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liveyun · 3 months ago

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EYES LIKE STARS | 2

banner by the amazing @itaeewon 🫧

summary. “He was everything you were not. He was perfect—too perfect. Always kind, always excelling, always loved by everyone, even your own parents, like a reminder of everything you weren’t. And you hated this. You hated him. You hated the way he always included you, the way he tried to help, as if you ever needed his pity. He was always there, almost like a shadow you could never escape.

Returning to the town that holds both your earliest memories and silent secrets, you’re forced to confront not only the unsolved knots you’d left behind all those years ago, but the boy who was always at the center of your pain. Whose eyes have always seen right through you : Jungkook.”

title. Eyes like Stars

pairing. Jeon Jungkook x afab reader/oc

status. ongoing

genre. e2f2e2L (you get it), angst, drama, romance, boy next door sorta situation, emotional baggage, slow burn, eventual smut

wc. 13k+

warnings. (for this chapter) angst kinda. . . tbh, slight nsfw (nipple play, wet dreams), mythical creature reference, uhh kinda post nut clarity but also not so? , scene of drowning/possible near-drowning, parental neglect / toxic parenting, flashbacks, anxiety / panic attack 😬, our girl is learning to heal ❤️‍🩹, A NEW CHARACTER IS INTRODUCED 👀, some light-hearted fun and bickering, not proofread cause im tired byee it’s like really 3:15 am, “english isn't my first language,” the last part tho. . . . . . .

flash backs are highlighted in italics.

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There’s a very small line between fear and curiosity.

The silence of the ocean isn’t like any you’ve known before. It’s thick, hurled down with a stillness that presses against your ears until you’re sure that you’ll be crushed underneath it.

The water stretches endlessly in every direction, dark and silver, the colour of ink spilled beneath a dim moon. It laps against your skin as if testing you, as if inviting you deeper. You float weightlessly on the surface, arms outstretched, as though surrendering yourself to the vastness of the world. But this surrender—it isn’t frightening. No, it’s rather. . . soft. Gentle.

The water laps at your skin like a soft caress, welcoming you, inviting you deeper into her embrace.

You’re truly floating—and for a moment, it feels like surrender. Like peace. The kind that numbs your bones and soothes the chaos inside you.

And you can’t resist. You’ve never been able to resist the pull of the sea. And you don’t think it would be the first time you’d be able to do so, too.

The horizon looks like it’s shimmering — blurring where the water meets the sky. Stars scatter above, their reflections rippling across the surface like a thousand tiny lights dancing just out of reach, sprinkled on the vast sky like dust particles.

Why are they so far away from you ?

Somewhere in the distance, you hear a thump. A faint hum that lingers, a low, hypnotic sound that pulls you closer. It’s as if the ocean itself is singing — a song only you can hear, a melody that fills your chest with a longing you don’t understand. A yearning which feels similar to the feeling of being homesick. It feels like silk, easing the tension from your muscles; it feels like coming home — though you don’t know why.

You sigh.

You sink deeper, arms brushing against the cool, endless expanse. It feels refreshing — cool. The water cradles you, and yet, it feels like something more. Like someone more. There’s a presence here — intangible, unseen, but there nonetheless. It circles you, watching, waiting. You feel the eyes on the back of your head, but it’s not unpleasant or something closer to.

The touch comes without any warning.

It’s a gentle pressure against your arm, light and delicate, almost as if it’s barely there. At first, you think it’s the current, or you’re just hallucinating, but it’s too precise, too careful, too textured. You freeze, breath catching in your throat, but the touch doesn’t retreat. It lingers, tracing along your skin like a very delicate caress. A voice whispers through the water, soft as the tide, as clear as the waters. It’s familiar, achingly so, but you can’t place it, no matter how hard you try. It’s almost like you’re squinting your eyes to look at a distant image better, but you cannot.

The sound curls around you, weaving through your mind, like how tendrils of a plant wraps itself around its support. And for a moment, you think you’ve recognized it — think you know who it belongs to.

It traces along your arm, delicate as a breeze, leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. Your eyes snap open, scanning the dark water around you, but there’s nothing. Only the vast, endless sea, and the sparkling waves. And yet, you can feel it— him —there with you, unseen but present, lingering just out of sight.

What was he?

The touch returns, sliding up to your shoulder, and this time, it’s more certain. More real. It trails down your spine, igniting something inside you that’s both comforting and terrifying and . . . arousing? Your breath catches in your throat, heart stuttering as you try to make sense of the sensation as goosebumps prickle all along the expanse of your flesh. It’s intimate, overwhelming — like the sea is alive, drawing you into something deeper, something you can’t escape.

But do you really want to, though?

The question flits through your mind, and without even thinking, you lean into the touch, letting it guide you further. The water swirls around you, cool but not cold — its surface now shimmering with an ethereal light that seems to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. The stars overhead blur, their reflections weaving through the waves like a dream. And then, you feel it — his breath, warm against your ear. The voice is clearer now, low and resonant, like a gentle plea. A delicious shiver runs down your spine at the sensation, as you feel your eyes close again.

You feel him — his nose rubbing against the expanse of your neck. A hum escapes your throat at the sensation when the slope of his nose rubs against the sensitive underside of your jaw, and then, you feel it.

Your stomach swirls with pleasure.

You hear him whisper something in your ear. Softly, almost like soft silk brushing against your skin— and though the words are foreign, you understand them. Not with your mind, but with your soul.

Don’t look.

The warning seeps into your bones, a quiet plea wrapped in something more dangerous. You’re afraid it’s all too much, too intense. You cannot understand the sensations in you — the bubbling heat in your stomach and the ringing bells in your head. But you can’t help it. You have to see. You have to know who he is.

Slowly, as if fighting against the pull of the ocean, you turn your head. You know he is behind you. The water parts around you, thick and heavy, slowing your movements as if the very sea itself is trying to stop you.

Don’t look.

The words echo in your mind, louder now, edged with desperation. But it’s too late. You’re already searching, eyes scanning the dark water, desperate to catch a glimpse of him. The one who’s been pulling you deeper, holding you close, whispering words of praise so sweetly that you’re afraid you’re going to fall apart.

You reach out, and you feel your hand trembling as it cuts through the water. And then you see him—just a shadow at first, a silhouette drifting through the water, a figure submerged in the hues of the darkness. He’s close, so close, but still just out of reach. You squint, straining to make out the details, but the sea keeps him shrouded in darkness.

You cannot see him.

The moment your fingers brush his form, a jolt of electricity shoots through you, a pulse of energy that sets your nerves alight, a type which makes the heat in your belly intensify.

He’s solid, real, but he doesn’t move. Just hovers there, watching you with an intensity that makes you want to squirm endlessly.

The figure moves closer, the water parting around him, and your pulse quickens. You can’t make out his face — yet again — but you can see the outline of him now, clearer than before. Broad shoulders, a lithe, sinewy body tapering to a narrow waist. His movements are smooth, fluid, as he floats, his arms very delicately holding your waist.

When did he get so close?

And then you see them—the scales.

They glimmer faintly beneath the water, catching the light in shades of deep violet and silver, fading into skin as he draws closer. The scales ripple down his torso, shifting into skin that is smooth and supple, as though he exists somewhere between the human world and something far more ancient. His long hair drifts around him, dark as midnight, curling into waves that fall across his bare chest — though the details remain elusive, just out of reach, like a blurry portrait.

You feel his hand— which feels slightly slimy and rough in texture, move up your waist, stroking your skin. His touch is cold, electrifying — and you feel your sanity leave your soul when his knuckles brush against the swell of your breasts.

Your pulse spikes, and you suck in a breath. You cannot go this far, even if your body is screaming to him to end what he’s started. His hands keep on stroking the exposed skin of your waist, delicately and tenderly, like he’s working you to the oblivion of endless pleasure, because why the hell is this arousing you so much?

You’re already breathless by the time you scramble to get a hold of his wrist which feels rather cold to touch before it gets too far away beyond your control.

He doesn’t pull away.

Instead, he leans into your touch, his skin warm and soft beneath your fingertips, though you can still feel the faint ridges of scales beneath the surface. Your heart hammers in your chest, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. He feels real. He feels alive. You are exposed and vulnerable in his hold.

The ocean swells around you, and the hum in your ears grows louder, more insistent. He shifts, his body turning towards you, and finally — finally — you see his face.

Sharp jawline, high cheekbones, plump, soft lips which are curved in the faintest of smiles. His eyes are unbelievably dark, pupils abnormally wide and endless as the sea — lock onto yours, and you feel like you’re drowning all over again, and yet they feel like they’re glowing like the scales on his skin, a blunt, gentle glow. They draw you in, pulling you deeper into a whirlpool of emotion you can’t name, can’t understand, don’t want to understand. There is something very familiar about him which you cannot exactly pinpoint. But before you can even think of something else, you feel his thumb brush against the peak of your nipple.

Gods.

You moan, a high pitched one which you didn’t know you were capable of making, hands flying to his arms, leaning in submission. Your eyes close themselves as you feel a spark of pleasure travel straight to your clit with each flick of his fingers, and you nearly tremble in his hold.

This can’t be happening.

But the pleasure, it’s so intense — you are torn between your own desire, your own curiosity. It’s just too much for you, and a needy whine escapes your lips when you feel him pinch your nipples gently, twisting the bud in his hold. You squirm, feeling your centre pulse and ache with need, and you hear a small chuckle from his side.

You’re just so close to succumbing to this pleasure. You’re almost ready to voice out your inner thoughts, your need for him, but your body freezes when you hear him.

“Will you run away?”

The question hangs between you, low and velvety, his tone both teasing and somewhat serious. Your eyes fly open as your brain finally acknowledges the voice, his words wrapping around your heart like a vice. You open your mouth to respond, but no sound comes out. Your throat is tight, your lungs burning as though the air has been stolen from you.

He cocks his head, the faintest hint of confusion flickering in his gaze. His hand reaches for you, fingers grazing your arm as though testing your reaction, unsure of your response. But there is something else in his gaze, something that stirs a memory long buried beneath the surface.

Him.

It’s him.

You know him. You’ve always known him.

The realisation crashes into you like a wave, and your breath hitches. You gasp, twisting in his hold as bells ring in your head again. You cannot be doing this. You feel his hands move from your chest to your shoulders, a small tap on your blade as a sign of concern, interrogation. His touch is oddly warm, gentle, but there’s a hesitation in the way he holds you now, a question in his eyes.

He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know why you’re pulling away. His brows furrow, and you can see it in his eyes—he thinks you don’t want him. He thinks you’re afraid of him.

“Will you run away again, like you did tonight?”

Huh?

The question sharpens, the confusion giving way to something more desperate, more exposed. His grip tightens, but not in a way that traps you, but makes you feel oddly seen. His hands caress your shoulder blades, as though he’s pleading with you, silently asking you to stay, to tell him that he isn’t the reason for your fear.

But the truth is — he isn’t. Not entirely.

Your heart races, your mind swirling as fragments of memories begin to unfold. You see flashes of a different ocean, a younger version of yourself pulling someone from the depths. Water in your lungs, panic in your chest, eyes burning — and a boy — struggling to breathe. Your hands shaking, his eyes wide with fear, and your heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.

And then . . . . nothing.

Silence.

But now, here he is again.

You twist in his grip, again, afraid of the lack of your words, the silence which stretches forever alongside the soft waves of the ocean, and his hauntingly pitch obsidian eyes — your body reacting on instinct, and the moment you do, his expression crumbles.

His confusion turns to hurt.

He pulls back, just a fraction, his gaze clouding with uncertainty. He doesn’t understand. He thinks you don’t want him. He thinks you’re running from him . . . again. His lips stretch to a snarl, and you catch a glimpse of death lining the inside of his mouth.

The water grows heavier around you, your eyes widening as you beat the water around you as you feel like you’re drowning. Being pulled down all of a sudden. The stars overhead dim all of their light as the weight of the ocean presses you down as his voice echoes once more, softer now, filled with a quiet kind of sorrow.

“So you are going to run away.”

Your lungs burn, your vision blurs, and the ocean swells around you, pulling you deeper into its embrace as you feel yourself immersed, despite your attempts of resistance. The ocean feels like a thousand knives stabbing you all around, unlike the soft blanket of comfort you felt a few moments ago.

The siren’s eyes are the last thing you see, his endless gaze filled with a longing that tugs at something deep inside you — something you’ve kept hidden for far too long.

He doesn’t even attempt to save you as everything goes black.

And then you wake.

It’s all so dark once again. Except, there’s no ocean around you, and you’re sitting on your bed in the middle of the room.

It takes you sometime to adjust to the darkness in your room — the moon is barely visible through the slits of your closed windows, and yet it feels like some sort of hallucination — almost as if your heart is going to burst. Your throat is cracked up as you gulp down on your own saliva, feeling each second passing by killing your throat as the moisture travels down your throat.

Your skin is damp with sweat, hair sticking on your face like some sort of icky school glue. And for a moment, you can still feel the ocean around you, his touch lingering on your skin.

When you recover a bit, you notice that there’s an undeniable discomfort in between your legs — your underwear sticking to your core, soiled, and slick coating your inner thighs as you cringe.

You had a wet dream. Like a fucking teenager. Or, a mixture of something arousing and horror. Was there any specific label to it? Possibly not.

You feel the wrath of shame wash over you as you duck your head down. Why him and why exactly. . .

But it’s gone—just a dream, a memory that slips through your fingers like sand, confusing you all again the more you think of it with each passing second. There are a flurry of questions in your mind which feels way too overwhelming to answer, ponder about, and you feel a splitting headache slowly spreading in the back of your head.

Yet, a question stands out the most amongst all. His voice, low and haunting, still echoes in your mind.

Will you run away again, just like tonight ?

The sea has always been your solace.

It was a vast, open space that offered more comfort than the people crowding your life ever did, or ever could. You sit at the edge of the beach, far enough from the others that their voices are nothing but distant clatters, but close enough that you still feel the spray of the waves on your skin. It feels soothing — yet warm as you bask in the slightly hot weather. The sun is high in the sky, yet all you can focus on is the steady rhythm of the ocean, like a quiet lullaby which rocks your body to a peaceful slumber. You draw idle patterns in the sand, your fingers trailing through the grains as your mind drifts, far from where you are, far from everything.

You’ve never liked being here, atleast, not with them.

The smiles, the laughter, the way everyone seems to fit in so seamlessly—everyone except for you. No matter how hard you’ve tried, you just couldn’t. The latest magazine in your school library had that little “self care corner”, which was fascinating, but absurd to you at first, but it’s been a matter of a few weeks since you’ve been following it. It says that you should be grateful for your blessings and try to improve yourself first before you justify why you feel so wronged and hurt. “It’s a hard pill to swallow”, were the exact words, and you do realise that heck yes, they were.

You had tried so many ways you could improve yourself, with some help from the limited internet access you’re provided from your computer. It said that regular journalling, walking, or activities which overall help you in reflecting on yourself and your thoughts assist in healing. But all that it ever did was make you feel like a bitter fool who had nothing to do but to complain all the damn time, without even putting in the effort to do anything.

So you’d tried putting in the effort. You’d tried mingling in with your friends and classmates. You’d even tried to actually be in the same room as your parents and be involved in whatever they were.

In the end, all that you were met was a cold, dead end.

You felt like you were pretending to be someone who you could never be. You were quite literally pushing yourself off the edge of the ground trying to fit in while others — he — shines without effort. Jungkook has always been at the centre of things, his laughter louder, his smile brighter, his presence bigger than yours could ever be. You just felt like another blurred character in the background who acts like a prop to enhance the overall photo.

And you hated it, hated how you couldn’t stop noticing him, couldn’t stop being reminded of all the ways you fell short.

You kicked the spare pebble nearby you, frustrated at having him in the centre of your thoughts again. One of the many things that the small self care centre had taught you was that nothing other than your own thoughts can hurt you as much as others, and it’s solely your own thoughts which can bring you happiness. So you try and keep your chin up high, trying to think of things which aren’t the constant nagging and pleading of your own parents about how you are no longer a star student and nothing can help you improve now, reminding you why you’re content to stay in the background itself.

But the ocean never judged you. It never asked anything of you. It just was — vast, open, endless, inviting. You can feel the familiar tug in your chest, the pull toward the water, a place where you could lose yourself if only for a moment, and forget everything which pesters you so much.

It’s that pull that keeps you grounded as you sit alone. That, and the nagging feeling that something is off. At first, you don’t pay much attention to it.

Why would you?

You’re used to being ignored, used to being an afterthought. But there’s just something in the air which feels odd, something unsettling that has your senses prickling, your chest tightening. You tell yourself that it’s nothing. You’re just anxious, that’s all. You don’t need to be involved, don’t need to care. Let them handle it. You’re done trying to be a part of something that always leaves you feeling more isolated.

And then, you hear it.

A splash. Sharp and out of place. It’s followed by a frantic noise, like someone struggling, thrashing against the waves. You freeze, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest. You tell yourself it’s not your problem, that it’s probably nothing.

But deep down, you know better. Something is wrong.

Your heart leaps into your throat. You rise to your feet before you can even think ; your eyes dart across the water, scanning the waves, searching for the source. And that’s when you see him.

Jungkook.

He’s far from the shore, too far. His arms are flailing, desperately trying to keep himself afloat. The water pulls him under, and for a terrifying second, he disappears beneath the surface. Your eyes pop out, your pulse spiking up violently as you feel your chest tightening. For another moment, you see his head poke out of the violent waves, his arms still struggling, and in another, you lose sight of him. It feels like your whole body has been frozen, your limbs refusing to move despite your mind screaming for otherwise.

Your body moves before your mind can catch up. You’re on your feet, the sand slipping under your soles as you sprint toward the shore. You should hate him. You do hate him— or at least, you’ve convinced yourself of that.

But none of that matters right now. Not when his head breaks the surface again, his eyes wide with fear. He looks at you, a flicker of something — hope, maybe — crossing his face even in the middle of his panic and terror.

You hate that look, hate that it stirs something inside you, something that makes you pause for just a second. But you don’t let yourself think about it.

You don’t have time for that.

You dive into the water, the cold shock of it hitting you like a slap to the face, but you don’t stop. The current is strong, pulling you back with each stroke, but you push against it, swimming toward him with everything you have. You hadn’t realised that it’s been that long since you’ve been engaged in any other physical vigorous activity, or is it just the fact that the current is way too strong that the resistance it offers to you nearly stops you from gliding forward.

The water is blurry, your eyes stinging with the saline as you swin forward to locate him.

When you reach him, his body feels heavier than you expected, his limbs weak and movements uncoordinated. He’s coughing, choking on seawater, his breaths ragged and desperate. For a second, his weight drags you down, and you both sink slightly under the water. Panic rises in your chest, but you force it down.

You’re not going to let him drown. Not today.

With every fibre of strength left in your being, you push yourself forward. The moment your hands hold his arm, you pull him close. You feel a strong sense of electricity run through your whole arm, but you ignore it. You hook your arm under his, pulling him closer to you, and you start swimming back to shore. Every stroke feels like a battle against the ocean, but you don’t stop. His body presses against yours, his breathing uneven as he clings to you, and despite everything — despite how much you want to hate him — you don’t let go.

What’s more important is to save him, and that’s all what matters now. His weight feels heavy in your arms as you drag him toward the shore, your calves crying with the stretch and your arms cramping with exerted strength already lost, but that’s not your priority.

“I got you”, is all that you can offer as a silent statement in your head, your main motive being taking him to the shore safely.

By the time your feet touch the sand, your muscles are screaming, but you don’t care. You haul him out of the water, your breaths coming in sharp, painful gasps. The waves crash behind you, but all you can hear is the sound of Jungkook’s coughs, his chest heaving as he gulps down a mouthful of air.

You collapse onto the sand next to him, your arms trembling from the effort. For a moment, neither of you say anything.

He’s still recovering, his eyes closed as he lies on his back, his chest rising and falling unevenly. You feel the thrum of your own exhaustion settle in, but more than that, you feel that of the silence between you.

After quite some time, he’s just silent as you are, sitting up in a somewhat upward position as you. The sun fades away to shadows, and the waves feel stronger as cool winds blow from the shore, touching your feet in a gentle fuzzy wash. The clouds overhead dim further as you crane your neck up, indicating rain.

You’d nearly lost him.

What could’ve happened if you hadn’t heard him back then?

Your heart clenches at the thought and you feel even more exhausted mentally than physically thinking of the probable possibilities of your thoughts. You look at him — his profile silent and calm as he watches the waves dance in the distance. He looks deep in thoughts, still a bit ragged.

Your heart skips a beat out of nowhere.

And then, without thinking, you reach out and pull him into a hug.

It’s not something you planned, not something you would ever admit to doing if anyone asked.

But at that moment, it felt right.

His body is warm against yours, smelling like the soft saline ocean, still damp, still buzzing. And despite the lingering taste of salt on your lips and the sting of exhaustion in your muscles, you hold him tight. Your heart pounds in your chest as your brain threatens you to process something scary, as scary as a life without him. But with him in your arms, you feel better.

Maybe it’s relief. Maybe it’s something else. You don’t know, and you’re too tired to care.

Before you can feel anything more, though, the sound of running footsteps breaks through the quiet. Your parents. His parents. They come rushing over, calling his name, their voices frantic and full of worry.

“Jungkook!” It’s your mother. You watch her as she runs to the boy, panic settled in her features with dark, teary eyes as she grabs him by his shoulders, checking him for any signs of injuries. You watch silently as her tears stream down her eyes, shaking.

She doesn’t even spare you a glance.

“Your dad saw you struggling in the sea. Oh, my dear child, we rushed to you right there and then! Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Jungkook’s parents fuss over him, their hands gentle as they check him over, making sure he’s okay. Your own parents linger nearby, but as usual, it’s him who gets all the attention. You stand there, dripping wet and still trying to catch your breath, but it’s like you don’t even exist.

“I think he needs to see a doctor! His skin is way too cold to touch!”

Oh.

You let go of him, pulling back just as they all hover around him, some sobbing, some worried, and once again, you find yourself shoved into the background.

It’s Mr. Jeon who finally acknowledges you, his eyes warm with gratitude as he hands you a towel. Oh. You’re caught quite off guard, you’re being honest — not when you feel his affectionate gaze at you and a warm hand pat your shoulder.

“Thank you,” he says softly, his voice filled with sincerity. “You saved him,” his voice is full of kindness. Like the kind which always feels like a far echo to you. His eyes were always gentle, the kind which made you feel oddly at ease. “We owe you a lot, child.”

“It’s nothing,” You nod, but there’s no satisfaction in it, even if you’d try to feign some. You did what you had to do, and yet, it feels like nothing has changed. There’s a churning feeling in your tummy, one that makes you feel fidgety and anxious again, like all the emotions you hate mixed into one. Selfishness, greed, envy. Afterall, he was in danger. He deserves to be treated and taken care of; you were just a rescue.

However, it just feels so. . . you cannot name it. You’re still the one left behind, still the one who doesn’t quite blend in.

As you watch them lead Jungkook away, his movements clumsy and sputtering, you can’t help but feel the familiar sting of resentment rising in your chest. He’s alive, he’s okay—and yet, you can’t shake the feeling that no matter what you do, you’ll always be the one on the outside looking in, trying to blend in, like how oil does with water — but is it ever possible?

The feeling in your stomach is so ugly that you physically have to fight the urge to kick the sand.

You turn to face the sea once again, lost in the ocean of your own thoughts as the sky growls with thunder.

But what you don’t notice, is the way his eyes follow you as he’s led away. There’s a flicker in them, a quiet gratitude, a longing that he wanted to show you. He wants to thank you, to reach out and pull you back into the hug you’d given him so freely, so sincerely that he’d felt like his world had stopped for a few minutes. But the words stick in his throat, each step feeling like a tug away from you.

You don’t see the way his gaze lingers over his shoulder as he looks at your retreating figure. How he watches you with something deeper.

Something silent, before the tide of people pulls him away from you once again.

The kitchen feels too quiet this morning.

The sound of coffee dripping into the carafe snaps you out of your thoughts, its steady rhythm grounding you in the early morning quiet. The aroma of brewed coffee does little to clear the fog of your tired brain, because once again, you’d failed to get even an ounce of sleep. All you could do was toss around endlessly in the bed. The sheets felt warm, the pillows felt warm, and everything inside your thoughts were so warm you felt like you were getting grilled in your own thoughts.

With no BBQ sauce, though.

But finally, finally when your eyelids had felt too heavy to be kept open, your body clock had decided that it was time to get up.

You sit at the counter, gaze drawn to the espresso stone — an indulgence you’d bought in a phase of believing that rituals like brewing coffee would help settle the storm of your mind. But right now, it does little to nothing.

You’d always preferred instant coffee anyways. Easy, quick, and effortless. Call you lazy or whatever, but let’s be real, who the fuck has the allat energy to do that stuff when it’s the first thing you need in the morning?

(Some real coffee lovers might be giving you the stink eye, but well.)

You absolutely respect others who have, though. But you’re okay with warm water and a sachet of instant coffee. It doesnt taste quite as authentic, but it does work.

Or maybe you were just habituated.

What surprises you is that your parents were awake, but they didn’t come to wake you up this time. Not like before, when the first sound of life in the house was your mom’s footsteps hurrying up to your room. Now when you woke up, it felt like you weren’t even present in the house — perhaps you just expected much more than you should have.

The rich, dark liquid pools into the pot as you stare down at the counter, a knot of emotions tying in your chest. It’s strange, the way time has moved here — everything looks the same, but it feels unfamiliar. The tension that used to live in these walls, seeping through the cracks of their arguments and filling the spaces between your breaths, has softened.

For once, they're not fighting.

You don’t know what to make of that.

You close your eyes against the wave of discomfort that rises in your chest, refusing to let yourself spiral again, but it lingers, just like the faint bitterness of over-brewed coffee.

The morning light is soft, creeping through the windows, and you let your fingers trace idle circles on the countertop, waiting for the espresso to finish. Something about the silence feels unnerving. Not the comfortable, soothing kind though, but the kind that crawls into your bones and makes you hyper-aware of everything — it suddenly dawns on you that you weren’t awakened by that alarm of your phone.

Your phone.

A flood of memories flash right in front of your eyes, remembering him, holding it in his hands while you trembled like a fool and fled from him, again.

You’re so stupid.

You close your eyes. Fuck. Those eyes, those eyes. You were never successful to run away from them, even if he was in a state where he didn’t recognise you. They made you feel exposed, like a deer caught in headlights.

And suddenly, that touch, which is still so prominent in your senses, washes over you. The dream — his touch—lingers like a shadow on your skin, and you’re ashamed of the warmth it stirred in you. Confused, even. Your fingertips twitch, an involuntary reaction to the memory of the way the siren’s — Jungkook’s — hands had roamed over your body in the dream. The way his voice had sunk into your bones, asking, Will you run away?

The question was more than a dream. It was a reminder. And it makes your stomach churn.

You feel a shiver run down your spine.

No. You shake your head, you definitely will go insane if you think about it anymore. You try to shake it off, breathing out a sigh. It’s just a dream, you tell yourself. Get over it. You pour yourself a cup of coffee, inhaling deeply as if the scent could calm the knot in your stomach. There's no running from your thoughts this morning — no distractions, no excuses, and certainly no phone to hide behind. It hits you that without it, you’re forced to confront the very things you’ve been avoiding.

The what-ifs, the what-nows.

You just hope that the bitter coffee would ground you, but it doesn’t.

You take a sip, but it’s scalding, and the sudden burn against your lips yanks you from whatever you were lost in. You wince and place the cup back on the counter, feeling oddly betrayed by something as simple as a morning routine. Without your phone, you’re left feeling vulnerable, like your connection to the outside world has been severed.

You are definitely not a chronically online person, but a few instagram reels certainly do not feel as shitty as the coffee you’ve just made yourself.

You sigh. You wish that you did not rely on your phone for nearly every detail and necessities needed, and you seriously wish you had written down all those log in passwords and passkeys in a diary or something like that. They contain email IDs which you genuinely do not remember, and those unfinished drafts of that novel which you were working in. . .

Argh. You already feel the slight throb develop in the back of your head. There’s a sting behind your eyes, which you blink away. What the fuck ? You cannot lose your shit over such a mundane thing. You’re an adult, and you have enough cash to buy yourself a new phone. (What stings you is the fact that you definitely didn’t need one, but you are petty enough to not get the. . . err, lost one back.)

Anyways, you’re lucky enough to have a laptop with you, and if you can remember correctly, you do have your important e-mails registered in it and hopefully, you can do enough to not lose all your precious details.

(You feel silly as hell.)

But a small part of you trusts that Jungkook wouldn't mess with your details, right? He wouldn’t snoop through your life. . . would he?

You shake your head, pushing the thought away. There’s no point in obsessing over it. Trust him, you tell yourself, even if it’s easier said than done.

— — — —

As you settle down in the living room, laptop perched on your knees, you try to throw yourself into work, your fingers moving swiftly across the keys.

So far, you’ve been successful in logging out of all the devices and recovering your passwords, and you thank the technology for that. Although, those small manuscripts are something which you feel like are in the point of no return. The soft hum of your parents moving about the house barely registers at first, until you glance up and see them together, not at each other’s throats like they usually are.

They’re seated together, your father’s profile hidden behind the newspaper he’s so absorbed in reading, and your mother silently sipping on her tea.

How long have they been like this?

A flicker of surprise ripples through you, followed by an unfamiliar feeling you can’t quite place. They’ve been civil for the past few hours. No shouting, no being on each other’s throats anymore. Just... quiet, almost peaceful.

The same kind of quiet that you once craved for as a child.

You shift in your seat, a strange discomfort setting in as you observe them. It’s unsettling — this lack of chaos between them, and you wonder if they’re simply pretending for your sake. Ha. As if they would actually care.

You push the thought aside, not wanting to linger on memories of their constant arguments, of how they never seemed to notice you slipping through the cracks while they tore each other apart. Now, it feels like they've forgotten those days, moved on without you. But you haven't — If they didn’t bother then, why now when you are now just a temporary guest here?

The past has always found a way of sneaking up on you.

Suddenly, your father calls out your name, breaking the silence. His eyes are casted directly on you, his reading glasses slipping down a bit from his nose as he folds the newspaper he’d been reading to keep it back on the table. “The Jeons have been asking about you,” he says, his voice casual but pointed. Your hands freeze over the keyboard, and your heart skips a beat. “They’re very enthusiastic on hearing that you’re back.”

You force yourself to breathe, but the air feels thick in your lungs. Of course, they are, you think, trying to keep your expression neutral. They have always had maintained the image of that perfect neighbour next door, and this is no exception. However, a plethora of words rises to your throat, unsolicited. Is Jungkook with them?

The question burns on the tip of your tongue, and for a moment, you nearly let it slip. But before you can, your mother re-enters the room, carrying a tray — the rich, earthy scent of doenjang-jjigae fills the room, cutting through the tension like a warm breeze. You hastily cough, swallowing the words back, silently grateful for the interruption.

Although you’re now looking down at your laptop, you feel your father’s eyes flicker towards you, and the weight of his narrowed gaze, knowing he hasn’t missed the hesitation in your response. You are well experienced in this sensing emotions from your parents, and you know your father is suspicious. Let him be. But he says nothing more, choosing instead to focus on taking off his glasses and stretching a bit, preparing himself for his first nourishment of the day.

The silence stretches between you again, but at least for now, he doesn’t press the issue.

You exhale softly, your heart calming from the near slip-up.

A miss is as good as a mile.

That old fear of speaking in front of your father —cof saying the wrong thing, of upsetting the him — surges briefly, but you realize it’s not fear anymore. Not really. You’re no longer scared of him like you were as a child. His glare doesn’t topple you over the edge, and it barely has the same effect it did some few years ago.

You’re just not interested in talking to him, in engaging in a conversation you know won’t lead anywhere.

You can only offer a tight smile to your father as a response.

However , his words swirl around in your head, stirring up old emotions you thought you’d buried. It’s like some sort of a bitter nostalgia ; you’d run from him once already, bolted out of the cafe without looking back. And now, with this reminder that he’s close, that meeting him is inevitable, you feel a wave of fear rise inside you.

Fear, and something else.

Excitement ?

The idea sends a shiver down your spine. Why would you feel excited? You don't understand it. You’re supposed to hate him, aren’t you? For being perfect, for being everything you weren’t. For caring, even when you didn’t want him to. For not recognising you. Why? Why?

But there’s that small, rebellious spark inside you, one that flares at the thought of seeing him again. Those memories of seeing him so close creeps up your neurons like an surge of electricity, and you feel your heart pick up it’s speed again. Despite the fear, despite the confusion, you can’t deny the tug of anticipation. That sort which confuses you so much, that you feel like you’re someone really crazy.

No. You push the feeling down, gripping the edge of the table until your knuckles turn white. You shouldn’t be excited. You should be running again, like that voice in your head keeps whispering, urging you to flee before it’s too late.

Run away. Before he gets too close, before he sees you like this.

But you won’t.

Not this time.

You’re done running.

Even if your heart is racing, even if you’re terrified of what will happen when you see him again. You’ve been running for so long, without ever getting to catch a break — and you do not want to keep running away anymore. You are no longer a teenager, and you have to learn to face your challenges, although, this one is something which rather than being a challenge, feels like something which your whole life has revolved around so far.

You have let yourself suffer for consequences which you never were a part of. You have blamed your misery on someone, who was just as misunderstood as you were. Perhaps, that’s where the list of your flaws begins.

You won’t let yourself fall apart again. You are strong enough to face the storms which threaten to sweep you away. You’ve spent too long building these walls around yourself, and you won’t let him tear them down.

Not yet.

Your bottom lip gets a break from the non-stop nibbling upon hearing the empty bowls clink on the table, your mother chatting idly as she serves the food, and you nod along, though your thoughts are still tangled elsewhere completely.

You should feel relieved, thankful for the quick distraction, but instead, you feel like a thin thread is holding everything together, and it’s just a matter of time before it all unravels.

But when the first morsel of the warm strew hits your tastebuds, it was then when you realised that everything else can wait, but the food cannnot.

You were literally starving.

— — — —

Some things are easier to forget, even if they don’t deserve to be.

The park is quiet, the sound of leaves rustling in the soft breeze filling the humble air. It somehow feels like a place from another world — quiet, peaceful, as if it’s untouched by the dilemma that you’re trying to avoid. It’s funny, how this same peace stretched in between the coats of your house, yet you felt suffocated there, almost as if you weren’t meant to share that with your parents.

You sit on a weathered bench, legs curled beneath, pulling the collar of your coat closer as the cool, crisp autumn air brushes against your skin. Auburn leaves fall in slow spirals, collecting at your feet, a reminder of how everything changes — even when you’re standing still, despite how it felt like nothing had changed.

Perhaps, it was just you, or your home.

It felt fuzzy. Like the fuzz which collects at the rim of a carbonated drink when you shake it too hard. It was raining and was hot enough to feel sweat trickle down your spine just yesterday, and now. . . you feel like it’s about time you treat yourself with some mooncakes.

Speaking of which, you think red bean paste ones are slightly overrated, but you enjoy the taste as much if someone offered them to you for free.

You absently flick through the pages of a book you found tucked in a small “self-care” corner of a bookstore. The name of the corner had absent mindedly brought a smile to your lips, amazed at how this word was used so openly now, compared to that small section neatly tucked at the corner of that magazine you used to be so fascinated with.

The book. . . well, it’s not a bestseller, and it’s not something you’d normally pick up, (neither did anyone seem to, given the layer of dust the shopkeeper had to sweep away before handing it to you,) and you’ll be slightly embarrassed to admit that the name of the corner solely made you buy that book.

Well. . . now, you’re just thumbing the corner of a slightly dog-eared page idly, zoned out.

You turn the pages, but the words don’t really . . . stick. How could they, when your mind keeps wandering back to how everything feels so . . . lost? Like you’re floating aimlessly, without a map, without a clue as to where you’re supposed to be. Life has been a series of steps you weren’t ready to take, choices you weren’t prepared to make ; yet, you kept on running till you either bonked your head on the dead end or just chose the wrong path where you had to bear with the terrible consequences.

It sucks how even your gut feeling sometimes betrays you.

And all of it, every bit, feels like a puzzle that’s been missing pieces for longer than you’d care to admit.

You know why you’re here — not just in this park, pretending to care about a book on self-care, but why you’re avoiding the bigger thing. You’re avoiding them. The Jeons. The meeting that’s looming over you is like a storm you can’t run from. You knew your father did want to press over the topic after breakfast, but it was you who dodged it. You’ve been running long enough to know that much. But today… today, you’re trying to take your time, trying to convince yourself that maybe this is the moment you stop.

Stop running, stop pretending that running away would fix you and your problems.

But it’s hard. Hard to stop, hard to breathe, when every step forward feels like it’s pushing you closer to the one thing you’ve been trying to escape.

Your eyes flick down to the open book in your arms. Right.

You wanted to take your time, to clear your mind, and so may it be so. You’re not even a page down, when your mind registers a small paragraph.

Your eyes scan over the words again.

“Healing isn’t about erasing the past. It’s about living with it, the scars not a sign of weakness, but survival. Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting—it’s choosing peace over pain.”

Your fingers tighten on the edges of the page ; the self-care corner — the memories, the dream which you unlocked — everything you’ve been trying to run from, to “heal,” just feels . . . unfinished. And maybe that's because there’s no real way to let go of what still owns parts of you.

“Let it go,” it reads. As if it’s speaking directly to you. Let go of the things that have been holding you back. Your childhood , the nights you spent wondering if things would ever change. All the times you wondered what it would’ve been like, if you’d tried a bit harder. If you were a bit more perfect.

A deep breath.

You shake your head, trying to focus on the book again. It’s helping you realise something — you deserve to heal from your trauma, even if you weren’t the one causing it.

You close the book, your hand hovering as if touching the cover could give you answers you’re not ready to face.

You let out a shaky exhale as you close your eyes.

Someone sits down beside you.

The weight shifts slightly on the bench. At first, you don’t pay much attention to it, lost in the haze of your own thoughts. It’s just another stranger. Who’s passing through this quiet park, like the leaves that have been falling, spiralling down without asking for permission.

But then, there’s a subtle tug, a familiar feeling in the air that makes you want to turn your head. Maybe you’re just as curious to see, to subtly eyeball if they’re enjoying the calm of the fall too.

You hesitate, staring down at the words. For a moment, you think maybe you should keep staring. But your curiosity gets the better of you.

You glance over and pause. Dark eyes meet yours, and it takes a second before the recognition sets in.

“Oppa?”

Yoongi.

Your eyes lift from the page, and there he is, looking almost too casual, like he belongs in this quiet moment. You notice his glow-up immediately — the way his features have matured, how his hair — darker than how your memory recalls, falls effortlessly across his forehead, styled beautifully to part in the middle. There’s just this quiet intensity in his cat-like, sharp eyes.

Yoongi, as you know, is Jungkook’s elder cousin on his mother’s side. He’s always had this quiet, reserved aura about him. Back then, he was already on the brink of adulthood, 18, and intimidating in a way only someone as mysterious as him could be. Maybe it’s that confidence in the way he still holds himself, the way he seems so sure of everything around him.

He would seem to be very distant at the first glance to anyone, but you know he’s anything but that, given that you always felt like he was that older brother you’ve never had.

And it’s no exception when instantly, his wide, gummy smile breaks through. It’s the same one that used to make you feel at ease back then. A smile so cute, rare, and warm, it could melt the deepest of glaciers to exist. Without warning, he reaches over and ruffles your hair affectionately, the way he always used to. You blink, a little stunned.

He wasn’t exactly known to be the physically affectionate boy, back then, though. . .

“How are you doing?” he asks, his voice low, careful. Somehow you feel like it’s grown even deeper with a very prominent rasp. You can tell he’s not asking the surface-level question. He’s asking how you’re really doing, but without pushing you to say more than you’re ready for. And for that, you feel grateful.

Yoongi always knows what to say, and what not to.

“I’m . . . okay,” you manage to reply, though the word feels heavier than it should. Your voice sounds peculiar to you, but you guess that’s alright. What’s even the point of lying, though? “Just trying to figure some things out.”

He hums thoughtfully, nodding. Leaning back on the bench, his eyes scan over the park as if giving you time to find your words. “That’s good. Figuring things out is important.”

You nod, feeling a little relieved that he doesn’t bring up the fact that you’ve been gone for so long. He’s always had a way of avoiding the obvious, instead focusing on what matters now. You think back to how, in the earlier stages of his career, he always seemed to have his head on straight. If you’re not wrong, you’ve heard some seniors even gosip about how he was known to be the “campus bad boy”, which often confused you. How can a person so warm be called so?

The mixtape he released back then was proof of that, though — a reflection of everything he’d held back until he was ready to speak. His emotions came out through his art, something he was so passionate about, something you admired him for.

Anger, resentment, and hope.

You remember how those emotions warped themselves in his music, his first mixtape he released. Core hip-hop music, all produced by himself solely.

“I saw your mixtape,” you blurted out, not knowing why you’re bringing it up now. “It was… amazing.” You just wanted to let him know, although it feels like you’re a bit too late. It’s been nearly about six. . . maybe seven years, but each time you plug in, you feel like the memories are just as fresh as they were.

He chuckles softly, the sound a little shy despite the confidence he wears so well. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure anyone really listened.”

“What do you mean?” you gawk at him, wide eyed. “Is Min PD, the very famous AgustD saying this by himself?”

He smiles again, a soft laugh escaping him as he rubs his hands together. His skin seems flawless, you notice.

“I mean, of course. I appreciate my fans always, but I feel like the mainstream nowadays is pop music rather than old school hip-hop.”

You nod, licking your lips. Shit. You should’ve brought your lip balm around. “I do understand people indulging in trends, but I do believe that there are people who enjoy hip-hop just as much. For me, it’s like a whiff of fresh air. And I assure you — that your music feels just the same. I, myself as a fan, agree.”

His eyes softened — but they were never pointed to begin with. But before he can say more, there’s a flicker of something playful in them — a hint that makes your heart skip a beat. He taps his phone absentmindedly, then glances over at you again, that quiet smirk tugging at his lips.

As if he’s thinking something else.

“I sure am happy to know that there are others who share the same sentiments as me.”

His phone buzzes in his hand.

“Oh, right…" His tone is too calm, and you already know something's up before he even finishes. “I may have invited someone.”

You blink. “Invited someone?” Your voice comes out slower than you intend, the curiosity now gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. Who?

But Yoongi doesn’t give you time to ask more. He stands up in that lazy, casual way of his, stretching like this is just another day, looking more like a cat stretching after their afternoon nap than a human being. His hand comes down to ruffle your hair again, the affectionate gesture almost pulling a smile from you despite the growing curiosity in your chest. He doesn’t answer you.

Instead, he just smiles that wide, gummy smile one more time before shrugging. “I'll see you soon, okay?”

You watch his retreating figure appear smaller and smaller in the distance as he walks away, hands in his pockets, relaxed and slow.

You’ve always known that Yoongi’s energy was different.

It’s not something you actively think about, but it lingers at the edges of your memories now that you’ve seen him again after a long time. He’s always been on the softer side, quieter — the kind of presence that fades into the background unless you’re really paying attention. Where Jungkook burned bright, a whirlwind of energy and easy charm, Yoongi was like the stillness after a storm — steady, unfazed, but undeniably there.

It’s funny, because despite those differences, Jungkook and Yoongi were close.

You saw it back then, how Jungkook would practically cling to him, always teasing him, always pushing at his boundaries whenever they both used to be together. Yoongi, for his part, would act annoyed, shrugging off Jungkook’s arm or swatting at him with that deadpan expression of his. But you knew better. You’d watched enough to see that he never really minded. Jungkook could be relentless with his affection.

Yoongi pretended to dislike it, there was always that hint of a smile lurking beneath his protests, amongst Jungkook’s giggles.

Sometimes, watching them together made something tighten in your chest — not quite jealousy, but something close. It wasn’t that you wanted what they had, but you couldn’t help feeling envious of how easy it seemed for them. The way Jungkook would wear Yoongi down with his stubborn warmth, and how Yoongi would eventually crumble, letting Jungkook in even if he’d never admit it.

That kind of bond was something you’d always wondered about — if you’d ever have someone like that, someone who wouldn’t mind your presence no matter how much you tried to push them away.

It’s an odd feeling.

Later that evening, you sit in the quiet of your room, the familiar isolation wrapping around you like a protective cloak. You’ve been actively hiding up here after you got back from the park, avoiding too much interaction. Not because anyone cared to ask where you were or what you were doing. It was more because you felt like you needed some time alone, yet, you feel like you’re alone. Your parents barely noticed, too caught up in their own world. Your mother had the formality to ask why won’t you join them for lunch, and thankfully they did not pry any further.

At least you got to have some quality time with yourself while you had the fancy lunch, which you would admit was a bit heavy on your wallet.

It made your hiding feel almost useless, but somehow, staying in your room brought you a small, bitter comfort.

You rub your eyes, feeling the strain on them for continuously typing for an hour. Your neck hurts, and your fingers feel frozen. You’re trying your best to remake the lost manuscript you’d drafted, and you don’t think this new version is anything close to that.

Sighing, you open your laptop again. It’s truly so tiring — but you guess you were a bit productive today, and that’s okay. Your finger hovers over the doc file, contemplating if you should continue any further — but ah, you’re just so tired. Even just thinking of typing a few hundred words would give you a headache. So you just let it go and log into Instagram — the only way you can connect since your phone is still missing.

A notification catches your eye. 1 new notification.

? Eh. . .?

Your notifications are always empty. Just once or twice from instagram that a celebrity has posted and you gotta catch up, which you don’t. Or a reel suggestion. Or people to follow, so this new notification brings a frown to your brows. What could it be?

Your heart jumps slightly when you see the sender.

dboy93_ : 2 new messages

Is that . . . — no way. He’s still using that same old instagram ID which he was forced to make as a dare back when you were in highschool? No way. Couldn’t be. You click on it, curiosity pushing through the haze of everything else.

dboy93_: Yo. This is Min Yoongi (edited)

dboy93_ : Sorry for leaving so suddenly earlier. Something came up

You stare at the message for a second, a slow smile hanging on your lips, then slowly type back.

you: it’s fine

you: ur still using this old ID of yours? 💀

Your eyebrows touch your hairline when you see the typing bubble bounce up immediately at the corner. You did not expect him to reply this soon. . .

dboy93_ : Ya who’s gonna bother making a new one anyway

dboy93_ : I was hoping that you won’t be mad at me for leaving that soon.

you : it’s fine, i understand

dboy93_ : Let’s meet again. I’m thinking of a café this time?

You raise an eyebrow at his suggestion. Is he suggesting a—

dboy93_ : More time to catch up, plus we have some friends here for holidays too

you : ah, so like a reunion party ?

you : sounds good yo. count me in

dboy93_ : Will send you the location soon then

you : but when?

dboy93_ : Today, evening at 7?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard for a while. Keeping yourself occupied sounds kind of very nice, especially when you’re being promised a good time with a few more faces. It’s not like you’re the busiest person, anyway.

you : super. i’ll be there !!

dboy93_ : Oh and btw, can I get your number? Instagram’s a pain to use for texting

You let out a soft laugh. That’s Yoongi for you. Direct and practical, no hesitation. But what exactly would you tell him? That my phone is with your little brother right now?

you: imma give it to you once i get it back

you : i don’t have it with me right now

dboy93_ : 👍

Well, you don’t know what kind of reaction you were expecting from him, but you don’t know what to make of a thumbs up either.

— — — —

The evening feels lighter.

You’re sitting in that same, slightly odd café you were sitting in roughly 24 hours ago —the warmth inside 134340 contrasts with the cool autumn breeze slipping through the café door, hurling you to an unexpected sense of peace.

Very contradicting to your emotions yesterday.

For once, your thoughts don’t feel as heavy. It’s funny how something as simple as an Instagram text from Yoongi earlier can spark a little joy in your chest. You feel light; especially after that power nap turned to a full nap of three hours. You woke up with a growling stomach and a refreshed mind — it somehow felt like you haven’t felt this free since so long, that you don’t remember when was the last time.

No worries, no stress, no voices inside your head.

You’d sat there in your bed, zoned out on nothing particular. It was only when the alarm clock rang, indicating it was already 6 PM.

You hadn’t put much thought into what you were wearing today, but somehow, it feels like you got it just right.

The oversized cream sweater falls gently over your frame, its soft fabric comforting against your skin. It’s the kind of comfort you didn’t know you needed, the loose sleeves almost covering your hands completely as you absentmindedly tug at them. Paired with a long plaid skirt, whose deep shades of burgundy and brown had caught your attention in your wardrobe, the fabric swaying around your ankles.

You hadn’t planned this. None of it, really.

The tan ankle boots are more practical than anything else, but something about the way they click against the pavement felt just right. You don’t mind the way they match the season’s colours, almost blending in with the fallen leaves scattered at the cafe’s entrance.

You’d even added a light touch of makeup — nothing extravagant, just enough to brighten your eyes and bring a bit of life to your face. A swipe of mascara, a hint of blush, and a subtle nude lip colour that complements the cosy, neutral tones of your outfit. A quick brush to your hair and some setting spray was enough to bring out its natural volume.

You felt good.

Maybe for the first time in a while, you feel like you’re not hiding from the world.

For once, the reflection in the cafe window looking back at you doesn’t seem so far away from who you are. You feel. . . light. Almost like the crisp air itself, fresh and unbothered.

It feels good.

It’s been a while since you felt like this. After your conversation with Yoongi, you weren’t sure if you were ready to step back into a world that once felt so close yet now feels like a lifetime away. But somehow, the lightness in your chest said yes before your mind could overthink it.

Maybe, deep down, you’re starting to believe that this reunion could be good for you.

A small start to something. . .better.

You glance around the café. A soft smile pulls at your lips. It’s not crowded—just a few people scattered around, huddled over books or laptops. Familiar, but not too familiar. It’s quiet enough that yo don’t feel overwhelmed, and for thr first time in days, you allow yourself to just . . . exist.

No pressure. No expectations. Just here.

Your teeth pull at your inner cheek at the small pulsing thought in your head, that your phone is still not with you. The lack of your phone made you realise so many things within less than 24 hours, and you’re trying to not let that small voice gnaw your brain. The idea of him having it — his hands on something that’s been so close to you — feels strange, unsettling even.

You wonder if he’s seen anything, read anything, though the rational part of you knows it’s unlikely.

Still, the absence of your phone leaves an odd emptiness.

Which, you think, is just as good as bad as it can be. Without your phone, you can observe things better. You’d been reading physical copies of books, observing the pattern of how dew forms on grass blades, or even the faintest of noises which tingle your ears right now. Your thoughts never let you actually be present in the moment, always worrying about the future or regretting whatever you’ve done in the past.

No wonder why nostalgia for you feels painful.

But here, with the faint smell of fresh coffee and the sound of pages turning softly in the background, there’s space to breathe. You can feel the thrum of blood in your veins, the soft warmth of your sweater, the smiles on the faces of the baristas as they talk within themselves.

The soft clink of a spoon from a nearby table draws your attention. A few people are scattered about, engrossed in their own worlds — reading books, working on laptops, or chatting quietly. It’s peaceful, and for a moment, it feels like you’ve stepped out of your own life, finding solace in this tiny bubble away from everything.

You absently glance toward the door, the light chatter of passing people blending with the soft music playing inside. You’re early, but that’s fine.

It gives you time to yourself.

— — — —

The café door chimes.

Your eyes immediately dart to the entrace, tilting your head to the side to get a better view. Perhaps they’re here. You glance at the small wall clock adjacent to your table, and it reads ten past seven.

Although it feels like it’s been some time since you’re here, but you don’t mind at all, especially with the small notepad and pen you’ve got on your table.

You’ll never ever be bored as long as you’ve got a paper and pen within your reach.

The first person you spot is Yoongi, his familiar, understated presence immediately calming. He’s dressed casually, in a black hoodie and ripped jeans, his usual laid-back style that somehow makes him blend into every setting, yet stand out at the same time. It’s like he carries his own layer of calm with him, an aura you’ve always admired.

Behind him, a small group of friends follows, out of which some you recognise nearly immediately — despite the course of time. Jieun, her short wavy hair neat and tidy, wearing a comfortable grey sweater, giving her a kind of homely warmth. You’ve known her as Yoongi’s senior, the sweet cinnamon roll. She waves as soon as her eyes land on you, her smile bright and genuine.

It’s been nearly decades since you’ve seen her, and it surprises you that she actually remembers you.

“____ , I didn’t know I’d be seeing you today!” Jieun exclaims, wrapping you in a quick, warm hug. Her perfume is light, floral — the kind that reminds you of spring even in the middle of autumn. “It’s been forever, hasn’t it? How have you been? Oh my, your hair is shorter than how I remember!”

“I’m good,” you manage to let out a small chuckle, returning the hug, feeling a bit overwhelmed by her energy. Of course, you were about sixteen when you last met her. “It needed some trimming. You look super cosy, by the way.”

“Please, I just rolled out of bed as soon as Yoongi told me,” Jieun says with a playful eye roll, though you can tell she appreciates the compliment. “But you, girl. If anyone is looking cosy, that’s you. very autumn-y.” she winks at you, tugging at the fabric on your arms.

You smile, feeling a bit lighter with her friendly banter. Jieun has always had this way of making you feel seen, but not in a bad way. Like she’s genuinely happy to be around you. It’s comforting, even when you don’t really know much about her.

Soobin and Amber join soon after, both nearly squabbling over something. Soobin has grown much taller than you recall, and has that same, cocky grin that you remember from old times. He isn’t that younger than you, though you’ll say that you do know him a bit better.

Amber, on the other hand, is quieter, more reserved, but her eyes light up when she sees you, and that’s enough to make you feel welcomed.

“Someone needs to explain to this guy that he still owes me from last time,” Amber says with a mock-serious tone as she puts her bag down, pointing at him. “You’re not getting away with it this time—”

“What did I even miss?” you ask, curiosity piqued.

“Ping-pong match,” Soobin grumbles, but there’s a twinkle in his eye. “And I don’t lose that easily. Amber’s just cheating.”

“I did not cheat!” she pokes her tongue out at him. “you just suck at it.”

Soobin crosses his arms over his chest, raising a brow at her. “Oh, really? That does not take away the fact that you’re short—”

“What does ping pong gotta do with height—”

“Alright kids, enough bickering.” Yoongi’s voice is deep as he pulls out the chairs for them to sit, his tone hinting at boredom, but that small smile which hangs on his lips tell a different story. Yoongi is the last to sit down, taking the seat next to you with his usual, relaxed ease.

You notice only now that your cheeks hurt from smiling so much non stop. He throws a knowing glance your way, as if to say, I told you so.

“I didn’t know you all still hung out,” you say, genuinely surprised as you glance at the familiar faces, memories of late-night study sessions and frequent game sessions surfacing. “Feels like it’s been years.”

“Not as often as we used to,” Jieun admits, picking up the menu book excitedly. “Life kind of got in the way for a while. But we try to meet up when we can, honestly. But you, Miss Vanishing Act, you need to show up more often.”

You make an embarrassed noise at the back of your throat, but you can’t help but laugh softly. “Yeah, I’ve been... around. Just not here.” You have missed out on a lot in your years of running away, and perhaps this regret would settle down sometime later.

“Good to see you’re still alive, noona.” Soobin teases, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Hyung here told us you’d be joining today, which was like a bomb drop for all of us. I’d believed in winning a lottery more than you coming back. Trust me, I was nearly convinced into thinking that he’s pranking us.”

“That’s Yoongi’s fault,” you reply, rolling your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “He dragged me out of hibernation.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Well, I didn’t drag you anywhere. Just gave you a little nudge.”

By the time the barista returns with your orders, Yoongi looks a bit too amused at a conversation turned argument at which Amber is losing despite Jieun backing her up. They are nearly arguing about the best ramen places in town, and eventually, Soobin claims victory based solely on the fact that he knows the owner of one of the shops. Jieun listens with a bemused smile, her face acting as the subtitles to her thoughts inside her head, while Amber looks like a second away from throwing hands on the guy.

You are too busy to pass your own opinions enjoying their show.

“By the way,” Yoongi suddenly says, his voice cutting through the chatter after taking a quick glance at his phone. “One of our friends is running late.”

Frankly, right now, you’re not too concerned. You’re here, with people who’ve known you for years, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you can let yourself relax. You cannot be bothered when you’re actually enjoying yourself after everything.

“Well, that’s their fault. Missing some nice beef between friends.” Amber adds, giggling soon after taking a sip at her own joke.

However, you don’t catch on that look the younger lad throws at the older.

Amber taps you lightly on the shoulder. “So, are you gonna tell us what you’ve been up to, Missy?”

“Hell yeah, spill the tea,” Jieun adds, leaning forward with a glint in her eyes, excited. “What’s been keeping you so busy?”

“You’re no longer sleepy now that you’ve got tea to listen to, huh?” Your eyes are narrowed at her, but you dont mean any real bite behind it.

You take a deep breath, ready to dive into whatever story you feel like sharing.

For once, the world outside this little café can wait.

You’ve been laughing, genuinely laughing, for the first time in what feels like ages.

(You hate how old it makes you sound, but that’s true. Well, partially true, because it felt like you’d almost forgotten what laughing was for a while.)

The café is lit with conversation, laughter weaving in and out of the cosy hum. Amber is now dramatically recounting a disastrous karaoke night, her hands flailing as she tries to reenact Soobin’s epic failure to hit the high notes, the man in the question trying his best to convince everyone at the table that something so horrible as enacted did not happen. You’re laughing so hard you almost forget the strange sense of unease that’s been creeping up on you.

But there’s something unsettling in the back of your mind. A feeling you can’t quite shake off, a prickling touch.

You glance at Yoongi, who is watching the others with quiet amusement. But every now and then, you notice his eyes flickering to the entrance, a fleeting glance that makes your stomach churn slightly. He’s done that way too many times by now for it to be a simple glance.

Why does it feel like he knows something you don’t?

You shift in your seat, brushing off the feeling. Maybe it’s just being back here, surrounded by familiar faces after so much time has passed. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re trying so hard to be present, to let yourself enjoy this moment, even when there’s a part of ypu still trying to tug you to where you once were.

But that feeling in your gut doesn’t go away.

The café door chimes again.

You don’t look at first. You’re too focused on keeping the conversation going, on pretending you’re not hyper-aware of every sound, every movement around you. Jieun is asking you something about your recent work, her voice bright and curious, but your attention is already drifting, already far away by now.

The air shifts, like a current pulling you toward something.

Or someone.

You glance up, and your heart stumbles.

Jungkook.

oh.

He’s standing by the door, his eyes scanning the room until they land on you.

Your heart drops to your ass.

The world seems to blur for a second, everything fading except for him, and the heat of his gaze.

He strides toward your table easily, almost as if it’s something he does everyday. His dark hair falls slightly over his forehead, his black leather jacket snug around his frame. He looks like he belongs anywhere he goes, and yet right now, it feels like he’s stepping into a space you’ve tried to keep sealed off.

The conversation around you falters. Jieun stops mid-sentence, her eyes darting between you and Jungkook with a slight frown.

Soobin is the first to break the silence.

“Look who decided to show up,” he quips, though his voice sounds distant in your ears. “You’re half an hour late, hyung.”

You can’t tear your gaze away from Jungkook, even if you feel like your nerves go haywire. It’s like he’s pulling you in, even though every instinct in your body is screaming for you to look away, to pretend this isn’t happening.

Is this really happening?

No. No. This cant’t be happening, can it be—

Jungkook’s eyes flicker briefly to Yoongi, and there’s something in them. Something you can’t quite understand. But when his gaze returns to you, it’s sharper, more focused, almost. . . . fierce. Almost like he’s found the last piece of his missing puzzle.

You nearly flinch.

He doesn’t sit. He stands just behind the empty chair across from you, his hands in his pockets, watching you with an intensity that makes you feel like your heart is refusing to beat anymore.

“I think I might have something that belongs to you.”

His tattooed hand slips into his jacket, pulling out your phone — the same one which you dropped down yesterday.

But it’s not the phone that sends a chill down your spine.

It’s the way he’s looking at you.

a/n : i’m so sorry, for 1) taking this long to release this part, and 2) the ending 😭 i promise you guys the next part would actually be a bit more interesting, but i wanted this series to have themes of self healing and recovery too. as always, your feedback is always appreciated and fuels me to write more and more. as always, here’s the anonymous feedback box for you !! 🌹💜

#jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook romance #jungkook scenarios #jungkook series #jungkook x reader #bts smut #bts angst #bts romance #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #bts series #bts x reader #bts x you #jungkook x you #jungkook x oc #jungkook imagine #bts imagines #jungkook

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tainsan · 1 year ago

Text

destiny.

➾ synopsis: waking up in the past is a disorienting experience. what’s even worse is it seems like you’re the only person in the world who is experiencing it. so when all of a sudden, a distressed man shows up claiming he has also woken up in the past. you realise he may be the key to your way home, yet he also just so happens to be a member from your favourite kpop group, ateez.

➾ word count: 25k

➾ pairing: idol! San x non idol!reader, soulmate au (kinda)

➾ warnings: slight violence, mentions of death, fluff

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Sitting regally in front of a beautifully adorned vanity, you are surrounded by your maids who are diligently preparing you for the grand banquet in the royal palace. You take a deep breath, the scent of incense and flowers filling the room, as your maids flit about you, attending to your every need. The dress you are to wear is a magnificent creation of delicate silk, adorned with intricate embroidery and adorned with gemstones that sparkle in the soft glow of the chamber's lanterns. The fabric is a rich shade of deep crimson, the colour reserved for the royal family.

You have always been fascinated by the process of dressing for such occasions. Your maids are skilled artisans, their fingers deft and nimble as they fasten your dress, adjust your ornate hairpins, and adorn you with exquisite jewellery. Your attire is a reflection of your station, a symbol of your lineage, and the embodiment of your role as a princess in the esteemed Joseon Dynasty. Yet, no matter how much you tell yourself, this is your life, you are just not able to get used to it.

Whilst your maids work, your thoughts turn inward. You can't help but feel a sense of unease, a mysterious foreboding that gnaws at your heart. Your life was so normal until you awoke to privilege and luxury, the weight of your responsibilities is never far from your mind. In this moment, with your heart fluttering like a caged bird, you need a respite from the constant attention and the constraints of the role you know you must get used to.

"Could I have a moment alone, please?" you ask your maids softly, your voice tinged with a sense of vulnerability.

The maids exchange glances but nod, their expressions filled with concern for their beloved princess. They step away, leaving you to collect your thoughts. You walk to the large window that overlooks the palace gardens, the night air whispering through the delicate curtains. The view is magnificent, with the moon casting a soft glow over the sprawling landscape. The sky, however, is what captures your attention.

Your eyes fixate on the heavens, your heart racing as you observe the unusual display above. The clouds seem to be moving in strange, swirling patterns, unlike anything you have ever witnessed. It's as if the heavens themselves are painting a picture of a world in turmoil. You shiver, feeling a strange connection to the celestial dance above, as if the heavens are trying to convey a message to you.

The events of the day have been shrouded in mystery and intrigue. Whispers of distant threats have reached your ears, and your ‘father’, the king, has been preoccupied with matters of the state. You've overheard hushed conversations in the palace corridors, and your intuition tells you that today holds more significance than a mere banquet.

As you continue to gaze out the window, your hand instinctively reaches for the silver pendant hanging from your neck, it was the only thing you had kept from your life before this one. It's a reminder of your true home, where you belong. Yet it also reminds you of how far away you are from it.

Your heart aches for a moment of clarity, a deeper understanding of the strange, foreboding feeling that clings to you. You know you can't linger too long; the banquet will soon begin, and your presence is required. But for now, you allow yourself this stolen moment, watching the enigmatic sky and silently praying for a way home and peace in the tumultuous times that lie ahead.

In the midst of your contemplation, you hear a soft, discreet knocking on the ornate wooden door that leads into your chambers.

You turn your head in the direction of the sound, and you call out, "Enter," in a voice just loud enough for the person outside to hear, careful not to disturb the serenity that surrounds you in this grand castle.

The door swings open, and in walks Lady Maid Jiyun, the only person who knows the true depths of your situation. Over the time you've been in this unfamiliar world, you've grown surprisingly close to her, even though she insists she's known you since you were a child. She closes the door behind her with a gentle, muted click, before turning towards you, her eyes cast downward in a gesture of respect.

“Jiyun,”

"Are you ready, your highness?" she questions, her tone respectful but impersonal, echoing the title that has begun to grate on your nerves. In your heart, you know you're not a princess, but a simple girl who owns a café.

"Jiyun, please, you need not talk to me like that when we are alone," you reply with a sigh of frustration. The misuse of your title feels like a constant reminder of the life you've been thrust into, and you long for your old existence.

"It is out of habit, I apologise," Jiyun says, her voice filled with sympathy and understanding. She moves closer, her demeanour less formal in the privacy of your chamber.

"I am not your princess, you know that, Jiyun," you say, your frustration palpable. The weight of the title and the expectations it carries weighs on you heavily.

Jiyun rushes to your side, her voice hushed as she hurriedly whispers, "Do not utter such words so loudly. You know what they will do if they suspect you."

You nod in reluctant agreement. "Yes, I know," you concede, your voice barely above a whisper. "They will call me an alien, throw me into a dungeon and kill me. I know."

The concept of aliens and monsters beyond human understanding has become increasingly popular in this era, with rumours circulating about strange, otherworldly creatures inhabiting the Earth. In a sense, you can relate to those suspicions, for you feel like an alien yourself. The bizarre circumstances that brought you here remain a bewildering enigma. You woke up one fateful day in this body, trapped in a world that feels like an intricate dream.

At first, you believed it to be a nightmare, a surreal experience that couldn't possibly be real. But as the days turned into weeks and then months, you came to the unsettling realisation that this was your life now.

To your amazement, you found yourself in the body of a Joseon Dynasty princess, bearing an exact resemblance to your own appearance in your real life. It was a miraculous twist of fate that allowed you to maintain a semblance of who you once were, but it did little to ease the overwhelming sensation of displacement and the constant yearning for your old life.

You've pondered on it countless times, searching for answers in the depths of your thoughts. Perhaps, you've considered, this is your past life, some inexplicable twist of fate that has sent you hurtling through time. Maybe you were cursed, or perhaps it's a mysterious test that you've yet to fully comprehend. The truth eludes you, shrouded in the uncertainty of your bewildering existence.

You wish more than anything to return to your simple life, the one where you spent your days managing your café, where anonymity was your closest friend, and the only thing you had to worry about was choosing the right blend of coffee for your customers. How you long to wake up in your own bed, in your familiar house, where everything was just as it should be. You yearn for the simple pleasures of life, the mundane joys that once filled your days. The desire to relax in front of your TV and lose yourself in captivating TV shows, or to watch endless fancams of your favourite singers, immersing yourself in their artistry. You long to indulge in the music you love, to turn up the volume on your headphones, letting the melodies envelop your senses and transport you to a world of pure enjoyment.

Those ordinary comforts, the sounds of the city, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and the warmth of your own home, are like a distant memory that you yearn to embrace once more.

“Which is why you must keep it quiet,” Jiyun says, her voice full of remorse for you. Jiyun is someone you are forever grateful for.

“Have you found anything to help me get back?”

“Unfortunately, I have yet to find anything of use. The library has many books, yet most of them are just theories.”

Despite the unsettling rumours and tales of aliens and monsters that have gripped the world, Jiyun has remained steadfast in her commitment to keeping you safe. She's been your guiding light, helping you navigate the complexities of this unfamiliar existence. She knows the challenges you face, and the gravity of her responsibility in ensuring your well-being to protect the princess.

Jiyun understands the enormity of your predicament, and she's tirelessly devoted herself to helping you find a way to make sense of this uncanny journey. Her support and guidance are the threads that keep you anchored in this tumultuous world, offering a glimmer of hope amid the chaos that surrounds you.

"Only ever theories. Perhaps we can discover something beyond what's written in books?" you suggest, searching for an elusive solution to your predicament.

"As much as I would love to inquire with others, your highness, you know my limitations in this matter," Jiyun responds, her voice tinged with regret.

You sigh, frustration gnawing at you. "Yes, I'm sorry. I'm just feeling desperate."

Jiyun moves closer, her gaze unwavering, and she bows to you with a warm smile. "We will find a way, your highness. We won't give up."

You offer a grateful smile to Jiyun, her unwavering support, a source of solace in your bewildering existence. She continues, her tone shifting to one of urgency, "Though we must get going. The banquet is to begin prominently."

With a nod, you gather your strength, determined to face the palace banquet and the demands of your role as the princess, even as you yearn for answers and a way back to the life you once knew.

Making your way to the grand banquet hall, you can't help but be awestruck by the opulence and grandeur that surrounds you. The palace's opulent architecture and intricate detailing are a testament to the wealth and power of the king and queen, your parents. Elaborate tapestries hang from the walls, depicting scenes from the dynasty's rich history, and the flickering torch light casts a warm, inviting glow over the intricate designs.

The double doors to the banquet hall swing open, and you step inside. The sight that meets your eyes is nothing short of breathtaking. The hall is a symphony of colours and textures, all bathed in a soft, golden light. Golden silk drapes adorn the walls, cascading like waterfalls of molten sunshine. The ceiling is an intricate masterpiece, a mosaic of gilded patterns and frescoes that tell the stories of the dynasty's heroes and legends.

The long, ornate banquet tables stretch out before you, covered in sumptuous silks and adorned with glistening china and golden cutlery. Each place setting is a work of art, meticulously crafted and sparkling under the ambient light. The scent of exotic, mouthwatering dishes wafts through the air, making your stomach rumble with anticipation.

The room is alive with a hum of activity as nobles and dignitaries from far and wide mingle, their lavish robes and headdresses sparkling with jewels and precious gems. The clinking of glasses and the soft murmur of conversation create a melodious background to the visual spectacle before you.

In the centre of the hall, a grand dais stands proudly, and it's upon this elevated platform that the throne awaits you, its back adorned with a shimmering tapestry depicting the dynasty's emblem. The throne itself is an ornate masterpiece, a creation of carved mahogany and gilded detailing, with plush velvet cushions in rich crimson and gold.

Stepping forward, you can't help but feel like an intruder in this world. The weight of the princess's responsibilities is almost suffocating, but you have no choice but to carry them with grace and dignity. Jiyun, your loyal confidante, is at your side, her presence a reassuring anchor in this sea of uncertainty.

The banquet hall seems to stretch on endlessly, filled with revelry and celebration. The nobles and dignitaries bow respectfully as you pass, their eyes filled with awe and respect. It's a strange dichotomy, for you are not truly the princess they believe you to be, but you play the part with grace and poise.

The table settings are a masterpiece of artistry and craftsmanship. The fine china glimmers in the soft light, reflecting the golden theme of the banquet. Each plate holds a gastronomic masterpiece, a culinary journey of exotic flavours and textures, from delicate dumplings to succulent roasted meats.

The banquet hall is filled with laughter, music, and the intoxicating scent of spices and incense. The musicians play traditional melodies on intricate instruments, filling the air with their enchanting tunes. Dancers in resplendent costumes move gracefully, their motions mirroring the flowing silk of their dresses.

Taking your place on the grand throne, next to your parents, you can't help but be overwhelmed by the majesty of it all. The banquet hall is a breathtaking display of wealth and culture, a testament to the dynasty's grandeur and history. You are a stranger in this world, but for now, you must play your part as the princess, all the while longing for answers and a way back to the life you left behind.

"Why the delay, daughter?" your father inquires in a hushed tone, his curiosity evident as he awaits your arrival.

"I apologise, Father," you respond, bowing your head as a sign of respect. "It took longer than expected to prepare."

"Have no worry, my dear," your mother chimes in from beside you, her voice filled with warmth.

Over the two months that you've spent in this strange world, you've come to realise how caring and kind the queen is. Her compassion is matched by your father's unyielding strength and determination. Together, they make a formidable team that rules their kingdom with wisdom and grace. Their subjects hold them in high regard, and the feeling is reciprocated.

The bond between your parents is evident to all who know them. Their love is the bedrock of the dynasty, and it resonates in every aspect of their rule. The kingdom flourishes under their leadership, and it's clear that they not only love their people but are deeply loved by them in return.

The grand banquet commences with a flourish of activity. The banquet hall is now abuzz with life as nobles and dignitaries from all corners of the kingdom gather, their resplendent attire creating a kaleidoscope of colours that mirrors the opulence of the event. The rich, melodic sounds of traditional instruments and the rhythmic beat of drums fill the air, setting the stage for a night of revelry.

The banquet tables are a sight to behold, adorned with golden candelabras that cast a warm, flickering light over the ornate settings. The aroma of exquisite dishes wafts through the hall, a symphony of flavours and spices that tempt the senses. Guests fill their plates with delicacies, from succulent roasted meats to fragrant rice dishes, each bite a culinary delight.

You, too, are captivated by the festivities. For a moment, your worries and the strangeness of your situation melt away. You find yourself caught up in the joy of the evening, watching as people laugh, chat, and share stories, the room alive with the clinking of glasses and the gentle hum of conversation.

The dance floor is a whirlwind of vibrant colours and graceful movement. Dancers in splendid attire twirl and spin, their footsteps matching the rhythm of the music. The dancers' costumes shimmer as they move, creating a visual spectacle that enchants all who watch.

At the head of the banquet hall, your father, the king, stands engaged in conversation with a group of merchants and nobles. He listens attentively to their concerns and disputes, displaying the unwavering resolve and wisdom that have earned him the respect of his subjects. Your mother, the queen, stands beside him, offering her insights and guidance, her caring nature a comforting presence amidst the discussions.

As you watch your parents in action, it's clear how they've earned the love and admiration of their people. The way they handle disputes and settle matters demonstrates their commitment to maintaining peace and justice within the kingdom. The hall may be filled with merriment, but their responsibilities as rulers are never far from their minds.

However, amidst the festivities and the rhythmic music, a strange feeling creeps over you. It's as if an invisible force is tugging at your senses, urging you to pay attention. Your gaze is drawn to the towering double doors that lead into the banquet hall, their grandeur a stark contrast to the vibrant revelry within.

You can't quite put your finger on it, but an unease washes over you, and you sense that something significant is about to happen. It's as if the very air in the room holds its breath, waiting for the storm that's about to descend. Your heart races, and you can't shake the feeling that those two wide doors may soon reveal a momentous event that will change the course of the evening and, perhaps, your own destiny.

"Jiyun," you call out to your trusted maid, and she appears at your side with remarkable swiftness, her head respectfully bowed.

"Yes, your majesty?" she replies, her voice filled with unwavering loyalty.

"Have you sensed it too?" you inquire, a tinge of apprehension in your voice.

"Sense what, your majesty?" Jiyun asks, her eyes focused on your every word.

"The feeling that something unexpected is about to transpire," you explain, your gaze shifting toward the grand doors as if they hold the key to the looming uncertainty.

The second you utter your words to Jiyun, a sense of foreboding hangs heavy in the air, and the atmosphere in the banquet hall takes on an eerie stillness. Before you can even finish your sentence, the grand double doors, adorned with exquisite carvings, burst open with a thunderous boom, sending the revelry to an abrupt halt.

In a chaotic rush, two guards burst into the hall, struggling to restrain a shirtless man who seems to be writhing and resisting their grasp. The unexpected intrusion sends ripples of shock through the assembled nobles and dignitaries. The musicians abruptly silence their instruments, and the dancers come to a standstill, their expressions a mix of curiosity and trepidation.

The king and the queen, who had been engaged in discussions with the merchants, rose swiftly from their thrones. Their expressions shift from surprise to stern authority as they take in the unfolding scene.

"What is the meaning of this intrusion?" the king bellows, his voice carrying the weight of his authority. His words echo throughout the grand hall, quelling the previous merriment with an air of solemnity. The sudden silence is broken only by the shuffling of feet as the guards continue to drag the shirtless man toward the thrones, his struggles growing more frenzied. It appears as if the man has tattoos adorned all over his body and for some reason you cannot help but have an awful feeling of recognition as you peer at him.

The queen stands regally at the king's side, her countenance reflecting a mixture of concern and determination. The courtiers in attendance exchange hushed whispers, speculating on the nature of the commotion, while a palpable tension fills the room.

The shirtless man's writhing and protests become more desperate, and his incoherent mutterings are barely discernible over the hushed murmurs of the crowd. The guards eventually manage to bring him to a halt, though his wild, dishevelled appearance remains a stark contrast to the opulence of the banquet hall. Throughout all of this, his head remains bowed, nobody able to see his face.

The man is positioned before the thrones, on his knees, the king's piercing gaze fixates on him, his face an impenetrable mask of authority and curiosity. The queen, her hand resting lightly on the arm of the throne, watches with an unwavering presence. The courtiers wait with bated breath, their eyes darting between the king, the queen, and the dishevelled intruder, uncertain of what will transpire next in this unexpected turn of events.

The dishevelled intruder, who had been forcibly brought before the king, stands silent and disoriented as the guards explain their discovery.

“We found him outside the palace, lurking and behaving suspiciously, which prompted our cautious approach.” The guard's voices are tense as they speak, “this man, in his moments of distress, declared that is from a different time, claiming he does not belong here.”

The king and queen share nervous glances before peering back at the guards who are cautiously watching over the man.

“Your highnesses, I fear that he is an alien.”

The hushed shock that washes over the assembly is palpable. Whispers of fear and disbelief ripple through the room like an unsettling breeze. The nobles and courtiers exchange uneasy glances, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.

The king, his brows furrowed in contemplation, leans forward on his throne, his eyes fixed on the man before him. The queen stands beside him, her poise unwavering as she assesses the unfolding situation.

The courtiers remain silent, awaiting the king's judgement.

In the midst of the whispers and speculation, the king calls upon the disoriented intruder, “lift your head boy, make your presence known.”

The man obeys, and as he raises his eyes to meet the king's gaze, a collective gasp sweeps through the room.

Your heart stops in your chest and you cannot believe your eyes.

The man who stands before you bears a striking resemblance to San from Ateez, the boy group you fervently fangirled over in your previous world. His appearance, his features, the way he holds himself, all are uncannily reminiscent of your idol.

His eyes scan the bewildering faces of the courtiers, and it's evident that he's utterly lost and bewildered in this foreign world. His expression reflects a deep sense of longing, as if he's desperately searching for a familiar face or a comforting presence.

"What is your name, young man?" the queen questions, her voice carrying a tone of cautious empathy. It's clear that she feels a sense of compassion for the disoriented intruder, even as the mystery of his presence looms.

"Choi San," he responds, his voice tinged with a mixture of fear and confusion.

The moment those two simple words leave his lips, a wave of emotion crashes over you. It's not just the sight of an idol you adore, but the realisation that he, too, has been uprooted from his world and thrust into this unfamiliar one, much like yourself. The overwhelming weight of this revelation washes over you.

“He doesn't look like an alien.” the king says, his eyes scanning San diligently.

“I’m not, I swear. I have no idea where I am. I woke up and I was in this random forest surrounded by people I have never seen before.”

"Show respect to your king and queen," the guard to Choi San's left commands, his voice stern and unyielding. With a swift motion, he strikes San's back, causing him to stumble forward and crash onto the polished floor. San's palms catch his fall just in the nick of time, and you can't help but feel a pang of sympathy for him. The image of his fall, the vulnerability of the idol you used to admire, stirs a mixture of emotions within you.

The desire to rush down there, to offer comfort and understanding, wells up within you. You long to convey to him that you share the same strange predicament, that you, too, have been thrust into this unfamiliar world. But you understand the delicate balance that hangs in the air, the potential for suspicion and chaos that could arise if your secret were to be revealed.

The room watches in tense silence as San struggles to regain his composure. He rises to his feet, a mixture of embarrassment and confusion etched on his face. His eyes dart around the room, searching for some semblance of familiarity, some connection to the world he once knew.

You can't help but notice the vulnerability in his eyes, a silent plea for understanding and assistance. Your heart aches for him, knowing that you share this extraordinary journey and the burden of its mysteries. But for now, you remain on your elevated throne, concealing your true identity and the emotional turmoil that brews beneath the surface, for the sake of the kingdom, the king, and the queen who have so graciously extended their protection and hospitality to you.

The air in the grand banquet hall crackles with tension, as everyone grapples with the enigma of the stranger who claims to be from a different time, a supposed alien who defies all reason and explanation. The room remains suspended in a moment of uncertainty, and the world as you know it seems to hang in the balance, poised on the brink of an extraordinary revelation.

You exchange a swift, knowing glance with Jiyun, her eyes are filled with concern, mirroring the emotions that churn within you.

“Show him to the dungeon, tomorrow he will be sent back to where he belongs.” The king bellows, his voice stern as your eyes narrow in fear.

In a fleeting moment, San's eyes lock with yours, and your heart leaps in your chest. The intensity of that brief connection sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't restrain the tears that well up in your eyes as you witness the guard seizing him and forcibly dragging him away from the grand hall.

A sense of dread envelops you, and the heaviness in your chest becomes suffocating. You share a wordless glance with Jiyun, who is already formulating a plan to aid San. Her gaze meets yours, and she nods gently, a silent assurance that she is committed to helping him. With that unspoken understanding, the weight that had burdened your heart begins to lift, replaced by a glimmer of hope that you may be able to make a difference in this unexpected turn of events.

With a deep breath, you compose yourself as the king commands the musicians to resume their melodies. The haunting, suspended atmosphere in the room gradually gives way to the spirited tunes of the instruments, infusing the space with renewed vitality. The mood in the grand banquet hall begins to shift, and the weight of the unexpected intrusion is momentarily eased by the enchanting melodies that fill the air.

The grand palace lies hushed and dark, save for the soft, flickering glow of the torches that line the hallways. It's the deep of night, the hour when even the most vigilant souls have succumbed to slumber. The world outside your window is cloaked in darkness, with only a few distant stars punctuating the sky.

In the seclusion of your chamber, you pace restlessly, the pattern of your footsteps a silent testament to your growing anxiety. The ornate furnishings and intricate tapestries seem to close in around you, their grandeur and opulence providing little comfort. You can't stop your heart from racing in your chest, its frenetic rhythm echoing the turmoil of your thoughts.

You cast occasional glances at the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the first pale light of dawn, a harbinger of the world's awakening. Your hope lies in the arrival of Jiyun, who promised to fetch something that might provide a connection between you and San, the ‘stranger’ who shares your extraordinary predicament.

Minutes stretch into hours as you wait in solitude, each moment feeling like an eternity. The silence in the palace is profound, the hush of night amplifying every creak of the floor and rustle of the curtains. You can almost hear the beating of your own heart, a relentless reminder of your desperate circumstances.

As the night wears on, you recall the mysterious events that unfolded during the banquet. The revelation of San's presence, the shared bond of otherworldly displacement, and the unspoken promise of hope—all weigh heavily on your mind. You can't help but wonder if there's a connection between the two of you that defies all logic, a connection that Jiyun might be able to unearth.

The anticipation gnaws at you, the longing for answers and a sense of purpose driving you to pace even faster. You're acutely aware of the significance of the cloth Jiyun is meant to bring, and the potential it holds to unveil the truth of your peculiar journey.

With each passing moment, your anxiety intensifies, and the minutes tick away, carrying with them the uncertainty of your fate. You can only hope that the arrival of dawn will herald the arrival of Jiyun and, perhaps, the answers you so desperately seek.

As you continue to pace around your room, the waiting becomes almost unbearable. The faintest light begins to seep through the edges of your window, heralding the impending dawn. Just when your hope is beginning to wane, a soft knock at the door breaks the silence.

You rush to the door and swing it open to reveal Jiyun, her face etched with determination. In her hands, she holds a folded piece of cloth and a small bottle containing a mysterious liquid. She steps inside your chamber, and you close the door behind her.

"The plan is ready," Jiyun says, her voice a hushed whisper. "I've brought the cloth and this," she adds, indicating the small bottle. "The liquid inside will temporarily incapacitate the guard who protects the dungeon. It should give you enough time to get the man out of there."

Relief washes over you as you take the cloth and the bottle from Jiyun. The weight of your purpose now feels tangible, as if a glimmer of hope has emerged from the depths of the night.

You listen intently as Jiyun outlines the plan, the details falling into place like pieces of a puzzle. Your heart pounds in your chest, but there is a newfound determination within you. The connection you feel with San, the shared journey you both unknowingly embarked upon, has given you a sense of purpose that propels you forward.

Jiyun hands you a bag filled with essential supplies. Her voice is steady but laced with concern as she explains the plan. "I can provide for you for three days, maybe four at most, without raising suspicion. Within that time, either you or the true princess must return."

You contemplate the necessity of your absence and inquire, "What reason will you give for my absence?"

Jiyun's eyes convey a deep sense of loyalty as she replies, "I will inform them that you've contracted a highly contagious sickness that has left you bedridden and wanting to see no one."

You nod, absorbing the gravity of the situation. Gratitude wells up within you as you look at Jiyun, her gentle smile a source of reassurance. "Thank you, Jiyun. I realise the danger you're putting yourself in for my sake. Your sacrifice does not go unnoticed, and I am profoundly grateful for your unwavering support."

“You would do the same for me, I’m sure.”

With the bag of supplies and Jiyun's invaluable guidance in mind, you make your way through the palace's labyrinthine corridors and hidden passages. The palace, under the cover of night, seems to take on a different character—a mysterious, almost haunting quality. Torches line the narrow passageways, casting long, flickering shadows on the ancient stone walls as you move stealthily through the dark.

The secrets of these passages, entrusted to you by Jiyun, are your lifeline in this mission. You navigate the intricate network with practised ease, ensuring that your movements are discreet, and your presence remains shrouded in the veil of night.

Finally, you reach the entrance to the dungeon, your heart pounding in your chest. Peeking around the corner, you spot the guard responsible for its protection, pacing up and down before the heavy wooden door. The flickering torchlight casts eerie shadows across his face, and the faint echoes of his footsteps reverberate through the corridor.

With impeccable timing, you wait for the moment when the guard turns his back to you, his attention momentarily diverted. Swiftly, you uncap the small bottle and pour its contents onto the cloth, making sure to keep your own hands clear of the liquid. The chemical scent is pungent, and you struggle to suppress a cough as you press the cloth to your mouth to avoid inhaling it.

As the guard's boots echo down the corridor away from you, you seize the opportunity. Soundlessly, you move closer to him, each step taken with the utmost care. With one hand gripping the cloth and the other steadying your movements, you approach him from behind.

When the guard looks away, his focus on the dimly lit passage beyond, you seize your chance. The cloth is pressed firmly against his mouth, and you brace for a moment of hesitation, uncertain of the outcome. The seconds stretch into eternity, but eventually, the guard's struggles wane, and his eyelids droop heavily.

He crumples to the stone floor, unconscious, his keys jangling as they hang from his belt. You offer a silent apology to the fallen guard before deftly retrieving the keys. With trembling hands, you unlock the heavy door to the dungeon, the creaking hinges echoing through the silence of the underground chamber.

The dungeon lies before you, a foreboding abyss. The uncertainty of what awaits within gnaws at you, but your determination is unwavering. The answers that may await you drive you forward as you step into the darkness of the dungeon, the flickering torchlight casting long, wavering shadows on the stone walls.

As you step into the dimly lit dungeon, you carry a candle torch to guide your way through the labyrinthine corridors. The passageway is narrow and oppressive, the cold stone walls seemingly bearing witness to the suffering of countless souls who have languished within its confines.

The cries and wails of the imprisoned echo off the damp stone, reaching your ears with haunting intensity. Desperate pleas for help, mournful laments, and the sound of hands beating against iron bars form a dissonant chorus that seems to reverberate through the very walls themselves.

Each cell you pass houses a new tragedy, a new story of despair, and it takes all your strength to press on, to bear witness to the suffering around you. As you move deeper into the dungeon, the cries of the prisoners grow louder, more heart-wrenching, and your heart aches with empathy for their plight.

But as you reach the very end of the corridor, a silence that is almost palpable falls upon you. It is a silence that is too profound, too ominous, and your heart clenches within your chest as you peer into the last cell. The flickering candlelight reveals a scene that fills you with dread.

There, in the corner of the cell, you find San, curled up in a small, trembling ball. His face is etched with exhaustion and fear, his eyes wide with a mix of confusion and despair. The harsh, cold stones of the dungeon floor serve as his only comfort in this nightmarish world.

You approach the cell, your steps careful and measured, your candle torch casting eerie, flickering shadows on the walls. As you draw closer, you can see the anguish etched into San's features, his ragged clothing and unkempt appearance a testament to the trials he has endured in this unforgiving place.

Your heart goes out to him, the connection you share with this stranger deepening with each passing moment. The dungeon, with its heavy atmosphere and its occupants' mournful cries, bears witness to the suffering of many, but it is San's vulnerability and isolation that capture your attention.

"San," you whisper, your voice a soft, comforting presence in the dimly lit cell. He turns toward you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, a reflection of the pain and fear that have plagued him.

"Please don't hurt me," his trembling words break your heart, and you struggle to hold back your own tears as you witness his vulnerability.

With gentle assurance, you reply, "I'm not here to hurt you, I promise." Your words are a lifeline, a beacon of hope for the scared and confused young man before you. With the keys in hand, you unlock the cell door and step inside.

San's eyes search your face, filled with a mix of disbelief and curiosity as you offer him some food from your bag. He hesitates before accepting, his trust gradually building as he takes the sustenance you provide.

"Why are you here then? You're the princess, aren't you?" San questions, his voice quivering with uncertainty.

With a deep breath, you choose your words carefully, wanting to ease his fears. "This might sound crazy, but I think we're from the same world."

San's eyes widen in astonishment, his disbelief slowly giving way to hope as he watches you closely. He lifts himself onto his knees to be closer to your level, the shadows of the cell casting eerie patterns on the walls.

"Really? How do you know?" San asks, his voice filled with a glimmer of expectation.

You offer a reassuring smile and pose a question that will connect your two worlds. "Well, I know you're San, Choi San from Ateez, right?"

San's eyes glisten with tears of relief, his voice quivering with emotion as he confirms, "Yes, yes, yes. I am. I'm from Ateez, and it's 2023, not the 1300s." The weight that had burdened his heart is lifted, and the possibility of a return to the world he knows is within his reach. He continues, “what is happening? How did we end up here?”

“I’ll explain as we walk, we need to get out of here.”

San's confusion lingers, but the glimmer of hope in his eyes grows stronger as he stands up. With a sense of newfound determination, the two of you make your way out of the cell, leaving the door unlocked behind you. As you exit the dungeon, you can't help but glance back, knowing that you've left behind the shadows of suffering that still haunt its depths.

Together, you navigate the secret passages that brought you to the dungeon, retracing your steps with the candle torch guiding your way. The path is familiar to you now, and with San by your side, it feels like the journey is filled with a sense of purpose and unity.

The passageway eventually leads you to the royal stables, a place of shadows and echoes, where the silence of the night surrounds you. Jiyun's foresight is evident as you find a horse tethered and ready for your departure. It's a magnificent creature, a steed fit for a princess, and its presence is a testament to Jiyun's unwavering support.

You help San mount the horse, his grip on the reins steady but cautious. The animal is surprisingly calm and cooperative, as if it senses the urgency of your mission. With San in the saddle, you mount your own horse, and together, you prepare to ride into the night.

Making your way out of the royal stables, the world outside awaits you, shrouded in darkness. The streets of the ancient city are quiet, its occupants fast asleep, unaware of the extraordinary events that are unfolding within the palace walls.

The night air is cool and refreshing, and the rhythmic sound of hooves hitting the cobblestone streets resonates through the quiet city. You ride with determination, guiding your horses through the labyrinthine streets, following the route that Jiyun has carefully planned.

With each passing moment, you draw closer to the edge of the city, your breath visible in the cold night air. The feeling of freedom, of escaping the palace and its secrets, surges through you. You and San are bound by an unspoken connection, a shared journey that defies time and place.

The town's lights grow distant, you can't help but steal a glance at San, who rides beside you. His face, once etched with fear and confusion, now carries a glimmer of hope. In the silence of the night, the world holds its breath, and the weight of the unknown future rests on your shoulders.

Together, you ride toward the horizon, leaving behind the palace and the secrets that shroud your extraordinary journey. The path ahead is uncertain, but the possibilities are boundless, and in the darkness of the night, you find a shared purpose that unites your fates in this unfamiliar world.

You and San ride through the night, the rhythmic clatter of hooves against the cobblestone streets gradually fading into the distance. The ancient city of the palace is left behind, its towering walls and mysteries hidden in the darkness.

The first light of dawn tints the horizon and you continue on your journey, venturing into the unknown.

Hours pass, and you ride together, the bond of your shared experience growing stronger with each mile that falls behind you. The quietude of the countryside surrounds you, the only sounds are the rustling of leaves and the gentle song of birds in the distance. San wishes to ask questions, he has thousands on his mind, yet he stays silent as the two of you continue your journey.

Finally, on the horizon, a small town comes into view. Its quaint cottages and bustling marketplaces offer a glimpse of civilization in the midst of the open countryside. With each step you take, you hope to find reassurance and a glimmer of hope in this unfamiliar place.

You and San guide your horses toward the town, a sense of anticipation filling your hearts. The town represents a new beginning, a place where your shared journey can find some direction, where answers may await you, and where the extraordinary circumstances that have brought you together may start to make sense.

Approaching the town's outskirts, the warmth of the rising sun casts a golden glow on the streets and rooftops, and the townsfolk go about their daily routines, unaware of the two strangers who have arrived on horseback.

Among the quaint buildings, you spot a charming cottage with a wooden sign hanging above the door, which reads "The Golden Horseshoe Inn." The inviting aroma of freshly baked bread wafts through the open windows, and the cheerful hum of conversation emanates from within.

You dismount from your horses and tether them to a nearby post before entering the inn. The interior is cosy and warm, with wooden beams and rustic furnishings. A fireplace crackles in the corner, casting a gentle, flickering light that dances across the room. A friendly innkeeper stands behind the bar, wiping down mugs and chatting with a group of locals.

Approaching the innkeeper, you offer a polite smile and address them. "Good morning. My friend and I are in need of a place to stay. Do you have any rooms available?"

The innkeeper returns your smile with a warm one of their own and nods. "How long will you be staying?"

You exchange a quick glance with San before answering. "We're not entirely sure. Perhaps a few days to start with."

The innkeeper retrieves a key from a nearby rack and hands it to you. "Very well. We have a couple of rooms upstairs. You can choose the one you prefer."

You thank the innkeeper and head upstairs with San, the creaking wooden steps leading you to a hallway lined with doors. The rooms are simple but comfortable, each furnished with a bed, a small writing desk, and a window that overlooks the bustling street below.

After inspecting a couple of rooms, you settle on one with a cosy, inviting atmosphere. You take out some coins and return downstairs to pay for the room. The innkeeper accepts your payment with a friendly smile, and you can't help but feel a sense of relief at having found a safe haven in this new world.

With the key to your room in hand, you make your way back upstairs with San.

The moment you are in the room, you hand San some more comfortable clothes than the rags he is currently wearing.

“I forgot to give you these earlier, I’m sorry. Go change, I’ll wait outside.”

"Thank you…" San trails off, his voice tinged with gratitude but hesitating as he doesn't know your name.

You offer a warm smile and reply with your name. San's eyes light up as he hears your name, and he nods in appreciation. With that, you exit the room, leaving him some privacy to get ready.

While San prepares for the day, you make your way downstairs to the inn's tavern, which is located beneath the lodging area. The scent of fresh bread and brewed coffee fills the air, creating a cosy and welcoming ambiance. You take a seat at a wooden table and glance around the room, observing the locals who are starting their day with hearty breakfasts and lively conversation.

You place an order for two breakfasts, ensuring that San will have a warm meal to start the day. As you wait for the food to arrive, you reflect on the journey that has brought you to this new world and the newfound bond you share with San. The townsfolk, too, go about their daily routines, their world untouched by the extraordinary circumstances that have reshaped your lives.

Sitting at the wooden table in the cosy tavern beneath the inn, your gaze is drawn to the staircase that leads down from the upper rooms. Moments later, you watch as San descends the stairs, his steps graceful and fluid.

Even in the plain, old clothes he now wears, there's an undeniable magnetism about him. His raven-black hair framing his face, his features are striking, and his presence exudes a certain charisma that you recognize immediately. It's as if he possesses a natural star quality, a glow that transcends time and place.

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you observe him. The way he moves, the confidence in his steps, and the undeniable aura that surrounds him—these are the very qualities that made him an idol in your world. As he reaches the bottom of the stairs and meets your gaze, you exchange a knowing look.

It becomes clear to you that the essence of who San is goes beyond his role as a performer. His appeal, his talent, and his undeniable charm are deeply rooted in his very being. You appreciate that there's more to him than meets the eye, and the unique connection you share in this extraordinary journey only deepens your admiration for the person who is not just an idol but also a fellow traveller in this unfamiliar world.

San takes a seat in front of you at the wooden table, his eyes filled with gratitude as he speaks quietly, "Thank you so much for the help."

"Of course," you reply with a warm smile, appreciating the opportunity to assist someone in this unfamiliar world.

Curiosity sparks in San's eyes as he leans in slightly, his interest piqued. "So how did you know it was me, from Ateez?"

You consider the question for a moment before deciding to reveal the truth. "Well, in our world..." you begin, hesitating for a brief moment.

San's eyes widen with surprise, and he leans in closer, eager to hear more. "What is it?"

You lower your voice, as if sharing a secret. "I may or may not be an Atiny, and I recognized you right away."

A smile spreads across San's face, and a sense of camaraderie fills the air as you both share this unexpected connection. In this extraordinary world and situation, your shared love for Ateez transcends time and place, and you find comfort in the bond that links you together.

"Seriously?" San's eyes widen with a mix of surprise and disbelief.

You nod, your voice earnest as you reply, "Yes, why would I lie about it?"

San chuckles softly, still trying to process the information. "I don't know, that's actually insane, though."

You can't help but smile at his reaction. "I guess so."

San's curiosity shifts to a topic that seems of utmost importance to him. "Who is your bias?"

You raise an eyebrow, a playful smirk on your face. "Is that really what's important right now?"

San's eyes widen, his tone as serious as if discussing a crucial matter. "Yes, very important."

With a mischievous glint in your eye, you respond, "It's a secret."

San grumbles and rolls his eyes, his familiar antics making you giggle. It's reassuring to see that, despite the extraordinary circumstances, he remains somewhat himself from the world you both know.

After taking a bite of his bread, San shifts the conversation, his expression curious. "What do you do? You know, in our world."

You offer a genuine smile as you share your passion. "Oh, I run a cafe in Seoul."

San's face lights up with enthusiasm. "That's so nice! Where is it?"

"It's actually really close to the KQ building, next to the flower shop."

San's eyes widen in realisation. "Wait, really? That's very close. I'll stop by there when we get out."

A bittersweet smile crosses your face as you admit, "If it's still in business."

San's concern deepens as he probes further. "What do you mean?"

You meet his gaze and explain, "Business was really slow when I was there. I've been gone for a few months now, so I doubt it'll still be open."

San's expression turns serious as he processes your words. "Wait a second... a few months?" The realisation dawns on him, and he looks at you with a mixture of surprise and understanding, as the magnitude of your situation sinks in.

“Yeah, I haven’t had the chance to get out due to being a princess,” you look up at San, your eyes grateful as you look at him, “which is why it’s so great you are here. It feels like I have a chance to get home.”

San smiles at you, sympathy and understanding in his eyes as he realises how long you've been trapped in this world. But then, a spark of curiosity ignites in his gaze.

"So, what was the last thing you remember before getting here?" San inquires, his voice filled with intrigue.

You furrow your brow, the memories of that moment still vivid. "I was working in the cafe, and all of a sudden, it just went black. When I woke up, I was in the palace."

San nods in recognition, a shared experience that links your worlds. "Me too," he admits, "I was practising for our comeback. It suddenly went black, and I heard Hongjoong yelling my name. But when I woke up, I was in the forest, wearing the same clothes I had in my 'Warriors' music video."

Your curiosity piques as you catch a detail you hadn't expected. "Wait a second. What music video?"

San's eyes widen with enthusiasm as he realises that you've been out of touch with their latest work. "Oh, you haven't seen it because you've been here!" he exclaims. "I did a dance cover, and that's why I have these tattoos."

You chuckle at his response. "I was wondering if you had gotten so many tattoos in two months."

San laughs, appreciating your humour. "It was just part of the concept. We filmed it in front of the Gyeongbokgung Palace."

San's words strike you like a bolt of lightning, and you find yourself needing to clarify the astonishing coincidence.

"What did you just say?" you inquire, your voice tinged with amazement.

San blinks, seemingly unaware of the profound revelation that's unfolding. "What?"

You lean in closer, your eyes searching his face for any sign of recognition. "Gyeongbokgung. I went there a few months ago, a week before I appeared here. How long has it been since you've been there?"

San's eyes widen in realisation as the pieces of the puzzle start to align. "Uh, well, it was filmed on Wednesday, so... a week ago. Wait."

The implications of your shared experiences weigh heavy on your minds. The timing and location seem more than just a coincidence. It's as if a bridge between two worlds has been formed, connecting the moments you both mysteriously entered this unfamiliar reality.

"You went there a week ago yesterday?" you inquire, your mind racing as the pieces of the puzzle align.

San's eyes light up with realisation as he nods eagerly. "Then it must be something related to Gyeongbokgung!"

The shared excitement between you and San is palpable as you uncover this incredible connection. Gyeongbokgung, the place where you both last remember being in your respective worlds before finding yourselves in this strange new reality, is the common link that binds your experiences.

"We should go there now," you suggest, a sense of urgency in your voice. "It should be here around this time, maybe we can find something to help us."

San nods enthusiastically, his focus now on finishing his meal as quickly as possible. He stuffs down his food, eager to expedite your departure.

Once his mouth is free of food, San inquires, "Do you have a map?"

"Ah, yes," you reply, reaching into your bag to retrieve the map that Jiyun had thoughtfully packed for your journey. Carefully, you unspread the map on the wooden table.

"Okay, so we should be here right now," you say, tracing your location with a finger, "then Gyeongbokgung will be…"

San's eyes follow your finger as he points towards the parchment, spotting the small letters displaying 'palace.' "I see it."

You calculate the distance and the remaining daylight. "If we leave now, we can make it before sundown."

San's determination matches yours as he eagerly exclaims, "Then what are we waiting for?"

With your destination set and a shared purpose driving you forward, you and San finish your meal, gather your belongings, and prepare to embark on a journey that may hold the key to unravelling the mysteries of your extraordinary situation. The tavern, once filled with chatter and the clinking of mugs, now watches you both as you stand, ready to venture into the unknown in search of answers.

You and San make your way to the stable where your horses were kept. The sun is still high in the sky, and a gentle breeze rustles the leaves of the nearby trees. As you approach the stable, the familiar scent of hay and leather fills the air.

However, as you step into the stable, a sense of unease washes over you. One of the stalls is empty, and you immediately notice that your horse is missing. Panic begins to rise within you.

San senses your distress and looks around, his expression mirroring your concern. "Where's your horse?"

You hurry over to the stable keeper, who is tending to the remaining horses. "Excuse me," you say, trying to keep your voice steady, "my horse is missing. Do you know what happened?"

The stable keeper wipes his hands on a cloth and turns to face you. "I'm so sorry, miss. When I went to get their food, your horse got spooked and ran off into the woods. I tried to catch it, but it was too fast."

Your heart sinks at the news, and you exchange a worried glance with San. Losing a horse is a significant setback, and you'll need to find a solution to continue your journey.

San speaks up, "Is there any way we can track it or find it?"

The stable keeper scratches his head, deep in thought. "There are some villagers who know the woods well and might be able to help. But it could take some time."

With no other options, you share a glance with San.

“We can share mine, we have no time to look for it,” San offers and you let out a sharp exhale.

“Okay…”

The stable keeper helps you prepare the horse, ensuring that the saddle and reins are secure. It's not ideal, but you don't have much choice if you want to reach Gyeongbokgung Palace before sundown.

San climbs onto the horse, offering you a hand to help you up in front of him. Settling into the saddle, you can't help but feel the warmth of his presence close behind you. The two of you share a glance, and you notice his red cheeks.

San's concern for your comfort is evident, and he expresses it as you both share the horse. His apology for the close proximity reflects his consideration for your feelings.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice filled with genuine regret. "I didn't expect us to be so close. I can move back a little if you want. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

You offer a reassuring smile, eager to put his worries to rest. "It's okay, San. Let's just get to the palace."

Beginning to lead the horse in the direction of Gyeongbokgung Palace, San shifts his position on the saddle, inadvertently causing him to bump forward and press his chest against your back. A rush of warmth fills your cheeks, but you do your best to stay composed.

"I'm so sorry," San says, his face turning a shade of crimson. His embarrassment is evident, and you find his reaction endearing.

You guide the horse along the path, focusing on your destination, when San inquires, "Where should I put my hands?"

Your heart flutters at the question, and you're grateful that you’re facing forward so he doesn't see your flustered expression.

"Just wrap your arms around my waist," you reply. "I don't mind, really."

San hesitates, his concern still evident. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable..."

You smile at his thoughtfulness but gently urge him, "San, please, just hurry up. We need to reach the palace before nightfall."

San follows your instructions and wraps his arms securely around your waist. His touch is gentle, yet you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. It causes you to momentarily lose focus, the surreal nature of the situation overwhelming your thoughts. Never in your wildest dreams could you have imagined being in this position with one of your favourite idols.

San's chest presses against your back, and you can sense the beating of his heart, echoing the rapid rhythm of your own. Both of you are embroiled in this unique experience, and you remain unaware of the thoughts racing through San's mind.

For San, the situation is equally unprecedented. His face is flushed with a bright shade of red, and he holds onto you with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. The proximity between the two of you, the shared adventure, and the bond that's forming in this extraordinary world are causing his heart to open up in ways he couldn't have anticipated.

With each moment that passes, your connection deepens, and you become a source of support and comfort for each other in this unfamiliar and often challenging world. It's a journey that neither of you could have predicted, but as you ride together, you find solace in the warmth of each other's presence.

Continuing your journey together, San's voice takes on a low, intimate tone. It's as if he wants to keep the conversation between the two of you, sharing this moment in the midst of your unusual adventure. His breath tickles your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and causing goosebumps to rise on your skin.

"Tell me about yourself," he asks, his voice gentle and curious.

You find his proximity comforting and decide to share a piece of your past with him. "What do you want to know?"

San listens attentively, his breath soft against your ear. "What was your favourite part of running the cafe?"

You smile at the memory, feeling a sense of nostalgia for your old life. "I think my favourite part was seeing people come in, enjoying their coffee or a meal, and leaving with a smile. It was like creating a little oasis where people could take a break from their busy lives."

“That’s nice.” San's warm presence and the intimate conversation create a sense of connection that transcends the boundaries of time and place. You find yourself opening up to him, sharing stories from your past and learning more about his own experiences.

"I have an important question," San suddenly says, his tone becoming playful as he awaits your response.

You raise an eyebrow, mirroring his playful tone, "And what would that be, San?"

A mischievous glint dances in San's eyes as he asks, "What's your favourite Ateez song?"

You chuckle gently at his question. "I'm being serious!"

San's playful demeanour and the imagined pout in his voice make you smile. You can almost picture the look he's giving you, having seen countless videos of him making that expression.

"Okay, okay," you reply, "that's a tough question. I tend to like the b-sides more, to be honest."

San encourages you to share more, his curiosity piqued. You reflect for a moment before answering, "Turbulence and Mist have a special place in my heart."

"Really?" San's voice carries a warm and intriguing tone. "Why is that?"

You pause, considering your response. "Well, I was going through a really tough time a while ago. I don't know, these songs just feel like a warm hug. Like someone is there for me."

San listens intently to your words, his heart swelling with compassion and understanding. "I'm glad we could be there for you during that difficult time."

“Thank you,”

San's eyes soften, and his voice takes on a soothing tone as he responds, "You don't have to thank us. Music has a way of reaching people when they need it most, and it's an honour to know that our songs could be there for you during those difficult times."

Tears well up in your eyes as you remember the moments when you turned to music as your solace. You've found comfort and strength in the melodies and lyrics that resonated with your emotions. It's a powerful connection that transcends time and place, and it's something you and San now share.

Drawing closer to your destination, the palace towers in the distance become more prominent, the air is filled with a mixture of anticipation and curiosity. The scenery around you is both breathtaking and mysterious, mirroring the unique connection that has grown between you.

San glances over at you, his curiosity getting the best of him. "Can I ask you something?"

You meet his gaze and offer a warm smile. "Of course."

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before he finally asks, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

The question catches you slightly off guard, but you answer honestly, "No, I don't have a boyfriend."

San raises an eyebrow, and a playful smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "I didn't expect that."

You chuckle at his response. "What do you mean by that?"

San's gaze softens, and he offers a sincere explanation. "Well, you're really kind, caring, and incredibly determined. Not to mention, you are very beautiful, I guess I thought someone like you would already have someone special in their life."

A heat creeps up on your cheeks as you feel a flutter in your heart. San's compliments catch you by surprise, and you find yourself at a loss for words for a moment. Burying your face in your hands to hide your flustered expression, San watches you with a fond expression.

You smile and say, "Thank you, San. You're pretty amazing yourself."

Hesitating for a moment, unsure if you should say this, you decide to speak. "I have a husband, though."

San's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "What do you mean? I thought you were single?"

You can't help but grin mischievously before you clarify, "His name is Mingi."

San's incredulous expression is almost comical. "Your bias is Mingi?"

You nod with a playful glint in your eye. "Yes. Why is that such a bad thing?"

San can't help but laugh, "It's not, Mingi is amazing, but come on? I'm here right now. I should be your bias."

You raise an eyebrow, teasing him further, "You have to earn it."

San scoffs before retorting, “what, did Mingi body roll his way into your bias spot?”

“Precisely.”

San leans in closer, a playful glint in his eye. "And what about my cyberpunk performance?"

You contemplate for a moment, then acknowledge with a nod, "Ooh, nice. I have to admit. But Mingi in bouncy was a whole snack."

San pretends to be offended, teasing you back, "What, are you a pervert?"

You protest, "No, you started it!" However, San’s laughter at your reaction causes a wide smile to grow on your face.

San's thoughts drift in the midst of the journey towards Gyeongbokgung Palace, he finds himself mesmerised not only by your unique personality but also by your captivating beauty. He can't help but be struck by the allure of your presence and the way the soft light of the setting sun enhances your features, making you glow in an almost ethereal manner.

To him, you are not just intriguing and kind, but you're also incredibly beautiful, inside and out. Your allure has a magnetic quality that pulls him in, leaving him in awe of the remarkable person he has come to know. The warmth he feels in his heart is not just from the shared connection but from the undeniable appreciation of your inner and outer beauty.

"San?" you question, noticing his distraction and wondering what has captured his attention so deeply.

San blinks, almost like he's been caught in the act of something secret, and quickly replies, "Yes!"

You can't help but chuckle at his somewhat startled expression. "We are here."

The magnificent Gyeongbokgung Palace stands before you, its grandeur and beauty making the journey worthwhile. You both dismount from the horse, and as you step onto the palace grounds, the weight of the world's mysteries and your unique connection continues to loom over your heads.

The palace grounds are a bustling hive of activity, even as the day inches towards twilight. Commoners from all walks of life have gathered to admire the magnificent architecture, wander through the lush gardens, and soak in the historical splendour of Gyeongbokgung Palace.

San and yourself make your way through the lively crowds, you discreetly raise a scarf to drape over your head, partially concealing your face. Though you are not accustomed to the recognition and respect bestowed upon you as a supposed princess in this world, you are aware that you must maintain your appearance. To the people here, you are not the cafe owner from Seoul but a royal figure who demands respect.

Your attire and the scarf shroud your identity, giving you a degree of anonymity as you navigate the palace's vast courtyards and intricate passageways. San walks alongside you, blending seamlessly into the throng of visitors, his presence a source of both comfort and companionship.

The whispers of the crowd, the laughter of children, and the gasps of awe as they take in the grandeur of the palace envelop you. It's a vivid reminder of the rich history that envelops you, and for a brief moment, you forget about the strangeness of the world you've been thrust into. The palace comes alive with the shared fascination of the visitors, and you and San are just two more among the countless souls wandering through its storied halls.

You are keenly aware of the importance of maintaining your facade as you traverse the palace. The scarf that conceals your features becomes your shield, protecting your true identity and allowing you to move freely among the people, your thoughts locked in a delicate balance between the two worlds you now inhabit.

Continuing to meander through the throngs of people, San leans in close to you and murmurs in your ear, "So, what exactly are we looking for?"

You contemplate for a moment, the palace's grandeur and historical significance surrounding you, before replying, "I don't know, maybe something that still exists in our world."

San offers a smile of approval, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "That's a good start. You're super smart."

You chuckle, appreciating the compliment but also trying to play it cool so he doesn't notice the way your heart beats faster, "Stop flattering me; it's not going to make you my bias."

San lets out a laugh and rolls his eyes playfully, his lips curving into a grin. "Well, it's worth a try, right?"

The two of you share a moment of lighthearted banter, the playfulness of your conversation providing a brief respite from the mysteries that shroud your current circumstances.

As you and San navigate the bustling palace, you suggest a plan, saying, "I'll go around the left, and you go around the right. It'll be quicker for us to split up." Your eyes dart around, on the lookout for any sign of noblemen or advisors who may recognize you.

San, however, appears concerned and holds your arm gently, restraining you from moving away. "What if you get in trouble?"

You smile reassuringly and reply, "I'll be fine. I'm more worried about you." You chuckle softly, trying to hide the fluttering sensation that his touch on your arm ignites. "Stay low, and please don't go around announcing you're from another world. If you end up in the dungeon, it won't be as easy for me to rescue you."

Your words carry a sense of caution, the weight of your shared journey growing more apparent as you prepare to part ways temporarily within the palace. It's a moment of both anticipation and apprehension, knowing that your decisions in this unfamiliar world can have unforeseen consequences.

"Just meet me back here in an hour," you say, giving San a warm smile before parting ways.

San nods, his expression affectionate and filled with genuine concern. "Stay safe."

With those parting words, you both venture into different directions within the bustling palace, each with your own quest and the hope of uncovering clues that may lead you closer to understanding the mysteries of your dual existence.

You methodically search through the palace, scouring every nook and cranny without raising suspicion. Every rock, every brick, and every detail of the architecture comes under your scrutiny, yet nothing stands out as the mysterious link between your two worlds. It's a challenging task, as you're not even entirely sure what you're looking for.

After what feels like both an eternity and the blink of an eye, you glance up at the position of the sun in the sky. The hour has nearly passed, and it's time to make your way back to the agreed meeting point. The crowd begins to thin, and you're aware of the increasing risk of drawing attention to yourself if you continue your search.

Heading back to the designated spot, you spot San already approaching, a sense of defeat etched on his face.

When he reaches you, he inquires, "Did you find anything?"

You shake your head, disappointment clear in your expression. "No, nothing. It's hard to look for something when we don't even know what we're searching for."

Desperation creeps into your voice as you continue, "Tell me everything that happened when you were filming, every small detail that could be significant."

San furrows his brows in deep thought, trying to recall every detail from that day. "Well, one of the dancers ripped his pants during a take. There was an odd rock that almost all of us tripped over at one point..."

You press him for more, your sense of urgency growing. "And what else?"

San's eyes light up with realisation. "I don't know if this is relevant, but there was this old lady. She wouldn't leave us alone unless we bought one of her tassels. The owner told us she's always there, selling charms and whatnot."

Your heart skips a beat as San mentions the old lady. The pieces start to fall into place, and you can't help but feel that you're on the verge of a breakthrough. "An old lady? I saw an old lady too! She sold me a charm to bring love into my life."

“She also sold me one for love!” San exclaims as the dots line up in his head also.

Walking together toward the area where your horse is stabled, you and San discuss the topic about the old lady.

"If only she were here right now," San grumbles, his lips forming a pout. "We could see if her charm is what made us end up here."

You both engage in light banter, acknowledging the absurdity of the situation. The prospect of the old lady's charm being the catalyst for your parallel journeys is almost too surreal to contemplate.

Then, unexpectedly, something, no, someone captures your attention. Emerging from the grand palace doors is a woman who looks incredibly familiar. Your heart skips a beat as you experience a moment of déjà vu, as if the universe is playing a cosmic joke on you.

"San," you say, drawing the young man's attention. He had been aimlessly kicking around stones out of frustration.

"I think she's here right now," you explain, your voice quivering with a mix of excitement and disbelief.

“I thought you were smart, that’s impossible,” San pivots to where you're looking, his eyes widening with shock upon seeing the woman exiting the palace.

In an instant, your eyes meet, and an unspoken understanding passes between you. You both know that you must act quickly to seize this unexpected opportunity.

Without a word, you take off running together in the direction of the woman, your hearts pounding with anticipation.

"Lady!" you yell, your voice echoing through the palace courtyard. Your cry catches her attention as you and San draw nearer, but instead of stopping to address you, she immediately turns and bolts away, disappearing into the forest.

Determined, you give chase, your heart pounding as you follow her into the dense woods. It's puzzling how an elderly woman can move so nimbly, but you're driven by the urgency of your quest.

After a few intense minutes of pursuit, you finally manage to close the gap. Your hand lands firmly on her shoulder, bringing her to an abrupt halt. The old lady, her breath laboured and eyes wide, is now captive in your grasp, and you're ready to seek the answers you've been searching for.

San is close behind the two of you and when he reaches you he places his hand on a nearby tree, trying to catch his breath.

"For an old lady, you're really fast," San exclaims, trying to catch his breath.

You can't help but chuckle at his dishevelled state. "Aren't you supposed to be really athletic?" you retort, teasing him lightly.

"In this world, no," San replies, catching his breath before turning his attention to the old lady. "Please, give us answers."

The old lady, her voice hoarse, attempts to catch her breath as well. "I don't know what you're talking about."

San looks at her with an expression of disbelief, as if he can't fathom her response. "Yes, you do. You bolted in the other direction when we approached you."

The lady, appearing somewhat offended, glances between you and San before responding, "Approached? I beg your pardon. How would you like it if two strangers were hurtling towards you?"

You almost burst into laughter at her retort, and you can see the incredulous look on San's face. The situation has taken an unexpected turn.

"Look, ma'am," you interject, trying to steer the conversation in a more serious direction. "We're well aware that you know something about us. We just want some answers."

The lady rolls her eyes before scanning her surroundings as if she's checking for any potential eavesdroppers. This action puzzles both you and San, and you exchange bewildered glances. San simply shrugs his shoulders in confusion, unsure of what to make of this mysterious encounter.

“Not here though,” her tone turns serious as she leads you further into the woods.

The woods, although unfamiliar, have a hauntingly beautiful quality to them. Tall, ancient trees stretch their gnarled limbs towards the sky, forming a canopy of leaves that filter the low sunlight, creating a mystical, ethereal atmosphere. The ground is carpeted with a thick layer of moss and ferns, lending an otherworldly green hue to the forest floor. Birdsong and the rustle of leaves in the breeze provide a melodic backdrop to your journey, adding to the sense of enchantment that surrounds you.

Despite the woods' eerie charm, there's an undeniable feeling of isolation and obscurity as you venture deeper into its depths. The silence here is deafening, save for the occasional chirping of a distant bird or the rustling of unseen critters in the underbrush. Shafts of muted, golden sunlight pierce through the dense foliage, casting elongated shadows on the forest floor.

As you approach the fallen tree blocking the path, you marvel at its sheer size and age. It appears to have been lying here for centuries, with gnarled roots and crumbling bark that hint at the passage of time. The tree's massive branches extend into the undergrowth, creating an imposing and challenging barrier to your progress.

The old lady, still leading the way, jumps lithely over the tree, demonstrating a remarkable agility that seems out of place for her age. Her movements are fluid and graceful, as if the forest itself welcomes her presence.

San stands beside the fallen tree, offering you his hand, his eyes filled with concern and support. You grasp his hand, and he assists you in navigating the obstacle. As you make your attempt to cross, your foot catches on a stubborn root, causing you to lose your balance. Just as you teeter precariously, San's strong arm wraps around your waist, ensuring you don't fall. His touch is comforting, and for a brief moment, you both share a wordless connection as you regain your footing. San's heart lurches in his chest upon making contact with you, and he can't help but smile when he notices the flustered expression on your face.

The old lady observes this interaction from a distance, her knowing eyes filled with a fond amusement, and she motions for you to continue following her deeper into the forest. The journey becomes even more enigmatic and intriguing as you move forward, leaving the fallen tree behind and plunging further into the mystical beauty and mystery of the woods.

Slowly, the sun dips below the horizon making the woods take on an eerie quality. The once vibrant and lush forest now transforms into a mysterious and dark place. The temperature drops, and a shiver runs down your spine. You can't help but feel a little scared and vulnerable in this unfamiliar environment.

San, noticing your discomfort, moves a bit closer to you, not touching but making sure you know he's there for you. His presence brings some comfort, and you lean slightly into him, seeking warmth and assurance. Just as you're starting to relax, a howl echoes through the woods, sending a jolt of fear through your body. You instinctively press your arm against San, finding solace in his nearness.

"Are those wolves?" you ask, your voice quivering.

San, his cheeks slightly flushed, offers a reassuring smile. "It's okay, I'm here," he says with a touch of affection in his tone, making your heart skip a beat.

Still feeling uneasy, you keep your eyes on the darkening forest.

San notices your increasing anxiousness and quickly starts a conversation to distract you, "have you ever been to one of our concerts?" San asks, his curiosity piqued.

You shake your head, the tension slowly easing. "No, actually. I've been so focused on my education and then opening the café that I've barely had time. But now it's just a money problem. I've put all my savings into the café."

San nods, showing genuine interest in your dedication. "You're really dedicated to the café."

A soft smile plays on your lips. "It's been my dream since I was young."

San's curiosity heightens, he wants to know more. "Why is that?"

You take a deep breath, allowing the beauty of the moment to wash over you, the eerie woods, the presence of San beside you, and your shared stories. "Well, when I was a kid, my mother owned a cafe. I used to help her around when I was young, and I always wanted to own the cafe when she retired. I loved the way it brought people together. It's like a place where you can escape from your daily life, enjoy a cup of coffee, and maybe even make a new friend. I wanted to create that for others, a space where people can find comfort and connection.”

Sharing the story of your café and the emotional reason behind your dedication, San's eyes begin to glisten with unshed tears. He listens with intense attention, his heart swelling with empathy and understanding.

"My mother passed away when I was young, and my father couldn't make enough money to support us, so we had to sell the place. Ever since then, I've dreamed of carrying on her legacy."

San's voice is filled with emotion as he responds, "I'm so sorry to hear about your mother. It must have been tough for you." He takes a deep breath, his own experiences coming to the surface. "Being an idol, I don't get to see my parents often, and I really miss them. But I keep going to make them proud. I know how you feel."

Smiling at San, you feel the connection between you deepen, and San finds himself experiencing an overwhelming amount of respect and admiration for your strength and determination. He can't help but feel a powerful emotional response to your story, and his heart jerks in his chest. He's touched by your vulnerability and the way you've persevered in the face of adversity. In this moment, the small but growing feelings he has for you become even more evident.

You and San share a meaningful gaze, both of your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The warmth of his smile provides a comforting connection between you, and in that moment, you can't help but feel a deep sense of belonging. Unbeknownst to you, the same feelings of belonging, understanding, and connection are mirrored in San's heart, as he finds himself drawn to you more deeply than he could have ever imagined.

“When we get out of here, you are invited to all of our concerts, free of charge.” San exclaims, his wide smile contagious.

“Then I can see Mingi body rolling with my own two eyes.”

“I'm going to feed you to the wolves.”

“We are here.”

The old lady's voice gently breaks your bickering with San, and you shift your gaze towards the source of her words. With a silent nod, she points to a small grotto-like cottage nestled deep within the woods. Covered in vibrant, velvety green moss, it looks like it has been plucked from a Pinterest post. The quaint little dwelling is simultaneously cosy and inviting, yet there is an eerie and somewhat unsettling quality to it that sends shivers down your spine. It seems as if ancient stories and secrets are hidden within its walls, waiting to be uncovered.

The forest that surrounds the cottage adds to the eerie charm. It is a mesmerising place, where the faint light of the setting sun dappled the landscape with warm, golden hues, casting long, enchanting shadows that seemed to dance with every passing breeze. It is beautiful, mysterious, and somewhat foreboding, a fusion of emotions that keeps you on edge.

You can't help but glance over at San, who shares your cautious expression. His eyes meet yours, and his warm smile attempts to soothe your nerves.

Following the old lady's lead, you cautiously approach the charming cottage, hesitating before the small door, which seems to be inviting you inside. The soft glow emanating from the windows adds to the enigmatic ambiance. It is a place that begged exploration, yet also invokes a feeling of hesitancy, as if stepping across the threshold would mean willingly delving into the unknown.

Taking a step closer to the cottage, San reaches out, gently grasping your hand and intertwining your fingers. There are no words exchanged, but his actions speak volumes. His warm touch conveys a silent reassurance, as if he is seeking solace and support just as much as he was offering it. His grip is a mixture of emotions, perhaps fueled by fear or the desire to protect you, and it sends your heart into a flurry of emotions. Your cheeks warm up, and butterflies flit through your stomach as you continue your journey towards the mysterious cottage, hand in hand with San.

Stepping through the small door of the cottage, you and San are greeted by a warm, cosy interior. The walls are adorned with wooden panels, giving the place a rustic, cabin-like feel. The ceiling is supported by wooden beams that add to the overall charm of the room. An inviting fireplace stands against one wall, its embers casting a comforting glow that bathes the space in a soft, flickering light.

In the heart of the room, there is a comfortable, worn-in sofa that beckoned for weary travellers like yourselves. Its deep red cushions invited you to sit down and rest, and you can’t help but admire how perfectly it fits into the rustic décor of the cottage. A wooden coffee table sits in front of the sofa, adorned with trinkets, dried herbs, and a collection of weathered books.

What captures your attention the most, however, is the large, cast-iron cauldron set in the centre of the room. It stands on a sturdy wooden tripod, and it appears to be empty, its black interior gleaming in the firelight. The cauldron is ancient, with ornate patterns etched along its rim, hinting at the history it holds within its iron confines. Taking in the warm and cosy ambiance of the cabin, you can't help but wonder about the mysteries it holds. The combination of old-world charm and the feeling of being in an entirely different realm is both alluring and unsettling. It is as though time has stood still in this hidden refuge, waiting for someone to uncover its secrets.

Taking in the cosy surroundings of the cottage, San's hand remains gently intertwined with yours. The warmth of his hand, combined with the comforting ambiance of the room, help ease the nervousness that has settled within you. The flickering firelight dances across the wooden walls, casting a soothing, amber glow on the two of you.

The old lady bustles around the room with a sense of familiarity, fetching cups and a teapot. Her movements are both methodical and graceful, as if she has been performing these tasks for many years. She has a kind, grandmotherly air about her, and her actions feel like a welcoming embrace.

With a warm smile, she pours the fragrant tea into delicate, porcelain cups, the gentle aroma wafting through the room, filling the air with the comforting scent of herbs and spices. The cups clink softly as she places them on the coffee table in front of the two of you.

You decide to take a seat on the plush, red sofa, and San sits down beside you. Your thighs touching, and the contact between you brought a sense of comfort and security. The cushions embraced you like a familiar friend, and the two of you found yourselves sitting close, as if the physical closeness mirrored the connection that was growing between you.

Sipping on the warm tea, you feel your nerves slowly begin to fade, replaced by a newfound sense of curiosity and wonder.

San and you sit in the cosy cabin, sipping tea and gathering your thoughts, the pressing question of how to return to your own world lingers heavily in the air. You know it is time to seek answers, and you exchange a glance with San before turning your attention to the old lady, a mix of curiosity and frustration in your voices.

"So, how do we get back to our world?" you inquire, your voice filled with a hint of desperation. "And what brought us here in the first place?"

San's voice is more direct as he joins the conversation. "Yeah, we understand we need to find our way out, but why were we brought here in the first place?"

The old lady, who had been bustling around the cabin to fetch cups and a teapot, pauses in her tasks. She takes a moment to consider your questions and then offers a thoughtful response, her voice laced with wisdom. "You were brought here by destiny, not by me. It appears that fate has a plan for both of you."

Your brows furrow with disbelief, and you shoot a sceptical glance at San. This answer hardly provides any solace, and San decides to voice your collective concerns.

"But you gave us those tassels. Weren't they what brought us here? So, it is your fault, and you need to help us get back."

The old lady lets out a weary sigh, understanding the frustration etched on both your faces. Her eyes betray a mix of amusement and sympathy as she speaks, "You are correct; the charms you were given had a role to play. However, they were more like keys, opening the door that destiny had laid before you."

You share another puzzled look with San, trying to grasp the cryptic nature of her explanation. San's patience wears thin, and he leans forward, his eyes locked onto hers. "Okay, so if we were brought here by destiny, how do we go back? What's the way out?"

The old lady leans back in her chair, reflecting on her next words.

“There is the existence of a rare and precious thread that can be woven into a tassel, allowing you to return to your world. It is the sister thread of the charm that brought the two of you here. However, the thread is a rarity, and it can only be made every six months. I know someone who has some, yet they live on the other side of the woods, it’ll take you the whole day for me to get it and return.”

San's frustration becomes more noticeable as he asks, "So, when can we get this thread? Tomorrow?"

The old lady shakes her head gently, a sense of regret in her eyes. "I'm sorry, but I have visitors scheduled for tomorrow. It will be the day after tomorrow before I can fetch the thread for you."

You and San exchange a sigh of frustration, aware that your predicament has become increasingly complicated by the constraints of time.

"What if we get it? We can leave in the early morning and be back in the evening for you to make it." You suggest the plan with a glimmer of hope in your eyes, your voice brimming with determination.

The old lady observes you and San thoughtfully before offering her response, her expression reflecting a mix of curiosity and contemplation. "I suppose that could work. If you get it back to me before dark, I will make it for you."

"What's the catch?" San asks with a hint of scepticism.

The old lady reassures him, "There is no catch."

San's doubt lingers as he continues, "Don't play with me. You're a witch; there's always a catch."

She maintains her composure and responds, "I am not a witch."

Your eyes narrow in disbelief, and you press further, "Girl, you have a cauldron in the middle of your house. Be for real."

Your incredulity mirrors his as you try to make sense of the unusual surroundings and situation.

"You will find out the catch when you return with the thread," she calmly expresses. "This is the risk you have to take. Do you really wish to go home?" Her words are enigmatic, leaving you and San uncertain about what lies ahead on this unexpected journey.

"For now, though," she says, standing up from her chair, "get some rest. I'm sure you are tired from your travels."

You and San walk through the dimly lit corridor to the small room the old lady has prepared for you. It's a cosy, rustic space, with wooden walls and beams overhead, giving it a warm and inviting ambiance. The room is adorned with various knick-knacks, and the window reveals the occasional flicker of fireflies outside, casting fleeting shadows across the room.

Upon entering the room, you both find a comfortable, albeit not very spacious, resting place. There's only one bed, and the realisation causes a simultaneous blush to creep across both your faces. You feel a pang of guilt about the potential awkwardness of the situation, but before you can protest, San insists on taking the floor.

He quickly arranges a blanket he found in a nearby chest and lays it out on the wooden floor, attempting to make a makeshift bed for himself.

"I can't let you sleep on the floor," you object, worried about his comfort.

San chuckles, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the lanterns outside. "It's fine, really. I'll be comfortable."

You give in, though you still feel a bit uneasy about it. San's considerate nature is touching, but you can't help but wish for a more suitable solution.

After a moment, you ease yourself into the plush bed. The soft mattress seems to envelop you, and you can't help but let out a contented sigh. The bed feels like a luxurious escape after the long, tiring journey you've had. As you lay there, the comfort and warmth of the bed begin to lull you into a state of drowsiness.

San finishes arranging his makeshift bed on the floor beside you and glances over with a warm smile, his gaze a mix of concern and reassurance. As you're beginning to drift into slumber, he whispers softly, "Goodnight," in the dimly lit room.

The only sounds are the gentle crackling of the fireplace and the faint rustling of leaves outside, making you feel cosy and safe as you slowly succumb to sleep, with San's presence nearby providing a sense of comfort.

The sun's warmth bathes the forest in a golden glow as you and San step onto the path marked on the map. The cool, crisp air fills your lungs, invigorating you for the journey ahead. The forest around you is enchanting, with tall trees and vibrant flora that create an ethereal ambiance. Birds sing melodiously, providing a sense of tranquillity despite the challenges that await you.

The path, as the old lady described, is well-worn and meanders through the woods, guiding you further into the heart of the forest. You follow the landmarks indicated on the map: a peculiarly shaped tree, a massive boulder with moss clinging to its sides, and a serene, babbling brook. Each one reassures you that you're on the right track.

As you continue your journey, you come across a part of the forest that is denser and more shadowed than before. The old lady's warnings echo in your mind as you quicken your pace, your grip on the map tightening. You feel a sense of determination to return safely and bring San with you to your world.

The terrain gradually changes, leading you uphill and into a section of the forest where the trees are thicker and their branches intertwine, creating a natural canopy. The hushed whispers of the leaves add to the eerie yet captivating atmosphere.

"The old lady mentioned a hidden grove up ahead," San says, studying the map intently. "She said we need to pass through it with caution."

You nod, sharing a look of understanding. The forest seems to hold its breath as you venture deeper. The sense of isolation is palpable, and you start to feel a growing unease. The cool, serene forest from before now feels more mysterious, almost foreboding.

The passage through the hidden grove is narrow and winding, creating an otherworldly setting. Shafts of sunlight cut through the dense foliage, casting intricate patterns on the forest floor. You can't help but marvel at the beauty around you, even as you keep an eye out for the thread's location.

Moving forward, the path begins to broaden once more, and the map indicates that you are nearing the area where the thread can be found. An excitement fills you both, and you exchange a hopeful glance. The anticipation of success fuels your determination to complete this mission.

The map guides you to a small clearing where, according to the old lady, the thread can be collected. But as you reach the area, you realise that there are multiple threads, each one shimmering in different colours, suspended in the air as if by magic. They sway gently, casting colourful reflections on the ground.

San looks at you with a mix of confusion and curiosity. "Which one do we choose?"

The old lady's advice comes back to you: "The thread must be chosen carefully, as it will determine where you return to."

Your heart pounds as you weigh your options. The forest around you holds its breath, waiting for your decision. The threads await your touch, their ethereal beauty a stark contrast to the perilous journey that brought you here.

Yet the second you reach out for a thread, a woman appears in front of you, halting you from grabbing the threads.

The air becomes charged with tension as the mysterious lady appears, her presence sending shivers down your spine. She stands near the threads, her eyes filled with an otherworldly wisdom.

San instinctively moves closer to you, blocking you from her, and you can feel his apprehension as he interlocks your hands.

“You mustn't take without giving, child. There is a price.”

"What is the price?" San asks, his voice trembling slightly.

The lady's expression remains enigmatic as she speaks, "To claim the thread that calls to your soul, you must offer me your most precious memory. Memories are the threads of your life, woven together to create your identity, and the idea of parting with one is a heavy burden to bear. It is the only way to ensure you are taken to your rightful place. This is the balance of the forest's magic."

The lady's request for a precious memory leaves you both in a state of shock. Your mind races as you consider the magnitude of the request. Your memories are a part of your very essence, each one holding a special place in your heart. You look at San, his eyes mirroring your own feelings of uncertainty.

San squeezes your hand, his voice a whisper, "What do we do? We can't give up our memories."

The lady, her gaze unwavering, adds, "I can see the bond you share, your connection is strong. One memory will be strong enough for the both of you."

You share a wordless, meaningful glance with San.

With a deep breath, you nod in San's direction, your silent gesture conveying your readiness to move forward. San meets your eyes with a deep sense of gratitude, an unspoken acknowledgment of the sacrifice you're both about to make.

The lady extends her hand toward you, and you accept it cautiously, your trust in her growing by the minute.

"Now, think of the memory," she instructs gently.

The room falls into an eerie silence as you stand before the threads, tears still glistening in your eyes. You can feel San's supportive presence beside you, his concern unspoken but palpable.

The lady extends her hand toward you, and you accept it cautiously.

You close your eyes, delving deep into your thoughts to find the memory that holds the most significance. Tears gather at the corners of your eyes as the memory surfaces, the emotions tied to it overwhelming.

You take a moment to collect yourself, focusing on the cherished memory, replaying it in your mind like a vivid film. It's a memory from your childhood, a day at the beach with your mother, building sandcastles and laughing. You remember the feeling of the warm sand beneath your feet, the sound of the waves crashing, and the pure happiness in your mother’s eyes.

San watches you attentively, his concern evident in his gaze. He wants to rush to your side, to comfort you in this vulnerable moment, but he restrains himself.

Opening your eyes, you're greeted by the gentle yet piercing gaze of the lady. Her hand is extended toward the threads, waiting for your choice.

Your heart guides you toward a particular thread, one that stands out in a rich, dark purple shade. It shimmers with an otherworldly luminescence, a vibrant and mysterious aura that beckons to you. You reach for it, your hand trembling slightly as you grasp the thread, and it feels warm to the touch, like a connection to the past and the future.

For some inexplicable reason, your heart guides you to the thread, tugging at your emotions. It feels like the right choice, and you reach out to take it, a profound sense of purpose filling your heart.

With the thread secured in your hand, you turn to face San, a mixture of emotions passing between you. Gratitude, determination, and a hint of sadness are reflected in your eyes.

San smiles softly, offering you a reassuring nod, understanding the importance of the memory you've chosen to give up. He knows you've made this sacrifice willingly for both of your sakes.

You and San begin the journey back through the dense forest, the dimming light of the setting sun casts a warm, orange glow through the trees, a weighty silence hangs in the air. The precious thread safely tucked in your satchel serves as a constant reminder of the memory you've willingly sacrificed. Both of you understand the gravity of the situation.

After a while, San breaks the silence with a gentle voice, "If I can ask, what memory did you give up?"

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the memory in your heart. "It was a memory of a day at the beach with my mother, from my childhood. We were building sandcastles and laughing together. It was one of those moments of pure happiness that I never wanted to forget."

San looks at you with a mixture of understanding and sympathy. He realises that it was a cherished memory you held dear, and his respect for your sacrifice deepens.

San speaks again, his expression one of curiosity, " If it were me who had to choose, I wonder what memory I'd give."

You glance at him curiously, your satchel gently bumping against your side as you walk. "Have you thought about it before?"

San nods thoughtfully. "Not specifically, but... I guess a memory from my trainee days, one from the first time I saw our fans at a concert, or maybe our first win. Those moments are really special to me. But, it's a tough choice. I can't imagine giving up any memory willingly."

You both walk on in thoughtful silence, the significance of the thread and your memories weighing heavily on your minds.

"It's peculiar," San says, breaking the silence as he gazes over at you.

"What is?" You ask, your curiosity piqued.

"I wasn't expecting you to pick the purple thread. In my opinion, you strike me as more of a pink person."

A laugh escapes your lips. "I look like a pink person?"

San nods, a playful smile forming on his lips. "Yes, but I guess appearances can be deceiving."

You chuckle at his observation. "I do like pink, to be honest. But something about that purple thread just felt right, like it was calling out to me."

"That's even more interesting," San utters, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"How so?"

"Purple is my favourite colour," San confesses, his eyes fixed on the path ahead. You turn to look at him, a hint of confusion on your face.

San gazes at you, a warm and affectionate expression in his eyes. "Maybe it is destiny that we found each other."

Flustered by San's words, a warm sensation spreads across your cheeks as you quickly hide your face behind your hand. Your heart flutters at the affection in his gaze, and you can't help but sneak a few more glances at him, stealing moments to admire his comforting presence. His eyes, filled with fondness, occasionally meet yours, and a faint, mischievous smile dances at the corners of his lips. San bites his lip, suppressing a grin as he watches you.

The journey back to the old lady's cottage takes you through the dappled forest as the sun begins its slow descent. You and San, side by side, share unspoken words of comfort. San's unwavering presence helps you navigate the intricate path that weaves through the woods, while the echoes of rustling leaves and bird songs in the distance create a serene ambiance.

Arriving at the cosy cottage, you find the old lady tidying up her small abode. She turns to the two of you with a knowing glance, causing your heart to race. An exchange of puzzled glances with San only deepens the sense of mystery.

Hastily, you present her with the valuable thread you secured. She accepts it, murmuring the word "peculiar."

You and San exchange yet another look, curiosity gnawing at your minds. Despite your burning questions, you both decide not to press her further at this moment.

With the thread in her possession, you turn to the old lady once more, your curiosity now focused on the catch you've been wondering about.

“What is the catch?” You question, desperate to know what it is that could be at risk.

“I need time to thread the tassel, then I will tell you the risk. For now, please eat.”

“How long will it take?” San inquires, also desperate to get home.

“An hour or so, it won't be long. Help yourself to food, it is still warm.”

Sitting at the old lady's humble wooden table, you and San eagerly devour the food set before you. It's a simple meal, but after the day's adventures, it tastes like a feast. You're both so engrossed in eating that your earlier question about the odd word "peculiar" remains on hold.

Taking another bite of the hearty stew, San leans in, a mischievous glint in his eye. "So, since we have some time to kill," he begins, "which performance is your absolute favourite?"

You swallow your food, a burst of excitement rushing through you as you recall the various stunning performances you've seen, yet you can't help but to laugh. San’s dedication to find out your favourite parts about his group is endearing as well as funny.

"Well, there are so many, but if I had to choose, I’d probably say Take Me Home."

San grins widely, his eyes lighting up. "Really?." He leans closer, like an excited child, "is it because of my dance solo?"

You laugh at his words and finish another bite and ponder for a moment. "It is really cool. The way you used the mirrors is really cool to me also."

“Thank you for supporting us,” San says quietly, his smile gentle as he looks down at his food.

“Now San.” you say loudly, catching his attention. Pointing your spoon at him, you return the question, “what is your favourite performance to do?”

The two of you continue to chat and savour your meal, the tension lifting up the more you get engrossed in each other's company. Sharing your favourite Ateez moments and music creates a sense of connection which makes the wait for the old lady to finish the tassel more bearable.

You and San sit at the old lady's table, your empty bowls pushed aside, you're engaged in an animated conversation. The room is filled with laughter and shared stories, a comfortable warmth filling the air. You've found that you share many common interests and hobbies beyond just K-pop and Ateez, forging a deeper connection as you discuss your favourite books, movies, and travel destinations. It feels like you've known each other for ages.

The moments pass quickly as you both become lost in the flow of conversation, sharing tales of your personal experiences and dreams. Your voices resonate with passion and excitement as you talk about your aspirations, and you can't help but admire the way San's eyes light up when he talks about his music and performances.

Suddenly, the room's door creaks open, and the old lady enters, holding the completed tassel in her hand. The stunning charm catches your breath in your throat, a masterpiece of intricate weaving and vibrant colours. The thread glistens in the soft light of the room, and it looks as if it carries the power to transport you back to your world. Its craftsmanship and beauty are beyond anything you've ever seen before.

San and you both fall silent as you gaze in awe at the tassel, momentarily speechless. The old lady smiles as she approaches the table, placing the tassel gently in the centre. "Here it is, the thread charm that will take you home," she says, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

You and San exchange a look, both of you sharing a sense of wonder and gratitude for this woman who has helped you.

Suddenly, San's voice pierces the room, grabbing your attention. "Where is the other?" he inquires, his tone filled with urgency.

You and San exchange anxious glances, sensing that something is amiss. The old lady takes a deep, sorrowful breath, her expression growing more serious. "That is the catch," she confesses, her voice heavy with regret. "Only one of you may return home."

San's anger flares, his face flushing with frustration as he runs his trembling hands through his dishevelled hair. You take a step back, your heart sinking with disbelief, and a wave of despair washes over you.

The old lady calmly elaborates, "There is only enough thread to create one tassel. I can retrieve the thread again in six months when it becomes available. But for now, a difficult decision must be made—one must return home, while the other must stay."

The weight of the revelation hangs heavily in the air, the room filled with tension as you and San grapple with the realisation that a choice must be made.

“I will leave it here,” she utters, carefully placing the tassel on the wooden table, “you must sleep with it beneath your pillow, then when you fall asleep, you shall awake in your world.”

The old lady gazes at the two of you, and for the first time in her long life, a pang of guilt washes over her. Letting out a deep sigh, she retreats to the room she emerged from, her expression marked by the gravity of the situation.

You watch as the old lady retreats to the other room, you find a chair near the table and take a seat, deep in thought. San, on the other hand, begins to pace around the room, his frustration evident in his movements. He repeatedly runs his hands through his hair, his expression conflicted and troubled.

After several minutes of silence, you both turn to face each other simultaneously. In unison, you utter the same words, "You take it."

"No, you take it!" You exclaim firmly, determination shining in your eyes.

San responds, equally resolute, "You saved my life, you take it!"

"I saved your life so you can go home," you counter, your voice unwavering.

San's gaze softens as he insists, "You've been here for months, you take it. I want you to go home."

You shake your head, a hint of sadness in your eyes. "You have an important life ahead of you, San. Go home, and I'll meet you there in six months."

San mutters your name, his heart heavy, “you have to run the cafe, you can't wait six months.”

“San. This is what my mother would have wanted… there are more people who need you than people who need me.”

“What if I need you?” San exclaims, tears coming to his eyes.

“San…”

“I can’t leave you here.”

"San," you say firmly, standing up. You grab the tassel and then take his hand, gently pulling him towards the sofa. He follows, looking into your eyes, silently pleading.

Gently, you place the tassel in his hand and he looks up at you, tears threatening to fall as he looks at your face.

Taking a deep breath, you begin speaking, your voice gentle and filled with emotion, "San, I know you want me to go home, but you need to understand something. Your world needs you. Your family, your friends, and your fans all rely on you. You have dreams to fulfil, music to create, and a life to live. You have a purpose, and it's vital to so many people."

You reach out and place your hand on his, holding it with a reassuring grip. "I've learned so much from you during our time here, and I'm grateful for every moment. But I can't take away your chance to return to your world, to be with your loved ones. I'll wait for my turn, and when the time comes, I'll make it home."

San's eyes glisten with unshed tears as he absorbs your words. You continue, your voice steady, "We'll see each other again in six months, and by then, we'll both be where we're meant to be. I believe in you, San. It's time for you to go back and fulfil your destiny."

San listens intently, his eyes fixed on yours as your voice conveys your deep concern and affection.

“I just…” he begins, his voice cracking, yet you stop him.

“It’s okay. Let's go to bed.”

Starting to make your way toward the bedroom, the knowledge that San will disappear by morning brings tears to your eyes. The weight of impending separation presses on your chest, and it's hard to hold back the emotions welling up within you.

Before you can enter the room, San's strong yet gentle hand reaches out, grabbing your wrist with a firm but tender grip. He pulls you toward him, and suddenly, you find yourself enveloped in his arms. The world around you seems to fade into the background as the two of you share a moment.

The hug is a powerful mixture of emotions. San's heart beats rapidly against your chest, its rhythm a reflection of the anxiety and sorrow he feels about the upcoming separation. His tears, warm and wet, seep into the fabric of your clothing as he buries his face in your shoulder, seeking comfort and solace in your presence.

The comforting warmth of his body contrasts sharply with the chill in the room, creating an immediate sense of intimacy and solace. It's as if his body heat radiates into your very soul, offering a shelter from the storm of emotions raging inside both of you.

The subtle scent of him mingles with the earthy, forest fragrance that has clung to your clothes from your time in this peculiar place. It's a blend of familiar and foreign, marking this moment as uniquely special.

You can feel the rise and fall of his chest as he takes shaky breaths, his body trembling slightly with the weight of the impending parting. Each inhale and exhale shows the unspoken emotions that surge between you.

In this shared embrace, the world beyond the two of you fades away. Tears are a silent language, and your tears mix with his. This hug carries the bittersweet weight of the parting, a physical manifestation of the depth of your connection, the pain of separation, and the fervent hope of reuniting in the future. It seems almost insane to you the fact that you met less than three days ago. The person in front of you feels like a person you have known your entire life.

"I'm sorry," San mumbles into your neck, his words laced with regret, his warm breath causing shivers to run down your spine.

Your hand instinctively moves up to pat his head, fingers tangling softly in his hair as you try to provide some comfort. "It's okay, Sannie," you murmur, your voice gentle and reassuring.

With a mixture of emotions, you watch as San takes the bed in the spare room and places the tassel under the pillow. He glances back at you, standing in the door frame, and you offer him a warm smile, your eyes filled with understanding.

"I know what you're thinking," you say gently, a knowing look in your eyes, “I’m not sleeping tonight, don’t think about moving it.” San furrows his eyebrows in confusion, silently wondering how you've seen through him so clearly.

Without hesitation, San stands up and turns to face you, his eyes locked onto yours with intensity. It's clear that he has something important on his mind. His hands move gently to cup your face, his warm touch both comforting and electrifying. He wipes away the tears that have begun to fall from your eyes, a tender expression on his face as he looks deep into your soul.

In a slow, smooth movement, San rests his forehead against yours. You feel your eyes naturally close, giving in to the moment as the world around you seems to disappear.

“I promise to find you.” San whispers with his eyes closed and his promise lingers in the air, playing with your heart strings.

The two of you stay in this intimate position for a while, the only thing that exists being the warmth you share and the unspoken connection between you.

It's almost surreal to you that you've found yourself in this situation, not just with anyone, but with Choi San himself. The circumstances that led to this moment were beyond imagination, and yet, there's a profound sense of gratitude in your heart that it was him who ended up here with you. The closeness you feel in this moment is something you never expected to experience in your life, and it's a bittersweet reminder of the depth of your connection, the vagaries of fate, and the promise of a future reunion.

With a heavy heart, you bid San a quiet goodnight as you leave his room, pulling the door closed gently behind you. It's a slow, painful process, knowing that this may be the last time you'll see him for a while. You turn away from the door and walk down the dimly lit hallway, the weight of the situation bearing down on you.

Reaching a secluded corner of the hallway, you can no longer hold back the emotions that have been building up. Collapsing to the floor, you succumb to the overwhelming grief that has been gnawing at you. Silent sobs wrack your body, and you clutch your chest, trying to muffle the sounds of your heartache. You bite into the flesh of your hand to stifle the cries that threaten to escape, tears streaming down your face.

Each tear that falls feels like another piece of your heart breaking, and you struggle to come to terms with the harsh reality of having to stay here for longer when all you yearn for is to be home. It's a pain that cuts deep, one that only time can heal. But for now, all you can do is let the tears flow, allowing the raw and unfiltered emotions to have their moment.

Whilst you cry, the exhaustion from the day's events and emotional turmoil begins to take its toll on your body. The sobs gradually subside, replaced by a deep sense of weariness. Your eyelids become heavy, and your limbs feel like lead.

In the dimly lit hallway, you find yourself unable to hold back the fatigue any longer. Your body craves rest and respite from the emotional rollercoaster that has consumed your day.

You slump down against the cold, hard floor, your back resting against the wall. Tears still glisten on your cheeks as you close your eyes. With each ragged breath, your eyelids grow heavier, and a sense of drowsiness envelops you.

The world outside the hallway begins to blur, and the soft hum of the forest fades into the background. In your state of emotional exhaustion, you drift into a fitful slumber, the hallway serving as a makeshift bed. The tears have left their mark on your face, but your body is finally granted a moment of respite.

The night had been an unending cycle of sorrow and confusion, leaving you emotionally drained.

The first rays of dawn filter through the window, causing you to stir from your slumber on the hard hallway floor. Your memories rush back with brutal clarity, a sense of urgency and panic gripping your heart.

With trembling legs, you push yourself to your feet, the weariness still clinging to you. The echoes of the hug, the warmth of his presence, and the desperation to see him again fueled your determination.

Stumbling, you made your way to the room where San had rested. Each step feels like a lifetime, the anticipation of what you might discover palpable in your racing heart. You yearned to see him, but also hope that he has returned home.

The door creaks open and your heart sinks at the sight that greets you. The room is in disarray, pillows strewn, and sheets rumpled, signs that someone had indeed slept there. But it was devoid of San, leaving an aching void where his presence once dwelled.

Tears welled up, blurring your vision as you came to terms with the empty room.

To your left, you hear footsteps approaching, and you turn to find the old lady, her eyes downcast and guilt etches across her features. She knew, and the dread that had been building inside you only deepened.

With a quavering voice, you asked, "Where is he? Where's San?"

The old lady sighed heavily, her eyes meeting yours, bearing the weight of a heavy truth. The anticipation of her response filled the air like a thunderstorm on the horizon.

“He made it back safely.”

You turn back to the room, feeling relieved and torn at the same time.

“I will help you,” the old lady says gently, “I have never felt like this before, but your connection stirred something deep in me.”

“What do you mean?”

“There's a horse outside for you, it'll take you directly to your palace. Go there and in six months I will bring you the tassel. I give you my word.”

“Thank you,” is all you manage to say, your thoughts too occupied with San.

What if he is in the wrong world? What if he is stuck in limbo? What if he doesn't remember anything from this world?

Will you ever see each other again…?

—

San gradually becomes aware of his surroundings, a thick fog of grogginess enveloping his senses. The faint, continuous beep of a machine and hushed murmurs echo in the background. As his eyes open, the harsh hospital lighting makes him squint. The sterile, clinical setting becomes apparent, with white walls and the metallic gleam of medical equipment creating an otherworldly atmosphere.

His vision adjusts, revealing a monitor to his right, its rhythmic beeping punctuating the sterile air. An intravenous line is connected to his arm, administering an unknown liquid into his veins. The scent of antiseptic hangs in the air, intensifying the disconcerting feeling of being in an unfamiliar place.

His head pounds with a relentless ache, and confusion clouds his thoughts. Why is he here? What happened to lead him to this hospital bed? The hunger in his stomach intensifies, adding to the growing sense of disorientation.

In an attempt to make sense of the situation, he pushes himself to sit up. The movement catches the attention of someone in the room—a figure in the corner. The familiar voice of his manager pierces through the ambient sounds, a mix of concern and relief evident.

"San, are you okay?"

San rubs his temples, trying to clear the fog in his mind. The events leading to this hospital room elude him, and he struggles to piece together the fragments of memory. Disoriented and perplexed, he turns to his manager, a multitude of questions forming on his lips.

“What happened?” His voice is hoarse as he speaks, and he can feel from his breath that he hasn't brushed his teeth in a day or two.

“You don't remember?” his manager inquires, worried about San’s wellbeing, he continues upon seeing San’s nod, “you were in practice and suddenly fainted, you've been asleep for almost three days. We thought you were in a coma.”

The second his manager recounts the details of being in a coma, San's mind races, trying to make sense of the fragmented memories flooding back. Flashes of the alternate world, the old lady, and most prominently, you, fill his consciousness. The vivid experiences he shared with you seem surreal, yet the emotions are still fresh, and an urgent restlessness takes hold of him. If he was in a coma for three days, you would be in a coma for almost three months.

Ignoring his manager's pleas for rest, San becomes increasingly agitated. The desire to find you, to confirm the reality of the shared adventure, fuels his determination. He can't stay confined; he needs to know if it was all real or just a vivid dream.

With a burst of energy, San attempts to swing his legs off the side of the bed, dislodging the wires and monitors attached to him. His manager rushes to restrain him, urging him to stay put and recover, but San's sense of urgency overrides any rational thinking.

"No, I need to find them!" San exclaims, desperation in his voice as he struggles against his manager's firm grip.

Ignoring the protests, San manages to free himself from the medical paraphernalia. Disentangling from the monitors and IV lines, he bolts out of the room, driven by an unrelenting determination to find you. His legs are wobbling as he walks, but he manages to regain his composure as he walks quickly around the corridors.

The hospital stretches out before him, a maze of unfamiliar hallways and doors. Panic sets in as he realises he has no idea where he is or where to begin. The sterile environment amplifies his disorientation, and every passing moment without a clue about your whereabouts intensifies his anxiety.

Frantically, he searches for a reception area, hoping for guidance. The urgency of the situation pushes him forward, and despite the lingering weakness, San charges through the hospital corridors, driven by an unshakable determination to find you, no matter the cost.

In a frenzy, San navigates through the hospital corridors until he finally stumbles upon the reception area. The receptionist, a weary woman surrounded by stacks of paperwork, looks up with a half-hearted smile as San approaches, still clad in his hospital gown.

"Excuse me," San gasps, breathless from both the urgency of his quest and his hurried journey through the hospital. "I need to know if someone is here.”

Slowly, the receptionist's eyes narrow, “what is their name?”

San replies with your name and the receptionist furrows her brow, perplexed by the urgency in San's eyes.

"I'm sorry, but I can't disclose information about patients without proper authorization," she explains, adhering to hospital protocol.

Desperation flickers across San's face as he pleads, "Please, it's important. I need to know if she's here. Is there anyone with that name in a coma for almost three months?"

The receptionist hesitates, studying San for a moment. "How do you know this person?" she inquires, her curiosity piqued.

San, quick on his feet, replies with urgency, "They are a really close friend. We lost touch, and I just found out about their condition. Please, I need to know if they are okay."

The receptionist sighs, her empathetic instincts prevailing over protocol. She lowers her voice and says, "Wait here."

San anxiously watches as the receptionist scans through her files. The seconds feel like an eternity, and his heart pounds with anticipation. Finally, her eyes light up, and she raises her eyebrows, a glimmer of surprise crossing her features.

"Yes, there is someone by that name…” she reveals. "Room 302. But you need to understand, only family members are usually allowed in."

San's gratitude is immense as he thanks the receptionist before darting off toward Room 302, his pace almost a sprint. The journey through the sterile hospital environment seems to stretch endlessly, but San's determination propels him forward. Room 302 holds the promise of answers, and he's willing to face whatever awaits behind that door.

San stands outside Room 302, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he catches his breath. The weight of the unknown presses on him, and he takes a moment to steel himself before gently pushing open the door.

The door swings open and a hush falls over the room. San's eyes widen as he takes in the sight before him.

There you are, lying in the hospital bed, surrounded by machines and wires. Your hair, longer than he remembers, cascades gently over the pillow, is a sign of the time you've spent in a seemingly endless slumber.

San's heart clenches at the sight of the wires connected to you, a lifeline that has kept you tethered to this world. The room, bathed in the soft glow of monitors, feels both sterile and charged with an emotional intensity that hangs in the air.

Approaching the bed, San's gaze lingers on your peaceful face, now adorned with the marks of time passed. Tears cascade down your closed eyes, and San's heart aches for the pain you have endured in your unconscious state. It's a heartbreaking revelation, but at the same time, there's a profound beauty in the connection they share, transcending the boundaries of worlds.

With a shaky deep breath, San takes a seat in the chair beside your bed. The chair creaks softly under his weight as he reaches out, his trembling fingers gently interlocking with yours. He can feel the warmth of your hand, a tangible connection that defies the barriers of the physical and the metaphysical.

"Hey," San whispers, his voice breaking with emotion. "It's me. I made it back safely." He pauses, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Thank you so much for everything."

San's words hang in the air, a heartfelt acknowledgment of the intertwined fate that brought them together across dimensions. The room, filled with the rhythmic beeping of machines and the soft hum of the hospital, bears witness to a moment that transcends the ordinary—a reunion between two souls bound by an extraordinary connection.

—

“What's with this marker on your calendar?” Wooyoung questions as he walks into San’s room.

San turns away from his desk to see what Wooyoung is pointing at. The mark, indicating six months from the time he awoke, brings a gentle smile to San's face. "Just something important," he replies before redirecting his attention back to the game on his desk.

“Okay… are you okay?” Wooyoung questions, taking a seat on San’s bed.

“Yeah, why?” San responds.

“You've been acting weird ever since you woke up from that coma.”

San turns around again, furrowing his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I don't know, you've been all bittersweet, acting as if you’re going through a breakup. And all these trips to the hospital?”

San scoffs at the analysis before resuming his game. The characters on the screen move around, engaging in virtual battles.

“I’m serious,” Wooyoung insists, “you've been weird.”

“Whatever you say.”

Wooyoung shakes his head, a light chuckle escaping him. “We leave in ten minutes, finish your game quickly.”

—

The dance studio is filled with the rhythmic beat of the music, echoing off the mirrored walls. A palpable energy buzzes in the air as the members practise their choreography for the upcoming comeback. San, adorned in his dance attire, moves with precision and passion, putting his heart into every step.

The past three months have been a whirlwind for the group, with preparations for the comeback taking centre stage. The demanding schedule has left little time for personal matters, and for San, that means infrequent visits to the hospital. The initial relief he felt upon waking up from his own coma has been replaced with the stress of managing a packed agenda.

During those initial two weeks, he diligently visited you every day. Flowers, particularly pink ones, became a weekly tradition, a small gesture to brighten the sterile environment of the hospital room. However, as the comeback drew nearer, the relentless cycle of recordings, dance practices, and promotional activities consumed his time.

Today, the dance practice is particularly gruelling. San can't help but feel a pang of guilt, knowing that it has been weeks since his last visit to you. He worries about how you might perceive his absence, fearing that you'll wake up and think he didn't wait for you, or worse, that you'll wake up and be gone.

Whilst the music plays and the members execute each move with precision, San's mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Every leap, every spin, is a dance of dedication to the group and a silent plea for understanding from you. He longs for the moment when he can return to your side, bringing not only flowers but the warmth of his presence and the assurance that he hasn't forgotten the promise he made.

The dance studio pulses with energy as ATEEZ members tirelessly rehearse their choreography for the upcoming comeback. The atmosphere, however, is tense, and a sense of impatience permeates the room as San repeatedly messes up his steps.

For the fourth time, San's foot collides with Mingi's, disrupting the flow of the routine. Frustration bubbles within the group.

Hongjoong's voice cuts through the air, demanding attention. "San, what has gotten into you? Pay attention." His leader's authority echoes, making it clear that patience is wearing thin.

San mumbles a quick apology, his eyes cast downward. Yet, as the group restarts, it's evident that his mind is elsewhere. Another misstep follows, and a collective groan emanates from the group.

Seongwha, although fatigued and annoyed, can't help but express concern for his younger friend. "What's going on? Your mind is somewhere else."

Hongjoong's stern tone is layered with genuine worry as he addresses San. "You've been all over the place since you fainted. It's been more than six months; you need to straighten up." The leader's frustration is palpable, but there's an underlying tone of care. The members, despite their annoyance, share a collective sentiment of concern for San's well-being.

“It hasn’t been six months,” San grumbles under his breath, also frustrated at himself. San of all people would know if it has been six months.

"It has," Wooyoung exclaims, eyebrows furrowing as he gazes at San. "I thought you'd know, it's on your calendar."

San's eyes narrow in disbelief as he retrieves his phone from his pocket, turning it on to check the date. Widening, his eyes register the reality that it has been exactly six months and four days since he emerged from his coma.

"Fuck," San exclaims, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Running his hand through his hair, he's consumed by a sudden rush of guilt. How could he lose track of time? You must have already been awake for more than three days by now.

"I need to go," San mutters under his breath.

"What did you say?" Yunho questions, not catching his soft mutter.

"I need to go. Now," San asserts, this time with more volume. He rushes to his coat and bag, desperately shoving his belongings into it. Meanwhile, his groupmates stare at him with a mix of disbelief and confusion.

"San, what are you doing?" Yeosang inquires, walking up to the man frantically preparing to leave.

"I need to go somewhere."

"San, you can't just leave; we have to practice," Jongho attempts to reason, but his words seem to bounce right off San.

"Choi San," Hongjoong's voice booms through the studio, causing San to momentarily halt his actions. Turning around, San faces Hongjoong, who wears a deeply furrowed brow, an angry expression etched into his features.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Hongjoong's voice drips with exasperation as he takes in the dishevelled appearance of the younger male.

“I'm sorry. Really sorry. But there’s something I need to do, and if I don’t, I feel like I’m going to hate myself for the rest of my life,” San exclaims, his voice hoarse, tears welling up in his eyes.

Hongjoong's gaze softens upon seeing San’s vulnerable state. The six others standing around him try to make sense of the situation, but the dots just don’t add up.

“San,”

“I’m sorry, really, I’m so sorry.”

“San,” Hongjoong booms, though not unkindly, his voice carrying a sense of understanding.

“How long will it take?”

“Just today, then I will put all my time and all my effort into this comeback. Just like I always do. I just need today.”

All around him, his friends are confused yet feel their hearts weigh heavily as they witness the desperate state San is in. Never have they seen him like this before, and it feels strange for San to be in such a state.

“Go. But be back tomorrow,” Hongjoong says gently.

“Thank you. Thank you so much. I promise to make it up to you. All of you,” San says before bolting out of the room, headed straight for the hospital. He just hopes that he can make it there before visiting times end.

Hongjoong isn’t sure why he allowed San to go, knowing how tight time is right now due to the comeback being in a few weeks. Something in San’s eyes spoke to him, as if destiny were compelling him to go.

San dashes through the bustling streets, weaving through the crowd like a determined arrow cutting through the air. His long strides cover the familiar path to the hospital, the urgency in his heart making the surroundings blur. The city hums with life, but for San, everything else fades into the background.

As he moves, apologies spill from his lips like rapid-fire as he bumps into people on the way. He can't afford to slow down, can't spare a moment for anything but reaching his destination. The KQ building looms behind him, a distant memory as he sprints toward the hospital.

Breath heaving, he bursts through the hospital entrance with a singular purpose. The reception area blurs by as he skips any formality, not bothering to check in. His entire focus is on reaching your room, his heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of his hurried steps.

The sterile, white hallways echo with the familiar sounds of a hospital; the soft footsteps of medical professionals, the distant chatter of visitors, and the rhythmic beeping of machines. San barrels forward, expertly navigating the maze-like corridors, fueled by a mix of anxiety and determination.

Arriving at the elevator, he jabs at the button for your floor, impatience etched across his face. The doors slide open, and he steps in, the confined space providing a brief respite. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he gazes at the floor numbers lighting up as he ascends.

The elevator doors part once more, revealing the hallway that leads to your room. San's pulse quickens as he sprints toward the familiar door. His mind races with worry, uncertainty clouding his thoughts. What will he find when he enters? The anticipation builds with every step, and as he reaches your room, he takes a deep breath, bracing himself for whatever awaits on the other side.

San gingerly turns the doorknob, a mixture of hope and dread swelling within him. The door creaks open, revealing the room where you should be resting. His eyes scan the space, desperately seeking any sign of your presence.

Stepping inside, the reality of the situation crashes over him. Your bed is there, neatly made, but the first thing he notices is the fact that it is empty.

Panic rises in San's chest, and he rushes to your bedside. The room is silent, save for the hum of medical equipment, amplifying the void left by your absence.

San's breath catches in his throat as he clings to the remnants of hope. He gazes around the room, half-expecting you to materialise before him. The silence in the air is deafening, a stark contrast to the lively conversations he had envisioned sharing with you once you woke.

His eyes fall on the wilted pink tulips, a cruel reminder of the hopeful gestures he made in anticipation of your awakening. The vibrant hues have dulled, mirroring the fading optimism in San's heart. San's mind swirls with a whirlwind of thoughts. Guilt creeps in, taunting him with the possibility that he failed you somehow.

He replays every missed opportunity, each day he prioritised work over being by your side. The weight of his choices bears down on him, and a profound sadness envelopes him. Doubt consumes him, questioning if he's truly deserving of happiness or if he's destined to be haunted by regret.

Desperation tightens its grip on San as he moves to the window, hoping for a glimpse of you in the hospital courtyard or perhaps walking down the hallway.

The pink tulips in his hands serve as an emblem of his optimism, now crushed beneath the weight of reality. He recalls the anticipation that accompanied each visit, the flowers symbolising his unwavering belief in your eventual awakening. Now, their wilting petals tell a different story, echoing the fading flame of hope in his heart.

San clutches the tulips tighter, a silent plea for forgiveness to a presence that's no longer there. The room seems colder now, devoid of the warmth he associated with your presence.

The sounds of the hospital, distant footsteps and hushed conversations, serve as an eerie backdrop to San's internal monologue. Doubt creeps in, questioning if he's truly deserving of happiness or if he's fated to be haunted by the spectre of regret.

San's fingers trace patterns on the wilted tulips, his thoughts spiralling into a vortex of introspection. He replays every missed opportunity, each instance where he chose to chase fleeting success over cherishing the moments with you. The room feels smaller, closing in on him as the burden of his choices becomes increasingly unbearable.

Shoulders slumped, San sinks to the floor, still clinging to the flowers. The weight of his heartache is unbearable, each beat echoing a symphony of sorrow. In the quiet room, time becomes elastic, stretching and contracting as he grapples with the reality that he might have lost you forever.

The shadows lengthen as San remains on the floor, lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts. The hospital room, once a space of anticipation and hope, is now a shrine to what could have been. In the hushed stillness, he wishes he could turn back time, rewrite the script that led to this heart-wrenching moment.

“San?”

San's world comes to a screeching halt, the single utterance of his name from behind him slices through the heavy silence like a lifeline. For a fleeting moment, he remains frozen, caught between the realms of disbelief and desperate hope. The air hangs thick with anticipation as he dares not turn around, fearing that acknowledging the voice will only amplify the crushing weight of his recent realisation.

A gentle touch graces his shoulder, a tender reassurance that pierces through the numbness that has settled over him. It's a touch so delicate, yet laden with a gravity that sends shivers down his spine. Still reluctant to face the truth, he keeps his gaze fixed on the emptiness before him, afraid to let hope blossom only to be crushed again.

When he finally musters the courage to turn around, the world tilts on its axis. There you stand, a vision of ethereal beauty in your hospital gown, tears mirroring his own streaming down your face. In that moment, the lines between reality and dreams blur, and San feels as if he's been transported to a realm where miracles are not only possible but tangible.

Time seems to suspend as San takes in the sight of you; the person he thought he had lost. Every detail becomes etched into his memory; the vulnerability in your eyes, the traces of weariness on your face, and the overwhelming emotion that courses through the room. It's a tableau of raw, unfiltered emotion that threatens to overwhelm both of you.

A choked sob escapes San's lips as he surges forward, a mixture of disbelief and euphoria propelling himself towards you and into a bone crushing embrace. The world narrows down to the two of you, a cosmic collision of souls who refuse to be separated. The hospital room transforms into a sanctuary where the boundaries of time and space blur, leaving only the profound connection shared between you and San.

Your tears mingle with his, forming a symphony of emotions that speaks more eloquently than words ever could. In that embrace, San feels a weight lifted off his shoulders, a burden he carried for what felt like an eternity. It's a cathartic release, a culmination of months of longing and despair now metamorphosing into a resurgence of joy.

Whilst you hold each other, the room becomes a vessel for shared emotions, an intimate space where the echoes of heartache dissipate, replaced by the melodies of reunion. San pulls away from the embrace to cradle your face in his large hands as he presses his forehead against yours, a silent promise to savour this moment, to etch it into the very fabric of his being. Your body stays pressed against his, the closeness you have been missing and dreaming of since the moment he left

For San, it's not just a reunion; it's a reawakening. The tears that had threatened to drown him now become droplets of newfound happiness. The gravity of your presence grounds him, dispelling the shadows that had cast their spell over his soul.

In the space of the hospital room, San and you find solace in the simple truth that you are together once more. Tears continue to fall, now a harmonious blend of joy and relief.

Amid the quiet murmur of the hospital room, San's eyes flicker with a mix of surprise and profound emotion as he processes your revelation. The weight of his longing, the months spent in anticipation and despair, culminate in a single question that escapes his lips, laden with an earnestness that echoes through the room.

"You... woke up today?" he asks, his voice tinged with disbelief yet brimming with uncontainable joy. As you nod in confirmation, a wave of realisation washes over him, and he takes a moment to absorb the enormity of the moment.

“You remembered?” You mutter softly, the words barely reaching San’s ears.

"I would've waited forever for you," he confesses, his eyes locked onto yours, sincerity echoing in every word. The depth of his commitment, the unwavering dedication to your well-being, resonates in the air, and you find yourself enveloped in the warmth of his unwavering devotion.

You proceed to share the intricacies of your journey; the delayed arrival of the old lady, the challenges she faced on her way to you, and the serendipity that brought you back to consciousness today. The room transforms into a cocoon of shared stories, weaving a tapestry of experiences that led to this miraculous reunion.

A playful smile tugs at San's lips as he contemplates the unfolding narrative. "Today," he muses, "feels like a chapter from a book written by destiny."

The atmosphere takes a lighthearted turn as he shifts gears, eyes alight with mischievous curiosity. "So," he starts, "now that you're back and I've got you here, how about we celebrate this occasion with a date?"

Your heart skips a beat at the proposition, and a smile graces your lips. "A date?" you echo, genuine surprise reflected in your eyes.

San nods, his expression earnest. "Yes, a date. You saved my life; the least I can do is take you out and make it up to you."

A playful glint dances in your eyes as you ponder his proposal. "Well," you tease, "if you get me Mingi's autograph, we might just have a deal."

San feigns exasperation, mockingly clutching his heart. "I hate you," he declares with a theatrical sigh.

A laugh escapes your lips, and you playfully retort, "No, you don't."

The laughter continues, and the room becomes a sanctuary of shared laughter and affection. The weight of the past months fades into the background, replaced by the promise of new beginnings and the joy of being together once more. In this intimate exchange, the echoes of a love that transcended time resonate, casting aside the shadows that had lingered for far too long.

The air becomes charged with anticipation as San looks into your eyes, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Can I kiss you?" he asks, his voice a soft murmur that sends a shiver down your spine.

A warm feeling of affirmation fills your chest, and you respond with a smile, "I’ve only waited sox months." The atmosphere is tinged with a mixture of excitement and a sense of inevitability, as if this moment had been woven into the fabric of destiny.

San leans in, his eyes fluttering closed as he gently presses his lips against yours. It's a sweet, tender kiss that feels like the universe aligning, a culmination of shared experiences, laughter, and the trials you faced together. The world seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you in this perfect moment.

There's a soft, playful energy to the kiss, like a dance between your lips, a silent celebration of the connection that brought you back together. San's hand finds its way to yours, fingers intertwining as if to anchor this moment in time.

The kiss lingers and it's not just a meeting of lips; it's a merging of hearts and souls. When you finally part, there's a shared look that speaks volumes, an unspoken understanding that this connection goes beyond the magical threads that brought you here. It's a kiss that feels like destiny, a promise of more shared moments, and a celebration of a love that transcends the mystical realms you've traversed together.

Perhaps it was destiny after all.

#San #san ateez #ateez #ateez x reader #choi san #san fluff #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez reactions #ateez au #ateez imagines #ateez fic #ateez scenarios #ateez san

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periwinklemoonlight · 1 year ago

Text

desperate for a minute in the light ⋆ boatem knights au

my third short story set in bee @applestruda 's boatem knights au and canon to the plot written by zera @hopepetal !! this is a big one!

cw: death, graphic injury, body horror

if you prefer, you can read it on ao3!

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It all was a bit of a blur. Pearl wasn’t sure if she could recount how exactly she had stumbled across the ancient temple in her journey, if she was honest. She had just been wandering around the forest on the outskirts of camp, and maybe travelled a bit too far in when she’d broken off from the others. She was sure that she would’ve seen a structure as big as this one earlier, though. Or that someone else had seen it, at least. The thing practically towered over the treetops around it.

Pearl tiptoed around fallen tree branches, fluttering her wings curiously. The structure sat in the middle of a small clearing, lush with tall grass and decorated with small, vibrant purple flowers. They were in sharp contrast to their surroundings, a stark colour among greens and yellows. She made a mental note to remember to pick a few from their stems when she was on her way back. There was a slightly older girl in her flock that she knew had garnered a great interest in botany recently, and Pearl had thought it a good idea to ask her to identify the flora. She’d also found herself rather interested in plants as of late, though she was always most enamoured with those that matched the lustrous gold colour of her wings.

There was a small path of scattered rocks leading up to the entrance of the temple, barely visible between the blades of grass that hiked up to her waist. The Sun was high in the sky, and at just the right angle for the building to now be casting an ominous shadow over her as she approached ever closer. Its intimidating stature did not deter her; Pearl stepped deeper into the darkness.

It was extraordinarily odd, she had decided, that something like this had been here for what she presumed had to be centuries, if not millennia, and not a single person had ever mentioned it. It was a tall thing, to be sure, although as she looked closer she saw it did not seem to actually be very large beyond its generous entrance. It appeared to Pearl as more of a facade, as if the idea of a structure was all that remained. She wondered what the need for such a building may once have been before time and disrepair had taken hold of it and its architects.

Speculation aside, it was in a terrible state to be sure, with massive chunks of rock missing and an assortment of unidentifiable vines and mosses nearly entirely encompassing what was left. They seemed to crawl in between the cracks of stone and twist into each other like knots. Frail-looking columns teeming with fractures were all that remained to hold it all in place among crumbling walls, though evidently not without much difficulty. All things considered, it was a miracle it was still standing.

The absolute disarray the structure was in made it all the more intriguing that a crescent moon symbol at its forefront was still completely intact, and subsequently, all the more imperative for Pearl to investigate. Or at least, that was how she had reasoned it out in her mind.

Pearl crossed the threshold inside.

She wasn’t expecting to find anything of value inside the old temple when she had entered, much less the prettiest thing she had ever laid eyes upon. There, resting on a crumbling pedestal at the other end of the temple was a beautiful silver crown, adorned with twinkling jewels and iridescent pearls. All her other curiosities were instantly thrown away the moment she saw it. It was magnetic: how she was instantly drawn to the item, and utterly sure that her finding it was no mistake.

Sweet sunlight poured into the temple through half shattered stained glass windows, coating the crown in an alluringly bright glint that made Pearl’s heart swell with excitement. It was perfect. Her flock mates would come back from their search and see her wearing the gorgeous object, shinier than anything any of them had ever seen before, and be unable to resist showering her with praise for her expert find. It wasn’t as though she wasn’t already deeply accustomed to it, though. Being her flock’s golden girl had its perks, undoubtedly, especially in terms of popularity among the other children. The meticulously woven crown of sunflowers in her hair said as much.

Something dark began to build in her as she approached it, however. The closer she got to the object, the more she could swear she smelled something rotting. Every eager step she took was soon punctuated by a feeling of dread that was quickly overtaking the initial exhilaration. Still, she persisted. She couldn’t give up the opportunity of retrieving the crown, couldn't shake off the feeling that something about it was just so right. Something so meant for her, and her alone.

Pearl held her breath as she reached the final steps, though at that point she couldn’t tell whether it was in anticipation or to momentarily relieve herself of the nauseating smell that exuded from every crack in the stone and permeated all her senses. It was wholeheartedly disgusting, but Pearl had never been one to flinch at a little muck. The crown was just as beautiful up close, every jewel shining in a vibrant technicolour that by all accounts should have been impossible. She wanted nothing more than to take it for herself, place it upon her head and declare her rightful place as queen of this old dilapidated structure.

She reached out to grab it, and gasped in shock at the intense burning sensation that instantly spread from the metal’s surface to her fingertips. Then, it all went dark. Though it was midday, the light that had been streaming into the temple vanished at once, as if someone had forcefully put the Sun to rest and brought upon night. The only light now was a faint, ghoulish glow emitting from the crown as it continued to singe her fingers.

Pearl screamed in pain, though it only fell on the deaf ears of the dark. The sound reverberated around the temple walls, surrounding her in a claustrophobic cacophony of her own agony as the smell of flesh burning filled the air.

She watched in frozen horror as the skin on her fingers began to melt and rot before her eyes. Flesh bubbled and sloughed off as the burning spread down her palm, then her arm, until it creeped into her shoulder and threatened to seep into her wings. Pearl cried out again, bony fingers trembling uncontrollably as the rot began to trace her spine. Chills wracked exposed bone as warm blood ran down her back. Her feathers withered into ash as quickly as hair catching flame. As the pain began to paralyze her body entirely, Pearl thought, while she still had the capacity to think, anyone, anything, please, help me.

Her vision began to fizzle out entirely, and what was left of her collapsed on the temple floor as she finally let go of the wretched item, fingers fully limp. It was far too late, though. Seconds, maybe minutes, maybe years of agony seared through her body as she lay helpless, the crown fallen somewhere just out of reach. And then, it all stopped.

Pearl wasn’t anywhere, and she was everywhere.

A new type of darkness encapsulated her, this one deeper, more primordial than the first. No, not the absence of light as it had once been, but rather the essence of darkness itself. Although she knew it was dark, she could not see. No senses passed through her as she drifted meaninglessly, unsure if she was falling or rising or even moving at all.

It was peaceful, yes. It couldn’t be anything but. Nothing around her, nothing against her, nothing for her, she was nothing just the same. All that was left was a deep, insurmountable emptiness. The emptiness that held the fabric of the universe together, the negative space to fill the gaps to keep it all from falling apart at the seams. Pearl might have felt fear, being surrounded by nothing and everything, if she had still been capable of anything at all.

Pearl spent forever in the silent nothingness, and no time at all had passed when she first heard it. A faint single tone, low but not deep, floated around her. Pearl clung onto the sensation desperately, trying to grasp at it, take it for herself and hold it tight to her chest. Instead, she followed it as it slowly became louder, more solid. The pitch increased, then dropped and mellowed out in the middle once more. The melody was the brightest thing she had ever seen in a long, long time.

She followed its lead, doing something akin to opening her mouth to sing along, wanting to join this light in its song. She did not, of course. She had no mouth to sing with, and no voice to produce noise. She was just Pearl. Still, she chased the tone, which had since then evolved into a simple melody, repeating itself patiently, taking care to never get ahead of itself or change its pace. The melody had all the time in the world. It knew Pearl did, too.

She felt herself be guided by the song, mirroring its tones with her movements. When it dipped, she dived down with it. When it rose, she soared. The vocalisations carried her like a current, weaving Pearl through its highs and lows.

And then, all at once, nothing was dark or ever had been dark. A brightness enveloped her, so purely light that darkness would never dare step close to it, lest it cease to exist entirely. It knew better. The melody had evolved too, the chiming tones teetering on the edge of resembling words. Pearl could not make them out.

Instead, she allowed the song to engulf her as well, feeling two blankets of light drape across something that could have been her back. Gently, the song washed over her and flowed like a lullaby, rendering her into something akin to sleep. Suddenly, after spending eternity in absence, she was something again. The light became brighter, heavier, thicker, until it was no longer encasing her. It was her.

The light was as bright as it ever could be, and suddenly it was dark again.

And cold. And wet. And sticky. And gross. Pearl opened her eyes, and found herself exactly where she’d ought to have been. Collapsed before the pedestal, yet bathed in the same warm light of midday. Except, something was very, very wrong. She lifted herself weakly off the temple floor onto her elbows, finding her hands covered in a black sludgy substance. Brown, wilted petals and leaves lay where her head had been. Pearl’s vision blurred and spun, and she blinked it away as best as she could, trying to orient herself to having a body again.

She wiped the sludge off her hand on something white and soft, a fuzzy substance resting gently underneath her as if it had broken her fall all this time. Its edges appeared torn and frayed. She attempted to raise herself up further, and was met with an intense ache in her back that caused her to double over again in pain. She inhaled sharply — she was breathing, she could breathe— and tried again, this time successfully balancing onto her knees.

She made a half hearted attempt to flutter her wings, feeling panic start to surge through her when they felt wrong. Lighter. The familiar weight of hollow bones and strong muscle on Pearl’s back was replaced with something featherlight and delicate, though she would bet that whatever was there wasn’t feathers at all.

With trembling hands, Pearl reached up over her ear to feel the texture of the small wings that resided there, the panic bubbling inside her as she felt nothing but smooth skin and clumps of wet hair where soft feathers should be. No, no, no.

Her hand traveled higher, threading through her hair and stopping at her forehead. No, that wasn’t right. Her hand was stopped. By an antenna, sticking out of her head just where her bangs began. She grasped it, and promptly cried out in pain at just how sensitive it was, her nerves on fire. And then it hit her. She was feeling what it felt. It was a part of her.

There, sitting covered in sludge-like black goo and on top of a silk cocoon, at the crest of a worn down temple in the middle of nowhere, Pearl screamed. And this time, it was heard.

She had only just managed to get herself to stand on her own two feet again when she heard twigs snapping and familiar voices chattering nervously, getting closer. Pearl balanced herself with great difficulty, the lightness on her back still disorienting. Slowly, achingly, she stepped forwards off of the silk and onto the cold, gritty temple floor once more.

“Pearl?” an approaching voice called out, stretching out her name. “Where are you? Are you okay?” Pearl opened her mouth to speak and screamed again as black sludge poured out and trailed down her chin, evidently not yet all spilled on the floor behind her. The noise alerted her flockmates, though, and the footsteps drawing near increased in speed tenfold as she spat out the rest of the sludge, feeling utterly disgusted.

“Pearl!” they called again. “Are you in here?” A flurry of voices accompanied the cry, getting closer and closer until Pearl could finally see them approaching her. The leader of the search party, a girl with dandelion coloured wings, was the first to enter the temple, and the first to see her. The others quickly appeared at her sides as the girl cried out in shock, clasping her hands over her mouth and stumbling backwards. The rest of the search party followed suit similarly, gasping and yelling as they laid eyes on her.

Panic quickly returned to light Pearl’s nerves ablaze and replace the small shred of hope that had been building when she’d first heard them approach. She tried to speak again once more and found that her throat, terribly dry despite being choked with sludge moments ago, could only produce a croak that tore into her vocal cords like shards of glass. Tears formed in her eyes as another drop of sludge fell to the floor in front of her. She could see on their terrified faces and through their hushed whispers to each other that she had only moments to plead her case.

Desperately, Pearl gestured behind her where she knew the silver crown had dropped from her hand, unsure what she expected to happen but hoping they would notice it nonetheless. Something, anything. Instead, what she said was a conveniently placed pile of ash that just so happened to create a perfect ring shape. Pearl wailed in frustration, the sensation ripping through her throat.

“Oh my void, she’s a monster!” one of her flockmates, a girl about her age with pretty amber wings, shrieked through tears as she clung to her friend. As soon as Pearl took a single step forward, she knew it was over. The other girls all screamed and ran as fast as their feet could take them out of the temple, each clamouring to be the first to escape.

On wobbly legs, Pearl followed them, chasing just as desperately she did that melody in the darkness. She couldn’t let her hope run away from her.

One of the slower girls dared to look back and screeched to the others, “She’s following us!” Those who had exited the temple now scrambled to take flight, pausing only to pull the last of their flockmates along with them into the sky. They had already risen high into the sky by the time Pearl made it out, the tall grass beneath them entirely trampled in their haste. Purple flowers lay pathetically: half-lodged in dirt, disregarded. Pearl’s eyes darted upwards at her fair-weather friends and she grit her teeth, determined to fly after them despite her badly aching body.

Pearl jumped and flapped her thin wings uselessly, embarrassingly unacquainted with the new protrusions on her back. She managed to hover in the air for only a moment before she came crashing down onto herself, her already bruised limbs now meeting solid ground. She didn’t try to get up again.

Instead, Pearl lay there in the dirt, shivering and crying unabashedly into her arms as her flitty wings twitched, unable to do anything as her flockmates abandoned her as quickly as they’d found her. When she’d finally mustered up the resolve to lift her head up, she was greeted with a single amber feather that had fallen just inches away from her.

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Pearl had gone silent in front of Grian, her words now replaced with shaky breaths and sniffles. He finally let go of her hair and let it fall against her back, having finished braiding it long ago.

“Pearl?” He asked gently. “Are you okay?” She didn’t say anything for a moment, and he used the opportunity to slide himself beside her. Soft blankets crumpled around him. A simple glance revealed what he already knew: quiet tears were streaming down her face. She turned her head away from him to wipe them, suddenly aware he could see them now.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright,” Pearl breathed. She faced him again, unable to hide the smile that creeped up into her cheeks when she saw his silly worried expression. “Honest.”

“Are you sure? We can stop now if you want-”

“Griba,” Pearl interrupted. “I want to tell you. I don’t think there’s anyone on this planet who deserves to know more than you. Will you let me do that?” Grian’s shoulders relaxed.

“Of course, yeah.” He looked sheepish. “Sorry.” Pearl elbowed him playfully.

“It’s alright, mate. Really. It’s been on my mind for a while now.”

“So… what happened next?” Grian asked. Pearl took a breath before continuing.

“Well, for starters, I had to get all that muck off me. So I took a little dip in the nearest river. I don’t blame them for not recognizing me at first, now. It stained my hair and clothes black for a while. I still looked like a completely different person by the time I went back to camp.”

“You went back?”

Pearl laughed. “What choice did I have? There was no place for me there anymore, I knew that, but there wasn’t exactly a place for me anywhere else, either. So I went back. They… I’m not quite sure they knew what to do with me. They tolerated me, which was all I could have ever asked for at that point. Well. Pretended to tolerate me. But that was all I needed. I could tell as soon as I got there that everyone already knew everything they needed to. How the other kids had found me, that I was a… moth.” She paused for a moment, sniffling again.

“Everyone was gathering up to leave camp. By the time I got there, they’d already begun to pack their things, so I did the same. We always travelled light, of course, but I can’t tell you how happy I was to finally get myself a change of clothes. I was wearing my favourite dress that day, you know? Green, with lovely droopy shoulders and little bits of gold to match my wings. And it was ruined, covered in nasty muck and drenched in river water, just like the rest of me. I think I burned it. The night they all left.”

Grian tilted his head to the side, trying not to intrude on her space but wanting to be closer nonetheless. He thought of the choice he had made all those years ago, the look on his little brother’s face when it happened. A hand grasped tightly in his own, wings wrapped even tighter. He imagined Pearl in his place. To be loved one minute and left behind all the same. “You didn’t have any family in your flock?” As soon as the question left his lips, he regretted it.

Pearl winced, her face scrunching up. Another tear dropped down her cheek. “I did.”

Grian looked as though he was about to give her a million apologies, but instead, he silently wrapped his wing around her, brushing his feathers against her shoulder as if to say, I’m here now. And I’m not leaving.

Pearl continued. “I did try to leave with them, don’t get me wrong. By then, I had actually figured out how to fly a little with these things.” She spread her wings out for a moment before flattening them out again.

“But it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t keep up with them normally, not by a long shot, and especially not in the middle of a storm like the one that was raging that night. I would have never admitted it to myself back then, but I’m certain now that they left when they did very much on purpose. They wanted to make sure there was no way I could follow. And they were right, I couldn’t. I did make it farther than I thought I would’ve, higher too actually, but void, was the wind strong. I was tumblin’ around like a leaf in the air trying to keep up. I tried for a good long while until I just couldn’t anymore. And then I fell.” Grian pressed his lips together, his mind suddenly conjuring up another familiar image. Yellow feathers stained red, caught on tree branches and littered in the grass below. He knew all too well the consequences of an avian falling.

“I was one of the lucky ones, I guess you could say. My wings, flimsy as they were, — are —, were okay for the most part. It was my leg that took the blow the hardest. The break was pretty bad, I won’t lie to you. It was only another stroke of luck that saved me. There was a village nearby, barely visible from wherever I’d landed. But it was there. So, one more time, I chased it. I propped myself up on my good leg as best I could, and I was going to drag myself over to that darn village if it was the last thing I did.” Inexplicably to Grian, she giggled after she spoke. His expression said it all, and Pearl laughed again.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just thinking about it. I must’ve been quite a sight to those poor village folk! Covered in mud, leg twisted all the wrong way, soaking wet in the storm! I think that was the beginning of my whole ‘wet cat’ shtick, honestly.”

“Pearl, you could’ve died, I don’t think-” Grian began.

“I know I could’ve died!” she squawked, throwing her hands up. “But it just, I don’t know, it didn’t really scare me anymore. I didn’t want to die, mind you, but I had just kinda thought, well, I was going to live, or I wasn’t. Simple as that. And hey! Look at me now! I’m still kickin’, aren’t I?”

Grian couldn’t imagine it. All his life, above all else, he had been determined to survive. There wasn’t any other option. He'd tell himself he would live to see the Sun rise another day, and somehow, he would. Death was not something to come to terms with, shake hands with, tell I’ll see you later. It was something to fend off, teeth and soul bared, and triumph against despite all odds. There was simply too much life had to offer to him, and he would be a fool to refuse it.

“That you are, Pearl,” he smiled, poking her with his knee. Pearl returned the favour with an exaggerated kick to his shin with the leg she’d been swinging back and forth off the edge of her bed. Grian yelped dramatically.

“And don’t you forget it! Where was I? Oh, yes yes, the village. Well, I did make it over there in the end.” Pearl looked wistful. Grian waited patiently for her to continue again, but the moment never came. After a good long while, he spoke.

“...And then?” He asked.

“And then?” Pearl slinked her braid over her shoulder. It really was nicely done, each strand placed with clear care. “And then I met you, doofus. And Jimmy. And it was the best darn thing to ever happen to me.”

#boatem knights au #bkau #pearlescentmoon #my writing #grian #cw death #cw injury #cw body horror #skyblings

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