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yoongleboonglepie · 2 months ago

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Pechsträhne Chapter 13

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Word Count Approx: 21k

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A/N: Here is another lore-heavy chapter-but more modern lore if you catch my drift. My inbox is open, and I'm ready to chat while I write chapter 14!! As always, if you want to be added to the taglist shoot me a message! Sometimes I don't get notified of comments.

Love you all!~Delyn

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Recap

“Yes. Now have mercy on my soul, reaper. I have done no wrong.”

Jungkook swallowed, his head tilting to the side in a taunting jerk. “Nothing wrong?” He cast his eyes in Y/n’s direction, taking in the damage Clay had done. Clay’s own gaze finding her gave her the privilege of watching the light of hope drain from his expression like a squashed bug.

Jungkook shifted his weight back so he could lift Clay a few extra inches off the pavement, coiling his muscles up for his final blow.

“Go to hell.”

Jungkook slammed the man into the ground, and Y/n felt the rumble of it within her, but not against her skin–the rumble was not of this world. The man shrieked with misery as his body crumbled into dust within Jungkook’s hands, the particles falling to the road and disappearing beneath the surface.

Silence overtook them.

Namjoon was stuck, hovering over Y/n’s shoulder–slack jawed and still and his face maculated with stripes of black ooze. A comforting hand suspended on her shoulder blades where he had used it to help her up. Y/n was paralyzed with an overwhelming sense of awe–staring at the place where Clay had been only moments before, the space now empty save for Jungkook’s hands that splayed out on the asphalt to support his weight.

The hands that had just slaughtered a demon in front of their very eyes.

Jungkook was the only body that held motion; his shoulders undulating with each inhale and sweat dripping from his brow. He looked beyond exhausted–his face colorless and steadfast–for he himself was still processing what he had just done.

The woods that flanked them on either side trickled back to life from their fearful silence. The birds that had gone quiet returned to their glorious songs and symphonies, and the trees swayed in a peaceful dance of bark and leaf, like they were thanking them through the whispers of the breeze.

Jungkook steadied himself on his heels and tipped his head back, his eyes falling shut while he focused in on bringing in breaths of fresh air through his nose and exhaling them through his mouth in small puffs. He dropped his head down, and with trepidation, brought his pitch black eyes to spear through Y/n and Namjoon. Neither of them spoke to him first, unsure of what to say after what they had witnessed–their silence landing uncomfortably with Jungkook–who took their speechless reverence as anything but.

“Are you…” Jungkook started hesitantly, coming to stand where he was once seated. “Are you scared of me?”

Y/n let her eyes wander from his dark eyes that held the inhuman power to see, and the hands that had just committed feats she would have never thought possible two months prior; and shook her head resolutely. She struggled with pulling herself to her feet and took staggering steps with a level of coordination that’s only fair competition would be a newborn giraffe.

“Jungkook, that was single handedly the most badass thing I’ve ever seen.” Y/n stumbled forward to meet him, the blow to the back of her head messing with her equilibrium, and her adrenaline left her muscles shaking against her will in its efforts to release itself from her body in waves.

Namjoon made a noise of protest in the back of his throat, coming to his own senses and scrambling to his feet to stop her reckless venture that was doomed to end in some kind of fall. He brought an arm around her shoulders and used one of his hands to guide her forwards.

“Agreed–Though I’d prefer if you didn’t just walk willy nilly all over pavement of all things with your second injury of the week.” Namjoon apprehended her with a disbelieving shake of his head, making a ‘come here' gesture with his chin. “Jungkook, come to us before she eats rocks with another fall.”

Y/n scoffed, rolling her eyes to the side while she tried to escape his hold to walk on her own. “I’m not a grandma Joon, tis but a flesh wound.”

Neither of them cared for her delusional attempt at humor, Jungkook joining in on the smothering by coming up along her other side, wrapping her arm over his shoulder and maneuvering most of her weight onto him.

“I can handle her–bring the car closer.” Jungkook grit his teeth, the hand he dug into her waist fighting to keep her still from her incessant tugging.

Namjoon obliged, running a few yards back to hop into the driver’s side door of Yoongi’s jeep that had been left ajar, turning the engine and putting the car in a slow and controlled roll towards them.

“You’re trusting him to drive?” Y/n winced from the headlights that cut through the misty fog and seared into her eyes. “I thought you wanted me alive…”

Jungkook let out a small humored exhale. “It’s only for like…two minutes.” The car stopped, the passenger door coming to welcome them with open arms with the metal edge only inches away from colliding with them.

Y/n gave him the best deadpan stare she could, the sound of Namjoon jumping from the front seat blurring into the surroundings as her eyes fixated on a droplet of black blood splatter on the corner of his lip and cheek–bringing two of her fingers up to immediately wipe it away knowing it was a futile effort. They all looked like they had stood on the other end of a wood chipper after sending a can of black paint through it, one drop was hardly going to change the outcome of their appearance.

Jungkook’s brown eyes followed her movements, giving her that same cloudy and indistinct expression that shrouded his face from her discerning eyes that specialized in picking him apart. He loved to wear this look as of late, plucking it out of his mind and dressing it up with apathetic distance at the strangest of times.

Y/n didn’t know if it was the double head injury, or the adrenaline that made her act so brazenly, but as Namjoon rounded the front of the car she smiled up at Jungkook, her thoughts coming out a simple and plain from her lips as though discussing the weather.

“Pretty.”

Before Jungkook could respond to her compliment, she was whisked towards the car and his words were swallowed by Namjoon ushering him to help hoist her in the passenger seat. Buckled and tucked safely into their seats, the three of them rode in a loaded silence back to the Estate. All of their minds completely blasted to smithereens from the last 24 hours of events.

Y/n let herself sway lamely with each bend of the road, the few thoughts she did have tumbling out into the space between them. “How did you know to come find me? And where?”

“I saw you running. Alone.” Namjoon turned the car onto the bumpy side road that led to the front entrance, his voice bouncing in tandem with the rocking motion of the car that he drove just a bit too fast in. “I went to get the car and called Jungkook on the way–figured it’d be easier to cross your path with a car that can go off road than on foot.” He coughed, and gave her a half smile. “Plus I figured it was a ghost, and I don’t have any powers to defend us against that kind of thing. I was hoping that while they might outrun us on foot, there was no way they could outrun us going eighty up the main road.”

Y/n chuckled, letting her forehead fall onto the cool glass of the window. “I hope not.” Y/n watched the estate come into view. Its tall walls, countless pristine windows now dotted with spring and summer flower boxes, and majestic atmosphere looked like both a safe haven, and a prison at the same time. “You couldn’t see him at all?”

“Not until Jungkook lifted him off of you.” He stole a glance to her from the road ahead.

“Eyes up please!” Y/n used two fingers to turn Namjoon’s face towards the windshield. “That doesn’t explain how you knew where to find me so quickly.”

“I could sense you.” Jungkook spoke up from the back seat, his head wobbling side to side in a parallel manner to Y/n. “I’ve spent enough time with you…spiritually…to have a feel for your energy.” He creased his brow in slight distaste, nibbling on his lip. “I’m still working on longer distances.”

Y/n looked taken aback slightly, unsure whether to feel flattered or uncomfortable knowing that her whereabouts were always perceivable. She concluded that for the time being, it was a comforting kind of thought to know that if she were to be in another life or death situation that he would take little time to locate her–that thought alone was enough to placate any feelings of discomfort.

Namjoon pulled the car to a slow stop on the gravel path in front of the Estate, the engine rumbling softly beneath them. The trio sat there for a few minutes, trying to muster up the courage to complete the trek back to their rooms.

“You know, we are getting really good at handling this stuff. I think we should make a career out of it.” Y/n chimed in through their heavy silence. “Same time next week?”

Namjoon gave her a flat look, his eyes unamused. “We shouldn’t be treating your near death experiences with the same severity as a child falling off their bike. It’s not something I’m personally interested in making a habit.”

“I’m not treating it lightly! I’m just commending our stress management skills compared to the first time.” Y/n held her hands up in surrender. “Because let’s be honest–it probably won’t be the last–so it’s good that we have a bit of a system.”

“You are taking this lightly. Y/n, I think you might actually be in true denial. Shock even.” Namjoon turned the ignition off, the keys jingling together as he stuffed them in his pocket.

Y/n swatted his words away with her hand. “Pfft–No way. I’m just handling this like a champ. After all,” she turned to give Jungkook a lopsided grin, “we have a secret not-so-secret weapon now. Why should I even get upset? I’m alive and that’s all that matters.”

Namjoon’s jaw clenched, and he looked at her with wide incredulous eyes. “How hard did you hit your head this time? Now you're really starting to worry me.”

Y/n gave him an unimpressed shrug. “Not sure. He did give it a good whack.”

Jungkook made a noise of disbelief from the back seat, while Namjoon dropped his forehead to sit against the steering wheel to take much needed dragging inhales to keep the fragments of his sanity together.

“So…” Y/n pursed her lips and side eyed the front door, pulling Namjoon out of his silent prayers. “How the fuck are we getting past the cameras when we look like this?” She gestured to the lovely abstract rendition of their skin and clothes the spirit had so kindly embellished them with.

Namjoon clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth repeatedly while he turned ideas over in his head, bringing his gaze up to stare blankly up at the front doors while one of his long fingers tapping against the wheel to the beat of his thoughts. His eyes lit up, and he turned in the car seat to regard them both with a sheepish smile.

“I have an idea–but you guys may not like it…”

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“Alright, other side.” Namjoon ordered Jungkook to spin so his back would face him, his clean front half dripping water onto the concrete floor below his now bare feet. Jungkook blew water from his nose as he did so, bringing his hands to wipe the water from his eyes with his fingers while he shook out his now soaking curls.

Without warning, Namjoon opened the nozzle of the greenhouse hose to spray the back of Jungkook’s clothes and legs, earning a low cry of objection from Jungkook, the ice cold spray startling him. Y/n giggled from her spot on one of the wooden stools Namjoon had pulled up next to him for her to sit on while she waited her turn, taking joy in a moment that felt so light hearted and in reminiscent of their youth while her brain rushed to process yet another near death experience–thank god for dissociation was all she could say.

Namjoon’s plan was the only one good enough to stick to: spray off in the green house and enter through the back separately–if anyone asked they would say that Y/n had come to visit him at work and the hose nozzle burst. Jungkook’s clothes were dark enough that if he moved fast enough, the camera’s would just pick him up as extra sweaty from his gym session.

The water cut off again, and Jungkook was free to take his seat while he dried off a bit to supervise Y/n’s birdbath. Y/n rose to her feet, peeling off her destroyed socks and discarding them to the side, then taking her spot where Jungkook had just been over the drain.

“I’m going to lower the pressure in case anything is tender from your fight. Let me know if you need to take a break.” Namjoon commented, turning the dial onto the setting he thought best and ignoring Jungkook’s offended grunt at not being offered the same pleasure. He flicked his warm brown eyes up to her, his dimples making an appearance with a small smile. “Ready?”

“Yup.” Y/n held her arms up, and squeezed her eyes closed to brace for the impact. She still yelped when the stream pelted her skin and clothes–the water much too cold for anyone to really prepare themselves for–and scrunched her entire face to protect her eyes and mouth from ingesting any of it.

Namjoon got his just desserts when Jungkook was incharge of rinsing him off–the younger making sure to turn back up the dial to the higher pressure Namjoon had used on him. All the while, Y/n couldn’t help but lean up against Jungkook’s wet side from her seated spot, enjoying the feel of his laughter vibrating against her forehead; they had curated a small pocket of peace in an otherwise terrible weekend.

After their impromptu baths, they were able to scurry themselves back to their rooms for real showers and dry clothes. The trickle of warm water left room for her to think up at least a dozen reasons and excuses for her overprotective friends as to why she should still be allowed to go through with their afternoon plans of traveling into the Paralrealm. If they were to truly get anything done, they couldn’t keep stopping every time some demon reared their ugly head–something she knew Yoongi would at least have her back on. She hoped they could see past her current reckless tendencies enough to still treat her with some autonomy. Sure at the moment she might not be processing what had just happened healthily (if at all), but she couldn’t force herself to do it any other way either–her emotions had been muffled in some subconscious act of self defense. They were still definitely there, just hidden behind metaphorical draping velvet that muted the presence of their existence.

She could deal with the piled up boxes of thoughts and feelings later, she decided, taking the dampened impact as a gift to keep going about her day. So what if the pile exploded through the curtains later when they got too big to manage? That was a later Y/n problem.

Right now Y/n had someone to find–sort of.

Grabbing the leather tube of her family tree from its hiding spot in her closet, she made quick work of the lid and slid the thick paper out from its confines and onto the floor. The strong jaw and angled face of the mimic was still fresh on her mind, and the name was familiar enough to draw her to the conclusion that she must’ve seen it somewhere before.

“Clay…” She tested the name on her tongue, running her finger along the branches in search of just who she was looking for, the paper tickling the edge of her finger underneath each drag of it across the surface. And it was like her hand knew exactly where to go–pulled by some unseen force like a magnet from within:

Clarence Wörner. 1900-1989. One of her very distant cousins.

Y/n snapped the QR code on her phone to open the website portal, marking an X near his name and offering a small description of her own.

“M.A.D: Calls himself Clay, and can shapeshift into people at will.”

Then she tapped the small stack of photos beneath his name that Jimin had so graciously tried to include for each family member, cycling through the three of them that were available. It was undeniable when looking at his picture to see the resemblance–this was without a doubt, the man that had been blasted to dust scarcely over an hour prior.

The same strong jaw and neatly kept hair, his eyes clearly a lighter shade in the first black and white photo instead of pools of inky black waste. A woman sat close to his side, staring blankly at the camera in a similar fashion to him, neither one showing any sign of physical closeness or affection. Like they were acquaintances sat together at the party of a mutual friend, caught off guard and disinterested in having the moment be captured for eternity. However the description insinuated quite the opposite.

“Clarence Wörner and Wife Hazel.”

Y/n looked into their hollow eyes for a few extra beats before she exited \ from the photo, unable to keep staring into their gray expressions any longer without feeling her stomach churn. Her thumb went to hover over the button to close the portal entirely, when something had her eyes retracting back to the description she had just written–for something new was added to it that she definitely hadn’t put there.

“M.A.D: Calls himself Clay, and can shapeshift into people at will.

-Was an actor at the Wörner Hotel Theater. Took a particular liking to Shakespear, most notably A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He often played the role of Puck: a shapeshifting fairy; claiming the role as his own at any theater in the state that would let him. His mother was Polish, thus he and his brother were fluent in both Polish and German as well as English.

The Mills Brothers, Elton John, show tunes, and Elvis Presley were his favorites–clears him up for a bit if you know what I mean.

I suppose this information might be of use at the moment.

Sorry for snooping.

Y/n looked at the new addition, blinking down at the pixels with befuddlement. Was this Jimin? He would be the only other person that could possibly have access to her website portal–he created it after all.

Y/n took little time in adding her message below the mystery persons, something soft and fuzzy stuffing her ears and mind when images of Jimin fluttered by.

“Jimin?...”

She waited, elbows propping up her upper body from its reclined position, eyes staring at the blank space beneath it, willing something to appear before her eyes. But nothing happened. Y/n heaved a sigh of disappointment–she couldn’t deny the small flicker of hope that had sprung up into her heart of getting to speak to him again even though their last interaction had left her less than content–to know that above all else he was holding his own with her parents.

Yet there was nothing.

She took that as a sign to move on, sticking a pin in the interaction for her to remember to share what the mystery person had written with her friends while she rolled the family tree back up and away. The slide of leather and paper against her hands was a cruel reminder of the fresh scrapes along her hands that she had forgotten to address.

Y/n had just finished applying the last band-aid to her palms when she heard the telltale sounds of Yoongi’s boots descending the hall–the gentle thuds stopping her in her tracks. The Mimic really had even perfected the way he walked down to the cadence, and it made her feel sick with the thought of how long it must’ve been watching him to be able to master so many little details of what made him Yoongi. The steps stopped outside his door and she was jolted from her stupor. During all of the commotion, she hadn’t even thought of contacting the real Yoongi about what had happened–what if he had been hurt?

Y/n scurried over to the door and wrenched it open with so much force Yoongi looked up at her in surprise from where he was reaching for his own door handle, his eyes wide and his mouth pulled into a flat line.

“Can I help you?” He asked, one eyebrow raised into his hairline while he pushed his door to swing open.

Y/n’s mouth opened and closed like a fish in water. Seeing his real face, and his real eyes looking at her with such life and vitality it left her speechless. Sure, the mimic had done a great performance, but with him standing in front of her now, she couldn’t believe she had fallen for whatever show the puppet was putting on. He was wearing the red workman's uniform, so she would give them that, and they had managed to master the way he walked. But there were differences they couldn’t fake. Like a small bandage wrapped around one of his fingers, twinged with red spots of blood instead of black, or the swing of his boots already crossing the threshold into his heavily warded room.

Oh fuck, Y/n commented internally as her throat began to burn. She had barely spoken to him and he was already blasting open the curtains shrouding her emotional state with just his mere presence. The day comes to her in a rush–terror, humiliation, gratitude, anger, relief–all baring themselves out for Yoongi to see.

“Yoongi!” Y/n didn’t think for the second time that day–the only difference being that this impulsive action was fueled by the need to feel the real Yoongi alive instead of fear and self defense, and launched herself to him without hesitation. Arms wrapped around his slender neck and pulled him close, the thud of his heart beat in his chest and the faint whistling sound from his nose an unsuspecting consolation. Yoongi, although confused, returned the hug with the unsure placement of his hands on her shoulder blades.

“That’s my name, yes.” His voice was wavering between sarcastic and concerned, like he was uncertain which emotion he was supposed to feel yet. “Are you sure you should be doing this in the middle of the hallway where someone could see?”

Y/n shook her head, her words muffled by the collar of his uniform, finding herself unable to stop the flow of repressed tears that seemed to always find their escape around Yoongi. “I don’t care.”

He grunted softly at her response and shuffled the two of them into his room, nudging the door closed behind them with the toe of one of his boots. Y/n couldn’t let go of him–not yet. She wanted to keep feeling how warm his skin was, and how the way he breathed sounded natural instead of forced. His touch left warmth instead of static tingling in its wake, its intentions clement and forgiving; not even a lick of the vicious and bloodthirsty clutches of the imposter.

“Okay really–did something happen? You’re lighting up like strobe lights on a wedding dance floor. Are you hurt?” Yoongi rattled off his questions, but didn’t push her away. Y/n knew he could sense her mood crashing down from denial to whatever it was she was storming through her with high winds and crashing waves.

Y/n retold her experience to him in shaky breaths, refusing at any point to let up the tight hold she kept around his shoulders–an unfounded belief nipping at her conscious that if she did, he would turn into the dead and graying demon from the woods and her hug was the only thing protecting him from that same fate. By the time she got to the physical altercation she felt like there was not enough air in the room, and Yoongi tucked his chin over her shoulder and leaned the side of his head against her own with a heavy sigh that was saturated with a million reactions that he withheld internally for the time being.

“Just can’t catch a break, huh?” He mumbled, his voice vibrating against her chest.

Y/n let out a watery laugh and wiped her face on one of her hands that rested on his shoulder. “Nope.” Y/n exhaled sharply, and continued on with one of her prepared talking points. “I’m not going to rest tonight. I can’t. I can’t keep letting them win. Not after whatever is happening with–” Y/n her voice gave out, but forced herself to find it once more. “–with Jin and Hoseok. Not after what those bastards did, using you like that. I won’t let anyone get away easily.”

“Okay.” Yoongi stated softly.

“I know you think it’s risky but–” Y/n cut off her own further defense, pulling back from their hug to look Yoongi in the eyes with shock. “Wait–Okay?!”

Yoongi nodded, licking his lips with his subconscious tick–not some fake attempt at it. “Okay. You know your limits, and at the end of the day it’s your choice. I don’t have any interest in controlling you or giving you rules to follow.”

“So you’ll have my back against Kook and Joon?” She asked hopefully.

Yoongi scoffed lightly, squinting his eyes at her with a small smirk. “Now you’re asking too much.”

Y/n let the tension fall from her body with a tear-sodden laugh turned sigh, sinking back into his awkward embrace and giving him an extra squeeze. “You truly are the best, you know that?”

“I…” Yoongi swallowed audibly, his throat bobbing with the sound and his words coming out muttered. “You’d be the only one that seems to think that way.”

Y/n tore herself away from him with furrowed brows, her mouth open to scold him for thinking such thoughts blocked out by a knock at his door. Yoongi hastily made sure to create more distance between them, and coughed into one of his fists before opening it for the two aforementioned men–both properly washed and dried.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear.” Yoongi let out a tsk sound, the moment of vulnerability he had let slip through his walls now gone, vanquished by his prickly persona. The two of them pushed through the door without question, nudging Yoongi out of the way to find their designated spots around his room.

Y/n didn’t even bother giving them a moment to breathe, starting forth with her best strong face and pretending she hadn’t just crumbled into Yoongi minutes before. “I’m still going in. It’s my choice, and I’m tired of waiting. We are giving them exactly what they want by waiting around–if Jin and my mom have some kind of idea of what we are doing or whatever the fuck is happening with the ghosts, we need to keep pushing to stay ahead.”

“Y/n–” Namjoon started, his face saying more than his words could–that he strongly disagreed and was revving into his own counterpoint.

“No. You can either help me, or take the day off. You guys have the privilege of walking out of here on your own anyways–I don’t.” Y/n dropped to her knees besides Yoongi's bed, pushing Jungkook’s legs aside to make room for the wooden chest beneath it. “And I for one, would not like to be strangled, hunted or have my head smashed into the nearest surface every time I want to get a snack from the kitchen. Rest helps me in the moment, and I appreciate your concern–I really do–but I need more than concern. I need action.”

Yoongi came to her side, helping her to unlock the chest and start stacking the items behind them wordlessly.

“What if Jungkook needs rest? After what happened with him–”

“Wait,” Yoongi’s head snapped up to narrow his eyes at Namjoon, “What happened with Jungkook?”

“I haven't gotten to that part yet.” Y/n grunted, slamming the lid closed and pushing the chest back under the bed and out of the way, directing her next comment to Yoongi. “ Jungkook went full psycho and exploded a ghost.”

“I’m sorry–” Yoongi cut himself off with a disbelieving scoff, “–What did you just say?”

“He grabbed him–Clay–and forced him to show himself, then he just…” Y/n looked to Jungkook for help, but the man in question was avoiding everyone’s eyes to stare off into the patterns of Yoongi’s rug. “...He just grabbed him and made him disappear.”

“Fucking hell guys–Open with that next time maybe?” Yoongi looked from person to person, shaking his head. “Some old man’s A/C breaks and I miss everything…”

Y/n ignored him, unable to think of anything other than her task at hand. “So you two–are you in or out?”

Jungkook fixed her with a stern glare, his eyes so heavy with fatigue Y/n almost felt bad for asking him. Almost. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Perfect.” Y/n chirped, raising an expectant brow to Namjoon. “Joon?”

Namjoon hollowed out his cheeks and pursed his lips, his eyes downturned towards his knee that bounced through his tension. The room was teetering on his response, the three of them waiting on the edge of their seats.

“Fine.” Namjoon stood abruptly, wiping his hands on his pants and groaning in frustration. “I’ll go grab the tea and some cups.” He pointed a finger menacingly at the three of them. “Don’t do anything until I get back, and you,” His finger landed on Y/n with more emphasis, “Let the two of them set it up at least. I’m going to go gray with all of this stress.” He mumbled the last part mostly to himself as he slipped from the door, leaving Yoongi and Jungkook to do as directed.

Yoongi cleared his throat, and gestured with his hands lazily to the pile of candles and cloth and a small laugh. “How does he expect us to ‘set it up’ when we have no idea how he wants things for the tea?”

“Maybe we should set up the session wards wider? Maybe just each corner of the room and lay out the cloth. Then he should probably be back by then.” Y/n had barely finished her sentence before Jungkook was up and on his feet, brushing her hands away from the pile and picking it up, looking expectantly at Yoongi for instruction.

Yoongi took the change in stride, guiding Jungkook to place a grid of stones, sprigs of herbs, and smears of essential oils in each corner of the room as an improvised ward. Y/n let her eyes close, heeding Namjoon’s instruction to take what little time she had to rest before she was to be thrown into whatever awaits her on the other side. The moment of peace didn’t last long, for she was leaping to her feet with an abruptness that startled the two men away from the bag of dried lavender Yoongi was giving hushed instructions over.

“I need to grab something from my room! I completely forgot…” Y/n padded to the door, pulling it open and taking large and quick steps into her own.

Too quick to miss Jungkook’s panicked grunt and Yoongi’s snapped “Focus here, she’ll yell if she needs us for the three steps it takes to get to her room.”

She sped to her closet, sifting through the jewelry box left abandoned on one of the shelves for the necklace Yoongi had given her, slipping it onto her neck and clasping it after a few failed tries. Her eyes stayed laser focused on the mess of jewelry–both old and new–prodding through each chain and pendant for one of the pieces she was looking for.

When her Oma–Margaret–had died, she had been sure to bestow both her and her two sisters with pieces from her own collection; pearls, brightly colored beaded necklaces, dainty rings with gemstones of all colors, and crystal earrings. One set of earrings, gold and three-tiered, glinted from the back of the box for Y/n to find with ease.

She snatched them into her fist, swiping a pearl necklace from one of the hooks for good measure. Y/n inspected the pieces, laying them over her palm and running a gentle finger over the surface of the glittering gold. She could remember the very last time she had seen her Oma wear them, the crystals reflecting orange and purples from the ballroom lights during that year’s Halloween party. Her legs had been too weak to stand by then, so she had designated herself as the one who held the candy bowl out to children as they passed by the ballroom doors on their way to their next activity. A simple witch hat sat crooked on her head that her Grandfather Johan had forced her into, some excuse of having her get into the holiday spirit tumbling out of his mouth while he snapped countless photos with a digital camera. They all had known it would be her last Halloween that year, even if no one had possessed the guts to say it, so she kept the hat on and didn't protest the hundreds of photos family would stop to take with her.

Namjoon’s baritone voice sounded from the hall, the sign she needed to hurry back over to Yoongi’s room. She tore her eyes from the earrings and met him at the door, a large plastic pitcher of grayish green tea in his hands and a stack of small plastic cups shoved into the pockets of his pants threatening to tumble out onto the floor.

With the wards up and the tea in hand, Y/n felt the first jitters of nerves buzz beneath her skin–for this might be something completely new–it could either work wonderfully, or go terribly wrong. But what was new for them? That spectrum of possibly had been their new baseline.

Nonetheless, Y/n held hope. Hope, for Namjoon was one of the smartest people she knew, and she had immense faith in his capabilities and thoroughness. Namjoon was finishing up his directions: Drink, lay down, and close her eyes; and if she felt anything off or odd, to let them know immediately so he could administer a few drops of a tincture he had made to counteract the ingredients in the brew.

“Any questions?” Namjoon asked, scanning over her face for any sign of resignation–a crease or a shift of her eyes to let him know she wanted to back out–only he didn’t find any.

Y/n shook her head, but Jungkook spoke over her movements with a question of his own.

“Can we go in with her?”

Namjoon chewed on his lip and tipped his head to the side with a shrug. “We can try–but I can’t promise it will work. I tried my best.”

“I think we should make sure it works with her first before sending all of us in. What if she falls asleep and doesn’t wake up for a couple hours? We don’t want to rush in empty handed and have us all compromised.” Yoongi drawled, already in the process of moving the candles from the center to different spots around the room to make space for where she was to lay.

“Then let’s just get to it.” Namjoon poured the first cup, and Jungkook helped clear the rest of the space. “Ready?”

The small cup of lukewarm tea was pushed into her hands, and Y/n seated herself down where the candles had once been, cradling the liquid to her chest. Her eyes closed as she imagined her trusted vines of vibrant green blooming out from within, wrapping around the tea to infuse it with her own intentions and energy. She pictured one dipping a delicate spiral through the surface, a buzz of lethargy sweeping over her mind at just one touch. Small tendrils of the vines were tasked with poking into the bowl to her left where the jewelry lay in a neat pile, a gust of her rose scented perfume pluming up from them where they were resting on top of a scrap of paper with her grandmother’s name scribbled on it.

Thoughts of Let me in quickly safely, and I wish to see Margaret Wörner please bring her to me, repeated like a mantra within her mind.

She steadied any nerves with a deep breath and stole a glance around the room to each of her friends, nodding to herself when she found each of them offering their own reassuring stare.

“Bottoms up.”

The tea slipped down her throat in one go, bitter and earthy with the after taste of something sharp that had her face scrunching in distaste–her sinuses opening with the pungent flavor. “Jesus Namjoon, what is in here? An entire spearmint plant?”

He shrugged, a small smile curving his lips. “I thought you were the mint connoisseur, you tell me.”

Y/n scrunched the plastic with a roll of her eyes, tossing it towards Yoongi’s trash can and missing. “Oops.”

She barely registered Yoongi’s judgement on her aim, for the room already started to blur at the edges and her eyes coming to a blink so slow she had to deliberately make sure she was still completing the action. Her torso teetered forward, her weight supported by her hands on her knees. She vaguely understood the words being said around her–

"Move the pillow over-"

“Lay back!”

No one would have to tell her twice, two gentle hands guiding her to lay back onto the black cloth where her head found one of Yoongi’s pillows. The distant feeling of Jungkook’s fingers slotting between hers, and Yoongi’s hovering face dissipated into nothing. There was no lapping water, and no scruff animal slinking around the darkness that enveloped her–the only two things she missed. She did not miss the burn of the rubber band that didn’t pull at the back of her eyes this time, nor the feeling of having her soul sucked from her body like a magnet.

There was nothing but the welcoming arms of sleep.

_________________________________________

This was so much better, Y/n decided, the room coming back to her in a smoky haze. She was in–and this traverse through the veil was all the more bearable.

Even though her ghostly hand held nothing, she could still feel a warm tingle upon its surface where Jungkook’s was attached to her physical body, and it gave her the push she needed to come to a seated position. Her eyes met his completely black ones, zeroing on the way his mouth moved in silent words that she assumed by Namjoon’s excited reaction that he was sharing her victorious transition.

She rose to a crouch, keeping her eyes trained on the door for any sign of movement beyond it.

“Oma?” She whispered, but no response came.

Y/n pressed her lips together and came to stand, giving Jungkook a point towards the door and a thumbs up. Though they had run through this a thousand times over the past week–that she would be looking for her grandmother, which meant she’d have to leave the room–Jungkook still looked perturbed. She could see him fighting the urge to follow after her, stuck between holding her hand and trailing after her ghostly form. Y/n pointed to her body and made an ‘eyes on me’ , hoping he understood the message to listen to it. Her head popped right through the surface of the door, peering out into the hall to check for any signs of danger.

The hallway was empty save for the same misty haze that blanketed the entirety of the realm, her head swiveling from one end of the hall to the other, looking for her grandmother. She heaved a sigh, toying the idea of searching further out into the hall and the landing when the clinking of metal and glass stole her attention back into the room.

“I gave these to you to keep, not to offer back to me.” Margaret lifted the string of pearls to dangle from her finger tips, her sleek pink skirt and blouse a stark contrast to the blues and creams of Yoongi’s room.

“How did you–the wards–” Y/n stuttered, her grandmother pocketing the pearls into her skirt as she rose to stand.

“You invited me in. That’s how this works as I’m sure you knew.” She gave Y/n a sly, knowing look that shifted into one of stone. “I thought I told you to stay out of this place.”

“I can’t Oma. I–no–we need answers, and things are only escalating for us. I’ve survived my fourth attempted murder as of just this morning, there’s no ‘staying out of it’ for me anymore when they insist on dragging me back into it by the throat.” Y/n wildly waved her hands about as she spoke, tired of having to explain herself to each and every person she came across. “I’m here because I need any answers or information you have to give me.”

Margaret hummed, and Y/n could hear the pearls click against each other from her pocket as her elegant hand tucked itself into it to roll them between her fingers while she listened.

“The answer I have to give you may not be the one you really want.” Margaret brought her other hand to pinch at the bridge of her nose, her brow creasing with a sharp exhale from her nose.

“Any answer is better than none.” Y/n threw her hands up into the air in exasperation, and let them fall to her sides with a whispered, “Please.”

Margaret dropped her own hands and gracefully stepped over towards the door to stand beside her, flashing her a rueful smile. “We are outnumbered. That is all I have to say to you.” Margaret pushed past Y/n, stopping when only her head remained in the room. “It’s over. Go back to your body.”

Her head disappeared beyond the door, adding an extra layer of finality to her words.

Y/n had fought too hard to get in here and there was no way she was backing down yet. She gave Jungkook one last panicked glance before taking off after her.

“What?” Y/n sped to her side, imitating her hunched form and creeping steps, dropping her voice to a whisper after a stern look from her Grandmother. “What does that even mean?”

“It’s exactly as I stated.” Margaret held a hand up to signal a pause, and Y/n stopped to peek over her shoulder at the small black blurs of motion that darted from the foyer and down the hall beneath them, disappearing in a fit of warbled childish giggles. She waited until certain they were gone before speaking once more. “We can’t stop them anymore. They have taken too many of us–it is only a matter of time before we are all infected. And your mother has done nothing to help us.”

“Infected with what? What is my mom doing?” Y/n hissed back, keeping her steps light as she followed Margaret to the top of the steps. “Start from the beginning–I’m missing something big here.”

“It’s not just about what she is doing, but what she isn’t.” Margaret huffed, but conceded with a low voice. “For decades, the women of this family married into the family name–doomed to watch and never lead at the face of anything. However, between the lines, we all had one very important job: keep all of this,” Margaret gestured to the house and then to herself, “under control. Because none of the men were brave enough to face reality.”

“What reality? What job?” They were halfway down the stairs now, and Y/n’s chest began to tighten with anxiety the further she went.

“The reality is that something is horribly wrong here. This legacy–do you really think it’s as sparkly, or as cut and dry as your father, and his father, and even his father before him let everyone believe?” Margaret turned to land a scathing gaze on Y/n. “That everything was perfect? That everyone loved each other and held hands around the table in prayer each morning? That you and Adelaide were the only women who tried to fight for the crown, and that they all just peacefully made way for their brothers and sons?”

Y/n didn’t know what to say, any further questions ripped from her throat.

“Since Johanna Wörner, we’ve had one job and one job only: Clean up after the mess our husbands made. Whatever that mess looked like.” Margaret continued their trek, reaching the bottom of the steps. “And that was a full time job in that of itself–the cleansings, the prayer, the mitigation of feelings and emotions to keep things from blowing out of proportion, protecting the living from the enemies they have made along the way. We had a truce with the others as she called them–a truce that Adelaide started.”

“With who, Oma?” Y/n implored, letting herself be whisked into the study by her Grandmother’s steady hands.

“Now that I don’t know the answer to–we were never allowed to ask. All I do know is that your mother broke that truce, and now we are all paying the price for it.” Margaret slid the doors closed behind them, a breath of relief tumbling from her chest once they clicked into place. “I tried to hold down the fort–I really did–up until the day I died, Y/n. But your mother had no interest in listening, and now here we are. If I didn’t know any better it's almost like she wanted this to happen: for if the devil is on one's side, then it’s easier to raise hell.”

Fury bloomed through Y/ns ribs, weaving in and out of the crevices and burning everything in its path. “She’s doing this for what? To spite me? I can’t even begin to think what she would do this for.” She paced furiously about the study, hands gripping at her sides for some sort of stability.

“Y/n, think clearly now.” She spun on her heels, her hands coming up to rest on Y/n’s cheeks in a comforting manner and halting her frantic pacing. “Your brother is far too young to inherit the hotel in time, especially not with Anselm–your father’s predicament. My guess would be that she would step up to…hold his place until Roland is of age. And I think she made new deals and broke some old with the wrong people to make that a possibility.”

Y/n couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t speak. She could feel her soul trembling with rage so hot it threatened to consume her entirely.

“Of course, this is all speculation…” Her grandmother continued forth, sliding her hands down Y/n’s shoulders to hold both of her hands. Her face and voice were defeated and tired. “All we do know is that at this time, she has won. And there is nothing we can do about it.”

“No.” Y/n seethed through her teeth, unwilling to accept that answer. “We haven’t lost because I’m still here. What is the infection? Who is ‘we’? Who are you working with?”

Cruel was an understatement–a word that didn’t fully encompass the true nature of fate itself; the whip it holds gripped in a tight fist cracking down on anyone and anyone how they see fit.

The study doors to their side slid open with an audible bang, fate cracking its whip down on the two of them, rattling the stained glass on either side of the doorway and leaving them exposed and vulnerable to the prying eyes within the foyer.

Small and frail, the mystery little girl from the hutch stood in the gap. The only change in her appearance was that her normal eye had begun to sink into its socket even further and her skin was more discolored than it had been the couple weeks prior. She looked just as startled as the two women in the study, her own actions eliciting trembles from her hands and a quiver at her lip.

“Y/n, you must get back to your room.” Margaret’s voice shook, and she used one arm to shield Y/n back from the child.

The child wept bulbous gray tears, their feet fighting with every step to cross the doorway into the room, like each step tore her apart from the inside out.

“You don’t have to come in here child–Do not hurt yourself any further.” Her grandmother breathed out, pressing Y/n further into the study with each encroaching step of the child

“I h-have to.” The girl cried, her voice a cross between human and evil, folding and lilting around her vowels with the residue of an almost forgotten accent. “I’m scared!”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Margaret continued, leading Y/n to round the edge of one of the couches to put more distance between them and the child. “You can leave this room and let us pass.”

The girl shuddered, her chest rattling with each sob, staggering forwards to follow them around the loveseat. “I can’t. If I help them they told me it would stop–that the pain would go away.” She heaved in a gasp, but still found her breath unable to quell the rising waves of her emotions, her next words coming out in a wail. “I don’t want to feel this way anymore!”

Margaret pushed Y/n around the back of the sofa once the girl was deep enough to the study to give them an advantage, rushing the two of them out of the open door and towards the stairs to take them two at a time.

“I will answer all of your questions I promise–we just need to get you out of here first.” Her grandmother urged Y/n to move faster, her eyes unable to pick one spot to look in their panic-stricken search for any additional threats.

“Who is she?” Y/n called back to her, her own feet meeting the landing and turning sharply to the right. “I’ve seen her twice now and have no idea who she is.”

“I don’t know whose child she is, she is a mystery.” Margaret grabbed Y/n’s hand and led the way back to Yoongi’s room on quick feet, “All I do know that she is fast, and calls herself Ani. The poor girl has been fighting the turn for quite some time now. She is the one who took Patti.”

A snarl echoed from the foyer, and shoes struck the floor in such rapid succession it sounded like they were dragging across it instead of lifting up with each step; fast was an understatement–she was an animal closing in on her prey.

They arrived at Yoongi’s door, and Y/n tried to tug Margaret in after her–only for an invisible force to stop her from entering. Fingers dug into her wrist and yanked with more force, though whatever she had wasn’t enough–the ward always resisted with just enough force to counter whatever strength Y/n used.

“Oma–please.” All of Y/n’s anger decapitated, replaced with raw panic as each attempt to tug her in through the door was denied. “You were just in here!”

She tossed her head back to look at Jungkook, who was silently relaying what he was seeing to the other two, her hand still tucked snuggly in his own.

“Jungkook–help us please! She needs to come in!” Y/n begged, and she saw tears start to track down her own face that was still beneath him as the child’s growling grew closer. The hopelessness pooling on Jungkook’s face was enough of an answer to know that he couldn’t hear her.

Y/n stepped back out into the hall, grabbing her grandmother’s shoulders and pushing with all of her might.

“Y/n stop!” Her grandmother shouted, “You’ll just have to leave me behind!”

“No!” Y/n set her jaw together, with determination. “I won’t do that. That’s never an option.”

The child was at the end of the hall, whipping as fast as wind and just as unforgiving. Her teeth were bared in both fear of the women in front of her and the drive to rip their throats out with their jagged edges.

“Y/n get in there now.” Margaret choked out her words, and when Y/n made no move to flee, she spun around to grab at her wrists desperately. “Get in there now! Do not make me ask you again!”

Margaret’s eyes filled with tears, shining a smile drenched in despondency that quivered at her lips and broke Y/n into pieces. A tender hand caressing Y/n’s cheek with shaking fingers crumbling her resolve. “I love you, Entlein. Do not waste your life to save those of us who are already dead. I wish you great things.”

Her world tilted, for her grandmother shoved Y/n through the doorway with one final touch of her hands.

Y/n couldn’t see what happened next, though she could hear it. A wet squelching sound coupled with the echoing screams of her Grandmother, loud enough to penetrate through the door and rattling into her bones. Sewing itself into every fiber of her being as sound she would never be able to unhear. Y/n wouldn’t–she couldn’t let her be alone.

“Open the door!” Y/n shrieked to the clueless men in the room, her finger pointing to the blockade aggressively, unsure how to make her point any clearer. “Please just open the door!”

That seemed easy enough for Jungkook to understand and relay, Namjoon kicking into motion and running through her to rip the door open for her to see what was left of her grandmother.

Her eyes were gone. Dripping black pits of tar took their place, cascading down her cheeks and onto the carpet below her. The planes of her face were tilled and torn, decaying in front of her eyes at the serrated edges. Her mouth was did the most damage to Y/n–gone was the lovely curve that danced about her memory over shared children’s books, plates of mac and cheese or dusted with flour from their baking escapades. Now set as though carved in stone, was an overly animated frown that resembled a theater mask in size and shape. Cavernous and unnatural. She was motionless, the young child now splattered with the remains of her eyes standing above her with a look of terror, her body shivering in involuntary convulsions as she looked to Y/n.

“I didn’t mean to. I can’t help it. They made me do it!” the girl blubbered through her words, wiping her soiled gray hands onto her tattered dress like it would erase what she had just done.

“Who.” Y/n whispered, unable to force her eyes away from the horrid sight in front of her–the ghost of her grandmother stirring, its movements jagged and sharp. Salt pooled in Y/n’s eyes, blinding her with rage and desolation at what she has become.

“The evil one. She is wicked. She makes me hurt. She makes us kill.”

The reality in front of her flickered in and out like a lightbulb screwed a bit too loose, thrusting her senses into periodic flashes of nothingness with the spread of a floral and saccharin taste across her tongue.

“No!” Y/n tried to spit the flavor from her mouth, her exclamation startling the girl in front of her to retreat. “Not yet!” She called after the child desperately, but she did not listen. She lunged to face her friends behind her, catching Namjoon’s nimble fingers screwing the lid of a dropper back into place as her own human face scrunched at the taste of its contents.

Y/n spent the last few moments she had observing the twitch of Margaret’s ghost with each stretch of the rotting veins that spread down her face and into her neck. The way her youthful complexion pulsed with a corruption that spun its webs deeper into her skin, eating away at the remains of the woman she loved.

The unnatural curve if her mouth moved, barely so; a haunting whisper.

“Find Bear. He is all that is left.”

The darkness won its battle for control, and she welcomed it.

Y/n knew she was awake now as the echoes of her grandmother's voice faded, and that her eyes could move if she wanted them to. She could hear Yoongi prodding at her with gentle words, feel the subtle tug of Jungkook’s hand on her own, and taste the herbal tincture Namjoon had dropped between her cracked lips. She didn’t want to hear any of that–she wanted to stay with her grandmother and to find Bear like she wished.

To sick Jungkook on that pitiful little girl that had so brutally mutilated her grandmother.

To sink the teeth of her own wrath into her mother’s existence and call her out for what she was: a Liar, a thief, and an enemy. A manipulator. Thus by proxy flinging herself violently onto her two friends that had betrayed her trust–betrayed her everything to side with something so monstrous and cruel.

She eventually did move, forcing her experience from her mouth with carefully maintained monotony onto awaiting ears. There would’ve been nothing more she would have wanted to do than give them something to celebrate, but she had nothing good to share. Just more questions and more tension.

It’s a strange, and indescribable experience to mourn the death of someone who has already died. This wasn’t grief she could go find a therapist to work through it with, or even any sort of comforting slew of nonsensical words like “She will always be watching over you,” or “She is in a better place.”

Because she wasn’t–not anymore. She was rotting for eternity with nothing but violence and misery to keep her company. There was no heaven or hell to pull her from the damnation someone else had bestowed upon her, no exit from the dark seep of her soul into otherness.

By the time night had come to weigh them all down with uncertainty of what tomorrow held–she was alone. Jungkook wasn’t laying on her floor this time to keep all of the phantom images from pervading her senses with the scent of death and images of torn flesh and hulking beasts, or the rough and inexorable hands reaching out to claw at her throat and chest. After her trip into the Paralrealm, he had been avoiding her. Whether it be from sheer exhaustion of what had happened, or if he felt some kind of shame for the way he wasn’t able to help her. Perhaps both of their minds were writhing in their own prisons of self inflicted pain that night.

She was tired, but not just the kind that thirsted for sleep.

Her feet dragged across the floor of her rug, back and forth in deep treading patterns and lines. She wanted to reach out to someone, but couldn’t bring herself to text them–she had shoved her problems on them enough.

Maybe if she would’ve just stayed away, none of this would’ve happened. Maybe her being here on the property made it worse, made it harder for them to fight it.

Y/n was standing at her bedroom door before she could gather what she was doing, the door pulled ajar and her back pressed to the doorframe. She slid to the floor, bringing her legs up to rest her chin on so she could stare undisrupted with cold unblinking eyes at the spot outside Yoongi’s door where her grandmother had been last. Willing the image into fruition and then molding it in her mind in some childish game of make pretend, picturing a million different endings to her memory.

That maybe if she had waited, and Jungkook hadn’t been so tired he could’ve grabbed her grandmother and saved her; or brought the hands of a reaper down to punish the child for their actions. That they would be still sitting in Yoongi’s room and protecting her grandmother from the others and the curse that plagued them.

In a mirror image of that morning, Taehyung ambled from the end of the hall towards their neighboring rooms; though this time his feet were much slower, and his eyes much heavier. His dark hair was sticking to his neck and forehead with dried sweat, and a glittering royal blue jacket was draped over the crook of his elbow from tonight's show. He hadn’t noticed her yet, for his head was kept low and his eyes downturned to watch each methodical step.

To Y/n’s surprise, he stopped right outside Yoongi’s door–right where her grandmother had been–and chewed at the inside of his cheek. In a sweeping motion, he brought his chocolate brown eyes to her door where they widened once he found hers staring up at him from her spot on the floor, having clearly not expected her to be there. They stayed that way, frozen in place while sizing each other up.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” He deep voice rumbled from his chest, heavy at the ends with lassitude.

Y/n picked at the threads of her shorts, keeping her puffy eyes downturned and out of sight. “Shouldn’t you?”

It was quiet again, but not the kind of quiet solitude Y/n wanted. This one was tense and uncomfortable. She felt exposed with the way his eyes raked her figure, seeing a side of her she didn’t want him to see.

Taehyung jerked the sleeve of his black button up higher on his forearm to get a read on his watch, turning to regard her with a weary frown. “Cafe opens in twenty minutes. Wanna go for that coffee?”

_________________________________________

Coffee or not, there was some kind of peaceful reverie to be found in the Edelweiss cafe that morning. Sunday mornings weren’t as busy, only one worker carrying themselves around the counters and taking inventory for the day while the sun was still down. Y/n hadn’t even bothered getting dressed–and how that must’ve looked to anyone that happened to be walking by.

A beat down woman in cotton shorts and a crewneck sweatshirt, and Taehyung Kim, still dressed in his finest from his sold out show the night prior–quiet and brooding over steaming cups of tea. Under any other circumstances, Y/n would have enjoyed picking apart the version of Taehyung that sat in front of her: reserved, fatigued, and jaded. This version of himself intrigued her more than the flirty showman he put on, for here he looked real–a conundrum of mysterious yet lax, like if she asked one question he would unravel in her hands.

“Bad day?” Taehyung rasped first, watching the steam float from his untouched tea.

“You could say that…” Y/n mumbled, disinterestedly twirling a straw in her own brew.

Taehyung tilted his head to study her response, one of his long fingers tapping the smooth table beneath it, and his mouth quirking to one side as he pondered whatever it is he found so interesting in the way she looked.

“You know…” He began, his voice deep and airy. “I’m not unfamiliar with this–” He gestured to her with a pointed look, “ –My uncle often had bad days when he lived with me and my parents. I’d end up staying up late with him to keep him company through them. I know it’s uncomfortable or embarrassing, but you can always talk to me about it.”

Y/n furrowed her brows together and cocked her head to the side. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Taehyung anxiously licked his lips, his hand coming to twist his cup from side to side. “I’m not trying to overstep, and you don’t have to tell me anything–I just can’t not check in to make sure you’re okay.”

“Tae,” Y/n let out a heavy sigh, setting the straw to the side to rip at her napkin instead. “I really can’t grasp what you’re putting down here.”

“How about this.” He raised one unimpressed brow, clearly taking her confusion as a cover up for something he thought he saw; he took a tiny sip of his tea to clear his throat, letting his voice come out smoother after the honey and chamomile coated his tongue. “I’ll tell you something about me first–anything you want to know. Then in return, you tell me something about you.”

Y/n weighed his offer, finding it interesting enough to humor. “Fine.” Y/n sucked her bottom lip in, staring across at her table mate while she racked her brain for a question.

“Favorite color.”

Taehyung snorted, and gave a baffled shake of his head. “That’s what you want to know?”

Y/n shrugged timidly, the napkin in her hands now a pile of brown confetti.

“Emerald green, cadmium red, violet.” He listed off easily, slipping right into his own question. “What’s three things that make you happy?”

“Plants.” Y/n shot back without thinking. “My friends. Music.” Y/n settled on her last answer after some thought. “What drew you to performing?”

Taehyung blew his breath through his lips in a burst, “That’s a loaded question.” He untucked his shirt from his dress pants and undid the cuffs on his shirt as he spoke. “It’s always been what I’ve been good at, and it was easy to practice from home. Being able to sing and dance made people I cared about smile, and I liked that.” He lifted his cup to chew at the end of his straw, and leaned against the back of his chair with his attention only on her. “What is something you’re looking forward to? Something you can’t wait for it to happen? Planned out already or a daydream–doesn’t matter.”

This question stumped her. She hadn’t thought about anything other than the shit she was knee deep in with the hotel and her family–every move she made and any plans had been circling around unraveling whatever ball of knotted yarn this was. She chewed on her lip while she thought of an answer.

“I’m not sure. I haven’t really been thinking very far ahead lately.” She admitted, averting her eyes back to the table at her confession.

“Nothing at all? Not even a dream vacation or some bucket list item you have?” He pushed further.

“Well I guess I’ve always wanted to go on a really long road trip–like weeks long. I want to go around the country and really see things; take my time. Because of the hotel, we never really took long vacations, we always had to be back home after a few days.” Y/n shook her head at the ridiculousness of her next statement. “All this money and they don’t really use it for what people would expect us to: I’ve never left the country because my trip was canceled once my apprenticeship was tossed in the trash, and we only went to nearby beaches maybe a handful of times. This place has always been everything, it was all we ever needed.”

Taehyung hummed pensively, taking a swig from his cup and making a ‘come here’ motion with his hand. “Hit me.”

“They said you were from California–surely there were hundreds of opportunities out west. Why come here to Pennsylvania?” A safe question, Y/n suspected.

“Family,” Taehyung stated matter-of-factly. “My mom knew Jimin’s grandmother, and so we started visiting him occasionally to check in on him, and my mom absolutely fell in love with all of the trees and just how green it was by chance. Plus, if I can be blunt for a minute?” Taehyung looked up at her from the liquid in his cup.

“Be my guest.” Y/n motioned for him to continue.

“Money. My family wasn’t very well off growing up. My grandparents had fled to the United States looking for a ‘better life’ like a lot of people did during, before and after the war. They never learned English, and struggled to really find their place here–to feel welcomed–but they were determined to make it work.

My parents ended up taking care of both of them once they physically couldn’t work anymore, and my uncle full time while I was growing up. It put a big strain on them financially though they’d never admit it. I grew up watching them give everything they had to each other, and I just wanted to do the same for them.” He shook the cup in his hand, listening to the liquid slosh from side to side. “My mom really encouraged my creative side, but even as a kid I knew that the chance of that making me any money with it was mute. That was until we had spent a few weeks here in the winter, and I just knew I had to be here.” He smirked over the rim of his cup, pausing before his next sip for his next remark. “That and I knew you guys paid well after I heard some whispers through the grapevine from one mischievous tour guide.”

“Hmm, I wonder who that could be?” Y/n exhaled from her nose in place of a laugh, taking in his answer and letting it sink slowly into her brain.

“What’s a memory that makes you smile every time you think of it?” He was ready with his next question, like he had prepared these for an interview, and she was the shaking and sputtering potential employee trying to come up with the right answers.

“You keep making me think.” Y/n held a hand up to her forehead and let out a few nervous chuckles, squeezing her eyes closed to think.

“That’s the point.” Taehyung joined in on her soft laughter.

“You sure you guys will be alright here by yourselves?” Misuk asked for the fifth time, her hand coming up to fiddle with the elegant beaded necklace she wore over a sunset orange sundress.

She was eyeing up the gaggle of children nodding their heads eagerly back up at her with apprehension and up to the lawn in front of the guest house that was dotted with four brightly colored tents. The shapes of canvas and metal had been put together with the help of their dads, with multicolored sleeping bags and pastel stuffed animals piled inside to make them more homely. Y/n’s mother cut in, the sound of the old screen room door slamming pulling Misuk’s fretting towards the house.

“I packed real food, plenty of water bottles, and stocked the kitchen up with precut fruit and cereal for the morning.” Mariah stepped anxiously down the steps from the sunroom, an empty cooler bag in hand. “Please for the love of god, try and eat something other than s’mores tonight, and be asleep before the sun is up–capiche?” She walked up to all three of her children, planting large overexaggerated kisses onto each of their heads.

“Don’t hover–they’ll be fine!” Jeonghan, Hoseok’s father wrapped an arm around Misuk’s waist and jostled her to his side. “It’s just one night, and we are right down the road. Plus Hilga will be sleeping upstairs in the house in case of emergencies.” He gripped his wife’s shoulders with an encouraging shake. “We have to let them learn to grow!”

“Will there be bears? There’s no bears here right?” Misuk could still be heard fretting all the way to the back of the house where their car had been parked, a few of the parents already piled inside.

“Stay safe, little birds!” Y/n’s father Anslem saluted them as he sauntered off to the car to join them. “Y/n–keep an eye on your sisters!”

“You’re in charge, Seokjin!” His mother, Hana pointed at him with slightly narrowed eyes. “If Hilga is asleep you watch out for them!”

The children were a giggling mess the moment the first car left the dirt driveway. Of course the first thing on their agenda was tearing through the warm summer grass with bare feet. After bubble wands had been waved and tossed aside; three tumultuous rounds of freeze tag; badminton rackets and wiffle balls trampled on and discarded; and one round of duck duck goose to appease Matilda; there was a lull in their activities that the earth found a way to fill with its own wonders.

Under the sky’s coat of twilight, they cantered through the rolling hills and weeds to chase after the pulsing lights of lightning bugs as they began their drooping and lethargic bounce over the scene to say their greetings to the ones twinkling like string lights in the trees.

Without fail, what started as innocent play turned into a competition: the first metaphorical stone tossed by Y/n declaring she could catch the most at one time, and the rest ferociously lining up for the challenge.

“Here.” Jungkook would softly whisper to her as he passed one here and there to her palms against her will, looking across to her with blank eyes that blotted with softness at the edges.

Hoseok struggled the most–torn between winning and freaking out each time the insect’s tiny legs moved along the ridges of his hands. “I hate it!” He would shout, shaking them off in a frenzy before furrowing his brows in determination to try and pick up a few more.

He ended up running alongside Y/n, who would scoop up the ones he threw each time, her hands overflowing with the movement of effervescent lime, black and orange. Y/n only faltered once she heard the first sniffle from Matilda, her sudden absence from their side jarring her to a stop. Y/n found Matilda a few paces back, her face downturned to her empty hands where one bug had just lazily lifted off of their surface to soar out of reach.

“What’s wrong Gänse?” Y/n scampered back to her side, out of breath with both hands clamped closed around her treasure.

Matilda’s lower lip jutted out, her chin wrinkled with dejection as she watched its departure. “I can’t catch any.”

Y/n frowned, surveying the rest of the kids' strategies. Yoongi was seated in one spot, his hands coming up to cup around the bugs that floated idly by with calm control; Hoseok was lingering besides them, his body taut with discomfort from the three bugs he had successfully carried for longer than two minutes; Jin was leading Jimin on a blazing trail through the grasses to unsettle all of the bugs that had landed at their feet into clouds of light for them to swipe into; Namjoon was sitting around the unlit campfire as the volunteer to keep Amelia company, who vehemently despised lightning bugs but was also too anxious to be by herself.

Y/n leaned back into her sister’s face that had started to bulge with how hard she was keeping in her tears. “How about I show you some tips? We just have to find how you catch them best.” Y/n wiggled her brows and giggled.

“Okay!” Matilda immediately lit up with childlike eagerness, her hands flapping in excitement,

“Tip number one,” Y/n gestured to Hoseok with her elbow. “Hobi always drops them, so stick by him.”

“Hey! I’m not going to this time!” Hoseok defended, though the way he bristled as one buzzed against his cupped palm said otherwise.

Y/n ignored his complaints, her steps picking up speed towards Yoongi. “Tip number two, if you’re not fast, try doing what he does.” They approached his seated form with slow steps so as to not disturb his methods. “See?”

“I can be fast if I want to be.” Yoongi scrunched his face, keeping his voice low. “I just don’t want to be.”

“Not as fast as me!’ Hoseok stuck his tongue down at him in a taunt. “I’m the running champion!”

Yoongi glared up at him, his face pinching together in irritation then releasing with a wide grin of realization. “You have one on your face!”

Hoseok screeched out in terror, his hands splaying open to release the few bugs he had trapped to swat at his face while Yoongi bellowed with laughter, his face lit up from below by the glow of his palms.

“Get them Gänse!” Y/n shouted through her laughter. Matilda only added to Hoseok’s panic, her smaller hands jumping to grab at his hands and face to sweep them into her palms while he hopped about to free himself of their tiny feet and fluttering wings before taking off to streak across the grass in his escape.

Unfortunately for her, Hoseok's flailing sent them all scattering out of reach, and another pout made its home on her mouth.

“I’ll never catch any.” The tears sprung back into her eyes and she crossed her tiny arms over her chest, kind of assumed absolute only a child was capable of.

“Here,” Yoongi sighed, sensing the oncoming meltdown and tapped the ground next to him with his bent knee, “I’ll show you how I do it.”

The girls sat on either side of the boy, and he demonstrated his sure fire way of scooping them up into a small hole he made with his fingers like the mouth of a whale–making Matilda giggle when he made low exaggerated gulps with each bug he caught. It took a few tries, but after a few minutes Matilda finally made her first successful catch.

“I did it!” She leapt into the air with a shout of victory, sending some of Yoongi’s next victims in all directions and tossing her clasped hands around his neck in gratitude. “Thank you Yoongs!”

“You did congrats. Now scram before you make me lose all of mine!” He tried to shove her off, though he couldn’t hide the way the corners of his mouth lifted with pride.

The two girls ran off to find Hoseok where he had joined in on Jin and Jimin’s stampeding, his ‘champion run’ stirring up the most bugs; his lithe form darting in wide circles with his arms spread out while Jimin and Jin ran about within its borders to catch as many as they could.

“Can we join?” Matilda tapped at Jin’s shorts with her fist, looking up at him with big pleading eyes.

Jin smiled, warm and inviting, and without hesitation. “Sure!”

Jungkook had joined in from where he had disappeared into the treeline to grab the stragglers, and five of them leapt about the grass while Hoseok took pride in his job of disturbing them with his lightning speed, Matilda doing her best to keep up with the older children.

Y/n took off to help Jimin, who had taken a bit of a fall after he jumped to catch one that was too high, leaving Matilda under Jungkook’s supervision, his quiet voice droning to her: “You want some of mine? I have a lot…”

“You okay Jimin?” Y/n asked him, but he was already rising to his knees.

“Yeah I’m fine.” Jimin blushed crimson, avoiding her eyes with a shy tug at his shirt. “I just tripped, that’s all.”

Y/n gasped, her eyes widening at his now empty hands. “You lost your bugs!”

“Oh.” Jimin frowned down at the place they used to be, then smoothed it out with a melancholy smile. “It’s alright. I probably wouldn’t win anyways.”

Y/n pressed her lips together, tightly with a shake of her head. “You can take some of mine.”

“You don’t have to–”

Y/n had already opened her palms to the wriggling mess of insects within, rushing Jimin to scoop some into his own. “ Nobody left behind here with us, remember?”

Jimin grinned softly down at his now glowing fists. “Yeah, right.”

“Did you just give him some?!” Jin sputtered out from behind her. “That’s cheating!”

“You can have one of mine then!” Matilda chirped, coming up to his side. “Jungkook gave me hundreds of them!” She grinned up at him, the small handful of bugs she held nowhere near such an enormous number, but to her she felt just as rich.

“O-okay…” Jin flushed as Matilda passed him two of her own, unable to turn down such a kind and innocent face.

In the end, everyone ended up passing each other bugs in some wild contrast between caring for one another but still wanting to win. Though it came as no surprise when Jungkook still reigned as the final champion, somehow his reserved yet resolute manner had his hands overflowing–even after giving up so many of them to Matilda, Y/n and Jimin.

The conclusion of their competition was celebrated by her aunt Hilga carrying out a bucket of roasting spits, a jumbo bag of marshmallows and a bulk pack of chocolate bars. She stayed only to help them light the fire pit, before giving them one final warning to be careful and disappearing into the screened-in sunroom with her feet up on the table and a glass of sweet tea.

Within thirty minutes, the bag was ripped open with over half of the confections devoured, all nine of the children sprawled on chairs and log benches with sticky faces and fingers coated with melted sugar. The worst of it being on Matilda’s, and Jin had designated himself to grab a wet paper towel to rub at the smears of chocolate and marshmallow on her cheeks and between her fingers with a parental nature while Jungkook over saw holding her braids out of the way for the cloth.

“You got some too, Ducky!” Hoseok chortled from the side Jungkook wasn’t on, using a separate napkin to swipe at her cheeks.

Y/n smacked his hands away, grabbing the towel from his hands. “I got it–you’re going to take my face off!” Hoseok just laughed, pressing his knee against hers in his usual manner–he was known for his lack of spatial awareness, his knees and elbows taking up more room than he needed.

Jimin was still fidgeting across the flames, the only people he was the most comfortable enough to sit between being Jungkook and Jin for the time being. Though he looked like he wanted to join in on the closeness and banter (though unbeknownst to him he would, in almost no time at all), but for now he was content just watching, offering sweet smiles and laughter when expected of him.

The night dwindled to a close, Yoongi extinguished the fire and they all lent a hand in dragging their tents into a tight circle, the doors left open for them to chatter idly with one another as they all trickled off to sleep to the sound of fluttering bats, singing crickets and distant hoots of owls.

Y/n's tent consisted of her and her three sisters, Amelia having already nodded off in the back with an arm around a snoring Matilda, facing away to block her eyes from the lanturn they had turned on in the middle of their huddle. Next to them was Jin and Jimin, the younger one of the two passed out with his head out of the tent. Having said that, Jin wasn’t faring any better–his head jolting forward into the clutches of sleep while he fought to keep watch over the stragglers.

Hoseok and Namjoon were next, the latter tucked into a plant encyclopedia and the former half out of his tent propped on his elbows, mirroring the way Y/n was (and Jimin had been) so they could keep whispering nonsensical tales and spooky stories to each other across the gaps. Yoongi was in his and Jungkook’s shared tent with the door half closed, while Jungkook kept his head propped on his elbow, his dark eyes zeroing in to silently listen to whoever spoke next, never offering up any conversation of his own but simply enjoying being included. However his own head had dropped minutes before, soft snores escaping his mouth against the skin of his arms.

Hoseok had gone silent and Y/n assumed he had fallen asleep, finding herself listening to the soft puffs of all of her friends breathing that surrounded her.

“Hobi?” She whispered, her thoughts already resigning herself to being the last one standing besides the evidently struggling Jin.

“Hmm?” Hoseok slurred, turning his head to gaze over her with red rimmed eyes from sleep, his head still laying flat against the entrance of his tent.

“Are you awake?”

She heard shuffling of cloth against canvas, and saw him pick his head up to look at her with hair that stuck up in all directions. “Yea.”

Y/n giggled, he had clearly fallen asleep. “Do you think we will be friends forever?”

“Of course I do.” Hoseok gave her the best serious face he could muster. “You can't get rid of me that easily. You’re stuck with me.”

Y/n smiled, letting her head fall onto her folded arms as they looked across from each other, Hoseok letting his head fall back against his arms to mime her position. Their faces cast with a dim yellow glow from the lanturn and the moths that spotted its surface to throw shadows over the children. “Good. Because I want to do this forever and ever.”

“Me too.” Hoseok sighed out, succumbing to the slumber he fought so hard to stay out of.

Y/n drifted in and out of consciousness, only remembering the looming shape of Jin as he went around to lift her head into her tent and secure the door closed, repeating the motion with Hoseok and Jungkook before turning out the lantern and sliding into his own tent. The last thing she heard was the zip of their tent door, and Y/n let herself finally drift off to sleep.

“That sounds like it was a good time.” Taehyung remarked, his eyes amiable and easy-going.

Y/n gave a tight lipped smile, her throat suddenly feeling tight with the visions of the past. “It was.”

That was one of the memories she had replayed over a thousand times during her time away at school, like an aged VHS tape that had gone frayed with how many times she had rewound it just to watch it again. She had thought that she had worked through all of the feelings it brought on in crushing waves of grief–and she had–until a new layer was added from the night prior. The image of Hoseok’s sleep-muddled face as he whispered words of commitment to her left a sour taste in her mouth.

“Crazy to think that Jimin used to be shy.” Taehyung chuckled, sensing a shift in mood and trying to redirect her thoughts back to something pleasant.

That managed to pull a snort from Y/n, and she brought her own lukewarm tea to her mouth for a tiny sip. “It only took him a few months after that for him to really find his place with us. Then he became just as shameless and clingy as he is now. Goodluck trying to find that old Jimin now–if you want to see him you’ll have to find some witch to put a spell on him or something–find a private investigator. That man is gone.”

Taehyung let out a full bellied laugh, the sound cutting through his exhaustion and lighting up the room. “Oh completely gone.”

Y/n cracked a small smile, trying to come up with her next question for the man in front of her, finding herself lost in his alluring aura and the true unfiltered image of him she was seeing at an ungodly time of night (or day depending on your perspective of things).

“Out of questions already?” Taehyung recentered himself, letting out a fake sigh of disappointment.

“Am not,” Y/n rebuked, taking a risk with her next question, “In fact I just thought of one now.” Y/n leant across the table, sliding her cup closer to his. “What makes you a skeptic? Religion? Upbringing?”

Taehyung cleared his throat and squeezed his lips together, and it became apparent to Y/n that the question was much riskier than she had expected–his face taking on a shade of discomfort she had never seen from him before.

Y/n felt shame fester beneath the surface of her subconscious, the extended silence between them growing stifling. “Sorry if that’s a sensitive topic. You don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable–I can think of a different one.”

“It’s fine.” Taehyung gnawed at his bottom lip, drawing in a heavy breath. “Do you want my real answer or do you want an easy answer?”

“Real.” Y/n breathed out before she had even realized she had opened her mouth.

He nodded, and leaned his weight onto his elbows at the edge of the table. “I could give you an answer about science or data or whatever–but it’d be a lie. And I don’t feel like lying today.”

Y/n swallowed, looking up at him with unwavering curiosity–one of her fatal flaws.

“My uncle–as I’ve previously mentioned–lived with us full time when I was growing up. I’m really close to him, and he became like a second father to me. I think about him a lot when I’m practicing or playing music.” Taehyung recalled, his eyes taking on a more distant appearance as if watching his own memories fly by. “I used to perform for him all of the time because it helped calm him down. Every show—every recital I had–he was there, front and center.”

“He really struggled.” Taehyung shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. “Mentally I mean.” He clarified, his eyes scanning Y/n’s face for any signs of how she was responding, but she gave none–just patiently waiting for him to share whatever he wished to.

“We could never afford to get him an official diagnosis when I was younger, but we knew something was troubling him. He’d talk about being watched and his moods would flip dramatically–he was completely unpredictable. One moment he’d be how I knew him best: caring, supportive, great at telling jokes, and a kickass chef. The next he would go into these,” Taehyung brought his hand up to wind in aimless circles, “episodes. He would become irrational and talk of seeing people watching him from behind doors and curtains, that there were people coming to get him, or accuse my dad of stealing something of his or lying. Things he genuinely believed were true. Things that genuinely distressed him.

“It was scary sometimes. Not him–he never scared me really–but the situations he could put himself in were scary. On multiple occasions he would disappear overnight, and we wouldn’t be able to find him until morning once we were able to get some neighbors involved. We couldn’t call the police whenever it happened because we didn’t know what state he would be in at any given time, and we didn’t want them to think he was a threat when he was actually just probably scared and upset.

“After the first instance we had to install cameras around the house and trackers into his phone, and we did our best to learn what helped him manage and cope with these episodes without medical intervention. Pretty much all of my paychecks from the first six months I worked here went to getting him into a psychiatrist, and putting him on medication after he checked all of the boxes for Schizophrenia–and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. I get to see him be more at peace with himself now. And while he still has good and bad days, it’s much easier on him and that’s all I could’ve ever asked for.” Taehyung licked his lips and brought his eyes down to avert her gaze.

“Wow. Tae that's…” Y/n breathed, unsure of what to say.

“A lot, I know. Not as simple as being a man of science.” He let out a dry chuckle “But let me circle back to the original question, because all of that was relevant–I swear I’m not just dumping on you for no reason.” He shifted in his seat, his demeanor becoming more confident.

“I’m a skeptic because I think the human mind is vast, and complicated. I think it can be dangerous to feed too much into the idea that there are mystical things we can’t see or explain, especially seeing first hand how many people tried to ‘pray’ for my uncle or suggest that what he was going through was good because he was talking to angels or some other bullshit.” His head cocked to the side quickly in a short burst of irritation. “I know they mean well, but if that was the only people he had been surrounded by, he would’ve never gotten the care he needed and would still be struggling. I personally prefer to keep my feet grounded in reality as much as I can.”

“I’m sorry I asked–I should’ve just let it be.” Y/n deflated, feeling like she had forced him to be too vulnerable too quickly.

“Don’t be sorry, I’m proud to talk about him.” Taehyung fixed her with an honest look. “He is one of the best people I know.”

Y/n looked at him, taking in the way his eyes flashed with love and passion at the mere mention of his uncle and felt warmth bloom in her chest with admiration. “What was your favorite thing that he cooked?” Y/n inquired.

Taehyung looked at her blankly, before his face lit up with understanding and mirth. “He made a mean braised short rib when we could afford to buy it.”

“Sounds delicious.” Y/n smiled at him over the lip of her cup. “What else?”

She spent a good half hour getting lost in the way Taehyung described all of the wonderful foods his uncle (who Y/n learned was named Yeongjae) used to cook for him. Y/n could almost taste each dish with how well Taehyung depicted the texture and flavor, and felt as though she was sitting at the table with them as he retold his favorite memories that surrounded each dish.

After a while, a few guests that were begrudgingly awake had wandered in and out of the cafe to leave with tired eyes and hands full of food and drinks to take up the elevator to their families–though it felt like they were on a different plane entirely. The two of them were lost in a world of scratched wooden tables, ugly overhead lamps from the seventies and a story about when his uncle had made too many dumplings–her hands aching in phantom pains from the laborious efforts Taehyung had gone through to help him fill and fold them all.

She enjoyed the small bubble her and Taehyung had created. It felt safe.

Safe from the horrors that everyone else was wrapped up in, like he was a breath of normalcy that helped her forget that there would be things she needed to face when she returned to her room. And she relished in it, going as far as to slide her hand across the table and let their fingers engage in a delicate dance of just barely ghosting each other as they fiddled with their cups. It felt normal, and she liked it.

“I guess it’s my turn to ask you another question.” Taehyung crushed his empty cup in his hand and played with the crumpled ball.

“Oh shit–yeah I guess so.” Y/n laughed lightly. “Go right ahead.”

“Are you feeling a bit better now?”

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat, her eyes locked with Taehyung’s prodding yet beautiful ones, a knowing look dancing within their brown confines. She swallowed, a new type of warmth spreading throughout her chest and into her cheeks. He had done this for her.

“Yes. I am.” Y/n nodded, enjoying the boxy grin that spread across his face in response.

“Good.” He let the hand resting on the table start to play with her fingers. “If you ever have any other bad days, I’m just across the hall. Whenever you need me.”

_________________________________________

Y/n had spent almost her entire Sunday in and out of sleep (save for the ten minutes she took to watch the live stream sent to her email of Jimin walking across a stage in his cap and gown). Thoughts of finding Bear, her grandmother, and her friends leaving her unable to get any restful sleep.

There was still no word from either Hoseok or Jin–and a small voice at the back of her head even wondered if they knew she was still alive. That voice was one she had to squash each time it tried to weasel its way into the forefront of her mind, because it was something she couldn’t even begin to humor.

To make matters worse, whenever she had seen Jungkook that day, he looked like he was split down the middle–constantly oscillating between looking at her expectantly, brows knit and eyes piercing; or like he couldn’t bear to look at her at all. Y/n had to tell herself that it had everything to do with how he was handling his own processing of his jump in power, or else she was worried about what any other reality might possibly do to her mental state at that moment.

At long last, Yoongi called her into his room with a simple text message. Though it struck her as odd that it was a private text and not to their group chat–she still obliged–grateful to have any excuse to escape the confines of her room without having to cope with Jungkook’s confusing stares.

[Zoltar]: Hop on over when you have a minute. No rush if you’re sleeping.

The sun had gone down by now, and she readied herself for another session by already having Yoongi’s necklace clasped around her neck, and one of her own pillows tucked under her arm. She couldn’t look down at the carpet as she quickly rounded the corner to find his door already cracked open for her to walk right in–the courtesy of knocking forfeited.

“Yoongi?” Y/n poked her head in, itching to get out of the hallway and into his room and closing the door gently behind her.

He was seated at his desk, a pair of headphones shoved over his ears and his pencil working to shade a section of his paper. Y/n wasn’t sure if he could hear her, or if he had even expected her to come over so quickly–he had probably assumed she was still sleeping anyways.

“Yoongs?” She tried again, her hand coming out to tap his shoulder.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” He leapt almost a foot off of his chair, ripping his headphones from his head and looking up at her with wide eyes.

“You’re the one that invited me here!” Y/n couldn’t help but snicker at his reaction, earning a very flat glare from him. “I called for you but you didn’t answer.”

“Yeah and I thought you were asleep!” He clutched at his chest to calm his racing heartbeat, scrambling to pause the music that pulsed through his dropped headset. His eyes caught the pillow in her hand, and he paused, flicking them up to her quizzically. “What’s that for?”

“For when I drink the tea again.” Y/n stated as if it were obvious. “Isn’t that what I’m here for?”

“Not exactly.” Yoongi sighed, dropping his pencil into the cylindrical holder at the corner of his desk and turning his chair to face her. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Jeez, don't sound so grave.” Y/n grunted from the back of her throat, but the look on his face told her he wasn’t in a joking mood.

“It’s about the psychic stuff.” He started slowly, taking his time to ease the words from his mouth and gauging her reaction with each one.

No, she thought to herself, don’t you dare. She settled for a quick “What about it?” instead, feeling it was more appropriate. For now.

He quickly brought his hands up in surrender. “Before you bite my head off, I’m not telling you to quit. So get that out of your head because I can see it swimming there.”

Y/n released a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, and lowered herself onto his bed, drawing out the end of her words to raise into a question. “Okay…?”

“It’s about the next steps. About who we see next.” He swallowed thickly, and started to pick at the skin of his arms as he folded them over one another.

“Bear, obviously.” Y/n stated, unsure of where he was going.

“Yes–I know Bear.” Yoongi nodded a bit too quickly, wetting his lips twice in succession. “But I think there’s someone else we need to see first. That I need to see first.”

Y/n tried to wrack her brain for who else could be as important at the moment, but couldn’t come up with a reasonable answer. “Who? Matilda?”

“Well yes but not yet.” Yoongi looked everywhere but her, his foot tapping aggressively at the floor.

“Yoongi I swear to god, just spit it out.” Y/n begged, her hands squeezing the pillow in her hands. “You’re being weird and it's freaking me out.”

Yoongi finally looked at her, his eyes spearing through her to get a read on how she was feeling–a look she was beginning to recognize on his face. “I want to see my grandfather. I need to see him. There was something really important that he had tried to tell me before he died but I didn’t listen–and I think it’s relevant now.”

Y/n scrunched her face up, blinking in bewilderment. “Why were you scared to tell me that? I wouldn’t be mad or anything.”

Yoongi heaved a sigh, dispersing some of his anxieties into the air between them, his mutterings so low she almost couldn't hear it. “It’s not you I’m worried about…”

“Who are you worried about?” Y/n tilted her head, giving him a once over.

“The kid–Jungkook.”

Y/n wanted to laugh–she really did–the idea of Yoongi being scared of Jungkook was too funny of a tease to pass up. But any sounds that had started to bubble up from her lips were silenced by the way his legs shook with agitation, and his eyes turned icy, shutting her up immediately.

“Why would you be scared of him?” Y/n breathed out, now at a loss.

“Because I fucked up.” Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, leaving it more wild than before. “I fucked up with him a couple years ago after you had left.”

“I can’t imagine it could’ve been that bad…” Y/n tried to ease into the conversation, but even she couldn’t quell the spirit of inquiry that livened within herself. She knew something must have happened between the two of them for Jungkook to be so volatile when she had first returned–she had just assumed it was her mom’s wedge that she had put between them and never thought to ask any further.

“Well you weren’t there.” Yoongi whispered.

“Then explain it to me.” She instinctively brought one of her hands out to lay over one of his own, feeling the way his skin flexed over his knuckles when they tried to pick at his skin with more fervor. “I think my turn to be your therapist is long overdue anyways.”

“After you left–like I said before I knew something was wrong. Your mom wasn’t breaking, and I was only just diving into the occult. I needed help to get answers and I knew where I wanted to go for it first.”

“Jungkook.” Y/n affirmed, letting her fingers curl around his palm to stop their nervous onslaught.

“Yeah. I asked him to help me find G-min–to go into the spirit realm and find him so I could ask him questions. Ask him about all of his nonsensical ramblings and the messed up ink drawings he would lose himself in every day. And selfishly, I wanted to just see him one more time like Jungkook got to.” Yoongi stared daggers into his desk like it was the most despicable thing in existence. “He trusted me. Maybe even a bit too much.

I was so blinded with rage at your parents, and residual grief that I pushed Jungkook harder even when he asked me if we could stop. And he listened. Followed me blindly because that’s just who he is–and I abused his trust. Pushed him too far for my own gain and wish to prove your mom wrong and catch her in her lies.”

“What happened to him?” Y/n whispered, now twining her fingers one by one in between his own.

“I was an amateur with this stuff and in over my head with it all. I didn’t use the right combination or the right wards for what I was doing, and was only able to get myself just to the precipice of the other side when he collapsed into a heap. His eyes were stuck black and open, and he couldn’t see anything but ghosts. I couldn’t get him out and it scared the shit out of him–rightfully so.” Yoongi’s voice grew muddy and wet. “And then I had the audacity to ask him again. Then we fought and called each other some nasty shit. I had to switch rooms with Hoseok because we just couldn’t bear to see each other for a while. Only added fuel to the fire of pointed fingers and rumors your mom threw at me, and everyone just started assuming I was some devil worshipper or necromancer and that I’m the one causing all the crazy shit.”

Y/n let out a shaky breath, letting him have a few moments after his confession to settle his mind. “Did anyone still talk to you after?”

Yoongi barked a humorless laugh. “That’s funny. What do you think? You’ve seen how everyone acts around me. Namjoon was kind enough to actually listen after a year or so, though I could tell until you got here that he was doubtful of my true intentions. I think he listened more so for his own benefit, so we could join heads when it came to protection and stuff.”

“If no one else believes there’s something to be worried about, why would they care? ” Y/n gripped his hand tighter within his own, hoping to convey the sympathy she felt for him in her bone crushing hold.

“Because knowing something is happening and believing something is happening are two very different things. Knowing is passive. You can move on with your day when you just know something, pretend that merely dismissing it into the back crevices of your mind with the rest of the trivial facts you know means it’s not a problem. Whereas believing means you can’t deny it, you can’t avoid it. You don’t sit by and look away when things get sticky, you stand up and you push back–because you believe it’s the right thing to do. But because I was the only one, I was the odd one out. I was the enemy they chose to focus on.” Yoongi radiated waves of indignation, the heat smothering Y/n with their fury with each word he seethed through his teeth. “It’s a lot easier to just blame me than to stand up and face the reality that they are enabling. They would rather rot in a place of comfort than fight through something that could make them uncomfortable.”

Y/n didn’t know what to say. There was nothing she could say to undo the mess that had been made, or the lines that had been crossed. Y/n just let herself say what she thought, and hoped that something from it would stick.

“I for one, believe you. I believe that you are good.” Y/n used her other hand to trace comforting shapes on the back of Yoongi’s. “I wish I never would have walked out, I would’ve been able to help you from the start of all of this so you weren’t alone in all of this.”

“You came back. That’s what matters. ” Yoongi let out a puff of air, doing what he could to limit any anger from seeping into his words. “I had started doing this all mostly for you anyways, so I can’t be angry with how you handled it. And unfortunately if I hold grudges and keep everyone out, I’d have no one left.” A small melancholy smile curved the edges of his mouth, his last phrase coming out in an attempted joke. “It’s better to have them on my side now even if that means swallowing my pride sometimes.”

Y/n wanted to join in on the jest, never turning down an opportunity to tease Namjoon—but she couldn’t move past something he had slipped in in the middle of his response that had something unfamiliar, something new curling under her skin and flowing through her blood stream. Something suffocating and freeing at the same time.

“You did all that for me?”

Yoongi’s head shot up to meet her gaze, his eyes unwavering and his ears twinged pink. “Of course I did. What they did was unfair to you, and if we all just stand by and let it happen to one person it's only a matter of time before they get comfortable enough to do it to us. No one left behind and all that bullshit.”

Y/n felt tears well in her eyes, and for the first time in the past few days they weren’t because of something tumultuous–it was because she felt utterly amazed, loved, and supported. She felt seen.

“I don’t care what nonsense they say about you. You are amazing, Yoongi Min.” She launched herself forwards, holding him close for the second time that weekend–probably the most they’ve hugged in almost a decade. “I’ll talk to Jungkook for you. He could never hate you–not forever anyways. We will figure out how to get you to G-min.”

He didn’t fight it this time or falter, he let himself melt into her hold and grip her around her middle with just as much enthusiasm as she held him. She wondered when the last time someone had held him like this would’ve been–probably the Christmas she had left, or whenever his parents had been in the country. They really did have more in common than it had seemed, she noted, letting the small shudders of his shoulders and the single tiny sniffle that slipped out of his mouth just loud enough for her to hear go without comment. Rather focusing on carding one of her hands through his dark hair, and holding onto him tightly with the reminder that she did care–that she would still love him even if no one else would.

_________________________________________

[Morning Glory 🌼]: <image>

[Morning Glory 🌼]: I forgot to send this on Saturday. Look at this message that popped up in my family tree portal. Suspicious?

[Jungkook ⚫⚫ 🔪]: Jimin?

[Joon 🌱] : Are you sure you didn’t write that and forget?

[Morning Glory 🌼]: Of course not Joon 🙄 I would know if I wrote something like that.

[Morning Glory 🌼]: That’s what I’m thinking, Kook.

[Joon 🌱]: 🤷Sometimes you forget things.

[Morning Glory 🌼]: Not anything like that, dingus 😑 Why would I apologize to myself for snooping????

[Joon 🌱]: I’ve heard you have full conversations with yourself at the greenhouse, how am I supposed to know?

[Morning Glory 🌼]: Ugh. Yoongi, anything insightful to offer?

It had been almost two hours since she had sent the last message, and she couldn’t help but check her phone every second she could in between taking care of the gardens and greenhouse plants. Although still tormented by waves of headaches that now just become a part of her everyday, she couldn’t just say she might have worsened her concussion without raising any eyebrows. Thus she found herself tasked with easy jobs like watering and pest checks, or organizing the collected plants for the upcoming Spring pop up event the coming weekend into tall vases as they came in.

It wasn’t like Yoongi not to respond. Maybe he was actually caught up in work for once? Y/n chortled at the thought the moment it rounded the corners of her brain, knowing that while he was a hard worker, he didn’t love his job enough to get lost in it for longer than thirty minute increments.

A light tapping on the glass of the green house door pulled Y/n from the hunched shape she had taken to trim off any of the suckers that had sprouted from their tomato plants. She shucked off her gloves and tossed them onto the wooden table in the entrance room, unlatching the door to face who she suspected to be one of the high school kids here to help pick flowers dropping off another load.

A small slip of paper was thrust into her face, fluttering down for Y/n to scramble to catch as it flipped in somersaults. No one stood at the door (no one she could see at least), but a faint whiff of gunpowder and dirt drifted from the paper, leaving her with only one guess at who the messenger could possibly be.

“Tree man?” Y/n beckoned, craning her neck out of the door.

The grass rustled a few feet to her left where two boot prints indented into it, stilling at her call.

“Thank you for the other day.” Y/n grimaced at how awkward she sounded and how crazy she must’ve looked talking to nothing, but didn’t let the feeling get to her too much. “I appreciate it.”

There was no verbal response, but the boot prints lingered for a few seconds longer before taking off in a sprint towards the woods. She took that as a sign of acknowledgement, and shut the door hastily to keep from bringing in attention from anyone else.

She thumbed the small rectangular slip in her fingers, flicking it open with her thumbnail and reading the neat scrawl on its surface.

“Can we talk? Historical society, 2pm. Please bring more of the stuff Namjoon had given me if you can.”

~Jimin

Y/n kept the note tucked in her apron the rest of the morning unless she was taking it out to show Namjoon, the pads of her fingers constantly running over the flimsy edges and the divots made from the pen. She restrained herself from texting him, for if that had been a safe option that would’ve probably been his first choice.

2pm couldn't have come at any slower of a pace. Jungkook came by that afternoon to escort her to the building, still giving her the same whirlwind of stares and brooding lip bites as the day prior–she was going to lose her mind if he didn’t just spit out whatever was bothering him and soon.

One thing at a time, she told herself as the front door to the historical building came into view, steeling herself to be ready for whatever was to come.

“I’ll call you when I’m ready to leave. I’ll try to make sure it’s still within your lunch break, so I wont dilly dally.” She adjusted the plastic bag of dried herbs Namjoon had gathered for her on her arm, turning to give Jungkook one last look, one last chance to pull himself out of whatever funk he found himself in.

He cast his gaze up into the trees, floating his eyes to follow the bees and dragonflies that zoomed overhead. “Okay.”

Y/n exhaled sharply from her nose, but didn’t push it. If something was bothering him, he would only run further if pushed, and she would just have to wait until he was ready to confront it in his own time. She didn’t even make it to the awning, her boots barely scuffing the surface of the cool stone in front of the door when it was thrown open and she was yanked through it with a yelp.

“Jimin! Are you–”

He whirled on her, a finger pressed to his lips and his eyes imploring her to listen. Y/n swept her gaze over his face–rested, yet intense–his dirty blonde hair swept up from his forehead with how many times he had run his hands through it. He lowered his hand and used it to push open the second door once he was sure she understood his request for silence.

Jimin steered them forwards through the entrance room and weaved them through the main exhibition dome–the art that lined the walls of the lengthy hall that led to his office passing by in blurs of color and lines. He had yet to speak a single word when they stumbled into his office, though he turned to face her again the moment the door was closed with an outstretched hand, his fingers making a childish ‘gimme’ motion towards the bag.

Y/n thrust it into his arms and watched as he tore through its contents, frantically grabbing handfuls and stuffing fistfuls of dried lavender, rosemary, basil and garden sage into a stone bowl waiting at the center of his table.

He rounded the table with purpose, swiping a pack of matches from the opposite end and fishing one out with quick-moving fingers. Striking it across the lip of the box, he dropped it into the pile of foliage until their edges started to singe with orange embers and weep wisps of smoke. He snuffed the end, lifting the bowl into his hands and wafting the smoke around the room until the scent enveloped them in its earthy and fragrant aroma.

He set the bowl down back at the center of the table, letting it burn away unbothered. Y/n took it as her moment to speak up.

“Can we tal–”

Jimin held up one hand, his eyes blown out wide and frantically mouthing a ‘Wait!’ He jutted his head in all directions, patting down his pockets in search of something that he appeared to have misplaced.

With newfound enthusiasm, he skipped over to one of his lounge chairs, snatching up something from the crack between the cushions and shaking about with vigor.

After a few seconds of ear splitting jangling, Y/n was able to see that it was a golf ball sized round bell that he was shaking as though his life depended on it in each corner of the room. He discarded it into his pocket, and flicked on his record player to drown out the way his dress shoes clacked against the floor all the way to his desk. One of his drawers opened with a groan of aged wood against metal, and he clenched his teeth together with the effort it took to remain silent while he fumbled a small stick of frankincense into a ceramic holder, lighting it the same way he had done to the bowl of leaves.

The scent recognition was immediate–the familiar smell that had been wafting about his office that she hadn’t been able to place during her last visit was the incense he was burning–the same incense Yoongi had given her to burn in her room as needed.

Jimin stood taut, hovering over the burning twig with visible impatience. He was practically shaking–his brow irked and quivering, and his hands gripping at the edge of his desk with white knuckles. Only when the smoke curled up into relaxed whisps did he glide across the floors to engulf her in his arms, pressing his face into her shoulder and knocking the air from her lungs.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t say goodbye–I wanted to. They came to get me way earlier than expected and I knew it’d be too risky.” Jimin finally broke the dam, rocking them back and forth in a small circle.

“It’s okay! I figured as much.” Y/n struggled to pull herself away enough to gesture to the herbs with her chin. “What’s all this? Jimin please tell me you can tell me something.”

His amber eyes turned resolute, and he nodded eagerly. “I can. But I only have until they burn out to talk. Once they are snuffed, we have to go back to normal discussion or silence.”

“Then you better start talking Jimin Park or god so help me–”

“I can hear them. The spirits.” Jimin’s words spilled from his mouth like a weight had been lifted off of his chest. “I can hear them all of the time–all day every day. It never stops. I got used to tuning them out so long ago that I never bothered listening to anything they were saying until it was too late.” He took both hands to cradle her face in his hands, his eyes scanning her eyes. “They lie a lot. Saying anything they can to try and keep my attention for anything longer than a few seconds. Usually it’s vulgar or violent nonsense–but after I saw the bruising on your neck, I couldn’t help but start to crack. Then with what happened in the kitchen I just-”

“You know about Hadwin? And what happened in the kitchen?” Y/n gasped, her hands sliding up to grip at his forearms.

“I do now, yes. I’m so unbelievably sorry for not listening to them sooner–maybe I could’ve helped you.” Jimin shook with emotion, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m sorry for being so cryptic–but a telephone works both ways. If I can hear them, they can hear me. Word travels incredibly fast to people you don’t want to be involved with when there are hundreds of ears waiting to ingest everything you say and spit it out to whoever can listen. It’s why I tried to get you to talk to me first, at the very least I could keep my responses vague and unassuming if you were the one doing all of the talking.”

“Holy shit Jimin.” Y/n pulled away from him, her mouth blubbering with what to say next. “I don’t even know where to begin. I have so many questions I don’t know what to ask first.”

“Any of them. Ask me any of them and I’ll do my best to answer.” Jimin grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the small plush loveseat near his reading area and tugged her down to sit next to him.

Y/n had so many questions fighting for dominance in her mouth, that she ended up blurting out the first one that stuck–though it wasn’t one she cared for. She just needed to break the ice. “What were you saying about Taehyung when we were on our date? What was that?”

Jimin bellowed out with melodic laughter, tucking her close to his side with a timid swipe of his tongue across his lower lip. “It was a lousy attempt at trying anything to get you to understand that I can hear things. The night at the Adelaide, you came out of the greenroom looking like you’d seen a ghost and I figured it was Bea–she calls Taehyung the new egg anytime she brings him up.”

“The name’s Bea.” The woman stood far shorter than Y/n, and took graceful strides towards where she stood, stopping a few feet away and holding out a gloved hand. “The bee’s knees of the Adelaide. Though the new egg is quite the snazzy showman if you ask me.”

“Taehyung is a good egg, isn’t he?” He blurted out, cutting her off and regarding her heavily over his shoulder.

“Oh my god!” Y/n jumped against the cushion with excitement, jostling the two of them against each other while her brain connected the dots. “I never would have put that together!”

“Sorry…”Jimin sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. “I did the best I could in the moment.”

“On Saturday, was that you in the family tree portal?” Now that she had asked the first question, the rest were barreling from her mouth before she could think.

His face flushed pink, and he shook with a weak chuckle. “Yes, that was me. I really apologize for snooping when I said I wouldn’t–but after looking over your cute little hand drawn tree with all the x’s, I started to piece together information of my own that I’ve been gathering from them. Figured you could use a hand. Did you see Clarence around the property, or what triggered that?”

Y/n sunk into the couch with a powerful exhale. “ Do you know what happened this weekend yet or have you not caught up?”

Jimin’s brows furrowed, his eyes turning steely. “I haven’t gotten the chance to debrief between coming back to work and setting up time with you. What happened?”

“I was at the guest house with–”

The doors to Jimin’s office burst open, Namjoon stood bracing it against the wall to keep it from closing in on them with the force that Jungkook had shoved it open with. Both of their chests were heaving with their efforts to catch their breath, having clearly run through the building to get here. Jungkook’s jaw was clenched so hard she could see the muscles of his face twitching, and Namjoon’s eyes blazed with a fierceness she hadn’t seen since he had first found out about Hadwin.

“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Jungkook demanded sharply, stepping further into the room, his eyes trained on the smoldering bowl.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear it go off–but everything's fine! I'm safe!” Y/n jumped from her spot on the couch with a spirited grin, pulling Jimin up with her. “Guys, Jimin can–”

Namjoon cut her off, his tone uncharacteristically short.

“Yoongi is missing.”

_________________________________________

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