#blue catches feelings first because she starts helping professor oak out more often

[aestheticitii]

concept: blue tries to propose to his girlfriend and be romantic for once but she asks a hundred relevant questions while they're dress shopping so he pretends his sister is getting married

the dress? well you need something to wear. this is my sister's wedding we're talking about

the ring? he doesn't need to make an excuse for that. she just goes in because shiny things and he tries his best to pretend this isn't going to be an engagement ring

she also calls up his sister to "congratulate" her but he's already told her about it so that's cool

they go to their two-story house that leaf's parents left for her when they decided to move to alola and he convinces her to go upstairs and try the outfit on.

except he left the flowers upstairs

"hey, babe? did you by any chance misplace some flowers?"

when she comes downstairs, he kind of gives up because those flowers actually had a note that said "please marry me" and he just starts leading her to the backyard but she's like wait, no, let's do this again properly

so she goes upstairs, then comes back down and acts all surprised when he stands there half-bemused, half-annoyed with a bouquet

(he is this close to just shoving it in her hands, but he can tell that's what she's hoping for so he plays it cool)

it's based off of what she said she wanted when she was a kid plus off-handed comments she's made to him over the years

so fairy lights, all their pokemon are there, the flowers are red roses, he calls her a princess but in that teasing way where it just makes her want to smack him and kiss him at the same time (she sticks to the first one)

she's very embarrassed to learn that daisy was not actually getting married. daisy, for her part, thinks it's hilarious that blue went to all these lengths to propose and she brings it up at family reunions

(once, blue says to his kid that lead was dying to marry him so he took pity on her, and then never again, because someone told his kid about the time she beat his strongest team and he became really quiet, not because he was mad but because he was thinking the entire time "oh my god, you're so pretty"

and the kid is like, "i don't know, dad. you seem like the desperate one to me. i mean, what kind of loser thinks the person that beat them is pretty? you even decorated the backyard."

the kid does eat their words. it's the oak family curse)

[all-hail-the-witcher]

leaves

this started as a hc but turned into a long thing about geralt being a huge softie.  enjoy.

___

jaskier collects leaves that he thinks are pretty during the fall and presses them in his song writing notebook so he can look at them during the winter when all the leaves are gone. and, he'd never admit this to anyone, but he knows exactly where each leaf came from, and what he and geralt were doing when he found them, so they help him stay close to geralt in the cold months when he's away at kaer morhen.

geralt doesnt understand the fascination cause “they're just leaves jaskier” and gets kinda grumpy when jaskier walks extra slow during the fall to admire and inspect the leaves. but he secretly enjoys the way that jaskiers face lights up in front of their camp fire at night as he shows geralt each leaf he collected that day and tucks them safely into the pages of his notebook. 

jaskier used to show them to roach to inspect but after she ate a particularly beautiful one on accident he does not allow her anywhere near his precious leaves.

one year jaskier and geralt part ways a little earlier than normal, geralt deciding to begin the trek to kaer morhen sooner than he normally would due to a lack of contracts so jaskier goes to oxenfurt earlier as well. the leaves are just beginning to change color as they part ways. 

a few nights into the journey geralt is making camp for himself and roach when he sees a bright red leaf sitting on the forest floor, exactly the kind of leaf that jaskier would pick up and admire and wax poetry about before tucking it into his notebook. but jaskier isn't there, and geralt feels a little pang. he glares at the leaf the entire time he's setting up camp. 

the camp fire has burned down to the embers by the time geralt is ready to lay out his bed roll, but he can still see the leaf at the corner of his vision. he sighs and gets up, knowing that it will continue to bother him unless he does something about it. he picks up the leaf, brushes off the dirt far more lightly than he would ever care to admit, and goes to tuck it in to his saddle bag in the roll of parchment he keeps on the off chance he has to write a letter. 

roach snorts at him. “shut up,” he mutters back. “its just a leaf.” roach nuzzles his arm. “no, i don't miss him. im just...bringing him a souvenir. we had to part early this year.” another snort. “yes, i know you know. but he didn't get to see the leaves this year. i don't want him to be disappointed.” roach headbuts him as if to say, you dumb witcher. geralt ignores this, but gives her some nice pats before retiring to his bedroll. 

in the next town geralt buys a random book. he doesnt know what it is, he bought the cheapest one he could find. but he's not going to read it, he just needs something to keep jaskiers leaf in so it doesnt crumble to bits before the spring. he swears roach laughs at him for that. 

throughout his trip up to kaer morhen, geralt finds himself progressively walking slower, taking time to admire the leaves as the bard had once done. 

he picks up the second leaf a week later after a battle with some drowners. he’s heading back into the town, having come across his first contract in weeks, holding the head and covered in river muck and guts when he sees a perfectly yellow leaf on the ground in front of him. he picks it up gingerly, trying his very best not to get guts on it (and he nearly succeeds). if the alderman thinks its weird, a witcher coming back with a drowner head in one hand and a yellow maple leaf in the other, he doesnt say anything. roach does tho, whinnying the second she sees it in geralts hand. he ignores her, and presses the maple leaf into the book a few pages after the brilliant red one. 

after that he adds to the collection more frequently. an reddish oak leaf he finds on the ground outside of a tavern, a brilliant orange leaf he finds at his campsite, a yellowish orange leaf the size of his face that he finds along the road and so on. roach makes fun of him every time he reaches for the book, but geralt ignores her. they're merely souvenirs for jaskier, nothing more. 

collecting leaves slows him down considerably, but he cant bring himself to care. he's even disappointed when the last of the leaves disappear and the first snow sets in. 

but that doesnt stop him from collecting things to add to his book. he gathers different small pine branches, holly leaves and other things that he knows jasper has never seen before because they grow too far north. he becomes so caught up in his hunt for interesting plants that the snow is already falling thickly by the time he reaches kaer morhe, despite him leaving for the keep so early. eskel and lambert chide him for being late, but he ignores them, happy that he managed to fill most of the book with leaves for jaskier.

that whole winter the book remains in the bottom of geralts pack, wrapped carefully in his spare shirt. he thinks about it often, but doesnt dare bring it out for fear that one of his brothers will catch him and make fun of him for being a sap. he's not a sap, he just found some leaves for his friend. 

winter drags on far too long in geralts opinion and leaves as soon as the passes are clear, antsy to get back to his friend and give him the book. but on his way down he discovers yet another beautiful thing that jaskier would love: wildflowers. roach is slightly more appreciative of this because wildflowers are things that she is allowed to eat. geralt often feeds her them to see if she approves. if she spits it out or refuses to eat it, then it doesnt make it into the book.

in the space he has left in the book he fills it with wildflowers, sometimes going out of his way to collect them. there are buttercups, dandelions, little blue ones the color of jaskiers eyes, poppies, apple blossoms, daffodils, and even a few rose petals that he buys from a stall in a market. the book is brimming with nature now. he has to be careful not to lose any of his treasures. 

finally, he arrives at his and jaskiers meeting spot. he stables roach who gives him a headbut of encouragement and he grabs the book carefully wrapped in his shirt before he makes his way to the tavern, suddenly very nervous. 

jaskiers voice is already wafting out of the tavern as he draws closer, having beat geralt to the meeting spot for once, and geralt hesitantly steps inside, knowing jaskiers eyes will be on him the second he goes in. he’s overcome with thoughts, what if jaskier hates it? what if he thinks it's dumb? what if he laughs at him? 

he enters anyway, because he's a witcher for fucks sake and he can handle his friends scrutiny. immediately he sees jaskier, sitting in the corner, working a crowd. as always, jaskiers eyes snap to him the second he steps foot in the tavern and he winks. geralt gives him the smallest nod and heads to his table in the corner after ordering an ale. he tucks the book out of sight on the bench next to him. 

minutes later jaskier barrels over, eyes bright with the life of the crowd he had been entertaining. 

“geralt!” he exclaims. “finally. i thought you stood me up, you big oaf. i never make it here before you do, i thought you may have been eaten! although im not sure by what exactly, i don't know what species has a taste for witches, dragons maybe? well never mind, youre here now and you better have a good excuse for being so late, even im starting to get bored of this town and you know how i love towns...”

geralt smiles into his ale, he missed this, but he'd never admit it. his eyes flick over to the book sitting on the seat beside him, unsure whether or not he should give it to him. 

jaskier, being the observant fucker he is, notices. “geralt what do you have on the seat there? is it a monster head? you know what happened last time you tried to hide a monster head in a tavern, i thought the town would chase us out with pitchforks they were so angry! surely you wouldn't-”

“here.” geralt mutters, cutting him off, unwilling to listen to that horrible story. 

jaskier stares at the lump of black fabric on the table. “geralt, why are you giving me your shirt? its not really my style, i’m not one for black really, makes my skin look too pale.”

“open it.” he says into his ale. 

jaskier does, and stares at the book dumbfounded. “a history book? geralt you know that i am a master of the seven liberal arts, im a professor at oxenfurt! i have all these boring books in the library, i didn't need you to get me one, although it is very thoughtful of you to- oh”

geralt, tired of hearing jaskiers babbling, flips open the book, revealing the bits of nature he had spent their time apart collecting. jasper is silent, which geralt takes as a bad sign. maybe roach was right, maybe he didn't like it, maybe he'd wasted his time for nothing. 

“cause you....you didn't get to see...the leaves this year,” he mutters, looking into the tavern, unable to see the inevitable disappointment on jaskiers face. 

“oh, geralt,” jaskier whispers. “you collected all of these for me?”

geralt doesnt say anything, but his silence is enough. 

“this is why you were late. you were collecting these, for me.”

“its okay if you don't..like them” geralt bites out. 

“oh no no no no, geralt, they're wonderful.” 

geralt looks at jaskier and sees him touching the pine branch he took form the trees outside kaer morhen, tears brimming in his eyes. “you don't hate it?”

“no, love.” jaskier smiles softly. “i adore it. and i adore you. and id love it if you tell me about all of them, please.”

for the first time in years geralt feels something like a smile tugging at his lips and he picks up the pine branch from jaskiers hand, telling him how it came from the tree outside his window, the one that he looked at everyday as a kid growing up. the same tree that lambert once dared him to climb and he nearly did before being spotted by vesemir and scolded at. jasper laughs and sniffs the pine carefully before placing the branch back in the book. 

they pour over the book for hours at their table in the tavern. geralt cant remember the last time he's talked this much, much less about himself of all things, but jaskier is more than happy to listen. 

__

if you want to be tagged in future works of mine shoot me an ask !!

[theramenbandit]

To Whom It May Concern

It catches her quite by surprise. On a Wednesday, of all days. Well actually, surprise is an understatement. It really was more like she got hit by a ton of bricks. 

Kara has a favorite park bench. It's the one under the sprawling oak tree, right across from the chess tables. She loves it because it's shady, it's far enough away from the noisier side of the park, and it lets her observe people without drawing attention to herself. One day, at lunch, she hears a peculiar heartbeat. It isn't particularly loud, but it stands out to her for some reason, and as she begins to listen intently, it drowns everything else out. Its rhythm is strong, steady, beautiful, even. As Kara listens, she feels something bloom in her own chest. Something like warmth, like freedom, like coming home. And when she snaps out of it, the heartbeat is gone. It's a strange experience, to say the least, but not at all unpleasant. She writes about it in her journal later that day. 

The professor was talking about the concept of space-time and the beings caught in it. Kara was enthralled by the idea of such an unbreakable bond, an immeasurable force. It wasn’t just romantic. It was something more. It went beyond the heart, it probably went even beyond the soul. It made her think if she will ever find something like that for herself. 

She hears it again, that same heartbeat from weeks ago. This time she tries looking for the owner, but a Supergirl emergency keeps her from doing just that. She starts going to the park more often, in hopes of finding that heart, and perhaps, oh perhaps more importantly, whom it belongs to. 

Was it even possible to pine for someone you hadn't even met yet? 

She’d read stories, epic tales, poems, and legends from her world and many others, and she realized its transcendence. How beautiful it was for two beings to be connected by some invisible, inseparable tie. How wonderful it might be if, after centuries and universes of separation, they found each other again.  

The next time Kara hears it, she's doing rounds near the city limits. She tries to home in on the sound and soon she's following a car driving away from National City. She's about to swoop in on the vehicle and finally know who this person is who owns this heartbeat that keeps finding her and at the same time keeps eluding her, but just then her phone rings. It's Winn. Crap. Game Night. And she was hosting. Double Crap. And now that she was so close to finding out. Figures. She follows the sound until it fades away, committing it to memory, etching it into her heart, then heaves a frustrated sigh and flies back home. 

She's distracted and they lose, badly. Alex knows that something is up (because of course she does) and asks if she's alright. Kara says she's just tired, thankful when her sister doesn't push. She wraps the party up before ten. She lays in bed and has half a mind to figure out where that car was headed, but it's late and she has to meet with Clark early the next day about some Luthor business or whatever. She falls into a fitful sleep, punctuated by weird half-dreams of willows and glaciers and stars. 

She's too cranky to notice it when she and Clark walk up to the building. Too cranky to notice it when the dark-haired woman walks into the room, too grumpy to notice it when Clark starts speaking with her. Then the woman reaches out to shake her hand in introduction and Kara is too annoyed to-- There it is. That familiar cadence. And it's coming from the person standing right in front of her. 

“Hello, I'm Lena Luthor.”    

“It's… It's you.”

“Yes,” Lena answers with a mildly amused sort of expression. “It's… Me.” 

Kara barely hears it over the sound of her own heart thundering in her ears. She almost misses the proffered hand as she extends her own to shake it, her gaze transfixed. 

Lena Luthor has the greenest eyes she had ever seen. 

The interview passes by in a blur. Kara won't remember half of it. What she will remember is Lena's heartbeat, along with that low-pitched voice and melodic lilt, soothing her, distracting her. Ensnaring her. 

Clark sounds far away when he finally asks "so, Miss Luthor, with L-Corp now under your supervision, what can we look forward to?"

Lena smiles at the both of them, "what do you know about Quantum Entanglement?" 

Clark answers her with something about Einstein or that dude with the car named after him. It completely slips past because Lena is positively beaming and Kara is absolutely mesmerized. 

"Well, when you see what we're doing with them," Lena was looking directly at her now, her eyes holding her captive, "it'll blow you away." 

Kara doesn't flinch, even as her breath is stolen. She holds Lena's gaze and with absolutely no resistance, lets herself be taken. "I can't wait." 

-

Sunlight filters in through the gap in the curtains, the rays illuminating a bunch of dust motes. Kara watches as they float around lazily, drifting apart, then colliding, then drifting away again, but always coming back towards each other. It reminds her of one particular Wednesday. 

“You're up, course you're up,” comes a bleary voice from under her chin. 

“And a bright good morning to you as well,” Kara says in mock offense. A sleepy chuckle bubbles up out of Lena, and Kara can't help but plant a kiss to her temple.

“What were you thinking about?” 

“Remember when you asked me about Quantum Entanglement?” 

“Yeah, you gave me your best goldfish impression.” 

“I knew what it was.” 

“Yeah? But why didn't you say anything?” 

“You know how you once told me that you used to know all the words to Email My Heart?” 

“Oh god, don't remind me,” Lena says as she shuts her eyes in embarrassment and buries her face in Kara's shirt. 

“And that they practically vanished completely from your memory because you hadn't heard it in so long? That's kinda what happened back then. The first time I'd heard of Quantum Entanglement (we didn’t call it that) was in auridhrinn-- that's like 4th grade Earth school. Logically, it shouldn't be possible, but then the teacher showed us pictures of it: two particles, across universes, basically being two parts of one whole. I thought it was beautiful.”

“And then?” 

“And then, I guess I forgot about it. Until I heard your heartbeat in the park and then you mentioned working with the technology during our interview that day. Then I remembered. I remembered everything.”

“OK, back up. The park?” Lena says with as much incredulity as her un-caffeinated state would permit her. 

“Yeah.” 

“Huh.”

“I feel like there's a story there.” 

“Get me some coffee, maybe we'll talk.” 

Kara chuckles and kisses her hair, "deal," as Lena snuggles back into her side. Neither of them says anything for a spell, and Kara feels herself drifting back to sleep when Lena suddenly rears her head and makes a cartoonish face. “Is it science? Is it magic?” she enunciates playfully. Kara laughs as a wave of affection takes over her heart and permeates her chest. The light is hitting Lena's eyes just so; sparkling isn’t nearly a good enough word for what they’re doing, and she momentarily gets lost in them. Green and blue and flecked with gold. Like willows. Like glaciers. Like stars. 

Kara tenderly cups her cheek and brushes her thumb against her warm skin. “It's you and me, Lena. You're my particle.”

Lena looks down at her fondly and then adorably scrunches her nose. “You're so sappy in the morning.” 

Kara smiles against her lips. “Only with you.”

-

Lena would go to the park, too, Kara later learns. She hadn't moved into the city just yet. She was taking in the surroundings, discreetly laying the groundwork for her company, for when she eventually would relocate, rebrand, start over. She'd 'kind of just sit there' and 'disappear' into the city for a bit, and would think over what it was about this place that made her so sure this was where she was supposed to be. Kara then stumbled (Hey, I sauntered, Babe, jabbing at her with the drippy piece of pancake stuck to her fork) into her life and she started to wonder if moving here just 'made business sense' or if it was something more. Turns out it was a bit of both. 

[nebulablakemurphy]

The Losing Game (Neville x Reader) Pt. 3

Summary: Y/N and Neville have been friends since they started at Hogwarts. Y/n is adopted and after some recent events, she becomes more curious about her birth parents. Only they’re not what she’s been hoping for.

Warnings / Notes: You and Neville have a heart to heart and finally get the answer to your question.

Tag list @a-mexican-waffle @mirakeul @livvi-mollii @why-am-i-sad-and-sleepy @grincheveryday @rachelle3musicals @mythicalpandacat

Let me know if you want to be added or removed.

Masterlist

From The Top | Part 2

Y/N= your name

Y/L/N =your last name

———————————————————————

“Gran! Gran?” Neville calls up to the second story of his home. “I’m off to see y/n.”

“Why is it you think you’re going anywhere?“ His Grandmother demands. “What, with all the trouble Professor Umbridge says you’ve been causing-“

“But I haven’t been causing trouble!” Neville says in protest. “She‘s barmy Gran, she’s taken on defense against the dark arts, but won’t teach us anything.”

“Neville listen to me closely.” Augusta Longbottom leans in; a stern look on her tired face. “Just because the world is in need of reform, does not mean you must be the one to reform it. It’s the girl, Neville. She’s making you reckless. I don’t think you should keep running around with her.”

“I love her gran. I won’t stop seeing her, I’ll just leave.” Neville squares his shoulders.

“Oh stop it,” she waves at his indignant stance, “you sound just like your father.”

“Because he was right,” Neville replies.

“Well,” Gran pauses, to collect herself. “you see where that landed him.”

“How can you say that?” Neville takes a step back, as if she’d slapped him.

“Because I’ve already lost my son,” her blue eyes are full of unshed tears. “And I don’t want to lose my grandson too.”

————————————————————

“Where are we headed?” Neville asks, both hands stuffed into his pockets.

“First, Ollivanders. There might be something he can tell us about my wand, that will point us in the right direction.” You tell him, as the pair of you wave away your father. Who thought he was dropping you off for a date at the bookstore and sweet shop in diagon ally. “If not there; the orphanage could have some sort of record. Even though the adoption was completely closed.”

Neville nods, “lead the way.”

“Is everything ok?” You ask, as you begin walking toward the wand shop.

“I had a fight with my Gran.” Neville shrugs. “She’s worried about me.”

“Of course she is Neville, you’re all she has left.” You understand that completely.

“She told me I shouldn’t see you anymore.” He confesses, and yet here he is.

“Then how-“

“I told her I wouldn’t stop...seeing you.” Neville swallows, nervously. What if you don’t feel as strongly as he does?

“Neville-“

“I don’t want her angry, but I want you. I told her that. She said I sounded like my Dad.” He forces down the lump in his throat. “I don’t want to end up like him. I don’t want anything to happen to you.

But I was proud, to keep that part of his memory alive; proud to be their son. Only that makes everything hit a bit closer to home. This could all blow up in our face y/n. We could end up just like my parents. And that scares me more than I thought it would.”

“I wish I could tell you not to worry. I wish I could tell you that will never happen.” You whisper, as he reaches for your swinging hand. “I can’t, that scares me too.”

————————————————————

“I’m sorry y/n, but the properties of this wand are extremely common. In fact, there’s nothing remarkable about it at all.” Ollivander’s words replay in your head, on a loop as you make your way toward the orphanage.

Maybe you were unremarkable. Maybe your birth parents were unremarkable. Only why had Dumbledore told you to stop looking for them? If they weren’t anyone special, why the warning?

“Good afternoon.” The receptionist at the front desk greets you.

“Good morning,” you croak out, your throat constricting, at the proximity of answers you’ve been seeking for so long. “Afternoon,” you correct yourself.

“How many I help you?” The short, brunette, woman asks.

“I was adopted here. I’m hoping to find my birth parents.” You explain, with a tense smile.

“Alright dear,” the secretary replies, shuffling papers around on her desk. “Let’s start with your name.”

“I’m y/n, l/n. But it might be different in the file-“

“Adoptions are kept under the adoptive parents names.” She assures you patiently. “Please take a seat, I’ll get the book keeper to take a look.”

“Thank you,” you breathe, as she turns and leaves.

“Y/n,” Neville calls your attention, guiding you toward the bench. “You look faint.”

“I didn’t think I’d be so nervous. I might be sick,” you manage to tell him.

He begins fanning you with his hands. “Just breathe.”

“What if I know them?” Your heart races.

“You might.” Neville nods. “That wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Or what if they’re celebrities?”

“Less likely, but not impossible.”

“What if-“

Neville leans in, stealing a kiss to quiet your rambling.

You relax into it, kissing him back.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, as you break apart. “You’re cute when you’re hysterical.”

“I’m not hysterical Neville! I’m-“ you break off. “Oh god, I am hysterical.”

“Ms. Y/N, the director will see you now. They have your file.” The brunette woman from the desk motions for you to follow.

“Do you want me to wait here?” Neville asks, nudging your back lightly.

You shake your head, no. “Come with me?”

He moves to stand first, holding a hand out to you. “No matter what.”

————————————————————

The open case file for ‘baby girl Y/L/N’ remains open; untouched on the oak desk, for the past five minutes. The director, a tall and burly man, has left you in his office to digest the news.

Neville...well he just sits, silently. His eyes to the floor. Maybe there’s nothing left to say.

You reach for the parchment anxiously. As if it might burn to touch. Gathering the folder, with shaky hands, reading over the first page.

‘A baby girl, weighing six pounds, seven ounces, has been surrendered to our facility on this day; by parents Rudolfus and Bellatrix Lestrange. They request no further contact with the child in question.’

“I still think it’s wrong.” Neville says, finally.

“It’s not,” the director has assured you. There has been no mistake, no misfile, nothing but the cruel justice of the world. Or karma, or god, or the powers that be; whatever you believe in. Although you’re not sure you believe in anything anymore.

“I don’t know what I’m meant to say,” Neville tells you quietly. Scratching the back of his neck, as he often does when uneasy.

“This is so messed up Neville.” You sigh, “I understand if it’s too much.”

“This doesn’t change who you are, to me. To me, you will always be the girl who caught Trevor on the train first year. You’ll always be the one who helped me out and didn’t get frustrated; even when I did. To me, you’re perfect...” Neville draws in a deep breath, “and I love you.”

“I love you too Neville.” That’s about the only thing you still know to be true. “I’m sorry that I’m-“

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” He cuts you off. “We don’t choose our blood.”

“I know it’s an awful secret to ask you to keep but-“ you aren’t ready for anyone else to know.

“Y/n,” Neville catches your chin, holding you steady as his eyes lock with yours. “Your secrets are safe with me. You’re safe with me.”

[today-we-will-survive]

Spectrum

Moodboard made by me.

Taehyung x Reader

Genre: University!AU, Garage Band!AU, Soulmate!AU, Romance, Angst, Fluff

Warnings: bar fight (short mention of blood)

Word Count: 31K

A/N: This, like the first one in the series, is for my honey bunches, @dimpled-gukkie

I’m sorry you’re having a bad day, you think as you gently stroke the currently blue colored tattoo encircling your left ring finger. It’s been changing colors all day, staying within the blue and purple hued spectrum signifying that your soulmate—whoever they are, wherever they are—has been going between feeling bad and worse. You noticed it that morning when you woke up. That’s always the second thing you do when you open your eyes. Turn off your alarm, check your ring. Usually it’s somewhere in the red to green range meaning they’re in a good mood—or at least neutral, but not this morning. It seems to have started off a melancholy teal and gotten more purple from there, now tinted a bold indigo.

What’s going on? You wonder and pull your bottom lip into your mouth, your manicured brows furrowing a bit with concern.

The sound of your name being called has you jerking your head up off your desk, eyes shooting to the front of the room as everyone else’s focus on you.

“You still with me?” your professor asks and you feel your cheeks heat up as you slink lower in your chair, nodding your head just slightly enough to get him to continue his lecture.

Thankfully he does and you breathe a sigh of relief when you feel the dozens of other eyes fall away again. Sit up, pay attention, you think and straighten your spine so you’re sitting tall. You try to pay attention, try to listen to the lecture, but you can’t help the little inkling gnawing at the back of your brain and you glance down again at your tattoo. It’s turned a deep violet and you feel your heart sink. What’s going on?

Your apartment on the top floor of your building is outfitted with the plush trappings of the most luxurious kind. Only the best for the Princess of the Upper East Side. At least that’s what you overheard the movers say as they carried each carefully wrapped piece of furniture and decor up the weekend before you were to start your second year of college. Your mother was aghast when she heard that freshmen were required to live in the dorms on school grounds—even though you were given one of the more well-kept rooms in the best building. You’d tried to tell her it was fine and even went so far as to admit that you were excited to have a normal college experience, but of course, she wanted none of that, whisking you out to go apartment shopping the minute the last semester ended and then having it renovated and curated to her liking for the extent of the summer.

Now you’re well into fall quarter, doing homework at a marble and oak desk in this grand study in a ridiculously huge, extravagant apartment and you’ve never felt lonelier in your life. Your mother insisted you get the whole place to yourself because, “valuable things tend to disappear and end up in dirty pawn shops when you invite others to share your home with you.” You doubt she knows this from experience but rather from the years of having it drilled into her own head that if someone doesn’t have as much money as you, they will try to take yours. That’s why she insists that you only interact with others of your stature—or rather those closest to your stature since no one is actually at your level, right mom?

So when you hear your phone vibrate and see it skitter across the marble desk top, you know without looking that it’s one of three people. Kim Seokjin, a boy that seems to like the fact that his social standing puts him miles above the rest of the students he goes to school with a little too much, Min Yoongi, the only other person that seems to understand how absolutely ridiculous it is that as young people above the age of independence, your parents still somehow have complete control over every aspect of your lives, and Park Jennie, A-list socialite who throws the best parties and can get away with anything with a flash of that perfectly sweet smile, aka your best friend. And now when you pick up your phone, you’re met with that very smile. With a curl of your own lips, you hit “accept” and bring the phone to your ear.

“Hey J—”

You can’t pull it away from your poor ear fast enough to save it from the high pitched scream that comes hurtling at you through the speaker. For a split second you think something is horribly, horribly wrong with your friend, until the scream devolves into a fit of giggles.

“Doll!” she screeches, “You’ll never guess where I am!”

“Hopefully somewhere devoid of people since you probably just made anyone within a mile of you deaf.”

“I’m at Choi Marie’s trying on my birthday dress and it’s ah-mazing!” she continues completely ignoring your comment. “It seriously is so perfect—well, almost perfect. If I can convince Daddy to let me make the neckline a little lower and the bottom hem a little higher, then it’ll be perfect.”

You can’t help but shake your head. “Of course it will, J,” you chuckle. “Every eye will be on you.”

“It better be,” she says. “I’m not shelling out this much dough just to have someone upstage me at my own party.”

“No one would dare,” you say, shutting your laptop and leaning back in your chair. Your spine makes a satisfying crack.

“Oh! That reminds me,” Jennie says. “Your dress is here too.”

Now you quickly sit forward again. “My what? J, you didn’t. I was going to wear the dress I got in Milan last spring.”

“Of course I didn’t. Daddy did, ” she says then lets out a giggle. “Besides, my best friend isn’t going to be wearing some closet vagabond garb from last season. You should come now. It’s here for you to try on.”

She doesn’t have to tell you twice. With an excited squeal, you end the call and jump up from your desk, leaving your text books and laptop strewn all over its top. You know they’ll be in a neat pile when you return but you don’t want to think about that now as you grab your purse and keys and head out of your apartment.

“J, this is too much,” you say half an hour later when you’re looking at yourself in the full-length mirror at Choi Marie’s. A sequined, silvery blue dress hugs your every curve, ending midway down your calves. Jennie stands beside you playing with her own dress that would be the same as yours if not for the gold sequins, rhinestones and jewels and the fact that it’s, you know, much more…her. She hikes the hem of hers up to mid-thigh, showing off more of her pale legs and tilts her head in thought.

“Should I go shorter?” she asks still studying herself in the mirror.

You laugh. “You won’t have any dress left if you go shorter,” you say teasingly and Jennie sneers at your reflection. “Seriously, though, J. This is too much.” Your palms run down your stomach over the ridges of the blue/gray rhinestones. Then you catch sight of the dark band around your finger and your stomach sinks. You’d been so caught up in studying for your exams and then ogling this dress that you hadn’t noticed the band darken further from the violet it had been last time you checked.

“It’s really no big deal—” Jennie says, not noticing that you’re staring at your tattoo. “But if you really want to pay me back, there’s this Gucci choker I’ve been eying for a while and…” At last she catches on, watching you bring your hand up to your face and touch your knuckles to your lips, deep in thought.

“Moody boy at it again?” she asks though her eyes are sympathetic.

“It seems to be happening more often now,” you reply. “I wish I knew who he was or had a way to communicate with him, ya know? Just so I could try to make him feel better.”

“You have such a heart of gold, babe,” Jennie says putting her hands on your arms and giving you a squeeze. “Your boy is probably one of those hot brooding types.” Then she wiggles her own red-ringed finger. “Mine can’t seem to calm down.”

You smile in amusement. The only time your best friend’s soulmate tattoo isn’t a bright scarlet red—the happiest color—is when it’s tinged closer to green—signifying calmness—and that’s usually only in the morning and really late at night when any normal person would be sleeping.

Jennie lets out a growl as she tugs her dress up higher. “You’re gonna get James Dean and I’ll get Bozo the Clown on crack,” she mutters.

The laugh escapes before you can catch it and you slap a hand over your mouth to try to hide it but it’s no use. Jennie’s already dissolved into fits of laughter as well, clinging on to you to keep from toppling over in her four inch stilettos. The two of you look ridiculous in your sparkling dresses and heels, hair in disarray and faces red and shining with laughter. You’ve already forgotten about the dark ring encircling your finger or the meaning behind it.

The hard case of Kim Taehyung’s cell phone bites into the plaster of his dorm room wall before clattering to the carpeted floor below. He rakes his hands through his dark hair and lets out a heavy sigh, falling backward on his bed and bouncing on the mattress. Another rejection.

It seems that’s all he gets nowadays. No after no after no. For once, he’d like a yes. For once he wishes he had some good news for his bandmates. That they actually get to play the venue they’ve been trying to get into for months instead of the tiny clubs. Instead it’s no.

No, no and no.

Taehyung drags his hands down his face, the thick, gun-metal colored band encircling his left ring finger catching on his lip. He pulls his hands back and uses his thumb to lift the ring. An orange stripe stains the skin beneath and a pang of jealousy stabs at his chest.

At least one of us is having a good time, he thinks, then slips the ring back down over the tattoo. Out of sight, out of mind.

Friday night dinner with your parents has been a thing now since you went off to college two years ago. Your mother says it’s because they don’t want to lose touch with you, but really it means that, as long as you’re obligated to see them weekly, your dad is able to keep you on the path he’s had you on since you were little. You put up with it. In fact, you actually used to kind of like the idea of running the family business someday. You’ve dabbled in a few other things but somehow you always found yourself drawn back to your roots. And by this point you don’t know if it’s honestly by your own desire or by the mental tether your parents have you hooked on. Sure, you love business and the politics that go along with it, but would you if you hadn’t had the importance of it engrained in you?

More recently though, you’ve picked up art again. Particularly sketching and more particularly, designing gowns. You have a sketchbook half-filled with sketches of dresses, tucked into the back of the bottom drawer of your jewelry cabinet at the apartment—away from prying eyes which you know are there. It’s a dream you would never admit to out loud. Especially to your parents. They wouldn’t allow you to pursue it anyway.

“So how are classes going, Honey?”

You look up from your plate, having spent the beginning of dinner pushing a small mushroom around with your chopsticks. Now your eyes settle on your mother’s own from across the table. Quickly, you drop your utensils and let your hands fall into your lap under the table.

“Uh, my classes? They’re going alright,” you say and try to give a polite smile. You woke up this Friday morning and looked at your ring even before turning off your alarm to find it a slightly saddened turquoise. It still isn’t red or orange but it’s better than blue or purple…or black. It’s basically stayed that color all day. “I had an exam on Monday and we just got our results back.”

“And?” your mom asks lifting an eyebrow.

You shrug and look back down at your plate, already regretting mentioning it. “I did…okay.”

The sound of a glass hitting the clothed table top a little too hard has you looking up, this time at your father. “Just okay?” he asks.

Another shrug. “Yeah, I got a ninety six, but the test was harder than I thought it would be. I should have studied more.”

“A ninety six?” you mom gasps and brings a manicured hand up to the hollow of her throat. “There must be a mistake. My daughter does not get such mediocre grades.”

“No need to worry, Dear,” your father says. “I have a luncheon with the dean on Monday. I will talk to him then.”

“You don’t need to do that, Daddy,” you say quickly. “It was my own fault. I just need to study harder. That’s all.”

“No, no,” he says. “No daughter of mine is going to have such average grades attached to her name. To my name. Can you imagine what that would say about you? About our family? I’ve worked hard to get you the reputation you have and no company run by a woman with such average grades would be taken seriously. No, I will fix this. Don’t you worry.”

You breathe a sigh, trying to keep your tongue secured between your teeth until you no longer feel the urge to argue. Of course, your father still dreams of you one day taking his place as head of his company. He’s talked about it since you were eight when he finally accepted the fact that he wouldn’t be getting a son to pass the business down to. And of course, not once did he ask you if it was what you actually wanted to do.

At last you let your lips lift into a smile. “Of course, Daddy,” you say. “I will try harder from now on. I wouldn’t want to make you look bad.”

This seems like a satisfying enough answer and you see the tension physically lift from your mother’s shoulders as she smiles and picks her utensils back up to continue eating. She’s always been overdramatic, but then again, maybe the idea of her daughter not following the plans laid out for her exactly is as much of a disturbing thought as she’s ever experienced. That’s what happens when a person lives their life with everything served to them on a silver platter. And though you’ve been raised the same way, you’d like to think you have at least a slightly better grasp on reality.

“Well, I think that went well,” you say trying to match your father’s quick strides as the two of you exit the office building and make your way across the steady stream of foot traffic toward the sleek, black car waiting for you on the curb.

“Could have gone better,” he replies without looking at you then gives the driver a quick nod when he opens the door for him. You make your way around to the other side of the car after the driver and smile at him gratefully before climbing in and settling into the seat beside your father. He’s already preoccupied, typing a long email on his iPhone, his thumbs flying across the screen, so you just stare out your own window at the buildings and people as they go by at a snail’s pace. Traffic in the city is always terrible, no matter what time of day it is, but you don’t mind being caught up in it. It gives you time to think.

Lately, your father has been bringing you with him to meetings so you can observe and see the way he conducts business deals. You’ll admit, he knows what he’s doing. There were several moments where you thought maybe he was going to lose the deal but he’s very persuasive. Then again you already know that.

He’s always been very good at talking anyone into seeing things his way. It’s what’s kept him so successful. So steadfast, so dependable. You’ve always looked up to your father. Sure, he can be manipulative, but you have to admit, the man is dedicated. He’s worked hard all his life, all your life, to take care of his family, and somehow, he sees himself in you.

You should be honored.

Should be.

Yet you can’t help but feel trapped on this path. As if the walls lining it are too high and topped with barbed-wire. This is the path, not that you chose, but that has been chosen for you.

The car turns, now heading into the fashion district and you sit up a bit taller when windows displaying extravagant gowns and bags and the like begin to pass by. When you catch your reflection in the car window, you’re not surprised that your eyes are sparkling with delight. You wander down this street often, always hurrying home after a day of shopping with Jennie with newfound inspiration. A lot of these shopping trips end with you dropping your bags inside the front door of your apartment and running to grab your sketch pad from its hiding place and spending the rest of the evening designing. Even now, you’re itching to get home so you can sketch.

You wanted to get to the party early but of course your father wanted you to accompany him on a last minute deal at one of the nicer restaurants in town so now, not only are you late, but you’re frazzled and kind of full from the amount of bread you nervously stuffed into your face while you watched the business deal tensely go down. You used to love going to things like this with your dad, but now you dread them more than anything else. There’s this pressure that seems to start building in your chest the moment you walk into the room and see the client and it just keeps growing, crushing your ribs and making the whole place seem smaller than it is. Every little thing is a distraction as you try to focus on what’s going on because this is going to be you someday—as your father always points out—and now that you’re in college, the day he hands over the reigns feels like it’s looming on the horizon and getting closer every second.

You were already late by the time you made it back to your apartment so you didn’t even really have time to do more than grab your blue, sparkly dress and heels from Jennie and shove them into a big purse before rushing back out again to catch the car you’d called on the way there. Now you tumble around in the back of it, hastily trying to change in the confined space as the driver—who you’ve caught several times glancing back at you in the rearview mirror but you honestly don’t care at this point—weaves his way through city traffic and out toward the party venue.

If you’re the “Princess of the Upper East Side” then Jennie is princess of the whole city. The Parks own so much of it, there aren’t many streets left without a single property owned by them. And you can always tell which ones are theirs. Always the sleek, modern, black tinted glass ones that jut up the highest. Even now, a line of them block the sunset painted sky, making it much dimmer inside the car.

The driver makes a particularly sharp turn, throwing you across the seat with a squeal, your arm sticking up out of the neck hole of your sweater while you frantically paw at your earring that has caught in a loose string. At last you get it freed and yank the sweater completely off. Your hair goes everywhere, sticking to your skin that has become sweaty from your struggle and you quickly push it back from your face before grabbing Jennie’s dress out of your bag. It takes some maneuvering but somehow you manage to successfully shimmy the dress up your body and then pull your pencil skirt down and off. The driver has seen enough of you, he doesn’t need another peek.

You tug your second heel on just as the car pulls up to the front of the venue. You can already hear music pulsing from the mansion and feel the vibrations on the door when you open it and climb out into the driveway.

“Have a good evening, miss,” the driver says through the open passenger side window.

The memory of catching his glances in the rearview mirror a couple times gives you the urge to punch him but instead, you pass him a credit card and wait impatiently as he swipes it through his little reader on the dash. He hands you back the card and a small tablet for you to tip and sign on with a wink and you roll your eyes before handing it back to him and turning on your toe.

“What, no tip?” he calls teasingly.

“You got your tip already, buddy,” you call back and pull the straps of your purse up higher on your shoulder as you teeter up the steps toward the glowing neon entrance to the venue. That’s the last time you use a different car service than your usual one. Just before you push the door open, you card your fingers quickly through your mussed hair, take a deep breath to try and calm your still on edge nerves and then step inside.

The party planner has always gone all out for Jennie’s birthday parties, every year being pushed and pressured to make it bigger and better than the last. You’ve witnessed the frazzled brainstorming sessions. Watched the poor woman hurry from room to room with the Parks hot on her heels as she gave a play-by-play of the decor and entertainment. What would be where at what time. Color schemes, themes, food and drink options, everything. Even going so far as to import furniture and curtains and other lavish ornamentation from other countries just for the night. And the Parks just nod, not saying much, eyes roaming almost unfazed to wherever the planner points. You’d feel sorry for her if she wasn’t being paid so handsomely.

The Parks may be hard to please but they always make it worth while. You overheard the planner talking on the phone one day while you were there studying with Jennie, telling whoever was on the other end how after this whole fiasco was over, she was planning on taking the payment she’d receive from it and travel for a year. You wouldn’t be surprised if Jennie’s party was the only one she planned every year. Who needs to work the rest of the time when you can live off your earnings from the one high society event?

And high society it is.

The double doors open into a black and white tiled foyer, a crowd forming in front of the entrance to the actual party where two men dressed in brocaded suit vests and pants with beaded masks hiding the top halves of their faces stand, holding their white gloved hands out to take the invitations that will allow the partygoers entrance. The doors and staircase are hidden by curtains of shiny satin fabric and big can lights with pink filters sit in two of the corners, tinting the whole place magenta. Music pulses loudly from the other side of the beaded curtain that covers the doorway into the main party room, floating over the heads of the crowd and muffling any conversations being had.

You quickly stash your purse behind a curtain before pushing your way to the front of the crowd, many yelling complaints until they see who it is that is trying to squeeze past them. Then, of course, the annoyance turns to friendly greetings, overly friendly really since they all know that one ill word from you to Jennie would get them kicked out instantly.

By the time you make it to the front, you’re panting in the heat, a light coating of sweat causing your skin to shimmer. But still, you compose yourself, flashing a bright smile to the man guarding the entrance. He doesn’t even ask your name, both men giving you a bow of recognition—surely Jennie had shown them your picture so there’d be no trouble getting you in—and parting the curtain with wide swinging gestures, the real party becoming revealed to you. You give one more charming smile to each man before stepping through the curtain, entering onto a platform that looks down on the party.

The place is huge, magnificent and packed with people. Bolts of sheer fabric drape down from the center of the ceiling and attach to the walls creating a circus tent effect. A giant, sparkling chandelier hangs from the apex, the crystals glittering as they reflect the pink lights glowing through the material. To your surprise—though nothing should surprise you at this point—a woman suspends high above the crowd, limbs tangled into a white length of silk , rhinestones on her bodysuit catching the light as her body twists expertly. As you watch, two trapeze artists cut in front of her, swinging from hanging bars. One lets go of hers, curling into a speedy somersault before grasping onto the hands of the other as he hangs by his knees. Leave it to Jennie to turn her 21st birthday party into a literal circus.

On either side of the balcony you stand on, marble staircases descend to the party floor, two men flanking the banisters balancing silver trays holding flutes of pink sparkling champagne.

Your eyes scan the room below, searching for the birthday girl herself. Then you spot her, unsurprisingly in the center of the dance floor, her face bright, euphoric, arms up as she dances surrounded by the other elitist trust funders that make up her exclusive, though large, list of friends. Luckily for you, you’re at the top of this list.

Somehow she knows to shift her attention your way just then, locking eyes with you like a deer in the headlights for a split second before the recognition sets in. Then her face breaks out into a beaming smile and you see rather than hear her mouth form your name before she’s pushing through the crowd toward you

You meet her at the bottom of the stairs, her clammy hands grabbing onto yours so tightly they’ll surely bruise but you don’t care because now instead of observing the party, you’ve become a part of it, the music surrounding you rather than floating below you, the chandelier looming above you, looking even more magnificent than it did from where you stood on the balcony. The people, the music, the sweet, flowery smell—surely laced with something and pumped in to mask that of the sweaty bodies and, let’s face it, probably weed—creating an intoxicating atmosphere that can only ever be found at one of Park Jennie’s birthday parties.

“You’re late!” Jennie yells over the music, her scolding words contrasting the delirious tone of her shrill voice.

Even with the perfumed air, you can smell the alcohol on her breath. She’s always been a pre-gamer, knowing that she’s too uptight in her natural state and needs alcohol—and usually a little something extra, compliments of one Min Yoongi—to loosen up. Well, she’s definitely loosened up.

“I know, I’m sorry,” you yell back. “I had to sit in on a deal with my dad and it ran over!”

“Well, you’re here now and you look amazing!” she exclaims, though she should talk with the way her altered gold dress hugs her body so perfectly. “Come dance with me!” And then she’s tugging you after her, barely giving you time to snatch one of the champagne flutes off the tray before being swallowed up by the crowd.

You down the drink in three gulps and push it into another server’s hand just as Jennie drags you onto the dance floor. The tiles are lit from underneath, the lights pulsing with the beat of the music adding to the chaos that already surrounds you.

But you love the chaos.

With a life as structured and stifling as yours, these are the moments that keep you going. Jennie throws her arms around your neck, pulling you to her with a loud, drunken laugh and you feel your own laughter bubbling out of you, riding on the dizzying feel of the alcohol already coursing through your veins.

The two of you dance together for several songs until you’re a sweating, giggling mess, falling all over each other as you make your way toward the bar set up in the corner. Three bartenders decked out in the same brocade vests and masks as the servers scurry behind the counter, mixing and handing out drinks just barely slower than the people are ordering them. With it being an open bar, many people have taken up root at the counter, planning on spending the entire night getting absolutely wasted and trying to forget about the pressure they’re each under to continue to be the golden children their parents paint them to be. Trying to drown out the stress of being dragged down a path that was set for them before they were born. Taking up a business they have no interest in, marrying into families they despise, becoming people they don’t want to be. The only oases in this stifling dessert are the black cards with no charge limit that reside in most of their wallets and nights like this one.

“What’ll it be, Birthday Girl?” one of the bartenders yells to Jennie over the music.

She leans onto the bar coyly. “A black cherry martini please,” she says with a flirtatious bat of her eyelashes. “And one for my beautiful bestie here too.”

The bartender’s eyes flash over to you and you feel your cheeks heat up as you dip your head demurely. Jennie has always been so unabashedly over the top when it comes to interacting with the opposite sex while you’ve always been a bit more shy. It’s a perfect balance really. She brings out your wild side and you try to reign hers in. “Try” being the operative word.

It takes less than a minute to get your deep red drinks, Jennie grabbing both and handing you yours. With a smile, you tap the lip of your glass against hers.

“To you,” you say over the music.

“You know it!” she yells back before bringing her drink to her lips.

As Jennie takes a sip of her martini, her eyes travel past the rim of her glass and over your shoulder, settling on someone behind you. Immediately you sense an all too familiar, all too cocky presence.

“I’ve got to hand it to you, Jennie,” a voice says. “You really know how to throw an extravagant party.” Now you spin around, your vision assaulted by none other than the most notorious playboy of the Upper East Side.

Kim Seokjin is one of those classically handsome men. The kind with the incredibly broad shoulders, chiseled jaw, sharp, intelligent eyes, and full, perfect lips. Unfortunately, he is very aware of the fact and uses it unabashedly to his advantage at all times. So constantly, in fact, it’s exhausting just to be around him for more than a few minutes. There’s only so much of Kim Seokjin’s flirtation you can take before you feel your self-respect begin to dwindle.

Even now you almost cringe as he dips his head at you, his eyes glinting as if to try and lure you in. No way, no how, never have, never will.

A blonde head bobs behind him and you manage to rip your eyes away from his stifling gaze to see his best friend, Min Yoongi perched on a bar stool, conversing lowly and suspiciously with a couple of girls. You watch with an eyebrow quirked as he opens his palm to reveal two small white pills, which the girls each take one of, and press onto their tongues. Ah yes, the boy may have been born into all the money he’ll ever need, but he’s a business man to a fault. A sketchy business man, but a business man nonetheless.

“Was that an actual compliment I just heard out of your mouth, Kim Seokjin?” Jennie asks from behind you and you turn your attention back to the boy. “Not even one snarky remark about how pink is such a classless color?”

“As long as there’s free booze, I wouldn’t care if you covered the walls in green and purple polka dots and made us all do the electric slide,” he says. “Besides, I kind of like pink. It’s…jovial.”

“Glad to hear you hold my taste to such a high esteem.”

Seokjin quirks a corner of his mouth, amused by this back and forth, it seems. “It is exactly what I would expect a Park Jennie party to be,” he says. “Magnificent. Extravagant. Fitting for only a queen such as yourself,” His eyes sparkle and you find yourself stepping back trying to make some room for his suffocating ego.

“The party favors are mini bottles of champagne,” Jennie says with a sharp jut of her chin. “Diamond encrusted, imported from one of the original vineyards in France.”

“Of course they are,” he purrs. Then raises his glass to his lips and throws his head back, draining the drink in one gulp. He drops the tumbler onto the bar, his one arm closing in on your best friend’s side and he sidles closer to her.

“Come dance with me,” he utters and you feel your stomach churn.

How is any actual human like this? How can anyone be fooled by this boy’s over the top charms? You’ve seen this song and dance between the two of them a million times. The seemingly ongoing feud between the two, their egos and self-absorption always clashing, yet you know the truth. You wish you didn’t, but—much to your chagrin—you are Jennie’s soundboard. Oh yes, you’ve heard all the details. The two make for an interesting pair, that’s for sure.

The fact that they aren’t soulmates doesn’t really matter to them. In fact, most people don’t even bother trying to find their soulmates until after college is over. Especially not those that already have their lives mapped out for them such as you and the rest of the kids on the Upper East Side. Having a pre-picked soulmate just means another thing you have no control over. And you along with the rest want to hold onto that tiny bit of freedom for just a little longer. Hence the almost vomit inducing scene unfolding in front of you.

Now you watch with a mixture of amusement and disgust as your best friend presses her unfinished drink into your hand before allowing herself to be led away, back onto the dance floor. If it were anyone else, you’d have stopped it before it could happen but you know your best friend better than anyone. Better than Kim Seokjin does, that’s for sure. Park Jennie doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to do. She can hold her own.

You set her forgotten drink onto the bar top before leaning back against it and taking a sip of your own as you watch the party happen around you. Everywhere you look you see people enjoying themselves, whether that be dancing, drinking, pressed up against someone else or a mixture of all three. Parties are a staple of any trust fund kid’s social life. In fact, if you aren’t going to at least one a month, can you even call yourself an elite? But there’s something different about a Park Jennie party. As city royalty, it is well-known that she is on the shortest leash. Her family often graces the tabloids, articles about their newest properties, most recent lavish trips, societal events and parties being eaten up by the more common folk that wish they were them. Sure, from the outside, Jennie seems like a wild card. Someone who can do what she wants, get what she wants. But you know the truth. Underneath the flirty, confident, loud exterior, is a girl who just wants to hold onto her youth for as long as she can before her parents force her to grow up.

All this.

These bright colors and flashing lights and loud music, are all a facade. All just a distraction from responsibilities waiting for her on the ever impending horizon.

For weeks before the party, Jennie excitedly bragged about the fact that her dad had managed to get Bangtan to perform at it. The boy group is one of the biggest musical acts in the world right now which just goes to show how much power the Park family possesses.

Though now as you stand beside her, confusingly enough off to the side of the crowd that has accumulated in front of the curtained stage instead of at the forefront, you notice she doesn’t seem as thrilled as she should be. In fact, she seems anxious.

“Hey, what’s wrong, J?” you ask nudging her gently with your elbow. “Aren’t you excited to see Bangtan live?”

“I would be if we actually were seeing them live,” she replies shifting on her heels.

If you were confused before, you’re completely puzzled now. “What do you—?” The last bit of your question is drowned out when the crowd goes wild and you turn back toward the stage to see the curtain lifting. Of course, as soon as the band onstage is revealed to not be the worldwide sensation that is the seven member group, Bangtan, but a five piece band of musicians that look like they belong in someone’s garage instead of this luxe venue, the screaming dies down to almost silence.

“Helloooooooo Upper East Side!” the frontman yells into the mic before adjusting the backwards snapback on his head. You don’t know what’s worse, his obnoxiously loud voice or the glaring black tattoo of a lion’s head plastered across the side of his neck and throat. “I’m your hope, you’re my hope, I’m J-Hoooooooope!”

“Oh no,” Jennie groans as she presses her hands to her face in embarrassment.

“That’s Tae on drums, RM on bass, Kook and Jimin on guitar and together we are WAR OF HORMONE!”

With that last bit of an introduction, the drummer—Tae, apparently—raises his sticks in the air, inked arms catching the light, and strikes them together three times before bringing them down hard on the snare at the same time he hits the bass. The stage comes to life, the lights changing with every heavy beat and J-Hope leans into the mic to start the song off. To your surprise, it’s catchy, even with their gravely sing-song rapping and heavy sound and before long, the crowd of partiers is really starting to get into it. You watch in disbelief as these people—most of whom you’ve known since you were all in pre-prep school—begin jumping up and down, raising their arms above their heads and screaming back whenever one of the boys on stage hypes them up. It seems all of the members have singing parts, including the drummer, who cranes his neck to the left to reach the mic on a stand, expertly keeping the beat while singing the entire chorus with a deep, growly voice that causes goosebumps to raise on your skin even in the feverish room.

It isn’t until the song is over and the room bursts into applause that you finally snap out of your stupor and look to your best friend.

“Okay there has to be a story here,” you yell as the band starts in on a second song. “You can’t tell me they were your first choice.”

“Of course they weren’t my first choice,” Jennie yells back to you, though her eyes stay glued to the boys on stage. “They weren’t my choice at all.”

“Then who’s were they?” you ask now thoroughly confused.

Jennie crosses her arms over her chest and scrunches her nose in irritation. “Yeonjun’s,” she mutters.

Your head turns immediately to the corner closest to the bar where Jennie’s obnoxious little brother sits with his four equally obnoxious friends, all very underage and all clearly intoxicated.

Your mouth pulls up in disgust. “Since when does your little brother have any say in what music plays at your birthday party?”

“Since he threatened to tell Daddy that I was the one to put that scratch in the Mercedes. Apparently he’s hoping to get a chance to talk to them about joining”

“Yeonjun wants to join some greasy garage band? Ew.”

“Right?” Jennie asks with a scoff before turning back again to face the band. As she watches, her annoyed expression smooths out and a corner of her mouth curls. “Though, I don’t completely hate it.”

“Are you serious right now?” you shriek and look ahead at the stage again.

It seems she didn’t hear you and now she grabs your arm and bites her lip eagerly.

“Come on, let’s get closer to the stage,” she says and before you can argue, she drags you into the crowd.

Of course, they clear a path for the birthday girl and within seconds, you’re right at the front, nothing but these loud energetic boys before you. J-Hope jumps around on the stage, almost shoving the mic in his mouth, his leather pants catching the light, his white tank top sticking to his skin. His eyes fall to the pair of you as you enter his line of sight, dark irises sparkling when they settle on the person to your right. Oh no. You look over at Jennie to find her staring back, gaze locked intensely on the singer.

The song continues with the two of them never really looking away from each other, J-Hope staying in your vicinity of the stage, doing a little more to get some sort of rise out of your best friend, whether it’s a tilt of his head, a bit extra dancing or a wink. The two are so brazenly flirting with each other you suddenly feel like you’re intruding on a very private moment.

Focus on something else, you think and you let your eyes roam over the rest of the boys on the stage. They all look so out of place here covered in tattoos and piercings and tight ripped clothes, you feel like you’re at a completely different party than you were just twenty minutes ago. The bassist has a beanie pulled down over his hair, his teeth hooking on his lip ring as he bobs his head to the beat. The two guitarists face each other, the shorter with blue hair and much to your horror, a septum piercing, and the other taller—at least he has normal colored hair—with big black plugs in his lobes and tattoos trailing down the arm facing you. At last your gaze lands on the drummer and you suck in a sharp breath when you see that his own eyes are set on you.

His sweat-darkened hair sticks out in wet spikes, his inked up skin—dare you say—glistening as he drums. When he sees you staring, he cocks his head back, mouth spreading into a knowing smile before poking his tongue out. You quickly look away again, trying to ignore the way his stare makes your stomach flip. Suddenly you feel very thirsty.

“I’ll be right back,” you say quickly to Jennie, though she probably doesn’t hear you since she’s too busy drooling over the frontman of War of Hormone.

You push back through the crowd, this time wanting the least resistance but not getting it since you’re not being towed behind the birthday girl. But at last you break out of the back, your ears ringing from the screams and cheers that had surrounded you and now you find yourself right up against the bar—coincidentally right where you want to be. You rattle off the first drink that you can think of that you know will get that image of drummer boy’s smirk out of your head.

As you wait for your drink, you rest your elbows on the bar top and let your head sink into your hands, absolutely refusing to turn around. Even hidden by the crowd now, you can feel his stare burning a hole into the back of your skull. Out of the corner of your eye, you sense movement.

“So did Jennie lose a bet or is this a sad attempt at charity work?” Seokjin asks.

“Blackmail, actually,” you mutter then straighten up when the bartender sets your drink down in front of you.

“I don’t know what’s more painful,” Seokjin says leaning his back against the bar so he can spectate. “Hearing this sad excuse for music or watching my peers reduce themselves down to the neanderthals that would be so easily entertained by such garbage.”

You wish you could agree. You wish you could say that you don’t feel the strange, intriguing pull to join Jennie back up in front of the stage—despite the enticing drummer boy and that stupid smirk of his.

“Jennie seems to be enjoying it,” you say before bringing your drink up to your lips. You wince at the bitterness of the straight alcohol, remembering just why you don’t normally like drinks like this. Tae’s voice floats above the crowd and smashes into you like a shot canon ball and you immediately take another swig. Why is he affecting you so much?

It takes finishing your drink to realize Seokjin hasn’t said a word after your last remark and now you glance over at him, seeing his jaw become more visible as he grinds his teeth together. His eyes are focused on the stage, in particular, the frontman and his hand reaching down for Jennie’s.

Just then, the song ends and J-hope laughs breathlessly into the mic. “We’re gonna take a quick break,” he says, his statement punctuated by a short drum solo and then the room is filled with the screams of the crowd.

You shake your head, still in shock that this band is getting such a rise out of your peers. Maybe the air really is laced with something. With that thought in mind, you set your now empty glass back on the bar.

“I’m going to try to find Jennie again,” you say to Seokjin though from his lack of a response, you aren’t sure if he heard you. Whatever. Once again, you find yourself weaving through the crowd, back toward the stage, this time a rock growing bigger in your stomach with every step because all you can think about is the fact that that drummer is waiting for you.

Somehow, as luck would have it, the stage is empty by the time you get up there. At least mostly empty. The important thing is that the drummer is gone. You feel the rock in your gut begin to subside. That is, until your searching eyes land on Jennie and J-Hope at the corner of the stage, their faces unnaturally close for the two having just met, and what’s worse, he’s grasping her delicate hands in his. The fact that he’s dripping with sweat doesn’t seem to phase your best friend. In fact, she seems enamored. Odd.

Your gaze travels south from their faces to their clasped hands. It’s then that it all suddenly makes sense. In the pink tinged light, it’s hard to make out the colors of the soulmate marks encircling the ring fingers on their left hands, but there’s no mistaking the second band that has appeared above each one.

No way, you think. Jennie and this guy? Soulmates?

It’s the first day of the new semester and here you are, twenty minutes late and literally running across campus, your bag bouncing against your hip, your braid whipping out behind you. Why did you decide to wear your heeled boots today? Oh right, because they’re cute.

Now the sound of your heels hitting the tiled floor of the hallway echoes through the place. Luckily no one else is around because you are definitely a sight to see.

At last, you reach your class, stopping outside to smooth your hair back down and readjust your sweater before taking a deep breath and pushing the door open as quietly as you can. When you peek in, you realize the room is a lot smaller than you thought it would be. Instead of the theater style ones you’re used to, this one is much smaller. Instead of rows of seats, there are several long, skinny tables set up in a U shape, students filling the chairs along the outer perimeter of it. The professor stands at the center of the room and, unfortunately for you, is right in the middle of turning to face the students sitting in front of the door when you slip in.

“Ah, nice of you to finally join us,” she says with an unsympathetic smile.

“Sorry,” you utter and brush a stray strand of hair back out of your face. “I guess I overslept.”

“Well, you’re here now. Might as well join in on the fun.” Then the professor gestures to the only empty seat available, luckily right in front of you so you don’t have to make an even bigger fool of yourself having to navigate around the chairs and bags on the floor to the other side.

Without another word, you rush over and slink down into your chair, immediately bringing your hands up, cupping your face to shield the bright red that has blossomed in your cheeks.

You stay just like that, keeping your eyes glued to the professor as she goes on about a partner project that’s supposed to be due in two weeks. The person beside you shifts in their seat—you don’t even know what they or anyone else in the class looks like since you’re still too mortified to let your eyes move from the center of the room.

“You’ll do this project with the person sharing your table. After all, you’re all adults here and should be able to work well enough with any of your other classmates. On that note, please spend the rest of the time getting to know each other and discussing your project.”

You’re really hoping your partner knows what the two of you are supposed to be doing since you apparently missed that part. Now, you finally sit up, take a deep breath and turn to face them with the intention of asking what you’re supposed to be doing. But when your eyes lock on a pair very familiar to you, you feel the air freeze in your lungs. The last time you saw these eyes, they were glittering mischievously, adorning a face with an extremely flirtatious smirk on it that set your body on fire.

He leans his elbow on the table, his leather jacket—covered in brightly colored, painted designs and metal studs—creaking, the material pulling taut. You immediately picture what’s hiding under the leather, remembering those swirls of ink that ran up and down his arms.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he says turning so he can face you head on. You can’t help but wonder how it’s even possible for his speaking voice to be deeper than that growling/singing he did at Jennie’s party.

Finally, you shake your head hard to pull yourself out of your stupor. “You’re my partner?” you ask at last.

“Looks that way, doesn’t it?”

“Is this some sort of cosmic joke?”

“Fraid not, Sweetheart.” Then he reaches a hand out. “I’m Tae, by the way.” Your eyes fall to it, noting the thick silver band covering his soulmate tattoo.

Immediately, you glance down at your own hand, glimpsing the yellow tinted band for a second before you slip it down into your lap and clench it into a fist. You don’t want to touch him. All you can think about is the copious amount of sweat he was producing while drumming up on the stage last Saturday. He probably hasn’t even showered since then. Though, he does smell rather pleasant. Nice almost.

“I know,” you mutter then turn to look straight forward again, your other hand now joining the left in a tight fist on your lap.

“Ah,” Tae draws out as he leans back in his chair and folds his arms across his chest. “I knew I recognized you. You were at that crazy rich party last weekend.”

“So?”

“So you kinda just disappeared during our second song, didn’t you? Running late for a hair appointment?”

You can feel your cheeks begin to warm at the mention of the moment the two of you shared. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, now leaning down and trying to make yourself busy by digging through your bag for your laptop.

“I think you do, Princess,” he utters under his breath.

You straighten back up quickly. “What did you just call me?”

His smile widens at the fact that his words have gotten such a rise out of you. “You heard me.”

You grind your molars together as you glare back at him. There’s nothing you want more at the moment than to claw that stupid grin off his face but, one, you have a reputation to uphold, and two, he’s not worth the dirt you’d get under your nails from touching that surely grubby skin of his. You take a deep breath to calm your nerves. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me that.”

“Then what should I call you?” he asks amusedly.

“Nothing. I’d rather you not address me at all.”

“Well, that’s going to be kind of hard to do if we’re gonna be partners and all that.”

Your feel your heart drop into your stomach. Oh right. “Look,” you finally say with a heavy sigh. “Let’s just try and be civilized adults here so we can get this whole thing over with, alright?”

“Hey, you’re the one freaking out right now,” Tae says holding his hands up in mock defense. “I’m just the poor bystander.”

You sigh again. Is this going to become a regular thing or what? Just get ahold of yourself. Pretend that you are Daddy at one of his meetings. You straighten up again and push your braid back behind your shoulder before holding your hand out. “Partners?” you ask, trying so hard to keep your expression smooth even though all you can think about are the callouses on his palms.

Tae’s mouth pulls up into a grin reminiscent of the one you saw the other night at the party. “Partners,” he retorts then grasps your hand firmly in his larger one.

Immediately, you feel a searing pain slice across your ring finger and you wrench your hand back with a hiss. Tae seems to have felt the same thing because he rips his own hand back and starts clawing at his ring, trying to yank it off.

“What was that?” you gasp as you clutch your fist to your chest.

It takes only a second longer for you to get your answer when Tae pulls his ring off to reveal his violet colored soulmate tattoo. Another band has appeared just above it of the same color. Two bands now. Just like Jennie and J-Hope…oh no.

You uncurl your own fist slowly, your heart pounding in your ears as you unveil your soulmate tattoo. Two bands, though these are tinged orange.

Two. Bands.

“No way,” Tae says holding his hand up in front of his eyes, his astonished stare a complete contrast to the horror you feel. Both of you watch as the double rings on his finger start to change color, deepening to a solid black. Only then does he look at you and notice you frozen in shock.

“Princess, wait up!” Tae calls as he trails after you down the hall.

“I told you not to call me that!” You push quickly through the doors leading outside, shoving your fingers up into your hair. You just need to get out of here. Just need to think. Just need to figure out what you’re supposed to do with this.

“Then what am I supposed to call you?”

“Nothing,” you yell. “You call me nothing!”

“Well, that’s going to be a bit difficult since we’re soulmates and all,” Tae replies.

You whirl around causing him to skid to a stumbling halt to keep from crashing head long into you. “No!” you scream. “I absolutely refuse to be your soulmate. I’ll take whatever other hand I’m dealt. I’ll keep up my grades. I’ll take over my father’s company. I’ll give up whatever other dream I may have because there’s no point in arguing anyway, but this? This is NOT HAPPENING! We are NOT HAPPENING!” you scream. “Jennie’s life is already ruined thanks to your grubby bandmate and I refuse to end up like her.” Then you grab Tae’s wrist harshly and yank his hand up in front of your face. “So we’re going to ignore this,” you snarl before ripping his ring out of his other hand and jamming it down onto his finger to cover up the double bands. He yelps in pain and pulls his hand back. “We’ll do our project together,” you continue, “and when that’s done, you’re dropping the class and never speaking to me again, got it?”

Tae looks at you wide eyed for a second before at last letting out a humorless bark of a laugh. “Why do I have to be the one to drop the class?”

“Because it’ll reflect poorly on my record if I do it,” you say matter-of-factly as you brush back the hairs that have escaped your braid.

“Oh but the fact that it would also look bad on mine means nothing, right?”

Your eyes narrow. “Doesn’t it? I thought garage rats weren’t supposed to care about school. You know, stick it to the man and down with the establishment and all that.”

“You literally just met me and you think you know me so well,” Tae says quirking a dark eyebrow.

“Oh, I know your type very well,” you snarl. “You think following some dead-end dream like being a drummer in some emo band and having this ideology that you can do whatever you want without any consequences means you’re better than the rest of us that are actually working at trying to achieve something in this life. You think this is all a joke. That none of it matters cuz we’re all just going to die anyway, right?”

Tae takes a step toward you. “You don’t know me at all, Princess,” he says, his own eyes reducing to slits and causing your blood to run cold.

“And I don’t want to,” you say and mentally curse yourself for the way your voice shakes a bit.

Tae’s mouth curves into a smile. “You will. It’s fate after all,” he says then steps back again. “See you around, Princess.” Then he turns on the toe of his boot and starts to walk away.

“Screw you!” you yell after him. “And screw fate!”

Tae raises his arm in a wave. “Now you’re beginning to sound like me,” he calls back before disappearing around a bend in the path, leaving you fuming alone on the sidewalk.

“Is everything alright, Honey?”

Your fork clatters onto your plate and you jerk your head up to see both of your parents looking at you. Their eyes are bright with concern, leaning forward with anticipation as they wait for you to answer your father’s question.

What can you tell them? That you found your soulmate? That he’s some gross punk in a garage band? You’ve already had the pleasure of being there when they heard about Jennie. You can only imagine how quickly your mother would clutch at her pearls if she found out that her own daughter was going down the same path. Except you’re not going down that path. You’ll stay single for the rest of your life if you have to. You like your life. Or at least like it better than what it could be if you gave in to fate.

“Everything is great,” you say picking your fork back up and spearing a piece of chicken, “The new semester started yesterday and I’m really liking some of my classes.”

“Only some?” you father asks and your mother’s eyes dart between the two of you for a second.

You’re frozen with the piece of chicken halfway to your mouth for about five seconds as you try to come up with a good enough answer. “Well, some of them I really like and some of them I like just a little bit less.

“Just make sure you don’t focus all of your energy on your favorite classes. That’s no way to keep top marks,” he says though you can tell your answer satisfied him enough to keep the conversation going.

“Any fun plans this weekend?” you mom asks in an attempt to change the subject.

You finish chewing and dab at your mouth with your napkin. “Well…” Should you even tell them? “Tomorrow evening I’m having dinner with Jennie.”

At the mention of your best friend’s name, your mom chokes on her sip of wine and your father drops his hand heavily onto the table, causing the china atop it to shudder. No. No you definitely shouldn’t have told them.

“You’re still associating with that girl?” your father asks disgustedly.

“She’s been my best friend since we were toddlers, Daddy,” you say quietly. “Of course I’m still hanging out with her.”

“Her poor parents,” you mom interjects. “I can’t even imagine what they’re going through right now, watching her galavanting so shamelessly around with that lowlife. They must be heartbroken.” Yeah you’re sure your mom is so sympathetic. You still remember the way her eyes sparkled when she first heard the news. How she wasted no time gossiping with the other wives about how “dreadful” this whole occurrence is.

“They’re soulmates, Mom,” you say quietly.

Your father clears his throat angrily. “Don’t even get me started on how such a horrible thing like that could happen. The girl’s future is ruined,” he says. “There’s no way anyone would ever take her seriously after they see her with this boy. Now who’s going to take over the family business? Their son? Ha!”

“Jennie had so much going for her,” your mom says, her voice dripping with feigned sympathy. “Life can be so unforgiving.”

So can you, you think as you lower your head, your eyes falling to your left hand where it has stayed clenched into a fist in your lap all night. Now you uncurl your fingers, revealing a red double band. Even though you shouldn’t, you feel a sense of peace come over you just knowing that Tae is having a better night than you are.

Taehyung smashes his sticks down onto the snare before throwing an arm to the side to catch a symbol, ending the song with a resounding clash. The crowd goes nuts. The roar rising above the ringing and heavy beat of his heart in his ears as it pounds against his ribcage. His shoulders heave, his muscles ache and sweat slicks his skin, the bandana tied around his head already soaked. This is where he belongs. He’s never felt so alive.

“Thank you! We’ll be back in a hot second!” Hoseok yells above the noise

A hard rock song starts playing through the speakers and the audience begins to disperse, people fanning out in all directions of the small club.

Taehyung stands up, raising his arms above his head and arching his back, letting out a satisfied groan at the feel of his spine stretching out.

Jungkook is still holding his guitar, fiddling around with the pedals at his feet while Jimin has deflated, laying on his back, his own guitar still strapped to him, eyes closed, face shining with sweat.

“Dude, did you see the response on that last song?” Hoseok asks excitedly as he swipes the edge of his shirt against his own sweaty forehead. The fact that this boy can perform the way he does and still be a ball of energy has always baffled Taehyung. It's what makes him the perfect frontman, though, being able to keep the crowd hyped up even after several songs.

"Yeah, man, maybe we'll get a few album sales tonight," he says, slapping his sore hand against his leader's. And maybe buy a decent meal with the profit afterward.

Taehyung’s eyes scan the club, the space below him in constant movement…except for right by the door, where a boy stands completely still, eyes roving over the place, the corners of his mouth turned down in the slightest disgusted frown. Taehyung freezes.

“What’s he doing here?” he utters, very faintly recognizing the face from Park Jennie’s party. Judging by the way the boy is dressed, his shoes alone probably costing more than Taehyung’s drum set, he definitely doesn’t belong here. Not to mention Taehyung can feel from where he stands on the stage that the boy’s ego barely fits in the place. This is definitely one of your people. “I’ll be right back,” Taehyung says to no one in particular then heads off the stage.

“We’re going back on in five,” Hoseok calls after him.

Taehyung waves him off, eyes set on the boy by the entrance. As he nears him, their eyes lock and one corner of the boy’s mouth curls up into a haughty smirk. It makes Taehyung’s skin crawl and he grips his sticks tighter in one fist.

“You lost?” Taehyung asks when he finally reaches him.

“I wish,” the boy replies, his voice coming out dark and slippery like oil. “I’m here to talk to you, actually.”

Taehyung takes a surprised step back. “Me? How’d you know I’d be playing here?”

“I caught a whiff of mediocrity and followed the stench,” he says. “I’m Kim Seokjin.” Then his eyes dart down to Taehyung’s hand as if debating on whether he wants to shake it or not. At last he stuffs his own hands into the pockets of his slacks and meets the drummer’s eyes again. “And you are?”

“Not in the mood for pleasantries,” Taehyung says curtly.

"Alright then," Seokjin says. "I'll just cut to the chase. It seems our worlds colliding has been causing a rift throughout the city.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the downfall of Park Enterprises. Haven’t you heard?”

Taehyung lifts an eyebrow.

“It’s in all the papers,” Seokjin continues. “Big businesses have been ending their contracts with Park Enterprises because they’re worried the future owner of said company won’t be reliable.”

“Future owner? You’re talking about Jennie?”

“See, there’s something you commoners don’t understand about our kind,” Seokjin says stepping a bit closer. “There is a very meticulous system in place. One that keeps this city running. You can thank us for keeping the economy stable enough for lowlifes like you to fetter your life away banging your sticks on garbage can lids. And your frontman dragging Park Jennie down to your depths is the first step to making this whole empire crumble.”

“Sorry to hear your empire is so fragile,” Taehyung growls.

“It may be a fragile system, drummer boy, but don’t forget that people like you are at the bottom. So when the whole thing collapses, we may end up bruised but you’ll be the ones getting crushed.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Dude, I’m impressed by your little speech, there. Very Disney villain-esque. But why would I help someone like you?”

“It is in my best interest to know anything and everything that I can use to my advantage. And it is in your best interest to help me.”

“Why would I help you?”

“Because I had eyes and ears in the courtyard at school the other day. Eyes and ears that happened to witness an interesting interaction between you and one Princess of the Upper East Side. Didn’t seem to be going too well if you ask me.”

Taehyung shrugs. “About as well as I expected it to.”

“You care about her.”

“No I don’t,” he snaps which causes Seokjin’s smile to widen.

“All the more reason to want to keep this system in place then, right?”

Now Taehyung feels a fire begin to build in the pit of his stomach causing him to grit his teeth against the heat. “What do you want, Seokjin?” Taehyung asks, his hand gripping his drumsticks so hard it’s a surprise they don’t snap in half.

“I want you to convince your fellow Kurt Cobain wannabe that it would be better for Jennie if he cut ties with her completely.”

“How would that be better? They’re soulmates.”

“You have to look at the bigger picture here,” Seokjin says. “Which I know must be difficult since you all collectively share one braincell but try your hardest to see it from my perspective. And don’t forget who else would be hurt if Jennie were to continue to pursue the pathetic life she’s been offered.”

Your face floats to the forefront of Taehyung’s mind. His knuckles ache from how hard he’s clenching his drumsticks.

“Do you think she enjoys seeing her best friend throw her life away? Her happiness? Her security?”

Taehyung doesn’t respond.

“Do the right thing, drummer boy,” Seokjin says before stepping back. “It’s been a…pleasure.” Then he turns and saunters back out of the club, leaving Taehyung to watch after him.

You reach his dorm a little after eleven on Saturday morning, your fist making a sharp sound against the wood. He doesn't answer the first time around so you try again, letting out an annoyed huff at the fact that he’s making your knuckles ache. Your eyes fall to the thick silver band that now resides on your left ring finger. You don’t need anyone else knowing you found your soulmate, and after dinner last night, there’s no way your parents would be okay with who it is.

At last the door swings open, revealing a very tired, very messy-haired boy. Is that your heart fluttering in your chest at the way his lips jut forward in a sleepy pout? Or the way he brings up his hands to push the heels into his eyes? Your own gaze flits to the tattoo on his finger and you watch as it fades from an irritated teal to a lighter jade.

"Well aren't you bright-eyed and bushy tailed?" Tae utters, his voice even deeper than normal and raspy with sleep. The color of his ring lightens more to chartreuse and you quickly rip your focus from it as he rakes his hands down his face, at last meeting your eyes with his slitted ones.

"Uh, I thought we were getting together today to work on our project," you say shifting from one foot to the other. How dare he make you so flustered standing there looking adorable in his white long-sleeved shirt and striped pajama pants.

"Well sure but I figured you'd at least wait until the sun came up."

It's at this moment that you realize it's basically pitch dark in his dorm room. With a roll of your eyes, you push past him, walking straight over to the window and throw the thick, blackout curtain aside, flooding the room with sunlight. Tae cries out behind you and you turn around to see him once again with his palms pressed to his eyes.

"It's almost 11:30," you say. "Do you always sleep this late?"

"Later actually when annoying princesses aren't trying to blind me," he grumbles but then looks up at you again, arching his eyebrows high and blinking hard to try and get used to the glaring light.

"Look, I just want to get this over with, and that's going to take some cooperation on your part."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Tae says and stumbles over to his dresser, yanking a drawer open. "Anything for you, Princess."

You hate to admit it but you're kind of starting to like the way the nickname sounds coming from him. It's beginning to sound less degrading and more endearing. Like a pet name. Like something a soulmate would call the other…

You shake your head hard, clearing that completely unwelcome thought out of your mind and focusing once again on the present. That's when you notice that Tae's long sleeved shirt has somehow disappeared.

"Hey, what are you doing?" you ask, slapping a hand over your eyes.

"Getting dressed, what does it look like I'm doing?" Tae asks. "Do you want to work on this project or not?"

"Well, yes, but I wasn't expecting you to disrobe with me in the room."

Tae chuckles. "What kind of person says disrobe?"

"One that appreciates modesty, unlike other people," you reply, jutting your chin in the general direction you figure he stands. You don't know for sure though, because your hand is still plastered over your eyes. You hear him shuffling around, the sound of rustling material coming closer to you and suddenly you sense a presence directly in front of you. "Is it safe to look yet?"

"Yeah."

You pull your hand down from your face only to be met, yet again, with the sight of a bare torso, and a perfectly sculpted one at that.

"Ah, Tae!" you yell. "I thought you were getting dressed!"

"I am!" he replies then steps back to show you he's changed into a pair of black, ripped skinny jeans.

"Getting dressed means putting on a shirt too!" you snap.

Tae shakes his head teasingly. "Ah, so many rules for you prudes," he says before making his way back over to his dresser to find a shirt.

You don't cover your eyes this time. Instead, stealing a very long glance at the boy's naked upper half. Drumming must be a workout because how else could he have such defined back muscles? It's not even how toned he is though that mesmerizes you, but the magnificent inked wings sprawling across his shoulder blades and down the backs of his biceps. From where you stand you can't make out the tiny details of the ink that covers the rest of his arms, but that doesn't matter because you can't stop staring at those wings. They move so realistically as Tae digs around in his drawer, apparently looking for a specific shirt because why the heck else would he be taking this long?

At last, he turns around and you throw your gaze to the the right to make it seem like you were looking at something else the whole time instead of gawking. But of course, the blush in your cheeks gives you away and when you look at him again, his mouth is spread wide in a knowing smirk.

"So are you going to put your shirt on so we can get started or what?" you ask.

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you want me to or not."

"Of course I want you to," you scoff.  Tae's eyebrow quirks up at the same time his smile gets bigger. "Just put on your stupid shirt," you finally mutter then slump down into his desk chair, reluctantly turning your back on the captivating view to rummage through your bag.

At last he goes and sits on his bed, fully clothed much to your relief—though he's chosen a gray henley style shirt and has pushed the sleeves up to expose his forearms, which may not be as distracting but sure is keeping the heat trapped in your cheeks.

It also doesn't help that with his bed being right next to the desk, you're sitting literally a foot away from him. So close that at last you can see the details of those tattoos on his forearms. You can see that it's not just a chaotic mess of ink but a seemingly well thought out design. There's no pattern but it still makes sense, in a way. In the same way that the stars in the sky seem purposefully placed.

The ink on his arms tells a story of sorts. Melodic music staffs intertwine with vines of roses, swirling calligraphy melts into constellations and then into song lyrics. Wisps of smoke enshroud a sorrowful skull, the expert shading making it look so realistic you feel inclined to reach out and touch it.

"Princess?"

You break out of your trance, your head jerking upward so your eyes meet his. You almost expect the smirk to still be plastered on his face but instead his mouth is pressed into a thin line, his brow furrowed, eyes studying yours almost curiously.

"So are we going to get started or...?" he asks.

You sit up taller. "Oh, yeah, sorry," you say quickly then pull out your laptop from your bag.

You didn't really notice until just now that the top of his desk is completely cluttered with books and drumsticks and notepads and empty soda cans and you clutch your laptop protectively against your chest.

"How about we go somewhere else to figure this out?" you ask.

Tae looks from you to his desk and then back before getting up off the bed—swiping a pair of the many drumsticks in the room and his painted leather jacket—and heading for the door. He swings it open wide then turns to look at you again.

“You comin’, Princess?”

“Yeah,” you say breathlessly then quickly get up and follow after him.

For winter, it’s actually a really beautiful day today. The sky is a crisp blue, just a few fluffy clouds floating lazily overhead, and despite the fact that it’s January, it’s actually almost warm enough to be comfortable. You’ll admit it is a little brisk but the cold helps you concentrate. The constant taptaptaptaptaptap as a certain someone uses the hard cover of a book as a makeshift snare drum however is doing the exact opposite of what sitting outside was supposed to achieve for you.

You’ve been staring for several moments now, hoping he’ll look up from where his eyes rest unfocused on the grass, his bottom lip clutched between his teeth as his head moves to some imaginary song, but he continues to be lost in his own world.

“Tae?” you finally say and his forehead wrinkles as he snaps his head up to look at you in anticipation. “Could you stop?”

His irises dip again to look at the tips of his drumsticks where they rest against the book cover. “It’s helping me concentrate.”

“Well, it’s keeping me from concentrating.”

“Which is more important?”

“What do you think?” you ask.

Tae stops, arching his back to stretch it and letting out a dramatic sigh. “This isn’t working,” he says.

“I think you mean you aren’t working,” you correct earning an eye roll. But then, to your surprise, he stands up.

“I think we need a break,” he says then stuffs his drumsticks in his back pocket and holds a hand out to you. “Come on, Princess,” he says.

There’s really no use fighting it. After all, this is a partner project and, as of right now, your partner isn’t being very cooperative. With a sigh, you slap your hand into his and let him pull you up. “Alright, where are we going?” you ask, though you know he’s not going to just flat out answer you.

Unsurprisingly, Tae’s mouth lifts into a cute grin and he waggles his eyebrows. “You’ll see,” he says then tugs you by the hand that, oh yeah, you’re still holding, toward the student lot where your car is parked.

“What is this place?” you ask once the two of you have arrived and stepped over the threshold.

You almost stumble when Tae throws an arm over your shoulders and pulls you in close. Why does he have to smell so good? “This, Princess, is the home of the most mediocre food and beer you’ll ever have in your entire life.”

You look around incredulously. You feel like you’re looking at the small, dimly lit room through a haze of smoke, and maybe you are, though you can’t tell if it’s actual smoke you’re smelling or if the place hasn’t been cleaned in the last three decades. Either way, you’re almost glad you can’t make out the details for fear of what you might see if you look too closely.

What you can see, though, is an old, dark wood bar along one wall, a scattering of tables and booths taking up half the room while a couple old pool tables take up the other half, the green felt tops faded and one torn and patched with a gray strip of duct tape. A jukebox that looks like it’s literally been around since jukeboxes were actually a thing stands like an ancient guardian on the wall behind the tables, the tube lighting yellowed, the lights inside blinking pathetically like they’re about to burn out. Honestly, the whole place looks like it’s about to burn out.

“So, why are we here?” you finally ask.

“It’s one of my favorite places to hang out,” Tae says. “Besides, every Saturday before 5 pm is three dollar beers on tap.”

“They really encourage day drinking here, don’t they?”

“Hey, they get more money, we get cheaper beer. It’s really a win win.”

You can’t help the smile that tugs the corners of your mouth up and unfortunately, he just happens to witness it. “Pool?” he asks.

“Sure, why not?” you say exasperatedly. “It’s not like we have a project to work on or anything.”

“That’s the spirit,” he says, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze before letting go and starting toward the tables.

The two of you play for a while—well, mostly it’s Tae playing and you watching, trying to figure out how the heck he’s able to make the ball go exactly where he wants it to when you can barely keep the tip of your stick from digging a hole in the felt.

“When are you gonna stop making a fool of yourself and let me teach you how to play?” he asks after your tenth time pocketing the cue ball.

You’re still bent over the side of the table, frozen holding the stick after watching yourself fail so miserably and now you let your head fall onto the felt. “Uh…maybe after a few beers?” you say into the table.

“On it,” Tae says quickly and then is gone and back with full pints before the blush has a chance to leave your cheeks.

You take yours with a grateful smile and take a sip. You’re used to fruitier drinks so the bitter, dark taste has you wincing, your face scrunching on one side as you try to force the gulp down your throat. You hear a garbled laugh and look over to see Tae already finishing his and setting the glass down a bit roughly on the edge of the pool table.

“What?” you ask once you’ve finally gotten the sip down.

“You drink beer like a princess, that’s all.”

That’s it. With a quick “Hail Mary”, you bring your glass back to your lips and tip your head back, trying very hard to ignore the taste and focus on just getting it down your throat. It takes you longer than it did Tae but at last you set your own glass down next to his—much more gently—and swipe the corners of your mouth with your fingers. “Okay,” you say trying to ignore the way the 24 ounces of beer you just guzzled make you feel—or is it his wide beaming smile? “Teach me how to play.”

His expression falls, mouth hanging open for a second before he catches himself. “You want me to teach you?”

“Yeah.”

“To play pool?”

“No, the saxophone.”

Tae rolls his eyes but the smile returns and he starts racking the balls back up in the center of the table. You watch as he does this, noting the way his tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. The air around you starts to heat up and you shrug out of your jacket, setting it on the other pool table.

“Okay, come here,” Tae says standing at the head of the table with the cue stick.

You shuffle over, stumbling a bit, and take the stick from him, trying very hard to ignore the amused smirk on his face. Your stomach flips when he goes to stand behind you, his back pressing against your side as he adjusts your grip.

Get ahold of yourself. A garage rat shouldn’t be making your knees feel so weak. Shouldn’t be making your heart pound in your chest—which he can surely feel with how close he is to you.

“Okay,” he says under his breath. “You have to take your time lining up the shot. Got it?”

You let out a shaky sigh. “Yeah,” you say, though you honestly were paying more attention to the low rasp of his voice than his actual words.

His hands are warm resting over yours as he helps aim. “Okay, try that,” he says.

You take the shot and watch as the ball surges forward, barreling into the others and sending them spreading out across the table. Two actually make their way into the corner pocket and you feel a swell of pride.

“Nice!” Tae exclaims with an excited clap. “See? You’ll be a pro before you know it.”

“Thanks,” you say shifting the cue stick in your hands.

Tae’s eyes dart down to where you hold it.

“I noticed you started wearing a ring to cover up your tattoo,” he says and reaches out, his finger tapping the thick metal band encircling your own. You look down at it, your heart suddenly pulsing too loudly in your ears.

“Uh—yeah. I just…I don’t really know how to bring it up to anyone,” you stutter. “I figure this is just easier to…ignore it.”

“Right. Because once we’re done with this project, I’m dropping the class and we’ll never see each other again.”

“Right,” you say. “What about you? You wore that ring even before our tattoos changed.”

Tae looks down at the band on his own finger. “I just don’t like the idea of other people knowing what my soulmate is feeling. The world doesn’t need to know about your emotions unless you want them to.”

Okay, you weren’t expecting such a sweet answer. In fact, you have no idea how to respond to something like that. This boy is supposed to be some rough around the edges punk that doesn’t care about anyone or anything. So why is he looking at you now like nothing else matters? Change the subject fast.

“Oh hey, I like this song,” you say, tilting your head toward the old jukebox beside you.

Tae’s expression changes quickly, his own eyes shifting to the player and then back to you before he quirks an eyebrow. “You like this?”

“Sure I do.”

“I mean, I never would have pegged you for the type to like the classics. Classical maybe but—”

“Guess you don’t know as much about the Princess of the Upper East Side as you thought you did,” you say, hefting the cue stick in your hands and sauntering past him around to the other side of the table.

Tae smiles, fidgeting with his ring now. “Ah, I think I know quite a bit about your type,” he says and makes his way slowly around after you.

“My type?” you ask curiously. “Like what?”

Tae stops now just beside you and leans back against the table so he’s sitting on the edge. His eyes narrow as if he’s studying you and you feel your skin begin to crawl. Or maybe that’s just the beer. “Like how it’s a constant battle for you to stay on top.”

Now you narrow your own eyes. “What do you mean?”

Tae takes a deep breath, “It’s gotta be exhausting always being on high alert. Always trying to look and act the way the world wants you to. Never getting to relax. Never getting to stray from the path you’ve been placed on.” Then he leans in until his eyes are level with yours. “I think you’d give up anything to be able to do whatever you want. I bet you’d trade anything to be in the shoes of a loser like me.” He’s so close, you notice a small freckle on his bottom lip. “I bet you’d be happy, Princess. I bet you’d love your life then.”

“I do love my life,” you say though your tone isn’t very convincing.

Then he sits back a bit and the air leaves your lungs in a whoosh. “Which part of it?” he asks crossing his arms over his chest. “The people pleasing or the stifling of your dreams?”

You feel like he’s looking deep into your soul and you really don’t like that. But at the same time, you can’t help but lean into him. Because he seems to get it. How is it that someone so far on the other side of the spectrum could understand what you’re going through? And how could someone make that life sound so tempting?

“You wanna know what I really think, Princess?” he asks.

You nod, unable to think of a snarky response.

“I think you feel trapped in your perfect, high society life. I think you wish you could give it all up and follow your dreams like me.” Once more Tae leans into you, this time, his eyes searching yours as if the truth is scrawled across your irises. “What’s your dream, Princess?” he asks softly.

Even with the beer buzzing through you, the nerves causing your hands to shake, an overwhelming feeling of sadness hits you and you again find yourself feeling breathless. It knocks the wind out of you.

“It doesn’t matter,” you whisper and swallow thickly as you feel your throat beginning to close up.

Tae’s eyes dig deeper into yours. “Why?”

You inhale, trying to get yourself back under control. “Because dreams don’t get you anywhere.” The air seems to be warming up around you. Suddenly you feel too hot.

“But don’t you think they make this life worth living?” Tae asks, his breath fanning your face. Too hot. You can’t breathe.

“I have to go,” you say quickly, letting the cue stick drop to the floor as you create distance between you and your soulmate as quickly as you possible can.

You make it out to the parking lot, key fob in your hand when you feel a hand grip your shoulder and you whirl around to face him again.

“Why doesn’t it matter, Princess?” he asks sternly. “Why does your happiness mean less than whatever corporate dream your parents have for you? Why don’t you get to do what you want with this life? Huh?”

“Because it’s important to my father to follow in his footsteps.”

Tae lets out a humorless laugh and throws his hands up in the air. “But is it important to you?” he asks. “More important than your dreams and your passions? Do you really think that life is about pleasing everyone else even if it makes you miserable?”

“Just stop, Tae!” you yell and his mouth snaps shut, his jaw working as he grinds his teeth. “You can’t just waltz in and tell me to go against everything I’ve ever known. Just stop trying to change everything. You don’t understand what it’s like in my world.

Tae looks down at his feet, shoving his hands deep into his pockets before meeting your eyes again. They’re turned down in the corners. Sad suddenly. “Actually I do,” he mutters. “More than you know.”

Then he turns and heads back into the bar.

Taehyung lets out a frustrated growl and rips off the bandana wrapped around his head. It’s meant to keep his hair out of his eyes while he’s drumming but right now it’s just another irritation. It’s just he and Hoseok today in Hoseok’s garage, working on a new song. The band’s frontman is sitting cross-legged on the ground, his guitar across his lap and he’s bent over it, resting it in the hollow of his armpit as he writes messily on the notebook in front of him. The two have been at it for a little while now, Taehyung messing around on the drums trying to find a new hook while Hoseok has been figuring out the melody. Writing sessions have always been valuable to Taehyung. It’s given him the chance to let his creativity just flow until something amazing happened. And it usually did. Today, though, he can’t let go the way he usually does. Because your face haunts his thoughts.

“What’s eating you, man?” Hoseok finally asks, his brow furrowing in concern for his friend.

Taehyung shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he mutters. “Everything’s just off today.” His eyes fall to Hoseok’s hand where it grips the neck of the guitar, specifically to the red double banded tattoo on his ring finger. The night Seokjin came into the club they were performing at enters his mind. The way that boy’s eyes sparkled so arrogantly makes the hairs on the back of Taehyung’s neck stand up even now. He stuck out like a sore thumb in that club surrounded by all those “commoners”. And he said he was a friend of Jennie’s. Of yours. It doesn’t make sense for two different worlds to be colliding the way they are.

“Hobi, how are you so chill with this whole thing?” Taehyung asks.

Hoseok’s eyes widen. “With what?”

“You and Jennie.”

At the mention of her name, his face softens and a shy smile plays on his lips. “I don’t know, man. It’s fate, right? Jennie’s my soulmate. I’m supposed to be with her.”

“But don’t you think it’s weird that you’d ended up with someone like that?” Taehyung asks pushing the bass pedal down a few times, eliciting a deep beat from the drum. “All designer clothes and tea parties and all that crap.”

Hoseok shrugs and puts his guitar aside. “I don’t know,” he says. “Classes are, like, a social construct. Fate is fate. You don’t argue with that.”

Yeah, tell that to her best friend.

“You’re the last person I would have thought to say those words, my dude,” Taehyung says with a shake of his head. “You’ll turn anything into an argument.”

Hoseok narrows his eyes. “No I don’t.”

Taehyung quirks an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting into a knowing smirk.

“Shut up. Besides, the girl’s easy to love. She may give off that whole spoiled brat vibe but she’s nothing like that,” he continues and somehow his eyes suddenly seem to sparkle. “She’s really, like, deep and funny. And hot. And she likes listening to our music.”

“Oh good, our first groupie,” Taehyung says then hits his sticks against the drums and cymbals to emphasize the joke. Of course, this earns him a hit to the arm and a glare and he can’t help but laugh as he rubs the pain away from his bicep. His smile quickly drops though when he thinks of what Seokjin said the other night. About how you must feel about the whole thing. Sure his friend is happy and living the dream, but yours?

“Do you really think this is a good idea though?” Taehyung asks more seriously now. “I mean, maybe there was a mistake or something. We just don’t mix with those kinds of people.”

Hoseok stares at his friend, “I don’t think fate makes mistakes,” he says then holds up his hand and wiggles his fingers. “We’re connected, man. I’ve reached, like, nirvana or something. I feel enlightened.”

“Are you sure you’re not just high?”

Hoseok tilts his head back and scoffs. “High on love, maybe,” he jokes. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

He juts his chin toward Taehyung’s hand where it rests on his knee, fist clenched tightly around a drumstick. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You found your soulmate too.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Taehyung mutters.

Hoseok reaches forward and smacks him again on the arm, eliciting a yelp. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about then. You can’t tell me you didn’t feel it.”

Taehyung reaches up to rub at the back of his sweaty neck. “Yeah, I felt something, alright,” he says remembering the burning pain when the second ring appeared that first day in class. And then the warmth that flooded his chest, spreading through him, and making his whole body tingle. He’s felt different ever since. Especially being near to you.

He pulls his lip into his mouth, clamping it between his teeth as he thinks about how holding you back at the bar made him feel. He felt at home with you in his arms. Felt whole. Felt good. And then how suddenly empty he was when you ran away from him. How adamant your eyes were that the two of you would never be together. Even if it was meant to be. Even if he has your jacket that you left at the bar sitting on his desk in his room. Your jacket that smells like you. “Yeah, I don’t know about her though,” he says. “I don’t think she wants me.”

“She’ll get there, man,” Hoseok says clapping his hand on Taehyung’s shoulder. His fingers dig in—not too hard, more reassuringly. Like it somehow punctuates his point. “No one can run from fate.”

Taehyung looks down at his mark. It’s been alternating between shades of blue now for a couple days and he knows the one on your finger is probably about the same. This is another reason he always wears his ring. Your mood can’t spoil his if he can’t see it. Though he never drums with his ring on anymore. He used to get bad blood blisters from it sliding around and pinching his skin. So now he’s forced to see it. Currently, it’s a bold, cobalt, which isn’t too bad compared to the navy it was earlier. But still.

He pushes his hand under his thigh—out of sight, out of mind—then takes a deep breath. “She made it pretty clear she doesn’t want to see me anymore,” he says.

“She obviously does,” Hoseok replies and when Taehyung looks up to meet his eyes, Hoseok gestures with his head back down to the drummer’s now hidden tattoo. Apparently he noticed its melancholy color. “So who is she, anyway?”

“Jennie’s best friend,” Taehyung says and then is completely taken by surprise when Hoseok lets out a laugh.

“Your soulmate is Miss Princess of the Upper East Side? Ha! And you were raggin’ on me about being paired up with someone like that,” he says the last few words in a mock deep tone. “Look at us losers stealing away our ladies from the evil dragon that is high society. Their parents must be shook, bro!”

Hoseok laughs again like this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard, and maybe it is. It’s still pretty crazy to Taehyung that he would end up with someone so the complete opposite of himself. And yet, there’s something in you that he recognizes. Something he noticed deep in your eyes when they were locked on his the other day at the bar. It was unmistakable.

A fire. An undeniable passion for…something. A passion that needs to be set free. He’s sure you’d be a different person, a person he knows is made for him in the same way he knows he’s made for you. He can see it in you because he saw it in himself. A dream trapped in the confines of a steel cage just aching to be let out.

And maybe he has the key.

You used to love these network brunches when you were younger. You loved dressing up and going to these beautiful outdoor venues with lavish spreads and pretty music and you'd run around with Jennie, fending off Seokjin and stealing the last bits of drinks to mix together into Frankensteinian concoctions of your own.

And then there were the times that your father had you shadowing him, following him around from person to person, you standing quietly to the side and watching him do what you hoped to do someday. You used to feel so important in your skirt and blazer and heels, especially when your father would introduce you to whoever he was talking to and they'd reach out and shake your hand. Even when you were little and had to reach up to grasp it, you still felt a sense of pride. And you knew your father did too.

You don't remember when you stopped liking going to these brunches. Perhaps it was when you hit puberty and started feeling less respected and more gawked at. Maybe it was when you started feeling like they were talking down to you, or when they didn't talk to you at all, only ever acknowledging you with a nod or an up and down stare. Or maybe it was just because you no longer wanted this to be your life. This wasn't your dream. Still isn't your dream. Your dream is hidden away in a drawer back at home.

So now you find yourself once again at one of those brunches. The food is still fine, though you've grown tired of the same thing time and time again. The music only ever reminds you of how much you hate being at things like this. How much you hate what it represents. A path with no outlets other than the one your parents have put there for you. Even the mimosas aren't doing enough to keep you distracted from the judging guests.

You hear their whispered conversations, about you, about Jennie and her "situation". Not to mention Jennie isn't here to be the comic relief, the only other people you'd call even remotely friends being Seokjin and Yoongi who are standing in a corner, sipping their own drinks, not even trying to network because they know people will respect them just because they're men.

It's all the same. It's all just standing quietly to the side, listening and observing, nodding every so often to make it seem like you're paying attention. It's stiff suits and too warm air, and sore cheeks from faking a polite smile. It's thick silver rings to cover double banded tattoos and thoughts of this boy. This boy that shouldn't be so deep in your head. But he's there, imprinted on your mind like his emotions are on your skin and now you wish more than anything, that you could peek under your ring and know how he's feeling. Especially after everything that happened the other day. You can almost hear his voice. Almost smell his cologne. Almost see his face, eyes roving over the room as he searches warily for you.

Wait.

"Tae?"

His painted leather jacket stands out against the formal attire as he slowly makes his way out into the courtyard.

"I'm sorry, please excuse me," you say quickly to the person your father is currently talking to then you nod at your father apologetically and cut across the room before he can protest.

As you near him, you see that Hoseok and Jungkook are flanking him, all three looking extremely uncomfortable. Even when Tae finally spots you, his eyes stay wide, stay nervous. As if he's a sheep making his way slowly through a pack of sleeping wolves.

"What are you doing here?" you ask as soon as you get to him.

"You left your jacket at the bar and Jennie told Hobi you were here," he explains then turns to Hoseok. "You didn't mention this was a frikin soiree."

Hoseok shrugs. "I didn't know, man. Jennie just said this was where she'd be."

You take your jacket out of Tae's hand and clutch it against you. "Okay, well, I have it now. Thanks. You can go."

Tae steps closer to you and you once again catch a whiff of his cologne. "Princess, we really need to talk."

"Well, I don't want to, Tae," you interrupt. You just need to get him out of here before—

"Ah, Honey, who are these...people?"

You wince, pursing your lips together as you turn to face your father. "Daddy, this is Tae and his friends."

Your father narrows his eyes at the boys and suddenly you feel the need to protect them with your life. "And he is?"

To your dismay, Tae steps forward. "I'm her—"

"Partner," you blurt out in a panic. "For a project. At school." Well that's not a lie, at least. "He was just returning my jacket I left at the...cafe we were at the other day.”

Tae stares at you, his expression unreadable and you look away quickly to see your father studying him as well. "Well, you have it back now," then he turns to Tae. "I appreciate you returning my daughter's coat but we are in the middle of a very important gathering, so if you could please be on your way."

"Yeah, no problem," Tae mutters then looks at you one more time before turning to leave.

"Kim Taehyung!"

You spin now to see one of the many guests with her eyes set on the boy behind you. When you turn around again, his stoic expression has transformed into one of horror.

"I can't believe it's really you!" the woman goes on, making her way over to you. "How long has it been now? Eight? Ten years? My, you've changed!"

You watch in a confused stupor as the woman steps past you and your father to put her arms around Tae. To your surprise, he looks much less confused, though much more horrified.

"I remember when you used to come to these events," the woman continues. "You were just a little thing, always wanting to be just like your father. Always so serious.“ Then she turns to you. "We all knew he was going to be successful when he grew up." Back to Tae now. "Such big shoes you were going to fill. I was so sorry to hear when you moved away. But you're back now!" That's when the lady seems to notice his pierced and inked up friends for the first time and her expression falls. She steps back now, looking Tae up and down, seemingly also finally noticing the way he's dressed. "Or...not?"

You feel like you haven't taken a breath the entire time this woman has been rambling on, your eyes fixed on Tae, watching him as he stands there with his lips slightly parted, eyes wide, whole body stiff.

"Ah, now I recognize you," your father says from over your shoulder and you look back at him. "Kim Songmin's son." Then his smile widens almost...maliciously. "You took a different path, it seems. How's that working out for you?"

A fiery glint passes through Tae's eyes. "Great."

"Daddy."

"You probably never knew him when you were children,” he says turning toward you. "We called Taehyung his father's shadow. He'd stay right on his heels, always wanting to be a part of the conversation. Such a good, respectable boy. Not sure what happened there."

"I grew a backbone," Tae snarls and you see J-Hope and Kook step closer, looking like they're ready to start something if Tae says the word.

Quickly, you step in front of your father, blocking Tae's view so he's forced to look at you. "What is he talking about, Tae?" you ask.

"Just what he said, Princess," Tae replies, his words burning you like hot coals. "I took a different path."

Then he turns away from you, starting toward the exit when he's blocked by the last person surely either of you want to see right now. The wolves have awakened, and now it's time to feast.

"Kim Taehyung, huh?" Seokjin asks, his own eyes glinting as if he's just been granted the keys to the city. “Just another trust fund kid like the rest of us."

Tae turns one last time, gaze finding home in yours, his eyes so downturned and sad that you feel your heart begin to sink.

"Tae," your voice comes out as nothing more than a whisper. Even if he does hear you, you don't know because he's turned away again to follow after his bandmates who have already disappeared through the gate. You watch him leave, feeling the finality of it and at that moment you feel your heart slip completely and shatter on the floor.

Taehyung doesn't come to class for the whole next week which sends you into a bit of a panic because A) you're supposed to be doing a project with him and B) he seems like the type that might fall to an unhealthy level of self-loathing if left to his own devices for very long.

You're so tempted to go to his dorm but something always stops you. This is what you wanted, isn't it? To cut all ties with him? Sure, it would have been nice to at least get the project done first but maybe this is for the best. Maybe now you can refocus on shadowing your father and preparing to take over his company. Now that there's no chance of meeting your soulmate down the line and dealing with the compromise of getting married and having a family, you can focus on the one thing for the rest of your life.

One thing.

Your one path.

You may never get the excitement that would've come from being with Tae for the rest of your life, but you'll have the stability. You'll have the promise of success. And that's what's important...right?

It’s hard, though not to think about him. To not check the tattoo under your ring every five minutes. You always hope it’ll be a little bit lighter, a little bit bluer as the days go by but it never changes, always a brutal black double line. You don’t know what’s worse, seeing the black lines on your own finger or knowing he probably sees a similar sight when he checks his own. If he even does. Or maybe his ring stays in place at all times because why would he care how you’re feeling? But then again, if you don’t want to be with him, why do you care so much?

“I don’t get it, J,” you say as your eyes fall to where your best friend’s hand rests on the table, the double bands around her ring finger tinted scarlet. “How are you so happy with everything that has happened?”

When you look up at her face, her own eyes are still resting on her tattoo, her mouth curled up into a thoughtful smile. “I know you can’t understand it, babe,” she says, “but I feel more free with Hoseok than I ever have in this life. I think this is the one thing that’s been mapped out for me that I actually want, you know?”

“Yeah, maybe,” you utter, your attention drawn to your glass now where a little bit of liquid still sits among the melting ice cubes. You went for a bit stronger of a drink this evening, knowing you were going to have to have this conversation with your best friend and absolutely dreading it. Not because you don’t want to associate with her anymore but because knowing that she so happily gave up the things she had for her soulmate just makes your guilt burrow that much deeper. Already you feel it drilling into your chest, making your heart ache.

“What about you?”

You look up to meet her gaze again. “Hmm?”

“Hobi told me about Tae,” she says, her eyes glittering. “Apparently the boy never stops talking about you.”

Great. Another stab of guilt punches the air out of your lungs. “Have you heard anything about him this week?” you ask, your voice weak from the crushing pain in your chest.

Jennie shakes her head, her smile faltering now that she can see how upset you really are. You tried hiding the anguish during dinner, though it was obvious to both of you that you’ve been quieter than usual.

Now you let out a heavy sigh and put your glass down on the table. “I’ve made my choice, Jennie,” you say bluntly. “This is what I want. I want to take over my father’s company and be successful and just not have to worry about not knowing what I’m doing for the rest of my life. I just want to stay on this path that they’ve laid out for me.”

“Is that really what you want or are you just afraid of disappointing your parents?” Jennie asks pointedly.

You let out a humorless chuckle. “Have you met my father?”

Jennie quirks an eyebrow. “Have you met mine?” You feel your own mouth lift to match her smirk. “Do you think I would have left that all behind if I didn’t think Hobi was worth it?” Then she takes a deep breath, looking around the room as if she sees something different than you do. Something magical. “Life is so much more beautiful now with him in it,” she says and you believe her. You don’t doubt for a second that she’s happier now than she ever was before. Even with everything she had, the clothes, the cars, the trips, nothing could quite make her eyes sparkle the way they do now.

You blink as your own eyes begin to burn and you swallow hard. “I’m just scared, J” you finally say and lick your lips as you feel your throat begin to close up.

Jennie reaches across to take your hand in hers. “I know, babe, but you deserve to love life too.” Her fingers pinch your silver ring and slowly slide it up your finger, revealing the double black lines that seem to have become permanent. “You both do.”

You stare down at the tattoo, everything bleeding together until you feel a tear land on the back of your hand. “I think I love him, J,” you whisper before looking up at your best friend.

“Then it doesn’t matter what other people want from you. This is your life, babe, and it’s the only one you get. And if you want Tae to be in it, then I suggest you go find him.” Then she sits back again, lifting a hand to motion to the waiter that she wants the check. “I got this, doll. Go get your man.”

With a quick swipe across your cheek, you push your ring back down over your finger and grab your purse off the back of your chair. “Thanks, J,” you say and get up. But instead of hurrying for the exit, you turn back to her again. “I’m sorry that everything happened the way it did. But I’m honestly really happy for you and Hoseok.”

A cool smile spreads across Jennie’s mouth and she crosses one leg over the other, draping an arm over the back of her chair and raising her glass. “See you on the other side,” she says then takes a sip of her wine and gives you a wink.

The bar is just as smoky and dusty as it was the first time you came here with Tae, though being a Thursday night, it’s much more crowded, the heat from all the bodies now being added to the mix. The hazy air is filled with the loud conversations and the cracking of billiard balls as they hit together, the underlying rock song coming from the jukebox just adding to the chaos.

You don’t want to be here, but you’ve already checked his dorm and, according to Jennie, he isn’t with his bandmates. This place is your last hope.

It isn’t big but it’s packed and you’re having a hard time focusing your eyes on the people in the room. Your heart sinks lower in your chest with each strange face.

Maybe this was a bad idea. He has to go back home eventually. You can just wait outside his dorm or something.

“Looking for someone, Princess?”

You turn around at the familiar nickname only to be met with an unfamiliar face.

The man is obviously hammered, leaning against his pool cue with most likely his full weight. “Don’t really see your kind here,” he slurs.

“Yeah I was just looking for someone,” you say and take a nervous step backward. The guy leans dangerously closer and you can’t tell if he’s about to fall or just being creepy. Probably both.

“Doesn’t seem to be here, does he?” the man asks and then chuckles to himself as if he made a joke. “Why don’t you come join me and my friends? We can teach you a thing or two.”

You look past him at the rest of the guys surrounding the table, each watching the exchange with amused faces. Only one of them seems to not really be enjoying this but of course, he has his head down, eyes glued to the floor. Such a coward.

“No thanks,” you say. “I know how to play pool just fine.” Of course that just brings back memories of the last time you were here. Taehyung’s body warm against your side, his hands covering yours, his breath on your ear as he spoke softly to you. You have to find him. “I should go,” you say then turn for the door.

Before you can take a full step, you feel a hand clamp down on your arm. “Awe come on, Princess, play with us.”

“She said she doesn’t want to.”

Now that voice you recognize.

You jerk your head to your right, eyes settling on the graffiti painted jacket before lifting to rest on Tae’s face. His hair hangs in his eyes and he looks beaten down, yet the way his fists clench at his sides tells you he’s ready to shed some blood.

“Hey, chill man, I was just seeing if she wanted to—”

“And she said she doesn’t,” Tae interrupts coming closer. “So how about you take your grubby paws off her, go back to your gaggle and leave her alone?”

The guy loosens his grip enough for you to wrench your arm away and he shakes his head. “Just wanted to hang out,” he mutters. “Guess the stuck up princess is too good for us lowly commoners.”

Before you have a chance to really understand what’s happening, the guy is on the floor, Taehyung above him with the guy’s shirt in one fist while the other connects again and again with his face. Barely seconds later, the rest of his posse jumps in, ripping Tae off of him. You stumble back, eyes wide, mouth open in shock, mind completely blank as you watch the chaos ensue. It’s a blur of bodies and fists and painted leather in the haze of smoke and before too long, other patrons have come to untangle the mess. You barely catch Tae as he’s thrown into you, his face bloodied and sweaty, eyes gleaming with anger and at first when he meets your stare, you’re afraid he might punch you, but then his expression falls and he stumbles a bit. You manage to finally snap out of your stupor in time to catch him around the waist before he can go over.

“Come on,” you say. “Let’s get you out of here.”

The cab ride back to your apartment is long and silent. Tae keeps his eyes glued to the window on his side of the car, his hand resting on the leather seat between the two of you. You, however, can’t look away from him. From his tangled hair—tips stringy with sweat, plastered down over his ears and his forehead—to his fist clenched so tightly on the seat that his knuckles are white making the bloodied scrapes all the more stark. You want to cover that hand with your own. You want to look into his eyes and tell him you love him. Tell him that everything has changed. That you don’t want this life you currently have. You want one with him. Instead, you’re silent, your confession caged behind your teeth, your heart aching because when you peeked under your ring a second ago, you saw that the lines were still black.

“Nothing more fitting for a princess than a palace,” Tae mutters once the two of you have gotten out of the cab in front of your apartment building.

With a sigh, you grip the sleeve of his jacket and pull him along behind you inside. The doorman gives you a curious look as you pass but you don’t say a word, knowing that it would take too much explaining and you just don’t have the time. Not to mention, you know he’s going to say something to your mother the next time she stops by—which is often—and the fewer details he knows, the better.

You drag Tae into the elevator and feel him watch as you press the button for the top floor. A small chuckle escapes him and you look over to find him now staring at the floor. He brings a hand up, touching his finger to his eyebrow and wincing before taking it away to look at the blood smearing the tip.

When the doors open again, you take his hand gently and tug him out of the elevator.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” you say and he meets your eyes this time, the change in his demeanor unmistakable when he notices the change in yours.

Without another word, he lets you pull him through the huge, empty space, the sounds of your shoes echoing against the white marble floor. You can only imagine the kind of tracks his black soled boots are probably making and the looks that will be on the faces of the maids that will have to clean them up tomorrow.

You lead him into the bathroom and he sits down on the edge of your jacuzzi tub while you get a washcloth damp. When you turn around again, you see he’s shrugged out of his jacket, now wearing just a white t-shirt and sitting too low on the edge of the tub.

“Come here,” you say, pulling him back toward the vanity and having him lean against the counter.

With trembling fingers, you brush his hair back off his forehead so you can more easily assess the damage. There’s too much blood to really be able to tell what’s what, but once you’ve wiped most of it away, you see a big cut across his cheekbone, and a shallower one slicing through one eyebrow. You set the rag down and pull a box of bandages out of the drawer next to you.

“What were you doing at the bar?” Tae finally asks, his voice hoarse after barely using it for so long.

You fidget with the bandages in the box, letting your fingernail fan across the edges before finally pulling one out. “I was looking for you,” you say then pull your lip into your mouth.

You don’t really want to look at him now. Not this close. You spent most of the cab ride trying to figure out what you were going to say to him and now that you’re here, you still don’t know. You want to ask about his past. You want to ask what happened. Why he left his family. You want to tell him how sorry you are. How much of an idiot you’ve been. But there are too many thoughts swirling around in your brain right now and he’s standing so extremely close to you and you’re terrified to meet his eyes.

“Why?” he asks.

At long last, you tear the package open and pull the bandage out before finally looking up. You refuse to look anywhere but at the cut on his cheek and use the rag to clean it a bit more, eliciting another wince and a sharp intake of breath from him.

“Sorry,” you utter before carefully taking his chin in your hand and tilting his head to the side so you can place the small white strip over the cut. You press the ends down gently with your thumb, noticing his jaw clenching and unclenching again under your fingers.

“Princess.”

Now your eyes dart up to meet his and the way his drill into yours causes you to drop your hands from his face and curl them into fists at your sides.

“Why were you looking for me?” he asks. “I thought you never wanted to see me again. I thought you were done with me.”

“I thought so too,” you say under your breath, more to yourself than to him and you close your eyes. This is what you wanted. You wanted a chance to tell him everything and now you have it. You inhale deeply. “I had dinner with Jennie tonight,” you say. “Before I came looking for you.”

“And?”

Another deep breath. “And she told me…that I deserve to love my life.” You wring the damp rag in your hands, looking down at it as you continue. “And I think I realized when I was with you at the bar the other day that I don’t love my life and I think when I realized that, it really scared me.” Now you lift your head again to look at Tae. His brows are furrowed, mouth set in a solemn line, eyes so focused on you, you feel like he can somehow see into your soul. Like he somehow knows what you want to say even before you say it. “This is all really scary for me, Tae,” you say shakily. “You don’t really realize what I’d be giving up.”

Tae’s mouth pulls up into a smirk. “Actually, I think I do,” he says.

“Oh right,” you laugh and for a moment you feel your nerves loosen. But then you tense right back up and swallow hard. “But what I think I’m trying to say is that…while I’m scared…I also don’t want to go down the path I’m on anymore. I don’t want to take over my father’s company. I don’t want to go to anymore of those stupid networking brunches. I don’t want to go to anymore parties where everyone only likes me because of my status. I’m sick of being fake happy. I want to love life, Tae.”

“And how are you going to do that?” he asks.

You feel heat begin to bloom in your chest, your heart hammering against your ribs. “By being with you, I think.”

Tae’s smile disappears, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip nervously as he begins to lean in. Just as you feel his lips brush yours, you pull back, putting a hand on his chest. “Wait, not right now. Not when you’re drunk.”

Tae tilts back again and raises an eyebrow. “I’m not drunk.”

“You just got in a bar fight, what do you mean you aren’t drunk?” you ask confused.

“I didn’t punch the guy cuz I was drunk, I punched him cuz he was being a douche bag.” Then he steps closer again, carefully putting his hands on the counter on either side of you, trapping you there against it. With your palm pressed to his chest, you can feel his heart hammering beneath his t-shirt. “The only way I’m not kissing you right now, Princess, is if you don’t want me to.”

You’ve never wanted anything in this life as much as you want him to kiss you right now.

“I want you to,” you say.

Several silent seconds pass between you before Tae lets out what you can only describe as a sigh of relief and then his lips are on yours. He kisses you hard, fervently as if his whole life has culminated to this moment. And maybe it has. Yours definitely has.

There’s no space between the two of you and it’s making it hard for you to breathe. But you don’t want to breathe, not if it means pulling away. Your head is swimming, your heartbeats pounding against each other as his mouth moves on yours but then you’re feeling too light-headed and  you pull back, resting your forehead against his.

“I love you, Tae,” you whisper before opening your eyes to look into his. “You know that?”

His lips are already reddening, his pupils large and he brings one hand out of your hair to rest against the side of your face. “I do now,” he says as his thumb draws gentle circles on your cheekbone. “And I love you. Ah, I really really love you, Princess.”

Your mind is reeling, heart racing and all you can think about is him. About this boy that has come into your life and changed everything. Nothing will ever be the same now and even as you pull his face back to yours so you can kiss him again, you can’t remember why you were scared in the first place. Any doubts you had before have vanished from your brain. You’d go anywhere with him. You’d live at the bottom of the ocean with this boy. Nothing scares you now.

You want to stay like this forever. Just stay right here watching him sleep beside you. His face is so peaceful, dark eyelashes fanned out across his cheekbones, lips slightly parted, his soft breaths coming out in a gentle hush. Even with the bandage and the cut on his eyebrow he looks amazing. He’s laying on his stomach, the golden expanse of his back spread out before you, the curve of his spine catching the light coming in through your window. His inked arms rest on the mattress on either side of his head, the wings on his back unfurled like he’s an angel in flight.

Your eyes focus on the hand on this side of him, the silver band on his ring finger shining dully. Slowly, you reach over, taking the ring between two of your fingers and pulling it up to his knuckle. Your mouth curls into a smile when red double lines come into view. You’ve never felt this happy. In fact, you’d bet his mark has never been red. How could you have not wanted this?

Looking past his hand again at his face, your eyes skim over his features and your hands itch to draw him. You’ve never wanted to sketch a person before but this boy is a work of art.

As quietly as you can, you slide out from beneath the sheets, grabbing his t-shirt up off the floor and slipping it on before making your way across the carpet and into your walk-in closet. The separate room is bigger than Tae’s dorm room. Twice the size, actually, with a giant glass-topped island in the middle containing your vast array of jewelry, sunglasses and the like. You make your way around it, trailing your finger along its top, unable to keep the smile off your face as you bring your other hand up to touch your neck, reminiscantly. You catch your reflection in one of the full-length mirrors as you pass it, noticing a collection of marks peppering your skin. Looks like you’ll be wearing a turtle neck sweater tonight when you go to your parents’ house for dinner. You feel a heaviness in your gut at the thought.

By the time you reach your jewelry cabinet, a rock has formed in your stomach. You felt so fearless wrapped in Tae’s arms. So bold, so daring, so lost in the freedom that you completely forgot about the life you currently live. You can already imagine the looks on their faces when they find out who your soulmate is. The disappointment, the rage, the horror. Surely, your mother loved watching the Parks go through the drama of having their own daughter come home with a loser but only because she knew it could never happen to her. She knew fate would never be so cruel and that her own daughter, being the level-headed, business-minded person you are and being on the very straight and narrow path you’re on, would never end up with someone like Jennie’s soulmate. Well, you’ve got news for her.

You sit down on the floor in front of your jewelry cabinet and pull the bottom drawer open. Rows of rings gleam back at you, the inset lights coming on the moment the drawer opens, now shining off the polished bands and inlayed stones. You pull the tray they reside in out of the drawer and reach far back into it until you feel the familiar hard cover of your sketchbook.

You’ve had this thing forever, the navy blue cover a bit worn on the corners from your habit of picking at them when you’re thinking. The pages flutter beneath your thumb as you fan through them, each of your designs flashing past in a blur before you reach the newest one. You pause to study it.

It’s a forest green gown, long and flowing with flowers cascading asymmetrically down the bodice. A dress that appeared in your mind one night in your half-sleep state so vividly you just had to wake up and sketch it out. Even as you drew it, you knew this one, like your others, would never be anything more than graphite and color on a page. You knew this would never be something to pursue, but just as dreams are a figment of your imagination, so was the idea of becoming a designer. But then you met Tae and now you realize that drumming, at one point, was just a stirring in his heart instead of something he actually thought he’d be able to do. Maybe…just maybe you’ll be able to see this dress come to life one day.

Fingers softly brush your hair off your shoulder and you close your eyes at the touch.

“You did that?” A voice asks, deep and gravely with sleep. “It’s incredible.”

You smile, reaching back to rest a hand against his thigh—now clad in his black boxers. “You sound surprised.”

“I guess I just never pegged you for the artsy type,” Tae says against your shoulder. His hair tickles the side of your face and you lean away, craning your neck back so you can see him. For a second, you’re dazzled at the sight of him, dark hair sticking up every which way, the lights from the open drawer making his eyes sparkle like gems.

“I bet if I saw you in your high society life, I wouldn’t think you could be a drummer.” The mention of his old life causes Tae’s eyes and smile to sink and immediately you squeeze his thigh and lean back into him in an attempt to cheer him back up again. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, Tae,” you say.

“No, it’s okay,” he says then takes your hand and brings it up to his mouth so he can brush your knuckles along his bottom lip thoughtfully. “I mean, if you’re my soulmate, you should probably know that stuff about me, right?” You shrug and the corners of his mouth curl up again. He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know,” he says. “I used to think I didn’t have any choices. My life was so structured and planned I’d accepted my fate and convinced myself that I actually wanted to take over my dad’s business. I’d see the way my parents interacted with each other and with their peers and it just all seemed so forced. Even as adults, no one seemed to be able to make their own decisions. They all looked so trapped, you know?”

You look down at the sketchbook in your lap. Oh yes, you know.

“I think one day I just sort of realized that this wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t know what I wanted but I knew it wasn’t that. I think my parents were shocked when I told them I wouldn’t be pursuing their dream for me.” He takes a deep breath. “My dad wanted to disown me. Well, I mean, he basically did, but my mom convinced him not to. They still kicked me out, though. That’s how I met Hobi and the rest of the guys. And how I got into drumming.”

“So you didn’t have a dream when you cut ties?” you ask.

Tae shakes his head. “I mean, I guess my dream was just to not turn out like my dad.”

“I’d say you achieved that,” you say eliciting a chuckle from him.

“I think my biggest fear was becoming trapped in a life I didn’t want,” he says sitting up straighter and rolling his shoulders.

Though you can’t see it, you picture the wings across his back shifting with the motion. “Is that why you got those wings?” you finally ask.

Tae seems to have noticed you staring and he smirks. Heat reaches your ears. “I thought they were fitting,” he says at last. “Why? Do you like them?” Like them? You love them. They’re perfect. Beautiful. You only nod and his smile widens. “Good. They’re the only reminder of my past I’ll ever need.”

“Your past doesn’t mean as much to me as the present and future,” you say watching as he lifts your hand back to his mouth.

“It’s still a part of me though,” Tae says against your fingers. “One I hoped would stay in the past but I have a feeling it’s not going to since my soulmate is the Princess of the Upper East Side.”

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth and look down again at the sketchbook in your lap. For once that title doesn’t fill you with a sense of pride. In fact, you feel dread fill your chest at the thought of having to face your parents. Even if you’re able to keep this all secret tonight, it’ll come out eventually. Are you really ready to let this life you’ve always known slip out from under you? Are you ready to let it all crumble?

You look at Tae again. This boy has already been through it and though his life is nothing like it was before, though he no longer fits the mold of high society, he’s a better person for it. A more passionate person. A happier person. That’s what you want. And you know a life with Tae will cause you to grow into that person. But how can you become this new person if you try to keep it hidden?

You take a deep breath before turning around to face him. “Come with me tonight,” you say. “To my parents’ house.”

Tae’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s got to come out eventually, right? Might as well get it over with.” Then you look down at your sketchbook again and your mouth lifts into a hopeful smile. “I’m ready to start my new life.”

Tae’s face splits into a beaming grin and he sets your sketchbook aside before reaching out for you. His fingers dig into your hips and he pulls you onto his lap, your knees resting on the floor on either side of him, your chest pressed against his as he hugs you. He’s so warm and even through the thin material of his t-shirt you’re wearing, you can feel his heart beating erratically. It’s obvious he’s nervous. You are too. You’ve never wanted to veer off the path laid out for you before. But now there’s nothing more in this life you want than to start over with him.

“I’ll be there,” he says, his shaky breath fanning across your face. Then he leans in to press a kiss to your lips. “Whatever you want, Princess.”

“You didn’t even try to cover these up?” you scold as you dab makeup onto the purpled skin at Tae’s throat. He only smirks down at you.

“Hey, I’m not the one that put them there. I was just letting you enjoy your handiwork.” Then he leans in to press a quick kiss to your nose before you can pull back. “Though I see you’ve taken a different approach.” His hand comes up and he pinches the high collar of your black turtle neck. “Looks good. Very Steve Jobs chic.”

“Come on, Tae,” you say with a sigh and finally meet his eyes. “This is serious. I don’t think you know just how big of a disaster this night is going to be.” His amused expression falls when he sees how solemn your own is.

Then he reaches up to cup your face in his hands. “Hey,” he says softly and you have to bite your lip to keep it from quivering as you feel the tears coming on. “We don’t have to do this. At least not tonight. How about you go without me? I can wait for you here and we can hang out when you get back.”

You shake your head, swallowing hard to clear the lump in your throat. “No, the sooner I get this over with the better,” you say. Then you meet his eyes again and give him a weak smile. “I want to do this.”

“Do you want me to change my shirt then?” he asks you.

His usual ripped jeans have been replaced with black skinny jeans, his painted leather jacket and white t-shirt switched out for a long sleeved, black button down printed with a white swirling design. The top few buttons are undone to expose his throat and collarbones. He looks incredible. “No, no, please no,” you say quickly.

Tae’s grin spreads wider, his teeth coming into view and he pulls you into him, hands cradling your face gently and by the time he pulls away, you feel like your feet are no longer on the ground. The two of you stand there on the sidewalk, foreheads resting against each other’s and you wish you could just stay like this instead of going to your parents house. But then the black car you called pulls up to the curb, giving a short honk and you pull away.

“Ready?” Tae asks with a gentle smile.

You take a deep breath. “Does it matter?” But you return the smile anyway because even though you’re dreading tonight, you’re excited for tomorrow when this is all over and you can move on.

“Okay, I take back everything I said about your apartment being a palace. This is a palace.”

“Oh, shut up,” you growl as you pull Tae down the driveway and toward your parents’ estate. Your heart hammers harder in your chest with every step closer to the front doors.

It’ll be okay.

Well, no actually it won’t be okay. Or maybe your parents will surprise you. Maybe the fact that he does come from money will make it easier for them to accept him. Maybe the initial shock will give you enough time to explain everything. Maybe it’ll work out. You’re their daughter after all. They’d want you to be happy, right?

…right?

You stand frozen now on the porch, Tae’s arm still tightly in your grasp. Your fingers ache but you can’t seem to loosen your grip. In fact, you clutch impossibly tighter to him until his bones are surely threatening to snap under the pressure.

“Princess.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure you’re ready to do this?”

You clench your teeth, grinding your molars together as you stare down at the door knob. Normally you have the driver come in through the front gates which alerts a maid that you are on your way, but this time you had the car drop the two of you off outside the gate and then used the separate locked entrance into the place so no one would be here to welcome you when you arrived. But that’s what you need. Time to collect yourself. Which may take a while since your insides feel like a jumbled mess of smashed bits. Pieces that will never be able to be brought back together. Maybe you’ll never be ready to do this. But you have to.

You let go of Tae’s wrist then slip your ring off your finger to expose the double bands. Right now they’re verging on indigo and you turn around to face Tae. While his expression is calm, you can still see a faint indent between his eyes. The ring on his own finger keeps you from seeing the color representing your emotions but you can bet his tattoo is darker than yours. You drop your ring into a hedge beside the porch and take a deep breath. No hiding now.

“Let’s do this,” you say softly then reach for the doorknob and in one swift motion, twist it and push it open.

You hear Tae swear under his breath when the two of you step inside and you turn around to find him looking around with wide eyes. It’s hard not to smile even with the big chunk of ice sitting in the pit of your stomach.

“Oh.”

You jump at the sudden noise and spin to find your mother standing in the doorway to the parlor.

“Honey, I didn’t hear you come in. Didn’t the maid meet you at the door?” she asks.

You shift nervously when her eyes pan over to Tae. “Uh, no sorry, Mom, we thought we’d, um, surprise you.” Then you step closer to Tae, a sudden desire to protect him coming over you and you link your arm with his. “Mom, this is Taehyung. He’s my, um…”

Your mother’s eyes fall to your hand where it rests on his arm, the double bands a sharp peacock blue against your skin and to your surprise, she lights up, a smile spreading across her lips before she clasps her own hands together.

“Welcome!” she says and rushes forward, “It is so nice to meet you, Taehyung.” Then she grasps his own palm in hers. “Oh, I just can’t wait to hear all about your meeting.”

“Uh, thanks, it’s nice to meet you too,” Tae says, his eyes darting to yours and you shrug. Your mom’s reaction was so unexpected, you don’t even know what to feel.

“Well, come on, let’s go into the parlor and I’ll make us some drinks,” your mother says as she pulls him out of your grasp and toward the doorway. “You seem like a bourbon type of man. My husband says you can always tell a good man by the type of liquor he drinks and you seem like the bourbon type, am I right?”

“Uh, sure, yeah, bourbon’s okay I think,” Tae says then looks over his shoulder helplessly at you before disappearing into the parlor.

You stand there, the amused smile stuck on your face even as your mind is reeling. What’s going on? Why is she so enthusiastic? Does she not know who this boy is? Your smile falls. Of course. That has to be it. Sure, your father recognized him at the network brunch but only from these events in the past. Your mother has never gone to one before so how would she know who Kim Taehyung is?

For a split second you thought that something miraculous had happened. You imagined a life with both Tae and your parents in it. Just for a second you imagined coming to Friday night dinners together. Visiting on holidays, possibly bringing kids someday. Maybe even having them be proud of you for pursuing whatever dream you decide to follow. But that shatters as quickly as it appears. Your father—as most Fridays—is working late at the office and it’s only a matter of time before he comes home. No, tonight is a ticking time bomb, counting down from an unknown number.

Taehyung shifts nervously beside you where the two of you sit on one of the couches in the parlor. Your mother is sitting on the couch on the other side of the coffee table, talking excitedly about whatever recent trip her and your father went on. It’s hard to focus when you’re stiff as a statue beside him, holding your glass so tightly he’s surprised the thing hasn’t shattered yet.

If only he could reassure you somehow. But what would he even say? It’ll be alright? It won’t be so bad? He knows both of those statements are lies. After all, your mother is only acting this way because she doesn’t know who Kim Taehyung is. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he shouldn’t have come. Maybe it would have been better if you’d just come by yourself and broken the news gently.

Taehyung’s chest tightens when you suddenly lean into him and he reflexively puts his arm around your shoulder, clutching onto you tightly.

No, this is where he should be. You need him now more than ever.

You look at Taehyung, your eyes so filled with uneasiness, your mouth set in a solemn line. How can I fix this? He wishes you could read each other’s minds. His fingers wrap around yours where they clutch onto your glass and his thumb rubs over your knuckles.

Your mother lets out a sigh. “It’s so refreshing to see two young people in love,” she says. “You seem very happy.”

Taehyung looks at you again and gently pries one of your hands off your glass so he can bring it up to his lips. “I am,” he says and presses a kiss to your fingers. You smile and your body begins to relax against his.

“I am too, Mom,” you finally say. “Really really happy.” Then you lick your lips nervously and sit back up again. Here we go. “Mom, I have to tell you something before—”

“What’s this?”

All three of you jump to attention at the sound of your father’s voice and both you and Taehyung attempt to step in front of the other, causing you to stumble forward. The man didn’t seem very intimidating at Taehyung’s last encounter with him, but then again he had his boys backing him up. Not to mention he was thinking that would be the last time he’d ever see you again and he had nothing to lose by standing up to the guy. Now though, he’s here in the man’s home, your father’s eyes trained so intensely on him he can almost feel himself shrinking.

“Hi Daddy,” you say straightening your skirt quickly. “Uh, this is—”

“What is this washout doing here?” your father bites. His words hacking through Taehyung like a dull blade.

“Now Dear, Taehyung is a very nice boy and he loves our daughter,” your mother says putting a hand on his arm.

He pulls out of her grip and steps closer. Somehow Taehyung’s fingers have latched onto your wrist and pulled you behind him protectively as if the man’s anger has manifested into a charging beast and it’s headed straight for you. Even in this moment, the need to protect you is stronger than the paralyzing fear he feels as your father stands so close to him, staring him down.

“You,” he seethes only inches from Taehyung’s face, “made your choice and I will not have you dragging my daughter down to your miserable level.”

Taehyung licks his lips, his mind racing to pull together a coherent response even as the words cut him deep enough to make him feel like he’s bleeding out. But then before he can stop you, you step out from behind him again.

“And I made my choice, Daddy.” You look so small standing between them.

Your father’s eyes zero in on his new target, breaking the spell that had Taehyung frozen in place and suddenly he’s ready to take whatever bullet the man is about to send your way.

He lets out a loud, incredulous laugh. “And what choice is that?”

Instead of answering him right away, you turn your head and meet Taehyung’s stare. He can feel his heart seize in his chest. You look so sad. “I need you to leave for a minute,” you whisper.

Taehyung’s eyes grow wide and he can feel the panic wash over him suddenly. No no no no. He shakes his head in a silent plea but you look adamant and at last he gives in, dipping his chin once before stepping away from you, eyes passing over your mother and holding her own for a split second before he steps out of the parlor and back into the entryway. He stops on the other side of the wall and sinks to the floor, letting his head fall back against it.

He hears you take a deep breath before letting the words ride out on the exhale. “I’m not going to be taking over the business.”

“What do you mean, Honey?” your mother asks. She was inching her way toward the perimeter of the room when Taehyung passed her on his way out, surely trying to distance herself from the disaster, and with her being just on the other side of the wall, Taehyung can hear the way her voice shakes.

“I mean, I’ve decided to follow my dream instead. I want to become a designer.”

Taehyung scrambles to his feet again, eyes drilling into the plaster as if he could see through it if he tried hard enough. The room is silent and even from where he stands, he can feel the tension in the air, expanding and growing tighter until at last it snaps.

“You…stupid child,” your father growls.

Taehyung sucks in a sharp breath, spine going rigid.

“Dear,” your mother whispers.

“A designer? What absolute garbage is this?”

“I’ve wanted to do it ever since I was young,” you say. “Since before I started pursuing your business. It’s what I’ve always loved.”

Your father goes on, voice growing louder to overshadow your own, “Are you kidding me? Is this some sort of sick joke?”

“Dear, please stay calm,” your mother pleads, her voice so quiet she sounds like she’s miles away.

“I built this life for you! I work day in and day out for you to have these opportunities! I set up meetings around your schedule! I built connections for you! Opportunities I was never given! And you want to throw that all away so you can doodle on a notepad? And with that failure by your side?”

Taehyung braces his arms against the wall, grinding his forehead into the edge of the doorframe as he listens.

“He’s my soulmate, Daddy,” you say. The weakness in your voice has a searing heat tearing through Taehyung’s chest and he squeezes his eyes shut, gritting his teeth against the pain.

“I don’t care if he’s your soulmate,” the man snarls. “He’s done this to you! Made you completely lose your mind! He’s turned my daughter into the very thing we detest in this family!”

Taehyung lets out a shaky breath, his fists clenching so hard the skin beneath his nails threatens to give. With a jerky movement, he rips his ring off and looks down with blurred vision at the bold, black bands encircling his finger.

This is all his fault. This whole night. The way your dad is yelling at you, tearing you apart while he’s out here, shielded from the flying shrapnel. It’s all because of him. You would have had a good life if he hadn’t busted into it. Would have gone on to be successful. The pride and joy of your parents. Would have lived happily, comfortably, independently. Would have had it all if not for him.

Just leave, Tae. Just disappear. Give her father time to forgive her because you know he will. She’ll hurt at first but it’ll be better this way. Let her live her life. Stop trying to rip everything away from her.

Taehyung pushes off the wall, reddened eyes fixed on the front door, heart hammering so loud it almost drowns out the absolute war raging on in the parlor. Almost. It would if not for the sheer volume of that man’s voice.

“That boy will never be a part of this family!”

Taehyung holds his breath, sight trained on the door handle as he waits for your response. And then it comes, in the most calm, cutting voice he’s ever heard.

“You’re right, Daddy,” you say. “He won’t be. Because I won’t be either.”

His eyes shift to his double bands again and he swears his brain is playing tricks on him. How else could he make sense of the sight before him? Of his ebony colored rings changing rapidly, growing lighter with each second, passing through every shade of purple and blue before finally settling on a light sea foam green. Only once the shifting has stopped does Taehyung finally look up, and when he does, he sees you standing in the doorway, mere feet from him. Your mouth lifts into a tired smile as you close the gap, taking his hand in your own and entwining your fingers together. The motion sends a soothing warmth up his arm, flowing like a summer wind through his veins, calming his erratic heart and causing the storm raging in his mind to cease. Now he lifts your clasped hands and looks at your own ring to find that the color has lightened as well to match his. He’s never felt so calm.

“How did you do that?” Taehyung utters under his breath.

You just smile wider in return, your thumb rubbing circles into his skin. “Let’s go home,” is all you say and then you lead him out the door and away from this house he’s pretty sure he’ll never step foot in again.

The ride back to your apartment had been a blur, the weight of what had just happened slowly beginning to settle over you again and by the time you reached your destination, you felt like you were suffocating under the pressure.

You’d pulled Tae after you into the elevator, not saying anything on the ride up and then tugging him into your place once you reached the top. You didn’t slow, stumbling toward your bedroom, kicking out of your shoes and then pulling your turtle neck and skirt off, letting them stay where they landed and Taehyung had looked at you confusedly as you started unbuttoning his shirt. But he let you tug it off of him and drop it at the foot of your bed too before wrapping your arms around his waist and falling down onto the mattress with him. You’d pulled your comforter up over your heads and at first he was still too confused as to what your intentions were. Not sure why you’d bared yourself and him halfway but then you crumpled into him, burying your face in his chest and began to cry. His arms immediately came up to cradle you to him, his skin smooth against yours, the contact bringing a comfort of its own that you so desperately needed.

You don’t know how long you cried but by the time the tears stopped, you felt like you were floating, your head so foggy and thick. The only thing tethering you to this life was Taehyung’s skin against your own and the feel of his heart beating beneath your palm.

Now you curl into him, let his arms enshroud you, keep you together because even though the tears have finished falling, you still feel like you’re breaking apart. Still feel like the world is disintegrating. And maybe it is. At least your world. Your old life. It needed to though, right? This was the only way to move on. The only option you were given anyway.

You sniff and Tae tightens his grip in response. His skin is warm against your own, comforting in its golden glow. A ray of sunshine peeking through your clouded thoughts. You haven’t spoken a word since the two of you left your parents’ house but every so often as the two of you have laid here beneath your blankets, Tae has whispered his love for you into your hair, punctuating his sentences with gentle kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose. He places a small kiss to your lips then the doorbell rings.

Tae breaks the kiss first and you both wait in silence. A few seconds later, it sounds again, faintly from the other end of your apartment and you exhale heavily. “I’ll be right back,” you say, your voice hoarse from disuse and then, much to Tae’s dismay, you slip out from beneath the covers, grabbing your robe as you make your way out of the bedroom and back toward the elevator.

The intercom button beside it glows a soft white, signaling a call from the lobby. You press it and lean in. “Yeah, I’m here,” you say and wait for a response.

“Honey?”

“Mom?”

“Honey, can I please come up and talk to you?”

Your stomach does a flip. What is she doing here? You’re shocked into silence for several seconds before pressing the button down again. “Uh, yeah, sure,” you crack then quickly go and grab your clothes back off the floor, tugging them on and back in place just in time for the elevator to ding, the doors to open and your mother to step out.

You stand there in silence, watching as her eyes sweep the large room—a habit of hers you’ve grown very used to—before they finally land on you. Her hands grip the handles of her bag in front of her as if she doesn’t know what to do now that she’s standing before you.

“Does Daddy know you’re here?” you ask.

Your mother shakes her head, her lips pursed in a tight line. “After you left, he locked himself in his study and he hasn’t come back out. I figure he’ll stay in there for the rest of the night.”

You wrap your arms around your middle, feeling yourself shrinking inward and wishing you could go back to your room where Tae is, soft and warm and inviting. “Mom, I’m so sorry about tonight.”

“Well, it did come as a shock,” she says.

“I know. It was probably bad timing, especially with the Parks having just gone through all this with Jennie.”

Your mother scoffs causing you to lift your head again to look at her. “Oh believe me, this is nothing like the Parks.”

You furrow your brow. “What do you mean?”

With a sigh, your mother shifts on her feet, clutching her purse tighter in front of her. “Honey, I need you to understand something. As members of a higher class, we are held to higher standards.” You lower your eyes again, feeling the guilt constricting your lungs. “And of course, living in this society for as long as I have, it’s hard not to get caught up in the politics of it all. This is the path I was given. A life of dinner parties and gossip and business deals. And sometimes I forget that that’s my path, not yours.”

You tear your eyes from the tiles again to look at her.

“It’s easy to get caught up in the drama of another family’s affairs,” she continues. “But I never should have said the things I did about Jennie. I never should have made you feel like you couldn’t come to me. And that you couldn’t follow the path you’re meant to go down even if it’s not the same as the one your father and I had for you.”

“But Daddy seemed so upset,” you utter.

Your mother nods sadly. “You have to understand, Honey, that your father is a very stubborn man. The fact that he was training you to take over his business while not even knowing if this was what you were supposed to do has always been a struggle for him. He’s a lot less accepting of fate than I am,” she explains. “Which is why I’m here.”

She steps toward you now, reaching out with one hand to take hold of one of your own and smiles gently. “Did I ever tell you I wanted to be a photographer?”

Your eyes widen at this news and you shake your head.

“Before I met your father, I was set on traveling around the world, photographing people and places in such a light that no one had seen before. I developed my own style, even won some awards and had my photographs in magazines. When I met your father, I gave it all up to become a homemaker. And let me tell you, I don’t regret a single choice I made. Photography was a part of my childhood, a part of who I was before, but becoming your father’s wife and your mother was where I found myself. I could have continued to pursue it and perhaps I would have still found happiness.” Then she lifts her hand to place her palm against your cheek. “But I’ve been happiest in this life with you and your father. And the only thing that could make me happier is seeing my daughter happy.”

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes and you blink hard, clamping down on your bottom lip to keep it from quivering. “Mom,” you crack.

“Your father will come around eventually,” she says. “But you need to follow your happiness, not his. And if that’s being with Taehyung and becoming a designer, then you follow that path, Sweetie.”

You can only nod vigorously, eyes so blurred you can no longer make out the details of her face. Now she pulls her hand back and opens her bag. “For the record, I’ve known you’ve loved fashion for a long time.” You wipe your hands over your eyes to clear them and suddenly her knowing smile comes back into focus and you look down to see what she pulled out of her bag. A pamphlet and an envelope. You take both carefully.

“How did you know?” you whisper as you trail your finger down the edge of the pamphlet.The words ESMOD Seoul are printed across the top.

“You used to keep yourself preoccupied during your father’s business dinners by drawing on your napkin,” she says.

You can’t help but smile at the memories. You hated going to those dinners when you were little. Your mom would always slip you a pen and you’d spend the hours of speeches and toasts and mingling just drawing outfits. Dresses you’d rather be wearing than whatever stiff one you’d been put in to come to the dinner. You always hated leaving your drawings behind to be thrown out by the restaurant staff but you knew there was no point in trying to take them home with you. As you got older, you realized how childish it is to doodle on napkins and started paying more attention to what was going on around you. Your father was so proud of you when you started showing more of an interest in his work.

“I remember the way you used to draw on those napkins at company dinners. I always hoped to save them but they’d be cleared away before I could take them.”

Now you look to the envelope, opening it with trembling fingers and pulling out a check with your name on the first line. Your eyes widen when you see the amount.

“What is this?” you ask looking up at your mother again.

Now it’s her eyes that begin to glass over and she smiles. “You’re very good, Honey,” your mom says. “I’ve been putting money away for you for a while. Just a little something to help get you started.”

“A little?” you screech, still gaping at the large number on the check.

Your mom’s smile widens. “You deserve to pursue your dream and be happy with Taehyung,” she says.

Before you can stop yourself, you throw your arms around her and bury your face into her neck. Finally letting go of your resolve, tears spill from your eyes and you begin to tremble. Your mother’s arms come up to wrap around your waist and though she’s smaller than you, she somehow manages to hold you, cradle you as if you’re still so small. Still her little girl.

“Thank you, Mom,” you whisper, your words muffled by the neck of her sweater. She’s always worn the same perfume, even when you were little and now you breathe her in. You were so sure earlier that you’d never get to again.

When you pull away at last, you can see tears staining her cheeks and she quickly wipes them away. “Your father will come around,” she says once she’s cleared her throat and regained her composure. “Just give him some time. And maybe a bit more before he and Taehyung can be in the same room again.”

You smile weakly and hold the pamphlet and check to your chest. “Right.”

“And let's keep getting together on Friday nights. You pick the restaurant, okay?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” you say with a nod.

Your mom studies you for a second longer before turning and stepping back into the elevator. When she turns around again, she tilts her head a bit, eyes focusing on your neck just below your jaw and just above the collar of your turtleneck. “Is that a hickey?”

Quickly, you slap your hand over the area, a deep blush warming your cheeks as you mentally curse yourself for not checking to make sure everything was still covered. Your mom shakes her head, corners of her mouth lifting upward just barely as if she’s trying and failing to conceal a smile and she reaches out to press the button to close the doors.

“See you next week, Honey,” she says.

“Bye Mom,” you crack, keeping one hand on your neck and using the one still clutching the papers to wave goodbye.

Once the doors close, you heave a heavy sigh and let both hands drop. Did that all really just happen? The pamphlet and check in your grip confirms it, even though now that she’s gone, you’re having a very hard time believing your mother was really just standing in front of you. Your heart pounds, your hands shake and your throat begins to close up again because, honestly, you have no idea what to feel right now. Excitement and fear for the future, heartbreak for the past. It’s all just too much and you find yourself sinking to your knees right there in front of the elevator.

“Princess?”

You don’t lift your head, even when you feel a pair of arms wrap around your shoulders, a pair of lips kiss your cheek, a voice whisper soothingly in your ear that everything is okay because he’s here now.

“Who was that?” he asks once you’ve calmed a bit.

“My mom,” you reply. Your voice is still so weak with disbelief. “She came to give me these.”

“A pamphlet?”

“For a design school,” you say then hold up the check. “And this.”

“Holy crap,” Tae utters when he sees the amount. “Looks like you have everything to get things going.” Then he pulls you to your feet, his eyes sparkling excitedly. “No time like the present, right?”

Suddenly you feel exhausted. “Tae, it’s almost one o’clock.”

“In the morning then,” he says. “Let’s get a good night’s sleep then start livin’ that dream.”

You can only smile as his own widens and you let him tug you back toward the bedroom.

The rain pours down in buckets, pelting the top of your black umbrella as you make your way down the sidewalk. You’ve always loved the rain. You love how the world is washed in a sudden filter of monochrome. The streets, the buildings, the sky, the people. Everything is black and white and gray and the same. No one is upper class or middle class or lower class. No one is better than anyone else. Everyone is the same.

The same until you turn off the sidewalk and into one of the many nicer apartment buildings lining this street. One look at the lobby and you’re plunged back into the life you’ve always known. The one you’re growing further away from every day.

With a quick shake of your umbrella, you close it, still fussing with the strap when the elevator dings and the doors open. You look up to meet a familiar pair of arrogant eyes. You’d sent a text earlier asking him to meet you in the lobby and in all honesty, you’re kind of surprised he actually decided to show up.

“Well well well,” Seokjin purrs as he saunters closer to you. “If it isn’t Mrs. Drummer Boy formerly known as the Princess of the Upper East Side. Where’s your boy toy? I thought the two of you were attached at the hip.”

“He’s getting ready for his set tonight,” you say carefully. “How are you doing, Seokjin?”

His eyes sparkle at your obvious attempt of trying to ignore his jab. “Living the good life. And,” his taunting smile widens, “how about you?”

You study him for a moment. The way he stands, the way he holds his head up just a bit more than you do, as if he’s now so much better than you with this new dream you’re following. Let him feel superior. You know the truth.

“Tae told me about you coming to visit him at one of his shows a while back,” you say and immediately you see him tense up.

Seokjin clears his throat and reaches up to adjust the scarf around his neck. “There’s a reason we’re the ones the rest of the world aspire to be,” he says. “There’s a reason this system is in place. We’re supposed to be doing our part to keep it upright.” Then he narrows his eyes at you. “And you and Jennie have an obligation just like the rest of us.”

You smile gently. “Everything happens the way it’s supposed to, Seokjin,” you say. “If our system is so fragile, maybe that’s a good indication that it wasn’t meant to be there in the first place. And besides, I’ve known you for a long time. You couldn’t care less about any of that.”

The boy shifts on his feet, eyes sweeping sideways to avoid making contact with yours. Still you go on.

“You’re so used to this game you and Jennie have been playing for so long and now that it’s over you don’t know what to do with yourself. I think you don’t like that you have no real control over your life. And that you have no control over who Jennie ends up with.”

“You don’t know anything,” he spits.

“I know you love her, Seokjin,” you say. “And I know the fact that you can’t have her is eating you up.”

He scoffs and adjusts his scarf again. “It wouldn’t be so bad if she wasn’t with such a lemon.” He tugs too hard on the scarf causing it to loosen a bit. “I thought she had more self-respect than that.”

“And I thought you had more self-respect than this,” you cut in. “I’ve never met another person as full of themselves as you are. So full of yourself you don’t even care that Jennie is genuinely happy with Hoseok. I’ve never seen her like this, Seokjin. I’d think if you really did love her, you’d want her to be happy. But maybe you care more about your own happiness.” You shake your head. “I shouldn’t be surprised.” Then you turn away, lifting the umbrella above your head again as you step back out into the rain.

“Wait.”

You face him again, seeing an expression that you’ve never seen before. Deep lines etch into his forehead, his brows pull together and his jaw is set in a hard line, as if he’s grinding his teeth together. He makes his way across the lobby, eyes never leaving the tiles until he’s at last standing right in front of you. Only then does he lift his head. He looks distraught. An absolute first. “Is she really happy?” he asks you quietly.

Your face softens. You can’t help feeling sympathetic for the boy. Someone who’s grown up the way both of you have, with a set of parents—and especially a father—that has kept him very firmly on the path they want him to be on. He’s been so curated to get what he wants, you can only hope that fate is more gentle with him. Though maybe the very thing he needs is a wake up call. One that you can only imagine would have an even more devastating affect on his family than yours did.

You almost wish Jennie was his soulmate. But only for a split second until you remember how laid back she seemed when you had dinner with her a while back. So calm, relieved almost, as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders and she could finally breathe. You smile again at the memory of the bright red bands on her ring finger.

“She is,” you finally say. “Happier than I’ve ever seen her before.”

Seokjin gives a curt nod, once again averting his eyes. “Then…I’m happy for her.”

You know that’s a lie but at least he’s trying to understand. Perhaps this is the beginning of a change in him. Then again, old habits die hard. Either way, you nod in return before once again, turning your back to him and making your way out into the rain.

Though the sky is gray and dark, though the people on the sidewalk around you are scurrying to get out of it, you can’t help but feel thankful for the rain. The symbolism seems fitting. Fitting enough that you close your umbrella back up and turn your face to the sky, letting the droplets fall on your skin, making everything feel new. New possibilities, new adventures, a new identity, a new start. No longer the Princess of the Upper Ease Side but a soon to be student at one of the best fashion design schools in the country, you start walking again, weaving your way through the current toward the fashion district, the need to sketch making your fingers tingle and your heart swell with inspiration.

Tae’s grip on the lapels of his jacket tightens as he pulls you impossibly close so he can kiss you.

“This looks good on you,” he says. “You should wear it all the time.”

You smile against his mouth. “But you look so good in it too,” you say.

“Then maybe we need to get you one of your own.”

“Deal.”

Tae chuckles against you. You want to stay here in this backstage hallway kissing him forever, want to feel smell his cologne and tell him you love him over and over but of course, good things must come to an end so others can start, right?

“Hey man, we gotta go on in a couple minutes.”

You break the kiss first, Tae obviously reluctant to with the way he still holds tightly onto the collar of the jacket, but both of you look up anyway to find Hoseok standing at the end, eyes shining amusedly at the sight before him.

“Or did you forget we have a freaking huge crowd tonight?”

Tae lets out an irritated sigh and Hoseok just laughs before disappearing back around the corner again. You’re about to suggest that you go and find Jennie but your soulmate doesn’t let you get a word in before crushing his lips to yours again.

“Tae,” you giggle against him. “Don’t you think you should get going?”

“Not yet,” he says then kisses you again. “My princess looks too good in my jacket to let her leave.”

“Should I take it off then?”

Tae pulls away, eyes serious. “Don’t you dare.”

You laugh again causing his face to soften. His mouth to stretch into a smile and he brings a hand up to cup your cheek as his eyes stare into yours. “Are you happy?” he asks you.

You press your forehead against his. “So happy,” you say. So so happy.

“Good. No one deserves happiness more than you, Princess.”

“You do,” you say then close the minuscule gap. “You deserve the world.”

“I don’t need it,” he says against your lips. “I have you.”

Kook leans into his mic and begins singing, his steady voice echoing through the place a cappella for two measures before fading to silence. Anticipation hangs heavy in the air just before he trails his hand down the neck of the guitar, cutting the silence short with a hard riff as Tae joins in on the drums. The audience goes nuts, suddenly jumping up and down to the music, the blue lights transforming the large crowd into a rippling ocean. You stand at the front of it beside Jennie, eyes fixed on Tae as he leans toward the mic. And then suddenly, his smooth, deep voice flows out of the speakers.

At first sight, I could recognize you

As if we were calling for each other

The DNA in my blood vessels tell me

That it’s you I was looking all over for

Maybe it’s the lyrics, maybe it’s the fact that he’s singing them directly to you as he drums, head tilted back, eyes hooded and shining, that sends a surge of electricity through your veins. An exciting warmth that branches out from your chest and down your arms and legs until your whole body is buzzing. A heat that causes you to shrug out of his jacket, mouth stretched wide in a euphoric smile.

You feel Jennie’s hand reach for yours and the two of you dance, holding on tight to each other while letting go of the worries and pressure of the past. Basking in your freedom.

You let the crowd move you, let the music move you, let the energy and the sound of the boy you love doing what he loves on the stage move you until you feel nothing but absolute joy. A joy you never thought you’d feel. A joy that makes you excited for the future. A future where you get to follow your dreams, follow your passions and have Tae by your side to encourage you through it. Of course, there will be hard times. The world can be cruel, especially to someone that has fallen so far by society’s standards. Maybe it’ll take a while before things go back to normal. Maybe things will never be perfect. Maybe you’ll never fully mend your relationship with your father, but you know one thing is for certain…

With a quick glance at your hand, you’re dazzled by the bold ruby color encircling your finger and your heart swells because you know that not only are you the cause of it but that Tae’s ring is the exact same color. If there’s anything in this world that you’ve ever been absolutely sure of, it’s how truly happy you are in this moment.

Tag List: @copenhagenspirit @taeandpuppies @melonkooky @eaonya @queenkenderella @im-a-percy @psychdreamwolf @mrsworldwidebeauty @hhhhwww7

[jaybug-jabbers]

All-Glitch Pokemon Blue Run Pt6: Building Storms

Perfect! Glitchmon BF is a nice pokemon for a beginner. It doesn’t cause its trainers to faint and it doesn’t have any Superglitch moves or anything horrible like that! It’s wonderful it was drawn to you. You seem to have a natural talent for glitchmon, just as I suspected.

You also were correct; I strongly advise you capture another specimen and begin training it. I’d like to hear reports on its progress. I have never seen BF raised naturally, outside of a lab setting. This will be valuable data for us both.

-Professor Gingko

---

Professor,

All right, fine. I took a second walk and caught another one of these ‘BFs.’ I decided to name her Dustdevil.

Her stats are a little extreme. All of them are pretty terrible except for her Speed; her Speed is incredible. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a pokemon as fast as her, actually. I ran into some problems when I first let her out of her ball and tried to pit her against a wild Rattata, though. When I told her to attack with something, she just . . . freaked out. 

She started screaming and running around and ran into me and knocked me clean out. I didn’t know why she was so upset. I tried to calm her down and eventually fed her something, which happened to be a Rare Candy. I only had a few left over, but the candy seemed to calm her down. 

When we went back into battle, she was much calmer and actually used some moves on her foes. It was slow going, though, because her defenses were so frail and her attacks were kind of pitiful. With some patience and a lot of time, I helped her beat up Caterpies and Metapods in the grass by Nugget Bridge. The whole process was rather tedious. I decided to check my storage PC for TMs I had picked up earler. She was able to learn Bubblebeam, so I gave that a try.

With Bubblebeam, she was at least getting 3 or 4 hit KOs on the Caterpies now instead of, like, 20 hits. I also learned she had Guillotine. That move isn’t reliable for anything, but I had to work with what we had, and sometimes it helped limp her along through training. 

Eventually, we headed over towards the cape in Cerulean, facing the trainers there because they offered the best experience for Dustdevil. She actually was even managing to take a few trainer pokemon out solo. She totally shattered an Onix.

Slowly but surely, we were making progress. I also decided to face Misty in her gym again. This time, we defeated her team of starfish-- although I admit the fight was pretty close.

The trouble was, only Wobbles was a high enough level to really face them, and Wobbles was still feeling disobedient and cranky with me. Despite that fact, he pulled through in the end. After the victory, he seemed a lot happier with me. Misty told me it was because I’d earned her badge, so he was impressed with me and would be more obedient from now on. I doubt pokemon can understand things like gym badges, but that didn’t matter as long as Wobbles was happy.

Getting back to training, though, I decided to leave Fractal in Daycare for a while. He was . . . not great, so maybe the Daycare person could do something with him. I then got back to work training Dusty. I found that Diglett Tunnel was a good bet, as Dusty had Bubblebeam and the Digletts gave good XP. 

At some point, Dusty learned a new move, but I . . . uh, I’m not really sure what kind of move it was. It didn’t hit very often . . . about as often as Guillotine did. When it did hit, it usually smacked the enemy around pretty hard. I never really even saw exactly HOW the enemy was being smacked around, because Dusty moved so fast. 

After Dusty reached level 20, I fetched Fractal from Daycare and finished training him up as well. I taught Fractal Mega Punch, and that seemed to help a great deal. Fractal’s defenses are paper-thin, but he hits like a TRUCK when he attacks. After some patient work, we got Fractal up to level 20 as well.

We finished off our busy day of training by visiting the S. S. Anne. I’d been given a ticket to the cruise ship and told there was a big party onboard. It really wasn’t that great, though-- the party was almost finished when I arrived and mostly it was just trainers wanting to fight, anyway. At least I got some free food, though.

Oh, Oak’s grandson was there. We defeated his team, too. He told us our pokemon were freaking hella weird and we should try catching some normal ones for a change, and then he took off.

We turned in for the night, after that. I’ll keep you updated on what we do tomorrow.

---

End Notes

Glitches used/mentioned in this post:

* Cooltrainer Move

* Glitch move TM50

Click for the next part of the series! 

This is a repost on a new blog. The original post was on Nov 25, 2019.