had to have had a reason. They wouldn’t have betrayed us like that unless something was wrong.”

“You speak like you know exactly who it was,” Hoseok says. It isn’t a question, and you see it in his expression that he isn’t necessarily looking for an answer.

You won’t give him one. Not yet. Not until you’ve figured out for yourself why this person would’ve left you for dead. “That isn’t important right now,” you say in lieu of a confirmation. “What matters is that those children are still out there somewhere, and there’s a leak in the operation.” Releasing a deep sigh, you slump down a bit. “I’m going back to the desert, back to the base, and I’m going to save those children. If you would like to help me...that would be really nice.”

“Of course we’ll help,” Jeongguk says, without hesitation. There’s a resoluteness in the set of his jaw that you haven’t seen in him before. “Anything you need. We mean it.”

“We should talk about this plan of yours first, though,” Namjoon says. “As far as the military is concerned, you’re dead. You died with your team. If you go back to your base of operations, that’s just going to open up a whole lot of complications for both sides. They might think that you were the traitor, being the only survivor. We’ll need to operate with a certain level of stealth.”

You were worried about that. Your dog-tags are with the rest of your team’s, your body supposedly burned along with theirs. You won’t be able to reprise the role you previously played in this, and you won’t have the military support that you once had. If you do this, it will be in the shadows, hiding behind corners and turning away from cameras. You are a ghost now. You’ll have to act like one.

“Okay,” you say. “I understand; we need to stay hidden. But there is one person that I need to see face-to-face. I can promise that they won’t do anything to endanger our identities.”

“It’s a bad idea,” Jimin says. “Trust is one thing when you’re alive, but if they’ve been mourning your death, you can’t know for sure how they’ll react.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” you affirm. “I trust this person, and I’m going to need you all to trust me.”

Taehyung bites his lip in contemplation. “It isn’t that we don’t trust you,” he says, “but we can’t fully trust the situation. We don’t know this person, whoever they are, or how they’ll use this information against you. Against us.”

“I get it, I do.” You can’t help but sigh. “But this is something that I need to do, and something that I will do regardless of whether I have your permission. I won’t let my decision affect any of you, but if you decide against helping me because of this, I’ll understand.”

Yoongi leans forward. “We’re going to help you.” His tone is final. “And you’re right, this is your decision to make. We just want to make sure that you completely understand what you’re potentially getting yourself into.”

“You are all a lot older than me,” you say, “and obviously much wiser. But I’m an adult too, and I’m mature enough to know that my actions may have consequences. I’m no stranger to making tough decisions, or to taking responsibility. I may not be a Captain by rank anymore, but that doesn’t change who I am.”

“Okay,” Namjoon says. He doesn’t argue, nor does he apologise, but he doesn’t need to. There is a mutual understanding in the way you look at each other, and nothing more needs to be said. “So, what’s the plan?”

You take in a deep breath, and prepare your mind to return to the place you’ve grown to loathe.

< prev - next >

The last of the Autumn leaves falls to the ground as the air prepares for a Winter slumber, frost clinging to the breeze and steam rising from the heat of freshly-turned earth.

If you could spend every Winter like this, watching the small moments of cold silence as the sun glints against frozen dew, you would. You would spare every moment to be still, to be observant, to be immersed in the way the world has frozen over.

Even more so, to do it by his side.

He’s brought the two of you here, to this small cabin in a mountainous plain, for a week-long break. To restore our minds and our hearts, he had said. Much in the way he says everything; like he means it with every fibre of his being.

That’s how Namjoon is. You love him all the more for it.

Strong arms snake their way around your waist, thick woollen seater warming your midsection as they squeeze you ever-so-slightly. He hums into your hair, all hot breath and relaxed sigh, before he places a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“You should come inside,” he murmurs. “I just got the fire roaring.”

“I always thought that Spring was my favourite season,” you say in place of an answer, staring longingly into the white distance, “but it’s so hard to ignore the beauty of Winter. Everything just seems so...peaceful.”

He hums in your ear. “There’s beauty in everything,” he agrees. “Favouring one beauty doesn’t make you ignorant of another. I love sunsets, even though I have the sun right in my arms.”

“Lame,” you mutter, the heat in your cheeks completely unrelated to the cold air.

“Come inside,” he says once again. And you listen to him this time, if only because you want to stay in his warmth for as long as you can.

Toes curling at the heat that seeps through your socks, fingers tingling as Namjoon kisses the cold away, you feel yourself sinking further into the solid embrace of his chest. He’s humming something beneath his breath, a song or a promise, you aren’t sure, and your lids grow heavy at the familiarity of it all. The safety.

“We should come on vacations more often,” he murmurs, voice so deep it barely breaks through your sleepy thoughts. “Just you and me and the snow. Or the sand. Or the ocean...would you want to go on a cruise with me?”

“I’d go anywhere with you, Joonie,” you say, because it’s true. It’s so true that it aches sometimes, somewhere deep inside your chest. “I’d go for a walk down the street or a trip to the moon, as long as you’re with me.”

“Now who’s lame?” His chuckle vibrates through you, lulls you further into comfort. “How about a walk down the aisle?”

“Is this a proposal?”

“Mm, not just yet, baby. I’ve got to get a ring first, maybe plan a fancy dinner. But I’d like to. I’d really, really like to.”

You don’t have the energy to speak all of your thoughts, to turn around, shake his shoulders, and tell him that you’d accept a ring pop and convenience store ramen, as long as it meant you would get to say yes. That you’d marry him on the side of the curb, with street mice as your wedding party, as long as you’d get to hear him say ‘I do’.

Instead, you smile, the light of the flame flickering over your warm cheeks. “Don’t need any of that,” you say. “Just you. Only you.”