#he’s so pretty in every universe but the grey/white really does something to my brain cells…….. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jkstompers · 4 years ago

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passing notes | jjk

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader

summary: a year of crushing and jungkook’s finally asked you out on a proper date.

genre: classmates to lovers??!, established friendship, they go on a date <3, jk is so stressed out, !fancy restaurant warning!, jk is A GENTLEMAN!! but wbk, oc is a nerd but is BOLD AF!!

warnings: mature!! (18+!!), SMUT,...they make out, LOTS of built up tension is let out tonite!, fingering, praise kink, handjob, backseat action, semi-public sex?? very strong language, jk overuses the nickname ‘baby’

word count: 9k

author’s note: pt. 3 of seatmate!jk. WE’VE GOT SOME FILTH TODAY PPL!!!!!!! this is my first time releasing a piece of writing that has smut in it so pls!! let me know what u think!!! i’m open to criticism but i cry easily so… pls pls be nice (Ｔ▽Ｔ) LMAO!! i also completely made up the program for ocean scientists that oc talks about LMAO i just needed her to ramble for a bit hahahah

additional note: also pls imagine jungkook looking like this in class and then wearing this for their date. also if ur curious, this is what i imagined oc’s dress to look like :)

okay enjoy!! thank u ( ˘ ³˘)

it was the end of the semester and of course, the only time jungkook would be running late to class was when he was finally going to ask you out on a date. so far, everything seems to be going against the idea. his alarm didn’t go off on time, the shower took way too long to warm up, and his car was low on gas. now he’s speed walking, almost running, to lecture to make sure that his seat next to you isn’t taken.

he wants to make sure this goes perfectly. he spent the past two weeks stressing over the plans. asking for recommendations for nice restaurants in the city in almost every group chat he was in. his friend (the one with parents as ceo’s, eunwoo), helped him and got him a reservation at this one five star restaurant that jungkook’s never been to. eunwoo told him that it was the prettiest place he’s ever been to, said it would be perfect for a first date.

jungkook specifically remembers you telling him that you’ve never gone on an actual dinner date. ice cream dates, movie theater dates, and amusement park dates were what you were used to. there was nothing wrong with that, it’s just that you’ve never experienced a candlelit dinner at a restaurant, that’s it. jungkook just wanted to be the first one to experience it with you.

so when his morning starts off this shitty, he wonders if his plans are falling apart. he tries to keep a good, positive mindset, but he’s already so nervous and the universe seems to be telling him: don’t do it, she’ll reject you, you’re gonna look stupid in front of her.

meanwhile, you’re early this lecture. it was the last class of the semester and you were hoping that you could get a nice conversation with jungkook in before it started. the two of you have gotten a lot closer since you last hung out. the chain of events starting with you apologizing for being so embarrassing,

[12:44 pm] you: jungkook!!! oh my god i am so sorry for last night 😭

[12:45 pm] you: i don’t take alcohol very well 😖

[12:50 pm] jungkook: 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

[12:50 pm] jungkook: no need to apologize! are u feeling sick? hungover?

[12:52 pm] you: omg no not really

[12:52 pm] you: ur a great drinking buddy, i owe u one 🥺

[12:53 pm] jungkook: it’s alright cutie

[12:54 pm] jungkook: just happy ur feeling okay :)

[12:56 pm] you: let me make it up to u 😭 i’ll buy us lunch one of these days?

[12:57 pm] jungkook: ah no can do cutie

[12:57 pm] jungkook: have to buy u dinner first

the thought of the conversation makes you smile. that one conversation starting the domino effect of the two of you talking almost everyday for the past two weeks. you couldn’t help but expect jungkook to at least be here, but if he didn’t wanna come, then he didn’t have to.

you sat in your seat, patiently waiting for the one next to you to be filled by him. the hall was starting to fill now and class was about to start. you look around one last time to see that jungkook is still nowhere to be seen, and that a familiar brown-haired guy was beginning to walk up to you.

“hello, ___! is this seat taken?” taehyung smiles brightly, you look down at the seat next to you. your bag saving the spot for jungkook. maybe he skipped this lecture, since it was practically for nothing anyway, you’ve already taken the final and there was no other material to learn, it was more so to wrap things up and see if anyone still needed to understand something.

your brain comes to a conclusion. you remove your bag and say, “no, go ahead,” to taehyung with a small smile on your face, one that hides the disappointment riddling your mind.

it’s about five minutes after the professor starts talking when jungkook finally walks in. he looks up to try and find you as he walks up the steps of the auditorium. his eyes land on you and taehyung, chatting amongst yourselves. he can’t help but feel a slight twinge of jealousy, that’s his seat. even though there were no assigned seats, the place next to you was always his, that’s just how it was, and seeing someone else sitting there, especially taehyung, makes jungkook’s green monster pop out.

you feel a presence step behind you while you were talking to taehyung, and before you know it, jungkook is sitting in the seat next to taehyung. “oh! good morning, jungkook!” you’re smiling to him. he doesn’t grant you one of his regular vocal responses, rather he gives you a tight-lipped grin before he leans back into his chair and focuses on whatever the professor was saying.

maybe he was jealous. witnessing you and taehyung having a wonderful conversation, one that makes you smile and laugh like he does. you didn’t even notice him when he came up the stairs, only greeting him when he sat down. no, he was definitely jealous.

you’re stealing glances his way, pretending to be interested in whatever taehyung is talking about. he’s wearing the most boyfriend-est outfit in the world. a white long sleeve with grey sweatpants, his long hair tied up in a ponytail. you’re unconsciously biting your lip as you stare at him, he’s just so cool. he’s not even doing much other than looking straight forward. but this angle lets you see his sharp jawline and his side profile perfectly.

you felt bad, one hundred percent. you should have told taehyung that the seat was taken, because now he was talking your ear off and you didn’t mind it, but you wanted someone else to be talking your ear off and it was the guy sitting next to him.

when taehyung changes his focus to your professor talking about a summer he had in paris. you steal another glance at jungkook. you catch him staring at you, your eyes meet. he doesn’t keep the connection, cutting it off by moving his head and looking straight ahead. his jaw clenches, arms coming over and across his chest. he seems angry, you pick up on the energy now. an idea pops in your head to try and make him feel better. reaching into your bag to find one of your index cards, writing a message on it.

feeling okay?

you scoot your chair back a bit, pretending to stretch as you tap jungkook’s shoulder. he turns his head to you, eyebrows raised. you hand him the paper. he stares at first, eyes flickering between you and the paper. reluctantly, he takes it, unfolding his crossed arms to receive the note. you scoot back into your seat and lean into the table, lowering your chin onto the desk.

jungkook tries to hide his smile as he reads your little note. how could he ever stay mad at you? it wasn’t your fault he was late. so he replies, his black ink has a stark contrast against your green highlighter. he can already feel his bad mood brightening.

yeah, didn’t save me a seat? :(

this time he folds the note, handing it to taehyung and telling him to pass it to you. “really? you’re passing notes? we’re in college, jeon.” taehyung snickers as he slides the paper towards you.

you let a small laugh, reading the note. taehyung’s scolding continues as you write your response on the index card. you changed your green highlighter out with a blue pen.

i came super early :( waited 20 mins for u </3 but i didn’t think u were coming so i let taehyung sit here

you send it back and watch jungkook’s somewhat straight face contort into a smile. there it is, the smile that you know and love.

jungkook on the other hand could cry. you came early. you waited for him. god, had he royally fucked this up. he makes his mind up now.

i’m sorry :( let me make it up to u? can i take you out on a date tonight?

check: ◯ yes ◯ no

jungkook keeps the paper for a good minute, reading the note over and over again, thinking about how childish this way of asking is. but at the same time, jungkook knows that if he talks to you about it after class, he’ll gloss over the words and never ask you. letting the reservation and plans he made weeks ago render themselves useless. it was now or never.

so he fully sends it, tapping your shoulder and giving it to you directly. you open the note and scan the words, sending him the sweetest look he’s ever received in his life. he thinks that would be a yes. he hopes. you write something onto the card and pass it back to him, your hand grazing his for a second.

⚫ yes :) ♡ ◯ no

the rest of the class passes pretty quickly. not that you were paying any attention. jungkook had emailed you a link to a game that the two of you could play, a weird version of snakes. jungkook kept cheating, you swore it, but in all honesty, you knew you couldn’t compete when it came to jungkook and his computer games. a clap from the professor breaks your attention from your screen, “alright, that was the last class of anatomy 101!” he then goes on a two minute long speech thanking the entire class for their great work this past year. he ends his ment with, “good luck and make good decisions! have a fun summer!”

you take your time packing your things, a little too long for someone that just has a laptop to put into their bag. taehyung says goodbye to the both of you and leaves first, the seat in between you both empty. now it was just the two of you. a small blush creeps onto your cheeks. you were well past your high school crush phase, but jungkook makes you feel so shy again.

you try to hide it by speaking first, “so, a date?”

he sends you that award winning smile that makes you swoon. “yeah, did you change your mind?”

you shake your head. “is it casual? fancy? want me to wear a dress again?” you tease, finally pushing your computer into your bag and standing.

jungkook gulps. you looked so pretty that night in a dress. “fancy,” he answers, “you can wear a dress if you want, pantsuits are cool too— whatever you want.” he finishes packing as well, standing next to you as you both begin to walk down the stairs.

“okay then,” you smile. “what time should i be ready?”

“i’ll come and pick you up at seven, is that okay?” he replies, hand in his pockets. you both make your way out of the room and start to move towards the parking lot.

“sounds good,” you nod, approaching your car. jungkook walks you to your door, his eyes focused on your sweet smile and your eyes. if jungkook didn’t know any better, he would have thought you were leaning closer towards him. a small laugh leaves your throat. “see you later, kookie.”

he sends you a smile, the nickname tugging at his heartstrings. the realization hits him after you’ve already driven away and he’s sitting in the driver seat of his car. an embarrassing blush covers his face, he takes a deep breath and laughs to himself. finally. a year of crushing and he’s finally asked you on a proper date.

jungkook is quite frankly, freaking the fuck out. he isn’t sure what to wear and his hair isn’t working with him. the long strands seemingly out to make his life a living hell when he tries to style it. one strand always looks out of place, or the way that it parts doesn’t sit right. he’s pacing his bathroom, debating if he should just shower again and take all the stupid fucking product out of his hair.

he gives in after ten minutes of deliberation. a quick shower removing all the wax and gel from his hair. the ends of his hair dripping when he goes to check his phone, the time reading: 6:45. he was gonna be late to pick you up. now he’s full on panicking. he has no other choice then to skip the hair product all together and just let his hair dry and part on it’s own. he slides on his all black fancy outfit he had planned out just in case the first one didn’t work out. he steps out of his apartment after grabbing his car keys, wallet, and the flowers he bought earlier in the day for you.

a friend of his works in a flower shop. jungkook remembers you saying that you like all flowers and that you couldn’t choose if you had to. so his friend asked what you were like, trying to figure out a way to style the bouquet without knowing your favorites. jungkook said the general things; you’re sweet like an apple, probably sweeter, like candy. you’re so pretty, it’s blessing that he’s able to lay his eyes upon you. you’re smart, too smart for him to flirt stupidly like he always does, ‘cause you outsmart him and flirt with him back in a wittier way. you’re— that was enough information, his friend told him he was babbling again. jungkook only had to wait ten minutes for his friend to finish fixing up a beautiful bouquet for you.

the bouquet is placed on the passenger seat as he starts his car, texting you when he realizes it’s almost five minutes until 7.

[6:54 pm] jungkook: fuck

[6:54 pm] jungkook: i’m gonna be a little late

[6:55 pm] jungkook: i swear i’m not standing u up

[6:55 pm] jungkook: ok i’m putting my phone down to drive to u now, sorry cutie!!

[6:57 pm] you: ah okay!

[6:57 pm] you: i was getting a little worried haha

[6:58 pm] you: see u in a bit <3

jungkook drives safely, but efficiently to your apartment. the drive only taking about five minutes because the stop lights were gracing him with green lights his entire way to you. he parks right in front, grabbing the flowers and hopping out of the car. when he knocks on your door, he starts to feel his nerves work against him. the adrenaline from rushing here gave him enough energy to hype himself up, but now as he’s standing here at your door, waiting for you to answer, his throat starts to dry and his hands start to sweat.

the metal door slides open, revealing you. in your silk dress, draping over your body in the most flattering way. the neckline deliciously hangs down to reveal your cleavage ever so slightly and the slit on the dress, displaying your thigh teasingly. jungkook is speechless at his first glance at you. his eyebrows raise and his mouth drops open, catching himself drooling once you step out from your apartment.

“h— hi, you look— wow,” he stumbles over his words, taking a step back to admire you once again. “you’re fucking stunning.”

you brush your hair back behind your ear, your hand covering the blush covering your cheeks. “thank you, you look very handsome, jungkook.” you reach out and play with his black tie. he looks down when you do, remembering that he was holding a bouquet of flowers for you.

he holds them out, “these are for you.” like a kid giving his crush a dandelion he picked from the grass.

“these are gorgeous, jungkook! thank you.” you look up to him with your signature sweet eyes, the ones that never fail to make him melt. “just give me one sec, i’ll put these down and then we can go?” you ask, holding onto the bouquet and waiting for him to respond. a quick nod is all you need to open your door and place them in the fridge. you come out a few seconds later, locking your door and standing by jungkook again.

“that was fast,” he comments. he holds his arm out for you to hold, which you gratefully take.

“i just put them in the fridge, my grandma showed me the trick, it helps them live a little longer,” you explain. the two of you walking out to his parked car. he never lets your hand touch the handle, always opening the door for you.

“when they die, i’ll just buy you new ones.” closing the door for you and making his way to the drivers seat.

you scrunch your nose. when he comes back and joins you in the car, you voice your worry. “it’s kind of a waste, don’t you think?”

he shakes his head, “if it’s for you, nothing’s a waste.”

jungkook was a professional with his words. always rendering you speechless.

with that he starts the car and begins driving into the busier part of seoul. he makes his way into the restaurants parking garage, the building looks to be about five stories. the architecture itself looks expensive, you wonder where jungkook is taking you tonight. he parks the car, turning off the engine, and moving to open the door for you. he takes your hand and you hold onto your dress, fixing it once you get out of the car. god, you’re so pretty. he was so nervous.

“ready, my lady?” he smiles, his arm out for you to hold.

it makes you laugh, a snort almost. “i’ve never seen you so proper, mr. jeon.”

“only for you,” he winks. your heels click against the concrete floor as he leads the two of you into the building. the high ceilings and multiple chandeliers are what greet you first, the brightness of the place giving the sun something to rival. jungkook brings you over to the waiting area, telling you to wait for a minute as he checks you guys in.

this was crazy to say the least. the last time you went on a date, it was to the movie theaters. you’ve never been in a place like this; a doorman greeting every guest as they walk in, checking in to eat, multi-story, etc. the more you look around, the cooler it is. “let’s go?” jungkook’s voice makes you turn your head. you stand, taking his hand.

the two of you follow a man wearing a black and white suit, with a long tail jacket. he brings you to the elevators, holding the doors open for you both. you step in and he presses the fifth button, which was the top floor. you squeeze jungkook’s hand. he repeats the action, looking to you and silently asking if you were okay with the look in his eyes and the raise of his eyebrows. you nod, a smile on your face.

with that the elevator doors open, the metal doors sliding apart to reveal a private terrace. only a couple tables on the entire floor. a few people sitting down and enjoying their dinners. beautiful greenery surrounding the perimeter, the night sky only making it prettier. your mouth is left agape, you’re stuck in the elevator, speechless. jungkook gently tugs you forward, following the suit man to the table.

jungkook pulls your chair out for you. you could cry at the chivalry. you sit and he pushes the chair in, jungkook follows soon, sitting in the chair across from you. the man hands the two of you the menu and moves away from the table, standing back near to the elevator, waiting until you are both ready to order.

“this is fucking crazy,” you whisper-shout. the terrace was lit by these bright fairy lights that were hidden in the plants and were above the tables as well. it looked like little fairies and fire flies were in the air, roaming around.

“i know right!” jungkook looked as surprised as you were. “i asked my friends for some help and holy shit!”

“they know you’re on a date with me right now?” you ask, raising your eyebrows.

to this he furrows his eyebrows, “of course they do, i talk about you all the time—”but he stops himself from exposing himself any further. you can’t help but giggle. “i mean, i asked them to help me make this special, and here we are.”

you swoon. he’s so sweet for planning all of this out and wanting to make you feel special. the two of you look through the menu, jungkook warns you not to look at the prices, telling you to get whatever you want because the price doesn’t matter. but of course, your eyes stray to the numbers, the meals costing a pretty penny for a simple spaghetti plate, the cheapest thing on there. you were craving pasta anyway, you didn’t mind. the two of you order and wait for the food to arrive.

the city of seoul was just below you, not too high but high enough to turn people into smaller figures of themselves. the night lights look gorgeous from up here. the warm summer night only complimenting the gorgeous atmosphere.

“the view is so pretty,” you gaze out into the city. the pretty colors from all the lights of the different stores and restaurants complementing each other so beautifully.

jungkook was in awe, he knows that the city below you is gorgeous, but he can’t seem to get his eyes off of you. your chin resting in the palm of your hand as your eyes search through the streets. “yeah…” he agrees, “very beautiful.” he smiles, only looking at you.

the food comes and you both dig in. the two of you enjoy some conversation with each other as you eat. the topic of growing up comes up, both of you explaining the occupations you wanted, and you said something that sparked curiosity in jungkook. “your childhood dream was to live in california?” he smiles, chewing on his steak. most of the time kids dream about going to the moon or finding atlantis, but you wanted to go to america?

you nod, “sounds funny right? when i was a teen, i watched a lot of 90210.”

“is that all though? you only wanted to go because of a tv show?” he asks. there’s something you’re hiding, and jungkook can see it in the way that you hide your smile.

at first, you hesitate, but you open your mouth to speak, “well— there is— no, it’s embarrassing.” you shake your head, changing your mind and reverting your eyes down. staring at the plate of pasta in front of you. guys you talked to didn’t wanna hear about it, they thought what you were into was boring, embarrassing almost. a part of you feared that jungkook would feel the same.

you feel his hand on your chin, tilting your head up. “i wanna hear about it.” his face telling you the truth, the sincerity in his eyes as he patiently waits for you to explain.

“there’s this science program in california, they explore new ideas for researching the ocean, like trying to see what lurks in the deep blue, helping fix the rising oceans, everything-- oh my god, and they like go on field trips to different countries to see the coastlines and historical sites—” you cut yourself off when you realize that you’re talking at the speed of light. “i’m rambling.” you were terrified to see his reaction.

but when your eyes finally meet jungkook’s, they’re full of light. and his smile is so big. “dude, that’s so dope!” he grins, “i didn’t know you were so into the ocean!”

it was the bare minimum, being nice, but that was hard to find when it came to the majority of the male species. obviously, jungkook is above average, he only proves that the more time you spend with him.

“oh, i love it! my parents would bring me to the beach and i would cry every time we would have to leave, aquariums too, and the fish section in the pet stores.” you gush, leaning into the table to tell jungkook more. he leans into his hand, resting his cheek against his fist as he listens to you spill your knowledge and love.

he notes that the next date should be at the beach or an aquarium. it was a great time for him to learn this, especially since it was summer. the weather in favor of the cold ocean waves. jungkook swears he can listen to you talk until the end of time. your sweet voice can be the narration to his life, he’d never get sick of it.

the food on both of your plates had been cleared, the conversation sizzling into a comfortable silence before the man came back to give you the bill. jungkook doesn’t let you see it, instead just sticking his card in the black folder thing, and giving it back to the fancy suit man. it wasn’t long before he came back, handing jungkook back his card and giving the both of you a lollipop with gold flakes encased inside.

you gasp at the piece of candy, now that was ridiculous. you weren’t one to reject a lollipop though, gratefully taking the candy and popping it into your mouth. jungkook does the same. it tastes of blueberry. at this point he stands up, moving in front of you and holding his hand out to you. “let’s look around? i heard they have a cool museum on the second floor.”

you take his hand, “i love museums!” the two of you make your way to the elevator, the man (he never told you his name) kept the door open for you both. he presses the second floor button when jungkook asks him for the museum. the elevator landing on the second floor, the doors slide open to show a completely empty art hall. this place shocking you every chance it gets. you didn’t think it could get better, but it did.

when the two of you exit the elevator, the man leaves you to it, taking the elevator down and leaving you alone. your eyes scan the place, huge paintings on the walls, small paintings in collages, some sculptures on the floor, it felt like a pop-up museum. you both make your way down the enormous hallway, both sides of the room’s wall displaying works of art. you stop at one specific painting, the familiar work has you spewing random facts. “these are the lovers! i had to analyze this once,” you speak. the art displaying a couple kissing, both of their heads covered by a white sheet. “the real one is in australia, i think.” you laugh, tapping the lollipop against your lips.

jungkook listens intently, but he doesn’t pay attention to the painting on the wall. everytime he does, his eyes always revert to you. the art doesn’t stand a chance against you in his book. you, yourself, were a piece of art, one that was rare in this world, one of a kind.

he can’t seem to resist. taking your hand and raising it over your head, the way that they do in ballroom dancing. if a twirl was what he wanted, then so he got it. “beautiful,” he compliments, pulling you in close for a hug. the two of you swaying in the middle of the hall of this stupidly expensive restaurant.

you look up to him, making full eye contact as the two of you lean on one foot to the other. probably looking like a lovesick couple, getting lost in the moment. which, you were. your eyes flicker from his eyes down to his lips, he seems to do the same thing. his hand moves to caress your face, the swaying ceased. now the two of you are centimeters apart, noses brushing against each other. if jungkook doesn’t kiss you now, he thinks he’ll combust. so when he feels you pushing forward, he does the same, meeting you in the middle. your lips connect. the kiss almost identical to the painting in front of you.

jungkook swears he felt himself levitating. your lips are sweet, the blueberry flavor of the lollipop lingering on them. he’s had his fair share of kisses in his life. makeouts, pecks, cheek kisses, all types of kisses. but something about this one tells him that he’s in for it. he’ll never be able to get enough now that he’s gotten a taste.

neither of you want to take it too far; swallowing each other's faces in a distinguished, five star restaurant’s museum didn’t seem very proper. so the two of you make your way out of the building, thanking everyone at the front desk, especially the man that helped you out today, and walking into the parking garage where jungkook’s car was.

when you get to his car, he moves to open the passenger door for you but you stop him with a hand on his arm. you reach to open the back door handle and his eyes almost bulge out. everyone knows what happens in the backseat, and jungkook did not prepare himself for something like this.

you look up at him with the most innocent eyes, but there’s something devious hidden in your smile when you ask, “do you wanna talk for a bit longer? in the backseat? it’s more comfortable than sitting in the front.”

jungkook never took you for someone this bold. it’s either you didn’t know the meaning of the backseat (which was totally fine) or you knew very well, and had plans to devour jungkook (which was also totally fine).

he chickens out, his hands starting to sweat. “do you want to just go for a little walk or something?” it’s not like jungkook didn’t want anything to happen, it’s that he did. if he starts, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever recover from it. he walks a tightrope around you when it comes to his self control. one wrong move, and he’s terrified that he’ll fuck everything up.

“oh, it’s just my feet kinda hurt from these heels.” you pout, lifting you foot up to show him the almost stiletto heel.

his eyes widen. why didn’t he think of that? “oh— oh shit, i didn’t even— yeah, let’s sit.” he tugs on the door, letting you slide into the back seat. he follows, leaving a good amount of space between you both to make sure that there was nothing too suspicious going on. you hope your bold moves hide your nervousness, despite your confidence, jungkook’s unsure looks make you want to curl up into a ball. did he not want this?

the air was different now. in the restaurant the two of you had been so carefree, slow dancing in the museum, and landing a sweet kiss on each other’s lips. but now, an uncomfortable silence tears at the two of you. your hesitance makes you speak, trying to see if a conversation would ease the tension in the air. “i had a lot of fun tonight, kookie, thank you.”

it seems to comfort jungkook, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. with a small smile on his face he replies, “me too, i was really nervous you wouldn’t like the food.”

“oh it was good! i’ll eat anything really, it’s just—“

“you didn’t like the place? was it too much—“

“no, jungkook, oh my god— i loved it, it was just really expensive, i still feel really bad about you paying for all of it,” you look to him seriously. “let me give you at least my half?”

he shakes his head, “i asked you out on this date, it means i pay, don’t worry about the price.”

you roll your eyes playfully, “big spender huh?”

a pretty laugh escapes his lips. “hard worker too.”

to this you smile, you stare at his impossibly-perfect face, noticing a stray eyelash on his cheek. you see a chance to strike and you take it immediately. you lean forward to swipe it off. jungkook almost leans into your touch. he’s so terrified that he’ll embarrass himself right now, so he’s been holding back tremendously. but the way you pick the eyelash off and place it on your thumb with a smile on your face, it eases most of the tension in his chest.

“make a wish!” you hold your thumb up to his lips. his eyes cross to look at the piece of hair on your finger, but nevertheless he obliged. shutting his eyes tight, making a wish, and blowing the eyelash off of your thumb.

you let out a small cheer before you ask him, “what’d you wish for?”

“if i told you then my wish wouldn’t come true, right?” he boops your nose. suddenly, jungkook doesn’t feel so nervous. his nerves calming at the feeling of your soft hands against his face. you make him so nervous, but at the same time you make him so comfortable and make him want to be himself. it seems as though the two of you were staring at each other for a while. jungkook was thinking about how much he likes you, the same ideas run through your mind. the thoughts make you wish for something more.

“can i kiss you again, kookie?”

he stares at you, weighing his options. if he kisses you now, then he has to strategically only give you a few kisses, he absolutely cannot make out with you, or else, jungkook will succumb to his desires.

but he takes a little too long to respond. the both of you overthinking the fuck out of the situation. it makes you draw back. “it’s okay if you don’t want—“

“no, no, please, kiss me,” he brings you back, moving closer to you. licking his lips in anticipation as you slowly push forward, closing the gap between you both. the kiss is so sweet, like the one in the museum. jungkook can still taste the blueberry lingering on your lips. he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of kissing you.

you pull away first. your eyes scanning his face to see any expression of regret. there’s none. his hand moves to the side of your face, caressing your face and bringing you to him once again to meet your lips. he can’t get enough. “tell me what you wished for, please,” you speak against his lips.

he smiles into the kiss. he wasn’t going to tell you, but since you were asking so nicely, he gives you a kiss on the cheek when he answers, “i wished for a second date.”

“oh, didn’t you know?” you kiss both of his cheeks before speaking again, “i grant wishes,” with wink.

“fuck, you’re so cute,” he thinks out loud, it makes you blush. pink cheeks out for show and jungkook thinks you look even cuter. he dives in for one more kiss, telling himself this will be the last one, but when you make sweet noises against his lips, it has him wanting more. hands moving down to your waist, pulling you in and letting you climb onto his lap. he pulls away first, trying to get a hold of himself. “i uh— actually, didn’t plan for this to happen,“ he mumbles against your skin, tripping over his words.

you look down, arms wrapped around his neck. “hm? what did you plan?”

“we were supposed to kiss on the next date i take you on and i didn’t think— we’re just ahead of schedule, that’s all.” jungkook tries to explain that he didn’t want to rush it, god no. he wanted to take his time, make sure that you didn’t feel pressured to do anything. but now, it seems like you’re taking the wheel and jungkook doesn’t mind it one bit.

“oh so you had like a real plan? like times and everything?” the thought of it makes you laugh, and the way that jungkook flushes makes you want to pinch his cheeks.

he pouts when you giggle, “don’t laugh, i just really, really wanted to do it right, you’re just so amazing and i didn’t wanna fuck it up.”

you smile at his concern. the fact that you have the uni heartthrob planning dates in his head down to the details and wanting to be sure he does it right makes your head spin. you hope jungkook doesn’t notice the way that your heart is beating three times the normal rate when you go to kiss him again. the only sounds in the car are labored breaths and your lips smacking together. it doesn’t take long before you’re grinding into him. his growing bulge rubbing against your soaking core. a groan leaving him when you grind particularly harder, his hands moving to your ass to grip it. you melt in his arms, small whimpers leaving your throat as jungkook drinks them up

you pull away from his lips, giving his cheeks attention then leaving a trail of kisses as you make your way to his ear. one final kiss is planted below his earlobe before you whisper, “am i ruining your plans, kookie?”

jungkook tries his best to conceal his groan, tries his best to ignore his incredibly hard dick in his jeans, but you’re so pretty and you’re on top of him, kissing him. it feels like a dream to jungkook. it is quite literally a dream come true.

he was already playing with fire, your body a flame in the cold, he moves closer and closer until he burns. “fuck plans,” he breathes. a hand comes back to caress your face once again. filthy thoughts flooding his brain. he wonders what being in between your legs is like, what you sound like when you cum. he wants to make you cry and beg for his cock. but he holds himself back, knowing that you’ll have time to try everything out, if you wanted of course. he leans the both of you forward, his large hands splayed on your back to secure you on his lap. your lips find each other once more. “can i touch you?” he asks so sweetly, a hidden poison weaving through that you can slightly hear through the deep rumble of his voice.

you’ve never wanted anything more. “please,” you nod. your lips chasing his when he pulls further away.

jungkook smiles at the action. “lay on my lap, baby.” he instructs, tapping your thigh. the nickname rolling off his tongue, his voice seemingly dropping an entire octave. you raise your leg and move it over to sit on his lap, sideways. your back against the car door and his right hand rubbing your thighs ever so gently.

“like this?” you ask, looking to him for reassurance. he looks to you with eyes that you’ve never seen, lusted and dark.

“mhm, perfect,” he nods. “good girl.” the praise goes straight to your belly, your panties flooding from how much you want him. his hands move slowly down your inner thighs as he goes in to kiss you again.

you’re absentmindedly spreading your legs, making room for him. he smirks against your lips when he realizes. he knows what you want, so his fingers move to your panties, lightly putting pressure over your clothed bud. you whimper at the feeling, biting his lip in the process. he moans in response, putting a little more pressure against your bundle of nerves.

“jungkook,” you whine, pulling away from his lips, “please.”

“please what, baby?” he kisses your cheek, “tell me what you want.”

“please touch me, please.” you beg, making eye contact with him. jungkook’s dick twitches at the sound of your begging. he wanted to string you along a little longer, but you’re being so good.

“since you asked so nicely, baby,” he obliges. bunching your dress up around your waist and noticing the pretty black lace underwear you were wearing, “for me?” he asks. you nod, your teeth taking in your bottom lip. he groans at the thought, you getting ready and picking out these cute, risque panties out just for him. it’s just too bad they’re gonna be on the floor on his car. he’s gonna need to ask for a rain check on admiring you and your cute underwear later.

you lift your hips to help him, underwear coming off to reveal your soaking pussy. “oh, fuck,” jungkook murmurs at the sight of it. “you’re so wet baby.” he almost starts drooling, he can’t wait to taste you, but he’s still hesitant, only wanting to do what you want to. next time, he can eat you out. right now, he’ll admire the delicious sight and make you cum on his fingers.

your eyes travel to the window directly in front of you, suddenly feeling insecure. thighs closing, thinking about how someone could look in and see. “what about the windows—“

“they’re tinted, no one can see from the outside in, i promise.” he reassures, giving you another sweet kiss on the cheek before asking, “do you still want to do this? we can stop now.” he’s so lovely, his concern and change in demeanor only making you want it more, knowing that he wouldn’t want to push you to do something you were uncomfortable with. sweet was sexy on jungkook. you never thought there would be a day that jeon jungkook fingers you in a parking lot of a five star restaurant, but here you are. and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

so you shake your head, taking his hand, and placing it back in between your legs. “please.”

“anything for you.” he whispers in your ear before running his middle finger up your slit, collecting your wetness, and spreading it around your clit. he continues making tight circles on your clit, the sensation drives you crazy. you lean your head back against the window, moaning out. it was almost humiliating how reactive you were, you hadn’t indulged in this kind of intimacy in a while, almost a year to be specific.

it wasn’t helping that jungkook was a fucking pro. the right amount of pressure and the placement of his digits against you has you dripping onto his nice, dress pants. you hoped nobody else was in the parking garage, else they would hear your cries of jungkook’s name. “more, kookie, more— fuck.”

“more baby?” he questions, the sound of your moans going straight to his already hard dick. he thinks he could cum just to the sound of your voice. he’s one hundred percent fucked when it comes to you. he dips his middle finger into your hole, you gasp in reaction. “like that? hmm? ”

jungkook knew was he was doing, he had you spread wide in the backseat of his car, already on the verge on an orgasm. he had a few years of experience on his belt, a ‘retired fuck boy’ he was, but he’s never wanted to please somebody more than he does right now with you. you just looked so pretty like this, so eager and begging for more.

he adds his ring finger now, his thumb against your clit. “oh, god—“ you mutter, the feeling of his fingers and his thumb on your clit is too good. his fingers fucking you better than anyone else’s dick ever has. you found yourself bucking your hips against his fingers. “kookie, kiss me, please,” you look up to him with the eyes he can never fucking deny. so he kisses you, drinking up your moans as you fuck yourself up onto his fingers.

“i didn’t know you were such a dirty girl,” he murmurs against your lips. your walls clenching around him, “letting me touch you like this in the backseat of my car?” his usual sweet demeanor now contorting into this cocky guy with an ego. it makes you even wetter. the squelch of your pussy every time his fingers push in is loud, the sound is music to jungkook’s ears.

“only— only for you, jungkook,” you whimper. you feel a familiar knot in your stomach tighten. he looked so hot like this. eager to please. his bottom lip caught in his teeth and a strand of his long hair dangling in front of his eyes.

“good girl, all mine,” he kisses your neck. it may seem just like something you say during sex, but jungkook wanted it to be true. wanted you and only you. all to himself. he makes his way to a sweet spot, the feeling makes you tilt your head, giving him more access to kiss and suck along the sensitive skin. the discomfort of your back against the hard door was the last of your worries. your orgasm creeping closer and closer, juices leaking all overs his fingers. “so wet baby,” he growls, “i know i could just slide in, fuck you so good.”

“p-please, i want it.” the thought of jungkook fucking you senseless, oh, you’d go crazy. begging wasn’t something you did when it came to sex, most of the time it was quiet, moans and breaths were the only things that you’d hear, no dirty words or praises. it was a good change, you never thought that you’d be so into being talked through it.

he smiles at your eagerness, “patience baby, gotta take you on another date, yeah?” kissing your pursed lips. always so sweet and lovely.

you feel his fingers push a little deeper, curling to find that sweet spot inside of you. your reaction does something to him, makes him hit the exact same spot, over and over again, in a slow, torturous beat just so he can draw those delicious gasps and moans out of you. jungkook feels close. he’s never felt like this before, so wound up. he ignores it, pushing it to the back of his head to focus on helping you reach your climax.

lucky for jungkook, he didn’t have to wait very long. his fingers were longer and a thicker than yours, his efforts making you get there faster than you ever could. the consistent deep strokes of his fingers make the warning signals go off in your head. you speak a verbal warning before, “fuck, i’m gonna cum,” your voice pitches a little higher than usual.

“gonna cum all over my fingers, baby?” he gives you one last sloppy kiss before you’re moaning out and coming onto his fingers, eyes screwed shut as your walls convulse rapidly as his fingers fuck you through your orgasm. “fuck, you’re so hot, ___.”

you feel a smile break on your face. “you’re not so bad yourself,” you wink, still trying to catch your breath. a laugh slips from his mouth, small smirk on his mouth to match. he slips his fingers out, your body twitching at the over stimulation.

“i’m sorry, baby,” he apologizes. inspecting his fingers, your pale almost-white cum coating the digits. he brings them to his mouth, sucking on your sweet sap. you’ve never seen anything hotter in your life. “sweet, just like you,” he smirks. you shrink in his stare, hiding your blush. like you totally didn’t just cum on his fingers.

you’re distracted by the feeling of something hard resting under your thigh, it’s then that you realize, “what about—“ you start but jungkook cuts you off quick.

“no, no, it’s okay, it’ll go away soon.” he shakes his head, but you furrow your eyebrows.

you pull on his black tie, making him lean forward and make eye contact with you “can i?” you ask, so sweetly.

he stares at you with the most sexed eyes you’ve ever witnessed. “you’re driving me crazy.”

“you’re always so sweet to me, jungkook,” you kiss his cheek. readjusting yourself in his lap, straddling him once more. “took me on this amazing dinner, always treating me like a princess.” your lips travel down from his cheeks to his jawline, then to his neck. he shudders at the feeling of your lips against his sensitive skin. your hands move from around his neck to travel further down, to the latch of his belt. his breath hitches. “let me return the favor, kookie.”

“i—“ he laughs, the embarrassment evident in the pink tint on his face. “i won’t last very long.”

you didn’t mind, just assuring him with a sweet kiss on the cheek before you start removing his belt. jungkook leans his head back on the headrest, his neck exposed for you to kiss and suck. you unbutton and unzip, pulling his pants and his boxers down at the same time. his size makes your eyes bulge. he was huge. your mouth waters at the sight.

“you’re so big, kook.” you egg him on, fueling his ego because he just looked so hot. your hand moves to hold him at the base, he lets out a shaky breath when your soft skin meets his. jungkook’s head is in the clouds, he could cum right now if he let go, but he’s holds himself back, not wanting to look like a fool in front of you. your hand moves up his dick, your thumb collecting the precum dripping from his hole, your thumb running over his slit as he groans.

his hips buck up, “shit, baby.” he just sounds so good. you could just lick him up. you collect some saliva in your mouth, letting it drip from your mouth onto his dick to lube your hand. he groans at the sight, “you’re so filthy, baby, holy shit.”

you smirk at the admission, the spit making it so easy for your hand to glide against his cock. the feeling makes him throw his head back again. his chest rising and falling. the picture of him with his eyes screwed shut in pleasure and his mouth agape makes your lower belly light up once more, you clench around nothing. leaning in as you pump his cock to whisper in his ear, “wanna fuck me so bad? have me crying on your cock? you want that, don’t you, kookie?”

jungkook twitches at your words. that’s exactly what he wants. was he that easy to read? was that what you wanted too? the thought of it makes him want to explode, “oh— god, ffuck— fuck,” he sputters. his hand coming up to hover above his head, your hand still pumping as the spurts of his cum shoot out. you smile at the action, knowing he didn’t wanna fuck up your dress. instead just making a mess of him and his hand. he takes deep breaths before speaking, “there’s a little box of tissues in the center console, could you hand it to me, baby?”

you lean back, opening the console and reaching for the small box that sits in the center. before you give it to him, your eyes flicker to the sticky mess all over jungkook’s hand and groin. a sudden urge to lick takes you over, holding jungkook’s hand and bringing it up to your mouth. you lick the dripping cum from the palm of his hand as he watches, maintaining eye contact the entire time.

jungkook shivers, a smile creeping on his face, “you— you’re evil.” the remark makes you laugh.

“sorry, just wanted to help clean up.” you smile, swallowing the cum you collected on your tongue.

“yeah, yeah, you’re not the sweet girl i thought you were,” jungkook quirks a brow.

you roll your eyes playfully, “you don’t like it?”

“nope, i love it, you’re perfect.” jungkook wipes off the remaining mess from his lap and his hand. you help him clean up tissues and he picks up your panties that were discarded on the floor. the two of you fix yourselves before stepping out of the back seat, jungkook opens the passenger door for you before he goes to a trashcan and throws away the soiled tissues.

he joins you back in the car, starting the car and pulling out of the parking lot. you were rambling about how happy you were that no one was around and how there were no security cameras in the parking garage. jungkook blabbers too, telling you about how embarrassed he is that he barely lasted a few minutes. before the two of you knew it, his car parked in front of your apartment complex.

he stands outside of your front door, leaning against the doorframe. all dreamy and not like he just made you cum in the backseat of his car. “text me before you sleep?” he smiles.

you nod, “of course,” reflecting the same smile. you wave before closing your door. the date being more than you ever expected. there was no way jungkook was real. he had to be a figment of your imagination, he was the absolute dream guy.

you lay in bed, staring at the stars on your ceiling. a blush creeping up to your cheeks once more when you think about the events that took place tonight.

[11:02 pm] you: thank you for tonight, jungkook

[11:02 pm] you: it was magical <3

[11:03 pm] jungkook: no problem cutie, i had an amazing time with you

[11:04 pm] jungkook: feeling okay?

[11:06 pm] you: i’m great!!! more than okay

[11:07 pm] jungkook: 😂

[11:07 pm] jungkook: i’m glad cutie

[11:08 pm] you: lunch on me next time? now that you’ve taken me for dinner :)

[11:08 pm] jungkook: sure, i’m down :)

[11:09 pm] you: i’m rlly tired kookie

[11:10 pm] you: gonna head to sleep now

[11:10 pm] jungkook: alright cutie

[11:11 pm] jungkook: sweet dreams!

｡ﾟ(ﾟ^Ｏ^ﾟ)ﾟ｡ tag list: @giadalin @ggukkieland

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spaceiez · 3 years ago

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Chapters: 2/?

Fandom: Gravity Falls Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Bill Cipher/Dipper Pines Characters: Dipper Pines, Bill Cipher, Mabel Pines Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Older Dipper Pines, Older Mabel Pines, Human Bill Cipher, Alcohol, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change Summary:

Sophomore year of college and Dipper is ready for new adventures! But, when there is an unexpected dorm room change, Dipper must face a new challenge, a (crazy?) roommate named Bill Cipher.

Chapter One: Illnnzgv Xszmtv

Dipper felt his lips curve into a smile as he set one of his suitcases into the bright blue college moving cart. He stood back up and slid out a plastic bin, filled with bedsheets, blankets, a mattress pad, and his pillow, out of the car trunk. He plopped it into the moving cart with his black suitcase. The young man glanced up, smiling wider as he took in the large campus around him. Dipper could feel both the excitement of being back at college and the anticipation of starting a new year with new classes rising in his chest.

His pine tree trucker cap was suddenly shoved down in front of his line of sight, which jolted him from his thoughts, “Hey!” He whined, fixing the hat back to its proper place and brushing the hair from his eyes.

His twin sister grinned at him, giggling at his reaction, “Sorry, couldn’t help it bro. I have to let my energy and excitement out somehow!” She poked his arm as she danced around him.

Dipper laughed, “Okay, okay, how about you direct that energy into unloading your stuff from the car?”

Mabel patted Dipper’s shoulder thoughtfully, “Check-in isn’t for another five minutes, I got plenty of time.”

“You have four large bins, a mini-fridge, one suitcase full of sweaters, two suitcases full of other clothes, and another with dorm decorations,” he raised his eyebrow, “And...I’m pretty sure you have a duffle bag full of just gummy candy.”

Mabel shrugged, “Gummy koalas supply more energy.” Despite her words, she did start unloading her college bags into her moving cart, occasionally plopping a gummy candy into her mouth. Mabel pulled out a bag of stickers from her suitcase and smacked a glittery rainbow on one of Dipper's plastic bins, "BAP! Now your bin is stylish!"

"It's already stylish," Dipper smiled as he pointed to his bin. It already had a 'California' and 'film student' sticker on it. He shook his head and continued to unload his bags.

It was their second year in college at a well-known university in Los Angeles. The twins had always wanted to attend college there and as fate had it they were both accepted. They were also thrilled that they could experience college together as they had with middle and high school. Sometimes having your sibling around during new adventures was better than any best friend or significant other. Mabel was a second-year fashion and design student while Dipper was majoring in film and media studies. The kid dreamed of starting some kind of ghost hunting show or something that covered the supernatural. After spending their summers in Gravity Falls, where they were constantly exposed to the supernatural, Dipper became obsessed.

Dipper waved his hand towards his face as he began to sweat, “Gosh, why did our move-in date have to be one of the hottest days of the year?”

Mabel nodded, thankfully she had a loose, white cropped tank top on. It definitely helped with the heat. “Global warming. It’ll only get worse.” She frowned sourly, carefully setting her sweater suitcase in the cart.

Dipper nodded and handed her the car keys, “Hey, lock the car once you’ve got everything in your cart. I’m going to check into my dorm and start unpacking. I’ll say hi to Nick for you.” Dipper smiled at her and she responded with a salute.

Nick was a close friend from Dipper’s friend group he joined last year. They had similar majors and enjoyed many of the same tv shows, hobbies, and books so they decided to room together this year despite the common belief that ‘friendships get ruined that way'. There wasn’t really anyone else to live with anyway. And random roommates were a hit or miss.

As Dipper pushed his cart along the path to the dorm he happily took in the view around him. The college was pretty gorgeous with its Greek-like yet modern-style buildings. The pathways that led to the halls and dorms were surrounded by open green spaces. Most students liked to study there or just relax with friends. The large trees were also a nice touch. Dipper inhaled deeply; it reminded him of Oregon.

He came up to a long, modern-looking building that was around five stories tall. Vines crawled up the sides of the walls and some trees stood around the perimeter. ‘Smith’ was etched on the entrance. The brunette smiled up at it and proceeded to walk inside. Thankfully a gust of AC greeted him, much better than the outside heat. A young woman, either Dipper’s age or a year older, hurried over to him with a wide smile. She had highlighted brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and long eyelashes. The woman wore a blue shirt with loud yellow words, reading ‘Student Coordinator Team’ and carried a clipboard, probably full of welcome sheets or something of that matter.

“Hello there! I’m Annie, a student coordinator, here to help you with move-in! Can I get your last name?”

Smiling politely, Dipper nodded, “Pines. Dipper Pines. Thanks, but I already know I’m in room 128 with Nick Shasta.”

The young woman flipped through the papers attached to her clipboard, soon stopping and squinting at one of the pages, “Ohh.” She sighed through her nose, “I’m really sorry, but there were some issues with roommates and dorms and Housing had to make some last minute changes.”

Dipper blinked twice, his stomach flipping, “What? Changes? Why?”

She shrugged, “They were last minute, but you are now in room 918.” She glanced at her paper as if she needed to double-check, then Annie nodded. She handed him a keycard from a box that sat on the front desk. Dipper stuttered, “I don’t get it, why was my room changed? Does Nick know? Can I change back?”

She looked over Dipper’s face, which was already red from the heat, but now more so from the unexpected news. "You can email Housing Services, I’m sure they can help explain this better than me. I’m sorry.” She gave him an apologetic look.

Dipper pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Okay, thanks. I guess. I’ll email them. Thanks.” He sucked at his lower lip, quickly pushing his moving cart past the girl and to the elevators, his head spinning.

Why a last-second change? Was Nick aware? The elevator doors opened and Dipper pulled the cart inside as he went through various scenarios in his head. His anxiety made it hard to process the situation. When the doors opened he arrived at the fifth floor. Dipper licked his dry lips and sighed. Just email Housing, text Nick. No big deal. No big deal.

Students lined the hall with their parents, unpacking their things and getting settled into their dorms. Others were chatting with friends, looks of giddy excitement on their faces. Some were crying and hugging their parents. 916...917...918. Dipper closed his eyes, trying to calm his racing mind before he met the person behind the door. Once the thoughts were as quiet as they were going to get, Dipper unlocked the door with his key car and pulled his cart inside.

The door shut behind him, closing Dipper off from the hallway. The room was larger than an average dorm room, having two twin-sized beds, two desks, two dressers, two large closets near the door, and room for a tiny kitchen area. Although one had to bring a microwave and mini-fridge. There was nice cupboard space which was a plus.

One side of the room was already set up. The twin bed was decorated in soft grey sheets, a fluffy black pillow, and a white comforter that sported yellow triangles. There were pictures hung over the wall above the bed. Some were of a group of friends and others were of odd subjects, like a random fork or tree.

Dipper turned his attention to the kitchen area. The individual had brought a mini-fridge and had decorated it in more triangles and other geometric shapes, this time the shapes were multiple different colors that formed a messy rainbow across the stainless steel door. On the person’s desk was a computer as well as a weird-looking plant, and a jar of…

“The fuck…” Dipper mumbled slowly, squinting to see if he was viewing the objects in the jar correctly.

Teeth. Different sizes and types of teeth filled the mason jar. Dipper blinked slowly, what the hell? He plopped down on the bare mattress on his side of the room and continued to observe the other side of the room as if it was a specimen itself. It wasn’t very messy, but there was an open box of Oreos and a can of beer on the dresser. Colored lights lined the sides of the ceiling and were flashing different colors. It was quite obnoxious actually.

Dipper groaned. Hopefully, he could move in with Nick after he sent an email to Housing because the person who lived on the other side of this dorm room was a freak. A freak who collected deer teeth and probably got drunk every night.

The dorm room door suddenly swung open and a young man lazily leaned against the doorframe as he looked over Dipper, a strange glint in his eyes. The man had different tones and layers of blonde hair, which caused it to be fluffy and stick out in random places. The freckles across his cheeks and shoulders complimented his sun-kissed skin nicely. His eyes were two different colors, one being a soft golden and the other a bright blue. Dipper didn’t have much time to take that in, because his already-stressed brain was focused on other key aspects about this guy. For one, he was wearing nothing but black shorts, not even shoes or socks. The second was that he had some nice abs. Shit, they were really nice abs. And the third, he held another jar of...something...in his hands

“I lost this bad boy in my car,” he wiggled the jar and whatever was in the inside bobbed around within the liquid solution, “took me ten minutes to find it. It was so hot outside, thought they might melt or something. Hell, I could have melted. Damn heat!” He laughed loudly which made Dipper flinch. The young man waved his hand in front of his face to cool off, “Bill Cipher by the way.”

A second later, the blonde tossed Dipper the jar. Dipper’s reflexes kicked in and he caught it in his hands, fumbling a little. He stared down at the jar to see what was inside and what was inside...stared back. The jar was full of real eyeballs.

Dipper shrieked.

#AO3 #Billdip #bill cipher #dipper pines #mabel pines #fanfic #fanfiction #gravity falls #gravity falls fanfiction #atwr #and they were roommates #college au

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luninosity · 4 years ago

Text

Catching up on some @evanstanweek prompts (last week got busy!) - somewhat belated, but still fun!

Here’s day 5: alternate universe. Which my brain decided was...a space AU? With diplomat!Chris and courier ship captain!Seb?

Read at AO3 here (1,834 words, no warnings, adorable attraction and hand-touches) or read here on tumblr below!

Stars streak and flow and swirl along the swiftspace tunnel. They spin and flare and flood color through the viewing windows: white, red, golden, blue, against the dark joyous infinity of space. Chris Evans, as a Federated Planets diplomat and ambassador, has seen a lot of stars and a lot of space. The sheer delight of it all kicks him in the heart every time.

He gets to be here. On adventures. Flying through darkness and light and beauty. Visiting new worlds, helping people solve problems.

He wanders across the small upper observation lounge, weary and entranced.

The courier ship’s sleek and graceful, a silver-grey water-bird with the jeweled light of the universe pooling along her skin. From this angle Chris can see her side, the line of her hull, as well; the view’s maybe not as entirely unrestricted as it would be from the larger more forward deck below, but he likes the connection right here.

He gazes at the stars, and lets himself relax a fraction: sleeves shoved up, collar undone, hands in his pockets. Negotiations at his back. Peace achieved. Success.

Maybe he grins at the stars, and maybe they grin back, but that’s okay: nobody else is here to witness their casual shared relief and giddiness. It’s relatively late—the middle of the night, according to ship’s time, anyway—and the observation lounge is quiet, up here.

Except that’s not true. Because there’s a tiny chirp, pleasant and musical—and it’s not Chris’s communicator—

He turns. The person who’d been settled into the large corner chair—not facing the door—bolts up hastily and silences the notification and says, “Apologies, Ambassador—” and Chris realizes all at once, a supernova to the gut, that that’s not just any person.

That’s Sebastian Stan, or more accurately Captain Sebastian Stan.

In command of this beautiful graceful Federated Planets courier ship. Here to ferry Chris back to the capital planet after negotiations. And so damn beautiful himself that Chris, experienced diplomat that he is, had forgotten how to talk for a good five seconds upon first meeting.

Captain Stan’s got fluffy dark hair and bright eyes the color of morning mist over the geothermal lakes of Skystone. He’s nearly Chris’s height and nearly Chris’s age, human like Chris but raised on the colony world of Apa Sâmbetei; he’s young for a captain, though not so young that it’s wildly extraordinary, and he’s disarmingly sweet and enthusiastic and passionate in a heartfelt way, someone who talks about his ship and flying the stars as if he’ll never get tired of new missions and explorations, whether that’s as big as discovering a new nebula or as small as bringing a single diplomat back home for debriefing.

And Chris had fallen head over heels—hopelessly, ridiculously, he knows—the second Captain Stan had run down the ramp at the spaceport and said, “Welcome aboard, Ambassador!” with cheerful disregard for formal impersonal protocol but equally cheerful enthusiasm about inviting Chris on board his ship for the next week.

Chris’s heart’s always loved people who love the world. And Sebastian Stan so clearly does. So glorious, so vibrant.

Two days in, they haven’t spoken much. That first brief welcome. Dinner at the captain’s table yesterday, which is in fact the only table, because Sebastian’s crew only numbers seven and they’re all friends. A quick encounter outside the rec-holo room that morning, Chris having asked if he could reserve some workout time and Captain Stan apparently just leaving, having been doing…something…in a clinging dark blue gym shirt and grey sweatpants, just before. He’d been flushed and sweat-damp and glowing; he’d obviously not been expecting Chris to show up ten minutes early. Chris had blurted out, “Sorry, sorry, I wasn’t interrupting—I thought it’d take longer to get here—” and then had wanted to bite off his own tongue for implying Sebastian’s ship was too small or too simple or whatever the hell he’d just managed to babble.

“No, it’s fine, it’s all yours!” Sebastian’d said instantly. “I’m—I mean, we’re—I mean the Calliope’s at your disposal, Ambassador, of course—” He’d vanished into the lift Chris’d just exited, at that.

Right now Sebastian looks on the verge of vanishing again: swinging boots to the deck’s carpet, picking up his communicator and tablet, plainly on the brink of getting up. “I didn’t mean to disturb you—”

Chris says, “You were here first!” and holds up a hand, though he’s not even sure what the gesture’s supposed to mean. Stay? Wait? I’ll go? I’m sorry for barging in on your observation deck time? “And it’s your ship—I’ll just go, I just couldn’t sleep—”

Sebastian’s smile’s sudden and complicated: wry, understanding, gently concerned. He gets up, but tosses communicator and tablet back down onto his chair: not leaving, then. When he comes to stand at Chris’s side, his eyes are very soft and warm, clear smoky shimmery grey-blue opals.

He’s still mostly in uniform, though he’s unzipped the jacket and also pushed up both sleeves, and the navy-blue top and tight black undershirt and silver trim all frame his face and throat and body like an antique portrait-decoration. “That moment after a mission. And before the next one.”

“Yeah.” Chris exhales, tries to remember to gaze at stars and not Captain Stan. “Like jumping off the wind-cliffs on Selene. Like sky-diving, in free-fall, knowing you’ve done everything right, you should land fine, but that minute right before you come down safe and sound, but there’s nothing left you can do now��But, look, I didn’t mean to interrupt you, I didn’t know anyone’d be here—”

“You aren’t interrupting.” Sebastian shrugs, one-shouldered; glances out at the view. “I love this spot too. I always have. And I love the stars in motion. We’re going somewhere, doing something. On our way to help someone. The way you just did.”

“I didn’t do all that much.” But he kind of likes the compliment, the glow it sparks in his bones. “Part of a whole delegation. We just got the factions in a room, got them to talk. They did the rest.”

“But you did that,” Sebastian points out. “You gave them the space, the encouragement, the opening to speak and to listen. What you did…that’ll help end the war on Tacitara, and that’ll make life better for all their people. That’s important.”

“Yeah,” Chris says. “I mean…yeah. I know. It is important. I just…”

“You want to do more,” Sebastian says. “You want to help even more. More people, more worlds. Get them all to talk to each other.”

“Well…yeah.” And those words, Sebastian’s words, disarm him. How can someone he’s barely met know him, see him, so well? From a moment alone with the stars, with the night?

Sebastian’s smile quirks. “And you’re here. For a whole week. Stuck in transit, with nothing to do.”

“I don’t mean it like that,” Chris protests.

“I know.” Sebastian, looking Chris’s way, is outlined by star-streaks. They shine topaz and violet and sapphire in his hair, along his left cheekbone. “I get it.”

A flash of memory surfaces; the Calliope, Chris recalls, had been one of the smaller ships bringing medical aid, and assisting in desperate evacuations, after the horrific planetary eruptions on Cronus. He hadn’t known her captain’s name at the time, or if he had he hadn’t remembered.

Sebastian would’ve been several years younger then, maybe right out of the Flight Academy. Maybe even a first assignment.

Those lapidary grey-blue eyes’ve seen a lot, behind sparkling youthful glee about space and courier missions. Probably as much, if not more, than Chris has in Federation negotiations.

He says, “I know you do,” and he means it. “Thanks.”

Sebastian now looks surprised. “For what?”

“Um…talking to me?”

“You said you couldn’t sleep.” Sebastian gives him a small head-tip: familiarity. “I get that sometimes too.”

Chris winces again. “I really didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“You didn’t, I said.” Sebastian sighs. “Trying to write. Not that it’s working. I’m glad I was here, though. If you wanted someone to talk to.”

“I’m glad you were here too.” He means that, also. “Writing?”

“Ah.” Sebastian makes a face: half-abashed, half-amused at his own letting that out, self-deprecating but not exactly shy. “Not anything really…I mean, maybe someday…I just like telling stories, sort of…places I’ve been, people I’ve met, kind of fictionalized, kind of travel writing…sort of memoir…I’ve published a couple pieces, on the holonet…nothing big, though, just in my spare time…”

Chris narrows his eyes at this dismissal. He’s a decent diplomat; he can tell when someone’s kicking sand over the truth. “Anything I’d know?”

Sebastian laughs. “Not unless you read The Next Horizon’s creative contributor’s section on a dedicated basis.”

“Yeah, the thing is,” Chris says, “literally billions of people on billions of planets read some version of The Next Horizon, that’s pretty much the biggest place you can contribute something, if you’re at all into literature and arts and writing,” and stares at Sebastian very hard.

“It’s only three short pieces so far—”

“Three?!”

Sebastian’s cheeks get pink under the rainbow wash of swiftspace star-field color; he does a small head-duck and nose-scrunch and says, “Sorry?” as if that’s something to feel guilty about, and eyes the Calliope’s hull out the viewport like he’s longing for a spontaneous spacewalk.

“Fuck,” Chris says, wholeheartedly impressed. “I mean…fuck. Wow.”

Sebastian gets over embarrassment enough to laugh. “Nice diplomatic language, Ambassador.”

“Chris,” Chris corrects. “Please.”

And Sebastian’s eyes get even happier, even more luminous and shining. “Then it’s Sebastian. Definitely.”

“Sebastian.”

That earns a tiny lip-lick, a shift of weight: suddenly the room and the stars and Chris’s skin prickle with awareness. Sebastian’s looking at him, at the sound of his own name on Chris’s lips; Chris has found him beautiful already, but abruptly it’s real and sharp and thrumming like a plucked wire: Chris and Sebastian, together under space-light.

“Chris,” Sebastian says.

“Yeah?” Chris shifts weight as well. Closer to him. Enough to reach out and touch. And neither of them draws away.

“I’m glad it was us,” Sebastian says. “Me. The closest available courier. For you.” His fingertips are near enough to brush Chris’s, in the next heartbeat.

Chris turns his hand. Lets the touch happen: lets his skin drink in the feel of Sebastian’s fingers, the way they’re warm and curious and unafraid, moving to meet his.

He thinks about starlight, and the week’s journey to Earth, and time to get to know Sebastian more, time to talk about words and stories and saving people. He thinks about debriefings, and some accumulated shore leave after that, before a next assignment.

He wonders whether Sebastian’s got any stored-up leave also; he wonders whether Sebastian likes the ocean, or wind-cliffs, or quiet retreats in a snowy cabin with space to write and some cozy hand-made non-replicator hot chocolate, the way Chris’s mother taught him. He wants to find out.

He says, under rushing flowing galactic kaleidoscope glow, with Sebastian’s fingers twining themselves into his, “I’m glad it was you, too.”

#evanstan #my fic #evanstan week 2021 #evanstan week #chris evans #sebastian stan #alternate universe #space au

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jae-canikeepyou · 5 years ago

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| hey m.v.p. | j.jh

pair: jaehyun x fem!reader

genre: fluff

a/n: okay. this is not the first that i’ve written a scenario based on basketball, so i hope this can maybe(?) make your hearts giddy again? also! it’s really not proof read nor well written but please do enjoy reading! hehehe 🥰 ~j.

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the continuous, long, ringing sound of the impact from the bouncing amber colored ball boasted its decibels at the outdoor mini court.

today was another date with your boyfriend; a varsity basketball player of the university. unlike most couples, girls would wait for their darlings to finish a game. for you however, would join him for a one-on-one match. serious or not he’d always let you play; not because he would go easy on you, but because you knew how to take on his challenge.

jaehyun called a timeout, noticing how heavy you exhaled and your lungs struggled to catch breath. he tossed you a bottle and you gladly took it to quench yourself. he watched you standing at the center of the mid-court, the sun’s rays acting like your glowing background, defining beauty and a heaven-sent figure he was blessed to have.

feeling squirmy and shy around you was something he couldn’t resist to feel out in the public. he was affectionate with skinship and you didn’t mind that at all.

“baby!” you jogged towards your boyfriend, helping him wipe the rolling beads of sweat by his temples and forehead. “teach me how to nail a through-the-leg shot.”

“why?” he interlocked his fingers behind you so you wouldn’t escape.

he copied and mimicked your whines because it was the nth time you have asked him, and he always refused to teach you. “but every time i do it i miss a shot-” your words close to inaudible but jaehyun understood what you meant and he pressed his lips. “-or i end up falling.” you shrugged.

“y/n. your form’s okay. it’s just your jump landing and timing.” he pinched your cheeks lightly. “i wanna teach you but i don’t want my baby to get hurt, so no.”

you took the towel that was placed on his head as he took the ball, feeling bummed that this time yet again he wouldn’t teach you. he gestured you to go to him and you obliged no matter how salty you slightly felt towards him.

a short break was enough for you both to continue with the sport. with all the small matches you’ve played against him, there was one thing you’ve always known: jaehyun was very competitive, so whatever ball game or any game you both played, he was always, always going to play it better. you loved how concentrated his eyes were, the tiny smirk when you were open, the deepening of his dimples once the ball went in the hoop, and the victorious stretch of his arms as he celebrated.

he dribbled the ball and you tried to steal it away from him, but given your smaller frame with his, he probably held himself back and went a little lenient to you. “there’s a game that mark taught me. it’s called h.o.r.s.e. we played it for at least thirty minutes. wanna give it a shot?” he stopped moving and spun the ball on his pointer finger.

“okay!” you cheered, making him smile wider at the willingness you showed. “how does it go?”

“i’ll do a move and you follow what i do, but you’ll gain a letter if you failed to shoot. the game ends when either of us reaches ‘e’.” he tossed the ball to you. “i’ll let you start.”

“hold on, i feel hot.” you dropped the ball to hold in between your feet, and removed the thin layer of jacket sticking to your skin. you wore a loose white crop top over the new sports bra you bought and grey sweatpants.

jaehyun averted his gaze although he blushed unnecessarily at your carefree action. he cleared his throat from thinking of unnecessary thoughts entering his brain. he tossed you the ball again and the game started with you doing a simple free throw; followed by his layups and double clutch. the punishment were always the same; buy food for the other. this time you didn’t want to lose and made sure you make the shot while he misses.

he began to smirk, something he’d usually do to signal you. the battle was on. there was no way he would lose this, so he went for a move that he knew you wouldn’t do. you guessed it, the through-the-leg shot. however he groaned right after he realised what he had done, and was too late when you got the ball in your palms.

you attempted the move and just when you thought you had it, the ball missed the ring and fell— so was the view before your eyes, you were falling too. the good thing was you managed to get on your toes, but collapsing on your knees afterwards.

“aww, that’s an ‘e’ for me.” you hissed and laid down on the ground, defeated again.

“it’s okay.” he helped you up and hugged, but you immediately pulled yourself away from him.

“tsk, you’re sticky.” you ran towards the bench, to no avail he picked you up and turned you non-stop. “put me down jae.”

jaehyun loved spoiling you the way he could get his chance upon, that included almost every little thing you did— from the pursed lips when you were feeling embarrassed to your breaking smile that sent his heart flying everywhere. however, he wasn’t the only one you sent his heart flying and bursting in the sky.

it was a given that in the campus, you weren’t part of the ‘visual spectrum’ the students have created, but it was your beautiful soul and kind-hearted personality that attracted them to you. and jaehyun was pulled to you like a magnet once his friends continuously nudged each other that one time at the locker hall. since then he was one of those secret admirers who skilfully and secretly left you letters after class, a carton of juice or milk in your bag, and offered you an umbrella on rainy days.

you didn’t like the attention, in all honesty you weren’t even craving for some. there were worries whether if you had done something wrong that caused them to talk about you all the time despite being a transfer student of the creative media department. so that one day when your friend invited you to watch a basketball match, it was when you saw jaehyun for the first time.

the team noticed your existence at one area of the blenchers. imagine the impact they gave when they all stared at you like meerkats and yet smiled like adorable quokkas. one certain quokka however got your attention, well not because he had dimples, but because he was hit in the face with a basketball.

let us all say you became friends and he invited you to be in his group project. great chemistry and ideals for each other. what made jaehyun fall for you even more was that, you played basketball, just like him.

the memory of that time was interrupted with jaehyun leaving you at the bench, off to somewhere the heavens knew where. as you waited, your eyes led to the ball, tempting you to try out the skill you’ve always failed at. this is the chance, you thought. dribbling the ball several times, your attempts to try it failed miserably again.

you stood right at the arc of the lines beneath your shoes. determination fired your eyes and felt like goku from the dragon ball animation. the repetitive sentence echoed your ears, telling yourself ‘you could do it’. however that was stopped when players you’ve never seen before circled around you, almost hovering your small frame.

“hey, mind if we.. teach you?” they offered, but their intentions were very transparent. and you should’ve worn your jacket.

“no thanks. i pretty much can handle it myself.” you picked the ball up and went back to the bench, only to be stopped halfway when one of them grabbed your wrists. “let go.”

a smug look on their faces had you stepping backwards. “little miss killjoy, we’re offering you help-”

“she’s already gotten help.” jaehyun soon came behind you and your back hit his chest.

“who the heck are you?” they asked as if putting up a front would scare him.

“i’m her boyfriend and i’d appreciate it if you lot stop staring at her like that.” he let you sit on the bench once they scurried off, placing his towel on your head that was large enough to reach your lap. “from now on you’re wearing my my jacket and don’t take it off.”

you gulped when he stared into your eyes, full of worry and as if he sent protective shields to wrap around you. “the weather’s getting hot jae, and do you want me to die out of so much heat?”

“it’s better than getting your skin so exposed like earlier. you know you attract guys in the way i can’t tolerate.”

ah this argument again. more fingers and toes were needed to count because this wasn’t the first time jaehyun has been protective of you; although you couldn’t really blame him as to the whole campus— maybe to the majority of your admirers, he did win your heart. it wasn’t that you hated that side of him, you couldn’t bring it up to tell him that it limits you to be free.

a sigh was heard from your lips, catching his attention and he knelt down to see you properly. “but i’m not hiding anything!” you whined, removing the towel and jacket all at the same time, jaehyun startled at your childish response.

he arched his brows like he had something up in his sleeves. “really? you’re not hiding anything?” his palms reached for the ends of your sweatpants. he pulled and rolled them up until the fabric reached your thighs.

“what are you- look jae i swear i’m not hiding-” you then hissed at the pain soon as the wind hit your wounded, scarred knees.

“well?” he asked, tearing off the plaster packaging with his teeth and cleaned the wounds on both. “you’re not good at hiding something like this though.”

a spread of heat and embarrassment crawled your cheeks. “how did you know?”

jaehyun let out a soft chuckle. “you’re easy to read, honey.” he planted a kiss on your forehead and sat beside you. “you should’ve told me you’re in pain- why are you staring at me like that?”

he saw how your eyes widened and they asked for a quick stare contest. he was definitely lured into you, and that wasn’t new to him. “what?” he questioned again.

“ugh no good. i can’t read you at all.” you defeatedly laid on the bags. “i was confused why you left so suddenly. i thought you felt guilty because i lost the game and that you bought us snacks. i didn’t know you went all the way to tend me.”

“at the beginning of our relationship i told you i’ll treat you like a princess.” he pulled you close to him. “so let me treat you like one.”

“i’m no damsel in distress.” you rolled your eyes, a faint smile curving by the corners of your lips.

“uh clearly you were? i saved your butt from those guys.”

“and you saved me again with this.” you pointed at the carefully-plastered knees of yours and nudged him. “m.v.p.”

jaehyun felt you kiss his cheek, stunned with the title you named him. “i call you all cute nicknames and that’s all i’m gonna get? and you know i’m already the m.v.p.” his bummed voice caused you to giggle.

“not in basketball.” you reasoned.

“you expect me to play ‘guess the word’ now? because y/n, i’m not in the mood for-”

“you’re my valiant prince. m. v. p.”

jaehyun now laid on your lap, covering his ears at sudden nickname; obviously was awestruck and have never blushed so hard in his entire life.

#nct 127 #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun fanfic #jung jaehyun #jaehyun fluff #jung yoonoh #jaehyun au #jeong jaehyun #jeong yoonoh #nct scenarios #jaehyun oneshot

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maandags · 5 years ago

Text

counting stars (Finn Shelby x reader)

heh . ye

-- -- --

Summary: In which Finn can’t help but be attracted to you--like a moth to flame.

Word count: 9.4K

Genre: angst

Notes: CW: graphic depiction of injury/violence; unhealthy coping mechanisms; destructive behaviour - masterlist - makin myself sad here we go!

-- -- --

"Tommy's asked me to come to the races."

You barely look up from your work, pen still scritching incessantly at the paper. "That's great." You know you probably sound distracted, maybe even uninterested, but you can't bring yourself to care all that much. You have work to do, and it's already late, and you don't really want to get home any later than absolutely necessary.

Finn puts his hands in his pockets, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to another, loitering next to your desk. Then his fingers are tapping a nervous rhythm on his thigh, then he's running them through his hair, then they're running along the edge of your chair and it's getting so distracting that you can't concentrate on your work anymore.

You firmly set your pen down, straightening your back and cracking your jaw. "What is it?"

He looks down at you, eyes a little wider than usual; his hands drop to his sides and still. "Nothing."

Rolling your eyes, you pick up your pen again. "You're a shit liar. It's almost eight, what are you still doing here?"

It sounds a little pathetic, you think. The very reason why you're still busting your ass at eight in the evening is the very same as the one which dictates that Finn Shelby–your boss Tommy Shelby's little brother–can get up and leave whenever he wants.

You decided yourself that you wanted to stay later today. So that maybe, just maybe, you would get a day off soon. Sure, working for Shelby Company Ltd. certainly isn't the worst, and the pay is decent; but you're slaving over your desk from seven A.M. to six P.M. and even then you often work overtime. Because you're practically the youngest. Because you aren't intimidating. Because you keep quiet and do what you're told, your teeth gritted and jaw clenched.

And here is Finn Shelby, staring at the sole lamp illuminating your work and informing you that his brother has finally invited him to a race. Good for him. You didn't know what he expected you to say–so you just didn't say anything.

Then, suddenly, "Why are you still here?"

You snort out a laugh. "Some of us need to actually work to get by, Finn-boy." The nickname sounds weird when you say it, but that might just be your bitter tone.

"I work."

"You sit on your ass in your office on your nice and comfortable leather chair and get whores delivered to you at lunch. You don't work." Around the body of your pen, your knuckles turn white. The tip feels fragile all of a sudden, like it could snap any moment. Carefully, you set it down on its holder. Breathe. "I'm going home."

Finn blinks, lets you pass him, then seems to realise that he wanted to say something. "Wait. Wait, Y/N, hang on.” He takes your wrist, and before your brain can properly process it and gauge an appropriate reaction you’ve ripped it from his grip. Finn’s breath hitches and he purses his lips and you feel a little bad–but only a little.

“I wanted to ask you if you wanted to come too.”

You snort. “To the races?” He nods. “With you?” He nods again. You shake your head. “Finn, I don’t think I can afford a day off work.” It’s not a lie–not really–but it’s not the whole truth, either. It wouldn’t work, you remind yourself. It would never work.

You’ve noticed the way Finn looks at you when he thinks you can’t see him. You’re not blind; and he isn’t subtle about it. But you know it would be a bad idea. It would do nothing good–it would end in tears and sorrow. Inevitably.

And here he is practically asking you out on a date, and you’re trying to let him down as gently as you can.

“Fuck work,” he says, and you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from growling in frustration. “I can make sure you’ll get paid anyway. It is a certain branch of work, after all.”

You scoff. “A branch of work in which you and your brothers strut around like proud fucking peacocks, intimidating anyone who even thinks about approaching you, wearing your gun holsters like jewellery. In which my job is to look dainty and pretty by your side and make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Finn’s cheeks have coloured and you shake your head again. A pang of pity bursts in your chest, and you force yourself to lay a hand on his arm–though your fingers tremble with the effort. “I’m sorry, Finn,” you say, tone gentler now. “But it just isn’t for me.”

You aren’t for me.

With that, you tug your scarf around your neck and step out the door, casting your gaze down to protect your eyes from the shrieking wind.

And it’s not that you don’t want to. Because you know that Finn is a good man, beneath all the cockiness and arrogance he seems to build his personality off of. You know that under it all, Finn is just a kid trying to live up to the legends his older brothers have written out.

It’s not that you don’t want to–because you know you do, oh god you do–but it’s that Finn doesn’t deserve what you would do to him.

He’s still just a kid, and despite being almost the same age, you’re not.

He’s been protected all his life, and you lost all protection you once had from anyone years ago.

He’s always had it all, you have had to fight tooth and nail to get where you are now, and it’s made you into something else. Something rough and calloused and bitter and angry, oh so angry.

And Finn doesn’t deserve that.

You share your flat with two men. They’ve never tried anything with you, and you appreciate it, as long as you don’t have to see their faces for any longer than you strictly have to. The little living room is always too crowded, even when it’s empty save for you; the walls are so thin you can hear everything that goes on in either of their bedrooms. The flat feels stuffy and too small and it’s not unusual for you to spend a night out–whether it be on the streets, on a roof, on the docks. Somewhere outside where you have air to breathe, as polluted and grey as it might be.

Tonight, though, you decide to stop by your flat to grab a change of clothes and quickly wash your face. A freshly made sandwich lies on your pillow and you snatch it up and rip out a bite. When you zip out into the hallway again, you stop by your flatmate’s door and give it a sharp knock–your way of saying thanks without having to say anything.

The only time you ever really feel something resembling peace is when you look up at the vast night sky and can make out stars.

It’s hard in the city, and it gets harder every night, but this time it seems the universe has granted you one night where the sky is so clear that pinpricks of stars are visible against its blackness; and you lie down, munching on the last of your sandwich, feeling grateful for the fact that even if shit’s hard right now–even if you have to bust your ass for 12 hours a day only to get barely enough money for you to live off of–the sky and its stars will always be there for you on particularly hard nights.

You would like to live somewhere in the countryside when all of this is over, you muse. Somewhere you can see the stars every night. You’ve heard that the sky is even more beautiful in the countryside because of the lack of light pollution. It sounds peaceful, and fuck knows that peace is something you desperately need.

The roof you chose this night isn’t that far from your flat, and it’s not particularly high up. There’s nothing special about it, nothing that would justify your choice to camp out in this particular spot. It just felt right. You try to empty your head, focus on nothing but the twinkling above.

You don’t know when exactly you fall asleep, but you wake up early enough to see the sun rise over the rooftops and as you watch, squinting against the brightness of the sunlight after a dark night, your arms curled around your knees and your cheek pressed against the still-warm bricks of a chimney, you repeat the promise you’ve been making to yourself every day for as long as you can remember; Today will be better.

There has yet to be a day where you can say with confidence that you kept it.

– – –

Nobody looks up strange when you walk into work early–again. The office has only just opened, and here you come barreling through the door, plopping down at your desk and immediately bending over the new pile of papers left there overnight. After a while, you frown. The stack is smaller than it usually is–and while that would be a source of good news to anyone else, all it makes you do is worry about not having enough work to pass the time. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you tap your pen on the side of your desk, internally debating. Then you give a little growl and scrape your chair back, ignoring the glares you’re getting from your co-workers, and stomp towards your boss’ office.

“You could’ve at least knocked,” says Tommy as you march through the doorway. He’s wearing his glasses, and he patiently plucks them off his nose and places the palms of his hands perfectly against one another. “What’s on your mind?”

You don’t know why Tommy has taken such a liking to you. You don’t know why Tommy lets you get away with as much as he does; you don’t know why he only frowns at you over something that would get literally anyone else fired on the spot (along with a nicely formulated threat to stay away from his company or else); you don’t know why he keeps you around at all. You’ve had your fair share of outbursts, both in his office and outside of it. You’ve broken your fair share of fancy teacups, had your fair share of breakdowns in front of him, even told him to his face you quit only to come back into work the next morning like nothing happened.

He’s just always been so patient with you. Like a parent would be patient with their child, or a brother with his younger sibling.

And you don’t know how to feel about it.

“I just want to know why you cut my workload in half?” It comes out snappier than you intended (as most of your words do), and you clamp your mouth shut, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. “I mean–if you don’t think I can handle it or something, that’s not something you should be worried about, because I know I can–”

“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that,” he says, waving a hand about and in front of his face. “I just want to make sure you’re done early so you can get ready for tonight.”

You scowl. “What’s tonight?”

Tommy’s eyes twinkle. “Well, Finn might have mentioned I invited him to the races–”

“And he asked me to go with him and I told him no,” you growl. “I told him no. So can I get my normal workload back?”

“No,” says Tommy, voice level as ever, eyes kind and patient as ever. “Because you won’t be going as Finn’s date. You’ll be going as my assistant.”

Ah. Now that’s a little more interesting. You cross your arms, dip your chin onto your chest, but your interest is grudgingly piqued and you know Tommy knows. “And what will that entail?”

He shrugs, sitting back in his chair, able to relax now that he’s got your attention. “Mostly observing, taking notes. I want you to know everything that’s going on at all times, because I might be busy doing… other stuff, and I still want to be able to tell which bastards are where at what moment.”

You nod, slowly. “And will I be involved in this other stuff?”

“If I can help it, you will absolutely not be involved in the other stuff.”

Biting your lip, you consider his words. It doesn’t sound like that much trouble. It certainly sounds less boring than a normal day at work.

Then Tommy says, “You’ll get extra pay, of course,” and you know you’ve practically already accepted.

But there is still a question nagging at the back of your mind. “Why’d you ask me?”

“Sorry?”

“I mean–why me? There are so many other people who would do a fine job, who you know a lot better than you know me, who aren’t as–” –you wave your hands about, trying to find the right word– “–explosive as I can be. I’m a liability, especially in situations as delicate as this.”

You’re not trying to convince him to take back his proposal; you only want to make sure he knows what he’s getting himself into.

But he smiles calmly, in that calculated way of his, and you almost roll your eyes because of course he’s calm and collected and calculated–he’s Tommy fucking Shelby. “Y/N, I’m more than familiar with explosive.”

It’s true, but you’re still hesitant, and you can’t really figure out why. Because there doesn’t really seem to be any reason for you to deny this offer; granted, it’s a little different from your usual work, but you are observant and relaying information to your boss is what you do on a daily basis anyway.

And besides, it’s the races. Everybody likes the races.

“So which tables are ours?”

Tommy already led you around the track, pointing out which horse was his, whispering under his breath what you needed to write down, taking you for what looked like a jolly stroll around the track but what in reality felt more like an intelligence gathering mission. You liked it, though, you had to admit; there was a certain thrill to it all. Knowing that the race is fixed; that the result is inevitable, that you know exactly which horse is set up to win and which to lose.

Tommy discreetly points to a couple of booths. “That one, that one… and also there.” You jot their numbers down, eyeing the surroundings, scanning the crowd at their perimeter for anyone suspicious. A few men immediately stand out to you: the ones that seem stiff, constantly looking around them like predators hunting for prey, stalking around in loose circles around a certain betting table and watching the progress.

"Coppers," Tommy says when you inquire about the men. He frowns. "At least, I think they're coppers. Plain clothed men, by the looks of it; they're just making sure everything runs smoothly. Don't think we don't need to worry much about them." But something about the men rubs you the wrong way, and every time your gaze passes across one the uneasy feeling grows stronger.

But you have a job to do, and so you shake the weird policemen from your thoughts and focus completely on the job–the delicate, sensitive job.

"All right, Y/N," says Tommy when your introductory round draws to a close. "You stay close to the tables, peek over their shoulders, take notes, make them uncomfortable. Make sure you know everything that's going on at all times, yeah? If anything looks suspicious to you, come to me immediately. Hear me? To me. Not John, not Arthur, not fucking Finn. Me."

You cock your head, shifting your weight from one hip to the other. "How do you know I won't tamper with the bets and make off with a nice bit of money for myself?"

"I don't, but I also don't think you're stupid enough to do that."

"You're going to have to trust me, then. That's a bad idea."

"Don't get comfortable. I absolutely do not trust you."

"But you picked me for this job," you press again, because it's still so intriguing to you.

"Indeed I did. Don't make me regret it." He lights a cigarette and marches off, calling his boys to him as he does. You cross your arms again and watch as his brothers sidle up to him. John and Arthur are there, and so is Finn. You knew he was going to be here, of course; he was the one who invited you in the first place, but seeing him walk next to his brothers, able to pinpoint exactly the guns and knives strapped to their chests and hips, you can’t help but compare the four men. It’s easy to tell that Finn doesn’t do this often: there’s a weirdly excited spring in his step.

You have to fight the urge to scoff, and you turn away, shaking your head. Oh, yay, let’s go to the races and shoot everyone who stands in the way of our illegal betting tables. We’ll have a blast!

For the first few hours, you do exactly as Tommy told you. You take notes, hover around the Blinders’ betting tables, keeping an eye on any skimming of money that might be going on; but the Peaky Blinders look like they’ve made their impression on the table boys because they’re doing their jobs perfectly, arranging the money and taking names in a way that’s more organised that you’ve ever seen anything run by the Peaky Blinders being executed.

You get a few questioning (if not outright hostile) looks from bystanders, pick up a few whispers from betters irritated at how you’re cutting in line and no one seems to care, but you ignore them, brandishing your clipboard like a shield and critically examining every single transaction that’s being made. The other tables progress the exact same way, and when the first races start, the crowds only thicken.

But after a moment, you grow bored. You get to watch the races for a while, from a distance, making sure Tommy won’t be able to see you if he were to look around the track, and listening to the commentary that blasts from high-up speakers and makes the air sizzle with tension. The crowds are mostly watching the races now, women speaking closely behind their hats and gloves and pretty dresses; the men more interested in the various betting pools that are scattered around the tracks. Every once in a while, you look back to your own tables, determine everything is going all right, and turn back to the far more interesting horse races unfolding in front of you.

When Tommy’s horse is brought out–its name is Elizabeth, and you roll your eyes–you perk up. Now is the time to keep an eye on the tables. Dragging a chair next to the boy at the first one, you rip the lid off your pen and mumble, “Talk to me.” He gives you the information you need to know: clear, concise, not beating around the bush. You wonder if Tommy warned them about your complete lack of patience and inability to take bullshit.

You’re almost starting to run out of paper, but as you’re making your way to the last table, you notice the coppers again.

Before, you’d thought they were circling Tommy’s betting tables. Now, you realise that they’re not interested in his tables–they’re interested in the man himself.

You can see Tommy standing in his booth, cigarette smoke curling up and around the rim of his cap as he keeps a keen eye on his Elizabeth down on the tracks; around him are stationed a few plain-clothed Peaky boys. You can see the barrels of their pistols glinting in the sunlight. Your gaze shifts upward, to the watchtowers set up around the perimeter, to the roofs; and sure enough, a couple of boys with long-range rifles are scanning the crowd like hawks. Their tell-tale caps hide their faces, but it’s clear enough that they’re some of Tommy’s men. You imagine Finn is probably up there, too: Tommy always gives him a sniper position if he thinks the situation’s about to get messy, to make sure he stays mostly out of the carnage.

And all around them–almost everywhere, you realise with a start, mingling with the audience–there are men watching them. They don’t look any different from the members of the audience they’re trying so hard to imitate, but whereas the real public looks excited and cheers the horses on and look like they’re having the time of their lives, these men are stoic, and again they remind you of predators stalking round their unsuspecting prey in the most discrete way.

It should set you on edge. It should make you uncomfortable, knowing that because you’re here as Tommy’s associate, it’s safe to assume you’ll be in the line of fire if things get messy. But it doesn’t.

It gives you an adrenaline rush. You suddenly feel like you’re on the run again; except this time your life isn’t the only one on the line.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you catch a flash of movement.

It’s barely a flicker, but as you whip your head around and strain your neck you can just make out a tussle: one boy–if it’s one of Tommy’s men, he’s lost his cap, and after a quick search of the ground below him you can make out a small, crumpled grey heap on the stone, and your suspicions are confirmed–wrestling against three men, all bigger, all beefier, all stronger. He doesn’t stand a chance, of course, and after one particularly vicious punch in the gut he crumbles. The two other men hold him up by his arms. The one who punched him spits in his face, then shakes his head and gestures for the others to follow him.

When the battered Peaky boy looks up, chest heaving, your eyebrows shoot up. It’s that familiar mop of brown hair (usually well-kept, like everything else about him–now it’s messy and tousled, as if he’d been dragged head first across a grass field). It’s the freckled face, the thin lips twisted into a pained snarl; the eyes so full of life you’d grown partial to–enough to recognise him from a hundred yards away. Finn.

With a frown, your gaze snaps back up to the sniper posts you spotted just before; and sure enough, a watchtower is empty. Back to Finn, and you give a short, irritated sigh. Of course the men relieved him of his rifle. You don’t know if Finn carries a knife on him, but if he does, it’s safe to assume the men got hold of that too. Which leaves him with nothing to defend himself.

And you know you shouldn’t leave your post. It’s a stupid thing to do, and Tommy told you not to stray from the tables–but maybe that’s part of why you do it anyway. There’s something about being told what to do that just doesn’t sit right with you, even if it is your own boss giving the orders. Call it reckless, call it insane; but you have a space of two seconds to decide what to do before the small group of men is completely out of sight.

So you follow them.

Of course you do.

It’s not easy to admit, especially when you’ve been trying to tell yourself the exact opposite for months, but you like him. More than you want; more than you should. But you’ve learned long ago that feelings don’t like to be told what to be either.

So the most you can do–all you know to do–is ignore them. Try to bury them. Lock them up in a treasure chest that you lob into the depths of the ocean and of which you melt the key.

Because sometimes you have to choose, and sometimes you can’t afford to let those choices be affected by feelings.

It’s a mistake you’ve made before, and a mistake you told yourself you would never make again.

But when the person you experience those feelings towards is kidnapped right in front of you, you can’t just not do anything.

You follow them from as far as physically possible without losing sight of them, but to your surprise they aren’t moving away from the main building–they're moving towards it. Your confusion only grows when one of them pulls a key ring from his pocket and opens a back door. The corridor is too dark to be able to tell where it leads, and you exhale sharply, growing more impatient by the second.

As soon as the door is open, the two men flanking Finn pull him roughly over the threshold. He stumbles, and in response, the man on the left punches him in the gut again; he doubles over, coughing. Your jaw twitches.

You force yourself to wait a full minute before following them. A full minute. You count the seconds–one pink elephant, two pink elephant–and as soon as you get to sixty, you tear across the square. Please be unlocked, please be unlocked, you pray as you try the handle: it doesn’t budge, and you give a frustrated growl.

All right. All right. Think. Lowering your head into your hands, you close your eyes. Your vision turns black, and soon you can hear nothing but your own breathing.

You could try to pick the lock. It looked rusty–it shouldn’t be that hard to get open.

But that would take time, and Finn is in danger now. What if you just blasted the lock through the door? Your gun sits against your hip, grows hot. But that’s loud, and the risk of someone hearing you is too great.

Someone else must have the key, though, right? You perk up immediately, eyes scanning across the tribunes. People are now scrambling for a seat, their legs having grown tired of holding them up in the summer sun that’s still beating down on them. But there are dozens of men here, you remind yourself immediately after. The chance you manage to run into one who just happens to have the key on him is too slim.

Nothing. Nothing else comes to mind. Empty. You slap your forehead, willing for another idea to spark. Of course, it doesn’t work, and in a rage you ball a fist and slam it into the wall behind you. Pain jolts through your entire arm, down your shoulder to your chest. You barely feel it, unable to concentrate in anything past the burning of white-hot fury.

You take a deep, ragged breath. Right. Right. Yanking your gun from its holster, you weigh it in your hand, gaze fixed on the lock–the stupid fucking lock, the only barrier between you and Finn. Slowly, you point the gun to the lock. The distance between the two objects only counts about three inches. Your hands are perfectly still. Again, you take a breath. Steady. One, two–

And then you hear it, and your head snaps up. Your vision clears, immediately focused again.

Footsteps.

Not the slightly disoriented footsteps that would belong to some random person who took a wrong turn; no, these footsteps are deliberate and stealthy–and directed right towards you.

So you press yourself flat against the wall, scooting up to the corner, waiting for him to round it. Closer, closer… and then a foot crosses the line, and your elbow immediately shoots out and connects. The stranger grunts, his hands immediately coming up to cover his nose. Blood trickles out from between his fingers and he stumbles, but you don't give him the chance to recover.

He's on the ground in a matter of seconds, with your knees firmly caging in his arms, despite being almost a full head taller than you–you found out that in a fair fight, size doesn't matter much as long as you have balls and a strong, strong motivation to beat your opponent to a pulp.

And that, you do.

You throw punch after punch–his jaw cracks beneath your knuckles but you can't bring yourself to care–and it's with effort that you finally sit back and take a breath. When you wipe a hand across the back of your mouth, you can taste the blood staining your fingers. The man beneath you whimpers. What is still visible of his purple and swollen eyes is rolled into the back of his head. He takes short, ragged breaths through bloody lips, his nose too swollen and broken to be of any use–cuts and bruises litter his cheeks and forehead. You're pretty sure you gave him a concussion.

"KEYS." You make sure there is no debate possible as to what it is you want. A single word, hissed from between cracked lips; a voice hoarse, rougher and harder than the roughest and hardest raw diamond.

The man gives a weak cough and your fingers, slick with blood–both yours and his–grasp his collar, pulling his face up and close to yours. You snarl, animal-like; baring your teeth and growling, "Give me your fucking keys."

A hand, close to your knee, tries to move, and you immediately let his head drop onto the hard pavement–his pained groan sounds like music to your ears–he's responsible for Finn's kidnapping he was in on it he knew about it he is just as responsible as the kidnappers themselves they will pay they will pay they will pay I will make them pay–and, with (to your surprise) trembling fingers, you almost immediately find the ring of keys that you're looking for.

All your churning rage leaves you in one fell swoop when your hand closes around the keys, the cold hard metal somehow snapping you out of your blind fury. It's still there, of course, but it doesn't have the upper hand any more. You're collected, calm even as you haul yourself up and cast the writhing man below you a disgusted look.

You could kill him. It would make no difference.

It would be so easy–you figure one well-placed kick would do the trick.

You state at him for what feels like eons, what are in reality not much more than a couple of seconds, but then you step back and make your way to the door, already thinking about which key to try first. Maybe you're lucky and, if you change your mind, he'll still be there when you get back. Maybe he'll die alone there, bloodied and beat up; you don't know exactly how badly you fucked him up. It would be a death worthy of a dog, and it wouldn't keep you up at night.

A bloody corpse, after all, is a bitch to clean up.

Behind the metal door is a short, dark corridor that leads to a stairway. On the dirty floor, you can just make out the sheen of fresh drops of blood where the outside light reflects in them. Your knuckles turn white around the door handle before you uncurl your fingers from it and let the door fall closed behind you.

It's surprisingly easy to navigate the stairway when your eyes adjust to the darkness. Quickly, quietly, you slip down, one hand resting against the wall for guidance, the other one hovering near your hip, ready to pull out your gun at any sign of trouble.

After a few minutes, the stairs stop and transform into another corridor, this one illuminated by a single naked light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Stains litter the plastered walls, and everywhere you look are cracks. At the end of the corridor is a door, and it looks eerily similar to the first one, at the top of the staircase, though you have a feeling that this one isn't locked.

As you tiptoe closer to the door, you start to make out voices. You press your ear against the door, try to form the echoing sounds into words, phrases, but the noise is jumbled and impossible to make sense of.

All right. So you need a game plan. You need to know what you're going to say. There are three armed men in there. Guns, perhaps knives–and you're good, sure, but even you can't win a three-against-one if you don't have a significant advantage.

Something starts to form in your mind, and you set your jaw, rolling your shoulders and preparing for a fight–should it come to that. You hoped not, or at least not until you'd made sure of Finn's safety. Because really, that's all you want from this entire ordeal: you just want Finn to be safe.

You try the handle, slowly, carefully and sure enough it clicks.

With a last deep breath, you push open the door with a flourish and stroll into the room like you own it.

"Fellas, how're you doing? Oh, hi Finn," you add nonchalantly, casting him a cold look. It's harder than you thought, and the sight of him very nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

He's bound–strung up by his wrists like an animal–and looks worse than what you'd imagined the men would inflict upon him in the minutes you lost looking for a way in. His torn shirt hangs off his frame in ragged strips of fabric. Cuts and bruises litter his chest and face, and his trousers hang halfway off his hips, showing the sharp line of his hip bones. He's resting on his knees, but the ropes binding his wrists to the walls seem to do a better job of holding him up than his legs; Finn looks like he's only seconds away from collapsing.

All of this, you take note of in the split second you allow yourself to look at him. You can't see his expression in the dimly lit room; can't see his eyes; but that may be for the best. It's crucial for you to stay in character right now.

One of the men around him looks you up and down, mouth twisted in a snarl. He doesn't look very intimidated–as is your point, it's very important that none of them feel threatened by your presence. Instead, all three men's faces bear an expression that's a mix of confusion and apprehension.

"And who the fuck might you be?" The man who asked the question stands on Finn's right side, and you shift your bored gaze onto him, refusing to even look at Finn, who you're starting to suspect is actually unconscious–calm. Keep calm. Stay focused, keep your head clear.

You open your mouth, but it's that moment that Finn decides to open his eyes–he must have heard the man's incredulous inquiry, and got curious; maybe even hopeful. When his gaze locks onto you, his swollen eyes widen and he gasps, which throws him into a coughing fit. His hands ball to fists, and his arms tremble, and he's not getting any air–

Every heave of his lungs feels like a punch in the gut, and it takes every ounce of strength in your body to keep from running to him. Helping him. Saving him. But you stay planted in your spot, one eyebrow raised disdainfully, and you let him die.

"Y/N," he chokes out between coughs. "Y/N–"

The man who spoke before growls. His fist shoots out, connects with the side of Finn's head with a sickening crack.

And this time, you can't stop yourself from flinching.

"I'm asking you again."

Half a beat passes, and the next split second happens so quickly you barely register your own movements.

As he spoke, the man's hand slipped towards his hip. On reflex, your own did too, and both of you pull your weapons at the same time, pointing them at each other, which prompts surprised yelps from the other two men who yank their own guns out of their holsters and take aim for your head–and you find yourself the target of three separate pistols.

But your gaze is firmly fixated on the first man, as is the muzzle of your gun. He seems to be calling the shots, and you don't think his henchmen will do anything without his explicit permission. He opens his mouth again, and articulates the next words slowly and perfectly.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"The informant," you say innocently, steadily, cocking your head. Your gun hand, you're pleased to see, is steady as ever. "Big Boss didn't tell you about me?"

And your guess was right. You fight a triumphant smirk as the man hesitates, eyes flicking from your face to his cronies.

Of course they aren't operating alone. You knew that immediately–the kidnapping was messy, sloppily done, in the public's plain sight. You don't know how they got Finn to leave his post, but knowing him it couldn't have been all that difficult. They probably sent a boy with a note from "Tommy" up and got him to meet them at the place where the abduction took place.

Your guess was that they weren't professionals. Weren't trained. Acted on the orders of someone else–someone higher up.

And judging from this guy's reaction, you were right.

Now it was just a question of keeping the game up for as long as possible.

"What?" you laughed, "you thought it possible to take down Tommy fucking Shelby without a man on the inside? Do you even know who he is?"

The art of bluffing is not to say too much. Don't give away what you don't know. Watch your mouth, say enough to keep them on edge, not a fucking word more.

"We ain't know about no informant," said one of the other men.

"Shut up," you said sharply. "I'm not fucking talking to you." Talk like you own them.

The man scrutinises your face, still looking suspicious. He didn't lower his gun. "Roman sent you?"

And that was his second big mistake; because now you had a name.

"Of course Roman sent me."

He nods, slowly. Gestures for the other two men to put away their guns, but still doesn't lower his own. "How'd you get in?"

You grin, slowly pulling the key ring from your pocket and jiggling it.

The man keeps his gun trained on you for a few more moments–agonising, agonisingly long moments–then finally lowers it, and gestures you forward. "Well, then, informant. Enlighten us."

You pull from your inside pocket a small bundle of paper–your notes. All of them. As you hand them over, you find that you don't feel any guilt.

You had warned Tommy not to trust you, after all.

The man takes them from you, and quickly flips through the sheets of paper, one hand still holding his gun. He casts a quick look at the man farthest away from you, gives a stiff nod. As he studies your notes, you slowly walk to where Finn hangs, mouth slightly open, eyes wide and unbelieving and rimmed with tears.

And the longer you keep your bored expression on, the easier it becomes to maintain. So much so that when you reach him, and he looks up at you from where he sits on his knees–it takes almost no effort for you to mockingly wipe away a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth and flick the droplet back in his face with a cruel grin. Finn screws his eyes shut, presses his lips into a tight line, grits his teeth.

"You really did not hold back, eh?" You turn back to the man, who looks up from your notes and grins a crooked, gnarled grin. "He looks like shit."

"Fucker wouldn't talk," he shrugged. "Tougher little shit than he looks."

You chuckle. It feels like you're coughing up acid. "Roman figured he wouldn't talk. That's why he hired me."

"Yeah?" He calmly folds the paper back up and stretches his arms, sighing in contentment when his shoulder gives a satisfying crack. "Well, you did a fine job."

"Thanks. I'll leave my business card."

"I don't think that will be necessary." And he grins again–the grin of a coyote, the grin of a shark–and that small gesture immediately makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. A sense of dread washes over you, tickles your spine, makes your entire body crackle with nervous tension from the tip of your toes to the very top of your cranium.

"You know, Roman has a… procedure. To make sure informants don't go blabbing to the other side."

"You threaten them by pointing your guns at them and yelling 'Keep your fucking mouth shut or I'll kill everyone you love'?" you guess hesitantly.

The shark's grin widens. "Nah. Too much work." His hand crawls to the back of his belt.

But this isn't the first sticky situation you've found yourself in, and you have lightning-fast reflexes to show for it.

Before he can fully cock his gun and take aim, you've pulled your own weapon, ducked beneath the ropes holding Finn up, planted a foot between his knees, grabbed a handful of his hair with one hand–he whimpers, and it almost breaks you–and pressed the barrel of your gun to his throat.

There is a puddle of water on the floor in front of you, and in it you can see your reflection. Your face is contorted into a terrifying imitation of a snarl, jaw clenched, teeth grinding, eyes spitting fire.

Nobody moves.

The man tuts, finger curling around his trigger. "So messy. So fucking messy, and we haven't even properly introduced ourselves. I believe our dear Shelby welp here called you Y/N?"

"That would make you Roman," you grit out.

He bows. "It would indeed." He laughs. "I have to say, kid, I admire the balls on you. Strolling in here, acting like you own the fucking place! These lads could learn from you." He jiggles his gun towards his two men. Then he taps his breast pocket with his free hand. “Thanks for this, though. A nice little bonus.”

Despite everything, your grip on Finn's hair tightens, and you pull his head back a little, showing off his exposed throat that much more. His breathing turns ragged, air whistling between clenched teeth.

The man's eyes glint, and his gaze flicks down, casting Finn a semi-sympathetic look. "Poor pup. Stings to be betrayed, don't it?"

Then he sighs, and is all business again. "Listen. There are three guns pointed at your head. Just step away from the welp, and your death will be quick and painless."

You bark a laugh. "Yeah, fuck that. Make me a better offer."

"No bargaining here, I'm afraid. Fuck off and away from the welp, Y/N."

In your head, your thoughts are racing at a thousand miles an hour. "You said he didn't talk. My notes apparently aren't what you were looking for. What do you want to know?"

Interest sparks in Roman's eyes. "How much do you know about Tommy Shelby?"

You shrug, albeit a little awkwardly. "I've worked for him for about eight months. I know enough."

"Even where he stashes his goddamn opium load?"

So that's what he wanted all along.

"Oh, easy. You know of Little Tempton? There's a huge storage facility right next to the scrapyard."

From Finn's throat rises a strangled gurgle–you give his head a little shake. "Shut the fuck up," you hiss.

Roman's eyebrows shoot up. "Little Tempton."

"That's right."

"Well, thank you so much for your fucking cooperation!" he says, in a high-pitched, mocking voice. Then his face grows serious again and he pouts semi-apologetically. "Still gonna kill you, though."

You press the barrel of your gun harder into Finn's throat, fingers tightening around the trigger. He inhales sharply. "Shoot me. I don't care. But I'm taking him with me."

Roman scoffs. "You think I give a fuck? You gave me the information I wanted. The fuckin' welp's not of use anymore."

"Maybe not." You shift, preparing yourself. If it comes down to it, you will do it. You will do it. "But Tommy won't know I did it. All he will find is two bodies, and I fucking swear to you that neither Tommy Shelby, nor Arthur Shelby, nor John Shelby, nor Polly Gray will rest until you and everything you stand for is absolutely burned to the ground."

Your words reverberate in the air and beneath your grip holding him up, Finn's eyes slip closed. He would want this, you tell yourself. If he could talk right now he would tell me to do it.

There is a beat of silence in which nobody moves–then all hell breaks loose.

The door is blasted off its hinges and hits one of the two henchmen, who gets the corner planted right in his throat. He goes down. The other screams bloody murder and launches himself right at the intruders–and John Shelby shoots him straight in the head.

Tommy and Arthur follow, along with Isaiah, and behind them, Johnny Dogs. You’re still standing behind Finn, your gun at his throat, and you process the flurry of incidents just that little fraction of a second too slowly.

You let him go, Finn slumps forward; you drop your gun, you stumble back–but the damage has been done, and Arthur turns to you, spittle flying from his twisted mouth as he screams. You can’t make out every word–the fight between John, Tommy, and Roman is noisy, and gunshots echo through the air, but you can make out a flurry of words–WE FUCKING TRUSTED YOU YOU FUCKING BASTARD WHAT WERE YOU THINKING I TOLD TOMMY YOU WERE NOTHING BUT A WORTHLESS FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT–and you, for the first time, don’t know what to do.

So you take the punches. You deserve them, after all; Arthur and Tommy caught you with a gun at Finn’s bloodied and bruised throat, even though what you did was all for Finn. To buy him time. To save him. I hope he realises that–I never wanted him to get hurt.

Between punches and kicks, you can just make out Johnny Dogs cutting Finn loose, Isaiah tapping his cheeks, trying to bring him back to consciousness. You close your eyes after a particularly vicious kick to the stomach, and you think you feel a rib crack.

But then, for just a second, the beating stops. You crack open one eye; blink away the blood; have to concentrate for a couple of seconds before your brain, foggy with pain, processes that Finn is tugging at Arthur’s sleeve. “Stop, Arthur–stop–” You can barely make out the words. Your ears are buzzing; your head is pounding. “It’s not their fault. It’s not their fault. They saved my life–”

“They had a FUCKING GUN at your THROAT–”

“They were never going to–they would never–Arthur–ARTHUR–”

One more foot to your stomach. A breath, kicked from your lungs–and your vision goes black.

– – –

When you wake up, the first thing that surprises you is that you wake up at all.

The second thing that surprises you is that you’re lying in a bed–on a mattress, with a pillow and a blanket and everything–and that you’re hooked up on an infuse, a needle sticking from your left inner elbow. When you try to move your head, a scratchy feeling indicates the presence of a bandage, and when you shift on the mattress you realise your chest is bandaged as well.

Your cuts have been cleaned, you have probably been given medicine–judging from the look of some superficial scrapes and bruises, you would guess you’ve been out for two, maybe three days. Huh.

The third thing that surprises you–and this is when your stomach drops–is Finn’s presence, in the corner of your small bland room, sitting in a comfortable chair. He’s dozing, head lolling forward, chin resting against his chest. He looks, apart from the bruises and cleaned cuts still littering his face and arms, peaceful.

For a moment, you allow yourself to look at him. Really look at him. The man you almost died for. The man you almost killed.

And the coward in you wants nothing more than to run away.

It’s what you would have done a week ago. It’s what you would have done now, were it not for the crushing feeling in your chest the second you laid eyes on him. You owe him an explanation. An apology. Something, anything–

You will wait until he wakes up, you compromise, closing your eyes and focusing on getting your breathing back to normal. You will wait until he wakes up, and you will tell him… you will tell him what he needs to hear.

Even though you don’t quite know what that is yet.

So you wait. You wait for him, counting the seconds as they pass, synchronising your breathing–the strain against your bandages and the flash of pain you feel with every exhale only fuels your suspicions of broken ribs–with his own. And after what feels like hours, days, months, he finally wakes up.

“Y/N.” You hate that the first word out of his mouth is your name, said so softly, so gently, so lovingly–you have to turn away.

“You’re awake.”

And you look at him. His expression is hopeful, relieved even, and you cannot fathom that after everything–after everything–he still thinks of you well enough to be happy about your waking up.

“Yes, I am.” You try to sit up, wince at the white-hot pain flashing through your chest and abdomen, stifling a sob. Finn rushes over–limps over–to help, and you’re too weak to refuse.

“I’m–”

“No. Finn, just–don’t.” There’s a silence as you catch your breath, and Finn’s eyes–you’ve never been so close to him before. You’ve never been able to see his face from so close before. You can see every speck of colour in his eyes (they're brought out by the dark bruising around them), can follow every microscopic movement they make. You could almost count every freckle placed on his cheeks; arranged there so carefully they could be stars.

You open your mouth again, but he cuts you off. “I don’t want to hear it.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

At your incredulous tone, he laughs, and the sound is so startling and beautiful that you replay it over and over in your mind for weeks afterwards. “I mean, I don’t want to hear you tell me whatever it is you’re going to tell me. I don’t–I don’t want anything from you. You don’t need to apologise, you don’t need to explain. You saved my life.”

“No, Finn. I almost ended it. I would have ended it if it had gotten to that point. Finn, I would have killed you. I would have shot you. I would not have hesitated.” You look him in the eye, grab his hand and squeeze it. You want him to understand. You need him to understand. “I am not the hero you think I am.”

But he rolls his eyes, and it’s so frustrating you almost scream. “Don’t give me that shit. I know you would have killed me. You would have killed me so Tommy would go after Roman and kill him. It’s just a game, Y/N. I’ve been playing it all my life.”

“I gave him the location of Tommy’s opium. You literally would have died before telling him, and I did it without hesitation.”

“That was your choice. Tommy knows, he’s preparing an ambush as we speak. Roman was bound to find out anyway; he's been on Tommy’s ass for ages.”

You grit your teeth, look away. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Trying to convince me I’m a better person than I am.”

“You are a better fucking person than you think you are.”

You laugh; a bitter sound, melancholy, opposite in every way to the sound of Finn’s laugh only a minute ago. “Finn–forgive me for being brash–but you don’t know the first thing about me.”

His face falls, and your heart–you blame it on the medicine they hooked you up on–skips a beat. “Hey. Listen. I don’t blame you.” You blow a strand of hair out of your face, reach over (ignoring the painful strain of your ribs), take both of his hands in yours, ever so gently. “But you’ve only known me for less than a year, and even then… you don’t really know me. As in, I don’t let anyone really know me. And I’ve had to live with me my whole fucking life.”

You take a breath, slowly working up the courage to say what you really want to say, knowing that if you do, there’s no turning back. “You talked to them.”

“Who?”

“Tommy. John. Arthur,” you say, giving his hand a squeeze. “Arthur would have killed me if it weren’t for you.”

Finn nods, face reddening. “They took a bit of–uh–convincing.”

“Arthur offered to slice my throat.”

“Shut up.”

“John’s always liked me. He would just shoot me, I think. Quick and painless and all that.”

“Stop.”

“Tommy…” You pause to think, purse your lips. “Would probably beat me to death with his bare fucking hands.”

“Y/N. Can we please not talk about you dying? When I’ve literally just done everything in my power to stop that from happening?” He sighs, shakes his head. “Tommy was actually the easiest to convince out of all of them. Polly wanted to throw you out into the woods and let you rot.”

You smile wryly. “You should have listened to her.”

“Y/N–”

“No, no. You listen.” You pull him close to you, force him to look into your eyes. “Finn. Oi, are you fucking listening to me?”

“Yeah–”

“I am no fucking good for you.” There it is. Out in the open. Immediately, his cheeks flush, but he doesn’t deny it.

His eyes flick down, then back up, still defiant. “I’ll decide that for myself.”

“No. Not on this. Finn–” before you can stop yourself, your hand comes up and cups his jaw, and he stiffens– “I am a fire. And I would burn you from the inside out.”

“I don’t fucking care,” he whispers.

“I fucking do,” you hiss back.

You’re impossibly close now. So close. His breath fans your cheek, and you look into each other’s eyes; two polar opposites, in everything bar your stubbornness. Like a moth to flame; or like a fly to honey.

And when he leans in, your eyes slip closed and you know there is nothing you can do.

Your lips touch. Brush, only slightly, and his fingers come up to stroke your cheek, gentler than you could have dreamed. His touch leaves fire in its wake, and you’re tingling, and you break apart after only a second.

Your eyes lock, and you purse your lips, scowling. “Fine. Fine. Fuck you.” And you wrap your arms around his neck and crash your mouth back on his. The fly is attracted to the honey; but once contact is made, the honey drowns the fly.

“I have to leave,” you mumble against his lips.

Finn hums. “Not yet.”

“No, I mean–” You pull away fully. “This is a warning.”

He frowns.

“Tommy’s doing this for you. He spared me for you. I can’t–I have to go. I can’t stay in Small Heath, I would get killed, you realise that, right?”

“You have to get better first–”

“He won’t give me that long. This is an ultimatum.” You start to grow a little agitated now, shaking your head, running a hand through your hair and fiddling with the IV. “Hey, give me a hand.” Your fingers tremble.

“Wait–calm down, calm down.” He stops your hand, swats it away before gently undoing the straps. You rub the sore spot absent-mindedly. “Do you know where you’ll go?”

Your gaze snaps up. “Sorry?”

Finn smiles, a little wryly, a little fondly. “One of the reasons I love you is that you won’t let anyone tell you what to do. If you really want to go, I’ll help you.”

And slowly, you feel a smile forming too, pulling at the corners of your mouth as you look at this man. This man, who despite everything–despite every fucking thing–just told you he loves you. This man, who slowly wriggled himself a spot into your cold dead heart (it finally feels like it's starting to beat again), and you can feel he’s there to stay.

One day, maybe. If you can bring yourself to come back. If Tommy Shelby will have you in his city.

If Finn Shelby waits for you.

#finn shelby x reader #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #finn shelby fic #finn shelby fanfic #finn shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders finn shelby #finn shelby peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #finn shelby one shot #finn shelby imagine

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britesparc · 4 years ago

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Weekend Top Ten #474

Top Ten Characters Who Came Back from the Dead

I am stunned – stunned! – that I’ve not done this one before. I mean, come on! It’s right there.

So there’s obviously a thematic resonance going on here. This weekend – the weekend you’re meant to be reading this – is famous where I come from because of a story where someone came back from the dead. Unlike other holidays – Christmas, Halloween, the release of a Star War – I’ve actually been a little slow off the mark in making lists that celebrate Easter. I’ve done eggs and bunnies, but incredibly I’ve never done resurrections, which really is the day’s whole deal. I mean, if you get down to brass tacks, it’s kinda the big selling point of the entire religion really. I hesitate to say “USP” because, well, it’s been done elsewhere, but it’s still supposed to be one of the big Christian takeaways (there’s definitely a chain of Christian takeaways in the States, isn’t there?).

Anyway, resurrection. It’s actually more common than you might think. Certainly in terms of comics there are probably more characters who’ve “died and come back” than have never “died” at all. But! And this is where I get pernickety. Most characters who “die” don’t actually die. Take Batman for instance: he’s shot in the face by Darkseid, and then Superman ups and finds his charred corpse, but – shocker! – he’s not actually dead, he was just sent back in time, where he Quantum Leaps his way back to the present day, accumulating enough Omega Energy with each leap that by the time he reaches the present day he’s blow a hole in reality. Or something, I’ve not read that story for quite a few years. Anyway: he wasn’t dead. Neither was Sherlock Holmes, or for that matter Dirty Den. Generally speaking, if someone dies in a story and then reappears, they’re not dead. Not really.

So this list here is supposed to be people who actually died. Now, even here, it’s debatable; I mean, is E.T. dead, or does his body just go into some kind of hibernation? If Optimus Prime’s brainwaves survive, does he ever really die? Is a clone someone coming back to life or not? It’s all a bit wishy-washy really, which kind of makes sense when you’re talking about resurrection. And let’s not get onto the chief resurrector, the Doctor; do they die every time they regenerate? Or is the regeneration itself a way of staving off death? When David Tennant turned into Matt Smith, did the Tennant-Doctor die? “I don’t want to go,” and all that; there’s always a subtle (or not-so-subtle) change in personality. Does that count? Well, for the purposes of this list, I’ve kinda decided it doesn’t. But it’s an interesting discussion to have, if you’re a big old nerd like me.

So yeah: people who have died – properly, I suppose – and then come back to life. That’s the list. No fakery, to mistaken identity, no alternate universe shenanigans; they were dead but they got better (no Chev Chelios either; sorry, Stath stans). No zombies either! Or vampires! They’re not undead; they were dead, and now they’re alive again. That’s the rule. Also I’ve seriously tried to limit comic book characters. And I’m sure there are some big omissions (like, I know there’s one from Game of Thrones that’s not on here, but that’s because I’ve not seen that far into the show yet; I know, I know). But I reckon these are the best at being back.

Optimus Prime (Transformers franchise, from about 1987): OP is the OG when it comes to coming back to life. Dying and then stopping being dead is pretty much his thing. Technically the first time he came back from the dead was in the original animation; famously being offed by Megatron in The Transformers: The Movie (1986), he came back to life a year later. Subsequent media have frequently killed him and brought him back, even in the live-action movies, but I want to talk about the comics. Because the original Marvel run killed off Optimus at a similar time as the cartoon; he’s blown up in slightly contrived circumstances, but his brain is saved on a floppy disk. Two years later he has his body rebuilt and his brain restored and he’s off to the races once more. Then in 1991, when facing down planet-eating mega-bastard Unicron, he sacrifices himself again, but this time his personality has begun to merge with that of his ostensibly-human companion Hi-Q. Hi-Q/Prime is converted/rebuilt into a new body, and he wins the war. So there you go: even in this one sliver of continued continuity – not including off-shoots or spin-offs, let alone other iterations of the overall franchise – Optimus Prime died and came back to life twice. Beat that, Easter.

E.T. (E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, 1982): not much to say here that we don’t already know from the Book of Spielberg. E.T., doddery little alien magic-man, grows sicker and sicker as he’s stuck on Earth, until in a thrillingly-edited set-piece he seems to expire, human doctors unable to help him. “I know you’re gone,” says best bud Elliot, “because I don’t know what to feel.” But then! His heart glows! His colour returns! And he positively yells, “E.T. phone hooooooome!” – and Elliot’s euphoric laugh is just devastating. The whole sequence – what is it, ten minutes? Fifteen? – is masterful in every way, from the technical to the performative to the emotional. Bloody magic is what it is.

Gandalf (The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, 1954): Gandalf the Grey famously leads the Fellowship of the Ring across the Bridge of Khazad-dûm, where he faces off against a Balrog. After a bit of “you shall not pass” and all that, they both fall from the bridge, battling each other on the way down, before both perishing at the bottom. Gandalf, though, is not really Gandalf, but Olórin, one of the Maiar – basically a kind of angel, I guess. He is returned to Earth by the powers-that-be to complete his mission, and is promoted to Gandalf the White, supplanting the corrupt wizard Saruman. This new iteration of Gandalf is a bit more serious and steadfast, although he does retain his fascination with hobbits. Regardless, he gets a terrific death scene and a triumphant resurrection, and how it ties into Tolkien’s wider mythology is interesting.

Superman (DC Comics, 1993): comic book characters die and come back all the time; it’s pretty much a staple of the medium. I guess Jean Grey/Phoenix is probably the most famous, but they’ve all done at some point (even if, like in my Batman example earlier, sometimes they don’t actually die). Anyway, Superman died, very famously, after getting into a tremendous barney with genetically-engineered super-git Doomsday (as famously, and atrociously, depicted in Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice). The whole “Death of Superman” arc is interesting and entertaining as an example of mid-nineties big-panel EXTREME storytelling: as the issues tick down to the fateful scrap in Metropolis, the number of panels-per-page is reduced until the final issue is basically just full of splash pages. It’s a terrific, exhilarating rumble, really selling the heft of the confrontation. Interestingly, the comic spends a lot of time afterwards dealing with life without Superman, as a raft of imitators/wannabe successors emerge from the woodwork; these include the best-ever Superboy, Conner Kent, and Steel, who’s basically Superman meets Iron Man. Eventually, of course, Superman comes back, his body essentially having been sent to a Kryptonian day spa to recuperate; he emerges clad in black and with a mullet, so death obviously has some lasting repercussions. Overall, it’s a whopping arc with long-term consequences, and whilst it’s easy to make Christ parallels when discussing Superman, this story doesn’t really hew that way (unlike the Snyder-verse which really goes all-in on that plot point, much to the films’ detriment). One of the better aspects is how, even in death, Superman is an inspiration, which in itself has a long trail; leading, eventually, to Batman’s famous withering diss, “the last time you inspired someone was when you where dead.” Anyway, I’ve gone on about this far too long.

Spock (Star Trek III: The Search for Spock, 1984): let’s start by acknowledging just how great Spock’s death is in Wrath of Khan. As a plot point within the film, as a piece of staging and performance, and as a landmark moment in this franchise, it was seminal; a death for the ages (as an aside, it’s crazy to think Star Trek as a whole was only sixteen years old when Spock died; the MCU was eleven when Tony Stark clicked the bucket). Anyway, they built an entire film around how to bring him back, and Spock as we know him is absent for much of it; a presence looming over everything as he rapidly ages, going through his Vulcan super-puberty and everything. It’s actually a rather sombre film as Kirk’s son is killed and the Enterprise blows up; bringing back Spock comes with a very real cost. Trek III is not one of the top-tier films – in the loose trilogy that comprises Khan, Spock, and The Voyage Home it’s certainly the weakest – but it’s still pretty good, often underrated. And, of course, it brings back Spock, which is nice.

Agent Coulson (Marvel’s Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., 2013): Coulson’s death in Avengers comes as a huge shock, one of the fan-favourite characters being brutally offed in surprising fashion. In a film chock full of super-people, it’s the ordinary guy who buys it tragically. However, did any of us really think he was dead-dead? And so barely a year later he pops back up in the TV series Agents of SHIELD. However, his reincarnation became a recurring plot point; his references to spending time in Tahiti (“It’s a magical place”) becoming increasingly sinister as we come to understand even he doesn’t know how he’s back up and running. The eventual truth – Nick Fury using painful and transformative alien tech to basically bring Coulson back to life – may be a bit underwhelming, but it gave Clark Gregg a lot of meat to chew on dramatically speaking, and it underscored a lot of his character development going forward (especially when he, yes, died again, and then sort-of came back, twice).

Buffy Summers (Buffy the Vampire Slayer, 2001): full disclosure: I never watched Buffy religiously. I think I just missed it at the start and it was only when all my friends were talking about how great it was that I started tuning in more regularly. Weirdly, I think the most I watched it was around the time Buffy died and came back. It’s fascinating, really, and full credit to the show for the way they explored it; in a series full of magic, the afterlife, and the undead, bringing a character back to life isn’t too shocking. Willow, Buffy’s witchy mate, resurrects her with magic; but in an excellent twist, it turns out that she was in Heaven, and is super pissed off to be pulled out of paradise and stuck back on Earth, leading to her feeling depressed and alienated all season. That’s a great hook for bringing a character back, and leads to some meaty stuff for Sarah Michelle Geller to do.

Agent Smith (The Matrix Reloaded, 2003): do you ever feel that The Matrix has slipped from popular culture a little bit? Twenty years ago it was ascendent, rivalling Lord of the Rings for the title of “the new Star Wars”. Everyone was copying it. but now hardly anyone talks about it. probably because it hasn’t had a multimedia shelf-life comprising dozens of games and spin-off shows. Maybe the new film will change that. But I digress; Hugo Weaving is tremendous as Agent Smith in the first film, and is exploded at the end (spoilers) by Keanu Reeves’ Neo. Unsurprisingly – especially as he’s, well, just bits of code – he’s back in the sequel. However, he’s now been corrupted; he becomes, basically, a virus, self-replicating and threatening not just our heroes but the Matrix itself. This builds across two films, as Neo has to fight dozens of Smiths in the famous “Burly Brawl”, before the final conflict in The Matrix Revolutions when it seems everyone in the program has been Smithed. It offers Weaving a lot of scenery to chew on and makes for some great set-piece battles, even if the films themselves are a little disappointing.

Olaf (Frozen II, 2019): let’s not beat around the bush here – Olaf carks it in Frozen II. Okay, maybe Elsa dies; maybe Anna dies in the first film. They’re frozen, right, but I feel like it’s “magic ice” and there’s something going on there. Do they come back to life or were they ever really dead? Anyway, Elsa is effectively “gone” but we get a protracted death scene for the comic relief talking snowman. He literally fades away, slowly dying in Anna’s arms, and melts into a flurry of snow that blows away. People talk about Bambi’s mum all the time, but mark my words; “Olaf’s death” is going to be cited as a major traumatic incident for twenty-year-olds in 2030. His resurrection, truth be told, is slightly less great, Elsa just straight-up bringing him back to life, reminding us that “water has memory” to let us know that it’s the same Olaf and he remembers everything (including, presumably, dying? That’s creepy). And that, to be honest, is where I draw the line; sentient wind and rock monsters I can handle, but we all know homeopathy is bollocks.

Emperor Palpatine (Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, 2019): look, I hate this. But let’s deal with it anyway, because I have a funny feeling it’s going to lead to some quite interesting stories being told in spin-off Star Wars fiction. I personally feel quite strongly that Palpatine should have stayed dead. And maybe he did? We are led to believe that the Palpatine we see in Rise is a clone; there are jars of stilted Snokes floating in the background. He’s all knackered and broken, eyes blackened and fingers dropping off; clearly he’s not well. So is he really the same character at all? Is his Sith essence somehow fed into this new body, the way Prime’s mind is downloaded from a floppy disk (“run prime.exe”)? Let’s say it counts, let’s say he’s the same slimy Palps we know and love. He is, at least, a sinister presence, and like I say, the whys and wherefores of how he came to be back is quite interesting. There’s a fascinating story to be told about the rise of Snoke and the seduction of Ben Solo – a more interesting story than anything told in The Rise of Skywalker, for starters. Moff Gideon in The Mandalorian seems to be researching cloning and seeks to extract midichlorians from a Force-sensitive being; are we to conclude that this in service of making a new body for the Emperor? All this – stuff hinted at but not explored in the film itself – is, like I say, interesting if not outright fascinating. And I agree, there is a certain degree of circularity in bringing back the series’ Big Bad for the final instalment. But I still feel, hand on heart, that it undoes a lot of the victory of Return of the Jedi (as did The Force Awakens, if I’m honest), as well as throwing away all the development of Rey and Kylo in The Last Jedi. So: Palpatine is cool, his presence and backstory in Rise of Skywalker is suitably creepy and interesting, but on the whole it’s crap and they shouldn’t have brought him back. The end.

Ten people who definitely died and definitely un-died! What could be more Easter-y? Honourable mention goes to the episode of Red Dwarf where Rimmer changes history and ends up not being a hologram, only to accidentally blow himself up in the final seconds.

#top ten #dead characters #alive characters #easter #back from the dead #resurrection

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atiny-ahgase · 4 years ago

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Does He Know That?

Author’s Note: I’m not really that confident in my writing skill do I don’t usually enjoy writing what I see as being long stories but I really like this one. Probably has a little too much plot but that’s okay.

Summary: Your bad day lasts throughout the entire week and you want nothing more than to just relax with your boyfriend who is busy working on his comeback.

Pairing: Yeosang x Female reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Genre: Fluff, Angst

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“Sangie! Wait up,” you yell to the blonde head of hair briefly peeking out above the crowd of students. You squeeze your way through, breathlessly catching up with him. “Yeosang,” you whine “, you walk too quickly,” you say while clutching your chest breathlessly. “Maybe you just walk too slowly,” he teases while smiling down at you. His golden hair appearing even more beautiful in the morning light, framing his flawless face even more.

You smile back at him, eyes rolling slightly at his remark. Your best friend really was a sight for sore eyes. When he wasn’t acting like a teasing five-year-old he was pretty charming. He turns on his heels, proceeding to walk in his previous direction. “You coming!” you hear him shout. You release an exaggerated sigh before running after him.

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You’d met Yeosang on your first day of university, you were running late for your class; unable to find the correct building. Frantically rushing around a corner you collided with another student. That’s where you met. Falling with a thump, both of you landed on the floor, your respective documents joining shortly.

“Wow, where’s the fire,” you hear him say while standing from the floor. He extended his hand helping you up as well. “Sorry, I’m late for class. I just can’t seem to find the right building,” you sigh, exhaustion clearly in your voice. You both collect the papers littered all over the floor before you attempt to leave.

“What building are you in?” you hear him ask. “Umm...Building 19,” you reply, turning around to meet his eyes. “That’s on the other side of the school you’ll never make it in time,” he responds while taking a step towards you, slowly retrieving your schedule from your hand. “You’re an Art Major,” he proclaims “, this is the History Building,” he continues before returning your schedule.

“It’s at least a half-hour walk to your faculty,” he says, you sigh in response; head hanging in the process.“Thank you umm,” you begin; not really knowing what to call him. “Sorry, I’m Kang Yeosang,” he informs you while offering his hand to you for a handshake smiling brightly as you take his hand. You shake it before introducing yourself as well.

“There are maps at the entrance of each building so that should help you get around better. Don’t get too lost okay Newbie,” he smiles at you, chuckling slightly while continuing down the hallway. He seemed nice. Okay, let’s just focus on finding where every room is since you’ve basically already missed your first class. Can’t afford to get lost every time you have a class.

You’ve spent the rest of your day familiarizing yourself with the layout of the campus. Although you’re still not an expert you can at least find your way around easily enough. Dropping yourself on an adjacent bench you decide to rest a little before eventually heading back to your dorm.

Shuffling through your bag you search for your key card, finding it among a folder full of papers. Grasping it, you remove it from your bag which you attempt to close but a gust of wind causes this usually mundane task to be quite difficult, your papers rustling in the wind. Eventually, you succeed without getting any paper stuck in the zipper.

Unfortunately for you, one paper flew out of your bag and is now flying across the schoolyard. Just great. You grasp your bag firmly at your side before chasing the stray page. The wind had settled down momentarily so you grasped the opportunity and grabbed the page before it gets the chance to blow away once more.

Looking over the contents you soon realize that the page doesn’t belong to you; the student ID was unfamiliar. Where could you have gotten this from? Raking your brain you come to the conclusion that it probably belonged to the Yeosang, the boy you met briefly in the History Building. How do I get it back to him? It looks like it’s important. Thoughts flood your mind. It was your fault that you even had it in the first place, you weren’t paying attention.

Sighing softly, you place the page in your bag before heading to the History Building. It has been at least 2 hours since you were last there, what assurance did you have that he’d still be there? And even if he was there; the building has 3 floors, he could be anywhere. Brushing the doubtful thoughts from your mind you continue on your endeavour.

Upon arriving, you realize that you have no idea where to look, feeling just as confused as you were when you had initially wandered into the said building earlier that day, you sigh, distress obvious on your face.

“Are you lost?” you hear an unfamiliar voice inquire. Spinning around you’re greeted by a pair of deep-set dimples. “No, I’m actually looking for someone,” you respond, taking a step back.

He smiles at you, dimples deepening further. “I’m San, by the way, maybe I know them,” he states. You relax slightly at his words, hoping that he at least knew of Yeosang, honestly, any information would have helped. “Do you know a guy named Yeosang?” you inquire, “ He’s about this tall, has blonde hair and a birthmark over his eye.”

“Oh yeah, Sangie. He’s the Student Representative for one of the boys’ dorms,” San says while tilting his head to the left. Well, I guess that’s where the dorm is.“Thank you,” you tell him before heading to the left. “We could walk you if you’d like”, he states while looking over at his group of friends.

There were 4 of them in total; San who sported a silver streak in his otherwise pitch-black hair, a guy with pale silver hair split down the middle and two taller guys. One with vibrant red hair which could easily outshine the sun and one whose eyes for some reason remind you of a puppy dog.

“It’s getting pretty late, we wouldn’t want anything to happen to you,” he reassures. “Thank you but I’ll be fine,” you responded sweetly before heading on your way. The sun was still up and the schoolyard still bustled with groups of people so you weren’t the least bit worried and you knew better than to trust a group of random strangers.

After stopping a few people to ask for directions you finally have the dorm insight. It took you longer than expected, the sun already dropping lower in the sky; welcoming the cold night breeze. Clutching your jacket closer to your body you walk into the reception area.

“Hello,” you greet the security at the desk “, I’m looking for the student rep for this dorm,” you inform him, remembering what San had told you. “Oh Yeosang, he’s in the last room down the hall to your left. You just need to sign the registry first,” he states before handing you a book. You quickly fill in the information before scurrying down the hall. Keeping your head down you ignore the gazes of the other residents before reaching the room in question.

Hesitantly you knock on the door. Hearing faint shuffling from the other side you release a breath of relief. Before long the door swings open and you’re greeted by Yeosang. He wore a loose white t-shirt, a pair of grey sweatpants and a look of surprise. “Um hi,” you begin, a shy smile on your lips. You honestly didn’t think this far ahead.

“Sangie I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” you hear some boys across the hall.

“Guess our student rep isn’t just all books,” another exclaims with a loud laugh. You could feel your face heating up at their childish remarks, causing you to lower your head. Yeosang must have noticed this because you began to softly tug at your arm causing you to lookup.

“I don’t really know why you’re here but it's a lot quieter inside, come on,” he says while stepping to the side; allowing you to walk in. You step past him, thanking him softly. The door clicked as it closed and Yeosang sigh while running his hand through his golden hair.

“I’m sorry about that. I’d say that they’re not usually like that but I’d be lying,” he attempts to lighten the awkward mood. Lightly chuckling you reach into your bag searching for the entire reason you just turned up at this almost complete stranger’s door. “Umm. I think you dropped this when we bumped into each other earlier,” you inform him meekly before directing the paper in his direction.

Retrieving it from your hand he looks it over before clicking his tongue glancing over at you. “So you came all this way looking for someone you hardly knew and have no information about to give them something they dropped?” he asks rather bluntly, his eyes searching yours. “It seemed important,” you mumbled, shifting your field of vision from his face to the floor. You knew it was kinda stupid but he didn’t have to be so blunt about it.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I have a habit of always saying the first thing to come to mind,” he begins to ramble; fingers ruffling his hair before laying on his bed. Your eyes following his every movement. He’s really handsome; managing to keep your attention even when he’s dressed down. How could he not already have a girlfriend?

“Thank you,” he breathes out “, you didn’t have to go through all that trouble, I really do appreciate it.” You fight back the smile threatening to creep up on your face. “You’re welcome,” you respond; your heartwarming at his words “, I should get going though. It’s getting pretty late,” you continue while glancing out of the window.

“I’ll walk you out,” he states. Not really leaving much room for argument. You both walk down the hall, trying to ignore the hollering you receive from the other residents. Yeosang pushes the door open causing a gust of cold wind to greet you. You shiver slightly while hugging your body. “How far is your apartment?” he asks while looking up at the dark blue sky. “It’s on the other side of the campus,” you respond.

“I’ll walk you there,” he says while already beginning to walk. “Are you sure that’s okay? You’re not really dressed for the weather,” you query while looking over what you assume to be his pyjamas for the night. “And you don’t have a single sense of danger. I wouldn’t feel right letting you walk alone. So come on it’s freezing,” he replies now at least 10 steps ahead of you. You hurry behind him.

---------

You chuckle slightly at the memory of how you two became friends. Even though he was surprisingly blunt you really did cherish his opinion. You knew that it was coming from a place of love and genuine concern. Yeosang was the one person that you knew would always tell you the truth no matter what. He’d never sugar coat any of his words and he’d definitely never lie to you and you really appreciated that.

You had both arrived at the cafe, sitting down once you had received your orders. “You sent in your paper Sangie?” You ask him. “Yeah, now all I have to do is study for finals,” he states, smiling brightly at you.

“How is your collaboration project going?” Yeosang asks before taking a bite of his sandwich. For your end of year project, the Art Majors were paired up with Seniors belonging to the Fashion Department to work with them on their Final Year Project.

The essence of the project was that you’d choose to analyze a form of art, whether it be found in architecture, different painting styles or whatever you’d like, and combine both Majors (Art and Fashion) to create two cohesive pieces; one everyday look and one high fashion look.

You weren’t really the most fashionable person in the world but you couldn’t have asked for a better partner.“Oh it’s going pretty well,” you begin “, we decided to choose Starry Night so our looks will have to be representative of that piece. I was pretty concerned about manipulating the brush strokes on the fabric to mimic the piece but Hongjoong said that he’s got it covered.” you began gushing about your partner.

Usually, you hate any type of group projects because they basically consist of you doing all of the work and being guilt-tripped into putting everyone’s names on the assignment. But this time things were different, you actually have someone you can depend on.

“Seems pretty full of himself if he thinks he can recreate one of the most memorable pieces of art in history,” Yeosang concludes. Sometimes you forget that he’s a history major.

“I think it’s nice. It shows that he believes in himself and his talents”, you state while looking down at your plate. “Let’s just hope it’s not unjustified confidence,” Yeosang snidely remarked.

Okay, you knew that he was blunt but he has literally no justification to be going in on Hongjoong like that. “Sangie”, you sigh; hand reaching out to grip his arm resting on the table. Using your thumb you rub gentle circles along his arm; feeling him stiffen up slightly.

“You’re not usually like this. Is something wrong?” you question looking into his warm brown eyes. He opens his mouth to say something but is quickly cut off by your name being called.

“Y/n. Hey, I didn’t expect to see you over here,” you pinpoint the voice smiling brightly as you realize its Hongjoong. “Hey Joongie!” you exclaim raising from your seat to hug him.

“I just came to get something to eat before class starts. What about you?” you question. “I was passing by and saw something that looked absolutely delectable from through the window and just thought I’d come in to have a closer look,” he states, his hand still around your waist from your precious hug.

“Wow you must be sporting 40-40 vision to notice those pastries from all the way over there,” Yeosang states, obviously not believing his story. The counter was situated more towards the back of the shop but you just brush it off.

“Hi, sorry we haven’t met. I’m Kim Hongjoong; Design Major,” your group partner introduces himself.

“Kang Yeosang; History,” Yeosang states while raising from his seat forcing Hongjoong to look slightly up. Yeosang was in no way one of the tallest guys you’ve known; he is still taller than Hongjoong.

“I have a paper to write so I’ll see you later okay. Text me when your class is over, we’ll study together,” Yeosang states while pulling you into a hug. To say that you were caught off guard would be an understatement. That was the first time Yeosang had ever hugged you. Yeah you were both friends but you just assumed that he wasn’t the hugging type; but apparently not. You smile into the hug, it was nice, you silently wish that he would hug you more often.

The hug didn’t last long before he pulled away looking over at Hongjoong one last time before grabbing his coffee, ruffling your hair and leaving. Didn’t he say that he finished all of his papers? Why would he lie about something like that?

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your date,” Hongjoong says nervously while shifting his weight from side to side. You were sure in that moment your cheeks were warmer than the coffee that you left on the table. He thought that you two were together. You and Sangie? He thought that you looked like a couple.

“Oh no it's nothing like that,” you begin almost frantically “, we’re just friends.” Hongjoong’s eyes never drifting from yours. “Really?” he asks; his voice dropping octaves lower than before. You nod slightly, unphased by his change in demeanour.

“That’s great,” he says while brushing a stray hair from your face, fingers lightly grazing the surface of your skin “, I’ll see you in class then.” And just like that, he was gone.

The class was pretty uneventful. No, be honest you weren’t really listening, you were worried about Yeosang. In the time that you have both been friends, he’s never once lied to you. He just isn’t the time. And on top of that, it was a lie about Home Work? Really? Something just didn’t add up; you wanted to ask about it.

“Hey y/n are you okay?” Hongjoong asks once class was over. “Yeah I’m fine I’ve just been feeling a little off today,” you reply. Hongjoong places his hand on your forehead to check your temperature. You know that he’s just being friendly and he’s concerned about your health but every time he touches you it feels wrong. You don’t get that friendly energy that you get from your other friends and you don’t get that warm, safe feeling that you get from Yeosang.

“You don’t seem to have a fever, maybe it was something you ate.” You nod your head slowly, “Yeah probably. But anyway I should be going. I promised that I’d meet up with Yeosang.”

“He won’t die if you don’t hang out with him for one day,” he proclaims while gently gripping your forearm. “Huhh?” confusion dripping from your voice as you turn to face him.

“Y/n. Can I ask you something?” he sighs while looking at his feet.

“Sure,” you simply reply.

“Would you like to go out with me this coming weekend? We could go to the art exhibit that we talked about.” he gleams.

He was asking you out. Kim Hongjoong was asking you out on a date. This is the first time someone has asked you out since you’ve entered University. So why aren’t you more excited?

“Sorry Joongie I can’t. I’m busy that day”, you lie while averting your eyes.

“It doesn’t have to be Saturday, it could be Sunday if you want. Whichever day works for you.” He responds with an air of desperation in his voice.

“Actually I’m not busy,” you confess; the guilt is already beginning to eat you alive. You never were a good liar. “I can’t go because-” “You can’t go because there is no way he would let you,” he interjects.

“Who are you talking about?” you question. You both clearly are not on the same page.

“Your boyfriend. Yeosang was it?” Hongjoong asks, but it doesn’t really sound like a question.

“Sangie isn’t my boyfriend, we’re just friends,” you state, attempting to annoy the sudden ache in your heart that those words cause.

“Does he know that?”

----------

The thunderous downpour of the rain attempts to drown out the ringing of your phone as you try to contact Yeosang. His phone is off, just great. You’re running across the courtyard basically going from building to building until you reach his dorm. You wanted to see him, you needed to see him.

Earlier today he said that he had a paper to write but that was a big fat lie and you knew it. That coupled together with Hongjoong basically insinuating that Yeosang liked you, your mind was a mess. You refused to listen to anything about Yeosang that didn’t come out of his mouth because that’s how much you’ve trusted him. He has always been upfront with you no matter how much it hurt it, that’s why you need to hear it from him.

Finally reaching Yeosang’s dorm building you rush inside; not even bothering to check-in by the front desk cause you’ve been there so many times before. By this time all of your clothes were wet, the rain doing a serious number on you.

Walking up to Yeosang’s door you raised your hand, banging on it harder than usual. “What?” you hear an angered Yeosang ask from inside and within seconds he had swung the door open; ready to give whoever was on the other side a piece of his mind.

You saw the drastic change from anger to concern on his face as soon as he laid eyes on you. Realizing that he could never be mad at you. You walk past him, walking straight into his room.

“It’s pouring outside what are you doing here?” No response. He began rustling through his draws in search of what you believe to be some dry clothes for you. “Here wear this, I’ll wait outside.” He hands you a pair of his shorts and a sweatshirt before exiting the room. You quickly change before opening the door and letting him in.

“Why are you here y/n?” he asks but his eyes never reach you, he hasn’t looked at you once since you’ve entered his room. This isn’t like him; he doesn’t just blatantly lie to you and he always looks you in the face while talking to you. Yeosang has always made it a point to look at whoever he is speaking to in the eyes. He said it was something about effective communication, yet here he was, avoiding eye contact.

Ignoring his initial question you ask, “How’s the paper coming along?” while dropping down at his computer table. He sat on his bed, shoulders hunched looking down at his feet. “It’s going pretty well, you could expect a draft to read really soon if you want,” he states, never lifting his head to look at you. He was lying, you could tell. His voice was distant like he was there but his thoughts somewhere else. What was on his mind?

“Remember when we were walking back from the library after studying for Mid-terms? We talked about how you’re such an amazing friend because you’re so honest. I promised you that I wouldn’t lie to you so we could be amazing friends together,” your voice cracks replaying the memory.

Everyone lies you knew that better than anyone but Yeosang wasn’t like everyone else, not to you. He was your first University friend, he’d always make time for you no matter how busy he got and would continuously check up on you during finals. He meant a lot to you, so much more than he would ever know.

He sighs once more; falling back on his bed. “I don’t know what you want me to say y/n.”

“Tell me the truth. What’s up with you lately? Everything was fine yesterday, what’s so different today?” you yell. Standing to your feet. You’re beyond annoyed right now. You know that something is wrong and you wanna help him through whatever it is he’s going through but you can’t because he won’t let you in. What’s with this attitude? What’s with these secrets? Why won’t he just talk to you?

“You want the truth? Fine!” Yeosang shouts, his voice bouncing off the four walls of his small dorm room. “Not once during this entire so-called friendship have I ever thought of you as a friend.” His words crashing into you like a load of bricks. He was the most important person in your life; tearing down walls that you didn’t even know you had.

“Sangie,” you breathe out, almost in a whisper, heart aching every time you look at him.

“Please stop,” he says in a hushed tone “, stop calling me that. It’s painful. Every moment I spend beside you hurts so Goddamn much, I can’t take it anymore.” he says; his voice someone seeming even more crushed than yours.

“I don’t want this friendship! I don’t want to stand beside you as other guys flirt with you, I don’t wanna hear you gushing about the guys in your classes, I don’t want to stand by and be your supportive friend y/n.” With that, he’s once again seated on his bed, hands in his face and breathing heavily.

Mustering up the little fight you can manage to gather after that heartbreaking revelation you ask, “Then what do you want Sang-...Yeosang?”

“You,” he says. Almost in a whisper. His voice sounded so tired, so soft, so...damaged. “I like you y/n, I’ve always liked you. You’re the only person I know that truly gets me.”

“You’re not deterred by my bluntness, you’re not deceived by my lies, no matter how many times I try to push you away you see right through me.”

He’s now looking up at you, his face red and tears threatening to fall. “I like you to Sangie,” you reply while taking a tentative step towards him. You did like him. You didn’t know when you had started experiencing those feeling for him but you were made aware of it by San; who you’ve been getting pretty close to.

San had asked what kind of guys you were into (he was tryna set you up with one of his friends), when you had responded he couldn’t stop laughing. You asked him about it and he simply said “, You know that you just described Yeosang perfectly right?” He promised that he wouldn’t say anything and you just couldn’t bring yourself to say anything because you didn’t want to ruin your friendship.

And look where that mindset has you. Face to face with a tear-faced Yeosang. You really messed up..

“Stop lying!” he shouts, startling you. “You don’t need to lie to me to keep me by your side,” he continues. He doesn’t believe you and why should he? He’s been harbouring feelings for you this entire time and you just couldn’t see it.

Even though you love him so much, he can’t see his pain. He was hurting because of you, he’s been hurting because of you. You feel your body move on its own. Before your brain can even register you’re already standing between Yeosang’s legs holding him in your arm.

His arms tentatively rest on your waist as you hold him close to your chest, just nuzzling his head. “Sangie” you whisper “, I’m sorry I’m an idiot. I’m sorry that I couldn’t see you even though you always saw me,” your voice begins to crack. You feel his grip on waist tighten as his fingers grasp the sweatshirt that you’re wearing. “I promised that I’d never lie to you, so please believe me when I saw that you’re the best part of every day and I’m so happy to be a part of your life.”

“If you’re not with me I don’t know what I would do. I spent all day worrying about you, I wait at my phone wherever you say that you’re gonna call me. I take the long way to class every day just so I could pass by the History Building and see you sitting under the big oak tree.” you confess. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t come to terms with my feelings sooner but I really do like you.”

You feel him shuffle beneath your grip. Releasing your hands you look down at him as he looks up at you. He looks so vulnerable, you can’t believe that you caused that.

“I won’t stand idly by as other guys flirt with you,” he begins “,and I’m the only guy that gets a nickname ok?” he professes, his eyes looking straight into your soul. “No ‘Sannie’, no ‘Youngie’ and definitely no Joongie.” He continued while poking out his bottom lip; looking at you with puppy dog eyes, his face brightening up as he looks at you.

“Just Sangie from now on okay?”

You reply to his almost adorable wishes the best way you know-how. Leaning forward you place a small peck on his lips, smiling down at him when you pull away. “Fine,” you chuckle “, I’ll leave all of the cute nicknames for you.”

#kang yeosang #yeosang #ateez yeosang #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez au

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watchyourbluesturngolden · 4 years ago

Text

my annotations for chappy 11 of ysijwa

this is just for drea and leyla to read so if you're not drea or leyla pls keep scrolling :)

ok this is pretty chaotic and like i said earlier i treated this ike a wattpad comment section so... have fun ig :)

SHERLOCK AND WATSON CINEMATIC UNIVERSE SHUT UPPPPP I LOVE YOU SM DREA

NOT MISS SNAP CRACKLE POP

jealous y/n you say???

now i know why you ignored all my tiktok asks lmao

HELPLESS OH MY GOD

truly madly deeply intended :)

damn he's kind of a narcissist yk? like "I have to be serious my entire family depends on it" shut up mr darcy you're not special

devout in his religion hmmmmmm hopefully we see some more religious trauma content bc me too vampy

awww he wants kids but now he cant have them bc hes... dead :(

AWWW his sister taught him to knit :( if he doesn't knit bloodbag a sweater i swear to god

stuffy moron is correct

"IT'S A FUCKING WONDER HE EVER GOT LAID" OIJRIOJWEIOJIEWOJFIOEJOF

"THE ATROCITY THAT IS BEING ACQUAINTED WITH NIALL AND HIS HORRIBLE AFFINITY FOR CHEAP FLANEL" ORJFOIJFEIOWJ YOURE SUCH A POET

he's so dumb she was with him bc he's hot that much should be obvious to him🙄

FOOLISHLY HOPELESSLY UNMEASURABLY IN LOVE HWAT THE FUCK DREA IM SAD

i love that he remembers the spinal cord dislocation and the dead leaves . like yea im dead rn but the leaves in my hair are really what's bothering me the most

what the fuck is a maw

ok i looked it up i get it now

"attachment is for gullible idiots" yup and youre one of them vampy 😌

"the warmest skin his icy fingers had ever had the good fortune to touch" im so soft rn

oh so now she has "a wholesome beauty about her nature" ? i thought she was just cute enough 🤨

HE THINKS HER SMILE COULD RESTART HIS HEART THATS SO CUTE IM OUHOIJFOEWIJFIOEWJ

"the responsibility of keeping her safe, satisfied, and happy" how 🥺 🥺🥺

"as long as he breathes" i thought he didn't breathe lmao BUT I GET THE SENTIMENT

"always when it comes to her" IM SCREAMING RN THIS IS SO SOFT I CANT

ill never forgive him for being so dense either his brain is basically a rock

HE WANTED TO COMMUNICATE THAT HE BELONGED TO HER IM GONNA HAVE A STROKE

couldnt be me i dont want to be percieved

HE ADDED A FUCKING BUTTERFLY AFTER THE DISCO BALLS IM OIWFJIOEWJFIOEJIOEWNOJIWJ(*H(WUIOFJIOEWJFIOWHVIFUEH)U)($UT

HEY a hamilton obsession is not childish😤

'the only person who was allowed to touch him there was y/n' he's like a little kid who's possessive omggggggg

oh this reminds me i rlly hope everything in that chest was new and had never been used on anyone else owijfowiejfioewj

oh please my irish king can control himself let y/n meet the other vamps🙄

"if they knew all along why did it take so long" yk im wondering the same thing dummy

"every day was a battle to earn her love and affection" wtffff how could she hurt him like that he is just a baby

i think he needs therapy tbh

yes he does deserve to be treated with respect and dignity😤

"supporting and tolerating them despite your differences" exactly unless they're a republican

IM SORRY THAT WAS MEAN OIWFJOIWJFEIOw i said what i said tho

they did everything backwards but it's what baby needed🥺

im literally gonna 🔪 bradley how dare he hurt my favorite ribeye like that

PROPER BOYFRIEND-GIRLFRIEND BONDING PLSSSSS im sure he makes sure to say stuff like "as your boyfriend' or 'since youre my girlfriend' all the time now

"everything that has to do with harry has always and will always make her feel safe and secure" ...who's gonna tell her👀

HE BECOMES CLINGY IVE BEEN WAITIN FOR THIS ONE TURN IT UP

awwww my love language is also quality times bestiesssssss

(this is more serious you might want to change the words to nose kisses or something because esk*mo is a slur)

HE wants to be wrapped in HER arms and get forehead kissies like a little baby🥺🥺

i can tell you wrote this chappy bc leyla would never write about ice cream

IF CHRIST CAN GET A DATE MARKER SO CAN HARRY OIFJOEIWJFIOEWJFWI PLSSSSSSSSSS I LOVE HIM

ALWAYS FOR HER WEJFIOJWEIOFJEWIOFJOIEWJFOIEWJF HES SO IN LOOOOOVE

HE DID IT AND IM SO PROUD OF HIM🥺

omg i have a thot imagine if she got a heart murmur or something and obvi he knows bc he can hear it so now he has to find a way to make her get it checked out out without being suspicious 😭

HE ROCKS HER TO CALM HER DOWN WHEN SHES HAVING NIGHTMARES IJFEOWIJFOIWEFJ

“nearly blinds himself for eternity” what a drama queen i love him

maybe learn how to turn your brightness down grandpa

“can women sense emotional distress” why is this so funny oiewfjwieojfioewj

DEHUMANIZING OWEIJOIAJAKLFSDJLKSDJFKLD

not a psychotic episode 😭😭

crippling mommy issues woejfkljdklsjsdf me too king

awwwww he made her a full buffet i would cry

matchy socks im gonna sob

king is a chef 😌

y/n’s head @ harry’s clavicle rn: 💥

“his plush chest” drea its ok you can say titties

“absolutely flawless”? are you sure shes not just cute enough 🤨

he got her oat milk 🥺the sign of true love

hes such a shithead i love him

SPELLING HIS NAM E ON HER TUMMY IM HAVING ANOTHER STROKE

“I DIDNT WANT TO LEAVE YOU ALL ALONE” HES SO WOIFJSJFSDKJKLSDJF

HE DIDNT HAVE TO DO NIALL LIKE THAT 😭😭

RAPUNZEL HAIR OSIDJSKJKLSJF

she traces a tiny heart on him wtfffffffffff im sad

this… is hot

“theres no room on the counter” owifjlksjfslkfjklsj

HE WOULD WALK THROUGH FIRE FOR HER maybe then he’d be a little less cold

im sorry that was wrong of me lisjfskldjfwoiejewiojrei

OH MY GOD OWEIJFKLJSKLFJL SHES SO BOLD “can’t i?” OSIJFKSLJLKJF

oh boy hes gonna kill her

I WONDERED WHEN THE YOURE HOT WHEN YOURE MEAN THING WAS GOING TO COME UP

literally shut the fuck up mr english major

do it bestie kick him in the balls

SPARE BOOBIES MAAM I CNAT BELIEVE YOU aCTUALLY WROTE THAT OWIFEJWIJEKLJFOIEWHOEWIFEHFLKEWJFKLEWJKLJFL

IM WHITE IM ALLERGIC TO SPICE WEJFLKJFKLEJFLKJSKLJKFSJD

“character development at its finest” what a self aware king

y/n stop being mean to him baby just wants to feel close ☹️

“I’m anemic” ok king whatever u say

“ME AND MY CHRONIC ILLNESS IM SENSITIVE” IJFKLSDJFKLJSDKLJ

ahhhhhhh it’s yoga time

“just ask your cervix” jlksdjflksdjflkdsjflk

“if only you knew” ☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️☹️

yeah y/n isnt like those other girls 🤪 shes different 🤪

yes bestie objectify him

THERE IT IS MY FAVORITE LINE IN THIS ENTRIE BOOK

PERHAPS MY FAVORITE LINE IN ANY BOOK EVER

“He hasn't been this stiff since rigor mortis”

i think about this on a daily basis i truly do

grey shorts? what a slut

“call the lapd im pressing charges” me after walking up the stairs

OH SO THIS IS WHERE THE GREYS ANATOMY CHARACTERS FROM THE SPOILERS WITHOUT CONTEXT COME IN

him using his shirt as a towel im BARKING

“I wasnt jealous” yea ok 😃

AGAIN HIM DRAWING HIS INITIALS ON HER SKIN THATS SO WOIJFSKLDJFLSJ

yeah harold she just wanted a little kiss 😤

yeah 😃 its bc he ran track 😃

no bc thats so fucking cute that she pretended she had never seen the show before bc he was excited to introduce her to it 🥺

I would do the same tbh i feel like it would be fun to wash dishes with harry idk why

“that skank” oisjksldfjklsjfklsdjflkd

YOUR THICK SKULL COULD DAMAGE THE MARBLE LSKFJKLDSJKFLSDJFKLSJFKLSJKLSJLDKFJLSKDJF I WOULD CRY

he gets her a cup of water 🥺

ok but like wouldn't she want to wash her hair after it got all sweaty at yoga

awwwww she got his toothbrush ready for him why am i so soft rn

memory foam mattresses sound nice but actually they kind of suck bc you sink down and feel trapped in them 😃

HE WATCHED THE TIKTOK SHE SENT HIM IM HAVING A THIRD STROKE

niall is probably on the dumbest side of tiktok idek what side but it’s probably annoying and he thinks it’s hilarious

noooo baby youre not a monster🥺 someone give him a hug rn

well actually you are kind of a monster but its ok we still love u bestie

I too run on caffeine and pizza pockets 😌

TONSIL HOCKEY WHAT THE FUCK OIEJFLSDKJFKLSDJFLSJLKFJSDKLFJ

chatsnap hes such an old man 😭

true lmao if you dont have social media i immediately dont trust you

not the i just washed my hands tiktok 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

HE FEELS STRANGELY PERCIEVED RN KJFLSJFLKSDJ IDK WHY THIS IS SO FUNNY TO ME BUT IM LIKE LEGIT LAUGHING

DO IT BESTIE BITE HIM CHOMP CHOMP

“my eyes are stinging” hes such a baby 😭

“MY SIGH”TS ALL FUZZY” SJFKDSLJFLKDSJFLKDSJFLK

“are you all right” “I dont know :(’ i cant handle this my face hurts from smiling lksjflkjafklj

he has a kitchenaid stand mixer omg thats so sexy

ok but has anyone ever gotten salmonella from raw cookie dough bc i think thats just a myth

fuck u for that one vampy

wow he could never deal with my chronically ill ass

WAIT IS IT WAP

NOPE ITS BETTER LSDFJSDKLFJDS

I agree body is absolutely an instrumental masterpiece

I KNEW HE KNOWS SOME TIKTOK DANCES I KNEW IT

“I know youre kinda into that (getting smacked in the face)” SHUT UPPPPPPP SKJFSKDLJFDS

NOT HIM TWERKING SLKFJSDKLFJDSKLFJDSKL

YES YN GET THAT VIDEO AND BLACKMAIL HIM

“I think i popped something” ok old man 😭

why is the word wench so funny lkfjslkfjdslkfjsdlkfj

dont hand it over i want to see him snap

OH SHIT HE JUST JUMPED THE TABLE LSDFJSDKLFJLKDNMNXCMNJKHOIUIOEUR

oooooooooooo

OH MY GOD AGAIN SHE REALLY IS BOLD SLKDFJDSKLFJLSKDJFLKJFS

not guerrilla warfare 😭😭😭😭

do it bestie give him a concussion he deserves it

“no piece of art could ever compare to her” 🥺🥺

“remember that time you told me making out was childish” “no” i hate him 😭

THERE IT IS AGAIN “sex isnt the only way he can feel close to someone anymore” SHUT THE FUCK UP IM SOBBING

this reminds me of the dehydrated intercourse with demonrry

“don’t care, relationships are about sharing’ hes so sdjfksldjfklsjf

DO IT BESTIE KICK HIS KNEECAPS IN

suing disney for false advertisement 😭

THIS SCENE IS KILLING ME LKJFKLSJFLDSJ “just pucker your lips over it” “You have actual brain damage, dont you?” DREA I LOVE YOU KSDJFLDSKJFLKSDJ

how do those bubbles taste babe

ok drea wtf i was so happy and now this??????

“everything’s wrong” NO SHUT UP SHUT UP ITS HAPPY HOURS

not the boob privileges 😭

WAIT THIS IS FROM THE BSE MV ISNT IT “dance is just so hot rn” “depressing shades are just so hot rn”

NOT HIM GETTING ALL STUTTERY WHEN HE ASKS HER IF SHE WANTS A DRAWER 🥺

NO ONE HAS EVER BEEN THIS GENTLE WITH HIM BEFORE WTFFFFFFFF IM CRYING

“youre so fucking cute, my baby” me when i see literally any picture of him

JELLO HAS a STRONGER BACKBONE THAN THIS KSFJSDKLFJDSKLFJ

“betrayed. objectified. taken advantage of. used. “ i hate him sm 😭😭

OH MY GOD IS SHE GONNA SHAVE HIS FACE THATS SO CUTE IM

SHE ISsSSSSS IM SQUEALING

stop him worrying she’ll think it's weird and wont want to do it 🥺

“bold of you to assume id ever be convicted” PLS DREA LAKFJDKSLFJ

“the more you talk, the more appealing manslaughter sounds” I CHOKED DLSKFJDSKLFJDKSJFDSKLJ

HIM WHISTLING TO GET HER ATTENTION WHY IS THAT SO CUTE

Im sorry but its really funny to me how you wrote the sentence “wrong metal, he thinks ironically” … get it ? like IRONically lkfjdslkfj im sorry i’ll show myself out

“this boy?” what a fucking cutie i want to kick him

I forgot what a bop helpless is thanks for reminding me im gonna go listen to the entire soundtrack again-

theyre so fucking cute i hate them

so yea bascally this is the best thing ive ever read and i love you so much and my face hurts from smiling :)))

#annotations #ysijwa

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bushyhair · 4 years ago

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❝ then he said, leaning forward: ‘you’re strange animals, you women intellectuals. tell me: what’s it like to be a woman?’ i took my rifle from behind my chair and shot him dead. ‘it’s like that,’ i said. ❞ merlin’s beard, what is ( HERMIONE GRANGER ) doing out at this hour? for a ( MUGGLEBORN ) who is ( 47 ) years old, ( SHE ) really ought to know better. you know, i hear that they’re aligned with ( THE ORDER ), but that could be just a rumor. i do know that they’re a ( CIS WOMAN ) and a ( GRYFFINDOR ) alum who works as a ( POLITICAL ACTIVIST ) though. they’re very ( DAUNTLESS ) and ( ANALYTICAL ) but also quite ( VINDICTIVE ) and ( ACERBIC ), which could be why they remind of ( DESPERATELY SEARCHING FOR ANSWERS THE ONLY WAY YOU KNOW HOW – IN A DARK, MUSTY LIBRARY FILLED WITH ANCIENT TOMES WRITTEN IN LANGUAGES LONG DEAD TO MANKIND – BUT NOT TO YOU; A CEASELESS TUG-OF-WAR BETWEEN YOUR BRAIN AND YOUR HEART, BETWEEN RATIONALE AND COMPASSION; THE CELESTIAL HEAVENS THAT YOU CARRY ON YOUR SHOULDERS NOW THAT ATLAS IS NO LONGER AROUND TO BEAR THE BURDEN FOR YOU ). some people say they’re the spitting image of ( GUGU MBATHA RAW ), but i’ve never heard of them. word on the street is that they’re ( THE ERUDITE ) and their prophecy is ( PROPHECY 54 ), but only time will tell if that’s true or not. [ SARAH, 23, SHE/HER, PST ]

parallels: spencer hastings (pretty little liars), elphaba thropp (wicked), annabeth chase (percy jackson), amy santiago (brooklyn 99), sydney sage (bloodlines), beatrice (much ado about nothing), cristina yang (grey’s anatomy), monse finnie (on my block), jal fazer (skins), peggy carter (marvel cinematic universe)

hermione was something of a miracle baby (and a complete surprise). the couple found each other later in life than most, and they’d long since given up trying to conceive as her father was in his fifties and her mother was pushing forty. nevertheless, even though she was unexpected, her parents showered her with love and affection – they had always wanted a baby girl to call their own. hermione would be their one and only.

[ HOLOCAUST TW ] her parents named her hermione after the virtuous queen of sicily in shakespeare’s the winter’s tale and the only daughter of king menelaus and queen helen in greek mythology. her middle name is jean, which is a female variant of the name john, meaning “god is gracious”. i think hermione is, albeit probably unintentionally by jkr, coded as jewish (her appearance, how she faces oppression for her blood by the death eaters/voldemort which are analogies for the nazis/hitler/the holocaust, how she isn’t shown to have a particular attachment to christmas and rarely goes home for the holidays, etc.). thus, i’ve headcanoned that she comes from an interfaith family; her mom was christian and her dad was jewish, and they raised her with both religions with the intention of letting her pick when she grew older. while she is not spiritual and ultimately considers herself to be an atheist, she’s still very proud of her interfaith heritage. anyways, her parents didn’t actually name her jean because of its religious meaning; they named her after jean valjean from les misérables. much like her parents, hermione is also a fan of victor hugo’s work, and that was why she named one of her children hugo.

her father never spoke about how he was a victim of the holocaust, how he almost didn’t survive, how he lost his entire family to the war. sometimes hermione saw the number tattoo on his arm, and her own battle scars felt like they were on fire. her father was a survivor of the second world war, and she is a survivor of the second wizarding war. now more than ever, she understands the trauma, grief, and survivor’s guilt that he tried so desperately to shield her from. it is the same pain that she now carries. [ END TW ]

[ RACISM, BULLYING, AND ANTISEMITISM TW ] there were almost no black children in the posh neighborhood she was raised in, and hermione always felt out of place among her white classmates at the expensive primary school she attended. growing up, despite being upper middle class and an incredibly well-behaved child, she of course still experienced her fair share of racism due to her black and jewish heritage – dirty looks on the street by complete strangers, mean schoolchildren declaring her ugly for not meeting westernized beauty standards (especially when it came to her hair), shopkeepers keeping a watchful eye on her when she entered their stores, adults assuming she couldn’t possibly be as intelligent as her white peers. not only was it demoralizing to little hermione, it was enraging. she developed an overwhelming need to prove herself and her capabilities – she always had to work so much harder than white children to be properly recognized, but every year, she still outperformed everyone else. of course, young hermione was seen as rather swotty, condescending, and insufferable by her classmates, so she was incredibly unpopular. her only friends were her parents, and the one place where she actually felt like she belonged was the library. books were an escape, a refuge. they offered her some comfort in an otherwise comfortless world. little did she know that this world was not truly her world – that there was something else waiting for her.

hermione developed a strict adherence to following the rules and an unwavering respect for authority partly because of the prejudice she faced from an early age. as a young black girl, she knew that if she did not present herself to be well behaved, responsible, and mature – if she ever acted out in any way – there could be a high price to pay. black children were punished (or hurt – or even killed) for very, very little. while she eventually outgrew this behavior as she found her place in the wizarding world, it took her a little time to blossom into the revolutionist that she is today.

when she first came to the wizarding world, she noticed a stark contrast in how she was treated by most people upon first glance. after all, it wasn’t as though blood purists could tell that she was muggleborn simply by looking at her (even though she didn’t realize that was what it was initially). and because of the difference that she noticed, she had hope that maybe – just maybe – this was somehow a world free of prejudice and racism, a world in which she could finally find belonging in. but of course, the wizarding world was not quite as she first thought. there was still prejudice; it was merely towards a different group of people. mudblood. when draco malfoy first spat out that venomous word in reference to her, she didn’t immediately know just what it meant, but she understood well enough. she’d been called slurs before. hermione was once again rattled with that familiar fury. she was top of her year, with an extraordinary amount of power, but still she was viewed by many as inferior. she vowed to prove her worth and become an instrument of change. she would fight for herself, her friends, her parents, the enslaved house elves, and the other muggleborns. if this world tried to tell her she did not belong there either, she would show them all that she did. she would be the best and the brightest – better than draco, pansy, and anyone else who tried to diminish her. and that was just what she did. it wasn’t enough for her though. [ END TW ]

because while hermione might have been a know-it-all who seemed rather confident in her abilities, the truth was that she was deeply insecure and terrified of failure. identified as highly gifted from a young age, this unintentionally placed an insurmountable pressure on her to overachieve in order to measure up to those high standards – to confirm to everyone, including and especially herself, that she really was as intelligent as they all thought she was. and to make matters worse, whether she was in the muggle world or the wizarding world, she always had something to prove. (in fact, she was only able to attend her expensive private school because of the scholarship that was granted to her due to her high marks and test scores. because while she was upper middle class, her family still wasn’t wealthy enough to send her there otherwise.) she somewhat grew out of her insecurities as the years went by – she’s proud of who she is and knows that she’s capable – but some of her insecurities still linger to this day. that compulsive need to be perfect will never truly go away. it’s an innate part of her now.

[ PHYSICAL ASSAULT TW ] even though she is extremely socially conscious and compassionate, she is very much a paradox and can often be abrasive, insensitive, and overly blunt. she’s also far more ruthless than she appears to be at first glance – this is the girl who destroyed marietta edgecombe’s face when she dared to betray the d.a., erased her parents’ memories, set a professor on fire, imprisoned rita skeeter in a jar and blackmailed her, and left umbridge to the centaurs to rot. while she does have a rigid sense of morals, she’s vindictive and will ultimately do what is necessary to achieve the right outcome. she honestly does not regret any of these actions – the ends justified the means in hermione’s opinion. (aka draco malfoy should consider himself lucky she only slapped his sorry arse so hard that he bruised) [ END TW ]

[ DEMENTIA/ALZHEIMER’S AND PARENTAL DEATH TW ] once the dust settled after the battle of hogwarts, after the seemingly endless funerals and memorials, she left everyone behind for a few months to search for her parents in australia and bring them back home. tracking them down took several weeks in and of itself, but once she finally found them, she quickly realized that she had her work cut out for herself. memory magic is an incredibly intricate process because it involves reconstructing the brain, and without proper training, it can easily go awry. she spent many days working on properly restoring their memories, and even after she was sure that she had done it perfectly, something was still wrong. the doctors ended up diagnosing her father with early stage alzheimer’s. although her friends reassured her that it wasn’t her fault, she still blamed herself for this – her father was well past middle aged, but perhaps his mind would not have deteriorated so much if she hadn’t cast those memory charms. she began distancing herself from her parents early on in her school career, opting to spend her holidays with ron and harry instead of trying to fit into a magicless world she no longer belonged in, and she became wracked with guilt and regret for pushing her parents away even if it was partially for their safety and peace of mind. she thought she would have more time than this, years to make up for it all. there wasn’t. a few years down the line, her father finally succumbed to his dementia and passed away, her mother following very soon after. although she died of natural causes, it was almost as though she couldn’t bear being apart from the love of her life, to go on living in a world without him. [ END TW ]

[ PTSD, DEATH, PARENTAL DEATH, GRIEF, PHYSICAL ASSAULT, AND TORTURE TW ] at some point, she returned to hogwarts to complete her seventh year, determined to graduate with all o’s on her n.e.w.t.s, and of course she succeeded because she’s hermione and she buried herself in her schoolwork, very much as a distraction from her grief, her trauma, the diminishing health of her father, and her newfound fame. being a war hero thrust hermione into the spotlight, and at first, she didn’t know how to handle it in the slightest. through time, she came to use her celebrity status to become a voice for the oppressed – house elves, werewolves, other muggleborns – because again, she’s hermione and she wouldn’t be hermione without her vehemence for social justice.

upon graduation, she landed herself a job in the department for the control and regulation of magical creatures. she stayed there for a while before transferring to the department of magical law enforcement. she never considered herself going into magical law when she was younger, but she soon realized that it was the only way she would be able to bring lasting change to a long broken system. for several years, hermione immersed herself in her work as much as she could. it was absolutely a coping mechanism, especially after her parents passed. as always, she was constantly fretting over her loved ones, asking them multiple times a week if they were alright and reassuring them that she was always here if they need a shoulder to lean on, but she hadn’t quite dealt with the fact that she wasn’t alright, not by a long shot. in fact, she was barely holding it together. rather than living, she was merely surviving, and it wasn’t for herself. her work and her friends were the only real reasons she managed to drag herself out of bed every morning. she hadn’t properly grieved the people she lost, and she suffered from petrifying night terrors, and the worst ones were of bellatrix torturing her in malfoy manor. she tried everything to remove or cover her scars from the incident, but as they were magically carved into her by curses of bellatrix’s own creation, she wasn’t able to. eventually, she gave up, deciding she would wear them as signs of her courage and resilience. but there were still those nights where she woke up from a chilling nightmare, wailing and thrashing. she cast muffling charms on her room every night as a precaution. she couldn’t even bear to visit her parents’ graves, too overcome by guilt, knowing in her heart that their deaths were her fault. she didn’t know how to carry that pain.

eventually, she settled down with ron and had two children with him, and slowly, with her two best friends by her side, she started to heal from her war wounds. there was no orderly, linear process to follow, like the five stages of grief. it was messy, and it was hard, but she pushed through it. she sought therapy at the urging of her friends, learning how to better handle her emotions, especially the ones involving grief. it took time, but she learned to live to again. she was able to move on and finally forgive herself. she healed – only for that arduous work to be undone when the third wizarding war started and the world fell into shambles again.

hermione was angry. she was so angry at the world for putting them all through this again. so many people died to prevent another war from happening, and despite her best efforts to make their sacrifices count -- to make it all mean something -- it seemed like it was all for naught in the end. after all, here they were again -- the same fight. always the same fight, with most of the same people.

and then harry died. then harry, her best friend, died for the second time, and hermione’s world shattered into pieces. it was only her love for her family and her vehemence for justice that gave her the strength to move on--but only barely so. she knew that she would never completely heal from it all. the truth was that when harry died, a part of her died along with him. he was not only her first friend but her true best friend (because ron had always been something else, something much more complicated). she considered him to be a brother, and she always did everything she could to help and protect him. she loved him so much, and she would’ve died for him without a second thought. they all would have. his death -- along with her parents’ deaths -- will always be her biggest failures, and she will forever blame herself for them. what good is it – being so smart – if she couldn’t save the ones that she loved the most? once her boggart was failing her exams, but now it is harry and her parents telling her the truth that she already knows – that their deaths were her failure and her fault. of course, this boggart is as irrational as the one she had in her childhood. harry and her parents would never say such a thing. logically, hermione knows this, but she still blames herself all the same – even if they would never, even if it’s not truly her fault.

then, miraculously, harry evaded death once more, coming back to life like the messiah himself -- but at the price of the life of one of her dearest friends. she’s even more furious now, but that anger doesn’t have anywhere to go. ultimately, she knows that even though it was the foolhardy, reckless knights who performed the ritual, the blame rests on the order’s shoulders. they failed their children. they drove them to this. in a way, she truly understands why the knights did what they did because she missed harry with all her heart and would have given (almost) anything to see him one more time, but still, it horrifies her. she wanted him back -- she is so grateful to have him back -- but not like this. not at the price of neville longbottom’s life. this is beyond anything she could have ever conceived. this is an aberration. it should have been impossible. and yet, here her best friend is, alive and (almost) well. she never expected that she would ever have him back, but now when he looks at her without any recognition in his face, she cannot help but be reminded of her father’s death all over again.

in the end, she will keep going on, and she will fight until her last dying breath to protect her loved ones and the world, but she’s so tired. how many times will they all have to fight the same war? how many more people will have to die for them to finally end this – for good this time? will this ever truly be over, or is humanity doomed to make the same mistakes and fight the same wars forever? for the girl who’s supposed to have all of the answers, even she doesn’t know.

it should be noted that hermione has never believed in prophecies or even divination at all, and even now that harry is alive, she still doesn’t. ultimately, she would argue that the reason why harry came back to life isn’t because it was destined in any way but because the knights truly believed in the prophecy and thus made it happen, much like how voldemort marked harry as his equal out of his doing after he heard trelawney’s first prophecy. in a way, it was almost a self-fulfulling prophecy. in the end, hermione doesn’t believe in predestined fate, and she never will. instead, she intends to shape her own future.

edit: also! i forgot to mention that, before the ministry was taken over, hermione was head of the department of magical law enforcement, but when she was thrust out of her position, she made the decision to dedicate herself to the order fully. hermione has never been minister of magic in this verse. although the ministry was never perfect by any means, she was a strong supporter of minister shacklebolt and worked with him personally for many years. ultimately, she was fairly content where she was at before all of this, but who knows what could happen if and when the war ends. [ END TW ]

#rev intros #no graphic this time #i really just want to get this out #it's super rushed oops

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wordsturnintostories · 4 years ago

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show me your rosettes, baby (g)

summary: The world tour is over and the Bangtan Boys finally get their well-deserved break. When Namjoon suddenly can’t find Jimin anywhere, things take an unexpected and pretty unbelievable turn. “Kim Namjoon!” “Hyung. How common is it for people to turn into cats?”

word count: 27.8k (strap in, guys) note: wow sorry for not uploading here. i uploaded on ao3 but forgot to put it on my tumblr blog. which probably doesn’t matter... unless there are still people reading this fic on here. If that’s you, have fun. ✨ warnings: graphic depictions of blood and wounds

masterlist | moodboard masterlist

When Namjoon exits Bang Sihyuk’s office, head heavy and heart low, the coolness of the hallway air is the first thing he notices. It’s a refreshing change to the tension that had lingered in the office and kind of added an uncomfortable pressure to every breath, to every thought. The second thing he notices is that Yoongi is sitting on the leather couch, on his phone while holding up Jimin against his neck. The little cat sleeps comfortably. Even from over here, Namjoon can see the little belly rising and falling with every breath.

“Hyung,” he whispers, not wanting to disrupt the sacred peace.

Yoongi looks up from his phone and scoots to the side so Namjoon can sit comfortably beside him. Jimin’s tail flicks once but the kitty just sniffles and sighs against Yoongi’s throat.

“He sleeps so well,” Namjoon comments.

“Fell asleep right away. Such a cute little baby. Even with paint all over his fur.”

It’s a hidden question and Yoongi’s natural way of asking for what had happened when he doesn’t want to accuse or cast blame or make anyone feel bad. When Namjoon just hangs his head low, he’s got his answer.

“Do you think we’ll get it out?”

“Am I Min Yoongi or not?”

Okay. It’ll all be okay, hyung will take care of it. Yoongi is good at repairing things, has fixed almost as many things as Namjoon has broken - which is a lot, needless to say, and not even half of it has been captured on camera.

“So, what did Pdnim say?” “He said that we can’t tell the members about this.”

When Yoongi doesn’t say anything in return, fingers quietly curling up into a fist on his lap, Namjoon doesn’t need words to understand the storm inside his hyung.

“Not ever?” “Just for a while.”

“Well,” Yoongi snorts, “good luck with that. You’re shit at keeping secrets.”

“Hyung. I always do my best-“

“You always blurt out secret stuff. You’re the worst out of all of us.”

“That’s not true.”

Yoongi turns to look into his eyes, looking highly unimpressed. It’s a little unsettling how much it resembles Jimin’s look from this morning, when Namjoon’s elbow had accidentally pushed over Jimin’s little bowl of tuna right after he had filled it up. It’s pure disbelief and annoyance in one glance.

“Okay,” he admits, “maybe it is true.”

Satisfied, Yoongi sits back, checking in on Jimin gently and brushing his fingers through the fluffy fur, which earns him the sleepy beginnings of a purr.

“In any case,” he begins, “we don’t have to worry about keeping secrets if Jimin doesn’t turn back soon anyway.”

And yes, that’s a good point. And strangely, it’s got Namjoon thinking. In the beginning of this, he’d hoped for Jimin to turn back as fast as possible but now? Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he’d stay a cat for a bit longer, just long enough for the members to find out (because Pdnim had only made him promise to not tell the members, and not to hide Jimin from them) and then turn back so they are able to prepare for the comeback. Yes, that would be perfect, even if he can’t imagine how it must feel to be a cat for Jimin.

“Anyway, I’ll be in the studio,” Yoongi says and just gets up without even waiting. “Slow Rabbit-hyung sent me my beats back, so I’ll work on that. Don’t worry about getting take out, I’ll cook tonight. Just text me when you and Sejin-hyung are done shopping.”

“Kay, hyung. Thank you.”

“Don’t forget the rubbing alcohol.”

Namjoon signs that he understands and sits back, rubbing his face. He really wishes he could be as stoic as Yoongi. Sure, the guy has a hot whirlwind of emotions on the inside, emotions that tear deeper into his heart tissue than he lets on, but just the fact that Jimin has been able to fall asleep on his chest is a huge testament to the calmness he radiates. Namjoon knows that he will probably never acquire that level of calm that Yoongi has. Most of the time, his fingers and brain and motor skills just don’t… line up and that resulting clumsiness flows into his aura and disrupts every inch of serenity he could even build up. Maybe that’s why Jimin loves to be scooped up by Yoongi. Why he rests so peacefully in Yoongi’s arms instead of wiggling around like he does in Namjoon’s.

Finally, Sejin comes out of the office as well.

“Ready to go?”

After their first couple of hours of treading through a couple of stores and ticking off a couple of items from Sejin’s list (even the rubbing alcohol), Namjoon feels like he’s swallowed a stone. Worry presses into his belly like an unremovable weight, inducing a stomach ache and a wandering mind. There’s so many things going through Namjoon’s mind that he doesn’t even pay attention, just strolling after Sejin, careful enough to not get lost but otherwise unresponsive to the world. He’s got sunglasses on, a good enough disguise to avoid showing people the storm in his eyes. They walk and walk and by the time they finally sit back in Sejin’s car, two shopping bags in the trunk, and drive on, Namjoon has created and dismissed a good six plans of action that seemed perfect at first and then turned out to be either impossible or unrealistic. He really doesn’t know what to do and coming back to his first issue - not being allowed to tell the members - almost drives his mind into overdrive.

How on earth does Pdnim expect me to take care of Jimin when I have to hide his secret identity? Because in the end, Namjoon is convinced that that’s exactly what it is - Jimin turning into a baby leopard for days counts as having a secret identity. And Yoongi was right - Namjoon is terrible at keeping secrets from the public. From the members? Even worse. Multiple scenarios run through his mind. He spills the tea in all of them. It’s just not- Namjoon just can’t imagine living with Jimin and practically raising him, experiencing the highs and lows of a developing character, of a developing person, celebrating first successes and mourning losses together and then not telling the members. It’s almost like the universe had heard Namjoon’s wish for a child of his own - and then given him a child he can’t show to his members. In some way, it’s ridiculous because he knows with all his being that he would have never managed to raise any of the maknaes without Jin or Hobi. The only relief is that Yoongi knows. Pragmatic Yoongi who can do anything he tries. That’s the only relief, Namjoon thinks.

All this rumbling discomfort inside his head makes Namjoon want to focus on something else, something outside of himself. He doesn’t want to acknowledge the ugly feeling of being alone - I am not alone. I will never be alone. It might take some time to dismantle all the lies that pop up in his head every now and then but not giving them the attention they cry out for is a first step. Namjoon’s fingertips tingle on the car window’s cold, wet glass.

Outside, Seoul has been dipped into an agitated grey glow that’s certainly thanks to the white clouds above, not a precious white, not a clean white either. It’s an old, used up white that reminds Namjoon of old carpets in need of thorough cleaning. Only a few seconds later, the thick clouds can’t hold their ugliness anymore and spill over with thick drops. It’s comforting, to see another thing burst out of their normal state - Namjoon feels the heavy rhythm of the water on the car and the relating echo in his soul. I wish I could spill over so carelessly too. But he can’t, he promised, so he just turns his consciousness back to the hazy grey of the world behind the window and sighs.

The more he focuses on the rain, the way that less and less people walk the streets, the thrum that tunes out everything else, the more he’s drawn to his memories with his members, almost as if the melancholy outside had snuck inside his head and drawn out memories of comfort.

Namjoon sees Taehyung sitting on his bed in their shared room. Yeontan lies halfway draped over his lap, napping with big hands carding through his fur softly. Outside, it is raining, inside, it is quiet that day.

“I want to write a song about the rain,” Taehyung says in a hushed tone, never taking his eyes off the window.

“What do you want to write?”

Namjoon loves this about the younger boy - he can never really pinpoint what’s going on in Taehyung’s mind - Taehyung’s mind is a beautiful maze of creativity and emotions. Just inspiring - like listening to a new song for the first time and falling in love with it because it connects to something inside of you so deeply that not listening to it makes you feel like something is missing in your soul.

“The way rain falls - we think it��s sad because it’s water and water has so many purposes,” Taehyung pauses, “in summer, we play with it. We see it in the ocean, we drink it. But when it rains, the drops are reduced to falling, only falling helplessly. The fall must feel endless, the way we have nightmares of falling sometimes. Maybe that’s why people think rain is sad.”

Namjoon hums, trying not to let the intense amazement at those philosophical thoughts ruin their serene atmosphere.

“Do you want it to be a sad song?”

“No,” Taehyung says, “it should be comforting. Because water lives in a circle and falling means nothing if you know that your home is in the clouds, above the world and that you’ll always find your way back home. If you know this, even hitting the ground is not scary anymore. Rain is not sad - it’s a reminder that everything will be alright. Rain means don’t worry, you’ll be okay soon.”

Namjoon feels his heart swelling even now, even here in the car, as they drive through the streets of Seoul, passing taxis, business people, students and everyone else. No one knows this, no one else has shared this moment with Taehyung, no one else thinks about rain just the same way. Not yet, anyway, not until the song has been finished. Namjoon loves these secrets that they have, these secrets and songs that are theirs to guard until it’s time to entrust them to the world. Not just once, he’s drawn strength from them. And now too, it makes him smile fondly. I love my members. I’d do anything for them. I can do this, too. Hitting the ground is okay, no matter how much it hurts. I will always find back home. Fighting, Namjoon.

Beside him, Sejin smiles. They pull up to the pet store.

Now, Namjoon is ready to stroll through pet store aisles with a pout on his lips and his shoulders hanging low, mind absently digging through his list of issues and his spiderweb of possible solutions. He is prepared to pick between red and blue and pink and green cat toys (which is stupid because cats are probably color-blind like dogs, right?) and to look for the fluffy stick-thingy Yoongi had mentioned. He’s ready to ask store employees for help when he can’t find litter boxes after half an hour of searching and yet suspecting that he’s run past them at least five times.

There’s one employee who’s keeping an eye on him (Namjoon can feel the gaze on his skin and wonders whether he’s starting to develop some sort of clairvoyant powers now that Jimin turned into a leopard) and whether it’s because she recognized him or whether he’s a suspicious customer, running through the same aisle five times, looking around helplessly and not even having one product in his hands despite having been in the store for half an hour now (yeah, that’s probably it). In the back of his mind, he still tries to figure out why in the world he would ever say yes when Sihyuk asked him if he would be okay on his own because he wanted to get something for his own dog as well. Sweat rolls down his back when his eyes go up and the employee has moved to stand directly in front of him.

“Hello, customer-ssi,” she greets, sweetly but with a flat tone, “how may I help you?”

“I, uh, I’m looking for uh, cat toys. For my cat.”

A shudder of as if that needed elaborating, Namjoon runs through Namjoon’s head and he knows that if Yoongi was standing next to him right now, he would facepalm and move away, stew in second-hand embarrassment from a safe distance. He smiles when the employee giggles softly and likes to think that just maybe, his stupid reply may have been a tiny spark of light in her boring work day, something to laugh about. It’s nice.

“Okay, the cat section is here,” she leads him over to another aisle that - no kidding - Namjoon didn’t even see before. Despite the big sign overhead. Am I blind- “you were standing in the mixed aisle before, so you’ll probably have better chances finding what you want here.”

He blushes, because this is really embarrassing, and thanks her with a nod. She probably thinks that he’s cute, or handsome, or whatever the nation thinks about him nowadays, but then he dares to look at her eyes and realizes that no, that’s not it, she probably thinks he’s a poor customer who doesn’t have a clue about anything because then she has mercy on him, yes, that’s a recognizable spark in her eyes that Seokjin also has when dealing with the mess Namjoon is and makes, and she asks, “Have you filled out the questionnaire yet?”

And see, that’s another thing that makes Namjoon feel so damn clueless. How was he supposed to know there was a questionnaire? Does every customer here fill it out? Or just the helpless idols?

“Questionnaire?”

“Yes, well. You look a little-“ she pauses, has to pick her words carefully because he is a customer and she doesn’t want to upset him (but the way she smiles like she’s giggling inside really lessens the punch) “-like this is your first time buying stuff for your cat. The questionnaire might help you figure out what type of cat yours is.”

Oh. There’s different types of cats?

“No, I haven’t.”

“Haven’t filled out the questionnaire or haven’t bought cat necessities?” (For your cat, Namjoon’s brain adds, just to taunt him. He winces.)

“Neither.”

“Oh, no worries,” that sounds cheerful, “I can help you, if you’d like.”

He nods graciously, genuinely thankful for her help although he’d usually insist on solitary shopping. Normally, people recognize him too quickly and the rest of his shopping trip turns into a race (it really feels like that sometimes) to get through the store without causing too much of a mass revolt in the streets (although in Korea it’s better than in other places). The woman - her name tag says Lee Kyungmi in an elegant font - pulls out a sheet of paper from somewhere and leads him to a quiet corner with two armchairs that are so fancy that for the first time in the whole half an hour he’s been here, Namjoon realizes how high-end the store actually is. Of course Sejin wouldn’t just take him to any store - they had to go to the frickin’ best because well, customer service, right? Confidentiality. Anonymity. Quality. Like so many other instances in his life, Namjoon is grateful for Sejin’s clear head.

“Let’s start here,” Kyungmi and points to the first question. “Have you shopped with us before?”

He ticks the box for “No”. Back when his family adopted Rapmon, they had bought all the stuff for her in some store in Ilsan and when he says they, he means mostly his mother and his sister.

“Tick the type of animal you’re shopping for.” He ticks cat and moves on. “How old is your pet?” And that’s where it gets complicated for the first time but Namjoon pulls through diligently and writes, “a few months.” Because while it’s difficult to guess and it’s not like he can just ask anyone to find out Jimin’s age let alone ask Jimin himself, Namjoon has seen documentaries about leopards and Jimin is definitely not a one year old leopard yet. Thank God. “What’s your pet’s breed?”

Well. That answer takes a while but Namjoon doesn’t want to look any more incompetent in front of the staff who is so kind to order them both a coffee from the store’s café further in the back. Namjoon is aware that he clearly can’t write leopard, so he settles for mixed breed. Mixed. Leopard and human.

“Does your pet spend most of its time inside or outside?”

And like that, Namjoon spends a good twenty minutes on answering all the questions on his pet’s fur, the living environment, the food (he improvises a little because yeah, of course he’s feeding Jimin only cat food from the can, of course, he’d never let him have stuff from the table) etc etc until he stops at the end of the page, smiling like he’s just won an award because finishing the questionnaire really feels that way. Until he lifts the paper. And sees the back. More questions.

“There’s a back!? How much do you want to know about my, uh, pet? Isn’t this like a pet tinder?”

Kyungmi laughs more, visibly unable to contain her bright laughter that seems a little out of place in this reverently quiet store (which is not that different from most high-end stores Namjoon’s visited) and Namjoon’s heart blooms when he thinks about the fact that he can make people laugh like that even without his music and rap and stage presence. Even on his own, without the members next to him.

“This is definitely not pet tinder, we’ve got a register for that in the back for registered pets. The next questions will be about your pet’s character. Whether it’s energetic or calm or a little diva. This information helps us to find the perfect toys and equipment for your pet and also, mix some customized food for the little one.”

Namjoon is stunned. If Jimin even knew the lengths I go for him today… Namjoon is glad that they moved to the chairs. They are comfortable, like lounge chairs in waiting rooms in the backstage areas of broadcasting stations. Chairs to fall asleep in. He can see Sejin strolling somewhere through the aisles, probably making use of the situation to buy stuff for his children’s pets as well.

“What is your pet’s favorite activity?” Jimin had enjoyed chasing that frog - hunting?

“What sets your pet apart from others?” He’s not actually a pet- its cuteness?

“Does it enjoy cuddling? Does it have a favorite person?” Yes, yes, yes. Definitely. He loves all his hyungs. - Do pets even have hyungs?

“Does it tolerate other people or pets in its territory?” Loves people, loves pets.

“How does it react in critical situations, e.g. when it’s taken to the vet?” …

Namjoon huffs. All the questions make sense but he can’t help but feel like the helplessly falling rain drops on their way into the sewers. There’s only so much to know about kitty Jimin after three days and his mind doesn’t seem to understand that the questionnaire definitely only wants answers about cat Jimin. Ah, this is difficult. He’s not sure whether Jimin has ever been to the vet even as a human (and suddenly, his mind can’t stop thinking about the possibility of having to take leopard Jimin to the vet for an examination - and all the shit human Jimin will give him for it afterwards). He groans and maybe that’s a sign for Kyungmi to start speaking.

“If you can’t or don’t want to fill out everything, that’s fine too. I’ll do my best to help you nonetheless.”

When he hands the questionnaire over and she’s read the answers, Kyungmi gets up and starts walking towards the cat section. Namjoon does his best to keep up and follow. Like the competent store staff she seems to be, Kyungmi grabs products with sure eyes and quick hands and puts them all into a basket while she explains.

“First of all, keeping a pet is both a great decision and a huge responsibility and we are proud of you for adopting your cat”, welp, Namjoon thinks, I’m living a lie, but then again, it does sort of feel like he adopted Jimin - just maybe in a different way, 7 years ago… “besides food, you need a variety of items to make your pet feel at home and cared for. Since your cat spends a lot of time inside and outside, you’ll need to brush its fur not only to clean it but also to check for ticks and other little insects that could be hidden underneath. Now, you wrote that your cat is a short-hair breed, so this is our shampoo segment for short fur. We recommend this one, this is a scent-free shampoo from a brand that only produces vegan and pet-friendly stuff. If you would like to check out this product line over here, we can surely find-“

The first package in Namjoon’s hands says “all fur types” on the front in red, big letters. Namjoon can’t help but wonder - is it really for all fur types? Would those shampoo companies develop their shampoo for wild cats too? Do wild cats have the same fur as small domestic cats? Namjoon isn’t bold enough to ask. But am I really the only person with this issue? In his head, Namjoon browses through all his contacts. Sadly, all the people he knows either have no pets or have never mentioned any pets and there are no shifters Namjoon knows other than Jimin. Suddenly, a thought pops up. I have seen wild cats before - at the zoo! Surely zoo employees would know which fur products are adequate for leopards, right? But... do we know anyone at the zoo? If not, can we just call them and ask? Is that a normal question? Do they have a hotline for desperate pet owners? It sounds… unlikely but Namjoon reminds himself that he’s an independent rain drop falling helplessly that only needs to find its way back home. He calls Yoongi.

“Namjoon? You alright?”

Yoongi sounds sleepy. Yoongi would never be bothered to worry about falling from the clouds. Namjoon excuses himself from Kyungmi and walks a few steps away. He whispers.

“Hyung, do we anyone who works at the zoo?”

“Why are you whispering? Also, I don’t know? Why are you asking?”

“It’s…”, the words I’m overwhelmed by the amount of cat shampoo in this shop and you were the first person I thought to call because I don’t think there’s an actual zoo hotline I could call for help sound a bit ridiculous, so Namjoon figures he’ll solve this problem on his own. “Ah, no, it’s nothing. Sorry for calling, hyung.”

“No, I just don’t understand… but maybe ask Tae? He’s the people expert.”

“Thanks, Hyung! Sleep well.”

“I’m not sleeping.”

His voice is raspy, deep. A little purr comes through the phone and Namjoon can just picture it - Yoongi on his sofa, head on a pillow, Jimin on his chest. Napping. He ends the call. A new image pops up in his mind - isn’t there some YouTube channel Jimin and Jungkook watch sometimes? Some guy who takes care of lions and leopards? Something like that? A… Dan Richard? Just Richard? Suddenly, Namjoon wishes he’d paid a little more attention to his dongsaeng’s YouTube interests. Maybe I’ll look this Richard guy up and ask for help. He thinks he remembers that Jungkook had once exclaimed that the guy was famous and that he would love to visit that place one day - that he would love to just meet the lions too, play with them. Jungkook is a thrill-seeker. He’s crazy. But now, Namjoon smiles. I’ll definitely text him. Later.

Kyungmi still smiles politely when he turns back to her and carries on with her informative rant about shampoo.

Namjoon feels like his arm is ready to fall off after having carried his little basket of cat stuff for only ten minutes. Kyungmi is still giving him a lecture on how to measure his darling pet’s temperature (revelation of the day - one does not simply take the temperature in the cat’s mouth, no) when his eyes flick to the toys just a few shelves further. To be honest, Namjoon has never ever in his life imagined to stick a thermometer any place other than Jimin’s ears or mouth and he figures he shouldn’t start now, so he starts slinking away slowly, step by step. It’s unsettling how guilty he feels for ignoring Kyungmi’s speech - why do I feel so guilty?

But the toys are beckoning him over like nothing else in this store and then, he’s standing in front of them. He’s happy, somehow, and thinks that if he were an Animal Crossing character, he would start having sparkles or flowers around his head right now, blushing and swaying on his feet. Sejin sends him a thumbs up from where he’s sitting in the lounge chairs from before, two fancy paper bags at his feet.

Wow, there’s so much variation, Namjoon thinks, surprised that people have come up with so many things just to entertain their pets. Kyungmi comes up next to him, still cheerful, still in her element and not seeming like she’s mad at him for escaping her waterfall-like explanation speeches.

“I would recommend a chewing toy of some sort,” she says, pointing at some boxes. “You wrote that he’s only a few months old, so he might still be teething.”

“Yeah, he chews on our fingers a lot,” Namjoon agrees and grabs a little heart shaped pillow that looks good to bite into. For cats. It resembles Tata a little bit but probably not enough to make Jimin feel guilty for chewing it up.

“Is this good?”

“Depends,” Kyungmi says and brings out something from the aisle on the opposite site, “does your cat get distracted easily?”

“Sometimes?”

Jimin generally has a good concentration span. But when other people are around, it sure is easier for him to get distracted. The burdens of a people-oriented mind.

“Well, we always recommend toys with safe seams, adequate texturing, organic materials and a high fun factor for your cat. Of course it should also be washable, with all the slobber and dirt it will encounter. Are you looking for a toy with catnip or without?”

Catnip? Namjoon has heard of it. Of course. Who hasn’t seen those cat videos on YouTube with cats going crazy after taking a whiff of catnip? Usually, they roll around in it and then nap the high off, which seems harmless. But he’s not sure whether that’s a good idea. Isn’t catnip like a drug for cats? If so, the agency probably won’t allow it. Also, Namjoon really doesn’t want to drug Jimin.

“Without, please.”

“Are you sure? It does help to create a bigger and longer interest for a toy. Not all cats like it, but most do. But if you want, we can find other toys that are interesting for your cat.”

Namjoon nods and together, they decide on a couple of hand-sewn mice with dangling twisted rope tails for Jimin to chase. The eyes are sewn on to prevent swallowing. The mice almost look too cute to buy and the thought of finding them wet and chewn out on the sofa makes Namjoon wrinkle his nose in disgust but then his mind wanders to the little picked apart frog Jimin had killed in their backyard and that’s enough motivation to buy them all. Kyungmi hands him another chew toy that has some floss material on it and she explains that it not only helps with dental hygiene but that it is also supposed to lessen bad breath. We definitely need that, Namjoon thinks, quietly to himself, because every pet’s breath stinks. That’s just a universal fact. Sorry, Jimin.

“Do you want it in blue or pink?”

Honestly, after all the running around, the two quickly filling shopping bags that weigh down his arms and the relentless chatter from Kyungmi, this simple question sinks the ship. As much as Namjoon enjoys picking stuff for his dongsaengs, he’s tired. Does it matter? Does the color really matter? He doesn’t know whether future human Jimin would be offended by his choices when it comes down to colors but he does know that Jimin is particular about style. Kitten Jimin however is a completely different story that Namjoon actually doesn’t know anything about. He might have a completely different taste from his human counterpart. The only thing Namjoon knows is that Seokjin once bought a hat for Jimin that the dancer thought was completely hideous. The next time he saw it was in Hoseok’s section of their shared wardrobe. Up to this day, Jimin hasn’t worn it even once.

“We also have them in yellow, green and black, if you think he’d like those better,” Kyungmi adds, not even aware of the trouble she’s causing. No, Namjoon does not know if Jimin would like those better because Jimin is not Jungkook and not Yoongi and will therefore not sympathize with the black toy by default.

For a second, Namjoon tries to put himself in Jimin’s shoes. These toys are gonna stay with him for a while. What if he doesn’t like them and we have to keep them until we are in Seoul the next time? Even if we order stuff, if we are on the road, we won’t get them delivered and Jimin will have to make do with these. Namjoon thinks back to his old phone case that was an accidental and careless order, and remembers how annoying it is to look at something every day if you don’t like it. No, he’ll do the best he can to make sure Jimin likes his cat toys.

He freezes. His eyes wander down to the shopping bags he’s already holding. Will Jimin like the other things I have picked? A wave of uncertainty rushes through him and he’s tempted to just push it all back into Kyungmi’s arms, leave the store and come back with Jimin once he’s shifted back so he can choose everything himself. But he is aware of how that would look. Kyungmi is still waiting for his answer and the headache that’s building is not helping at all. So, Namjoon is ready to take extreme measures. He pulls his phone out and dials Yoongi’s number. It takes three tries to get him on the line but for his dongsaengs, Namjoon has learned persistence.

“What is it now?”

“Hyung, which color do you think the, uh, the cat would like best when it comes to toys?”

Namjoon only realizes now that they should have maybe come up with a codename for Jimin. Just in case he’d ever need to talk about his kitty alter ego in front of other people who are not supposed to know. Perhaps Yoongi realizes the same thing. Perhaps Yoongi doesn’t care. His incredulous answer on the other side is a little… unhelpful.

“What are you asking me? Am I a cat? Just bring anything, Namjoon-ah. I don’t care about the color as long as Jiminie doesn’t tear my flesh and bones apart. He might look harmless but I swear he’ll be a beast later.”

“You’re so dramatic, hyung.”

“I’m truthful. He keeps chewing up my fingers.”

“Okay, but… do you think,” Namjoon turns away from Kyungmi and whispers, just to make sure, “do you think he’d like something more, uh, Chanel, or, like a cat bed from Versace? Because this store is high-end but if he doesn’t like it-“

Yoongi just huffs on the line and Namjoon feels a heavy weight in his chest. How am I supposed to take care of Jimin if I don’t know what Jimin wants? How could I know? How can any of us know? Maybe there are specific brands that are popular with shifters? Should I call Jackson? But no, Jackson is probably sleeping right now, if he’s in Europe. Namjoon whines.

“Hyung…”

“Namjoon-ah. Don’t lose your mind over this. Just bring anything and we’ll all be happy.”

“But what if- what if he doesn’t like it?”

Namjoon can’t help it. He doesn’t want Jimin to be disappointed in his hyungs when he shifts back. He wants Jimin to feel safe and loved and honored to be taken care of by his hyungs.

“Then we’ll return it. Keep the receipt, Namjoon, and don’t worry. Just buy the basics and if he wants additional things, we’ll order them, okay?”

“Okay, hyung.”

Something crashes. Yoongi groans.

“Okay. I have to wipe up a mess. See you later, Joon.”

“See you,” Namjoon mumbles, a tiny bit reassured. Rain means don’t worry, you’ll be okay. He turns back to Kyungmi, who has once again waited politely. He lifts the bags on his arms.

“My hyung said to just buy the basics.”

“I think we’ve got everything then. Would you like to pay?”

“Oh, just one more thing. I need something, uh, like a stick for cats? Hyung said it’s important.”

“A stick? For chewing on?”

“No, for playing.”

To be honest, Namjoon has no idea what this specifc toy looks like. He’s just grateful when Kyungmi leads him to a special section. The toys look like… fishing rods. For cats.

“I think this is what you meant.”

“Are these… fishing rods?”

Kyungmi laughs. “I guess you could call them fishing rods.”

“I thought cats fish with their paws.”

“Oh no, they are for the cats.”

Namjoon doesn’t... understand? It’s like his brain is frozen. The concept is just so weird. Why would cats need fishing rods?

“Oh, you mean for the owners to fish the cat?”

“Yes, kind of. You hold the stick and the cat chases after it. You see this fluffy part at the end, right? It will awaken your kitty’s natural hunting instincts.”

Namjoon gasps. Awaken their natural hunting instincts? Do I want that?

“Isn’t that… dangerous?”

“On the opposite, it’s essential.”

The image of a leopard on a prowl inside their apartment makes Namjoon feel a little different. It’s essential, he tells himself. Kyungmi is the expert. Don’t worry. It’s essential.

“Okay, I’ll take a few.”

“Very good. I would have recommended taking more than one anyway, in case the cat breaks it.”

Namjoon nods, smiling. Right. In case the cat breaks it.

“Would you like to pay now?”

“Sure.”

Sinking into Sejin’s car seat feels like a welcome break from running a marathon. Namjoon thinks he should have maybe not put on dress shoes but sneakers this morning. But he couldn’t have known the day would take such a turn, so this is how it is. They drive for a while before Namjoon realizes that this is not the way home. It seems like they are driving away from Gangnam, not towards it.

“Hyung, where are we going now?”

“Well, you expressed that you wanted to go somewhere serene and calming, so I’m taking you somewhere you can relax.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Yes you did. You sighed, checked your phone, scrolled to Jin’s contact, looked at it while we stopped and waited at three different street lights, then you sighed again, shut your phone off and stared into the distance. You’re an easy read.”

Namjoon is speechless, blushes at how Sejin chuckles and wriggles his fingers in his lap.

“Thank you, hyung,” is what he presses out, almost quieter then he wants, thanks to the heavy blanket of emotions falling over his mind.

“Also,” Sejin adds, “you always look for quiet places to figure out your troubles. That’s you. And I said I’d support you, so this is the first responder emergency aid you get.” A chuckle rips free from Namjoon’s chest and he leans back comfortably.

Like before, a sweet rumble runs through the car once Namjoon’s mind finds the peace to concentrate on it. It’s soothing, like a little lullaby as the city’s shapes fly past the window. The only difference to this morning are the empty backseat where Jimin’s, no, Yeontan’s travel box had stood, and the slight worry that pulls both Namjoon’s brows and shoulders down. Worry for Jimin that is completely unnecessary since Jimin is safety entrusted to Yoongi. Yoongi who has a way with words, a way with trivia knowledge and a way with cats, as it seems.

Namjoon is aware - as aware as everyone else in the band - of the fan’s obsession with Lil’ Meow Meow, and he sometimes he wonders whether it affects Yoongi. Whether his feelings towards the nickname are positive or indifferent, or whether is ever pops up in Yoongi’s head at random times. Whether his friends ever tease him about it like Jackson teases Namjoon about being the Dad of the group. There is only this way of wondering because Namjoon doesn’t feel confident to ask Yoongi about it - its a peculiar thing, this theme of Yoongi as a cat - and somehow, Namjoon feels like asking about it would make him sound… suspicious. Like maybe asking about it could make it sound like he’s accepted it and he isn’t sure what Yoongi will think. Because Namjoon never thinks that his best friend acts or looks like a cat. Never. He’s never scrolled through a so-called Yoongi and Cats thread on twitter. (What’s a twitter? Never heard of it. Can you eat that?)

Namjoon wonders if people would still call Yoongi a cat if they found out about Jimin. Or if they would draw sketches and write (actually tear-inducingly) good stories about kitty hyung Yoongi and baby kitty Jimin. Well, he wouldn’t ever get to know.

Because ARMY wouldn’t find out.

Because not even the members would.

Namjoon sighs and turns his eyes back to the rain outside.

When Namjoon first moves to actually register the outside world passing by instead of gazing outside with dead eyes, he realizes with a start that Sejin has either lied or misunderstood the words “serene, calming place”. The manager drives their car onto the parking lot of a restaurant that looks oddly familiar, like a faraway memory of an uncle you’ve seen once and just shortly but who has left a lasting impression by sneaking you a piece of cake or something.

We’ve been here before, Namjoon realizes, for lunch. He remembers how the news of BTS’s presence here had sort of blown up the restaurant’s little circle of regular guests and made it into countless online reviews that in the end boosted the restaurant’s ratings and even led to a well-deserved renovation. That had been during their era of first wins, first apartment moves and first everythings in the spotlight and if he didn’t know better, Namjoon would say that their present had been hammering against the egg shell of their past even then, that their success had already been a firm knot in their lines of fate back then. But that is bullshit, just the way success by hard work to the bones could never be replaced by success gained by just looking pretty, and Namjoon smiles fondly, almost feeling a sense of touching connectedness to the place. Almost as if this little restaurant has grown up with them. As if it understood their troubles. Maybe “serene” and “calming” fit just right.

Vague memories start to creep back right then, vague memories of a tired maknae surrounded by even more tired hyungs, everyone eating with aching thighs, aching calves, aching everythings, and greasy food that did everything it promised on the photos on the menu. Namjoon remembers the rides there and back, remembers the sleepy faces, the happy snapshots in between, reasons to celebrate their togetherness, and even a distant voice mentioning that a relative of Sejin worked here. It must be meaningful for hyung to come here too. Over the entrance, a big white sign says Geum-wol in brushed golden hangul. Golden month. In the sun, the letters look piercingly bright.

“We’re going to eat?”

“If you want to.”

“I’m not very hungry yet. But I think I could use some food. Some soul food.”

“I promise you won’t regret it. They changed their menu along with their remodeling a couple of years ago.”

A shiny glimmer sparks from Sejin’s eyes and Namjoon has to work on holding back a giggle. It’s the same, really, it’s exactly the same as Jin-hyung’s I-see-food glimmer. “I’m sure I’ll love it if you do, hyung.”

From years of shared meals, boring breaks in between recording sessions at broadcasting stations and backstage eating sessions, the whole band knows their staff members. There’s not much that actually goes past them when it happens in the same room. Fourteen eyes see a lot of things, even things people wouldn’t think they would notice. They know which types of snack to bring to bribe a specific staff member and they know that Sejin generally has good taste (all of their tastebuds have evolved, Seokjin always insists, along with the success of their company).

Upon entering the restaurant, Namjoon feels like he’s stepping into someone’s living room. A fancy, warm and welcoming living room. It has a lush arrangement of plants, clearly well-loved and well-cared for and fantastically arranged (Namjoon spots that little cactus on the windowsill covered in tiny drops of water that sparkle in the sunlight like royal jewelry and just knows that he is in love). The painted linens and calligraphed drawings lead his surprised mind to the Joseon era, eagerly lapping up his memories from tv shows and stories and books and bundling them all together in this spot where an attentive waitress in a fancy outfit leads them to a table.

“They did a great job with the remodeling,” Namjoon says, unable to tear his eyes off the golden decor that doesn’t look cheap and the beautifully arranged sets on the low table. Even the pillow underneath his bottom is an invitation to relax.

“I love it here,” Sejin nods, smile wide. “It feels like coming home and going on an adventure at the same time.”

Yes, Namjoon thinks, feeling the blood in his veins stir a little. An adventure but also home.

“Hyung, what’s home to you? Seoul or Ilsan?”

It’s a difficult question. If Namjoon wasn’t so close to their manager, it might even be a rude question and he would possibly not be bold enough to ask anything else for the rest of their meal here. Sejin just thinks.

“It’s possible for a person to have more than one home, you know? At least that’s what I think.”

Of course, Namjoon can empathize with that. He’s got a big heart home in the members and then another, with his blood-related family.

“So, home is where my wife and children are, but home is also with you guys. I miss you when I go home, can you believe it?”

Namjoon chuckles.

“Of course. We’re the best, so sweet and so nice and so cute - I’d miss me too if I wasn’t here.”

“Oh, shut up. Jin’s ego is rubbing off on you.”

They both laugh until the waitress returns to take their orders and even then, the glimmer in their eyes doesn’t disappear.

Namjoon’s chest feels warm. Maybe we don’t need to eat here anymore. Maybe this conversation was enough comfort already.

It takes a while for the food to come through the restaurant’s kitchen doors that are hidden behind a noble dark-wood door decoration. Everything here looks noble in a way, Namjoon notices, but not without losing the effect of feeling gently familiar, almost loving. That kind of atmosphere is something Namjoon hasn’t even experienced in noble restaurants before, so he sinks into his fluffy seat cushion, letting himself enjoy the treat thoroughly. Because it is a treat - a feast for the weary-hearted that can’t go home to their families, either because they have to stay here or because the family is not at home. The green plants in the genuinely ancient looking pots (some have gold-plated rims, some are glazed, some are engraved or painted with artful poetry and all of them are twitter-worthy) offer silent comfort, sometimes swishing their arms, sometimes just staying rooted in the fresh dark earth and reminding every onlooker about altruism, virtues like endurance and quiet resilience.

When the food arrives, Namjoon kind of feels sated in a non-physical way. His heart doesn’t seem so heavy like before. It’s like someone has gently kneeled at the edge of his heart to shake up the stiff earth in it. It’s nice. Paired with the soothing voice of Sejin, the type of questions he asks now and then (all of them optimistic, in a distracting way “I heard from Yoongi that you wanted to look for a new bed, did you already find something you’d like?” and “Will you publish your new mixtape soon? My kids listen to mono to fall asleep but my wife said that at this point, she could probably perform it live.”) and together with the delicious food in front of his nose, Namjoon almost feels like he’s escaped to another world. Another world where he isn’t famous, where he isn’t living this life but some other version of it, where all his decisions had been different but led him to this little restaurant nonetheless, and there he is, sitting at the axis point where all the versions of him flow together into this one moment. It’s magical, like glowing dust floating in the air, like the first flakes of snow landing on your face. The light of the sun slides past the beautiful gold-ornamented silk curtains of the restaurant, revealing a gorgeous view on the side of Achasan Mountain that’s lushly green thanks to the trees on it. It’s basically an invitation to dream, to imagine, and Namjoon’s eyes can’t really get enough of it.

“Hyung, have you ever had a secret that you were so afraid to tell that you lied to keep it?”

Sejin sighs into his spoon of rice.

“You know what I think about lying,” he starts and Namjoon nods. Lying means breaking trust, Namjoon-ah. Never lie to your members. During their entire time together, he can’t remember ever seeing Sejin lie. “I usually don’t keep secrets either. Not bad ones, at least. But there was one.”

“Was it bad that you lied back then?”

“Yes, the consequences were bad but the worst thing was that I didn’t say the truth. Even though I apologized, the regret stays with me and every time I look at that person, I feel it again.”

“Hyung, I don’t want to feel that way towards the members.”

“Then don’t lie.”

“Do you think it will be that easy?”

“I honestly don’t know what I think it will be like with Jimin. Maybe you are lucky and the members are back before he shifts back so they can see for themselves. Didn’t you send something to the group chat already?”

“How do you know?”

“Jungkookie sent me a text asking if we got him a surprise pet. He sounded very hopeful. He even used the heart-eye emoji.”

“Oh no. What did you answer?”

“I wrote ‘Ask your hyungs.’ Nothing else. That was before you called me to come back here.”

Namjoon groans and figures that Jungkook will have to wait. No new pets for a while, sorry Jungkook.

“I don’t think I’m ready to be a cat owner.”

Sejin huffs, amused. “The universe thinks you are.”

“Well, I don’t think so and that’s what counts. Even the maknaes would be better at handling a cat than me.”

“That’s not true. Jungkook - I swear, this kid doesn’t have any sense of self-preservation, so I don’t even want to think about what he’d do with Jimin. Tae… well. He’d probably slide into depression without Jimin to talk to so let’s not think about that. I think we can agree there’s no one better than Hoseok to deal with such a thing if he doesn’t freak out about it but you follow close behind, just after Yoongi and Seokjin.“

“Hyung, that was a shitty argument.”

“At the same time,” Sejin says with a look that says I wasn’t done, “Kook loves Jimin to death and would do anything to make him feel better. Taehyung has studied up on dogs and dog training for half a year before adopting Yeontan. Imagine how much more he’ll do for his soulmate.”

The look Sejin gives him is serious and even when they are brought drinks and the girl from before leaves again, the serious expression does not leave Sejin’s eyes.

“Hyung, just think logically for a second. Jiminie is a tiny fragile cat baby, a rare leopard cub and I am a helpless clumsy idiot who can’t even take care of himself. How do we match well in your eyes?”

“You don’t need to match. Honestly, other than Jimin being smaller than usual and not being able to speak, there’s no difference to living together as usual. You take care of him and he looks up to you. You shouldn’t worry so much.”

He starts chuckling a second later when he realizes the unintentional pun. Namjoon frowns.

“I disagree. This morning I almost squished Jimin between the fridge and the fridge door. It’s not exactly safe for him to be around me. He’s too curious and I’m just clumsy. Did you see the printer ink in his fur?”

“It’s not a big deal, Namjoon.”

“Besides, Yoongi takes care of him way better than me.”

“Allow yourself room for improvement and learning.”

“I’m afraid I’ll hurt him.”

“So be more careful. You haven’t killed any of your band mates yet, so I don’t think it will happen any time soon.”

“Yeah, but they have all been human and with a fully functioning human mind for the past seven years. They know how to dodge the danger.”

“Animals have pretty good instincts, too. I think Jimin won’t need help to dodge your accidents once he’s out of his toddler phase. And don’t forget that all of you can take care of Jimin in different ways, each of you plays their own role. It will all be fine.”

The food arrives and is daunting enough to drag Namjoon’s rumbling thoughts away from his hardships. There’s soup, there’s rice, there’s vegetables and meat, and it’s beautifully arranged and beautifully steamy and just the scent could throw a man off his horse in desperate hunger. It’s heaven. At the first spoon of soup, Namjoon understands why Sejin brought him here. Comfort spreads in his tummy like a sweet melody. He sighs, almost tearing up over simple Korean soul food.

“Thank you, hyung.”

Sejin’s smile is kind.

“You know we love you like you’re our own children, right? Sihyuk-hyung and I. Of course, seeing my own children being born was different but you are my family too. We always want the best for you, we want you to go forward with boldness and integrity.”

“You’re doing well, hyung.”

Of course it’s a little strange to think of their CEO and their manager as parental figures in general but after sharing his life with them for the last decade, Namjoon figures his own parents wouldn’t even be mad if he suddenly called any of them appa by accident. He smiles when he remembers all the times a sleepy Jungkook has called other people appa without even noticing. It had always resulted in a hand carding through his hair, a warm “aigoo, our sleepy maknae, are you warm enough?” and lovely feelings of family.

“Namjoon-ah, what if this is an opportunity?”

“What do you mean? An opportunity how?”

“We haven’t heard of shapeshifters before Jimin turned into one, right?”

“I haven’t. It truly feels like a mind-blowing discovery. Only that it’s not a discovery exactly because apparently, shapeshifters have existed all the time.”

“But it means that they must be hiding in society. Why?”

Namjoon pauses. Why are they hiding? In the end, he supposes shifters - supernaturals in general - are like every other human being.

“Afraid of discrimination? Racism? I don’t know, hyung. I’m still hung up on how I didn’t know about this although one of my best friends has literally been a hybrid his entire life.”

“A hybrid? What the heck is a hybrid? And who’s a hybrid?”

Oh. Right.

“Uh, well. It’s more like Spiderman… more permanent? More all the time? I don’t know, I’m bad at explaining this.”

“Spiderman is a hybrid? Wow, I never thought about it this way.”

“No, I mean, yeah, I guess? But hybrids are people with animal features? I think? Like, a tail or animal ears?”

“Like in anime?”

“Basically. I don’t know too much about it but it seems to be that way.”

“Wow. That must be really difficult to hide.”

“I’m sure it is.”

How does Jackson hide it? Now that Namjoon thinks about it, he has seen Jackson without a cap on his head or loose pants to shove the tail in before and not seen any animal features. How is that possible? He then realizes that Jackson’s managers and company must know. They must have the editors photoshop his animal features out on every photo, even every video. Wow. That must be such a huge effort. And expensive. What a hassle it must be for stage appearances, interviews and even just walking freely on the street. All of the sudden, Namjoon feels grateful Jimin isn’t a hybrid. The company wouldn’t have been able to pay so much money to edit every shot of him so extensively back then. They wouldn’t have accepted him.

“So, hybrids are different from shapeshifters, right?”

“Yes, hybrids can’t turn into animals.”

They eat in silence for a few minutes, letting the new information and thoughts sink in along with the food. Namjoon realizes he’s both a little grateful and a bit bummed that Jimin didn’t turn into a hybrid. It would have been impossible to hide from the members then. He wouldn’t have to tell them anything, they could all figure it out, Jimin wouldn’t turn into some animal that can’t speak, he would just be a normal human being with some extra parts and that would be it. They could deal with it so much more easily - probably. But Namjoon reminds himself that that line of thought is just based on assumptions. There’s probably no perfect option between those two if you’re a performer.

“Do…do you think the members are going to figure it out themselves?”

“I think they’re all smart enough to.”

“So… just a maybe?”

“I can’t tell the future, Namjoon-ah.”

“I know, I just… I just don’t want to be alone with this.”

“Are you?”

“I guess I’m not but… I’m just so glad that we are seven members. Because we share our lives, our feelings and our fears all the time. That’s where we all draw our strength from. Keeping a secret like this from the members… I don’t want to break their trust. Isn’t it my responsibility to tell them about this? This is such a huge change and it’s not fair to just… I don’t think this is right, hyung.”

“If a secret becomes a prison, it doesn’t deserve to be kept, Namjoon. You’re too precious to cut yourself down just to please someone else.”

“Hyung, are you telling me… to tell someone?”

“I’m telling you to do the right thing. If you know the right thing is to tell the members and you take action, you will have to bear the consequences. I’m never for disobeying authority - especially PDnim because I know he tries to do the best for all of us - but if you feel burdened and like you have to mute yourself to keep your promise, then it’s not worth it. You should definitely talk to PDnim. I’m sure that he will understand. Maybe not today, though. Give him a night to think about it all. He might have not seemed surprised but it’s a huge change for him too. It’s a given that any impulsive decisions may need revision.”

“He should have been prepared for this day, especially if he knew about Jimin from the beginning.”

“Yeah, I agree. I think this decision just shows that PDnim is just human too. He made a mistake, just like you have in the past and still do. Also, ‘doing the right thing’ looks different through every person’s eyes so who knows how we would have decided to do things in his place.”

“I know.”

“Everyone needs room for learning. Do you still trust PDnim?”

“Of course. I know he will fight for us no matter what.”

“Then I don’t think you need to worry about the members.”

Namjoon nods and goes back to his food, forcing himself to just stop thinking about this issue. I’m not doing myself a favor if I overthink this. So he focuses on the food that’s before him. It’s really delicious, coating his tongue and all the tastebuds on it - but he can’t help but notice the taste of disappointment mixing in. What do I need? What am I looking for? Is it just support? Do I want pity? Advice? He chews, lets his eyes wander over all the other restaurant guests. Some seem happy, some are engrossed in the food or their friends. They all seem free of worry, even if just for the moment. I want my worries taken away. To be reassured.

“Hyung, can I call Jin-hyung?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Would you be mad at me if I told him?”

“Namjoon-ah. Do what you feel is right. You know I respect you.”

“Thank you, hyung.”

“Why do you want to tell Jin specifically?”

“Well, he’s the oldest so I guess he should know. Also, realistically speaking, Taehyungie and Jiminie are like, actual soulmates so I guess Tae would either figure it all out on his own or Jimin would tell him. Hobi is Jimin’s roommate so he can’t avoid noticing any significant changes about Jimin. And Kookie - Kookie is pretty observant about Jimin too whenever he doesn’t give him heart eyes. No, I think telling Jin-hyung makes the most sense. He feels responsible for the maknaes so I think he’d be the most upset about not being told - not because he’d feel left out but because he couldn’t have cared for Jimin the way he needs it.”

“You’re a good leader, Namjoon-ah. I’m proud of you.”

“Don’t make me blush, hyung. It’s just… strategy.”

“Mhm,” Sejin says, cheerfully winking.

Namjoon groans and rolls his eyes at the enthusiastic chuckling behind him. He finds a free table in a calmer part of the restaurant and takes out his phone. The window next to him comes with a good view on the wooden slope of a hill just behind the end of the parking lot.

For a moment, Namjoon tries to sort of soak up the freshness and calm from outside to reenergize himself for this serious talk with Jin. The green of the trees pulses with life, like a painting so fresh and excessive that the colors threaten to run down the canvas in a semblance of invigoration, and he sincerely wishes the city would look like that more often. Although the air outside is still hazy from the rain before, everything spreads out in a vivid picture in front of Namjoon. So beautiful.

The phone rings four times before Jin picks up. His voice is super groggy.

“Hello? Joon, that you?”

“Hi hyung,” Namjoon says softly, grateful for his hyung’s voice against his ear. So close, almost warm. “Where are you right now?”

“In bed.”

There’s rustling, probably blankets and pillows. Namjoon checks the time. It’s 2 pm. Typical Jin. No worries at all. “You won’t believe it, we’re at Kookie’s parents’ place and we stayed up late yesterday to play games with Kook’s brother. So I’m in the guest room and guess what?”

“What?”

“It’s the middle of the night, a light falls on my bed and I think it’s a ghost but it’s Kook standing in the doorway. Says he feels lonely without his hyungs so he comes to sleep with me instead of in his own bed. He’s been clinging to me like a monkey-“

There’s a deep groan of annoyance in the background and suddenly, slapping sounds.

“Are you fighting?”

Yelling, more rustling, the thump of a body hitting the floor. Namjoon can’t help but grin at the image of his bickering brothers even if he goes unheard. This normality feels good. This being together feels good. There’s laughter in the background, so loud and explosive Namjoon basically feels it spilling out of his phone. When he looks around to apologize for disrupting other restaurant guests, no one even looks his way. Jin laughs.

“Sorry, Namjoon-ah, there’s a noisy teenager next to me. You know how they get. Where were we?”

“Hyung, we didn’t even start talking…”

“Ah, right. Well, why are you calling? Is everything alright?”

“Um, define alright.”

Seokjin pauses. Namjoon knows he understands and he can already sense Jin’s answer coming.

“I can come back earlier, you know. It’s not a problem for me.”

“No, hyung, it’s fine. Sejin-hyung and I are dealing with everything, so it’s all good, I just wanted to tell you an imp-“

“Sejin-hyung is there!? He was on vacation! What happened, you little punk? There’s no way everything’s alright if you had to call Sejin-hyung!“

Oops, Namjoon’s brain helpfully provides. He clenches his jaw as Seokjin rambles on in the background, about how he’s gonna pack his suitcase and come right back and about Jimin and his sickness and everything - Namjoon feels his head ache.

“Namjoon-ah?”

Namjoon can’t focus. It’s as if something draws his gaze away from the creamy white tablecloth and the golden decorations and outside the window. They land on a little violet spot by the parked cars - a moving spot. It moves around a black car. Sejin’s car. The man wearing the violet - it’s a modern violet durumagi, a noble-looking Hanbok overcoat - is walking around Sejin’s car, looking inside. Namjoon freezes, doesn’t hear the restaurant, doesn’t hear Jin’s voice. Is that a stalker? Did he recognize our car? The man circles the car as if he expects a BTS member to sit inside of it and Namjoon feels a little sick. I hope he won’t come- the man looks at him. Their eyes meet. Time stops for a horrifying moment. Namjoon’s blood freezes, the trees pulse along with his heart, moving in on him with force. Like a fly in a spider’s net, he feels caught. He can’t move even if the eyes pierce through him as if they see into his soul or even beyond. Namjoon’s breath falters and he gasps when Sejin’s hand suddenly lands on his shoulder. He grasps it, needs the warmth to ground himself, to come back, to calm his soul. To find his sanity, possibly.

“Hey, sorry, it’s just me. Are you okay?”

Namjoon nods numbly, realizes that Jin is still on the phone, repeating his name.

“Jin-hyung?”

“Thank God you’re still there. What happened? You scared me.”

“I’ll call you back later, hyung. Don’t worry, okay? Sorry.”

When he hangs up and puts his phone back on the table with shaky hands, the man in the durumagi outside in the parking lot is gone.

“Are you alright? You look… you’re trembling.”

“Hyung, did you see the man outside? Just now?”

“The man?”

“He stood by your car. I think it might have been a stalker, hyung. Can we leave? I don’t feel safe.”

Sejin gives him an immediate reaction and Namjoon feels grateful for his hyung and manager who always takes him seriously if need be.

“Of course.”

“Hyung, he was so scary. He looked right at me.”

“I’ll ask if we can leave through the back. Come on.”

“Thank you.”

Together, they walk up to the waiter’s area. Namjoon doesn’t hear the conversation between Sejin and the kind waitress from before, only sees her eyes widening from the corner of his eye while he trains his gaze on the entrance of the restaurant. Just when he thinks he spots a a hunch of violet, Sejin’s hand on his lower back pushes him forward and he’s led through a door, they wait for a while, something rustles and a key clicks. Then, fresh air, a quick walk, Sejin’s car. When Sejin’s door closes and the motor turns on and the car starts rumbling, Namjoon feels the ice in his stomach start to melt. He can only start breathing again when they are off the parking lot.

“I’m sorry this happened,” Sejin says quietly. “I wanted you to have a great time.”

“Not your fault, hyung. People do what they want.”

“Yeah.”

The engine starts and Sejin begins to pull out of the parking lot. Namjoon keeps an eye on the area behind them just to see if the man in the violet durumagi appears again. Nothing. He sinks into his seat as they drive further away.

“I’ll take you to the perfect place. You’ll love it.”

“Okay.”

“It’s one of my favorite places in Seoul but you won’t expect it because I’ve never taken you there and you normally don’t ever go there.”

Namjoon feels numb. Sejin’s words kind of go through his ears but don’t find his brain. It’s been a while since something like this happened. He realizes that he’s holding a plastic bag in his hands, on his lap. Warmth seeps into his thighs.

“Are these…?”

“They insisted on giving us food for compensation.”

“It wasn't their fault.”

“They wished you and the members health and strength for the upcoming promotions, too.”

Namjoon nods, feeling tired. He puts his head against the window, lets his eyes jump from color to color, finding a home in the blur and allows himself to drift off.

“Wake up, we’re here.”

It’s a car wash street, the kind where you throw some coins into a coin slot, then park your car inside the washing tunnel and run out as fast as you can as soon as the lights turn on and the brushes come to life and the water starts to spray. Namjoon is not sure whether that’s really the so highly praised destination Sejin planned to go to to relax and be comforted or if he just decided to make a joke. (Or clean the car, for some reason.) On the other hand, it puts a check behind all the characteristics of the mystery location Sejin had revealed. A place you wouldn’t expect? check. A place you never go to? Check. Check, check, check. Now, Namjoon wouldn’t necessarily say that car wash street would be a place he’d ever want to be at, but if he knows anything after traveling half the world with his band mates and staff, it’s that it’s not the places you visit that count but the people you visit there with. So he smiles, allowing some childish giddiness to build up in his stomach at the surprise that Sejin has for him. Whatever it is.

“Let’s go, hyung. Show me what you had in mind.”

Sejin smiles and drives a little closer to the washing street. They wait until the car in front of them is done, which takes exactly one run-through of Zion T’s Eat on the radio and then, Sejin pays and slowly drives forward until the display in front of them tells them to stop.

“Do we run now, hyung?”

Namjoon feels a bit of adrenaline rush into his limbs when Sejin doesn’t look like he intends to move. And then the big big brushes around them begin to stir and Namjoon’s mind is telling him that it’s almost too late and that he should run now if he wants to make it out dry and Sejin just chuckles.

“Stay inside, relax. It’s time for the playlist,” he says and picks something on the car’s display. Soft music trails through the speakers, turned all the way up because the washing street is loud, Jimin’s voice singing Promise as angelically as possible and when the first drops of water hit the car, Namjoon’s heart stops for a second. It’s so nice, this calm feeling of safety that engulfs him when he watches more and more drops of water running down the windows. The warmth that’s in the car, even with the motor off and the lullaby fading. They are practically embedded in the music. It’s just a blessed togetherness with a friend he likes spending time with, a friend who comes up with the wildest ideas to give him comfort and a good time.

And even when the water hitting the car is less than a rain shower and more like a thrumming thunderstorm, Namjoon’s heart still jumps around with giddy leaps for the simple, childish sensation of being surrounded by water but not getting wet. Sejin also seems to have a good time, looking outside the windows with a fond smile and gently tapping the steering wheel with his fingers, matching the soft beats of Blue Side.

“Let’s finish eating,” he suggests then and really, that’s the only way to make this - whatever this is - better.

The paper bags around their little boxes rustle when they unwrap the food and with a warm fuzzy feeling, Namjoon realizes that this moment is special for Sejin too. Usually, the manager would not let anyone eat in his car (a habit from his time taking care of their official business cars), so this is clearly an exception he made for Namjoon.

“This is the coolest thing I’ve done in a long while,” Namjoon says after a few bites and feels like he should maybe pick up his old habit of writing a diary again. He doesn’t want to forget this.

“Let’s take a selfie, hyung.”

They do, and even after finishing their lunch, after watching the big brushes make way for smaller brushes to foam and shake their car, and after five more songs, the car wash street is still not done.

“Hyung, what kind of washing program did you buy? Will we be out before dinnertime?”

“Only the best for you,” Sejin grins. “You’re enjoying yourself, right? If not, we’ll go through again. This playlist is longer than you might think.”

“I am enjoying myself.”

“Good. I really wanted to distract you from everything. Are you relaxed?”

“Very.”

The moment is perfect, warm and content. As if it was meant to be. Namjoon feels his anxiety and all the stress of the day wash off along with the film of dirt on the car. It flows out of his line of vision and his soul is considerably lighter. Maybe we should do this more often.

“This is one of my favorite spots in the city,” Sejin reveals and checks the digital clock on the display, “and you’ll see why soon.”

The brushes recede to the sides of the tunnel and make way for the blow driers. It doesn’t take long for the display outside to start blinking again to signal that the ride is over soon. Sejin starts the motor and when the blinking display rises up, slowly revealing the exit before them, Sejin smiles.

“Look.”

Namjoon doesn’t immediately understand what Sejin wants him to see - but then it hits. The display rises up to reveal the horizon. The car street is built upon a little hill and from here, they can look down on a lower part of Seoul, gleaming in the golden light of the falling sun. It looks like an explosion of light, framed by the walls of the cr wash tunnel. It’s glorious, breathtaking even and Namjoon just stills, afraid to ruin the view with irrelevant thoughts. This is perfect. Just perfect.

The light reflects off the rain water that’s still lingering on the skyscraper’s plateau rooftops, the endless glass walls and even the airplanes taking off in the distance like rising diamonds. The massiveness of it all, the way it surrounds everything, the way it creates this feeling of being a witness of a majestic spectacle takes Namjoon’s breath away. Golden light floods the sky. The Han River looks like a serpent on fire. And this is just a goodbye for one night, so ordinary, almost meaningless. So beautiful.

Namjoon gasps. A fleck of violet moves in the corner of his eye.

“Also,” Taehyung’s soft voice sounds like a melody after the long, thoughtful break of silence in their room. Yeontan yawns and shakes his fur, looking fluffy. “Even if hitting the ground is painful and seems like it will break you apart, you’ll see that that’s exactly what it takes to create a rainbow. Being shattered can be beautiful too - if you keep letting the light shine through you. It will all be okay. That’s the comfort I want to give.”

And then the moment is gone, Namjoon doesn’t know how he got here, only that he feels floaty one moment, almost like he’s being pushed out of his body. It’s comparable to being lifted out of your seat the moment your plane lands and stutters along the landing strip. The next moment, he’s being shoved back in, feeling very weighty for second, like he somehow doesn’t really fit in his body. All of that happens at the same time with Sejin driving forward to exit the car wash, a white flash blinding Namjoon so strongly that he has to close his eyes lest they lose sight forever, and him wondering whether this is the famous light at the end of the tunnel that everyone’s talking about. Whether this is the end. He opens his eyes when the gleaming brightness recedes behind his eyelids, or rather, when he can’t see the the tiny veins in his eyelids anymore.

The sight before him takes his breath away. Where the car’s coachwork, the car wash brushes and sponges surrounded him before, thick trees now form an uneven circle around him and create a clearing. Namjoon sits in the middle of it, on the grass, hands in his lap, jacket softly flapping in the mild breeze. He can’t help but wonder how he got here, whether this is a dream, whether he just fell asleep after leaving the restaurant. When he reaches out to touch the grass, to just see if it’s real, he gasps. It’s very real and incredibly soft, softer than the grass in the little garden on top of BigHit’s office building. Little flowers sway under the sparkly rays of sun that manage to make their way through the treetops and birds hop around the branches of the trees while chirping animately. A butterfly lands on his knee and Namjoon is careful to stay still. After a few moments of taking rest, it flies off and Namjoon adores the tiny creature that had been so bold to land on him. Being so used to the city’s sharp edges and spaces devoid of color, being in nature always feels a little unreal, like something out of a dream. Not being able to recall how he got here just adds to the strange feeling.

Desperate to push the worrying second cycle of thoughts of where am I, what happened and what the heck away and keep his calm, Namjoon closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath, tells himself not to worry, and deliberately tastes the forest air as it streams through his nose and across his tongue. He wills his heartbeat down, eager to drown in the serenity around him, even if there might be bigger issues at hand. It takes a few minutes to lose the fear, the confusion and the anxiety, but when he does, his body becomes light, almost like he’s floating.

Namjoon feels… embedded. Embedded in nature to a ridiculous degree, to an extent that he doesn’t normally experience in a forest, not even when he’s fully Namjooning, as the other members call it. It’s an amalgamated feeling, every inch of the woods around him part of the sensation. Everything pulses, everything vibrates, from the strands of grass brushing against his ankles to the bugs crawling over myriads of swaying leaves. And Namjoon finds himself in the center of it - not as the center, just interwoven into the net of reality, just a tiny, belatedly added piece in this complex throng of life pulses that flare up as soon as he inhales and settle when he exhales. He could lose himself in the pleasant buzzing that could be all around him just as well as it could be him, his cells, his body thrumming with life. He just knows he could lose himself in this too easily and too fast, there’s this little whirl of energy nudging him deep inside his mind, asking him silently whether he would like to stay here a little while longer, longer inside the whirlwind, if he would like to go deeper, deeper, deeper. And Namjoon isn’t afraid even if it seems a daunting invitation. He’s too overwhelmed to react, busy listening to the trees sway, the birds flap their wings, the clouds pass by. The calmness mixes with a sense of belonging, a belonging he still doesn’t feel all the way in their new apartment. This is a perfect place, he thinks.

He feels embedded, knows that this is a rare moment and that it’s a privilege to be here and experience this miracle melody of life. There’s only one other moment that feels like this - when the stage lift pushes him above the stage, the beat driving his blood forward and thousands of fans melting into him, when their screams align with his rap. Embedded. Namjoon wonders if he’s dreaming, if this rush he feels is just a product of his memories ganging up on him in his sleep.

Something rustles behind him and Namjoon turns around slowly. He finds that the shopping bags from the pet store have followed him into the woods. Only the shopping bags that had been his. What the heck? If I’m here and the shopping bags are too, shouldn’t Sejin be here as well? Is this some kind of… time travel or teleportation stuff? What is going on? His breath hitches as a new thought hits him. What if - what if someone took me here?

He watches one of the bags topple. There’s no wind. Suddenly, a little brown paw - hand? - appears behind the brown paper and Namjoon has to hold back a coo. A little animal with slightly wet fur rolls out of the paper bag, sniffing it. It looks like an otter. The only other time Namjoon has seen real otters was when he’d visited the zoo in Seoul with the members and back then, the otters had been in a water enclosure. This otter is not overly fluffy but the black twitching nose makes up for it in cuteness; Namjoon raises his hands to his mouth to not let out any sounds. And fails. Immediately, the otter looks up, big brown eyes staring at the strange invader in the clearing. Apparently, Namjoon doesn’t categorize as a threat, because the otter goes back to exploring the bag right away, squeaking and sniffling around. There’s more rustling and from his angle, Namjoon can only see a little sleek tail peeking out from the paper bag’s opening. Then, the otter seems to have found something of interest because it backs out, dragging the little twisted rope Namjoon had bought for Jimin.

Jimin. A tiny ripple of shock rocks through Namjoon. His eyes widen. He had almost forgotten. He might have almost sat here for the rest of the day, getting lost in the beauty of the woods and forgetting about his day - about all the drama - and what he had wanted to do. Is this an enchanted forest? It’s so… peaceful. He looks around, scans the area. Trees everywhere, the ground in between covered in lush grass, flowers and fallen leaves. In the distance, something glitters every now and then, and Namjoon realizes that the constant soft swishing sound in the air must come from a little pond or river. Somehow, now that he thinks about it, that same freshness carries in the air and it’s almost like Namjoon can feel the fresh water swirl in his lungs in a peaceful, refreshing way. It’s all he could dream of when he imagines a peaceful retreat. To be honest, he would love to come here with the members.

Suddenly, the otter startles with a squeak and flees when Namjoon stands up and wipes down his slightly wet jeans. When his eyes follow the cute animal, he stiffens. There’s a wolf standing just a couple of meters away. It’s big and grey, definitely a grown wolf. It takes one quick look to realize just how huge it is. It reaches up to Namjoon’s chest if he were to stand up - and it’s watching him intently. The gaze is so strong that Namjoon feels a lot like he’s been caught. Caught in the wolf’s territory. He doesn’t dare to move even as his heart pounds and his head tells him to run.

Namjoon knows, logically, that a wolf is a big predator with a tendency to be territorial and the ability to kill an adult without much effort. He knows that he should logically be afraid of it, maybe afraid enough to pee his pants, but it’s so damn hard to be afraid here in this warm-colored, sun kissed spot of forest that, in its essence, is so pure, so good. It reminds him of good things, of relaxation. Of home. Maybe it’s also because of the way the forest just buzzes on inside his mind as if the wolf hadn’t appeared, as if there was no reason to worry, no reason to stop the bubbly melody because the wolf simply wasn’t dangerous. Maybe it’s because of the knowledge that the forest has some kind of conscience and possibly an ability to judge between good and evil, or maybe just that the way the forest breathed and pulsed around him reminded Namjoon of all the books he’d read in his childhood. Books that had taught him about principles, about the order of things even if those books consisted of fictional characters and places. It somehow instilled trust in Namjoon, a trust that he thinks he had already extended towards the forest. The forest had accepted it from him. And now, the forest was offering it in return. He looks up to find that the wolf us mustering him still, probably not used to visitors on its terrain but it’s not a malevolent look. There’s no growling, no claws, no fangs or even the kind of bristling he’s usually get to see each time Monie met another dog she didn’t like, so Namjoon concludes that the wolf is just curious.

“Hi,” he says lamely, “I hope I’m not intruding. I don’t know where I am but I’ll leave if you want me to.”

Namjoon doesn’t know why he’s talking to an animal but he knows that animals do assess people and pick up on their mood and intentions based on their voices, so he just speaks. It feels natural, the forest’s buzzing picks up and little sparks appear in the melody, almost as if it was amused by their interaction.

He almost doesn’t flinch when a black wet nose prods his thighs, his shins and his hands. He doesn’t flinch when the wolf locks eyes with him and feelings of both being utterly vulnerable and fully accepted shoot through him like electric shocks. He feels - like he’s meeting one of his best friends. A quiet but wise friend, maybe a little like Yoongi.

Without a sound, the wolf turns and starts walking. A breathless Namjoon stands in his spot as if the ground under his two feel was holy. He stays until the wolf throws a look over its shoulder. Does it want me to follow?

Walking with a wolf, Namjoon comes to find out, is a very different feeling than walking with your own dog. Definitely. The wolf doesn’t stop a hundred times to sniff at every flower, every stone and every shrub to see if someone else has peed on it. The wolf also doesn’t feel the need to pee on all these things himself or pull on a leash to find more things that have been peed on. No, the wolf walks through the forest like it’s his kingdom revolving around him. Like he owns every centimeter of the land. Quietly. With pride and honor. The wolf oozes self-expression on a higher level, shows off its independent thinking and self-determined capabilities. Namjoon likes it. They stop at a pond. At first glance, it looks like any other pond or lake Namjoon has seen before. There’s clear, calm water surrounded by a shore packed with reeds and all kinds of water plants. He spots frogs on the wet earth and even a few fish in the water. The surface shows him his face, plain and normal, like any other mirror in the world would show. Perhaps its the soft water noises or just the visual of water that calls up feelings of thirst - Namjoon wants to lean down and scoop up some water in his hands but when the wolf next to him doesn’t make any move towards the water, almost as if he’s wary of it, Namjoon becomes suspicious.

“Is it drinkable?”

The wolf’s eyes aren’t focused on the water and instead scan the area. Maybe this isn’t a resting place. Maybe he’s patrolling the territory? Is this the outer edge maybe? Even if they just remain standing for a few minutes, a this deep sense of fateful belonging is in the air, almost like honey dripping down tree bark. The air is sweet and thick and Namjoon’s hand flies to his chest. Breathing becomes more difficult with time and he throws a worried glance at the wolf who remains stoic. Are we… supposed to die here? What is this? It almost feels like a relief of tension when the wolf suddenly shakes its fur. But not only that, it walks towards Namjoon and only then can he see the eyes of the wolf - dark, black has replaced the kind amber glow from before. What is happening? The wolf doesn’t seem any more threatening than before, just nudges Namjoon’s arm until he holds it up. What does it want?

A swoosh of air, then a dark body tunes out the light of the sun. Namjoon yelps when claws tear through his shirt and into the bare skin of his lower arm that suddenly has to carry a heavy weight. When he has gathered enough courage to open his eyes, he comes face to face with a raven. It’s black and sleek, gaze so piercing it almost hurts physically. It stares at Namjoon without blinking. What is it with these animals here? In a strange way, their eye contact is comfortable like a conversation between friends, with a certain familiarity, but the intensity of it just shatters that comfort completely. He’s captivated by the raven’s eyes. In the depths of his mind, he understands that his soul lays bare, that he’s practically naked before this creature. Every dream, every doubt, every fear, they all turn and twist inside of him, coming alive under the scrutiny of the attentive gaze. When he feels his body tense and shiver, physically unable to withstand the tension, Namjoon looks away.

His eyes fall on the pond, now mysteriously dark, reflecting the faraway blinking of stars. Is it night already? How long have I been here? The starlight shimmers like diamonds on the water whenever it moves. The sway of light almost seems melodic, almost audible. When he sees his image in the calm surface, it's... different than before. He sees himself and definitely recognizes himself but somehow, it's not what he normally looks like in a mirror. Namjoon thinks that it might just be the ethereal glow the moon and the stars cast on the pond but then, he sees something else in his eyes, a different kind of glow. Something that he's never seen before. If someone asked him to put this into a song, he has no idea what the lyrics could be. It's almost otherworldly. A few steps away, the wolf sits, watching the pond’s hypnotic view.

The raven walks a few steps closer towards Namjoon, gaze burning into the side of his head.

“What do you want, raven?”

Namjoon feels his lips move on their own.

“Reality,” the raven croaks. “Fragile. Guard it.”

It flies off with a whoosh and Namjoon follows the bird until it has passed the top of the trees. Maybe I would know where I was if I could fly. I could go home.

Before he has time to think about the raven, leaves rustle behind him. When Namjoon’s head turns toward the sound, he expects to see some other animal, or maybe that the otter has followed them. What he gets instead is a colorful burst of color on a tiny body. He blinks.

“Oh, Jiminie! Is that you?”

The cub just taps forward, head bobbing with every step as if it had become too heavy after wandering for so long. When it finally reaches his feet, it plops down into the grass with an exhausted chuffing sound. Namjoon can see its flank moving up and down with the cub’s breaths.

“How did you get here, baby?”

Did he really walk here all the way from the company building by himself? Perhaps the question would be easier to answer if he knew where exactly here is. He looks around, has never felt so disappointed by the sight of trees everywhere, then sits down in the grass.

“Did hyung take you here? Is hyung around, Jiminie? Did you get lost looking for me?”

The leopard cub’s fur is warm and damp under his fingers and he can’t help but scoop the little one up. He still doesn’t answer, doesn’t show signs of understanding and Namjoon figures that’s just the way it is. Jimin immediately snuggles deeper into the embrace, seeking the comfort and shelter and Namjoon holds his fingers out when the leopard’s little black nose starts snuffling around. Jimin doesn’t settle for his fingers and noses along Namjoon’s shirt until the human recalls the image of the baby cat snuggling into Yoongi’s neck. Is he looking for bare skin? With curiosity, Namjoon opens the upper button and exposes a collarbone. The leopard’s tail wiggles with excitement as the cub finds familiar scents on Namjoon’s skin. He squirms, blue eyes opening to sparkle as they find Namjoon’s face. He yips and yaps and makes little high-pitched noises that have Namjoon chuckling.

“Hey there,” he laughs, “hi baby. Hi. Yeah, hi. It’s me, yeah.”

When the cat calms down, lulled into safety by the warmth and scent and the familiar voice, Namjoon smiles. “Should we go looking for hyung?”

He holds his breath when the wolf steps closer, just reaching down to sniff the cub throroughly. The big head is almost leaning against Namjoon’s chest and he can smell the typical scent of dog and woods on the big animal. Jimin squeaks when the big nose rubs over his fur instead of fingers and his tail shakes but he’s brave, enduring the bigger animal’s curiosity. Namjoon is aware that this whole thing is absolutely ridiculous. It doesn’t make sense at all that he teleported into the woods slash got abandoned with amnesia, that he follows a wolf and that Jimin just appears out of nowhere. He feels like he’s missing more than one piece of information.

I only remember sitting in the car with hyung and the next moment… I was here in the woods. Or did I wake up? Did I fall asleep? Is this a dream? Was I unconscious and maybe… Sejin-hyung took me here? Was maybe the car wash a dream and this is where he wanted to go? But if Jimin is here - doesn’t that mean that someone came looking for me? Like, I was missing and they decided to search for me and Suga-hyung and Jimin came close and they just lost Jimin but he ended up finding me? He freezes. What if this is a magic forest and I lost track of time and weeks have passed? What if all the members are back and looking for me too? It’s all confusing and every speculation Namjoon comes up with feels incomplete and unsatisfying. Whatever, he tells himself, we’ll find Suga-hyung and he can explain everything that’s going on.

The wolf seems to be satisfied with smelling Jimin, so it just walks off as if there’s nothing more to stay here for, warm amber eyes and serene personality. They walk for what feels like an hour, thinking hard, dodging trees, passing caves (some are decorated with lanterns, some are not), another pond. Jimin falls asleep quickly in Namjoon’s arms. At this point, Namjoon has decided that he’s either a) hallucinating, b) on drugs and hallucinating, c) having the weirdest dream of his life or d) trapped in a children’s fairy tale for some disturbing reason. He’s decided that all the things that have happened don’t really makes sense and that even the wolf seems too… much like a book character to be real. He notices a few scars on the wolf’s flank and on his legs and figures that the wolf must have fought with some other animal to get them but they don’t look vicious. Somehow, they look like they are meant to be there, like the wolf is aware of them and carrying them with a certain pride. This wolf is the kind of animal that would be given a series of touching children’s movies, leading a lost human through the woods on a powerful journey to - just to where? That’s the thing Namjoon has been trying to wrap his head around for the last half an hour. It doesn’t come to him.

A growl leaves the wolf’s throat when Namjoon walks into it and makes him retract his earlier thoughts about the wolf. Makes him realize that this is still a wild animal despite the calm appearance and that the wild animal has stopped walking and also warned him to not run into it again. To keep his distance. To respect its boundaries. When Namjoon looks away from the sleek grey body against the knee-high ferns and wild flowers growing everywhere, he automatically freezes. A stunning light-brown stag is grazing in front of them, all alone and almost glowing in the sunlight slipping through the treetops. It owns a majestic pair of antlers - majestic in both size and form, covered by the fine sort of fur that make them look soft like velvet. When it looks up, Namjoon stumbles a step back, tiny in front of the huge animal. Even breathing - breathing feels like a mercy in front of this animal, like he’s only able to breathe because he’s been allowed to. Namjoon thinks he prefers the wolf as a walking companion - until the deer’s deep brown eyes focus on him and Namjoon’s world begins to spin.

Like magic, pieces of memories start to flit through his mind, recollections of old days and new days, of forgotten moments and forlorn ideas. A youthful looking Jin appears in front of his inner eye, dressed in crappy t-shirts that they would all laugh about fondly now. Memory-Jin shoos Namjoon out of their crappy little makeshift kitchen after letting him wash cabbage and resumes cooking for the members. A hard-faced Yoongi who is stuck with writer’s block for a whole week, a depressed Yoongi in front of a tauntingly empty fridge. Hoseok, holding a pair of smelly sneakers (his sole pair at the time) to his chest as he packs his bags quickly before they leave for some tv program shooting. Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook, all crying quietly under one shared blankets on Chuseok, Christmas and New Year’s because it’s the third year in a row that they can’t visit their families to spend the holidays with them. The way every hyung’s heart breaks at the sound that their thin apartment walls can’t block. A hundred memories flash by, too fast to really stick but not fast enough to not make emotion swell like a tsunami wave. He’s on his knees, he notices though wet eyes, Jimin no longer in his arms. Namjoon just wishes the stag would stop looking at him. In this beautiful place, it doesn’t seem fitting to think about all these memories again - all the bad, painful memories buried underneath the glory of the payoff, of the success, the luxuries.

But the stag doesn’t. Instead, it comes closer and closer until its warm breath falls on Namjoon’s chest and collarbones and it feels like the overflow of memories will burst Namjoon’s heart. The big deer musters him like it can feel all of this too, like these are all pieces of a shared photo album, like the stag cherishes them deeply. The warm nudge of its snout against his cheek feels like a whole embrace and Namjoon shudders. In a weird, cathartic way, he wishes he could just burst.

Suddenly, a shock goes through the stag. It jumps away in fright, letting Namjoon fall to the ground.

“What’s going on?”

To his right, he sees the wolf, poised and full of tension, looking somewhere between the trees and nudging Jimin under its belly. Namjoon can’t see anything. Jimin’s ears point to the same direction as the wolf’s ears. What did they hear?

“Dokkaebi,” the raven croaks from one of the trees. It must have come back when I saw my memories. It croons, “don’t cry, moonchild, don’t cry. It’s fate, don’t cry.”

Namjoon can’t wrap his head around the ominous words. He knows what a Dokkaebi is, obviously, but the rests sounds like it’s some fantasy novel- prophecy type shit. He really hopes that nothing bad will happen. Dokkaebis are good, aren’t they?

The wolf and the stag apparently believe that something bad will happen because the wolf looks even more tense than before, fangs peeking out and eyes wary. The stag walks around to keep an eye on all of their surroundings, hooves scratching up the ground every now and then. Neither makes Namjoon’s racing heart calm down. What’s happening? Should we hide?

“Listen, Namjoon-ah,” the wolf interrupts his self-talk, “I’m sorry to say this but we can’t really do much against a Dokkaebi. You need to remembers this: This is your Essence, your bokjil. Nothing can happen here if you don’t let it. Do you understand?”

He pauses, eyes dark. Namjoon’s head is full of confusion. What the hell is my Essence? Why does it feel like we’re seconds away from going into battle?

“You-you can talk as well?”

“Do you understand?”

“No,” he presses out between tight lips, feeling immensely frustrated by now. In a way, he feels in awe of the wolf’s wise eyes and he doesn’t want to fling all his sorrows on the elegant creature but it just bubbles out of him. “No, I don’t understand anything! From the beginning till now I have not understood one damn thing this whole day. I don’t know how I got here, I don’t know how to find my hyungs, I don’t know why I can understand you-“

The wolf growls. Namjoon’s mouth snaps shut immediately.

“This is not the time for whining, pup. Clear your head. Remember, we are here and we will help you as much as we can but there’s a damn Dokkaebi on his way to see you and that’s not good news. Dokkaebis are powerful tricksters. Don’t believe everything you see. I don’t know what he’s here for but he’ll try to get into your head. Don’t agree to anything he propos-“

“How rude, wolf. Don’t judge a whole species for a few individuals’ actions,” a new voice speaks and Namjoon doesn’t want to look but he has to. His eyes widen. Violet durumagi. That’s the Dokkaebi!?

“You! You’re the stalker from before!”

The guy frowns and lets out an indignant huff. He notices the wolf softly biting Jimin’s neck and carrying the cub a little further away, obviously not wanting him to be anywhere near the stranger.

“Stalker!? I’m not a stalker. Do you really think I’d be chasing you all over Seoul for my own entertainment? I’m not crazy. I get paid for this, thank you very much.”

It’s Namjoon’s turn to frown because that… is not less concerning in any way.

“Paid? Are you a paparazzi then?”

“Are you kidding? I was sent by the MMA committee.”

The MMA? What do the Melon Music Awards want now? Is this just a misunderstanding?

“Then why are you coming to me? Just call our CEO. He always helps if there is something wrong about the logistics or the shows.”

The man furrows his eyebrows.

“Are you an idiot? What shows are you talking about?”

Okay, rude, Namjoon thinks. Every word this guy says is just plain rude and he has to remind himself to remain calm and collected, to not show any insecurity. It certainly doesn’t make sense for anyone from the MMA’s to come to the artists themselves to ask them about anything - that’s solely the management team’s task. So Namjoon remains wary of this guy. After all, the animals had also fled from the clearing and animals’ instincts are seldom wrong.

“I’m talking about our next show in December? I mean, it’s still a really long time until then, but if you’re already planning, I can just call PDnim and we can figure out-“

“We already talked to your PDnim and scheduled a meeting. That was this morning.”

“Okay, hold on. What does MMA stand for?”

“Magistrate of Magical Affairs, of course. I’m your case worker and I need to ask you a few questions about Park Jimin and his environment that I hope you will answer truthfully. Of course, our AMI already collected quite an amount of data but like any other UI, she’s not perfect.”

That hope sounds more like a threat. The wolf growls.

”Let’s sit down, Namjoon-ssi.”

A dark mahogany table materializes out of nowhere, joined by two chairs, one on either side of it. Namjoon sits down, not ready to have a conversation about all this stuff again. He just wants to go home. I hope they are not freaking out about me. Jimin’s legs and his tail twitch as he sits, looking to Namjoon from between the wolf and the stag. He already wonders how he’s going to explain everything that happened to Jimin when he finally shifts back.

“I suppose that’s Park Jimin.”

“Yes.”

Papers appear on the table. They look like official forms. Upside down, Namjoon can’t read much of it. Before the Dokkaebi can start asking stuff, a thought shoots through Namjoon’s mind.

“Alright, first question. Who is Park Jimin living with right now?”

“With me and five other guys.”

“Does he have close contact to his parents? Does he see them often? Do they come over?”

“No, that’s not possible. They talk to each other on the phone, though.”

The Dokkaebi writes something down. He remembers his conversation with PDnim and hopes that it’s not a bad thing that Jimin doesn’t get to see his parents much even though he has a feeling that it is.

“Since when has Park Jimin been living with you?”

“We moved together in 2012.”

“I see. Are there children in your household?”

Namjoon almost says Yes but then realizes that officially, Jungkook is not a child anymore. Neither is Seokjin. So he says, “No. We’re all adults. Responsible adults.”

The other man raises a brow but ticks a box on the paper.

Namjoon almost chokes.

“Have any of you ever had a cat?”

“Not that I know of. One of the members grew up on a farm, so I suppose there were cats around. Does that count?”

“If you would guess in percent, how much time of the day do you spend at home?”

Namjoon sinks a bit deeper in his chair. Be honest, he tells himself. Honestly always wins in the long run.

“10? 10 percent of the day, maybe 15 if we’re lucky?”

“That’s a very low percentage.”

“Our schedule is very busy currently.”

“Will that change in the foreseeable future?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You do realize that even though cats can be left at home, they do need a lot of stimulation and effort, yes? Especially when they are so young.”

“I want to take him along to work.”

“That is… ambitious. Is your workplace a cat-friendly environment?”

Not… really. The studio maybe. An arena full of people? Jimin would stay backstage. Tannie had managed. Namjoon nods confidently.

“We could make it one.”

That sounds more like a question than a statement and Namjoon hopes that it won’t come across as insecurity. Because he knows that PDnim would do anything to enable Jimin to live his life normally with the others wherever he goes - despite his handicap.

“That’s not enough. According to the first and the fourth book of the MMA’s additions to the Civil Code, the Magistrate is legally required to assign a qualified caregiver with every Type-3 shapeshifter or hybrid if their parents or further relatives are either absent or physically, mentally or otherwise unable to raise the child in all aspects. This is the law. You know, most people are happy to hear that someone else helps them with raising a shifter.”

“Most people don’t value what they have until it’s too late.”

“Do you even know what raising a shifter means? What happens when a shifter like your friend grows up, when his instincts tell him to hunt and kill? What do you do then?”

“I will do whatever I can.”

“And that’s what they all think. Until their shifter child kills the pet. By accident. Until their child attacks the neighbor, a sibling, the parents themselves. That’s what the training is for. They need to be taught how to live from the youngest age possible.”

“And you think I can’t do that?”

“I’m just offering you the best options available.”

“But you don’t get to say what’s best for a person you don’t even know. Yes, maybe I don’t have much experience with shifters, but-“

“Exactly, you don’t. The magistrate has done this since mid-Joseon times so I think we do know pretty well what’s best for your shifter friend.”

“That’s bullshit. That logic only applies if you think that this is a task on your schedule. But this is about a person. Park Jimin is a person. And you don’t even get one thing to say about what’s best for him. Firstly, you have never even met him before, let alone asked him about what he thinks about this.”

“And you have? How, if he’s been like this for days now.”

“I have not but I will as soon as he shifts back. Until then, I will decide in his place, but I will never undermine his autonomy as a human person like you just did. Secondly, if you boast about the Magistrate taking care so well of every shifter and hybrid in the country, how come the Magistrate didn’t have Jimin or even his parents in the registry until now? Shouldn’t you have known about him?”

“Well, we didn’t- I mean, before AMI alerted us, there were no signs-“

“I don’t trust you. Jimin shifted and suddenly, you barge into our lives, saying Jimin should come with you every time he shifts. Maybe there is a reason Jimin wasn’t in your registry. Maybe his parents didn’t trust you either. Either way, I can’t consent to your proposition.”

“It’s not a proposition.”

“Without my consent, it’s nothing at all.”

“Tell me, Namjoon-ssi, have you met other shifters or even hybrids so far?”

Namjoon thinks that he must have, if so many people of the community hide their real identities. He must have walked past so many shifters and hybrids on the sidewalk, brushed past their shoulders, bumped into them in an elevator, in a crowd, anywhere. But he doesn’t remember just because he didn’t know back then. There’s just one hybrid he remembers. Jackson.

“Yeah, I have.”

“Did they seem animalistic?”

Just as always, Jackson had been friendly and sociable, with open laughter and a warm hug. Had he not revealed his dog ears and his silver tail, Namjoon would have probably never found out about his hidden identity despite being his best friend. From the corner of his eyes, he sees something moving.

“No. He seemed - just like I knew him. Human.”

“He did, didn’t he? He must have gone through proper training by either his parents or a mentor. Shifters and hybrids can’t afford to be found out and ostracized, so they train to overcome their instincts. Their instincts are overwhelming when they are young and they need to learn how to act like humans.”

That’s messed up, Namjoon thinks, but figures that it’s necessary to survive without trouble in the cruel human world. He sees Jimin waddling over to him.

“Do you understand what might happen to Jimin if he doesn’t receive training? How it could harm not just the people around him but him, too?”

It’s a fair point, Namjoon has to admit. He can’t imagine how Jimin would feel and think of himself if he killed someone or something else. If he even hurt someone just because he couldn’t control himself. Suddenly, Namjoon remembers his first months (scratch that, make it years) in dancing, how his limbs weren’t graceful, his movements weren’t controlled. Of course, seeing it on Hobi or Jimin was clear and the idea of replicating it exactly was simple, but whenever he tired, he couldn’t do it even if he could envision it perfectly. Until a certain point, his limbs were flapping around and it was impossible to make them cooperate. Is that what it would be like for Jimin? Namjoon knows how much Jimin hates losing control. This would be his worst nightmare, probably.

The Dokkaebi seems to take his silence for doubt or hesitance, apparently, because before Jimin can reach Namjoon’s chair, the man reaches for the cub and holds it up by the neck. Without any warning, he shoves two fingers into the cub’s mouth. Taken by surprise, Jimin squirms and tries to wiggle out of the firm grasp but the man just continues to pry his little jaws open.

“See these fangs? They’re made for meat, specifically for tearing into it.”

Jimin whines so loudly that Namjoon has to really contain himself. He can’t bear to see his brother being treated like that. His knuckles are white with the force of his fists. The Dokkaebi just goes on.

“It’s is still young but once he’s grown these jaws will be strong enough to drag a fully grown antelope up a tree.”

“Let go,” Namjoon says, “he doesn’t like it.”

The Dokkaebi shrugs, the golden emblems of his durumagi gleaming in the sun.

“It doesn’t like me, I don’t like it. It’s mutual loathing. What I care about is what it likes. Did you know that feral predators don’t discriminate? Any living creature becomes meat, even humans.”

I don’t like you either, Namjoon thinks grimly. Jimin really struggles, tiny paws pushing against the hands holding him, head twisting this direction and the other. He can’t get away and hisses. Namjoon leans over the table.

“Let him go. He’s still a person and he deserves respect.”

The Dokkaebi’s eyes sparkle darkly as if he had just waited for Namjoon to say that. He lets go of the kitten’s jaw but keeps holding it firmly, hand moving to Jimin’s neck to paralyze him. His voice is deep and daunting.

“And will he still deserve respect when he’s grown and turned into a wild beast just because you’re too sentimental to send him away to train?”

Filled with anger, Namjoon glares at the man in Hanbok. But his eyes are drawn somewhere else. The mahogany table disappears, the chairs disappear, Namjoon plops on his butt, while the Dokkaebi just takes a few steps back. Something shimmers in the air beside the Dokkaebi, almost like a fire’s flying sparks being drawn into one shape. Namjoon gasps when it takes form - a fully grown leopard materializes right in front of him. Its massive body looks huge in comparison to Jimin’s kitten body, it would tower over him were the little one on the ground. Even though the leopard only reaches the Dokkaebi’s bellybutton at most, its presence is overwhelming. As if the whole forest vibrates in simultaneous fear and awe of this one creature, as if it feels the low buzzing of danger joining the life-filled and cheerful pulsing of the woods. Namjoon’s back thumps against rough bark and he realizes he’s been walking backwards. The moment the leopard takes its first breath, the forest’s melody collapses. Namjoon almost chokes at the sudden disarray, the jumbled notes clashing into each other like cars on the wrong side of the street. They seem jagged and lost like they can’t remember their tempo, their placement or even their key and instead, they jump around and create chaos. It reminds Namjoon of a drowning person who is making the most dreadful noises humanly possible before realizing there is no saving because the screams for help are swallowed by the waves all around. It’s ugly and raw and if Namjoon would be sent a melody like this for a song, he wouldn’t even try to fix it.

His stomach drops and his blood freezes, suddenly unable to maintain a steady flow as his heart begins to pound heavily, The blood rush in his ears does nothing to drown out the low tones of danger building up with every step the leopard takes forward. While he frantically weighs the probability of success of running and simultaneously takes careful steps backwards, the notes how much darker the forest looks now. At first, he doesn’t think it could be due to the new predator whose own threatening melody intimidates the forest into a frantic arrhythmia - the sunlight still flickers through the treetops - but then the leopard steps into the center of the clearing. There’s a dark aura around the cat - an inverted glow, as if it was drawing all the light from the atmosphere and keeping it locked away in itself.

Namjoon breathes heavily already, without having run an inch. The adult leopard stands still, steadily breathing, chest moving, ears twitching to capture every sound, tail resting low. He looks like a sharp dog waiting for a command. Namjoon really wishes that none would be given, that they could just keep their distance and be fine. Don’t move, he thinks. And then, at one twitch of the Dokkaebi’s eyebrows, the leopard takes another step.

“Will you still think that a beast like this should be given respect? When it discovers that it’s born to be a hunter? A killer?”

Namjoon’s eyes widen when his eyes meet the leopard’s, when the amber lights in them go dark like the darkness swallowing up a long forgotten candle’s last flame.

“When it realizes that fresh meat is better than whatever crap they mix together in those pet stores?”

The grass is silent under the leopard’s paws. Its muscles move elegantly under the beautiful rosetted fur of the vicious cat. The perfect killing machine, a documentary narrator had explained Stealthy, skillful and merciless. Namjoon’s heart pounds frantically. He thinks of running. His mind short-circuits. He runs.

Almost immediately, a body knocks into him, brutally pressing him into the ground. Everything goes dark with the collision. Namjoon groans, has difficulty estimating the degree of his injury. All he feels is pain. When he opens his eyes again, the leopard bares his fangs right in front of his face. He’s trapped. Trapped underneath the perfect killing machine. All the dead prey he’s seen in the documentaries flashes by his eyes. He whimpers, can’t believe he’ll just become another piece of prey. Leopards mostly go for the throat. They paralyze their prey with a forceful bite, then go for the kill. Namjoon’s hands go for his throat in a feeble attempt to shield it. He’s not sure if it’s smart or even any protection at all.

“When they discover that they crave the taste of blood?”

Blood. Namjoon weakly realizes the there’s blood dripping from the leopard’s jaw and snout. He chokes, feels his body spasm against his will. When the leopard leans in, face coming closer and closer, Namjoon’s hands shoot out to hold him away, to press the cat’s face away. Fear drives a stake into his heart when dark red drops roll down his wrists, his arms. His entire hands are covered in blood, so much blood that it can’t possibly come from the cat’s fur. Am I bleeding? Tentatively, Namjoon feels around his throat again. It’s wet, everything is wet. Blood in massive amounts. He shudders, fighting the way his lungs constrict and burn. A flash-like memory pushes its way into Namjoon’s inner eye like a cold slithering tendril before he can defend himself from the intrusion. Images flash. From a third perspective, he watches himself on the ground and the leopard caging him in. He watches the leopard’s furious lunge and the way its jaw closes around his throat, the way blood blubbers forth as if he were a fresh spring coming to life. The leopard bites until the flesh is bloody and raw, an open wound. The precursor to a powerful death. The leopard growls and Namjoon is ripped out of the vision which he understands to be the Dokkaebi’s point of view.

“Do you still think a beast like that deserves respect when the first victim dies? When they bleed out in your arms?”

Namjoon can’t stop choking violently, can’t breathe, can’t focus. The leopard still or perhaps again has its massive fangs in his flesh like a vice grip, unrelenting and unbeatable and Namjoon’s vision blurs a little. With the blood loss comes freezing coldness. Panic sets in slowly but sinks deeper with every moment. Am I really dying? Am I dying? Again, the leopard rams its fangs into Namjoon’s throat, rattling his entire body. When his head lolls to the side, grey fur moves in front of his eyes. He hears a voice. Dokkaebis are powerful tricksters. Don’t believe everything you see. This is your Essence, your bokjil. Nothing can happen here if you don’t let it. Do you understand?

Is this… an illusion? As Namjoon tries to push the leopard off, his hands drive deep into the fur. The cat pulls off, growling like hell. There’s a long moment the leopard and the boy stare into each other’s eyes. Namjoon feels his own heartbeat pulse through his open flesh in hot, painful surges. Thump, thump, thump. Then - realization. He stares at his fingers, then at the wild cat. His hands are buried deep into the fur, so deep he can feel the outline of bone against his skin. The cat’s chest is pressed against his as it presses him into the ground. And yet. No heartbeat. The leopard has no heartbeat. It’s an illusion. The knowledge explodes like a bomb inside Namjoon’s mind, inside his body.

“You’re not real,” he gasps, almost laughing in relief. As if he’s opened the door to a dark room, clarity and light flood everything. The blur in his vision disappears, all the pain just vanishes in one go, so quickly that Namjoon almost feels floaty. The pressure on his throat disappears, Namjoon can think straight. Even the leopard disappears like it was never there. He feels his throat. No blood, just smooth skin. The sensation is surreal after being caught in the the cruel illusion. Namjoon sits up. He’s exhausted even if he’s fine. I want to go home, he thinks.

When his eyes fall on the Dokkaebi holding a whimpering Jimin down, he swallows. You can do this. This is not about you. This is about Jimin, and you’ll do anything you can to protect him. He trusts you. This Dokkaebi is just trying to intimidate me. The wolf right next to him, radiating a comforting warmth. I am not alone.

“I said, let go of Jimin.”

The cub starts running as soon as the hands leave his fur and he tucks into Namjoon immediately.

“Shhhh,” he whispers, rubbing the little one’s head, “it’s alright. I’m here, I’m okay, see? Shhhhh.”

He lets Jimin sniff around as much as he wants, the cub desperate to be comforted by a familiar scent.

“I will respect Jimin no matter what happens. I will respect his wishes and not decide over his head. Every person needs to be respected, everyone. Lack of respect and love are what turns people into psychos, not lack of training. Not even shifters.”

“I don’t think you understand. If you don’t choose for him today, I am authorized to take Park Jimin in custody until his trial ends. The mere fact that he’s lived as an unregistered shifter for so long needs to be investigated. After that, he will be sent to the Academy either way.”

“And how is that respecting his human rights?”

The Dokkaebi smiles.

“But he’s not human, is he? Human rights don’t apply to him, smartass. He’s a shifter. It’s time for you to understand what that means.”

That’s a crass way of saying it but it really hits Namjoon. That can’t be true… right?

“So… we need to find a trainer for him to be able to keep him?”

“We as the MMA offer classes at our very own Academy to guarantee professional supervision and a guided training period. Since you are VIP clients, we would only charge you half the tuition fees and make sure Jimin receives upgraded treatment there.”

“There?”

“The closest Academy campus is located outside of Seoul, in the mountains and woods of Gapyeong-gun.”

“What! Why is it so far away?”

Gapyeong-gun isn’t too far outside of Seoul but it’s difficult to get there by car. Public transport is even worse. Namjoon knows it means they wouldn’t be able to see Jimin much anymore - driving to school, being there for class and driving home in the afternoon would already take more than half of the day. He’s gonna miss early dance practice, vocal training and a lot of interviews, Namjoon thinks.

“With over 500 students of all kinds of genetic denominations, it’s slightly difficult to find a fitting environment to meet every student’s needs in Seoul, Namjoon-ssi. The Academy is in the woods to grant space, freedom and anonymity.”

“I see… but we can’t drive up there every time Jimin has class.”

“Oh, I think there might be a misunderstanding… the Academy is similar to a boarding school. He would stay there for his entire study period.”

That means - we won’t see Jimin at all? Or just a couple of days per semester? On the weekends? Assuming the Academy even allows students to receive visitors.

“No. Jimin can’t just leave for a semester. Do they have online classes?”

“Online classes are not practical, Namjoon-ssi. Young shifters require hands-on training, not theoretical teaching.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“Is there no way one of those mentors would come to us to train Jimin?”

“Unfortunately, they are always short on staff so that won’t be an option. Unless you find a private tutor with a Caregiver and Mentoring Certificate, Jimin will have to attend school like anyone else.”

From some corner of his mind, Namjoon hears Bang Sihyuk’s voice. No one can know.

“That’s not an option,” Namjoon says. “On so many levels.”

“It’s the law.”

Namjoon breathes. He doesn’t know what he expected from the day when he put his feet on the carpet by his bed for the first time this morning, but it wasn’t this. The Dokkaebi’s eyes bore into Namjoon’s face, he can feel it.

“Are you perhaps… suggesting I break the law?”

The atrocity of the phrase makes Namjoon’s head snap up.

“Of course not,” he snaps, then, calmer, because he’s not a snappy person and he reminds himself of all the people he represents, “of course not.”

I will not allow scandals, Bang PD had once said. If any of you see any of the others or even a staff member do something illegal or even consider doing something illegal, we’re gonna have a long talk. I know you boys by heart. You’re kind, hardworking and talented. I will do anything in my power to support you but I will never enable people to abuse their position.

“You had me worried there, Namjoon-ssi. For a second.”

“I’m just saying that there are two things that cannot happen no matter how we turn it. Jimin can’t go to the Academy. And he can’t go without training. We need to find another solution. I trust you to find a different way.”

It’s this point that Namjoon fears. Because he has no idea about the MMA’s bureaucracy, about the rules or the law. He doesn’t want to engage in illegal activities. But he can’t not leave everything up to fate or luck either, and this is where he needs the Dokkaebi’s honest help.

“Well, there are other ways…”

“Which are?”

“Expensive ways.”

He hopes it doesn’t involve corruption but he feels like a gangster with his next words.

“Money is not an issue.”

“Money!? Are you really offering me money? That’s a weak currency.”

“Real estate?”

“Do I look like I need real estate?”

“What then? Business shares?”

“I’m not greedy.”

“Well, what is it?

“You know, some creatures thirst to feed on your emotions, your dreams, even your blood. They love the taste of a conflicted soul. But I am not that cruel. I wouldn’t even dare to suggest such crude things-“

“Get to the point. What do you want?”

“Your soul.”

The forests still before the Dokkaebi’s lips press closed. As if under a spell, even the clouds draw together and the menacing darkness in the Dokkaebi’s eyes falls over the clearing. Namjoon shivers, feeling cold, feeling tiny, feeling empty. For the first time of his life, he understands that he’s sharing a table with a predator. From this distance, running won’t make a difference, not when the forest obeys the powerful man in Hanbok; begging won’t change a thing, not when Namjoon’s chair’s armrests are chilling and rough like a cage’s bars. No, Namjoon has only his words and he knows he needs to put them in the perfect order to find the one way to get out of this situation unharmed. From the corner of his eye, he notices the deer and the wolf, helpless onlookers by the misguided force of his own lips. They look sad, fur no longer shiny in this low light, heads no longer held high in this awful suffocating silence. As if their souls had been drawn out of them with the threat of Namjoon’s loss.

“The way I see this,” Namjoon reiterates, slowly, praying to breathe life back into the forest with his warm voice. There’s still hope, he reassures himself. I have many words. Words are my playground. No reason to despair yet. “It’s a bargain, yes? We will bargain.”

“I am not a monster,” the Dokkaebi says. Namjoon can’t tell whether that’s supposed to reassure him. He takes it as an affirmation when the man waves his hand, signaling him to start.

“First of all, what do you want my soul for?“

“Is that really your biggest concern?”

“Of course. I will not agree to anything if I don’t know what will happen to my soul. Let’s be honest to each other.”

“Honest, hm?”

All books and films and stories aside, there’s not many occasions Namjoon has heard people even mention their soul or anything related to it. There’s no way of knowing what a soul means in this world of super natural creatures, the value it has, if it’s different for the different creatures. What you can do with a soul. So yes, even if he has to argue and talk his mouth off for hours, he insists on knowing every little detail he can get. He is aware, of course, that any information the Dokkaebi shares could be a lie, but Namjoon has seen liars before, knows some signs of it. Knows he won’t let others do just anything to him.

The Dokkaebi’s face pulls into a smile that so… heavy that Namjoon isn’t sure what to make of it. From the dark look in the man’s eyes, the gaze that he directs at his own hands, he dares to believe that smile is not meant for him.

“Do you know how people turn into Dokkaebis?”

Namjoon has to reign in his mind to not think about the tv show and instead rake his memories for old tales that he may have been told by his grandmother or other elderly from his neighborhood when he was young. All the Korean books he’s read in his youth. Nothing helpful pops up.

“I’m not sure… you die with a sword in your chest?”

The wooden table aches with the forceful slam of the Dokkaebi’s hand. Namjoon flinches, pants, hopes to never see anyone scowl at him again like that.

“Do I look like frickin’ Gong Yoo!? Frickin’ Koreans - has this entire nation watched that show!?”

A bead of sweat trails down Namjoon’s neck. He fiddles with the ring on his finger, shrugging.

“It was a good show. Funny, too.”

“Nothing about being a Dokkaebi is funny. It’s a curse,” the Dokkaebi growls as he tugs his durumagi sleeve back into place. “Just like this atrocity.”

Honestly, there’s not many Hanboks Namjoon has seen in real life with authentic golden emblems sewn into it - the kind that a king would wear in a drama. This durumagi must have either belonged to royalty before (but it doesn’t look very old) or been exclusively tailored for this man because there’s no way that he could have gotten this in a normal Hanbok store. It kind of reminds Namjoon of their 2017 MAMA outfits. This must have been expensive, too. Too expensive for a random foreigner with no regards for Korean culture to spend money on. Why did he get a Hanbok overcoat like this if he doesn’t even like it?

“Cruel of God to put me into this for all eternity, isn’t it? The garb I was butchered in.”

As if a hole is torn into reality, Namjoon’s strained but collected vision is directed towards the Dokkaebi’s stomach where blood starts to flow into the fine fabric with shocking vigor. Namjoon almost stumbles backwards in his seat, the chair creaking as he leans back, his mind telling him to get away, get away. Even the scent of blood is out to shock him. It stings in his nose, as if to show him how real it is. No wound is visible behind the slashed textile but Namjoon is sure that he wouldn’t be able to look at it anyway. This is already crass enough. Jimin seems to smell the blood too, raising his head and sniffling the air. Namjoon does his best to placate him with kind caresses and a slight push for him to stay down, to lie back down and sleep.

“Ugly, isn’t it?”

He should have notices the teasing tone of the Dokkaebi. Should have noticed, well, everything around the blood. Should have noticed. Because when he looks at the Dokkaebi’s face, another layer of reality has been torn away. He feels bile force its way up his throat, feels terror claw into him. In the chair across the table sits the body of a young man, shape and visage so unrecognizable it might have been a different person altogether. A cold breeze rushes through the trees around them, shaking the powerless leaves around as it likes.

The disgusting taste of bile reaches Namjoon’s mouth and he shudders, swallows, presses his eyes shut, swallows and swallows until there’s enough spit to wash everything away for a second or two. He dares to look up, look back at the Dokkaebi. His face is - not a face. It resembles a farming ground that has been plowed thoroughly - deeply, brutally, with force. The flesh of his cheeks just hangs off his face in tatters, like shredded wet tapestry that’s supposed to be removed and clings to the wall pathetically, his left cheekbone sticking out like crushed wood good for nothing but to feed a fire, and there’s blood everywhere between the swollen flesh, the torn nose, the ripped off eyebrow as if it was the only thing holding the disfigured pieces together. The only thing that’s sort of intact are the eyes - eyes that have not lost the piercing ire that’s following Namjoon’s pupils as they wander across the massacrous sight, almost like guard dogs making sure he won’t dare misstep even once. By the time Namjoon even locates the Dokkaebi’s throat between the wet, bloated flesh and the sharp pricks of white that had held the man’s jaw in place once, there are tears streaming down his cheeks. He shuts his eyes, praying that this face will not become the center of his nightmares for the rest of his life. When the Dokkaebi leans his face into his hand, which is also torn apart, flesh swelling between deep bite marks, joints hanging off the bone loosely, there’s an ugly squishing sound. Namjoon really wants to vomit. Jimin squeaks, terror in the high-pitched sound. The tiny cub thrashes in Namjoon’s hold but his hands feel numb, can’t hold the cat. It falls off the chair, squeaks some more, and runs.

“Please,” he begs, “please stop.”

“Did you know,” the Dokkaebi says, jaw crunching while he speaks, “that a supernatural’s powers never work on themselves?”

“No,” he croaks.

“Never, Namjoon-ssi. So I can hide this from you and the entire world but never from my own eyes.”

“Why did you have to show me?”

“Look at me again.”

“No, I don’t want to.”

“Look at me again. I will answer your questions.”

By now, mind occupied by the intensity of disgust and just overall sickness, Namjoon doesn’t even know what kinds of questions he’s asked before or if he still wants them answered. Raising his eyes back onto the horrifying sight takes more than a few seconds of encouraging and reassuring himself. He whimpers when the sticky red of the blood and the gruesome white have not vanished, but follows the Dokkaebi’s finger. Namjoon can’t help but pull up his shoulders, wishing he’d be somewhere else, wishing he could just go back to his normal life when the man in Hanbok puts his fingers into the flesh by his throat. He chokes, gags, isn’t sure who the sound is coming from, and looks at the wolf and the deer. The wolf is low on the ground, nuzzling something in between his paws that Namjoon identifies as a trembling little cat cub. Only the stag looks back, eyes deep and full of sympathy. Please get me out of here, Namjoon begs but jumps when the Dokkaebi’s loud voice demands his attention.

“LOOK AT ME!”

He does. Shivers.

“Do you see this?”

Between the two fingers that sort of… pull a more punctual wound open, something white shows up. At first, Namjoon suspects it to be bone but then, the Dokkaebi’s fingers dig deep enough to show the actual bone and it’s clear that the white piece is not a part of it.

“It’s a fang,” the Dokkaebi says, his own teeth showing. When he rips it out of his throat and throws it away, it takes only a few seconds to lodge itself in the open wound again. He looks at it in disgust. “This is the sword in my chest.”

“Great,” Namjoon groans, “I’ve seen it. Now make it go away.”

“Can you imagine the one thing that’s worse than all of this?”

“What is it?”

Namjoon feels sick. Sick to his stomach, sick to his bones. Sick like even vomiting won’t bring relief. Sick like he hasn’t felt sick since the beginning of his life. Sick like he won’t recover till the end of his life if this doesn’t end soon.

“The fact that all I remember from my life as a human is my death - the way a pack of wolves tore into me, clawed me apart until I became this. That I am forced to watch myself die every single night. Becoming a Dokkaebi is a punishment.”

The Dokkaebi pauses, must have found mercy in some hidden, unharmed corner of his body, and lets some sort of magic cover his face until he looks like a normal human being again. For some reason, it doesn’t loosen the icy grip the vision of his face has on Namjoon’s heart. He knows what he sees but his heart doesn’t follow up on it, not when it knows what’s underneath the mask. When the blood stains disappear from the Hanbok, Namjoon and the whole forest take a deep breath, like the last second of winter’s chokehold has passed and everything dares to hope for new life.

“I can’t heal or even become free until I find these beasts and kill them. I may seem powerful to you but I am not a war hero. My illusions will not be enough to trick a powerful Alpha - not when there’s a whole pack of wolves following him. They've all had a taste of my blood, what do you think will happen if I try to kill their Alpha?”

Namjoon’s head is still reeling. He doesn’t really want to talk anymore. If at least one of the members were here. Yoongi, perhaps. Or maybe just the wolf and the stag. Anyone. Comfort. He pulls himself together and speaks, even if his voice is trembling.

“So you collect souls. To become more powerful.”

“Sort of, yes.”

“And what happens to the person who sells their soul?”

“It depends on the contract they make.”

“Contract?”

A new piece of paper appears on the table, flat between them, innocently white against the dark wood and Namjoon feels his heart pound quickly at the sight of it; as if it knew what kind of paper it is. He remembers all the times he’s been standing on a tower in the pool, ten meters above the ground, then letting himself fall into the water below. His body feels the same rush of losing control, sitting in this chair but looking at the paper and Namjoon needs a second to gather control over his mind again. When he takes a second look, the paper doesn’t call forth adrenaline and memories and his ears pop open to hear the sounds of the forest. The Dokkaebi speaks first.

“This contract specifies our deal - I receive your soul for three months in return for letting Park Jimin live with you instead of taking him to the Academy.”

“And how can I be sure that it’s only for three months and that you won’t be taking my soul and do whatever you want with it for all eternity?”

“Think of it as a Netflix subscription… if your free trial is up, the subscription ends.”

Namjoon frowns. “…that’s not how Netflix works... Do you even watch tv?”

“Why would I not be watching tv? There’s lots of good shows…. How To Get Away With Murder, and-“

“Anyway,” Namjoon says, “what happens to me in those three months? What does it mean for me if you have my soul?”

“I don’t need your memories, your emotions or any of that. I merely need your soul’s strength, the horsepower of your soul so to say. In those months, you will probably not be very productive and drift in your thoughts a lot - your mind will automatically drift to me and what I’m doing. But you’ll live normally.”

“That’s not enough then,” Namjoon says. He isn’t sure if that’s too bold to say but he knows that they had agreed to bargain and bargain he will. An idea pops up. “My soul is worth much more than that.”

He seems to have hit the nail on the head because the Dokkaebi frowns.

“I’m in the international business. An absence for three months will result in million-dollar losses. Nowadays, the world doesn’t really run without me. But what’s most important, I have a family to take care of and a leopard shifter brother I need to raise - I want more in exchange.”

“What do you want?”

“How sure can I be that the mentor you pick is good for Jimin and that our CEO will even accept that person?”

“Are you challenging me?”

“No. I’m saying, every mentor must have undergone training themselves. You mentioned a license?”

“There are classes to train mentors and caregivers.”

“Good. Enroll Min Yoongi and me. We’ll do the classes, we’ll take the exam, whatever. We’ll take care of Jimin.”

From the expressions of the Dokkaebi, it’s not discernible how much it is that Namjoon is asking for but from the long silence, Namjoon gathers that it must be a big deal. Whether it’s about sneaking them into the system or breaking the law, he doesn’t care. These are the conditions. I will do whatever I can to make Jimin live the best life possible.

“The class takes three years of teaching. I can’t keep the officials’ eyes away from you for that long.”

“Well, do we have to be present or do we just need to pass the exam?”

“You need to pass the exam.”

“When is the next one?”

“I’m not sure. In five months? I think the exams take place semi-annually.”

“Great, put us on that list. We’ll be there. We’ll pass it.”

The Dokkaebi huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Humans are so stupid. Look, you don’t really think you can learn the stuff from three years of class in five months, do you? Especially when you’re just human.”

“Give me a guidance counsellor then. Something like a tutor.”

“What?”

“Someone to tutor Min Yoongi and me. Someone with experience, a person who’s taken the classes before.”

“I-that’s- you’re asking for a lot, Namjoon-ssi.”

“My soul is worth a lot.”

The forest sings around them as if nothing bad could ever happen here and with every chirp of the birds, Namjoon feels something in his blood surging, like a connection. Almost as if he can feel the grass growing, stretching towards the sky and bathing in the sunlight. By the side, the deer and wolf sit. They look more relaxed than before and Namjoon likes to think it’s because he’s taken control of the situation. The Dokkaebi’s eyes are calculating but also… curious.

“I’ve never met a human who actually knows the value of their soul.”

Namjoon is not Seokjin, so he doesn't think it's the right time to fling in some cheesy pun or snarky comment like, of course, my soul's just as handsome as my face.

“So, what happens to my soul if you die fighting those wolves?”

“Good question. I guess you’d have to hire someone to find it for you.”

“Find it???”

“I suppose so. I’ll make sure your guidance counsellor slash tutor will be able to find your lost soul in case I die. If I can even die. Otherwise, I’ll just bring it back to you.”

“That’s not reassuring at all! What if someone else finds it first? Someone bad?”

“We could always bind it to an object? Something small, something you can keep on your body?”

Namjoon thinks about all those EarPods he’s lost. He shivers at the mental image of his soul falling through some sewer on the street.

“Maybe not too small?”

“I won’t need your soul anytime soon anyway, so we’ll find an adequate object until then. When I need it, I’ll notify you. That all?”

Namjoon looks at the paper and finds that every word has been recorded on the paper in fine calligraphy. It looks like an old Hangul script that he find in museums. It makes him wonder how magic works, how many kinds of magic there are and if it’s anything like he would imagine. If people could really use magic for good, just like Tata with his little ray gun.

“So you want to use my soul to execute revenge.”

“I want to find the people who killed me and make them pay, yes.”

“How about you bring them to the police?”

He should have seen it coming but somehow, he didn’t. The Dokkaebi gets up faster than Namjoon can even register and slams his hand on the table. His eyes are angry, his whole body tense.

“You think they would even care!? No one cares, no one cares for a punished soul! And even if, I don’t think it’s your business how I deal with my stuff.”

“I think it is, considering that it’s my soul you’re taking. I don’t want it to be used for violence.”

“But you want your little brother to stay with you, don’t you?”

Of course Namjoon does. Also, besides wanting Jimin to stay with the group, there’s also a couple of rules Namjoon can’t ignore. No one can know, PDnim had said specifically. We need to keep him safe, Yoongi had pointed out. Even if Jimin wanted to go, Namjoon’s hands would be tied.

“Jimin can’t go,” he says simply, hoping that he won’t have to explain. It’s enough reason. The Dokkaebi nods, as if his reason is the same. Enough.

“Then you can’t care about what I use your soul for. This is the deal. Take it or Jimin will have to go.”

A wave of uncertainty rushes through Namjoon. What can I say to make him reconsider violent behavior? It’s natural in the world to use violence for violence, Namjoon knows that and can’t help but feel disappointed at the realization that it’s no different for the supernatural world. But still, even if that’s the natural way, there’s another path that’s worth taking - Namjoon knows this especially.

“There’s no freedom in-“, he wants to say but the words are stuck in his throat. A cold shiver crawls up his legs like a horde of insects scrambling over each other between his bare skin and his clothing. He looks around, feeling as though time stands still. Everything is still as it was a second ago, the Dokkaebi, the mahogany desk, the wolf, the stag, the trees. But it’s all silent as if someone had turned the birds, the trees and even the frogs off. As if the whole forest is holding its breath for something major to happen. The sunlight still falls through the treetops but it flickers, dipping the clearing in an unsteady light, never quite passing warmth to Namjoon even when it brushes over him. What is going on?

He notices something stirring from the corner of his eyes. When he turns, the wolf and the stag are moving, moving around something. The wolf nudges something, licks and nuzzles his snout into a lump, a naked human body on the grass. The body moves, lifts its blonde head. Jimin? Namjoon is holding his breath along with the forest. It takes minutes but finally, the boy moves more, sits up, encouraged by the wolf that moves around Jimin in gentle steps, tail wagging slowly. When Jimin rubs his eyes like he’s just woken up from sleep, Namjoon can’t help but smile fondly. Jimin shifted back. The Dokkaebi makes a surprised noise by his side but Namjoon ignores him, standing up and walking towards Jimin, who has also found his way up. Their footsteps towards each other echo, hitting grass, little rocks and flowers. Namjoon thinks they echo from within his chest. His racing heart pumps blood through his ears. He sighs in relief when a hand touches his shoulder, closes his eyes for a last time before he lets himself be convinced that this is real. When he opens his eyes, he gasps, even if the image before him is not new. Jimin really stands in front of him, hair in disorganized strands as if he’d run, eyes big and tears wetting his entire face. He’s crying, sobbing and something is wrong with the image of his younger brother but Namjoon can’t figure out what, so he tries to touch Jimin. The skin is familiar and warm and the touch makes the younger shake even worse. Sunshine turns into rainy clouds over their heads.

“Hyung,” Jimin gasps, voice broken and small. His breath brushes over the goosebumps on Namjoon’s skin in fast little waves. Too fast.

“Jiminie, you shifted,” Namjoon rushes to smile warmly, grabbing the boy’s shoulders, “you changed back. How did you do that?”

Jimin looks around, eyes wild as he searches the area around them. For what, Namjoon doesn’t know but the fear in Jimin’s face makes his heart break. He wills his big hands to calm and to quickly wipe Jimin’s cheeks like Taehyung and Seokjin always do to calm him. Jimin whimpers and lets himself be drawn against Namjoon’s chest. Normally, he wouldn’t really do this, but Jimin shaking like a leaf definitely isn’t normal. His little chest is falling and rising too fast and Namjoon feels like he’s holding a delicate bird in his arms. Drops of rain start falling, start trailing long paths over Jimin’s bare skin.

“What’s happening, Jimin-ah? Tell hyung what’s going on, hm?”

What is going on inside his head? Are there side effects to shifting? Is he in pain? Does he remember anything?

Jimin smells good where his hair is right underneath Namjoon’s nose. It’s reassuring to see him back in human form of course but right now Namjoon dares to think that maybe Jimin has shifted back at the wrong time. What if the Dokkaebi will try to take advantage of him? When he’s this vulnerable? What if he just takes him and I can’t do anything? Namjoon is careful, trying not to overwhelm Jimin but he finally has the opportunity to get the answer he’s been dying to hear ever since Jimin found him in the woods.

“Jimin-ah, is Suga-hyung here too? Did you come here with Suga-hyung?”

“Hyung,” Jimin breathes, voice fragile, threatening to break while new tears flow out of his beautiful beautiful eyes, “hyung, will you really send me away?”

The forest’s melody dies down into an ugly silence. No buzzing, no life. Namjoon’s heart shatters. Shatters like it’s just a thin slice of glass not meant to withstand anything. He feels the shock crawling into his own face, driving tears into his own eyes. A whisper of betrayal hangs in the air and Namjoon swallows heavily. Before he can say anything, Jimin grabs his arms. Pleading.

“Hyung, please no. Please, please don’t send me away. I would never - I, please, please, I want to stay with you. I love you all so much, I can’t-”

He cries, cries like he hasn’t since a long time ago, since he was younger and more fragile in his spirit, too dependent to reassure himself. Big tears roll over his cheeks, big tears like fat raindrops falling after a forest fire and Namjoon is reminded of that one time he’d found Jimin in the shower, under the running water where he had been for three hours until everyone started looking for him. The water had washed the tears away of course but the redness in Jimin’s eyes and the way he’d curled up on the floor instead of standing had given it all away. In the end, Hoseok had helped him to breathe while Taehyung had patted him dry and given him little kisses on his forehead. Jimin didn’t sleep that night, confiding hoarsely in Taehyung, and had seemed better afterwards but never spoke of it again. The next day, Namjoon was informed of the death threats that had been announced against Jimin and Jungkook and the concerts PDnim had canceled because of it.

“Jimin, I-“

“Please tell me you won’t give me away because I’m different now. You said- you said you’d always love me.”

The tears are real, they slide down from Jimin’s cheeks onto Namjoon’s hands, warmly but clinging onto their skin desperately as if afraid of falling. Namjoon’s heart pounds, strains, tries to escape his chest and engulf Jimin’s to make him feel protected, secure and loved.

“That’s,” Namjoon’s voice breaks, “that’s never gonna happen, Jiminie. We won’t send you away. We’ll never send you away, okay? You’re our brother, you can decide what you want and we’ll always be here for you. We love you so much, you’re our Jiminie.”

Under Namjoon’s hands, Jimin’s tears are wiped off and when he looks at his dongsaeng again, the deep sadness is replaced by glimmers of hope. A pout is on Jimin’s warm lips as he mumbles, “promise?”

“I promise.”

The way Jimin’s face lights up like the golden sun breaking forth from behind the clouds is everything. If he was any more sentimental, Namjoon would probably really believe Jimin was an angel. But there’s something… unsettling in the way Jimin’s beautiful eyes start looking glassy. Glassy if there’s some sad part of him that can’t believe Namjoon’s promise.

“But would you… would you really sell your soul for me?”

Namjoon breathes, feels lightheaded, feels the air rushing inside his lungs, rushing in, rushing out. Feels peace in the rush. Wants to give the same peace to Jimin. The tender love Jimin always gives but never expects to be given in return.

“Jiminie, it’s because of my soul that I can serve you and the members. I will fight for you with all that I am but I don’t know if I can give my soul away and still-”

It’s difficult to say this and to see the hope in his dongsaeng’s eyes flicker and turn into new tears. Jimin presses his eyes shut, a bitter smile on his lips.

“I trust you, hyung. If you want me to suffer, I will. You’re my leader. I will always follow you. You’re my home, you know that, right?”

“I know-“ Namjoon’s voice completely breaks. This is the worst he’s ever felt towards Jimin even if the younger is smiling at him, he knows that not doing it would make him think that he betrayed Jimin forever. In the rain, it looks as if Jimin’s whole body is crying violently. With a start, Namjoon knows. I have to protect him in any way I can. If it’s this sacrifice, that’s life. It will all turn out well. It always does.

“Oh, Jiminie. You’re my home, too. We will never send you away.”

For a second, he becomes a witness of the sunrise that’s Jimin’s smile. It swells along with the crescendo of the forest, swells into a warmth that soaks into Namjoon’s body. It's so beautiful, almost like it can make up for all the shit and all the disgustingness his day had brought. Namjoon wraps his arms around Jimin, letting his nose get buried in Jimin's neck, just the way he knows Jimin likes to be hugged. And then it happens. With an ice-cold start, Namjoon realizes that something about this is wrong. He realizes what has been bothering him at the back of his mind for their entire conversation. Why the chill on his legs had never gone away. He hadn’t felt Jimin’s heartbeat. Even with his fingers digging into Jimin’s cheeks, into Jimin’s shoulders and while holding his head against his chest by the neck, Namjoon hadn’t felt Jimin’s heartbeat pulsing under the delicate skin. Just like the leopard - the illusion of the leopard. Within seconds, Jimin dissolves like a ruined reflection in a lake - and Namjoon looks straight into the dark, gleaming eyes of the Dokkaebi. The Dokkaebi who is holding a whining leopard cub in his arms. The only weak comfort are the red stripes on his hands that look suspiciously like claw marks.

“How heartwarming. Now, let's move on.”

Namjoon gasps like he’s resurfacing after a long dive. He holds his chest but can’t find the hurting spot. It aches from deep down, hollow. Around him, the rain is back and crashing down. The initial peace is nowhere to be found. An illusion. It was - it was another trick. Namjoon slides off the chair, can’t hold himself, sinks to his knees, gasping for air. It takes more than a minute to come back to his senses, the nausea overwhelming. The forest’s song has turned into a mess, an arrhythmical clashing of dissonant sounds.

“How- how did you do that?”

“Hmmm, I didn’t do anything. Your imagination is really powerful, all it needed was a tiny push. Now, if you’d sign here and here… You have come to a decision, have you not?”

Namjoon’s heart pounds furiously and he starts to believe that people saying “follow your heart” clearly haven’t ever stood before decisions like this. One side of his conscious knows that the Dokkaebi is a supernatural being and that there’s no way he could ever take this guy on but the other side of his mind tells him that every creature has a weakness and that a trickster can be defeated through a trick. But there’s no real way to tell whether he can even win this game or not - other than trying. His hands are shaking so he puts them into the wolf’s fur. The touch ignites a prickling sensation, almost like little lights crawling into his hands to give courage and strength. And if this is the last thing I try, I have to do it. For Jimin.

“I-I made my decision.”

“And which is it?”

“I decide not to tell you. You didn’t tell me I had to tell you what it is, you only said that I needed to decide.”

The twitch in the Dokkaebi’s eyes gives it all away - it’s a valid loophole and the Dokkaebi has not expected Namjoon to find it.

“That’s unacceptable, you can’t-“

“In fact, I can. This is my Essence, my bokjil, isn’t it? Nothing can happen here if I don’t allow it. I could just go back and report you.”

Namjoon feels like there’s hot courage boiling in every vein. The wolf nudges his cheek in silent praise. It feels like victory. Until the Dokkaebi laughs.

“Oh, Namjoon-ssi, how do think you got here in the first place?”

Namjoon hates the patronizing tone.

“Do you really think you’re so great that you can transport your physical body into your soul’s landscape yourself? And how do you think you will get out of it without my help? Do you want to wander your own soul for the rest of your life and never go back?”

Everything shatters. Shatters like it’s final and there’s no saving left for this mess. Shatters like the melody is irreparable, useless.

“Give me Jimin first,” Namjoon croaks.

“Sign first. I will give him to you right after.”

“You have been tricking me left and right. How do you expect me to believe you say the truth?”

The Dokkaebi laughs.

“Hm, I see we have a bit of a misunderstanding here. You see, I haven’t lied to you. Tricks and lies are really two different things. Lying means intentionally misleading someone. A trick is just a suggestion. If you fall for it, that's your bad. Also, I do have some honor. I’m not a liar. I always keep my word.”

Namjoon shudders, feeling empty, feeling defeated. His shoulders sag, his chest hurts. I just want to go home. Thunder shakes the sky and lighting crashes down when the pen in his hand scratches over the rough paper. The ground beneath his feet turns to mud with the myriads of water drops catapulting against it. Everything is wet, the uncomfortable sort of wet that you’re not prepared for even with an umbrella and a rain jacket. The drops are invasive, driving straight through Namjoon’s clothes and pressing obnoxiously against his skin. It’s unrealistic and illogical but Namjoon fears that they might dig through his skin and pierce his organs if he doesn’t get out of here soon.

The Dokkaebi smiles when Namjoon puts the pen down. The mahogany desk disappears behind a new veil of rain and Namjoon feels unprotected with nothing firm between the Dokkaebi and him. He sighs in relief when Jimin’s wet snout, wet fur, wet body touches his fingers, when the little one mewls in his arms.

“It’s alright, baby. I’m here. It’s alright.”

“I believe we’re done here. It was a pleasure to meet you, Namjoon-ssi.”

He should be glad it’s all over, should be glad this weird meeting is coming to an end and he will go home and all but all that’s left on Namjoon’s mind is the feeling that he’s missing something. That he’s been tricked beyond simple illusions, bereaved of answers, options, freedom, god knows what else.

“Wait,” he says, barely able to keep his eyes open in the strong rain, “why me? Out of the millions of souls in Seoul, why did you pick mine?”

He notices a grey figure moving through the rain. Wolf? The Dokkaebi seems to notice it too but instead of being intimidated by the animal that could tear him apart any second, he speaks calmly.

“As I said before. Each beast has its own preferences.”

He’s gone in the blink of an eye, the dark glint in his eyes and the wicked smirk on his lips the last things Namjoon sees. He smiles weakly, finally able to breathe now that the menace is gone. He looks down at Jimin in his arms, finally safe. In a gesture meant to calm the shivering cub, Namjoon lets his fingers move through the cub’s fur as tenderly as he can, careful not to pull on the strands of hair the printer ink still glues together. Jimin purrs when Namjoon rubs his neck. And then - Namjoon freezes, nausea swelling up like a roaring tsunami. There’s no pulse. A dark wave pushes over him, making him numb and deaf, making him drown in himself. The leopard baby falls apart in his hands. Instead of the forest’s melody, there’s laughter. Namjoon falls to his knees. He vomits. Namjoon sits in the rain, unmoving and alone, only the wolf by his side, silently spending warmth. The rain drops sting.

“How do you want the song to sound?”

Namjoon has a few ideas already, here between the softness of the pillows and the gentle curls of Taehyung’s permed brown hair and the hazy glow outside the windows where rain keeps running down the glass tirelessly. On the windowsill, a scented candle flickers, spreading its cozy wooden scent. It’s most likely a gift from Jimin and therefore a treasured reminder of something special for Taehyung.

“It should sound like tearing your heart out violently. Like crying, too. Because our tears are just like raindrops,” Namjoon sees Taehyung staring into the distance, face grim as little wet streaks trail down his cheeks and drip off his jaw, “without the pain, there is no need for comfort. Even if you’re not scared of it anymore, being broken still has to hurt. It hurts every time.”

Namjoon kneels in a familiar living room, shaking, dripping, gasping. There’s a puddle of water at his knees, slowly sinking into the carpet. His head spins and he’s nauseous, as if his whole body rhythms and sensory systems have all been overloaded and violated. He still feels the stinging pricks of rain drill into him. Even the comforting and familiar scent of Yoongi’s cooking is not enough to calm him down. He’s home, yes, but he can’t stop shaking. Is this… what going insane feels like?

The only sense of relief comes when a small rumbling distracts him from all the noise in his head. A tiny body of violently colorful fur rolls around on a blanket on the sofa to his left. The kitty rumbles, its paws kneading the air while it sleeps. Namjoon doesn’t dare to believe it, inherently afraid to fall for another cruel trick. Slowly, he leans over to put a hand on Jimin’s chest. Thump, thump, thump. Peace. Glorious peace spreads in Namjoon’s chest. It’s real. This time, it’s really real. It seeps through his entire body and Namjoon relaxes, tears streaming down his cheeks. Jimin is fine. Jimin will be fine. I made my decision. It will be alright.

“Namjoon!?”

He flinches when something crashes against the floor. A cup of tea stains Yoongi’s white slippers, the shards in a circle around him like he’s standing in a bomb’s impact crater. When Namjoon lifts his hand to wave, his wet clothes feel gross and heavy. Yoongi frowns. One look at Jimin, the paper bag that stands next to the sofa and Namjoon realizes something he hasn’t even thought of while in the woods.

“Namjoon-ah. Are you alright? Were were you? Sejin-hyung said-”

Yoongi’s eyes follow his, the genuine concern put on pause when he understands that Namjoon is focused on something else. When their eyes meet again, Namjoon can literally see his hyung’s thoughts.

“Don’t say it, hyung-“

“Where are they?”

Namjoon grimaces.

He forgot the shopping bags in the woods.

masterlist | moodboard masterlist

#park jimin #bts #bts fanfic #jimin #bangtan #kim namjoon #jeon jungkook #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #cat jimin #supernatural bts #shapeshifter jimin #wordsturnintostories #show me your rosettes baby g

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hongism · 5 years ago

Text

finding beauty in your darkest places - chapter 1

Pairing: TBA (we’ll see where this takes us lol - let’s just call it OT7xreader for now)

Genre: Psychiatric Clinic!au, Heavy Angst, Some Fluff

Word Count: 8802

Warnings: deals with mental and emotional illnesses and disorders as a heavy theme of the story, future graphic depictions of disorders - please do not read if this makes you uncomfortable

Rating: PG-13/Mature (nothing sexual, but it deals with heavy themes)

Summary: Everyone has their issues, and everyone deals with them differently. Jungkook thinks that avoiding his problems is the best option out there.

aka

Jeon Jungkook is the newest patient at the Omelas Specialized Psychiatric Clinic, and he just wants to get in and out as quickly as possible so that he can go back to university and be with his friends again. Of course, that doesn't work out according to his plan.

also! this idea came out of nowhere and i kinda just ran with it. we'll see where it takes us! lemme know if you like it and if you'd like to see it continue! also, i am very curious as to what you think each person has in terms of disorders, if you have any idea thus far! i really only insinuated it with three or four people, but i'm very curious about what you guys think so let me know below!

Note: please know that nothing in this story is meant to be a glamorization of any disorder, this is meant to be a real approach and depiction of these things, and i did a LOT of research prior to writing this about every disorder mentioned so that i was careful about what i wrote about each one. I am trying to be as knowledgeable as possible in terms of the content written within this story. I do not intend to glamorize any disorder within this story whatsoever.

Again, as I mentioned earlier, I did a lot of in-depth research before writing this work, and I continue to do more research with every chapter I post. I truly try to be as accurate as I possibly can by reading articles, watching videos, and doing other medical research in order to write this with as much knowledge as I can. The last thing I want to do is incorrectly depict something as serious as a mental or emotional disorder.

That being said, some things contained within the story are altered or distorted from the truth, including the nature of the clinic the story is based in for the purpose of plot and characters. Note that I am not a psychologist, psychiatrist, or anything close to either of those things and that this is a work of fiction at the end of the day.

Chapter:

1 | 2

...

Finding Beauty in Your Darkest Places

Chapter 1: Jeon Jungkook?

The white room suffocates him. Of all places to be, this would be the last on his list, because he knows that behind the white door with the small rectangular window lies a number of unknowns. They know he hates the unknown, despises it and fears it with every fiber in his being, yet they still throw him to the wolves like this? It was supposed to be a warning, a mere threat, but now he’s sitting here in this cushionless white chair alone. One duffel bag in the seat beside him and nothing else.

“Jeon Jungkook?”

He lifts his head at the sound of his name, a crisp voice calling it out through the stiff silence of the whiteness around him. The door he has been dreading since he set foot in here now lies open, a young woman—you, L/N Y/N, he would later find out—in the frame, wearing clothes he would not have expected a nurse to wear. Also behind the door, however, is a man who seems quite a bit older than you, and he bears the pale blue scrubs Jungkook was expecting to see. The man sends Jungkook’s heart through his stomach, but the cold stare of the you imbues a strange sense of dread. He stands up, trying to ignore how his legs quiver as he does, and wipes his palms against the fabric of his grey drawstring sweatpants. You tap your foot against the white tile floor, piercing eyes glancing over his form, then place a hand on your hip.

“I’m assuming that’s you, since your voice doesn’t seem to work?” Jungkook chokes on his breath.

“Y-Yes, sorry, um, yes. I’m the new patient?” He balls the fabric of his pants into his fist.

“I know that. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be saying your name.” Jungkook tries to blink away the stinging sensation in his eyes and bites down hard on his lower lip. This is exactly what I was afraid of. “Relax, kid. I’m messing with you.” Your voice softens, and when Jungkook dares to bring his gaze back to you, you wear a more sympathetic and relaxed expression. “That’s how they treated me when I got here, but having been in your shoes, I know how hard it is. We’ll have to check your bag and belongings before I take you in, okay?” You walk closer to him, tapping your nails against a wooden clipboard. You blink at Jungkook as though waiting for something. “Permission granted?” Comes the question when he still says nothing.

“Oh, yes! Yes, sorry, I didn’t think you would ask,” Jungkook says, before adding hastily, “for permission, that is.”

“Right, gotcha. I’ll let him—” you motion over your shoulder to the man dressed in scrubs “—pat you down since you seem...nervous. Ah, right, he hates introducing himself, but that Nurse Kang. He doesn’t like being called anything other than that.” You drop your clipboard on the chair beside his duffel bag, and Jungkook shifts his gaze from you to the nurse — Nurse Kang, that is.

“Um…”

“The pat downs are part of protocol, so no, you can’t avoid it. But you should at least know his name before he basically feels you up.” You slide a coy smirk Jungkook’s way. The heat rises up his neck before he knows it, and you laugh at the expression on his face, whatever it may be.

“Stand over here, arms straight out.” He does as asked, facing Nurse Kang as the man searches his pockets for anything out of the ordinary. “Turn around.” When Jungkook faces you, your eyes watch him instead of the duffel bag in the chair. Well, to be more specific, you are analyzing Nurse Kang as he does his work. “No drawstrings, kid.”

“Huh?”

“You’ll have to take the drawstring of your sweatpants out,” you explain, finally turning towards his duffel bag. “The clinic doesn’t allow any object that could be a potential harm to any of the patients inside. Out of courtesy for your fellow patients and insurance of the utmost safety for all people within the clinic, you are asked to remove any such object from your being prior to entering the premises.” You speak with a cadence, a playful one, as though you’ve heard the statements a thousand times.

“Anything can be used as a weapon,” Jungkook argues. You spin on your heel, sending a pointed look at him, and shake your head. The playful gleam drops from your eyes, leaving Jungkook to stare into a cold brown color.

“If I were you, I would avoid saying anything like that once we’re inside. You have to understand this: the people inside have different issues, different brains, different wirings to their mentalities and emotions. Even saying something as simple as that could be a potential trigger for them, and it is highly recommended that you keep your mouth shut for the first few days so you can learn about your fellow patients. Safety is the most important thing here, then comes recovery. Understood?” He wouldn’t imagine arguing again when you’re speaking in such a serious tone.

“Yes ma’am.” Jungkook starts yanking his drawstring out, sighing as he does so because dammit these were brand new pants.

“Oof, no, don’t call me that. It’s weird, okay?” You cringe as though your whole body detests the word. “Pretty sure we’re close in age, I might even be older. I don’t know: I’m not allowed to see your file.” Jungkook places the drawstring in Nurse Kang’s awaiting hand with a huff.

“You’re good to go. Miss L/N, you’ll bring him in when you finish?”

“Yes, yes, I will.”

“You know the rules.”

“I’m not going to harass anyone, Kang.” You plaster a grin onto your lips as you face the nurse, who bristles at the way you say his name. “I’ll follow the rules. I’ve been here long enough to know them by heart. Besides, why on earth would I try anything with the receptionist right there?” You point at the lady behind a glass barrier that Jungkook spoke to when he came in initially. Nurse Kang rolls his eyes at your attitude. “See you later, Nurse Kang!” He ignores your pestering in favor of leaving through the door he came in, dropping Jungkook’s drawstring in the trash as he goes.

“What did he mean by that?”

“By what? The rules? The doctors were supposed to go over those when your parents agreed to ditch you here.” Jungkook opens and closes his mouth. “Sorry, was that insensitive?”

“No, I mean, yes kinda, but that wasn’t my question. Why does he have to ask if you know the rules?” You pick up Jungkook’s duffel, tossing it at his chest with no shortage of force. He coughs when it pegs him but catches it nonetheless. “What was that for?”

“For asking too many questions, newbie. Another thing you should know: don’t ask other patients about anything personal without asking if you have permission to do so or if they tell you themselves. Common courtesy of the clinic.” You snatch your clipboard off the chair, scribbling something on the paper there. Jungkook blinks at you again, examining your outfit of sweatpants (also without their drawstring) and a t-shirt.

“May I ask you a question then?”

“Depends on what it is.”

“What are you?” He inquires, and you scoff.

“Human, what are you?” You squint at Jungkook. When he shows no signs of laughing or even slight amusement, you purse your lips. “I, like you, am a patient. I’m not a nurse, and that’s why I don’t have permission to look at your files, so I don’t know what you have or how old you are, your tragic backstory — I know nothing except your name. Is that all you want to know?”

“If you’re a patient, then why are you doing this and not someone like Nurse Kang?”

“Because, Jungkookie — can I call you that?” You interrupt yourself with a smile.

“Um, no?” He denies, even though he suspects you’re going to call him that no matter what.

“Anyways, the clinic is special and unique for many reasons. One of those reasons is that it allows patients to pursue and do things that make patients feel less like prisoners and more like people. This includes helping induct new patients since it’s simple, easy work. So, I get to do fun stuff like this, and it’s best if patients give the clinic tours because we know all the secrets and best places in the clinic. You’ll learn more as you get settled in, and things will start making more sense in time. For now, why don’t you follow me, and I’ll show you around a bit before a nurse comes to snatch you away?”

“Please tell me that’s a joke,” Jungkook requests as he trails after you. He has never set foot on the other side of that white door with the barred window. All his previous visits consisted of staying in the waiting room or in the head doctor’s office, which is outside the area to which he heads now.

“Haha, of course it’s a joke, Jungkookie. Do you not have a sense of humor?”

“Apparently not one as morbid as yours,” he mutters under his breath. If you hear the comment, Jungkook doesn’t know because you make zero acknowledgement of it. Instead, you wait for him to cross through the threshold of the door, then let it fall shut with an echoing thud. Chills go up his spine as soon as it slams, the air around him dropping in temperature. You must notice the expression of discomfort that crosses his features, because you start up another conversation.

“Have you ever been to a clinic before?” The newfound warmth in your tone eases some of the anxiety growing in Jungkook’s gut.

“Uh, yes. Actually I’ve been to three others before this,” he admits, eyes trailing along the walls of white on either side of them. The confession causes his cheeks to burn with shame, as though the notion that three other doctors and inpatient facilities couldn’t help him is his guilt to bear. You motion towards the hallway, and he falls into step beside you.

“Wow, only three? How old are you then? Must be young if that’s the case.” Jungkook exhales a laugh, not out of amusement, rather out of disbelief. He welcomes your sudden desire to comfort him and make him feel more at ease.

“I’m turning 21 this year. I, uh, had to drop out of university for this, so I’m kind of hoping it’ll be my last one.”

“Damn, Jungkookie, here I thought you were younger than me.” Jungkook tilts his head to the side, glancing at you with mouth open and ready to ask the question of your age, but you cut him off before he can even begin to speak. “Anyways, what’re you in for?”

“Pardon?” The question catches him off guard in the worst way. Clenching his fists, he fights the sensation of tingling that starts on the left sigh of his head and trickles downwards. “What do you mean?” The rapid pace of his breath interferes with the words, and even with the chilly temperature, he senses a bead of sweat forming on his temple.

“Oh, hey, hey, sorry for asking. You good?”

“I’m fine!” he insists, although the white walls blend into one mass, and you turn into two people as his eyes start losing focus. Dammit not now. Get a grip. Can’t do this already, cmon.

“Right…” You don’t push the topic, which Jungkook supposes he should be grateful for, but it sends his brain further into a frenzy and convinces him that he has to justify his reaction.

“It’s anxiety, I’ve got anxiety. That’s all though.” You hum then click your tongue against the roof of your mouth. A pop resounds through the hallway. You stop walking to squint at Jungkook. He fidgets under your gaze, unsure as to what your reaction is supposed to mean.

“Bull—” you poke his shoulder with your index finger “—shit. Do you know the name of this clinic, Jungkookie?”

“Um, yes, it’s the Omelas Specialized Psychiatric Ward.”

“Exactly, and do you know what kind of patients Omelas takes?”

“Ones that need inpatient treatment?”

“Incorrect.” You tap his arm again, this time with much less force. “This is a specialized psychiatric clinic, meaning that any and all patients are admitted here because they have more than one disorder. So, that means that there is no way you can be here unless there are other things you’re dealing with.” Jungkook clears his throat. “I’m not saying this to be mean, Jungkook, and unless you’re a pathological liar, it would be best if you stick to telling the truth. If you want out any time soon, then honesty really is the best policy here.”

“Okay, I understand.”

“By the way, I have a question.” You take a step back, eyes lighting up.

“Please don’t ask about my disorder again,” he pleads, close to begging at this point because his heart rate still hasn’t returned to normal.

“No, no, no. I won’t ask again. Next time we talk about it will be because you want to, deal? That’s not what I want though. Um, do you have any cigarettes?” He almost thinks you’re joking and laughs aloud, but you blink up at him with a deadpan expression. Zero shame or embarrassment. He swallows, eyes narrowing, and hesitantly asks,

“Is this another one of your jokes?”

“No, I’m being serious this time.”

“I don’t have any cigarettes.”

“Vape pens? E-cigarettes?”

“No and no. All of those are bad for your lungs and health.”

“Oh great, that sounds too familiar.” You rub your forehead. “The last thing we need is another Yoongi.”

“Another who?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Miss L/N, you’re late to your appointment!” You and Jungkook both look down the hall where a woman in a set of blue scrubs stands, hands curled into fists and pressed against her sides. “How many times do we need to have this conversation? I said 9:00 sharp!”

“You said that would be tomorrow because of the new patient? I don’t have an appointment scheduled for today.” You shake your head, disbelief shining through your eyes as you confront the nurse across from you.

“Incorrect, Miss L/N. Plans changed. Need I remind you again?”

“Ah, you know how it is, Nurse Irene.” You maintain a smile even in the face of the nurse’s frustration, tapping your temple as though sharing some secret information with the woman. “I’ll head that way right now though. Please take care of Jungkookie for me, Nurse Irene!” You don’t stop to say goodbye to him; instead, you walk down the hallway and out of sight without another word, and once again, Jungkook finds himself alone with another unfamiliar face.

“You must be the new patient?” Nurse Irene asks, meeting Jungkook halfway down the hall. He nods in response, shifting his grip on the duffel bag, and keeps his gaze glued to the floor. “Well, I have a patient to tend to, but I will take you to someone who can show you around before I go. Follow me.” Doing as asked, he walks behind her, watching her short black heels click against the tile. “Did Miss L/N explain the basic rules within the clinic?”

“Um, no, but I heard most of it when my parents and I met with Dr. Choi.”

“Well that’s good, at least. I’ll explain some of the basics, and then I’ll leave the rest to your fellow patients. They can help you figure out the rules that aren’t so important, but must be adhered to nonetheless.” The stiff and cold tone brings a scowl to Jungkook’s lips that he hides from the nurse by scratching his nose. “Understood, Mr. Jeon?”

“Yes,” he replies.

“Yes what?”

“Yes ma’am.” The words hiss between his teeth, whistling through the air and leaving all the contempt and bitterness there for Nurse Irene to hear.

“Good. Now as for basic rules, here are just a few. You are not allowed to leave the building unattended unless showing high improvement in terms of your condition. Even if you do show high improvement and have approval from a specified staff member, you are not allowed to leave alone, meaning that another patient — also approved — must go with you. Otherwise, you can leave the clinic if accompanied by an assigned nurse. The number of times you can leave all depends on your condition and improvement. You must already know, but family members can visit once a week if they so desire, as long as it falls on a Sunday. All phones call must be monitored. You are free to walk around the clinic as you wish, but there will be certain areas that you may not have access to. This includes treatment rooms, meeting rooms, and other patients’ bedrooms. Questions thus far?” Jungkook lifts his chin at last, finding the surroundings to be quite different now that they are no longer in the long hallway.

“No questions, ma’am.” He peers around the open area, and the cloistering sensation of a typical psychiatric clinic breaks into his mind. The tingling of some unknown melody touches his ears, and for a second, Jungkook thinks he really must be going insane because he can’t find the source of it. The white on the walls has faded to grey but remains dull and monotonous still. If not for the color and the overwhelming steel bars over the windows, Jungkook would guess he’s in some person’s home, what with the couches and chairs strewn about. Tables that seat four, six, eight — the room, although large, leaves a boxed-in sort of feeling in Jungkook’s stomach. Despite all the available seating, no one fills a single place.

“This is our recreational living area. You have access to this area all hours between curfew. You can do whatever you like here. We have board games, card games, puzzles, books, magazines, and many other things. If none of that is your cup of tea, I’ll show you to our other amenities. If you look out this window as we pass, you’ll see we have a full basketball court for when you need fresh air. Then on our left, you’ll see our entertainment room, which includes TVs, game consoles, a piano, and two acoustic guitars. Oh, and one of your fellow patients happens to be here too.” Jungkook leans through the door frame, scanning the room, and finds the source of the unknown melody. There, sitting at the piano Nurse Irene mentioned, is a man whom Jungkook can only see the back of and whose black haired stands out in sharp contrast to the pale tone of his skin. Nurse Irene keeps walking, but Jungkook hesitates there, the melody transfixing him and holding him to his spot. The right hand of the player pauses in the air, and he tilts his head towards the door. Panicking, Jungkook ducks away and hurries after Nurse Irene before the man can catch sight of him.

“Now, to continue with our rules, Mr. Jeon, you should know that you will have a daily schedule that will include your medications, appointments, and any sort of group activities. Other than those things, you are free to do as you please around the clinic. Curfew is 11:00, meaning you must be back in your room by then. Breaching curfew will result in undisclosed punishment.”

“What the hell…” Jungkook whispers to himself. He speaks up a moment later, curiosity biting at the edges of his thoughts. “Um, Nurse Irene? How long do patients typically stay?”

“That all depends on the patient, Mr. Jeon. Usually, no one leaves in less than a year because of a willingness and a drive to continue treatment. Although rare, we have had patients leave in less than a year, but I wouldn’t say that they were fully treated when they decided to leave. Some, of course, do not put effort into getting better or improving, so they end up staying a long time. Others suffer greatly and tend to struggle with progress because of the combination of their disorders. We currently have two patients who have been here for almost six years now, but that’s the longest anyone has stayed.” Nurse Irene’s voice drops in volume. Her previously cold expression alters, morphing into a frown along with downcast eyes.

“Who are they?”

“That information is not my business to disclose. If you wish to know, then you may ask the other patients. Do keep in mind that it can be a sensitive subject. Those two patients have seen people come and go for six years, making friends only to have them leave later. It’s not easy.” Jungkook nods, finished with his questioning. Over a year? I’ll be so behind in my classes by then. Yugyeom and Mingyu will have moved up by then and I won’t be able to have classes needed for my major with them if that’s the case...God, am I gonna lose my life and my friends? He presses the heel of his hand to the spot between his eyes where a piercing pain arises. Nurse Irene just keeps walking and talking without a clue.

“We offer classes for all patients, seeing as most of our patients are at an age where they will be missing some form of school. You are not required to go to any, but we do recommend it. We’ve reached our last amenity, and this is where I will leave you. It’s our library and reading area. You’ll have access to all the books here and can take them out of the reading area so long as you check them out before you leave. Go ahead and follow me in, but give me a moment to speak to the patient inside.” The blue of Nurse Irene stands out now against the dark, rich brown of the bookcases that line the walls, as opposed to earlier where the grey and blue blended together. Jungkook takes in a sharp inhale at the sight of all the books. He should feel claustrophobic here, yet he finds himself more intrigued by the person within the library.

Though sitting down, Jungkook can tell that the man is tall based upon his long legs and how his head stands only a few centimeters shorter than the back of the chair. He seems well put together at first glance, certainly not someone Jungkook would expect to see in a place like this. When Nurse Irene clears her throat to announce her presence, the man looks up, a pair of thick framed black glasses over his eyes. The brown of the shelves around him makes his skin seem darker than it is in actuality, but even so, his skin is a deeper tone than most. He reaches for his face and dips a finger through the spot where a lens should be.

“Nurse Irene.”

“Mr. Kim, this is our newest patient—”

“—for whom Y/N is responsible for, correct?” He interrupts. Y/N? I wonder if he means the person who brought me in… Nurse Irene presses her lips into a fine line. “So where is Y/N?”

“Miss L/N is attending a pre-scheduled appointment at the moment. I have a patient to tend to, thus I am leaving the new patient with you so that you can finish showing him around and explaining the rules.” Pre-scheduled? That isn’t what Y/N said… The click of the nurse’s heel reaches Jungkook’s ear as she taps her foot against the floor. “I’m going to assume that you have no complaints and will do as asked. Thank you, Mr. Kim.” She turns on her heel as the man stands up, setting his book on the seat behind him.

“Of course, Nurse Irene.”

The nurse brushes past Jungkook as she rushes out the door. He watches her walk around the corner and disappear before bringing his focus back to the library. The man — perhaps not much older than Jungkook himself — wears a similar set of sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt, which gives Jungkook the idea that it must be a common outfit among patients here.

“Hello, you must be Jeon Jungkook? Y/N mentioned your name a few times.” He cocks his head to the side. The swell of panic rises in Jungkook’s gut, his throat threatening to collapse on itself before he gets a chance to speak. What had you said about him? What do you even know about him? “Don’t look so stressed, please. She just told me your name and that you’re the newest patient. I’m Kim Namjoon, one of your fellow patients.” The man extends his right hand. Jungkook blinks between the outstretched arm and Namjoon’s face, finding a soft grin on his full lips. The stark contrast between your greeting and Namjoon’s hits hard, but rather than inciting a sense of panic, Namjoon’s smile allows his heart to calm a bit. Jungkook grabs hold of Namjoon’s hand with his own trembling one. He attempts to hide all the signs of panic overwhelming his being by grinning back, but based on how strained and awkward it feels, he’s not sure he did a good job of concealing it. “I hope Y/N wasn’t too cruel to you. She lacks a filter sometimes and will say whatever comes to mind.”

“No, no, she was fine. I was a bit surprised and don’t do too well with new people, so…” Jungkook trails off, unsure of what to say because he would rather not throw you under the bus in front of Namjoon. The grin shifts into a slight scowl. Panic arises, and Jungkook tries to justify his words, but Namjoon speaks before he has the chance.

“She was mean, wasn’t she?”

“No! I promise she wasn’t.”

“Was it her humor? She thinks she’s funny, but honestly, her jokes are pretty much solely insensitive.”

��No—I—she’s hilarious.”

“Oh god, did she make you say that?”

“No, no, I—” Jungkook cuts himself off, a huff of air passing through his open mouth, “—I was trying to be nice, that’s all.” The smile returns to Namjoon’s features, a slight half turn to one side of his lips.

“You don’t have to do that. I won’t be offended if you admit that she was a little rude, because I know how she is. We can keep it between us though; she might get salty if I call her out for acting that way.” A heavy hands falls onto Jungkook’s shoulder, and he brings his chin up to look at Namjoon. “It may be a bit difficult to adjust at first, but I genuinely believe that you’ll enjoy it here, place and people both. Come on, I’ll finish showing you around and introduce you to some other patients.”

“Thank you,” he mumbles, bringing his bag to his chest and keeping it in a tight grip there. “Would it be alright if I asked you a few questions?” Namjoon laughs upon hearing the question. He motions for Jungkook to follow him out the door and responds once they’re back in the white hallway.

“Let me guess: Y/N told you not to inquire about anybody’s past or issues.” Jungkook shifts under the stare Namjoon directs at him, then offers a small nod to confirm his assumption. “Well, I am more of an open book than she is, so I’d be willing to tell you a bit about myself, if that’s what you are interested in. Otherwise, I can answer whatever questions you have about the clinic.”

“Well, all of that sounds nice actually, but I don’t want to pry or try to snoop around anyone’s personal life.”

Namjoon hums, hands pressed into the pockets of his sweatpants, then speaks, “Kim Namjoon. Age 23. Born September 12th. Majored in writing and literature at an online university. I read a lot, but I spend most of my free time writing and composing music. Hidden passion of mine. Good?”

“Um, y-yea.”

“How about you tell me a bit about yourself while we walk around? I’m assuming Irene showed you most of the amenities and such already, so we can simply wander in search of other patients for the time being.” The lump in Jungkook’s throat swells further, and despite not having any food in his stomach, the contents there still threaten to spill forth onto the squeaky clean floor. The overwhelming focus on him and his life sends waves of distress over his body. Brushing a few strands of wavy hair off his damp forehead, he clears his throat as though it’ll change the panic rushing through him.

“Ha, uh, well you already know a lot a-about me. Jeon Jungkook. 20 years old. Born Sep-September 1st. Yea, that’s all.” Namjoon sighs, refusing to elaborate on his thoughts about the response Jungkook gave. Does he think I’m weird or crazy? Probably crazy...can’t even function in a normal conversation. Dumb, stupid, idiot. Cmon Jungkook. Get it together. “So, uh, the nurses—do they all act like Nurse Irene?”

“Oh?” The question must catch Namjoon off guard, but he doesn’t reveal it with his expression. “No, not all of them. Irene prefers to have perfect control over everything here in the clinic. The other nurses and patients try to steer clear of her because of that. Not all of them are as bitchy and commanding as she is, but some of us are used to her behavior because we’ve been with her for quite some time.”

“We currently have two patients who have been here for almost six years now, but that’s the longest anyone has stayed.”

“She mentioned that...that two patients have been here for a longer time than anyone else?” Jungkook pushes an inquiry into the end of his statement, the uncertainty surrounding Namjoon’s reaction taking precedence over anything else. “Not that it’s any of m-my business, I’m just—well nevermind.”

“No, she’s right. Two patients have been here for six years. Well, five years and nine months, to be accurate. The identity of those two people isn’t important though. I mean, what good will knowing do?” Namjoon doesn’t care to look at Jungkook, but the younger feels the heat behind the words nonetheless. Blood rushes to his head as embarrassment takes over, and he regrets introducing the topic.

“Sorry, you’re right. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“One thing to know about your fellow patients: people talk when they want to and when they feel secure in a situation or a relationship with someone. I haven’t asked you about why you’re here in the first place, have I?”

“No.”

“I’m grateful you haven’t asked me that question either, but even if an inquiry seems harmless, it could prove uncomfortable or disconcerting to another person. We have to watch our words with great caution around here. It took me a long time to get into that habit. Y/N struggles with that concept too, but I would advise not learning from her.”

“I understand.”

“You don’t have to treat me like a nurse and answer with such rigidity. I’m just trying to look out for you. I know how hard it is to adjust to this kind of situation and lifestyle, so it would be incredible if I could make it a bit easier for you to handle.” Warmth strikes Jungkook, and he blinks up at Namjoon, who smiles with his dark brown eyes more than his lips. “Why do you seem so shocked?”

“To be honest, I wasn’t expecting much from anyone here, nurses or patients or doctors. The previous clinics and inpatient facilities I’ve been to...no one was like you. Everyone was there for themselves, and they didn’t who they had to step on to get out the quickest. I didn’t make friends in any of those clinics, because no one wanted that. Personal relationships were a completely separate entity.” The rant spills from his lips without thought, inhibitions leaving him in that brief moment before they rush back like a tide. Jungkook presses his chin against the top of his duffel bag, still maintaining the tight clutch he has on it.

“Even if some here seem a little rough at first, you’ll find that they all care about the people around them, no matter who they are or how new they are. Y/N too, she just...well, I don't know what excuse to give for her, but she’ll come around.”

“How many patients are here? Dr. Choi never mentioned it when we met.”

“Fourteen, now fifteen with you here. The nurses always say that they don’t want to exceed twenty patients at a time, since that would take away from treatment possibilities, so I guess we have a rather small clinic. I can’t compare it to another clinic; this is the only one I’ve been to, but I’ve read articles on other inpatient facilities. We’re rather lucky to have Omelas. It focuses on quality of life for the patients, which I’m not sure is the focus for other ones.” It’s not, Jungkook thinks. He opts not to vocalize what is on his mind, however, finding comfort in his own silence. The ease of listening to Namjoon talk is something new to him, but it calms some of the anxiety threatening to choke him still. “You mentioned that you’ve been to other clinics. Would it be alright if I asked how many?” Jungkook keeps staring ahead of him as they round a corner. The tinkling of music hits his ears again.

“Three. None of them were great, and two were overcrowded with patients who just dealt drugs and swapped medications right under the nurses’ noses. I’m hoping for a better experience here.”

“I promise Omelas will be better than that. We already beat out two of those clinics, right?” A huff of air passes through Jungkook’s lips. Namjoon pauses his movements outside the entertainment room Jungkook saw earlier, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the person inside. “Ah, we better not interrupt.” Namjoon clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, the pop echoing through the hall, and motions for Jungkook to keep moving. “You’ve already seen this part right? What about the kitchen and eating areas?”

“Nurse Irene didn’t show me that part. Um, who was that playing the piano?” Jungkook jogs to keep up with Namjoon’s long legs and quick feet.

“Him? He's another patient, Min Yoongi.”

“The last thing we need is another Yoongi.” The words you spoke to him earlier ring in his head, and Jungkook does a double take, whipping his chin back to catch a glance of the man at the piano one more time.

“Not to pry, but is there some sort of bad blood between him and Y/N?”

“I swear, kid, every time you say “not to pry”, you pry.”

“S-Sorry, nevermind, um we can change the subject.”

“No, it’s okay. As far as I’m aware, there is no bad blood there, and there’s never been.”

But the way Y/N talked about him...Y/N sounded annoyed. I guess it’s none of my business though.

“Hey, Joon!” Jungkook snaps his attention forward, a surge of cold rushing through his body at the sound of a new voice.

“Mingyu!”

Mingyu? The stupidity of Jungkook’s hope is laughable, because how on earth would his friend be here of all places? And how would Namjoon know him? No, the face before him shares no resemblance to the person Jungkook knows so well. His hope dissipates as quickly as it came, leaving him with an empty sensation.

“Jungkook, meet Mingyu and Yesung, they’re patients here too. Guys, meet Jungkook.” Jungkook presses his lips into a thin smile as he looks at the two newcomers. One, a tall man with lengthy limbs, cradles a basketball under his arm, and a few droplets of sweat cling to the strands of hair across his forehead. The other stands a bit shorter than his companion but shares in the sweat on his brow, chest heaving a bit.

“Hey, you must be the newbie.” The one carrying the basketball sticks a hand out for him to shake, and Jungkook takes his hand, trying to match the force of the handshake. “I’m Mingyu. Sorry we aren’t in peak condition to be introducing ourselves; we were just out playing a one on one match at the court. Yesung here thinks he won.” Mingyu shares a lopsided grin with the person next to him.

“I did win, fool.”

“Oh ha ha, we’ve got a cocky one over here.”

“Respect your elders, Mingyu,” Namjoon cuts in, a laugh trailing after the words.

“Yea yea, I know. Say, Jungkook, you don’t happen to play basketball, do you?” Mingyu tilts his head to the side, a smirk playing at his lips as he shifts his grip on the basketball.

“Uh, I-I used to in middle school.”

“You ought to join us for some matches. I mean, you seem like someone who works out a lot.” Something constricts in Jungkook’s chest. He squeezes his bag closer to his body, fighting the chill that runs down his spine, and clears his throat. He doesn’t dare speak again, because he’s certain that if he attempts to do so, anything that comes out will be garbled nonsense and embarrass him further. Instead, he forces a few nods to Mingyu’s satisfaction. “Well, see you around, newbie. Take good care of him, Joon.” Mingyu slides around Jungkook, shoulder bumping against his right one, but Jungkook blocks the brunt of the hit by pushing back. Air rushes through Mingyu’s cracked lips, a noise akin to a laugh seeps out, and he says one more thing in passing before disappearing around the corner. “Wouldn’t want to lose anyone again, would we?” The question means nothing to Jungkook, but he catches the way Namjoon stiffens, his spine straightening as he glares over his shoulder at the man who leaves. What happened? What did he mean by that, and why on earth did it make Namjoon so upset?

“Don’t let him bother you too much,” Namjoon says after a heave of breath. He rubs the skin on either side of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. “Disrespectful kid with too big a head on his shoulders. He’s always been like that.”

“That’s the kind of attitude I’m used to honestly.” Jungkook shrugs, hoping that Namjoon drops the topic. He does, and Jungkook thanks him silently before they move on, leaving the incident in the hall behind them.

“Here we are.”

The area bleeds white, causing the people who occupy it to stand out even more. Jungkook looks to his right first because the people catch his eye more than the contents of the room. Conversation ceases, eyes find Namjoon and Jungkook, silence envelopes the circular table where four people sit. There are three similar tables staggered nearby, all sharing six similar plastic chairs. Namjoon redirects his attention by placing a hand on his shoulder, and he tugs him to the left rather than going towards the table full of people.

“You should have access to the kitchen at all times, unless the nurses tell you otherwise, but the staff prepares meals for everyone three times a day. The main purpose of this is for patients to be able to prepare snacks and stuff when they need to since meal times are set in stone. Typical kitchen utilities: oven, microwave, stove, fridge, toaster. You can sit at the bar counter at any time, unless we’re all having a meal, then everyone has to sit at a table.” Namjoon motions over the counter. The group of people who sit at the table closest to the counter maintain their stares on Jungkook, curious eyes driving a churning sensation to his gut. “And you get to meet even more patients. You must be lucky; most of the time, everyone is spread out and hard to find.”

“I wouldn’t call myself lucky,” Jungkook mumbles, turning his head so that only Namjoon can see his lips move.

“I’ll try to make it easy for you,” he replies, “I promise. Hey guys!”

“Hi Namjoon!” A boxy grin and crescent eyes fill Jungkook’s visions as one of the people jumps forward, leaning across the table to get a better look at Jungkook. “You must be the new patient. I got so excited when I heard we were getting someone new, and even more excited after they told me that we would be roommates!”

“Uh, this is—”

“Taehyung! Kim Taehyung, age 21. This is going to be my fourth year here at the clinic, and they tell me that’s because I get too distracted with other stuff instead of focusing on my treatment. And you?” The barrage of information throws Jungkook for a loop, and he struggles to follow along with the speed at which Taehyung is speaking. He blinks at the older man for a few seconds after he finishes speaking. Namjoon saves the day and steps between Jungkook and the counter, blocking Taehyung’s line of sight.

“Tae…”

“Oh! I forgot again. You always remind me, but this happens every time doesn’t it? I’m sorry! I got too excited because I finally get to meet my new roommate.” Taehyung backs away from the counter, teeth digging into his lower lip as he hangs his head and takes a seat again.

“Tae, could you please introduce the others for me?” Namjoon’s words flip a switch in Taehyung’s demeanor, and the man straightens in his seat, the rectangular grin returning to his lips in the blink of an eye.

“Sure! I’d love to! This is my best friend, Jimin, Park Jimin—” Jungkook only notices the hunched over man when Taehyung leans out of the way, and he offers a small wave in greeting, which Jimin returns without looking him in the eye “—who’s the same age as me. Then this girl with the short hair is Eunbi, and the other girl with longer hair is Miyeon.” Jungkook passes a similar way to both the girls. Eunbi returns the gesture with much gusto and a broad smile that flashes her teeth, whereas Miyeon nods at him.

“Hi! Welcome to the clinic,” Eunbi beams from her seat. “I hope you enjoy it here. I know it’s difficult to transition into a place like this, but if you need any help, feel free to ask!”

“Thanks,” Jungkook mutters in response, swallowing after he speaks, and the sound that follows seems so loud that he worries everyone heard it. “My name’s Jungkook. It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

“Jungkook?” Taehyung’s eyebrows shoot up, and he glances between Jungkook and Namjoon. “Are you the one Y/N was supposed to help earlier this morning? If she was supposed to show you around and stuff, then...where is she?”

“Nurse Irene mentioned an appointment? I’m not quite sure though.” Namjoon folds his arms over his chest then shrugs.

“Appointment?”

“Um, the nurse—Nurse I-Irene—she told Y/N to go to an appointment before she could show me around.”

“No, no, no. That’s not right.” Jungkook draws his lower lip between his teeth, unsure what to say in response to Taehyung’s denial. “No, Y/N wasn’t supposed to have any appointments today. She even asked me yesterday to remind her that it had been moved. It’s supposed to be tomorrow, that’s when it was moved to.”

“Probably a last minute appointment then,” Namjoon reasons.

“She’s been doing well. There shouldn’t be any last minute appointments.”

“You can ask her when you see her later. Now, have you guys seen anyone else around?”

“I saw Chaeyoung go to an appointment,” Eunbi answers, pressing her elbows against the table. “Um, Hyewon was in the entertainment room earlier with Yoongi, but I didn’t see anyone else.”

“Ah, well, I guess you’ll have to do with not meeting everyone yet, Jungkook. You can meet the rest at lunch or dinner if they show up. Sometimes appointments and meetings cut into eating hours.”

“Jungkook, do you want me to show you the room? Since we’ll be roommates, that is? I can show you where it is and which bed is yours, if-if you want.” Taehyung fidgets in his seat and pressed his hands under his legs. Jungkook hesitates, unsure of what to do, but Namjoon nudges him with his elbow as though to encourage him to go along with it.

“S-Sure, yea, sure. That sounds good. I’d like that,” he rambles. His agreement pleases Taehyung though, because the man abandons the plate of crackers in front of him in favor of joining Jungkook in the kitchen and tugging on his arm.

“Cool! The nurses spent most of the morning cleaning it and making it perfect for the new patient, I mean, for you, since you are the new patient. They even woke me up early to start cleaning. I bet they’re almost done by now! Cmon, I’ll show you the way.” Before Taehyung has the chance to pull Jungkook away, the younger shares a glance with Namjoon.

“I’m gonna chill with Yoongi in the entertainment room for a bit. I’ll be back later to help you out if you need me, Jungkook.”

“Ah, thanks.”

Jungkook follows Taehyung as best he can without being dragged along, and once they reach another long hallway, Taehyung releases his arm.

“By the way, how old are you? I’d say you seem a bit younger than me, but I’m terrible at guessing age. Most people here are younger than Jimin and me.”

“I’m 20, turning 21 this year.”

“Wow, I was right! You are younger, although not much.” Taehyung links his hands behind his back, nodding as he laughs to himself. “So, since we’re gonna be roommates, we should maybe get to know each other a bit?” Jungkook stops breathing for a moment, fearing the worst out of Taehyung’s inquiries. “What kind of things do you like to do in your free time?” An exhale of relief follows Taehyung’s question, and Jungkook lets a relieved smile cover his lips before answering with a bit more ease to his speech.

“When I was at university, I majored in film studies and had a minor in music. I played lots of intramural sports on the side, anything from swimming to wrestling, just for the hell of it.”

“What a coincidence! I majored in film studies before leaving for treatment.” Taehyung laughs, eyes disappearing behind his eyelids as he grins, and Jungkook can’t help but to laugh back, if only because he’s grateful that he’s found someone similar to him here. “I’m glad we have something in common. That’ll give us lots to talk about whenever we have down time!”

“Yea...I’d like that.”

Taehyung points to his right all the sudden, making an indiscernible noise as he does.

“This is our room! Hehe, “our”, that sounds weird to say. I’ve never had a roommate in all the time that I’ve been here. The nurses are still tidying up, I guess.” Taehyung leads the way into the bedroom that vaguely resembles a hospital room. In fact, Jungkook would be willing to bet that the modeling of the room was taken directly from a hospital, because the layout so closely resembles one now that he stands inside it. “Hey, where’s my bear?” Jungkook quits looking around the room, redirecting his attention towards Taehyung, whose smile has fallen. It takes a moment for him to realize that Taehyung isn’t talking to him but the two nurses near the beds.

“What do you mean, Mr. Kim?” One steps forward, her heels clicking against the floor much like Nurse Irene’s did earlier.

“The bear. My bear. The stuffed bear that I always keep on my bed. It’s from someone important to me. I know it was there before I left the room earlier. I checked fifteen times, because I had to keep resituating him!” Taehyung’s voice climbs in volume, and Jungkook recognizes the descent into panic as his chest begins to rise and fall with accelerating speed.

“I don’t recall seeing it,” the other nurse explains, keeping his voice at a steady medium in the face of Taehyung’s loud one. “We might’ve taken it when we stripped the beds and cleaned them. It might be in the laundry room.”

“No!” Taehyung steps forward, about to get in the face of the male nurse. “You have to find it now! Immediately! You have to!”

“Mr. Kim, please—”

“Please, it’s important and special and I need it. I need it. I have to have it.”

“I understand that, Mr. Kim, but I need you to listen to me right now. Let’s calm down a bit first, okay?”

“No. Nope. Not happening. I am not calming down!” Taehyung pushes the nurse to the side, hands gripping the sheets on the bed in front of him. “You did this wrong too! This isn’t how I do my sheets. I told you before how I like to have my sheets!” He tugs at the white fabric, yanking and pulling in attempts to tear it off the mattress, clueless to the people around him.

“We put everything together in the order that you like and followed your instructions when doing so. It’s all put together the way you like.”

“It’s not. I would know. And you lost the most important thing!” Taehyung releases the sheets to grip his chestnut brown hair instead, tugging at the wavy strands with enough force that Jungkook thinks he might start ripping chunks out. A mirror, just like a mirror.

“Mr. Kim, did you take your pills this morning?

“No, because things weren’t in the right order. I have to take them with the yogurt at the end of my meal, but no one brought yogurt this morning. It makes me antsy, and I can’t take them if it doesn’t follow that order.”

“I understand, Mr. Kim, I understand. Why don’t we go get your pills and some yogurt, have a small meal and talk, then we can go look for your bear? Does that sound good?” Taehyung drops his hands to his side but keeps clenching his fists over and over. Is this some sort of sick joke? Why would they pair the two of us if not for that reason? Of course, one good step forward means ten bad steps back.

“Okay, okay. Yea, I need to calm down and clear my head. Need things to make sense again.” Taehyung swallows roughly, squeezing his eyes shut but they no longer resemble the soft crescent Jungkook noticed when he smiled earlier. The male nurse directs Taehyung out of the room, not acknowledging Jungkook in the slightest. Taehyung doesn’t do anything either, which leaves Jungkook with a bad taste in the back of his mouth and alone in a room with another stranger. The female nurse starts working straight away on fixing the mess Taehyung made of his bed and strips it to the mattress before beginning again. She must notice Jungkook standing by the door in silence, because she speaks to him in a quiet, even tone.

“Your bed will be the one closest to the window. Please know that Mr. Kim might be a bit difficult to live with for a few days, at least until you get to understand him better. We didn’t have another room for you to stay in, Mr. Jeon. This was the best choice.”

Jungkook doesn’t move an inch until the nurse finishes making the bed and walks out the room. Once he is truly alone for the first time, he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from breaking down.

Bag hits the floor with a resounding thud.

Springs creak as he sits on the mattress.

Stiff, sterile scent of fresh linen in the air.

And nothing else.

He blinks at the empty bed across from him, a few wrinkles still visible from where Taehyung tried to tear them off. The speed at which Taehyung flipped from calm to panicked scares Jungkook a bit, despite the fact that he has seen similar things in the wards and clinics he stayed at before. The sight of brightness leaving Taehyung’s eyes and being replaced by something else was new though. Jungkook didn’t spend any time trying to get close to anyone in previous wards, stayed to himself as much as he could aside from group sessions. Taehyung wore a kindness and softness that Jungkook didn’t recognize, but the character that came after the switch flipped was something all too familiar to him.

...

written by: moonlightlino

p.s. i am very curious as to what you think each person has in terms of disorders, if you have any idea thus far! i really only insinuated it with three or four people, but i'm very curious about what you guys think so let me know below! ~(￣▽￣)~*

consider sending me a ko-fi!!

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