#it’s like there’s a brick wall around this thing istg

[mxmade-up]

I did not in fact work on my art project

[sigyns-drafts]

waaa Hades,Buddha, Loki and Poseidon x gn!reader (seperate) who is tired and fell asleep during a meeting and it turned into a cuddle session after they got out of the meeting room.....😭

(I'm sorry I can't be more specific anymore I just want fluff of them :') , also sorry if your request is closed :') but I'm dying for them istg , If you don't write for this many characters you can exclude them! I don't mind! Or even ignore the request, just please stay hydrated and I hope you have a good day <3 )

A/N: Of course anon, I totally get you for wanting more content on your favourite characters, literally the same here!

Apologies it took forever and to everyone requesting! I've been very sick and things kept piling up, but I'm slowly making a return. <3

You described everything I needed to know just right, so please don't be sorry for anything! Thank you for being so caring, I apologise it took me forever. Don't forget to stay hydrated too~♡

Slumber in the Divine Boardroom 💤

➩ You and your divine boyfriend are attending an important meeting, but for whatever reason you find yourself very tired and eventually doze off.

Your boyfriend noticed and what does he do about this? Once everyone is gone turn this into a cuddle session between the two of you of course~

➩ Reader type: Gn!Reader x Hades, Buddha, Loki, Poseidon

⚠: Wholesome fluff, Romantic fluff, a lot of cuddling and nuzzling, teasing and flirting

Hades:

In the dimly lit meeting room located in the underworldly realm of Helheim. 

Hades found himself presiding over yet another gathering together with other formidable figures. 

Y/n, his partner who was only there for moral support like usual, could care less about what they spoke about when the weight of exhaustion and struggle to stay awake hit them like a heavy brick. 

Living with Hades and being his lover, while luxurious, was still a burden to handle at times.

Especially when the god was met with so many constant schedules and tasks he would have to attend and keep up with. 

Much to y/n's dismay, who not only wanted to be there for Hades using their own spare time to follow him around. 

They also wanted to spend time with their beloved king alone, which was a rare occurrence. 

As the talk of afterlife's affairs droned on for hours and the flickering torches cast eerie shadows on the cavernous walls, y/n's sleep deprived state only worsend over time.

Hades, who continued his stern discourse in front of his important guests, took notice in y/n's eyes, closing involuntarily, just across from where he stood. 

He almost felt guilty to have dragged y/n out here when they could have stayed at home resting. But y/n was always so persistent! 

The gentle hum of conversation became a distant murmur as y/n drifted into a peaceful slumber, head resting on the cold, obsidian table.

Eventually the meeting concluded, and the attendees filed out without questioning why Hades's love was asleep, leaving them alone to have their moment of peace. 

Uncharacteristically, a softer expression crossed the lord of the underworld's face as he observed Y/n's serene repose. Hades was pondering if he should wake y/n up but.. Something held him back. 

He gently strokes his hand through y/n's hair, taking it behind their ear before whispering in a low and soft tone to himself, but targeted towards his partner. 

"My precious, already sound asleep when you could have just told me you wanted to stay home today~"

Deciding to not wake up Y/n, Hades carefully summoned a cloak and draped it over them both, creating a makeshift cocoon of warmth to carry his love.

The chilly ambiance of Helheim transformed into a surprisingly cosy haven sometimes, especially when you'd be all cuddled up. 

Hades, normally not the type to do these things, now revealed a gentler side. 

While adjusting Y/n's position to ensure their comfort, the man picks them up with his strong arms. Making sure y/n's head rests nicely and steady on his wide and surprisingly warm shoulder. 

The god allowed himself a rare vulnerability, watching over Y/n with a small grin and a protective gaze.

As the flickering torches cast dancing shadows, the silence enveloped the room, broken only by the tapping of the man's shoes against the stone flooring. 

Hades decided the next best thing to do was to bring y/n back to their chambers and perhaps, even he could take a small rest there to enjoy their solitude a bit more.

Hades gently placed y/n onto their queen sized bed, careful not to disturb their peaceful slumber. Settling beside y/n, he couldn't resist the allure of their presence. 

The shadows seemed to soften as he pulled them into a warm embrace, wrapping his arms around their sleeping lover and relishing in the moment. 

Time passed in the quietude, and as sleep began to claim the god of the dead, y/n stirred. A soft blush tinted their cheeks as they realised the situation.

Nestled in the arms of Hades sent a warm shiver down their spine.

Y/n, not wanting to disturb Hades, who had succumbed to hypnos himself, gently moved closer. A gentle murmur escaped their lips, a tender reminder of the impending responsibilities that awaited the lord of the Underworld. 

With a soft touch, they roused Hades, their fingers tracing over the god's sharp features.

"Hades," y/n whispered, their voice a delicate melody in the quiet chamber. 

"We had another meeting to attend after the first. It's time to wake up darling.."

Hades, stirred from his slumber, opened his eyes to meet the gaze of y/n. 

The vulnerability in that moment was showing itself still, and a rare smile graced the god's lips. 

The weight of his responsibilities momentarily lifted as he thought to himself how lucky he was to wake up to y/n everyday. 

As Hades and y/n shared a lingering gaze, the gravity of their roles in the Underworld momentarily forgotten, Hades pulled y/n close to press his face against y/n's neck and nuzzle them. 

Y/n blushes even more at this and chuckles while combining through the Gods white locks of hair. 

"Oh hades~ you really can be a softie huh?"

With a soft nod, Hades agreed and acknowledged the reminder of his duties, yet he couldn't help but savour the warmth of his partner. 

"I'm only soft for you.. But only you y/n~"

Buddha:

Buddha, who found himself hesitant to attend another divine meeting between the leader gods of their respective pantheons, to discuss important matters regarding humanity, didn't want to go alone. 

So when struck with such a dilemma what does he do? Well he would bring a companion, and decided to bring none other than his most beloved Y/n! 

As they entered the grand hall of the gods, Y/n felt a mix of awe, nervousness and exhaustion. 

After all, they both had travelled far from their home! Also not to mention the fact y/n had been pulled into this extraordinary gathering a little out of nowhere. 

But upon such an offer from their man, how could they possibly refuse such a thing? 

They barely got to travel as much as they would have liked. 

As the meeting unfolded with gods discussing the fate of humanity. Y/n found themselves rather comfortably seated next to Buddha. 

However, soon struggled to stay awake, succumbing to the weariness of the divine environment. 

While the discussions continued, Y/n drifted into a gentle slumber, head resting on Buddha's shoulder.

After the gods concluded their deliberations and departed, Buddha, noticing Y/n's fatigue, chuckled softly to himself. 

He decided to play a light-hearted prank to wake them up. In his hand, he conjured a piece of his favourite chocolate snack, gently placing it near Y/n's nose. 

To his surprise, the sweet aroma stirred Y/n, who slowly opened their eyes.

"Huh, Buddha, what's that delicious smell..?"

Y/n, initially confused, was met with Buddha's playful smile. 

The two shared a moment of laughter, breaking the serious atmosphere that lingered after the gods' departure. 

Buddha, aware of Y/n's love for snacks, much like his own, decided to extend the lightheartedness of their cute moment further. 

"You know, since everyone is gone, we could go find a cosy spot to ourselves and enjoy some more treats~"

Y/n's lit up and they nodded excitedly at Buddha's suggestion! This had been so worth travelling for. 

"Oh yes please! I'd love to explore a little around here and then continue resting somewhere very nice."

While they wandered away from the divine hall, Buddha made sure to show y/n around and explore with them!

While they did they found a serene garden hidden within the world of gods, much to y/n and Buddha's enjoyment for their plan. 

Sitting down under a giant tree, Buddha and Y/n cuddled closely to each other. 

"Oh this is simply divine Buddha, thank you so much for taking me with you~!"

Buddha leaned against the tree while feeding himself and y/n, his partner resting against his chest enjoying the moment and snacks they were fed.

"Me too sweetie, I knew you were the right one to bring with me."

Buddha grins happily, looking down at y/n, his eyes shining with love for them. He leans down and teasingly kisses their cheek. 

"Even though you feel asleep during the meeting, which is my thing!"

The couple burst out laughing at Buddha's joking comment, it was true! 

Y/n blushes slightly, they couldn't help but smile widely at Buddha's words. 

He would usually take the chance to nap during such meetings if it wasn't to his interest. 

With the rustling of leaves, Buddha and Y/n savoured the snacks, bonding over their shared love for their special delights. 

The garden became a space where they could find peace all to themselves.

Loki:

In the grand halls of Asgard, the gods gathered for a crucial meeting. 

Loki, mischievous as ever, had brought y/n along with him. 

He claimed he couldn't leave y/n alone at home, but his true intention was to find amusement in y/n's company during the important discussions.

As the meeting unfolded, the weight of the gods' discussions combined with y/n's exhaustion from the day took its toll. 

Y/n found it hard to keep their eyes open, succumbing to the lull of drowsiness. 

Unbeknownst to them, Loki couldn't resist the opportunity to toy with y/n while maintaining his composure.

Loki leaned in, whispering in y/n's ear, "Sweet y/n, the godly matters bore you to sleep, I see~"

Y/n mumbled a half-conscious response, "No no! Just... tired."

Loki grinned, plotting mischief as the gods continued their discourse. 

However, his plans were thwarted when y/n's eyelids drooped further, and they drifted into a peaceful slumber.

When the meeting concluded, and as the gods departed, Loki turned his attention back to y/n. 

He marvelled at the serene expression on their peaceful face, finding unexpected adoration replacing his mischievous intentions. 

With a gentle touch, he attempted to wake their lover up, calling their name softly or shaking them gently. 

But no response or reaction came! 

Growing impatient yet oddly fond, Loki decided to resort to a different tactic. 

His fingers danced along y/n's sides, tickling them with ease. 

In an instant, y/n jolted awake, eyes wide open in surprise.

"Loki! What in helheim are you doing?!" Y/n exclaimed, totally flushed and caught off guard.

He chuckled, pulling y/n close to himself.

"I couldn't resist, my dear. You looked so peaceful, but my attempts at a normal awakening failed."

Rolling their eyes, y/n sighed to themselves.

"You could've just shaken me gently."

"I tried! Either way this way is much more entertaining hehe~" 

Loki teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he nuzzled himself against y/n's neck.

Despite y/n's initial annoyance, a smile crept onto their face. 

The tension dissipated as Loki wrapped his arms around them even tighter than before, his soft kisses tickling y/n's neck. 

The god of mischief had traded his tricks for a tender moment, and as you cuddled together in the room, leaving only the intimacy of the two of you.

Poseidon:

Poseidon and Y/n found themselves in a grand hall, attending a crucial meeting among the sea gods. 

As discussions flowed, Y/n, overwhelmed by the divine chatter, struggled to keep their eyes open. 

Poseidon noticed and chuckled under his breath, finding it entertaining. Though you could barely tell that he was excited, from his serious and unchanging face. 

Poseidon leans close to y/n and starts whispering, almost mockingly.

"Someone's having a bit of trouble staying awake, aren't they?"

Y/n, in a half-dreamy state, mumbled a half-hearted response, "No! Just a little bored from... godly matters."

As the meeting concluded and the other ocean gods dispersed, leaving Poseidon and Y/n alone in the now empty hall. 

Y/n, succumbing to exhaustion, had dozed off in their seat. Poseidon, finding the situation amusing, decided to take advantage of the moment.

The god finally lets his cold stone of a face change and smirks. 

"Well, well, my dear Y/n, it seems the weight of divine matters was a bit too much for you."

Y/n, still half-asleep, groggily responded, "I'm awake, I'm awake... I just closed my eyes for a moment!"

Poseidon raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his ocean blue eyes. 

"A moment? It felt like an eternity. You missed quite an enlightening discussion on ocean currents.."

Y/n, now fully aware of their surroundings, blushed and tried to defend themselves. 

"I'm sorry, Poseidon. It's not that I wasn't interested. I just... the ambiance was so soothing."

Poseidon grinned, his godly aura radiating strongly. 

"Soothing, you say? Well, maybe you just need a less comfortable place to discuss matters then."

"What? No! Please Poseidon, I truly love the beauty of your halls and wouldn't want to change it for the world."

"Not even to make yourself.. Even more comfortable?"

Y/n blinks, now feeling very confused with the mixed signals they were getting. 

"Pardon me love..?"

With a snap of his fingers, the grand hall transformed into a cosy space filled with pillows and soft blankets. Y/n looked around, bewildered.

"What is the meaning of this, are you not going to lecture me?"

"I thought for a change I could be more easy on you, after all you are my lover. Now, let's catch up on the discussion, shall we?"

As they settled into the comfortable space, Poseidon pulled Y/n into a playful embrace. 

The serious tone of the meeting and his was replaced by laughter and gentle teasing. Something Y/n definitely had to get used to! 

"But seriously darling. Clearly, the weight of godly responsibilities is too much for you to bear."

Y/n rolled their eyes, there he went again insisting.

"Oh, please. You're one to talk, Lord of the Sea. Your ocean currents lecture nearly put me to sleep."

Poseidon chuckled, his selden heard laughter echoing through the transformed hall. 

The god, known for his seriousness, was now wrapped in the warmth of his love's presence, turning an important meeting into an unexpected cuddle session.

But of course, still making sure y/n caught up on what they had missed. 

And so, surrounded by the divine comfort of their impromptu sanctuary, Poseidon continued to playfully lecture Y/n.

Both revel in the joy of each other's company amidst their responsibilities.

[emeline2020]

I Understand - D.DIXON

DESC : You and Daryl have a final conversation before his departure to search for Rick and Michonne.

CONTAINS : angst, so much angst i’m in tears istg. maybe some fluff i have no idea

MOST LIKELY WILL REWRITE THIS BC I JUST DONT THINK I WROTE IT TO THE BEST OF MY ABILITY!!!

SEASON 11

You felt like a kid, hiding out behind the brick wall of you and Daryl’s-.. you stopped yourself. It was your apartment now. Because Daryl wouldn’t be returning for god knows how long. The only thing left of Daryl in the apartment were his belongings he decided he wouldn’t need for this trip.

You sat in the grass against the brick wall, head back, staring up at the sky. You were afraid to look anywhere other than up, incase the buildup of tears managed to break through down your cheeks.

You felt dumb. Your mind searched for other ways to phrase your emotions, but the only word that formulated was ‘dumb’.

You should’ve known. You should’ve pieced it together after Daryl left for 6 years when Rick went missing. The life he had with you didn’t matter, because he wanted more than you. He wanted his family. And it made sense. But just because it made sense didn’t mean it hurt any less.

You and Daryl had never officially labeled what you had. The others in the Commonwealth referred to you as a couple. Hell, for a while there, you had even thought maybe he would propose, or something like that. Make what you two had official to yourselves, and not just to the others in town.

But now you questioned if you even had anything at all. You questioned if he even loved you the way you thought he did.

The crunches of dead grass beneath heavy boots pushed you from your thoughts. You dragged a hand over your red, glossy eyes. You didn’t look at him, but his figure appeared in your peripheral vision. You didn’t want to look at him. You were nervous that it would trigger the waterworks.

He let out a scratchy sigh. Not an annoyed sigh, more of a knowing sigh. Knowing exactly what you were feeling. Knowing he caused it.

He slowly lowered himself to the grass next to you, mocking your sitting position with your knees up. His hands rested loosely on his knees while you clutched your legs to your chest.

You could hear him take a breath, about to say something. You rushed to speak first.

“It’s not your fault.” You murmured, your tone soft. Shaky. “Me being upset.”

He didn’t say anything. His expression was stiff, his blue eyes locked onto the ground. You looked up at the blue sky, holding in your tears.

“It’s mine. I should’ve known.” You elaborate your words, swallowing thickly. It took everything inside of you to not start balling tears.

“Known? Known what?” He sounded confused, but he still didn’t turn to face you.

“That this wouldn’t work. Not until you sorted out the things that are more important to you.” You sniffled a bit, taking to your nose with your sleeve.

“Nah. That ain’t-“ Daryl spoke firmly with a shake of his head, but you interrupted him.

“That is it, Daryl. But it’s okay. I understand.” You whispered, finally lowering your head to allow the stinging tears freedom.

Deep down, Daryl knew you were right. That was exactly it. He was almost ashamed that you figured you were less important to him than Rick was, because that wasn’t the case at all.

You weren’t less important. You were just as important, but Daryl couldn’t live happily with you knowing his brother was out there. Because Daryl wanted Rick to be around just as much as he wanted you to be around.

And that was the problem with you and Daryl. That was why you wouldn’t work. You and Daryl would never last. Not until Rick and Michonne came home.

“There ain’t a single word in the ‘ntire language to tell ya how sorry I am.” He sighed again, but this sigh was filled with shame.

“As long as we’re still something, you don’t need to be sorry.” You breathed, finally glancing at him. He kept his eyes on the blades of yellow-ish grass. His brown hair hid most of his face, and you could see the skull tattoo inked on his hand.

“‘Course we’re somethin’. Always will be.” He said, reaching over to place his hand on top of yours. But he still wouldn’t look at you. You weren’t sure you even wanted him to see your expression. It would probably just make him feel more guilty.

You didn’t mind, though. Even though his hand only clutched yours for a few seconds before he drew back, and even though he refused to meet your eyes, as long as you were something.

Something was better than nothing. And you didn’t want to push him, because you were teetering on the edge of something, about to fall from the cliff into nothing.

He squeezed your hand one last time, before pushing himself to his feet and leaving you behind the brick wall. His eyes hadn’t met yours once.

And then he was gone.

[nightimedreamersworld]

Happy Wipsday, everyone! It was lovely seeing your wips today. Thank you for the tags, @artsyunderstudy @ivelovedhimthroughworse @hushed-chorus @martsonmars @forabeatofadrum

So I actually just finished chapter 4 of my current wip last night and... it's not good lmao. I just feel like this chapter is all over the place. However, I'm holding off on editing it for now, and instead I'll try to keep writing lest I lose steam. That's what first drafts are for, right??? To exist, no matter how shitty they are. It's fine, it's cool.

Also, I may have underestimated how much I'd have to study for uni lol. So I might have to slow down on writing (...even more.) Still, I want to keep sharing these sneak peeks with you guys because a) your hype makes me hype, and b) I'm clinging to every little bit of validation I can get these days lmao

ANYWAY. Enough rambling. Have a snippet:

Penny gives me a pair of obviously dyed red trainers and tells me to put them on.  “Why?” I ask, confused. I’d forgotten how weird magic is—the hoops you gotta go through to get a simple spell to work. It’s why I don’t miss it that much.  Penny twirls her purple gem around her finger. “To enhance the spell.”  I can’t help but scoff. It’s so stupid; I can’t believe I spent over half my life agonising about these things.  We’re standing in the alleyway behind my building, trying out spells to send me back. So far, Penny’s tried There and back again, from The Hobbit (apparently I just disappeared for a second, but I didn’t feel anything), East or West, Home’s Best (still nothing), and Home Sweet Home.  Now, it’s the Wizard of Oz.  I can feel Baz watching me from a few feet away—leaning boredly against the brick wall, a pair of sunglasses hiding his eyes. I know they must be redder than my new shoes. I made him cry again.

(Baz cries so much in this fic istg. Sorry Bazzy.)

Tagging for Sunday, as the wipsday is almost over: @facewithoutheart @cutestkilla @captain-aralias @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @confused-bi-queer @larkral @whogaveyoupermission @palimpsessed @stitchyqueer and anyone who'd like to share!

[gastromancer]

drag queens aren’t.. “men in play bunny costumes”? is someone wearing like a full body dress or a leotard the equivalent of wearing a “playbunny costume” now?

yr like..acting like drag queens are inherently sexualized— calling them “men in playboy bunny costumes” and acting like their costuming is all reducible to that— and then arguing that trans ppl shouldn’t be ‘conflated’ with what you characterize as “inherently sexual roles”. like firstly.. many-to-most drag queens are transgender ppl (non-binary, transmasc/trans men, transfem/trans women)! they’ve historically been mostly cis gay ppl or trans ppl. trans & gay ppl have historically been associated with drag because it is an aspect of trans & gay culture. that’s not like.. a bad thing at all. yr the one trying to argue it’s an inherently sexual culture & that drag queening is an inherently sexual role (conflating drag queening with being a “stripper” or “basically dressing like a playboy bunny”).

Great, then you wouldn't mind a few dozen strippers in their stripper outfits…

where the fuck did this come from? istg this is like arguing with a brick fucking wall that always comes back at you with some bizarre perverse strawman like “so you want strippers around kids? so you’re saying you want strippers stripping in front of kids. you want kids to see ass & titty? huh huh??” no matter how unrelated that is to what you actually said.

like. i think i’m just repeating myself at this point. drag queens can be dressed & covered appropriately while in drag. i made it so fucking clear atp that drag queens should be covered appropriately around kids. which isn’t hard, bc the majority of drag queens often wear full-length dresses & covering while in drag.

Also yes, good point. Criminalize toddler beauty pageants, child beauty pageants, toddler drag, and child drag shows.

i do think child beauty pageants should be done away with entirely but my point, specifically, is that shit will probably not conceivably happen bc the state of Florida does not consider child welfare endangerment a problem unless it’s something that they associate with gay/transgenderism at the ‘site of the problem’. the state of florida, the states generally, don’t actually give a shit abt child welfare & they don’t care abt identifying the structural sites of violence & disenfranchisement toward children (lack of autonomy for those handled by the state, etc.), they care abt politicizing on sensationalized topics like drag queens preying on children or whtvr.

also yeah, no kids at stripper conventions. but drag has no relation to that bc the essence of a stripper convention is that it is inherently sexual & the essence of drag is that it is people dressing up in wild make-up & big wigs & goofy dresses. you can’t have a stripper convention if u completely remove the sexual aspect but you can certainly still have a drag performance w/o anything sexual or sexualizing in the costume, dance, script, etc. [an example of such]. it’s entirely possible to have “all ages friendly” drag performances but drag isn’t people Dressing like Playboy Bunnies (as much as you like to insist it is), & drag queens can be garbed in appropriate outfits (full-length dresses, coats, etc.) and do a show.

also like.. if u want to call me a pedophile do it pussy out & everything. don’t put that shit in the tags and vague about how i must want adults to fuck kids.

i’m specifically referring to the children’s autonomy as to choosing their home/family structures, etc. while they are in state custody (orphanage, foster care..). generally speaking children don’t have a lot of control over these things, and the state disenfranchises children in the System. granting children more autonomy in these processes will benefit them generally, including in their sexual & psychological health (ie: less likely to face sex abuse, etc.)

[kireimarkeu]

Yellow; l.mk

+another repost, one of my favourite works ever. its unfortunate not many liked it... ;-; but im still gonna post it anyways. i did not make any changes to this fic.

summary: a journey where boxer!mark and you start to fall for each other.

5.8k words... it wasn’t supposed to be this long.. sorry guys ):

i changed the title because sunflower reminded me of johnny lmfao! also i know you guys don’t like long fics but istg i didn’t want it to be so long either ;;

warnings: mentions of blood & violence, f words 

+Day 1

The loud cheers were really starting to annoy you. Why did you let your friend drag you here in the first place?

You let out a grumbled sigh when your friend had pulled your hand, leading you closer to the ring. Truthfully, you hated anything that has got to do with blood or violence. You didn’t dare tell your friend that since she told you that she has always wanted to go to an underground match.

People were pushing you around as you struggled to keep your balance. You hold onto your friend’s wrist, to avoid from falling.

Your friend must have noticed your discomfort and leaned towards you, “you okay?”

Shaking your head, you reply, “yeah... this- this is just not my type,”

She pouts, “do you want to leave?”

“No, no, you’ve been waiting for this, let’s just watch the match,” you reply, looking back to the ring. Your friend nodded, looking back front.

The match started within a few minutes, both participants standing on each side started getting closer, waiting for one of them to throw a punch.

“That’s Jung Jaehyun,” your friend says, pointing to the one who had chocolate abs. He had some parts of his black hair dyed a dark green, which really suits him.  

Jaehyun.

He was handsome. Pretty face— really pretty face. However, his neck was filled with tattoos, which gets rid of his cute demeanour. You already knew he was the type to get lots of girls just by doing nothing.

“And that’s Mark Lee,”

Your eyes gazed on the boy with black hair.

Oh. 

He’s cute. He’s really cute. Super cute features. Plump lips, cute cheeks— you just want to pinch. You were surprised why he would be in a ring with such adorable features. You wanted to coo at his ears, why are his ears so cute?

If you were to pick one, you would pick the latter. He’s just your type.

Great, you’re doing it again. Thinking which boys you would choose.

Shaking your thoughts away, you focus on the match.

Jaehyun suddenly throws a punch, to which Mark managed to dodge. Mark suddenly throws a punch, straight to the other boy’s cheekbones.

You let out a gasp, flinching at the sight. Though, the crowd continues to cheer.

In a blink of an eye, Jaehyun has Mark under him, his arm tightening around Mark’s neck.

“Isn’t that dangerous?!” you screech, turning to your friend who was happily watching the match.

“That’s what makes it fun,” your friend winks.

Your mouth was left wide open as you look back at Mark who was struggling to breathe. You notice Mark tapping on Jaehyun’s arm as the latter lets go of his crazy tight grip on the boy.

“This is crazy,” you whisper out.

Despite being absolutely terrified of the scene that had just happened, you wanted to see more.

After a few matches, it was declared Jaehyun had won this time’s match. You actually expected it- seeing how he was slightly more builded than Mark. At the same time, you were disappointed that Mark had lost the match.

The people around you started getting closer, excited by the first match. It was making it hard for you to breathe.

You tap your friend’s shoulder, “I am going to step out for a while,”

“Do you want me to follow?” she asks.

You shake your head, “no, enjoy the rest of the match,”

“Okay, text me if you need anything,” she tells you as you let out a hum and step away from the crowd. You climb the flight of stairs, pushing the tinted glass door open. You take a deep breathe, finally able to breathe fresh air.

You rest your back against the brick walls, fishing out your phone to reply to some texts and scroll through Instagram.

“Hey,”

“Oh, jeez!” you jumped, your hand pressed against your chest, turning to see Mark.

Mark laughs, staring at you in amusement, “weren’t you from inside? I saw you,”

You gulp and nodded, “yeah, yeah I was, I saw you too,”

You scan his features. He had multiple bruises and cuts on his cheekbones and lips. You notice a deep cut on his eyebrow, and a bruise on his neck. You look back up to his eyes.

“Are you okay?” you ask him, pointing to the bruises painting his face.

He chuckles at your question, wiping the blood staining his lips. “Your first time here?”

You nod, your head moving to scan the cuts on his face, “are you going to clean that up?”

“I’m okay,” he reassures you, a small smile playing on his lips, “this is nothing,”

You wince. That was nothing? You would be crying in pain if you had that many cuts and bruises on you.

“Okay,” you whisper.

“I’m Mark,” he says again, “what’s your name, pretty?”

Your face turned a crimson red, “y/n,”

“y/n,” he repeats, the name rolling out of his tongue smoothly, “beautiful name for a beautiful girl,”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his words, “how many times have you used that phrase, Mark?”

Mark was flustered for a moment, but quickly regain his coolness, “well, as of 3 seconds ago… once?”

He laughs when you grimace at his response, shaking your head in astonishment.

“So, what were you doing in an underground boxing, y/n?” he asks you, “you don’t seem like the type to be around this area,”

“My friend has been dying to come to an underground match and she dragged me with her,” you explain.

He hums, “ah, your friend? She really caught Jaehyun’s eye earlier,”

You smirk, knowing your friend definitely has been crushing on Jaehyun too.

“We should set them up!” you say excitedly.

+Day 15

2 weeks later, you were back at the same place. This time, you weren’t forced, you had begged your friend to bring you again. You would go alone but being alone in a place filled with rowdy men scares you. You knew your friend would agree since she wanted to see Jaehyun too.

“You usually don’t like this type of things, why are you suddenly so excited?” your friend asked, grabbing her bag, while you were tugging on her arm. 

You bit your lip nervously, knowing the exact reason why, but you refuse to tell her. 

***

“You’re back again,” says Mark, looking down at you with a smile plastered on his face.

“Yeah, I just need some break from the chaos at school,” you explain. You were actually doing well in school. Unlike other students, you let out your stress from doing work and projects.

Mark hums as he looks around, “wanna go somewhere quieter?”

“But—” you turn away to find your friend, but she was nowhere to be found.

“She’s talking to Jaehyun,” Mark tells you.

You turn back around, holding your breathe when you see Mark leaning awfully close to your face. When he saw your flustered state, he started smirking, letting out a low chuckle.

“Come,” he says, tugging on your elbow, pulling you out of the crowd. Climbing the familiar stairs, the both of you walked towards an empty playground. The both of you take a seat on the swings.

“It’s kinda scary to be in a playground at night,” you state, looking around the extremely quiet area.

You hear Mark laugh at your statement; you look at him confusingly. “You know what you remind me of?”

You raise your eyebrows.

“A sunflower,” he tells you, making you blush. “Anything with the colour yellow,”

“And why is that Mark?”

He rests his head on the rope of the swings as he stares at you, “You seem like someone who is absolutely cheerful, everyone needs someone like you in their life,”

You smile at his sweet words.

Your eyes gaze on his hands that was wrapped in bandages, blood seeping through them.

“Are your hands okay?” you ask, nodding your chin towards his hands resting on his lap.

He looks down at his hands then back at you, smirking, “why? Did I make you worry?”

You look at him like he was crazy, “of course you did! The guy went pretty hard on you,”

Mark felt embarrassed at that. You came to watch his match twice and he still couldn’t win in front of you.

He looks away from your gaze, “it was nothing,” he murmurs.

You were quiet for a while. You felt guilty for bringing it up, knowing he was already beating himself up for it.

“You did great,” you blurted out, “I came to support you actually,”

“Really?” he chuckles, his gaze still on his shoes.

“Yup, you did so well, I think I should take you out for lunch,” you blurt out without realising. Your eyes widen at what you had just said.

Oh god, why did you say that? Did you have no shame? What if Mark didn’t even feel the same way?

Mark swiftly turns to look at your confused face. Fuck, he just wanted to hug you so bad.

“Are you asking me out on a date?” he asks, an amused grin plastered on his lips.

Oh god. 

You quickly face away from the boy who was staring at you with amusement. “N-no,”

He lets out a defeated sigh, “damn, really? I was hoping it would be a date,”

Oh fuck, he was smooth. 

“Shouldn’t you be asking me out on a date?” you huff.

“Do you want me to ask you out on a date?”

“No! I mean—”

“Y/N, will you go on a date with me?”

+Day 17

The date was originally scheduled in 5 days but Mark was too excited and had asked you to meet slightly earlier, to which you agreed.

This time, Mark wasn’t in a tank top and shorts, he didn’t have cuts on his face or bloody hands wrapped in bandages. He was dressed in a button up and black skinny jeans.

He’s so adorable. 

“What,”

“What?” you look at him weirdly.

“You keep staring at me,” he points out, “do I have something on my face? Or am I too handsome?”

You grimace at his words and threw a fry at him, giggles leaving your lips.

Mark wanted to take you out on a proper expensive date, but he was also a broke college student— just like you. He felt bad about not being able to take you out on a proper date, but you had reassured him that you’d rather eat McDonalds kids meal than eat a $50 meal that is the size of a pea.

“You know,” you start, leaning back on the chair, “If I saw you for the first time, I wouldn’t believe it if you told me you were a boxer,”

“Why?”

You shrug, “you look like a baby to me,” you tell him, “just wanna pinch your cheeks,”

He scoffs, puffing out his chest, “I may look like a baby, but I fight like a man,”

+Day 23

Mark: hey are you coming later

You: where?

Mark: my match you loser

You: I don’t think so :(

You: i have a bunch of work to do :((

Mark: :(

Mark: oky then :/ make sure you rest enough

You:  I will :) don’t worry haha

+Day 25

“I didn’t know Mark had many girl friends,” your friend says.

You raise your eyebrows at that. The both of you weren’t official yet, only at the talking stage. He has never mentioned his friends or his family, but the information had your suspicions growing.

You pretend to not be affected by the words, “how’d you know?”

“You know the day you couldn’t come for his match?” you hum, “I think he invited some girls because they were all hugging and talking,”

You would be lying if you weren’t heartbroken by your friend’s words. However, you have no rights stopping him from seeing his friends. The both of you weren’t a couple.

“Aren’t you guys a couple?”

“No,” you answer with a sharp tone, “it’s his life he can do whatever he wants.”

“You’re not fazed by it?”

“Why would I be?” you murmur, “he’s not mine to begin with.”

+Day 35

Mark: hey :)

Mark: it’s been a while

Mark: I miss you

You: I knw haha

Mark: are you coming for my match tomorrow night?

Mark: no no you have to come tomorrow!!

Mark: ok?

You: hahahah

You: I will oky

You: im finished with my work & all so why not haha

You: but I need you to come get me hehe

You: my friend wont be following so its just me :3

Mark: that’s great!!!

Mark: I’ll send u home too ok

You: oky Markie :3

+Day 36

You had your hands resting on Mark’s face, cleaning up his bloody face. Mark had lost this time round; his opponent was three times your size and had beat Mark down like a pipe.

“I don’t even know why I support you doing this,” you mumble, wiping the blood running down his face, “you make me worry too much,”

“I’m okay.”

You glare up at him. “If you think this is okay then I don’t what’s your definition of the opposite.”

He frowns at you but didn’t say a word.

It took you a good 30 minutes to clean up all of his wounds. You lean away from him, “make sure you rest for a week,”

He hums, staring at you, “thank you,”

You felt bad for being so harsh on him. You reach for his hands, holding it in yours, your thumb stroking the back of his hand.

“Can you take me home now? I’m tired,” you sigh.

Throughout the ride home, you had one of Mark’s hand resting on your lap. You didn’t let go for a second, loving the warm feeling of his hand clasped in yours. Before you knew it, his car stopped infront of your apartment building.

You pout, turning to face him., “I don’t wanna leave yet,”

“Me neither,” he chuckles, “don’t go,”

You lips break into a grin, “you loser,”

He hums.

You unlock the door, ready to open the car door but Marks tug on your hands. You face him. He lifts his free hands, his pointer finger tapping on his cheek.

You snicker at his actions, your pointer and middle finger pushing his cheek away. You stick your tongue out when he pouts at you. You open the car door and left the car, shutting it, turning to face the boy who was still pouting.

“Thanks for today,” you say, “make sure you rest for a week before you start working again,” you reminded him.

Upset that you didn’t kiss him, Mark clicked his tongue and gestured for you to go in.

+Day 40

Your eyebrows furrow when you saw the pictures Mark was tagged in Jaehyun’s photo. You knew this photo was recent from the evident bruises on Mark’s face.

You had already warned him to completely heal for a week before going back to work but why was he so stubborn?

The girls who was surrounding the guy you like didn’t go unnoticed by you. You noticed how he had his arms snake around both girl’s waist.

Shutting your eyes close, you let out a frustrated sigh.

“Is this from today?” you ask your friend, showing her your phone.

Your friend takes a look and nods without hesitation.

A loud and angry groan left your lips. Getting up from the couch, you stomped to your bedroom, shutting the door as you climbed in bed.

God, why was liking a boy so hard?

Tears started rolling down your cheeks. You were so frustrated with Mark. You liked him so much that you hated seeing him being hurt— even if it was something he loves doing.

It wasn’t the first time he was seen surrounded by girls. Although the both of you weren’t in an official relationship, you didn’t enjoy seeing him touching girls. Maybe you were being dramatic with the girls, but did you really want to date someone like him? Someone who could potentially be taken away in a flash?

You sit up, rubbing your eyes with a deep sigh. Everyone deserves a chance, even if he had hurt you.

You turn on your phone to send Mark a text.

You: you went to work today?

It took him less than a minute to respond.

Mark: how’d you know?

You: jaehyun’s Instagram

You: I thought I told you to rest?

Mark: sorry :( it was just a last minute match

You: hm

Mark: but on the bright side, I won this time!

Right. Of course he would win the match when you’re not there to support him.

You: was it fun?

Mark: yeah! Our friends came to support us

You: ohh who?

Mark: just some ex-school friends, you don’t know them haha

You: okay hha

Mark: you’re not angr right? Haha

Mark: angry*

You: no why would I be

You: you’re not my boyfriend so I have no right to be

You: mad

+Day 58

“Hey,” Mark sends you a bitter smile, “you okay? Been a whole year since we last saw each other,”

“It’s been 2 weeks, Mark,” you reply dryly.

Mark pouts and takes a seat next to you, “two weeks too long~”

He leans his head on your shoulder as his gaze on your phone. You turn to him slightly, offering your bubble tea to the male who happily accepts. He rests his hand on the plastic cup and your hand holding the cup, pulling it towards his lips.

You giggle, “you’re so cute, Mark.”

He squints his eyes cutely at you as he continues sipping on your drink. You didn’t complain, you love seeing him all happy.

You clear your throat, earning his attention, “I want to ask you something,”

He tilts his chin upwards, “what’s up?”

You try to think of a way to phrase your words together without sounding possessive.

Mark notices your furrowed eyebrows, he cracks a grin and nudges you with his shoulder, “don’t be so serious, what’s up?”

“Are you going to introduce me to your friends?” you blurted out.

Mark fell silent at your question. He wasn’t annoyed or anything— not at all, he couldn’t ever be mad at you. But it was just so sudden, where was this all coming from?

“I mean- you don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” you explain, “it’s not like I want to,” you laugh awkwardly, looking away from the male.

“N-no,” he stutters out, “it was just so sudden, where is this coming from?”

“I’m sorry,”

“Do you want to meet my friends?” he asks.

“I’m not forcing you,” you state, “it’s just a question- it’s not important,” you mumble the last part.

He let out a chuckle, “I want you to meet my friends,” he says, “but, they just…”

You purse your lips, already expecting the answer. Of course he won’t introduce you to his female friends. It would be a lie if you said you weren’t disappointed, but you couldn’t do anything. you can’t force him into doing something he doesn’t want to.

“I’m sorry,” he sounded sincere, too sincere. It’s weird.

You feign a smile, “It’s okay, but I have to go now,”

He frowns, watching you stand up to grab your bag, “already?”

You nod, “I’ll see you when I see you, I guess,”

Before he could even hug you goodbye, you had already left the bubble tea shop.

+Day 62

You had this habit of overworking yourself whenever you were down. You had drowned yourself in projects and work. The incident that happened a few days ago has left your mind, especially when he hasn’t sent you a single text.

“Hey,” your friend called, you hum in response, although your gaze was still glued on your laptop. “Have you been talking to Mark lately?”

Your fingers freeze at his name. Suddenly you were furious just by hearing his name.

“Why?” you reply crudely.

“He’s been asking me about you. Did something happen?” your friend asks, worried about you.

He’s been asking about you? So he has been thinking about you this whole time? Your heart fluttered a little at the thought. You genuinely liked Mark and it sucked that the both of you were already having arguments even before being a couple.

You bit your lip, turning around to look at your friend, “what did he say?”

Your friend passes you her phone, showing the text message between the two.

Mark: hey, im sorry if im disturbing you but

Mark: is y/n okay?

Mark: we haven’t been texting lately and I thought she needed space so i gave her that

Mark: I just want to know if she’s okay? If shes eating healthily?

Your lips tugged upwards at the text. God, he was so cute. You scroll down a little more to read more texts.

Mark: could you update me everyday on how she’s doing?

Mark: I miss her :/

“He really likes you, you know,” your friend says abruptly.

You pass her phone back, looking up at her.

“I know I’m not officially his and I have no right on stopping him who he should hang out with,” you explain, “but it upsets me seeing how he’s being surrounded by girls every single night,”

Your friend places her hand on your shoulder, her thumb caressing your shoulder comfortingly, “you should talk to him about it.”

She was right. Communication is key. You can’t keep it a secret forever. If it upsets you, then you should voice out.

You were going to talk to him about it.

+Day 67

You were at the underground boxing area again. Mark had texted you to come and support him. You were going to talk to him about it today. After his match. This was the only way that was going to make you feel better.

This time, you were standing near the wall, furthest from the boxing ring. Mark had warned you to stay here because of all the rowdy men crowding the area.

“With your petite size, you are just going to be stepped on,” he had said. 

You locked eyes with Mark who was standing in the ring. You automatically grin at him. Mark struggled to keep a straight face after seeing your adorable smile.

‘Good luck!’ you mouth, lifting your hands to show a thumbs up, then sending a heart to the male.

Mark’s heart flutter just by looking at you. He looks away to keep a straight face. Soon, the match started.

“Hi,”

You swiftly turned to see a handsome male standing next to you. You send him a polite smile before turning back to look at Mark.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“I’m just here to support a friend,” you say plainly, your eyes gazing on Mark intently.

“I see,” the man says, “I’m Yuta,”

Does he ever stop talking? You hum, hoping it would stop him from talking to you.

“What’s your name?”

You wanted to roll your eyes at his question. You face the man, “I’m y/n,”

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” he flirts, winking at you. You grimace at his words. “You’re really pretty,”

You didn’t respond, irked by his presence.

“Do you hate talking or something?” he asks you. He rolls his eyes when you didn’t reply. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No, I don’t, Yuta,” you sigh.

“Then? Do you hate me or something? Do you hate someone you’ve never met?” he asks you, leaning closer to you.

Unbeknownst to you, Mark saw you talking to the male and was distracted by it, which resulted in him getting punched in the jaw by his opponent.

Loud gasps and whistles filled the room.

You quickly turn to see Mark laying on the ground, getting stepped on by his opponent. Your hands went up to your mouth, watching in horror. Once his opponent was pulled away, you ran to find Mark, but was stopped by Yuta grasping your arm.

“Let go of me!” you shrieked, pushing his arm away, running to find Mark.

You see Mark in the room, holding his jaw painfully while Jaehyun helped him bandage his hand.

“Mark!” you call, running up to him. You instantly hold onto his elbow, scanning his face that was littered with bruises. He had a black eye too.

Mark meets your worried gaze. His eyes held something different— anger and annoyance.

“Are you okay? Are you badly hurt anywhere?” you ask.

The male suddenly pushes your grip off him, looking away from you. Your eyes widen at his actions.

Did you do something wrong?

You look at Jaehyun, hoping he would signal you something— anything. But he only looked away from you guiltily. You frown at the both of them.

“Mark?” he ignores your voice.

You felt your heart clench painfully. You didn’t know what you did wrong for him to treat you this way. A disappointed sigh left your lips as you turn around, leaving the underground boxing match.

You rest your back against the brick walls, you felt tears trail down your cheeks. You came here with Mark and was expecting him to drive you home, so you didn’t bring any money with you.

“Fuck,” you whisper, your fingers wiping the stray tears.

You fish out your phone, unlocking it but only to see a black screen. You harshly pressed on the button multiple times but it wouldn’t turn on. Great, your phone must’ve died. You look around, trying to find someone who could help you out.

“Are you going to get in?” a deep voice says.

You look up to see Mark standing next to his car.

+++++

A shaky sigh left your lips, brushing away the tears that wouldn’t stop leaving your eyes. You look out the window, hoping it would distract you. Another tear rolled down your cheeks.

“Stop crying,” Mark murmurs.

You wanted to scoff at that. How ironic, especially when he was the one who made you cry.

“I’m fucking trying,” you say through gritted teeth.

The car comes to a halt as you see your apartment building outside. However, you didn’t leave his car.

“Did I do something?” you ask. You have been dying to ask the question ever since.

He rolls his eyes, “I don’t know y/n, did you?” he responds sarcastically.

“Can you stop that?!” you shout, turning your body to face him, “Just tell me what I did so I can fucking apologize!”

He scoffs at your words, “who was that man? Openly flirting while I was in a match?”

Your brows knit in confusion. Is he being serious?

“Firstly, I don’t know who the hell that man was, and I was definitely not flirting with him,” you explain, “and secondly, you’re not my boyfriend. So, even if I wanted to flirt, I am allowed to.”

This relationship was starting to get confusing.

“We are in the talking stage!” he shouts, “technically you are mine.”

You laugh at that, “really? I can’t flirt with anyone but you’re out here hugging and touching random girls!”

He becomes quiet, looking away from your intense gaze.

You push your hair back, frustrated. “what now, Mark?”

He looks down at his lap, playing with his fingers. He felt like crying— he never cries. “I don’t think this is working out,” he whispers, voice cracking. “I think we should stop seeing each other,”

You feel your lips tremble, tears threatening to fall again. You close your eyes, the tears falling down your cheeks. Your hands clenched into fists, hoping it would stop you from letting out sobs.

“Okay,” you mutter, “I’m going to go,”

When you reached your apartment, your hand immediately rests on the wall, steadying your balance. You couldn’t even breathe properly as you let out loud sobs. Your heart was beating rapidly from your unsteady breathing.

You felt like you were going to die. You didn’t expect this to hurt so much.

You are going to get through this. You will get through this. 

+Day 83

It has been a few weeks since you had last seen Mark. You had spent most of your time in your room crying your eyes out. If it wasn’t that, you would be sobbing on the couch while your friend would try her best to comfort you.

You didn’t have the energy or appetite to eat. Your friend always made you drink lots of water and would sometimes make a sandwich for you.

Your friend had secretly sent text updates to Mark, but he would just ignore them. He was hurting as much as you were. Just by hearing your name, his heart would clench painfully. Mark had spent most of his time at the ring, taking out his frustration by throwing punches and kicks.

You were washing the dishes since your friend had left to support Jaehyun in the underground match. She had invited you to come with her, but you’d rather stay home, knowing Mark would probably be there.

Your phone started ringing. You let out an annoyed sigh, quickly putting the plate on the rack, then walking over to grab your phone. You answer the call.

“What?” you sigh, “I’m busy cleaning, you know?”

“y/n,” your friend breathes heavily. This was weird. “Can you come here?”

Your eyebrows knit in confusion, “what? Why? What happened?”

“Mark passed out,” she tells you.

Your eyes widen, “w-what?”

“He’s going to be sent to the hospital, you need to come, now,”

+++++

“What room is he in? Is he okay?” you ask, looking at your friend and Jaehyun with wary eyes.

“He’s okay,” Jaehyun says, “he’s in the room,” he nods towards the door.

You had tears threatening to leave your eyes. You couldn’t help but let the tears fall. You felt your body grow weak, you squat down, covering your face with your arms as you let out loud sobs.

It was all your fault. If you hadn’t taken care of him more often, none of this would’ve happened.

Your friend frowns at your state. She bends down and pat your back comfortingly. “Go in,” she persuades, “he has been dying to see you,”

You lift your head to look at her, a small pout on your lips. Your friend wipes your tears with her thumb, smiling at you.

Letting out a soft sigh, you stand up, smoothing your hair and your pants. Walking towards the door, you knock softly before sliding the door open. Mark tilts his head, seeing you walk in quietly with your lips pursed.

He didn’t know what to do. Should he send you a smile? Should he act cold?

When you got closer to him, you scan the state he was in. He had his forehead bandage and his arm in a cast. His lips were busted, a plaster on the bridge of his nose.

“Hey,” you say, voice still raspy from the crying earlier, “what happened?”

He clears his throat and looks away from you. He feels bad making you worried. But at the same time, he didn’t expect you to be here.

“Just a few bruises here and there,” he says.

“Mark.”

“It’s nothing, really!” he exclaims.

You glare at him, “fuck you,” you spit. “I came down here because everyone was so worried about you. I was so worried about you. And now that I’m here, you’re going to tell me it’s nothing?”

Mark was unbelievable. God, why do you like him so much?

His eyes soften at your words. He bit his lip nervously, intimidated by you, he slowly looks up at you, “I just don’t want to worry you,”

You scoff, “your job already worries me, Mark.”

He pouts without even realising. He looks down at his lap guiltily, playing with his fingers.

You felt bad for shouting at him. Letting out a huff, you amble closer.

“You’re okay now, right?” you ask him.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, his gaze glued on his lap.

A pregnant silence fills you two, unsure of what to say to each other. You didn’t want to leave, and Mark doesn’t want you to leave. You bit your lips awkwardly as you look everywhere but Mark.

“I think I’ll leave now,” you say, “I have work to do and I don’t want to… disturb you,”

You stare at him, waiting for him to say something. Anything. disappointment fills you when Mark looks away from your gaze. You turn around, ready to leave the room when Mark calls your name.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, “that day,”

You stop in your tracks, your back facing him. Your grip tightens on your sweatpants.

“Mean what?” you repeat, “you suggested it, Mark,”

“I know,” he breathes, “I regret it,”

You missed Mark. You missed his dumb jokes and his annoying laughter which you loved so much. You turn around to look at him.

“I don’t like seeing you this way, Mark,” you confess, “your job scares me, it worries me,”

“What can I do to make you not worry, y/n?” he asks, eyes widening, “should I stop doing it?”

“That’s not what I meant,” you reply harshly, “if you would actually let me stay by your side, it might ease my worries,”

You step closer to the boy, your hand resting on his cheek. He subconsciously lean against your soft hand.

“I’m sorry for what I said the other day,” he professes, “I..I didn’t mean what I said,”

You take a seat on the chair that was next to his bed, holding onto his hands tightly. “Then, why would you say that Mark?”

“I just—“ he sighs, “I just didn’t want to lose you to someone else, y/n,” he explains, looking up at you, “we weren’t even dating yet! I just knew that I genuinely like you.”

Your heart clench at his words. “I didn’t like seeing you with other girls either,”

“I know,” he huffs, his free hand going up to ruffle his mop of black hair, “I was just stupid,”

Your thumb strokes his hand comfortingly, “It’s okay. It’s all over now,”

“I don’t want to deal with this anymore,” he tells you, “all this, jealousy and possessiveness.”

Is he going to…?

“I have been dying to ask you this question for the longest time,” he continues, “would you like to be my girlfriend?”

[pastelgoogie97]

I Thought We Said No Yelling At 3 AM? || jjk

~I wrote this because I’m crying over Jungkook right now, thought I’d share with everyone ;-; Genre: FLUFF Warnings: None, I think there’s literally like one cuss word in here Word Count: 2.5k Pairing: Roommate!Jungkook x CollegeStudent!Reader Info: Friends to Lovers :,) Jungkook is such a CUTIE PIE istg I love him so much, reader is sleepy and just wants to go mimi’s but Jungkook loves playing overwatch so much he has to SCREAM ABOUT IT ~Hope you enjoy, sorry if there are any errors, it’s literally three in the morning for me and I’m D Y I N G

--------------------------

She needed to pay rent. That’s what Y/N kept repeating in her head as she listened to her roommate Jungkook roar with laughter as he played Overwatch with his friends in his bedroom. 

Y/N was a foreign exchange student from America studying abroad in Korea. The language had always sparked her interest, so when she was given the opportunity to actually learn not just the language, but about the culture? She packed her bags and her flight as fast as she could and got on the next flight thirteen hours away and over the ocean from her home. 

She rubbed her tired eyes and looked down at her phone to check the time. 3:49 in the damn morning. The worst part of this whole endeavor was she couldn’t even get mad at Jungkook if she tried. Not only was he the nicest boy she’d ever met in her life, but his looks seemed to make it harder on her. 

With one look around her room, Y/N realized she wasn’t going to be getting any sleep until Jungkook got off his computer. Normally, she wouldn’t even care. What’s weird is that she’s actually a really heavy sleeper. She could sleep through hurricane Katrina if it meant she could sleep for a second longer.

“I JUST NO-SCOPED REAPER!” Jungkook shouted happily.

Y/N giggled slightly, rolling her tired eyes as she pulled herself out of bed. She headed into the kitchen, her slippers lightly dragging against the tile floor of their dorm lazily. The bright light of the fridge made her wince as she pulled out two containers of banana milk, poking a straw through one of them to sip on. The other was for Jungkook.

When they both moved in together, they decided to lay down some ground rules. They weren’t really rules per se, just obvious things that needed to get set. They were allowed to have friends as long as they weren’t too loud, anything in the fridge was theirs unless the container was labeled with their name on it, don’t make a mess, or if you do just clean it up. But one that they both agreed on right away? ‘No yelling at 3 in the morning, especially during exam season.’ Yet here Y/N was, sleepily sipping on banana milk while on her way to Jungkook’s room.

She swallowed the sweet milk and closed her eyes before knocking on his door. The sound of his soft voice almost lulled her to sleep had he not opened the door. 

In all his glory, there he was. Headsets hanging around his neck, hair messy but still fluffy and floppy against his forehead, and those doe-like orbs that she just couldn’t get enough of. She almost audibly sighed at the sight of him, especially since he was wearing those grey sweatpants that almost made her risk it all during one of their movie nights. 

“C-can I come in?” Y/N spoke up quietly, her voice hoarse with sleep deprivation.

“Of-of course!”

Y/N walked into Jungkook’s bedroom, the sound of his door shutting behind her making her shoulders slump. She looked at his computer and saw the game still going on. She figured she’d watch and see what the hype was about. Especially since Jungkook had been shouting at it since he got back from class. 

He flopped back into his gaming chair in front of his desk, but he didn’t pull his headsets over his ears. Instead, he turned around to look at Y/N. His eyes looked guilty and she could hear her heart whine at how cute he looked.

“I-I didn’t keep you awake did I?” He pouted. “I’m so sorry, I lost track of time and I didn’t even know that I was being that loud,”

She giggled and held her hand up in front of him. He stopped talking and he smiled softly at the gesture. Well, at least she wasn’t mad at him.

“I got you some banana milk, do you want it?” Y/N offered, shoving the carton into his hands before he could even agree.

“I was literally just about to get some,” He chuckled. “Get out of my head dude,” 

The girl giggled and got comfortable on his bed, looking at the screen behind his head. It was a loading screen, he was probably waiting for another match to start. Her eyes scanned over the bright colors on his screen, reading each of the words to see what was so fun about the game or even try to make sense of it.

“So what’s the point of the game?” Y/N began. “Is it like Call Of Duty?”

Before Jungkook could answer, Y/N heard the sounds of his friends on his headsets roaring through the speakers at her comment. She smiled and craned her neck forward to try and hear what they had to say about it.

“Ask her if she plays video games, Kook!”

Jungkook looked up at her knowing that she’d heard the question. The way he was looking at her nearly made her forget what was being asked. After realizing she had been staring at him a bit too long, she shook her head to snap herself out of her thoughts.

“Yeah, I play! I’m not the best at everything I play like you are, but I’d say I’m a pretty decent player!” She admitted as honestly as possible.

“Maybe I’ll teach you how to play sometime then,” Jungkook suggested with a smile. “It’s basically a first-person shooter game, but it’s so much fun!”

The match started and Jungkook excused himself, throwing his headsets on to talk with his friends again while Y/N watched from behind. To say that Jungkook was good would be an understatement. He could play for an E-sports team if he really wanted to. His character was moving so fast and the way he was quick scoping everyone just screamed how good of a player he was. She couldn’t help but get lost in how fast his aim was and how precise his shots were. 

As the game went on, Jungkook could feel Y/N’s gaze on the screen and he couldn’t help but smile stupidly the entire time she watched him. His feelings for her had been bad, but the second she mentioned she played video games too? He was ready to get on his knee and propose right then and there. 

The room was quiet. Jungkook could hear Y/N move on his bed, and then her feet hit the floor. He figured she was going to head to her room and try and fall back asleep again. But she didn’t.

Y/N’s head found itself in Jungkook’s lap, watching the screen and waiting with him for the next round to start. He felt her yawn against his left thigh and he didn’t want to make any sudden movements. She was getting comfortable and he couldn’t help but dream about how she would feel in his arms. His head was spinning and his brain went cloudy at the feeling of the girl of his dreams resting her head in his lap.

“Hey guys, it’s late,” Jungkook began. “I’m gonna log off for tonight, but I’ll get back on tomorrow, sound good?”

Little by little, his friends started to agree, and soon enough, Jungkook was taking his headsets off and shutting his PC down. Y/N looked up with puppy-dog eyes, wanting to watch more game-play despite how droopy her eyelids were.

“You look really sleepy, don’t you wanna go to bed?” Jungkook inquired, his voice soft and clear in the air. 

She stood up and stretched her limbs out, eliciting another yawn from her throat. She felt like she could sleep on a pile of bricks comfortably at this point and Jungkook could tell. 

“I-I’M NOT TIRED,” Y/N shouted slightly, trying to make it seem like she wasn’t ready to pass out on the floor.

Jungkook jumped slightly at her sudden change in tone and started laughing, ruffling her hair slightly to tell her to calm down. She pouted at him and his heart soared.

“Hey, I thought we agreed on no yelling at three in the morning, hm?”

Y/N rolled her eyes and listened to him chuckle before protesting. “Says the one who was screaming since he came back from class and kept me up all night,”

She yawned again and felt her eyelids slowly start to lose the will to stay open any longer than they needed to. 

“You’re lucky you’re so cute, or I would’ve raised hell,” 

Her eyes were wide open now. She slapped her palm over her mouth and took a step back to register what she just said. Meanwhile, Jungkook’s heart was doing flips and his stomach was filled with butterflies from wall to wall. He smiled brightly, barely able to believe what just came out of his roommate’s mouth.

“I-I’m so sorry, that was inappropriate, oh my god I can’t believe I just said that,” She apologized. “I-I’m just gonna go to my room,”

He couldn’t let her slip away after that. So, he did what he thought was best.

Jungkook grabbed Y/N by her wrist, pulling her into his chest and holding her so she couldn’t escape his grasp. And before he knew it, he was stooping down to her height to press his lips against hers. Her lips tasted like the vanilla bean chapstick she always carried around with her. The sweetness of it all was nothing compared to how soft her lips felt against his. He swore he was in heaven the second he felt her kiss him back. 

Her hands flew to the back of his neck, her digits twirling strands of his wavy hair. His hands slowly moved down to her hips, his fingers gripping them with such ferocity she was sure that he was going to bruise them into her skin. He was holding onto her like she was going to escape if he didn’t pull her closer to him, but somehow she found comfort in feeling this way. So vulnerable in front of him and falling for every trick he pulled from the book. He felt amazing. It felt so right.

When they both pulled away to breathe, Y/N couldn’t help but stare into his eyes, seeing a whole galaxy of stars just waiting for her to dive into. The way they shone even in the darkness of his bedroom made her swoon and she felt drunk off of how good he was treating her. How touch starved she used to be and how he so easily took all of that away and showed her what it felt like to be loved.

“I am so glad I moved in with you,” Jungkook admitted breathlessly. “From the first day we met, I thought you were the most gorgeous girl I’d ever seen in my life, other than IU of course,”

She giggled and shook her head playfully.

“You really love IU, don’t you Googie?”

He sighed at the pet name she’d given him since they first moved in, shaking his head with a chuckle before rubbing his large, chocolate orbs.

“Let’s go to bed now, how does that sound?” He offered, pulling back the comforter on his bed and patting the mattress for her to lie down.

“That sounds amazing,” She sighed dreamily, closing her eyes the second her head hit his pillow.

Jungkook crawled in right next to her, throwing his hoodie over his head and snuggling close to her. His skin felt warm, his body was just radiating heat and she felt like a moth drawn to a flame. He wrapped his arms around her and she couldn’t have felt safer anywhere else other than in his arms.

All of the dreaming he’d done, the imagining of how perfect she’d feel curled up next to him never could have prepared him for this moment in time. He thought all of the cliche bullshit about fitting together like puzzle pieces in their lover’s arms was so stupid, but there was no other way to describe it than just that, and he didn’t hate it at all. Not one bit. 

“Googie,” Y/N began, the rumble of his soft hum against his chest making her heart grow in size. “What does this mean for us?”

He sighed and pulled her closer.

“It means that I finally have the girl of my dreams right where I want her,”

He paused. 

“And that we need to cross out ‘No yelling at three AM’ on our list of rules,”

[kidrauhlschik]

Venom .1

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

I could make it look like you never existed in the first place. All you have to do is leave everything behind and run

Couple: Mafia!YoongixReader + maybe more?

Genre: Cartel!AU, Mafia!AU, Druglord!AU (whatever applies tbh)

Warnings: Mentions of death

Word Count: 1030

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“I forgot to mention-“ He detaches his body that was pressed against mine in the huddle of blankets. “There’s a phone in the third bottom drawer on the left of the dresser,”

“Mhm…” I lazily reply, trying to keep myself from falling into the arms of deep slumber.

“If that phone is ever to ring, it will mean that I- that I was compromised… or killed.” He quietly says in the firmest voice he could muster up. That one sentence is all it takes for sleep to be cruelly taken away from me.

“What are you even talking about Tae?” He avoids my questioning glare while looking down at the blankets.

“Y/N, you know what I do. You know how dangerous it is. That is merely just a precaution.” He whispers as if now he was ashamed of bringing it up.

“Precaution my ass. Why can you just not call me yourself if that even happens? Or have one of your men call me? Why be so dramatic over it?” I know I’m being whiny, but even bringing up such a topic changes my mood completely.

“Don’t be like that Y/N. What I do doesn’t just put me in danger; it mixes you in as well. No matter how hard I try to keep you out of it, you’ll always be there. If I die, you’ll follow right after, and that is the last thing I want.” He sighs at my incredulous expression, realizing he’ll have to explain a hell of a lot more if he wants me to drop the subject.

“Y/N… If I die, there would be no one to protect you. There’ll always be people waiting just around the corner to simply just kill you. I need you to listen to me and listen to me very carefully,” Taehyung sits up, bringing me up in the process.

“If that phone ever rings, I’ll more than likely be dead; I need you to pick it up with no hesitation. Someone will give you instructions on what to do if they have time. After that, you are going to have to hang up, turn off the phone, leave it on top of the dresser, and simply walk out.  No matter happens, you cannot take anything with you. You have to leave your phone, the money, everything but the clothes you’re wearing, hell, don’t even take the key, you won’t be coming back anyway.” In any other situation, I would’ve thought he was messing with me, but with the way he’s looking at me right now, I know he means what he’s saying more than anything.

“I have enough connections to make it look like you died with me, hell, I could make it look like you never existed in the first place. All you have to do is leave everything behind and run. Never look back, no matter what. Do you understand?” His eyes are glossing over, and I don’t realize I’m crying until he reaches over to wipe the tears away.

“It’s just a precaution okay? I’ll do everything in my power to stay with you forever. You won’t have to worry about that anytime soon.” He smiles, but the action doesn’t reach his eyes. He doesn’t mean it. I know he’s just saying it so I won’t worry; therefore I’ll pretend to be okay, so he’s happy. Maybe I’m wrong. Perhaps he’ll be okay for many years to come.

Maybe.

“I love you” The words leave my mouth before my brain has time to analyze everything he just said to me entirely. Relaxation washes over his face almost immediately as he lies down once again, pulling me to his chest.

“I love you more.”

 ~Four months later~

 Warm showers are nice, but nothing beats an ice-cold shower, and how alert it makes me feel.

I wrap the white towel around me as I make my way out of the bathroom, into the empty room Taehyung and I share. They say money can’t buy happiness, but everything my fiancée brings in, sure makes us comfortable.

I take in my surroundings, as I get ready to dress up. The huge king size bed to my right that we barely take half the space of. A few feet more to the right is the huge wall-size window that brings me so much peace for some reason. In front of the bed is the rug we’ve had since we moved in together for the first time a few years ago. In front of that is the black dresser that I might as well plant myself in front of every morning due to the huge mirror that it holds.  All the other appliances are basically decoration since we never have time to use them.

I slowly walk to the mirror and grab the hairbrush that I keep on top of the dresser. Humming a melodic beat Taehyung always sings to me on rainy days as I take my time getting ready to basically just go back to bed again. Everything is calm until I hear a noisy beep coming from somewhere that breaks me out of my thoughts. I frown as my eyes take in the entire room in wonder. I pick up my phone from the bed seeing I have no notifications aside from Taehyung’s usual good morning text. I search the depths of my brain wondering what the hell is making the beep and where it could be coming from. I drop the brush as I walk towards the counter.

Realization hits me like a ton of bricks.

No, it can’t be, my mind must be playing tricks on me.

My shaky hand reaches to open the third bottom drawer to the left, and as soon as I do, the noise increases in volume. My right-hand reaches into the drawer and slowly picks up the silver flip phone from the mess of forgotten electronics.

Please God no.

I take a deep breath as I finally bring myself to open the phone and bring it up to my ear.

“Hel-Hello?” My voice betrays me as it breaks mid-word.

“Run.”

Is the last word I hear before the line goes dead.

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A/N: Istg Taehyung is such a fucking bias wrecker.

Anyways this chapter is loosely based and inspired on a TV show called “La Reina del Sur” or “The Queen of the South”. This is the only chapter that will be based on it, since I’ve only ever watched a few episodes of the series. oOps. 

[thrashff]

30 Days of Therapy

Pairing: Min Yoongi x OC (female)

Synopsis: Min Yoongi has a lot of issues, but doesn’t everyone? Fortunately for him, it only takes thirty days of therapy to fall back in love with the world—and maybe even a girl while he’s at it.

Warnings: Depression, angst, anxiety, dissociation, depersonalization disorder—basically a lot of mental health issues and coping mechanisms and everyone tries to deal as best as they can. If you’re triggered by any of this, please please please don’t read this. Also, cursing.

Word Count: 20k (ish, please don’t hate me)

A/N: Istg this wasn’t meant to be so long -___-; I was possessed, possessed I tell you!

Disclaimers: Canon compliant, takes place around October 2017. I know that the official schedule says they’ll be in Japan and Taiwan, but this is a fanfic. Let’s suspend reality for bit, yeah?

The words at the beginning of each segment are from Chuck Palahniuk’s Lullaby. Plot has nothing to do with the novel, but they touch on a few of the same themes. Apart from that nothing really, except the quotes felt like they fit.

Enjoyyy~ <3

#ProtectMinYoongi

[“We’re the culture that cried wolf.”]

Day 0

Anger fucking management.

Yoongi has turned the idea over and over in his head countless times and it still doesn’t sit well with him. He doesn’t even have anger management issues; what he does have an issue with is stupid fucking Jungkook thinking it was a good idea to bait him into a game of chase by taking one of his external hard drives as hostage.

How was Yoongi supposed to know that pushing that chair out of his way would break the entire mirrored wall of the dance studio? He wasn’t, that’s how. Because it had been an accident—one of those freak of nature things that tended to just happen as an accumulation of bad luck and maybe even worse karma, which Yoongi was now of the personal belief he had a lot of.

But, of course, no one had believed him. Nope, not Yoongi; not the moody, unstable problem child in their already strange pseudo-family. If it had been Namjoon no one would have batted an eyelash, instead saying something about the “god of destruction” fondly and letting it slide. If it had been any of the maknaes, people would have petted them on the head and sent them off with a stern warning. Of course, Seokjin would never break anything he could see his own reflection in, and Hoseok was far too superstitious to be anything but careful around mirrors. That left practically everyone thinking the worst of him, sending him to a month-long crash course in anger fucking management.

The mere idea makes him angrier than Jungkook’s stupid stunt.

[“Until you deal with your real personal issues, you’ll never be able to control yourself.”]

Day 1

A long week later, their crazy schedule finally winds down enough to be adjusted. Enough to free up most of his evenings from 8-10PM for 30 days of therapy that he’s 100% sure he doesn’t even need. But still, here he is, trudging into the function room of a university office building on a Thursday night he could be spending at the Genius Lab instead, black facemask over his nose and mouth and bucket hat pulled low over his eyes, Manager Sejin frowning as he trails after him.

Yoongi tries to soothe himself with the fact that he’s lucky to have talked himself out of one-on-one sessions. Yoongi would dance, wear make-up, preen in front of the cameras, put on animal ears fans brought him—hell, he would even make a fool of himself on national television; but the one thing he would not do was talk about his feelings to a stranger for two hours every night.

Group therapy wouldn’t be so bad, he tries to convince himself, albeit a little half-heartedly, as he walks through the empty halls, leather shoes clacking on the polished linoleum. At least he won’t be the only problematic one in the room—if his problems are even that bad to begin with. For fuck’s sake, doesn’t everyone have issues?

He lets out a little scoff at yet another double standard that it seemed only applied to him, pausing right in front of the double doors with “Dr. Kim Yejun” taped on the front. He takes a deep breath to steel himself and finally pushes them open. Thirty days. It’ll be over before he knows it.

[“The story behind the story.”]

Yi Jihoon is six foot five and built like a brick wall, broad shouldered and barrel-chested, but he’s already in tears as he introduces himself and explains that he hadn’t meant to trash that bar when he caught his girlfriend cheating on him. He’s a good person, honest. He can’t even remember the incident, blacking out with rage. That doesn’t count, does it?

Nae Minjun looks like a rat and is just as twitchy, all of 19 years old and constantly flicking his fingers over a battered, gunmetal Zippo lighter that has seen better days; flick, flare, snap. He’s in therapy because he’d thought breaking into a garbage dump and starting a 25-foot bonfire there had been a good idea. He also doesn’t look the least bit repentant about it.

Dong Gunwoo looks like an average, middle-aged, stressed-out businessman, still dressed in an exquisitely tailored suit from the office. Indispensable to his company, they’re sending him to therapy because no one is willing to work with him thanks to his tendency towards violent outbursts over the smallest infractions.

Sam Lee is the only girl in the group. She looks like she’s in her mid-twenties, same as Yoongi, but in South Korea it’s always hard to tell. When it’s her turn to introduce herself, she merely shrugs and tells them she’s here to make the rest of them look sane and normal in comparison. Yoongi smirks behind his facemask at that. Dr. Kim doesn’t look entertained.

Then there’s Yoongi, the idol with the “unhealthy coping mechanisms.” Manager Sejin cuts in then; they won’t mind signing this non-disclosure agreement, would they? Of course not. A standard contract, they can spare ten minutes to read through it. Yoongi is fine. Yoongi is normal. He’s just been under a lot of pressure lately and is eager to learn how to deal with his feelings in a healthy manner.

Yoongi doesn’t know why he had even bothered to speak at all. His management team would take care of it. He’s already half hoping that Manager Sejin will attend all of his sessions with him.

By the time all the documents were signed (it took Minjun three attempts before he gave back a copy that wasn’t burnt at the edges) and Dr. Kim had finished his introduction speech on how anger was normal, healthy emotion, forty-five minutes had passed and they were allowed to take a twenty minute break.

Yoongi stands, stretching his sore legs (the new DNA choreography was no joke). Interrupts Manager Sejin and Dr. Kim’s hushed conversation to ask if the perimeter is safe, if he can step outside for some fresh air. Manager Sejin nods—no, he doesn’t need to take security, they’re the only ones in the building. Yoongi bows, taking his hat off and slicking his silver-blue hair away from his forehead. A quick glance around the room tells him Jihoon is attacking the stale donuts with a vengeance, Gunwoo is talking heatedly to someone on the phone, and that Minjun and the Lee girl have disappeared.

He sighs and makes his way to the exit, pulling his facemask down to take in a couple of deep lungfulls of the crisp fall air, the feel of it enough to calm the constant stream of complaints he’s muttering in his head. He loves this time of year—leaves changing, the world slowing down to make way for winter, the scent of cold heavy on the air.

Although he doesn’t quite remember it smelling so sweet and… pungent?

He scrunches his nose, frowning, already following the odd smell. He turns the corner of the building to find Lee leaning against the chain link fence lining the building’s perimeter, her hands shoved into the pockets of an oversized knit cardigan the color of snot, a cigarette dangling from her lips. She raises an eyebrow at him, and Yoongi stops in his tracks. Of course he isn’t used to the smell of cigarettes—none of the Bangtan boys smoke them. And if anyone on the production team does, they do a good job of hiding it.

He makes a face. “Those are bad for you,” he tells her bluntly.

She laughs, and it’s an odd sound that stays ringing in his ears afterwards; somewhere between a chortle and a cough and a bark all at the same time. He doesn’t know if he likes it or hates it. “You could say that about anything,” she points out. Her hair is ragged at the ends and several different shades of brown under a black bowler hat; heavy vintage eyeglasses on the tip of her nose, catching the lamplight.

Yoongi decides she could be pretty, if he squinted a bit and looked past the baggy clothes. They weren’t even oversized in a fashionable way—she looked like she had gotten dressed in the dark in a thrift store that carried nothing but the worst of the 90s.

“Besides,” she continues, seemingly oblivious to his scrutiny, the unkind thoughts in his head. “We’re all here because we’re bad for society. Don’t fit the status quo. Measured and found lacking. What’s one more bad habit they need to fix?”

Her tone is balanced, even. Like she’s telling him something she’s said a million times before. Yoongi can tell—he’s used to reading from a script.

He probably shouldn’t, but the smell of the smoke she’s exhaling smells sweet to him and he walks over, leaning on the fence and mimicking her posture. Lord help him, but it’s nice to be around someone who isn’t falling all over herself, asking to take a selca together. Someone who isn’t perfectly polished, the way everyone is these days. She isn’t exactly a ray of sunshine, but he finds he doesn’t quite mind. Neither is he.

Lee just watches him from the corner of her eye, smoking her cigarette in silence.

“So what are you really in for?” he finally asks, unnerved by the quiet. His studio is always full of music and home is always filled with people. There are always so many things to do and not enough hours in a day to get them done and he tries and fails to remember the last time he’s simply stood and done nothing—not even speak.

She lights another cigarette, taking a deep drag. They both watch the smoke dance in the heavy air for a few moments, until Yoongi chances a glance at her face. Her expression is almost entertained, as if he had made a joke that only she was in on. “Like I said, I’m here to make the rest of you look good.”

He snorts and turns back to watching the empty concrete parking lot in front of them. “Yeah, like you’re worse off than the sociopath or the pyromaniac.”

“Everyone has problems,” she laughs. “You’re only here because you forgot to be perfect for five minutes and actually let yourself feel something.”

Yoongi starts at that. He’s used to being the one doing the psychoanalyzing, not the other way around. If anything, he had expected it to come from Dr. Kim—not one of his fellow fuck-ups. He won’t admit it, but she’s right. It had felt good to throw that chair out of his way, to hear glass breaking; it had felt even better to chase Jungkook down like prey, a growl in his throat and his limbs pumping to chase after him. The thrill had been different from being on stage, which was all carefully calculated and choreographed down to the twitch of his lips and the movement of every finger, but it had been a thrill nonetheless. It had been the first honest thing he’d done instead of said in ages.

He’s so deep in thought that he doesn’t notice she’s been watching his expression change, his emotions dancing on his face in a way that he isn’t used to showing around people, especially strangers.

She laughs again, starling him. That odd, barking laugh that slides into the empty space between their bodies like a bridge, like something familiar and warm and alien all at the same time. She ditches her cigarette butt and crushes it under a booted heel.

“Weird, isn’t it, when you realize being alive and feeling alive are two different things?”

She pushes her glasses back up her nose, throws him one last look over her shoulder as she makes her way back towards the doors.

“See you inside, popstar.” She says the last word in English, her accent clean without any hint of Korean.

Yoongi stares after her, wondering why his heartbeat is suddenly loud in his ears.

[“The story of how we met. How we got here.”]

Jungkook is the one to pull the door open when the van returns to pick them up. Grinning wide from ear to ear, slightly oversized front teeth prominent, an apology in his eyes.

“Hello, hyung! I’m here to treat you to dinner!” he greets, leaving Yoongi with no other option.

The older boy narrows his eyes at him, but he’s too spent to give him a full-on glare. “You’re a little shit, you know that?” He hasn’t quite forgiven Jungkook yet, but after spending two awkward hours opening up to a bunch of strangers, he has to admit he was glad to see a friendly face. Even if it does belong to the person who had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

Jimin’s head appears over Jungkook’s shoulder, eyes wide. “Was it that bad, hyung?”

Yoongi glances behind him, watching as the rest of the group filters out into the night. Dr. Kim is standing in front of the doors talking to a still sobbing Jihoon, Minjun is sitting on the steps on his phone, fire flaring between his fingers every few seconds, Gunwoo is powerwalking to his parked sedan and Lee is leaning against a pillar, already smoking another cigarette. Watching him.

Manager Sejin places a hand on the small of his back, urging him to continue on towards the van. Two people from his security detail trails after them.

Yoongi shakes his head, irrationally annoyed all over again at all the fuss the situation has caused. He pushes Jungkook’s head back inside the car with one hand. “It’s fine,” he huffs. “But if you’re treating, I want lamb skewers.”

Jungkook’s smile returns, and he lets out a little sigh of relief at Yoongi’s lack of threats as he makes room for the new passengers. “Sure, hyung. All the lamb skewers you want.”

Yoongi tries to listen to him and Jimin’s conversation, but his chest is tight and he can’t help thinking back to Lee’s words. Mostly because they don’t make any sense. What the hell had she been talking about? He is alive, therefore he feels alive. Doesn’t he?

[“The trick to forgetting the big picture is to look at everything close-up.”]

Day 5

“I listened to your music,” Lee tells him, sitting cross-legged on a concrete parking block behind the building.

It’s a Wednesday evening, and over the last couple of sessions it’s become a habit, him following her out back and keeping her company as she smokes. Yoongi likes habits, likes patterns. He finds comfort in knowing that when they take a break, he’ll be able to follow her out back and stand or sit in companionable silence for twenty minutes out of a normally hectic day—starts looking forward to it, even. The quiet is strange, but a good kind of strange. Like an empty house full of old memories.

In any case, it’s a welcome reprieve from always being ushered from one thing to another.

Her dogeared, worn copy of Chuck Palahniuk’s Lullaby is sitting heavy in his jacket pocket. He’s already halfway through since she lent it to him over the weekend, despite it not being translated into Korean. She hadn’t said a word when she’d tossed it to him on Friday night, simply smirked and disappeared into the evening.

He pulls himself from thoughts of dead people on television laugh tracks and how unreasonably small that makes him feel. He stares down at her, slightly surprised by the admission.

Lee isn’t normal. Well, none of them in the group are, per se; it’s why they’re all there to begin with. But she’s a different kind of not normal. She has a strange, roundabout way of saying things, if she even bothers to talk at all. Instead she minds her own business, keeps her nose stuck in a book and smokes cigarettes the way other people breathe oxygen.

And if he thinks he’s plagued with indifference, Lee takes it to a whole other level. It isn’t that she doesn’t care about a lot of things, the way Yoongi more often than not found himself unable to—it’s that she cares about the strangest things to almost an obsessive extent. Over the course of their sessions everyone has opened up about their pasts and personal histories, thanks to the sharing segments led by Dr. Kim—even Yoongi. But Lee would sit there and talk passionately about a book or a movie that had been, in her words, transformative. The manipulation had been so subtle that not even Dr. Kim had caught on yet. She would talk about things she likes, not about herself or who she was. Never about that.

Yoongi should have found it exhausting, should have considered it unfair that he was playing by the rules and she was playing a completely different game. Instead he’d found it entertaining.

Most importantly, she has no idea who or what BTS even is. His pride had felt a little rankled when he realized she wasn’t just trying to be cool; that she really had never heard of them. But he was mostly just relieved. It’s nice to have someone who doesn’t expect anything from him, not even small talk.

“Yeah?” he finally mumbles into the collar of his jacket. He stops himself from asking for her opinion, reminds himself that she’s still virtually a stranger. Her opinion doesn’t matter; their position on the charts does. That mentally settled, he doesn’t know why he’s still watching for her reaction.

She nods thoughtfully, taking a drag of her cigarette. “You have a habit of using your name in your verses.”

The observation startles half a laugh from him, his eyes going wide. “I do. Huh.”

She smirks, still staring at the side of the building like there’s a message hidden in the concrete cracks. “It’s… cute.” She scrunches up her nose, and Yoongi pokes her shoulder with his knee in retaliation. ‘Cute’ wasn’t his favorite word. “No, really!” she says, almost defensively, pushing his leg away with one hand as she glances up at him. It’s the first time they’ve made physical contact, but the moment goes by unremarked upon. “It’s like, if you say your name enough times, people will remember it. Remember you. It’s very subtle conditioning. I’m impressed.”

He shakes his head, fringe falling into his eyes. “Nah. My name just rhymes with a lot of things,” he admits, the corners of his mouth tugging into a small smile.

“What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?” He reaches a hand to the back of his neck, stretching out a kink there. He’s tired, and when he’s tired he’s distracted. He doesn’t know why she’s so talkative tonight but doesn’t complain. He thinks it might be because he enjoys the sound of her voice, but that would be weird, so maybe he just enjoys a conversation that has nothing to do with work. Yeah, that sounded about right.

“Being three people at once,” she huffs, pulling herself to her feet and turning to face him, shoulder propped against the fence he’s leaning on. It’s the first time he pays attention to her face, and he realizes he’s never seen her wearing make-up before. Her raggedy hair is pulled into a knot on top of her head, cat-eyed liner behind thick frames, artificial blush coloring her cheeks. Almost pretty, he thinks absently, but not quite. He’s used to being around idols, after all.

“What do you mean?” he prompts, unable to stop an eyebrow from going up.

“Min Yoongi, Suga, Agust D,” she rattles off, holding up three fingers for emphasis. “Which is the real you?”

He scoffs, staring up at the clear, cloudless night sky. “Different versions, same person—just like everybody else. You adapt depending on who you’re talking to, and I adapt depending on the situation.”

“Nah,” she says, staring up as well, as if she’s looking for whatever’s gotten his attention. “I’m only ever just me. It’s exhausting.” She gives a heavy, dramatic sigh. “You have it so easy, being a popstar.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks in annoyance. “Stop calling me that. I’m a rapper.”

“You’re a rapper in a seven-strong boy group that performs choreographed dances to the squeals of teenage girls. You’re a rapper and a popstar,” she corrects. He can hear the smirk in her voice, can feel his hackles raising at the mocking tone he swears he hears there.

He huffs, crosses his arms in front of his chest. Feels his face twitch with annoyance. “Thanks for clearing that up for me. And here I was, having a mild existential crisis over it.”

She laughs, and he wonders if the sound has become the third person in their conversations because she’s the only one who ever does it. “Pleasure to be of service.”

“Do you get off on psychoanalyzing everyone you come into contact with? Or should I feel special?” he asks, knowing he’s being short with her but not caring. Something about the whole conversation is just rubbing him the wrong way. He isn’t out here for her candor, he’s out here for the silence. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

Suddenly he hates her, just a little, for not understanding. For not picking up on his tone and understanding that he doesn’t want to talk about it. For taking a sudden step into the space he wants from her.

Suddenly he hates her, just a little, because he doesn’t know which is worse: her silence or her opinion.

She scrunches up her nose again, making her glasses slide to the end of it. It annoys him, how she doesn’t adjust them immediately, like a normal person would. “Nah, just you.” And she’s grinning like it’s meant to be a compliment instead of slightly creepy.

“It’s fascinating,” she continues, a hint of excitement coloring her normally flat tone. “How much you must go through in a day. At what point do you push back? At what point are you like, stop, I don’t want to be this product anymore, I want to be a person again. How does it feel to be part of mass brainwashing? Perpetuating this impossible standard of being? Have you ever over-compartmentalized to the point that you lose track of the boxes, like you’ve lost against a street magician’s sleight of hand?”

Yoongi’s fists clench at his sides, his limbs shaking as she speaks. She’s rambling. Rambling as if he isn’t standing right there, listening to her talk about him like a specimen under a microscope. As if she’s known him for more than six days, as if she knows anything about how much he’s sacrificed to get to where he is. Who did she think she was, to pass judgment like this? To even talk about him when she had no idea who he even was two days ago?

“You don’t know shit,” he hisses, cutting her off. She turns to him, open-mouthed. He doesn’t realize that he’s looking that closely, but he can see that her pupils are blown, eating up what’s left of the brown in her eyes. “You don’t know fuckall about me, so don’t talk about it like you do.”

“I wasn’t talking about you,” she responds, voice low but still clear as a bell between them. “Just, you know, the idea of you.” She waves a hand through the air distractedly, as if that were sufficient explanation.

“I’m not an idea!”

“Everyone’s a concept.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Invention.”

“Look, Lee.” He spits her name like a curse. “I don’t know where you get off, but if you’re going through some weird bullshit existentialist crisis, don’t pawn it off by psychoanalyzing me.”

She hunches her shoulders as he takes an angry step towards her, a look of hurt passing over her eyes. She shakes her head. “I just-” She glances at the corner of the book, poking out of his jacket pocket. “I thought you got it. My mistake.”

Without another word she rushes back inside, leaving him shaking with anger, his heart thudding painfully in his chest.

What the fuck had just happened?

[“We’re all of us haunted and haunting.”]

Day 6

It isn’t until Yoongi is lying in bed that night, starting at his ceiling in the dark and replying their strange argument over in his head, that he realizes he might maybe understand what she was trying to say. He’s tired—so tired that the last thing he wants to think about is conditioning and concepts and the capitalist machine he’s found himself a cog in, but here he is, thinking about it. All because some strange, possibly insane girl had said it was fascinating. That he was fascinating. Like all of it wasn’t just how things were, like they meant something more than plain old reality.

Sure, his reality was very different from a lot of other people’s. But he had worked hard for this. Any recognition at all was better than where he was seven years ago, physically, emotionally, artistically. He loves it, every crazy, impossible, unreal minute of it. What was she seeing that he couldn’t?

Sure, half of it is a construct, but isn’t that a given in the entertainment industry? With media in general?

And yeah, if he’s being honest with himself the line between Yoongi and Suga has been getting blurrier and blurrier with each passing day, but doesn’t that just lend authenticity to the stage persona? Suga had been his idea to begin with, a way to cope with having to market a polished, desirable version of himself instead of just, well, himself.

Suga is just Yoongi on overdrive. Suga is confident, self-assured; he doesn’t have time to listen to haters and their criticism, doesn’t care if they thought he was a sell-out. Suga hits his marks 110%, never misses a cue, mugs for the cameras and makes good music. Suga is consistent. Suga had struggled, beaten his demons. Suga’s better now. The best. Suga has the fans, the recognition, the spotlight. Suga knows who he was, what he stands for.

And Yoongi is….

His train of thought stalls, careens to a full stop. Who is he these days? Where the fuck were the lines drawn anymore? Are they still even there?

He knows Suga’s story by heart because it’s his; the underground rapper from Daegu who starved and worked his ass off for his dream and made it big despite it all. But thanks to the years of constant exposure, he realizes that the little things that make him Yoongi—how he curls up into a ball to sleep, his habit of biting his pens whenever he writes, the way he slips into satoori when he isn’t paying attention, every mannerism and every detail that make up who he is—somewhere along the line, all of those things have become Suga’s characteristics instead of his.

What is left of Yoongi? Suddenly something inside of him snaps, like a twig in a flame, and he understands. Suddenly, he gets it, what she had been trying to say in her weird, roundabout way. Being three people at once, she’d said. People expect certain things from two of the personas, Suga and Agust D. But does anyone really expect anything from Yoongi anymore?

Maybe the boys? They do, after all, know him best after all these years. It’s a dance as meticulously choreographed and practiced as any of their stages, coexistence and dealing with everyone’s individual quirks. But Yoongi is just Yoongi—boring, broken, and a little bit battered by life. It’s why Suga and Agust D were created in the first place, because people don’t want to know about him at all.

They don’t want normal, they don’t want real. Nobody wants average. They want him magnified by a hundred, the kind of gigantic presence to be expected from an idol. Hell, even his problems are always blown out of proportion, from how he deals with his depression to his sexual preferences.

Except her. Maybe. All she’d asked was which version was real, as if there was no possible way all three could thrive, let alone exist, in one body. She’d wanted to know about Yoongi himself. Not about Suga or Agust D.

The thought is slightly terrifying.

Almost as terrifying as it is frustrating, because he isn’t sure he can answer the question. Suga and Agust D had taken up so much of his time, so much of who he was, that he isn’t sure there’s much left outside of it all. And that’s okay, isn’t it? It’s not like he even really cares about much beyond his career anyway—why would she?

Yoongi doesn’t want to think about why, he’s just trying to survive what and how. Trying to balance where and when without failing everyone around him, without losing sight of his goals. Trying to stay in form without burning himself out. He doesn’t need to understand how he’s keeping his shit together—the only thing that matters is that he does.

He doesn’t want to understand at all, he just wants to be.

Which version of himself, he isn’t sure. He tells himself it doesn’t really matter to anyone else but him in any case.

No one but him and, apparently, the weird girl in his therapy group.

He groans and rubs both hands over his face, knowing that his thoughts are circling back and if he doesn’t stop them now, they’ll keep wearing him down until he wants to scream. A cursory glance at the alarm clock, glowing an eerie green on his bedside, tells him he’s been thinking for two hours straight now, leaving just four left before he needs to be up for a full day of shooting.

He scowls. He doesn’t need to be thinking about this shit. He just needs to play nice, keep his head down, clear therapy and things will go back to normal. Normal, where thoughts like this don’t keep him up until the wee hours of the morning. Normal, where he isn’t constantly daydreaming about running until his heart wants to beat out of his chest, laughing like there aren’t cameras trained on him at all times, screaming until his throat is sore.

He grabs a pillow and burrows his face in it. If he wants normal, the answer is simple. He needs to stay away from Lee.

[“The best way to waste your life is by taking notes. The easiest way to avoid living is to just watch.”]

“How’s therapy going?”

Yoongi looks up to find Hoseok standing over him, a small, mellow smile on his face in contrast to his usual hundred watt one. Yoongi grunts, continues his futile attempt at trying to stretch and touch his toes without pulling a muscle.

“Eloquent, as usual,” the taller boy quips, dropping down and spreading his legs, soles propped against Yoongi’s as he takes his teammate’s hands and pulls him towards him to help stretch him out. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

“You sound like Jimin,” Yoongi complains, slightly breathless from being bent over. “It’s not. The doctor’s nice. He makes sense, anyway.”

“How are the other people in the group?” Hoseok asks, starting to go into his own stretching routine.

Yoongi shouldn’t feel annoyed, really. He knows Hoseok is just checking in, being a good friend and seeing how he’s doing, but after tossing and turning the entire night with thoughts of before and after and who and what going through his head, the last thing he wants to think about is going back to therapy that evening.

“Mental,” Yoongi decides, satisfied with it as the most accurate word to describe them, the entire situation. They have about half an hour left before rehearsals start, so he kills the time by telling Hoseok about Jihoon, laughs at ever being driven that insane over a girl, how Jimin should take it easy with flirting with fans before he falls for one. About Gunwoo, unable to filter his own mouth, and they laugh about how thank god Taehyung has learned. About Minjun setting fire to everything he touches, how Yoongi is getting a little paranoid and now wants to keep matches away from Jungkook, since they’re about the same age.

He doesn’t tell him about Lee. He doesn’t feel ready to talk about her just yet, doesn’t know where to even begin explaining what she’s like and how she’d sent his brain into overdrive. He’s closest to the rap line out of the entire group; there’s no need to worry Hoseok, who has a tendency to fret about the smallest things.

“Is it helping?” Hoseok asks, rising to jump up and down on the balls of his feet.

“Helping what?” Yoongi mumbles, getting onto his own in a much less energetic fashion.

“All the talking you must be doing.” Hoseok looks around the rehearsal space distractedly. “You won’t admit it but you’ve been kind of distant, hyung. Like you haven’t been all here lately.”

Yoongi scoffs at that, pulls his facemask back over his mouth. “I’ve been here the whole time, Hobi. And it’s not like I’m going to spill my life story to a room full of strangers.”

“But it’s so liberating!” At the confused look in his teammate’s eyes, Hoseok begins to laugh awkwardly. Yoongi remembers then, that the younger man has been to dark places, too. “You’ve never done that? Just sat next to someone and unloaded whatever was bothering you? It’s liberating. You walk away one problem lighter and they’ll just think you’re a weirdo.”

“You are a weirdo,” Yoongi deadpans, but Hoseok sees the fondness in his eyes when he says it and just grins.

“We’re all mad here,” he cackles, then claps a heavy hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, making the slighter man stumble forward a step. “All I’m saying is, try talking. If you’re going to be there, then be there. Don’t just sit around waiting for it to be over. We miss you. We want you back. A hundred and ten percent.” He flashes him another grin then saunters off to join Seokjin and Namjoon in the corner, acting like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb of feelings on his teammate.

Yoongi stares after him. Takes a deep breath, lets it out. Repeats this four more times before he’s calm enough to move, before he manages to make Hoseok’s words small enough to slip into the box in his head clearly labelled “Think About Later”.

The camera crew is entering, adjusting their lens and already the maknaes are preening in front of them. He shakes his head, clearing the leftover cobwebs, finally moving to join them. He doesn’t have time for this, he reminds himself. No time for thought, no time for an existentialist crisis. That could wait. It could all wait.

[“In a world where vows are worthless. Where making a pledge means nothing. Where promises are made to be broken, it would be nice to see words come back into power.”]

Lee is late. She’s late and it’s strange because every time Yoongi has come in for a session, she’s already sitting in the back, her nose in a book. She’s late and she slides into the room, rubber soles squeaking on the flooring in a way that has him cringing, fifteen whole minutes after they reconvene after break. She mumbles an apology to Dr. Kim, plops herself down in a chair and doesn’t even bother pushing the hood of her army green jacket from her head.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. If the label can move their entire schedule around to make time for these sessions, surely she can manage to at least be on time. He’s tired and he’s hungry and in the foulest mood he can remember being in. And because she wasn’t there, he hadn’t been able to spend the break outdoors. Sure, he could have walked out on his own, but she was part of the ritual. Her and her cigarette smoke and her awkward, borderline offensive presence.

Sure, he promised himself he’d stay away from her, but he was supposed to do it first, goddammit, not the other way around.

Yoongi hates her for being late. For making him wonder if anything bad had happened to her. For making him worry that something had.

He hates her for making him feel more than he already has to.

“As I was saying,” Dr. Kim continues. “I want to see how you’re able to relate and communicate to the people around you, so we’re going to split off into pairs. No pressure, just a regular conversation. Start off by telling your partner three things about yourself that they don’t know yet, then you can talk about anything else from there. At the end I want you to tell the rest of the group what you’ve learned about them.”

He folds his arms, cupping his chin between his thumb and index finger as he considers them. “Let’s make this easy, yes? We’ll divide by peer group. Minjun, with me. Jihoon with Gunwoo, and Yoongi with Lee. You have thirty minutes.”

Yoongi opens his mouth to complain, but Dr. Kim’s back is already turned, making a beeline for Minjun’s scrawny form.

He scowls, glaring at Lee from across the room. She hasn’t moved, hasn’t even looked up from playing with the frayed sleeves of her jacket. What the hell is she waiting for? He isn’t going to get up and go to her.

The sound of a throat clearing draws his attention, and Dr. Kim is staring at him pointedly. Yoongi sighs and gets up, dragging his feet and his chair towards the other end of the room.

“Hey.”

Lee finally looks up, her face bare and pale and a little green around the edges, odd and small under that ridiculous hood. “Hey back.”

Yoongi drops his chair, sits down with the back between his legs as he folds his elbows on it. “Are you going to take this seriously?” he asks her tiredly, trying to overcome his overwhelming need to take a nap.

“I don’t know, are you?”

His head snaps up at that, grey-black eyes taking in the challenge on her face. The rest of her looks ill, like she dragged herself out of bed to be here, but her eyes are still alight with something he can’t quite pinpoint. Well, now he was awake at least.

“I don’t like you,” he tells her bluntly, unmindful and uncaring of how the words will cut her. “There, that’s one thing you didn’t know about me.”

If she’s surprised by the information, she doesn’t show it. It’s a little heartless, even for Yoongi, but he can’t help but want to lash out, especially when she’s just staring at him. Like the words don’t hurt. Like she’d actually expected them. Yoongi doesn’t like the idea that he’s predictable.

Finally, she opens her mouth. “I’m on medication,” she admits, her voice subdued and distant, as if her mind is somewhere else. Suddenly her eyes are everywhere but him, but he can’t stop looking. “They, um, kind of make everything feel fuzzy, so it calms me down. But I tend to say stupid shit when I’m on it. Ask stupid questions. All the wrong things.” Her fingers continue to pick at her sleeves as she speaks. “I know that sounds like a copout, but I just started new ones this month and I’ve been trying to get used to them.” She meets his eyes then, finally. “I’m sorry for what I said yesterday.”

Yoongi just stares at her, unsure what to say, tongue shoved into his cheek as he bites down on it, trying to think.

“I was out of line,” she continues, sparing him from a response for the time being. “I have no idea what your life is like. No idea what you’re like. I was just, um, guessing. And I’m sorry,” she repeats, eyes downcast, her voice getting fainter as she goes on. “It’s stupid, but my brain makes up stories whenever I see something interesting and last night I just… you’re interesting and I got carried away and I’m sorry.”

His eyes narrow, studying her to see if he can tell if she’s telling the truth. She’s fidgety, that much is certain. Her eyes keep darting from one thing to another, as if she can’t focus on one thing for too long. Her lips are pale and there’s still that odd intensity in her eyes that wasn’t there the night before. It’s also the most words she’s spoken to him combined.

“Are you on them now?”

She laughs, and for the first time he’s glad to hear it. Doesn’t realize he maybe even missed it, a little, since last night. “No. No, I- um, I didn’t take them this morning so things are….” She gestures tiredly in front of her before bringing her hand up to massage the bridge of her nose. “Everything’s a little loud. A little, um, much. Do you know what I mean?”

“Not really,” he admits. He has no idea what being on medication for anything was like outside of the strict regimen of vitamins and minerals their nutritionist has them on, except that they were supposed to make someone better, or at least something to that effect. Yeah, he’d gone to see a doctor as a teenager, but all he’d done then was talk. He still has no idea what he’s supposed to say, how he’s supposed to react, so he says the first thing he can think of.

“But I liked it better when you weren’t saying sorry every five seconds.”

It was meant to be a joke, but instead she cringes, hunching in on herself under the oversized clothes. “Yeah. Yeah, that happens when I’m actually, like, all here.” She gestures at herself awkwardly. “Sorry.”

“Stop,” he groans, holding up a hand. He thought he would know how to deal with her, but now that she was like this, he was back to where he started: clueless and slightly annoyed. He chews on the corner of his mouth, trying to think. “It’s fine.” And it was. “You just have a weird way of asking questions, you know?” Because she did.

She smirks a little at that and taps her temple with her index finger. “It’s the voices. Can’t think with all of them sometimes.” His eyes go wide, and she giggles. Actually giggles, like a normal girl would. “Kidding,” she says quickly. “No voices. At least, not yet.”

He manages a small smile, then. God, this was so strange. “You’re kind of a mindfuck.”

She nods, eyes back to scanning the room. “I’ve been told. By countless mental health professionals, actually.”

“I figured it out,” he tells her, the words tumbling free before he can stop himself. She tilts her head at him, a question on her face. “Your question, I mean. I think I figured it out, anyway.” He shifts his weight, awkwardly casting his eyes around the room.

“I asked quite a few yesterday. And everything’s…”

“Much?” he suggests.

“Much,” she agrees. “Right now, at least. Which question?”

“You technically only asked one.” He can’t help but smile then, and her eyes suddenly look present, as if she’s finally able to focus on one thing and he’s it. It makes him feel a little special, because he likes to think she’s focused on Yoongi—not Suga or Agust D.

“Yeah?”

There challenge is clear and Yoongi feels his blood warm, rising to meet it. “Yeah.” She leans back into her chair, one leg bent and the other stretched out in the space between them, hanging on to his every word. “You wanted to know if I was still whole.”

“Whole,” she repeats, as if she’s tasting the word on her tongue for the first time.

“Whole.” He nods, unable to keep from smirking at the little victory. “I haven’t figured out the answer. But when I do, I’ll let you know.”

She grins, finally reaching up to fix her crooked glasses. “That sounds promising.”

“I don’t make any I can’t keep.”

“Three.”

“Mn?”

“That’s three things already.” She holds up three fingers again. “You don’t like me, you figured out the question, and you don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Only two are true.”

“The truth is subjective.”

He should feel guilty, still, but he’s pretty sure she means that he’s forgiven so he nods, leaning his cheek on his arm as they settle into the conversation more comfortably, awkward apologies out of the way. “What’s your version of it, then?”

“My life is boring,” she laughs.

“I highly doubt that,” he says, contradicting the almost-compliment with a roll of his eyes. “C’mon, hit me with your best shot.”

“Was that a Pat Benetar reference?”

“No, it was a BTS joke. Bulletproof?” She blinks, and he sighs. “My comedic genius is wasted on you. Who’s Pat Benetar?”

Her eyes go wide. “You’re kidding, right?”

“You’re not allowed to judge me, Miss I-Don’t-Listen-To-Min-Suga-Rap-Genius.”

“Is being a fangirl a prerequisite to being your friend?”

“We’re friends now?”

“God, I know right. Never bet against the universe.”

They stare blankly at each other for ten seconds before cracking a smile simultaneously. Yoongi knows he’s doing that thing again where his upper lip curls too far in, is using the smile that shows his entire upper row of front teeth and gums. He hardly uses it these days, but for some reason right now it seems appropriate.

“Go on,” he says. And she starts talking.

The rest of the session passes by with relative ease. He learns that Lee is a year older than him (“No, I’m not calling you noona”) and that she lives with two other girls in an apartment downtown. She grew up in the States, but moved to Korea when her parents cut her off. It was the cheapest flight somewhere far away, she explains. Now she works as a freelance translator. No contact with family, a handful of friends. Her time is mostly spent with books and music because according to her, “art is easier to deal with than other people.” Korea isn’t exactly the best place for someone with mental health issues, she adds.

Her life makes Yoongi feel sad for her, just a little, because it sounds so small compared to his, but her self-deprecating humor about it is enough to chase the feeling away.

He tells her about his own life, what growing up full-fledged Korean is like. About Daegu and how the world hadn’t made any sense until he first heard hiphop—how music is still the only language he can understand, can communicate in, even now. About his childhood piano teacher, and how he had such a huge crush on her (“Are you sure you don’t want to call me noona?”). About his failed attempt to learn to beatbox when he was fifteen. His family, and how good it felt to finally prove them wrong. About finally being able to bridge the gap and have them back, even though nowadays he could only manage to see them twice a year. About his new family, the people who have had his back when it’s really mattered.

About how fame was just another uphill battle, but at least this time he had people pushing him towards the top instead of dragging him down.

She smiles at that. “You’re good with words,” she tells him. The first compliment, and she doesn’t try to buffer it. Gives it freely, making his mouth turn upwards.

He shakes his head, brushing it off. “I fight with a pen, not a sword. I damn well better be good with them, or I’m screwed.”

He never was one for false modesty.

[“This is the arms race of sound. You don’t win with a lot of treble.”]

Day 7

When he finds himself three compositions deep in the studio later that night (rather, early that morning), he realizes it’s the most alive he’s felt in weeks. That it’s the most himself he’s felt in even longer.

He wonders if this is what it feels like, to be seen.

[“Even absolute corruption has its perks.”]

Day 11

Yoongi likes habits, likes patterns. He finds comfort in knowing that when they take a break, he’ll follow Lee out to the back of the building and keep her company while she smokes. He likes knowing that when he makes a snide, sarcastic comment, Lee will just laugh at him, never taking it personally. Likes knowing that when he isn’t in the mood to talk, Lee will fill the space between them with talk of art and music and life, things that have nothing to do with his reality. Likes knowing that he can be himself without having to explain, without having to make who he is palatable. Likes not having to sell an amped up version of himself. Likes being Yoongi. Just Yoongi.

He likes knowing that the fire in her eyes still hasn’t dimmed, that her pupils haven’t been blown in days. Likes thinking that maybe it has a little to do with him.

For twenty minutes out of his normally hectic day, he has this. Cigarette smoke and a strange girl sitting next to him on a pile of dead lives in an empty parking lot. The conversation is strange. Her presence is strange. How he’s been feeling lately is strange, but a good kind of strange. Like waking up in the house he grew up in with the furniture all rearranged, ready for him to make new memories in it.

In any case, it’s a welcome reprieve from always being ushered from one thing to another. He’s happy to be in one place instead of in between.

[“No detail is too minor to note.”]

Day 12

“Someone looks happy today,” Jimin muses, smirking at Yoongi as he sits beside him at their make-shift lunch table.

“We’re at MNET. I don’t see any long faces here, do you?” Seokjin jokes, elbowing Jungkook in the ribs.

Yoongi doesn’t bother rolling his eyes at his teammates, simply returns to his bowl of noodles.

“No, I agree! Hyung was really good at rehearsals earlier, too!” Taehyung quips, talking around a mouthful of his own food. That, Yoongi quirks an eyebrow at, and Taehyung takes a nervous swallow. “Not that hyung isn’t always good at rehearsals!” he corrects himself quickly.

“Energy,” Hoseok jokes in English, eyes going comically wide.

“He’s been coming home before 2AM, too,” Seokjin realizes, his pert pink lips pursing into a small “o” of surprise. “And he hasn’t threatened anyone in a couple of days!”

“Speak for yourselves,” Jungkook mumbles. “He told me he’d string me upside down by my pinky toes if I used his body wash again.”

Everyone laughs at that.

“You are, as always, the exception to the rule, Jeon Jungkookie,” Yoongi tells him, snapping his chopsticks threateningly in the air between them.

“The last couple of songs you sent over were really good, Suga,” Namjoon tells him, voice low. “Have you been insfired lately?” The taller, gangly man chortles at his own joke, but even Seokjin, sitting next to him, shakes his head and pats him consolingly on the knee when no one else reacts.

“I don’t know what you guys are talking about,” Yoongi deadpans, reaching over for another piece of chicken.

“Yah, hyung has returned!” Hoseok lifts himself out of his chair into a dramatic pose, waving his bowl in the air. Jungkook and Taehyung chuckle, both their cheeks puffed up like chipmunks.

“Maybe we should all start going to therapy,” Namjoon jokes. Yoongi coughs, food going down the wrong pipe, and Jimin pats him on the back, quietly sliding a bottle of water in front of him.

It isn’t out of the ordinary, the whole scenario. It was normal for them to tease each other, but right then Jimin’s thoughtfulness, Namjoon and Taehyung’s compliments, Seokjin and Hoseok’s insight and concern—hell, even Jungkook’s reluctant acceptance, is overwhelming, and he can feel the emotion start to lodge in his throat.

He swipes the bottle hurriedly from the table, guzzling it down as he tilts his head back, willing the tears to retreat to where they came from.

“Poor thing,” Seokjin whispers to Namjoon as they all return to their meals and other topics of conversation.

“Eh?” Namjoon asks, oblivious to anything but his meal. Seokjin rolls his eyes and wordlessly hands him a napkin.

“Yoongi-ah,” he explains patiently, voice thrown low to avoid being overheard. “We should do something nice for him. Cheer him up. He doesn’t even need to be in that class, but he’s doing it anyway.”

Namjoon nods, realization dawning in his eyes. “Yeah, family dinner or something. Great idea, hyung.”

Seokjin smiles to himself. “I know.”

[“I need to rebel against myself. It’s the opposite of following your bliss. I need to do what I most fear.”]

“Yah, Lee.”

Yoongi jogs after her, catching up with her halfway down the main entry hall of the building. She takes out one of her headphones, pushes her glasses up her nose and pauses midstride, a now-familiar half-smirk on the corner of her mouth as she regards him.

“Yoongi. What is it?” she asks in English.

“Stop showing off,” Yoongi huffs at her, and they fall into step together the rest of the way.

He’s almost halfway through the classes, now, and the first night the studio trusts him enough to attend without security or an escort from the management team. It’s a strange sort of relief—he hadn’t appreciated being treated like a child, and it was mortifying that they knew him well enough to know he would skip them if no one was paying attention.

Granted, a car was still being sent to pick him up and take him back to the dorm, but he supposed he had a little time until then.

They push through the main doors, and Yoongi hands her back her copy of Lullaby. She accepts it with an incline of her head, sliding it into the pocket of her jacket. The days were getting even colder now. He loved it.

“Did you like it?” she asks him, already sliding another cigarette from her pack and putting in between painted lips the color of dried blood. Yoongi doesn’t realize he’s staring. “Yoongi,” she says, both eyebrows going up. “Earth to Min Yoongi,” she repeats in English, waving a hand in front of his face.

Yoongi automatically reaches up and grabs her wrist, catching it in midmotion. His hold is a little rougher than he intends, used to roughhousing with other boys, but her face just breaks into a grin, canines bared.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, realizing what he’s done and dropping her hand gracelessly. As usual, she doesn’t seem to mind and merely tucks it back in her pocket, fishing around for her lighter. “Anyway.” He huffs a warm breath into the cold air, watching it dance before ultimately dissipating. “It was confusing.”

“Was it because of the English?”

“I’m not that bad at it,” he says, a little too defensively, and she chuckles, clearly waiting for him to continue. “I didn’t know who was who for most of it.”

“Kind of a metaphor for life, though, don’t you think?” she quips in what he refers to as her Wise Mage voice in his head. “Do you wanna talk about it? Or if you have Friday night plans, that’s cool, too.”

He thinks quickly, glossing over their schedule in his head. He owes Namjoon a verse for a song, but that could wait until the following afternoon and they aren’t due to shoot until Sunday, so he shakes his head. “Yeah, I do.” He catches sight of a van pulling up into the driveway, knows it’s his ride. “Want to talk about it, I mean. There’s a coffee shop near our dorm. Let’s go.”

Her laughter follows him down the steps, and he pauses right before climbing into the car.

“It’s cute how you assume I’m going to follow you everywhere.”

He smirks, turning to find her right behind him despite her words, watching as she tucks her unsmoked cigarette behind an ear. “You’re already here, aren’t you?” She shrugs, scrunching her nose at him. “Might as well.”

She huffs a breath, glancing back at the building behind them where Dr. Kim is watching them from the open doors. “Yeah. Yeah, might as well,” she mumbles.

He rolls his eyes, grabs the front of her jacket and pulls her into the van after him, surprising a series of giggles and half-hearted complaints from her. He decides he likes this sound more than her laugh. Likes her more when she’s off her meds than on them, even if it means she’s just as sarcastic and snide and moody and melodramatic as he is. The driver slides the door shut and she twists to face him, smacking him lightly on the shoulder.

“Min Yoongi! I never had you pegged for a kidnapper!”

“I have been practicing the culling song in my head,” he grins, code-switching.

She merely rolls her eyes at him, and they spend the rest of the ride talking about Streator and the morality of murder, the curse of power, and the strength of media. They’re both too engrossed in the debate (Yoongi, of course, in on Streator’s side, but Lee is adamant that he’s an unreliable narrator—that that was the entire point) to notice when they finally pull up to the back of his building.

“We die a thousand deaths a day,” Lee is saying. “But just because you can doesn’t mean-”

Yoongi never finds out the end of her sentence, because just then the van door slides open to reveal Taehyung beaming his signature rectangular smile at them.

“Surprise, hyung! I came to pick you—oh!” The younger boy falters, brow furrowing as he tilts his head at Lee. “Hello! We didn’t know you had a friend with you!”

Yoongi frowns and leans over Lee at the mention of ‘we’ to find Jungkook behind Taehyung, a surprised, wide-eyed expression on his face. “What are you idiots doing?” he complains.

“Seokjin-hyung made us family dinner!” Taehyung explains, the first to overcome his initial surprise. “Hello, I’m V!” he says to Lee, taking a step back to let her slide out of the van.

Lee bows, a look of pained awkwardness clear on her face as she took in the strangely dressed man in front of her. “Hi, I’m Sam Lee.”

“Are you a friend of Suga’s?” Jungkook blurts out, seemingly unable to stop himself. When Lee’s gaze lands on him he takes an automatic step behind Taehyung, using the older boy to shield him.

“She’s my groupmate from therapy,” Yoongi explains, still confused as to what the fuck was happening as he joined them.

“You never mentioned her!” Taehyung says excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he grinned at the unfamiliar girl.

“You never asked,” Yoongi deadpans, glancing at Lee to find a look of subdued amusement on her face. “We were just going to grab coffee-”

“But Seokjin-hyung made dinner!” Taehyung complains.

��Who gets coffee at 10PM,” Jungkook mutters under his breath, and Yoongi glares at him.

“I do, that’s who.”

“We have coffee upstairs! It’s Bangtan dinner, hyung, and it’s for you. You can’t not go!”

“It’s fine,” Lee says quickly, catching sight of the pained look on Yoongi’s face. “We can talk about the book another time.”

“But I dragged you all the way here, and the car just left.” Yoongi gestures at the space the van had just vacated, looking apologetic.

“Join us!” Taehyung suggests, puppy-dog eyes in full force. “We don’t have company often, but any friend of Suga-hyung’s is a friend of Bangtan’s!”

Lee scratches awkwardly at the back of her neck, eyelids fluttering closed as if she was willing herself elsewhere. Yoongi’s heart clenched painfully in his chest, this being the first time he had ever seen her around other people. She had been doing better and better throughout the week, but if their conversations about it were anything to go by, the two maknaes’ presence was undoubtedly overwhelming for her. He felt fully responsible, guilty, even, for putting her in this position.

He forgets to wonder why he’s so invested.

“It’s fine,” he says quickly, wanting to spare her. “I can help you get a cab and-”

“It’s fine,” Lee echoes, interrupting him. “It’s fine,” she says again, a little more forcefully. A little more resolved. “I can take a bus,” she informs them, attempting a reassuring smile that, sadly, came out as more of a grimace that was mirrored clearly on Jungkook’s face as he watched her.

Yoongi snaps at that, grabbing her arm and pulling her aside. “I’m not letting you commute home this late at night.”

“It’s fine,” she says again, looking a little dazed at the steel undertone to his words. “I’ve done it a million times before, it’s really not a big deal.”

“It is to me,” Yoongi tells her, finally releasing his grip on her arm as he mentally ran through his options. He really should have thought things out before dragging her across town. He can’t help but think that this was why it was so hard to have friends outside of his career. “Can you stay for 30 minutes? Just long enough to eat. Then I’ll ride a cab home with you. Or I can ask Manager Sejin for a car and drive you myself. Just….” He runs a hand through his hair. “Just give me a little time to figure something out, yeah?”

“But it’s Bangtan dinner,” she mumbles, looking unsure at what that was supposed to mean but still understanding that it was important. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not,” he snaps, glaring at her. “Don’t do it. Don’t hide. Not now.”

She smirks a little at that, the corner of her mouth curling. He shouldn’t feel so relieved at the sight of it, but he does. “I won’t if you won’t.”

“Might as well,” he responds, the clench in his chest loosening the tiniest bit at the resolve in her eyes.

“Might as well,” she echoes, staring blankly at him as he slid the cigarette behind her ear free and tucked it back into her jacket pocket.

“Come on,” Taehyung calls, his patience seemingly at an end as he shoved Jungkook playfully towards the building. “Seokjin’s been cooking since 8 o’clock, and I’m starving.”

“Yah,” Yoongi complains, glaring at their backs. “We’ll be up in a second.” He turns back to her, an eyebrow quirked up in question. “Thirty minutes. You only have to deal with them for thirty minutes and I promise I’ll get you home,” he repeats, more to soothe himself than her.

She nods. “Try not to sing the culling song over dinner,” she jokes.

Yoongi laughs. The first real laugh she’s able to startle out of him, and finally, the smile on her face reaches her eyes at the sound.

“I’ll do my best. But no guarantees.”

[“Are these things really better than the things I already have? Or am I just trained to be dissatisfied with what I have now?”]

“We have a guest!” Taehyung announces, almost tripping over himself as he stumbles out of his sandals in the doorway. “Attention!” he calls, cupping his hands around his mouth to magnify the sound. “Make yourselves decent, we have a guest!”

Hoseok pokes his head out of his bedroom, bare shoulder visible from the doorway. “Eh? What do you mean, a guest?”

“Suga-hyung has a friend,” Jungkook informs him, pushing past Taehyung, a look of panic on his face as he scans the living room for anything embarrassing his teammates had left out in the open. “Put a shirt on, hurry!”

Hoseok gives a little squeak and disappears back into his room just as Jimin emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, bare chest glistening with drops of water as he runs a towel through his hair. “What are you talking about?” he asks Taehyung, laughter bubbling around his words. “Hyung doesn’t have any friends…does he?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jiminie,” Namjoon chides, having overheard the loud conversation. He tosses Jimin a shirt as he passes him. “Of course Suga has friends. We just… haven’t met them?”

“This one’s from therapy,” Taehyung singsongs, throwing himself into an armchair and propping his bare feet up on the coffee table. “She’s cute, too!”

Jungkook makes a face, shoving books back onto shelves. “Sort of.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jimin asks curiously, slipping the proffered shirt over his head and dumping his towel back in his bedroom. “What does she look like?”

“Don’t be mean, Kookie,” Taehyung frowns, kicking a leg out at the younger boy as he walks past. “She looks like a cat,” he tells Jimin.

The blonde’s eyebrows draw together. “But Suga doesn’t like cats.”

The clatter of pans and plates echoes through the apartment, coupled with an exasperated groan from Seokjin in the kitchen. “Namjoonie, I know you mean well but I swear to god if you don’t get out of my kitchen I’m going to-”

“Okay, okay!” Namjoon emerges from the kitchen doorway, pouting as he holds both palms up in surrender. “Yah, you try to help someone…” he mumbles, plopping onto the couch and hugging a throw pillow to his stomach. “Everyone, be nice. And Jungkook, stop trying to tidy up. You’re making me dizzy.”

Jungkook slams the closet door closed, having just pushed a pile of dirty laundry in it. “But it’s a girl, hyung!” he whines, looking far younger than his twenty years.

“Is she a fan?” Hoseok asks, finally joining them fully clothed.

Taehyung shrugs. “Maybe?”

Hoseok hums, taking a seat on the couch next to Namjoon. “He didn’t mention a girl in his therapy group.”

“Maybe he wanted to keep her all to himself,” Jimin points out, waggling his eyebrows.

“None of that,” Seokjin chastises, finally emerging from the kitchen to set a pot of stew down at the table. “If Yoongi has a friend over, then we’re all going to be on our best behavior.”

“Yes, mom,” Taehyung, Jimin, Hoseok and Jungkook respond in unison.

“Thank you,” Namjoon mouths, sharing a look of mutual exasperation with Seokjin.

There’s a warning knock at the front door, and Yoongi’s husky drawl filters through. “All of you better have clothes on,” he says. Another few seconds, and the door opens slowly. “Thank god,” Yoongi sighs, eyes travelling over each of his members as if mentally approving of their state of dress. “Everyone, this is Sam Lee. She’s in my therapy group. Lee, this is, uh, everyone.”

Namjoon, ever the leader, is the first to rise to his feet, cheeks already dimpling as Yoongi moves out of the doorway to let her inside. Automatically, everyone crowds behind him. “Two, three. Bangtan! Hello, we are Bangtan Sonyeondan!” they say in unison, giving their customary bow and greeting.

Yoongi’s heart warms at the sight, however unnecessary he feels it is. He glances at Lee, who’s just staring at them, looking shy of overwhelmed.

“I’m Kim Namjoon,” their leader introduces, extending a hand for her to shake.

“I’m J-Hope!” Hoseok beams next, flashing her a wink.

“I’m Park Jimin!” the dancer says, eyes already in crescents as he shoots Yoongi a smirk.

“Jungkook,” their youngest mumbles, giving a small wave from the other end of the living room.

“I’m Jin,” Seokjin introduces, smiling warmly at her. “Now get out of your coats and out of the doorway! The food is getting cold!” he calls over his shoulder, already bustling back towards the kitchen.

“He’s our mom,” Taehyung whispers conspirationally to Lee, smiling vacantly as he follows his teammates to the dining area.

“Nice to meet you all?” Lee says to their retreating backs, voice faint.

“You okay?” Yoongi asks her, slipping his coat off and leaning over her to hang it on his peg.

She seems startled by the question, but nods after a few seconds. “Uh, do I have to take this off?” she gestures at her jacket, and Yoongi realizes he’s never seen her without her oversized layers.

“It’s warm inside,” he points out, eyes narrowing at her. “What do you have on under it?”

“Clothes,” she responds. “Never mind, it’s fine.” At the incredulous look on his face, she shoves him in the shoulder. “It’s fine,” she repeats.

“You’ve said that twenty times in the last fifteen minutes,” Yoongi teases, watching her slip off the jacket. He’s a little surprised to find that she’s actually… attractive, underneath it. She’s wearing a black and white striped sweater dress, still two sizes too large for her frame, but it manages to drape nicely over the curves he hadn’t realized she’d been hiding the whole time. The way her black jeans hug her legs also doesn’t go unnoticed. It wasn’t a body that belonged to an idol, just…it belonged to a normal girl. Same as the countless other coordi-noonas they worked with on a daily basis. Still, Yoongi can’t help but stare.

“Help me,” Lee pleads, jolting him from his thoughts. “I didn’t catch everyone’s names.”

He laughs again at that, remembering that she had no idea who Bangtan was. He fills her in quietly on their short walk to the dining table, entertained at the odd situation. “Namjoon is the tall one with dimples. He’s a rapper. Likes to read. Seokjin is the eldest. Singer. Likes to cook. Jimin, the blonde one. Dancer. Don’t listen to anything he says. Hoseok, or J-Hope, but we call him Hobi. The one with the red hair. Dancer and rapper, occasional ray of sunshine. Taehyung, you met him downstairs. Singer. Don’t listen to anything he says either. Jungkook, official pain in my ass. Singer, dancer, rapper, golden child.”

She nods, looking a little green around the edges as they finally reached the table. Two empty seats were sandwiched on the far side, with Seokjin on one end and Hoseok on the other. Yoongi shoots Seokjin a grateful look at the obvious manipulation of their usual places, which the older boy just smiles knowingly at in return.

“Let’s eat!” Jimin cheers as the two finally settle in.

“Ready to be entertained?” Yoongi mumbles to her, and she shoots him an amused look.

“Everything looks delicious,” Lee says politely to Seokjin, who beams.

“It tastes better than it looks,” he winks, ladling food onto her plate.

“Except the rice,” Taehyung announces, making a face. “Who made the rice?”

“I did,” Namjoon says meekly, looking pale as he stares down at the bowl.

“How on Earth do you screw up rice?” Hoseok laughs.

“Namjoon, how many times to I have to tell you to stay out of my kitchen?” Seokjin complains, waving a spoon threateningly across the table.

Yoongi rolls his eyes at the display. Bangtan dinners were usually loud and chaotic, but it was clear that everyone was making an effort just by the fact that no one, not even Jimin, was on their phones. He makes a mental note to do something nice for all of them the following day. Maybe order breakfast or something.

He had to admit to himself that it was strange seeing all of his teammates around a new person without cameras pointed at them. At this point in their careers, slipping into the personas was almost second-nature, but after getting up before dawn to film and a dance practice shoved into their usual dinner hours, he was sure that they were all too exhausted to put up much of an act.

So when Namjoon starts asking Lee about her hobbies and the two start discussing their favorite books, Yoongi knows he’s genuinely enjoying the conversation. When Lee automatically gets up to help with the dishes after dinner, heaping compliments onto Seokjin, Yoongi knows their eldest is completely enamored with her. When she asks Taehyung what kind of music he listens to as they dry dishes and the two start belting out in unison to a Western song he doesn’t know, he knows that Taehyung will be asking to have her over again soon.

As they settle into the living room for tea and coffee and Lee asks Hoseok to show her videos of him dancing, Hoseok flushes but gives in, appreciating the interest shown in one of his passions. After watching the trailer for Boy Meets Evil, she admits that she’s never seen a BTS music video before, the team eagerly complies, to Yoongi’s inexplicable disdain.

When the first words out of her mouth when they show her Blood Sweat & Tears is “Park Jimin!”, he knows that Jimin’s going to be gloating about it for the next three days. And when Jungkook’s phone rings and she asks if he plays Overwatch (how she had been able to recognize the otherwise generic crescendo of notes, Yoongi has no idea), Jungkook spends ten entire minutes gushing to her about his favorite game—a complete 360 turn from the distance he had kept from her all throughout dinner.

But most surprising of all is Lee herself. She’s good at reading people, that much Yoongi could admit, but she isn’t that good. Not good enough to skillfully charm the pants off all his teammates without them even realizing it. He feels a bit cheated, if he’s being honest with himself; if he had known she would do this well around new people, he wouldn’t have bothered acting so concerned.

He feels like he had wasted precious energy making her feel comfortable when she was clearly getting along with everybody better than anyone else in recent memory. Why do I even bother, he thinks as he makes his way to the door to receive the car keys to a black sedan that Manager Sejin had sent over for his use. It’s only when he returns to the living room and finds her in the middle of the couch surrounded by six men avidly watching her go pink at their music video for Dope that he realizes just how inexplicably annoyed he is by the entire situation.

“How is this allowed on television!” she exclaims, the most emotional he’s ever seen her as she presses her sweaterpaws to her face, watching the first dance break. “Oh my god,” she breathes in English as Hoseok, dressed as a racecar driver, jumps on screen. “This is lewd! No, this is just outright rude. How are you not walking around with R ratings on your foreheads?”

“We should use that as a line in the next cypher,” Namjoon jokes, passing his bag of chips to Taehyung, who happily munched on them as he sat on the floor.

“There’s hip thrusting!” Lee cries, still fully immersed in the video, looking close to tears as she completely covers her face with her hands. “I could have lived my entire life without this torture,” she whimpers.

“Is it bad?” Jimin, ever anxious about their performances, asks worriedly from beside her.

Lee finally emerges from behind her hands, looking at him incredulously. “Park Jimin, you wash your mouth out with soap.” When the blonde simply blinks at her, she realizes she had slipped into English again and translates to Korean, explaining the phrase. “It is the farthest thing from bad!” she continues. “It’s just....” She finally looks around the room, at all of them watching her intently, and Yoongi can see her physically fight for composure. “It’s…very good. Very, very good. I feel kind of ashamed now, that I hadn’t heard about you guys sooner,” she admits, looking genuinely sorry for the fact.

“We’re happy to introduce you to the awesomeness that is Bangtan Sonyeondan!” Taehyung quips. “Does anyone else find it strange to introduce ourselves to someone?” he whispers loudly, leaning over to Jungkook.

“Your ego is getting to your head, V,” Jungkook laughs, pushing the other boy’s weight off him.

“We’re glad you like our music, Lee,” Seokjin grins, patting the back of her hand soothingly.

“Wait until we make you listen to RapMon’s Expensive Girl,” Hoseok grins. Namjoon promptly throws a pillow square at his face.

“None of that, or I’m asking for an earlier deadline for your mixtape,” their leader warns, which prompts a tirade of complaints from Hoseok about him abusing his power.

“I thought you said you listened to our music?” Yoongi asks, more than a little fed up as he knees Jimin out of the way to take a seat on the couch next to her.

“I listened to Agust D and your songs for Suran,” Lee replies, picking up on his bad mood. “And, um, War of Hormone, I think. I’m sorry?”

“Tch,” he huffs, turning back to face the television. He doesn’t know why he’s gone from feeling warm and fuzzy about the situation to being outright aggravated. He wants her to listen to his music. He was proud of his career. He just hadn’t counted on her listening to BTS in front of all of them, with matching music videos to boot. Hadn’t counted on how awkward it would make him feel, how hungry for validation. How hurt that she hadn’t paid him a bit of attention or a single compliment when she had given them generously to everyone else.

Besides, she was here to talk to him. He already had to share everything else with everyone, did he really have to share her too?

“Is Suga-hyung your bias?” Jimin asks playfully, leaning around Yoongi to look at Lee.

“Bias?” the girl repeats, looking clueless.

Namjoon rolls his eyes just as Seokjin shoots Jimin a look of warning. “It’s a kpop fandom thing,” he explains patiently. “Like, out of a group, who your favorite is. It’s nonsense, really. You aren’t required to have one. Hell, you aren’t even required to be ARMY just because we’re friends now.” Lee’s expression doesn’t change, so he explains their fanbase, the fondness in his tone evident.

“It’s Suga-hyung,” Taehyung whispers loudly again to Jungkook as Lee asks Namjoon about he deals with being the leader even though he isn’t the eldest. “I bet you 50,000 won on it.”

“Deal,” Jungkook replies immediately. “My money’s on Hobi-hyung.”

“Behave, you two,” Seokjin reprimands, throwing a pillow at the pair. “Besides, it’s clearly me,” he adds, settling back beside Lee and stealing her attention from Namjoon with a wink.

“Why is no one betting on me?” Jimin demands with a pout.

Lee turns to him, looking a little lost in the conversation. “Well, Jin is the main dancer,” she says carefully. Everyone stares at her open-mouth for a few seconds before bursting out laughing.

“Oh my god,” Hoseok wheezes in English. “My heart!” he exclaims, falling on top of Jimin, who had slid to the floor in his fit of laughter.

Lee just blinks at Yoongi. “Did I say something wrong?”

He rolls his eyes and wearily gets to his feet. “Enough fun and games. I’m taking Lee home now. Say goodbye.”

“Boo!” Taehyung complains, throwing a handful of chips at him. “Can’t you guys stay a little longer?” he whines. “I haven’t even gotten to show noona my tie collection!”

“I’m sure Yoongi-ah will bring Lee over again,” Seokjin says, ever the mediator. He blows her a kiss as she gets to her feet after Yoongi. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Sam Lee! Let’s eat again soon!”

She gives each of them a deep bow in turn. “Thank you for having me over, Bangtan Sonyeondan,” she says seriously. “And thank you for sharing your work!”

Hoseok flashes her a sappy smile from the floor. “Does everyone else feel warm and fuzzy? I do.”

Lee turns pink, and Yoongi tugs at her sleeve, jiggling the car keys in front of her face. “Let’s go,” he repeats.

“I have my key,” he says to Namjoon. “Don’t stay up.”

“Oooh,” Jimin singsongs, already climbing over Hoseok to stare after them, bellydown on the floor with his chin cradled in both palms. “Drive safe, Suga-hyung!”

Yoongi just rolls his eyes, tossing Lee’s jacket at her as he slips into his own. “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles.

“Sorry that took longer than thirty minutes,” he tells her as they stand in opposite corners of the lift. “You looked like you enjoyed yourself, though.”

She nods absently, playing with the zipper pull of her jacket. “I’m sorry we weren’t able to talk more about Lullaby,” she offers, sounding genuinely repentant. “But you really don’t have to drive me-”

“It’s fine,” he grunts, feeling a bit mollified with her apology.

“Did Namjoon mean that?” Lee finally asks him as they buckle their seatbelts.

“What?” He doesn’t even bother to look at her as he backs out of the parking space.

“That we’re all friends.”

He glances at her then, at the wistful look she has in her eyes as she stares through the windshield. Not knowing what to say, he just shrugs and continues to pull out of the lot.

“Yoongi,” she says, her hand reaching out to rest on his on the gearshift, fingertips light as they brush the back of it. “Are we friends? I mean, I know I joked about it but….” She trails off, looking nervous. “I really want to be.”

It’s funny to him how the countless small touches they’ve exchanged before pale in comparison to this one. The first one he’s ever really paid attention to, because of the way it manages to dissolve the rest of the tension and annoyance in his body at their evening. One touch and a handful of words, and he’s gone all soft like, like some sort of… soft thing.

“Yeah,” he manages to croak, pulling his eyes away from her and back onto traffic. She hums, taking her hand back.

“Good. That’s good.”

We die a thousand deaths a day, she had said. Yoongi suddenly feels like he’s dying one of them.

[“Anymore, no one’s mind is their own.”]

Day 16

He wishes they would stop talking about her.

It’s been a week, almost, and none of them will shut up about her.

Of course Yoongi knows she’s cool. Different. Innocent, even. Appreciates that she’s so far removed from their lives and how much of a relief that is. As much as he loves the recognition they’ve received with this comeback, it was still nice to be able to take a step back and not be Bangtan, even for a little bit out of every day. Hell, even Namjoon’s girlfriend had been a fan before they’d met. So had Jungkook’s, if the little brat’s bragging was to be believed. Meeting Lee had been such a novel experience for everyone, and he tried his best not to fault them for it, but she was his. His friend. His reprieve.

Not theirs.

It doesn’t help him focus, either, when Hoseok keeps asking questions about her that he doesn’t know the answers to, or when Seokjin asks when she’s coming back over for dinner. He doesn’t know. Doesn’t want her back at their dorm, wants to keep her separate from that aspect of his life.

He’s glad that Lee never brings them up. Goes back to their routine without a second thought. Back to arguing about paradigm shifts and artist motivations and whatever the hell else she usually babbled on about. Back to the cold fall air, the smell of cigarettes and laughing that strange, barking laugh of hers. Back to looking at Yoongi like he’s the only thing she can focus on, to reaching for his arm as they walk outside like he’s the only thing keeping her tethered.

Back to making him feel like he’s wholly himself and not a construct like she had asked all those days ago.

Back to being his.

[“We’re landscaping the whole world one stupid mistake at a time.”]

Day 18

“When was the last time you felt alive?”

Yoongi looks up from his half-hearted attempt at writing lyrics in his notebook, finds her sitting right in front of him, her knees touching his. Half her face is hidden by a laughably oversized knit scarf, her glasses pushed to the top of her head, deep-set brown eyes watching him.

Dr. Kim had been talking about impulse control just ten minutes prior, about taking a few seconds to consider their actions before going through with them. Yoongi already knows all about that. About biting his tongue and reigning in his sharpness, simultaneously dulling the most unappealing aspects of himself to something everyone could love. About modulating his voice just so to make an entire arena of people erupt in cheers. All about how to use every muscle in his body to convey the right message, how to curb his impulses and stay in line.

Yoongi knows all about control. There was virtually nothing Dr. Kim could teach him in regards to that.

So when Lee asks about feeling alive he can’t help but feel a little confused at the question, at the niggling feeling in the back of his head that they’ve had this conversation before.

He slowly takes the pen out of his mouth and returns the cap. Closes his notebook and rests his chin in his hand, an elbow propped on his knee. Meets her gaze full on, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. “I literally sweat a gallon on the floor of the dance studio this afternoon. Does a heart rate of 195 count as feeling alive?” he asks her sarcastically, and she sticks her tongue out at him.

“Yeah, but did you have fun?” she huffs, reaching out and attempting to flick him on the nose.

He dodges expertly, sending her a half-hearted scowl. “Dancing is fun.”

“Work isn’t fun,” she insists. He usually hates when she refers to what he does during the day as ‘work’, even if she’s technically right. He doesn’t have much outside of his career, but he likes it that way.

“My work is fun. Just because you hate yours doesn’t mean I have to.”

“When you get paid to do what you love, doesn’t it make you love it less?”

He pretends to consider the idea for a moment before giving her a flat “no,” already uncapping his pen to write the words down before they run away from him again.

“I’m serious, Yoongi,” she complains, sliding his notebook quickly from him and hugging it to her chest as hostage for his attention. “When was the last time you had fun for the hell of it? When was the last time you took a break?”

“I have fun every day,” he snaps, trying to grab his notebook back but she just scrambles out of his reach. “Have you ever seen an episode of Run BTS?”

“Work doesn’t count.”

“Work always counts.”

“You’re impossible.” She finally tosses his notebook back into his lap, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t you want to take a break?”

He rolls his eyes at her. “It’s a Monday night and I can’t exactly go out to middle of Gangnam to do what, karaoke?”

“Okay, I’m going to let your outright insult of the great Korean past time that is karaoke slide.” She tucks another cigarette between her lips, lighting it expertly with a single smooth motion. “But why can’t you? Do you have to go back to the studio?” she asks, smoke trailing around the question.

He watches, wondering if he’ll ever get not be mesmerized by the sight. “Not really, but I’m not in the mood to play nice with fans.”

“Right. That,” she agrees with a little twist of her mouth. He laughs then, at the fact that she’s treating his being an idol as a secondary thing. Like the very real possibility of getting mobbed by sasaeng fans was a small inconvenience. “Well, we don’t have to go out to have fun.”

“Why aren’t you letting this go?” he whines, tossing his head back and shifting his weight to both arms as he leans back on them.

“Because I need to get out of my head for a bit, Yoongi,” she answers seriously.

He pulls his head back upright at that, tilting it questioningly at her. “Everything okay?”

She shrugs, visibly shrinking into her parka. “Yeah. It’s fine. It’s just….” She slides her glasses on with a swift nod of her head, lets out another puff of smoke. “I just want to do something fun.”

“Okay, you’re no longer allowed to say ‘it’s fine’. You say it so often the words have lost all meaning,” he reprimands, and she makes a face at him. “What do you feel like doing?”

A grin spreads slowly across her face then, and Yoongi feels his heart drop into his stomach. He doesn’t like the look of it. It looks like trouble, and trouble is the one thing, apart from going out in public, that he was definitely not in the mood for.

“How do you feel about going for a drive?”

[“The voice says, maybe you don’t go to hell for the things you do. Maybe you go to hell for the things you don’t do. The things you don’t finish.”]

An hour and some skillful manipulation later, Yoongi’s behind the wheel of a car, driving to the edge of the city. Lee’s suggestion to go for a drive had been reasonable, more so than the other possible requests he had feared, so he hadn’t hesitated to agree.

He tells himself that this was what friends did—give and take. He had relented because that was what they were. Friends. Not because he wanted her to feel better or anything like that. Not like he wanted to do something that would make her happy.

Her phone is plugged in to the stereo as she leans out of the window with her eyes closed, her brown hair whipping across her face as she sings under her breath to a Miso song, an already half-empty bottle of soju on her lap. It’s a small thing, insignificant in the grander scheme of things, but Yoongi finds that he likes this. Likes driving in the middle of the night towards nowhere with nothing but the road and music to occupy his thoughts. Likes the heat of a little alcohol in his system, enough to keep him relaxed without making everything fuzzy. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t done this before.

“If you could do anything in the world right now, what would it be?” she asks, breaking the comfortable silence they’ve found themselves in.

He glances at her, finds that she’s leaning on her arm as she smiles absently at him. He straightens his shoulders the tiniest bit under her gaze. “Play a sold-out arena,” he jokes, taking a random exit off the highway.

“Yah, you impossible thing, Min Yoongi,” she complains with a drunken giggle. “I forget that you’re famous, sometimes.”

“Good,” he responds, voice a little huskier than usual as he swipes the bottle from her lap and takes a sip.

“Good? It’s not a blow to your ego that I’m not part of the Min Suga fan club?” she teases.

He chuckles, blindly handing her back the bottle and watching her take a swig from the corner of his eye. “You’re a member of the Min Yoongi fanclub. That’s enough for me.”

“Of course!” she quips sarcastically. “Not that you’re greedy or anything, mister A to the G to the U to the STD.”

“Mister? That sounds nice. Say it again,” he grins.

“Mister Min Yoongi,” she sings to the tune of whatever song was playing. “Good with rap but sings way off-key!”

He laughs, the alcohol bubbling in his system. “Yah, I might just have to kick you out of the club for that.”

“Oh god, anything but that!” she says dramatically, rolling her eyes. “Where the hell are you taking us?” she asks, turning her face back towards the window.

“No idea,” he shrugs. “You said drive and I’m driving.”

“I love this,” she sighs dreamily a few minutes later, eyes fluttering shut against the wind. “Hey Yoongi, have you ever been in love?” she asks absentmindedly, sticking a hand out and waving it along the air current.

The question takes him aback for a second, makes him glance at her with his brow furrowed in confusion as he tries to think through his buzz. “Once. Maybe. I don’t know. Can you really call it love at fourteen?”

“Puppy love,” she giggles in English.

It’s unchartered territory for the both of them. He doesn’t know how she can still look so relaxed when he suddenly feels cold from the fall air whipping at them through the open windows. They’d talked about a multitude of other things over the last three weeks, but never their relationships. He’s always been guarded about it, used to prying eyes and overeager journalists that would jump on the slightest slip of the tongue, but he knows she isn’t fishing. Knows that she’s asking to get to know him better. He tries to calm down by reminding himself that relationships were a big deal to most people. Most people but him.

He absently wonders if there’s something wrong with him in that aspect.

“Have you?” he manages to ask, thinking it only polite to turn the question back at her if she had brought it up.

“All the time,” she admits, still smiling absently out the window. “It’s silly but I fall in love with the strangest things. The way light hits puddles of gasoline on asphalt. The way a stranger will coo over a baby in a stroller. The way someone mixes their sugar into their coffee….” Her voice trails off abruptly, as if she had wanted to say something else afterwards, but he lets it slide.

“That sounds exhausting,” he tells her, because it does. “How can you fall in love with everything all the time?”

“Because it’s easier than falling in love with just one thing,” she laughs, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. She finally turns to face him, tucking her knees up to her chest. Takes another sip of soju, handing it over to him automatically afterwards. He drains the bottle, finds that the heat of it going down is soothing, almost as much as the sound of her voice. “Besides, don’t you think the world needs more of it?”

“The world can burn,” he tells her. “As long as I can make music, I don’t care if it burns.”

“Then you’re in love, too, Yoongi. Just with a thing instead of a person.”

There’s her Wise Mage voice again. He can almost feel the knowing smile on her face as she says it, as if she’s figured out some hitherto unknown secret of the universe and is imparting it on him. As if she’s figured it all out and is letting him in for the ride.

The roads are empty in front of them, nothing but streetlights and the occasional car zooming past in the other direction. He slows the car down a bit, chancing a glance at her. “How can you even tell?” he wonders out loud.

“That you’re in love?” He hums in the affirmative, and she turns, angling her shoulders back towards the window. “You just do, I guess. I mean, it’s never like in the movies, right? Not everyone gets love at first sight, or a great love for the ages. It just is, like it’s been there the whole time. Maybe one day you wake up and just know, you know?” She laughs at herself then. “I’m not making any sense am I?”

“A little, I guess,” he offers kindly. “I just… I’ve never been so I have absolutely zero input on this topic.”

“Don’t worry, Yoongi,” she grins, reaching a hand out to rub him on the arm soothingly. “You’ll meet a gorgeous girl someday and fall head over heels. Probably another idol, or a musician whose work you love. You’ll get married and have a billion babies and ride happily ever after off into the sunset.”

He cracks a wry smirk at that. He had to admit that he’d never thought about it much outside of having to write a verse for a love song, but watching a couple of dramas and romantic comedies had been enough inspiration then. How she had pictured it just didn’t sound like anything he wants, and he tells her so. “She can burn, too. I don’t want to end up with an idol. Or with a million babies. How the hell am I supposed to pay for college?”

She laughs as he finally pulls the car over into a dirt parking lot lined by trees. “You say that now, but when it happens you won’t have a choice.”

He reaches over her, grabbing an unopened bottle of soju at her feet and cracking it open with a relieved sigh. “There’s always a choice,” he corrects absentmindedly, downing half of it in one gulp.

“That’s true,” she relents, and he cocks an eyebrow at her.

“Did you just let me win an argument?”

“We were arguing?”

“Aren’t we always?” He rolls his eyes exasperatedly at her, and she giggles, swiping the bottle from him and taking a sip.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

“It’s dark out.”

“Scared?”

He hopes she doesn’t see him gulp. “You wish.”

She grins and unbuckles her seatbelt, and in the next moment Yoongi finds himself trailing after her as she picks her way haphazardly down a dirt path through the trees, humming another song he doesn’t know under her breath, puffs of warm air trailing from their mouths as they trudge along.

It isn’t snowing, and Yoongi thanks his lucky stars for the fact as much as he damns them, because it’s cold enough out in the woods to feel like it is.

“Yah, Lee,” he calls after a few miles, pausing and propping his palms on his knees to catch his breath, a stitch in his side and the cold November air too crisp in his lungs, eating up the buzz he had managed to build on the drive over. “Hold on,” he wheezes, hating himself for getting roped into a fucking hike. He hates exercise, hates the outdoors. Hell, right now he even hates that their short trek is worth it, with moonlight filtering in through the gaps in the leaves to leave puddles of silver on the ground, making the layer of frost on the trees look like glass, crunching with every movement.

She skips back towards him, smiling down at the clutch of fallen leaves she’s collected, each the size of her face. “Look at these, aren’t they beautiful?” she calls over, holding them out proudly. The contented smile on her face quickly disappears as she takes in the way his hands are shaking, the way his lower lip is quivering, and the leaves flutter to the ground around her as she comes running.

“Jesus Christ, Yoongi,” she complains. “You’re freezing.” Without a second thought she loops her ridiculous scarf over him, tucking his hands into the pockets of her parka and covering them with her own, thumbs running over his knuckles.

“I t-told you it was dark out,” he complains, voice muffled under the fabric.

“You didn’t tell me you were so sensitive against the cold,” she reprimands, unzipping both their outer layers and taking a step closer. He leans automatically into her warmth, trying to keep his teeth from chattering.

“Suh-says thuh girl who lives in juh-jackets,” he stammers out, and he can see her roll her eyes.

“We’re guh-oing to get eaten by a wuh-wild animal,” he continues to whine, tucking his head further into the scarf while simultaneously using his hands to pull her into him, hungry for the warmth that feels like it’s coming off her in waves. “The great muh-Min Yoongi, brought down by a bear. I hope it’s Kumamon.”

“That would make for a great headline,” she agrees, humoring him as she adjusts the scarf between them. “I can see it now: Popstar dies of mascot attack in Seoul.”

He just grunts at her, hands fisting in the fabric of her pocket, and her hands move to his back, rubbing small circles into it. He’s never realized how small she is until now. What was she, five one? Five foot two? Whatever her height is, she’s tiny and hot as a furnace as she stands against him, the top of her head barely reaching his chin as she rubs her hands up and down and around, warm breath tickling his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. He really should have dressed warmer, but it’s not like he’d known they were going to end up in the middle of nowhere.

“Is this okay?” she asks after a few moments. “Are you feeling better?”

Yoongi reminds himself that this indeed was okay. This was what friends did, right? They dragged each other out on drunken hikes in the middle of the night and used each other’s body heat to stay alive. The thought is so ridiculous he wants to laugh, but his face freezes against the wind that chooses that precise moment to pick up. He slouches further into the scarf just as she tilts her head up, temple resting against his cheek. He wonders if she has a fever, if he does and that’s why it feels so surreal to have her standing so close to him.

His reality was fucked up, in his opinion. Wasn’t he just hot and sweaty not that many hours ago, halfway to unconsciousness on the floor of the dance studio? Then he was sitting bored out of his mind, listening to Dr. Kim drone on in their therapy session, then tipsy as he drove mindlessly towards nowhere in particular. A couple more hours and he would be warm and blessedly in bed, and tomorrow he would be back in the studio, finishing the track he started the night before.

But for now… for now he’s standing in unfamiliar woods with nothing but shafts of moonlight glowing placidly on the path before him, regrettably sober in face of the cold as he considers the very real possibility that he’s going to freeze his ass off. That is, if a bear doesn’t get to them first.

Lee shifts, and he abandons the train of paranoid thought, comes crashing back to the present. The present, where he has her pressed against him, all warmth and curves and the smell of cigarette smoke and soju, rubbing life back into his torso. Where they’re just Lee and Yoongi, standing in the middle of the goddamn woods, her humming again under her breath.

Maybe reality isn’t so bad, he concedes.

He finally groans, sick of the mental battle he had just waged with himself for no reason. Be present, Hoseok had told him the other week. Like he had a choice when his present was currently freezing cold.

“If you tell me you’re falling in love with this, too, I might just have to leave you here,” he tries to joke, his jaw finally warming up enough to talk.

She laughs at that, her breath trailing across his collarbone like a caress. “Maybe,” she rasps. “But just a little bit.”

[“No matter how much you love someone, you still want to have your own way.”]

Day 25

Since their failed attempt at having a “fun night out,” Yoongi’s been paying more attention. More attention to the way more leaves are turning brown, to the way the tree behind the university building is getting more and more bare by the day. To his teammates and their unique ways of navigating through their strange world, how they slip in and out of their stage personas with ease and without giving up too much of who they are. To the way he reacts to certain stressors and how he deals with them without forfeiting his honesty with himself. To how proud he is of himself for the countless small victories he now manages in a day.

More attention to Minjun, who’s finally stopped carrying his lighter around. To Jihoon, who can finally get through a session without sobbing. To Gunwoo, who looks as stressed as ever but at least has stopped bringing his phone into the room.

To Lee, who’s the same except not. Who is, apparently, a human furnace under the oversized clothes. Who still wears the same vintage glasses, still wears lipstick the color of dried blood on Wednesdays and Wednesdays only, still smokes cigarettes like they’re the secret to a long and happy life.

Lee, who until now hasn’t caught up to the reality that he’s an idol. Who still treats him like a person instead of a popstar, like what he does is a job and like he’s whole and sane and normal underneath it all. Like he’s Yoongi. Like that’s all that matters.

And Yoongi… Yoongi is the same except not. He’s still moody and anxious and part of him still hates the stage as much as he loves it. Still as conflicted about his life and his art and still plagued with the same insecurities that have been hounding him since he had been old enough to want this life. Still Suga and Agust D and a member of Bangtan and a son and a friend and a brother. Still just as hard on himself and on his work. Still working just as fast and just as ruthlessly as the rest of them to keep the dream going.

But he’s paying more attention now. Was making more of an effort to be present. Was preening more in front of the cameras and fans as the rest, cracking more jokes and giving more input instead of letting the label make all the decisions. He’s fighting again, for the first time in what’s felt like years. To make the music he wants to, to say the things he wants to, to be the person he wants to.

He thinks he understands what Hoseok was telling him, then. What Lee has probably been teaching him this whole time. To fall in love with everything, every moment, instead of being a by-stander. To be present, no matter how overwhelming it is, no matter how much he wants to shy away from it for fear of people seeing through the façade.

He’s being Yoongi again. And for the first time, he doesn’t feel the least bit sorry about it.

[“Sticks and stones may break your bones but words can hurt like hell.”]

Day 28

“Hello, Mr. Min. Take a seat.”

Yoongi bows a greeting towards Dr. Kim as he slips into his office, does as he’s told on the worn brown leather sofa across him.

The office looks and smells the way he expects it to, the way he’s seen on countless movies and shows; a desk on one end, a sofa pushed up against the wall, the doctor sitting on an armchair across the coffee table. It smells like old books and potpourri, and he fidgets awkwardly in his seat, wondering why he’s so nervous for their first and hopefully only one-on-one session.

Dr. Kim smiles reassuringly at him, as though he knows it will help put him at ease. It does. He doesn’t know why but it does, and he allows himself to relax a little, slouching onto the couch cushions.

“How are you doing today?”

“Good,” he answers automatically. “Thank you for asking.”

The older man hums and nods at that, as though he had expected the answer, turning to look at what Yoongi assumes is his file in his hands. “I see here you were diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder when you were fifteen. How are you doing with that?”

“Good.” Yoongi winces at the repetition. Tries again. “I mean, I still have bad days, but I’m dealing with it better.”

“You have,” Dr. Kim assures him. “We’ve made leaps and bounds over the course of our sessions.” He peers at him over his glasses then, and Yoongi feels like the man is looking straight through him instead of at him. “To be perfectly honest I was apprehensive about putting you into group therapy. I wasn’t sure you would be able to open up around other people, progress with them, but your management was adamant about it. I take it you had a lot to do with that?”

Yoongi swallows, breaking eye contact awkwardly. “I’m not good with talking about feelings,” he admits gruffly, eyes squinting to read the titles on the bookshelf.

“Because you have a lot of them?” Dr. Kim infers, and Yoongi nods meekly at his accuracy. “The sessions aren’t so much about anger management than they are about impulse control, as I hope you’ve learned.”

Yoongi nods. “Figured that out the first day. The people in the group aren’t exactly… violent. Well, except for Jihoon, but that was a fluke.”

“And neither are you,” Dr. Kim says, glancing down at the file again. “The incident with one of your band mates… Jeon Jungkook?”

He leans forward, then, elbows on his knees as he rubs a hand tiredly over his face. “That was a fluke too,” he states, hating the way his voice sounds like it’s pleading with him. “We punk each other all the time. Kookie just went a little too far and I might have reacted a little too… strongly.”

“That’s all well and good, but it still got you here. Do you understand why your management had to send you to therapy?”

“Because I’m the most unstable out of everyone,” he says automatically. At the sight of Dr. Kim’s eyebrow going up, he clears his throat. “I mean, I tend to keep a lot in. I told you, I’m not good with talking about feelings.”

“Your bandmates said as much, when they came in.”

It’s Yoongi’s turn for his eyebrow to go up.

Dr. Kim just smiles. “Your friends Kim Namjoon and Jung Hoseok came in before you started therapy. They gave me a little more background about you, a better idea of who you are and how you’d been doing before all this. Out of concern, you understand. There is, after all, only so much doctors can infer from a patient. Talking to their friends and family always gives us a better picture.”

“They….” Yoongi’s eyes dart around, unable to focus on any one thing in particular but unwilling to meet the other man’s eyes just then. Still trying to wrap his head around the fact that two of his teammates had taken time out of their impossible schedule to look out for him. “I can’t believe they did that,” he finally admits, shoulders hunching.

“Are you surprised?”

He barks a laugh. “Yeah. Fuck yeah I’m surprised. What did they say?”

Dr. Kim leans back in the armchair, elbows on the armrests as he steeples his fingers together. “Just that you hadn’t been your normal self lately. That they felt a little hurt that you didn’t feel you could talk to them, but that they were glad you were going to get the chance to in therapy.”

Yoongi shakes his head, muttering under his breath. “Idiots.”

“Far from, Mr. Min. Mr. Kim and Mr. Jung were simply acting out of concern. It’s very reassuring to know that you have a good support system behind you. I don’t see why you’re reacting to this with anger. Could you explain why?”

Yoongi just keeps shaking his head, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “It’s just… they know better. They know I’ll go to them when I really need to.”

“Ah, but Mr. Min, the key here is turning to people before you need to. Before the pressure builds up and another unsavory incident occurs. You mentioned before that music is your primary outlet for your emotions?”

Yoongi nods. “I don’t know if you listen to rap, Dr. Kim, but it’s very aggressive. It’s been the best way to deal with my anger and anxiety. At least, that I’ve found.”

Dr. Kim just hums again. “I’ve listened to your music, Mr. Min. You’re very transparent with your lyrics. Far more transparent, in fact, than you are in person.”

“I told you, I’m not good with-”

“Talking about feelings, yes. But you understand, at least as an artist, how important communication is?”

“Of course,” Yoongi scoffs. “Words are the backbone to everything I am.”

“Communication isn’t just words, Mr. Min. A message can be relayed without a single word being said.”

“Look.” He leans forward again, dipping his head down and wrapping his hands around the back of his neck, already exhausted by the conversation. “I know there’s a lot of shit wrong with me. That I don’t exactly deal with things the way I should. That I go from happy and hyper one minute and quiet and reclusive the next. It’s just how I am, how I’ve always been. I’ve been trying, listening to all your advice, but I can’t change that.”

“Nor does anyone want you to.” He finally looks up, finds a look of mild surprise on the doctor’s face. “Mr. Min, I’m not going to suggest that you see a psychiatrist and go on a cocktail of medications just to pursue a state of ‘normal’ that doesn’t exist. Everyone has their quirks, their individual personalities. You’re here because you were unhappy, and unhappiness is just as much an impulse as anger. Some people have a tendency towards it, like a default. Does this sound like this applies to you?”

His brow furrows, mulling it over in his head. He had to admit it was as accurate as he had ever heard anyone else describe it to him. And it was true—he did tend towards dissatisfaction and unhappiness as a default. No matter how many goals of his he achieves, part of him is still always waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to wake up and the dream to disappear into the cold light of morning, to find himself back on the streets with nothing to his name. No matter how happy he finds himself, he knows it won’t last—that it could all be ripped away from him the next second before he could even scream for the universe not to.

“Impulse control, Mr. Min.” Dr. Kim’s voice says, pulling him from his thoughts. “In your case, it might call for a paradigm shift. To make a conscious effort towards happiness or contentment instead of away from it.”

Paradigm shift, there were those words again. Wasn’t Lee just talking about that last week?

“Tell me what’s on your mind, Mr. Min.”

Yoongi startles, finally managing to pull his gaze back onto his doctor who’s looking at him with his eyebrows drawn together in concern. He wants to laugh, for some unknowable reason. His heart feels like a jigsaw puzzle, all the pieces bouncing around in a box in his chest. He wants to dump them all on the coffee table in front of him, to find the corners and put the damn thing back together again.

“I need to talk myself into happiness instead of away from it, is what you’re saying,” he hazards, and the doctor’s face finally breaks into a smile.

“You are a writer, after all, Mr. Min. I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

He laughs, and the sincerity in it would have been startling if he wasn’t feeling so relieved. If he closes his eyes he can almost imagine the edges of the puzzle lining up, the pieces falling into their proper places.

“Good talk, doc. Thanks.”

“No, Mr. Min. Thank you.”

[“So just relax and enjoy the ride.”]

Day 30

“Last day, huh?”

If Lee’s smile is a little watered down tonight, he can understand. He doesn’t know how many meetings the rest of them have left, but he’s free now. No more uncomfortable sharing sessions, no more unsolicited advice that he’s heard a million times before, no more inconveniencing his entire team to make time for therapy.

Sure, he’d started therapy without believing he needed to, but he was also smart enough to admit it had helped. It’s why he still has Dr. Kim’s calling card in his wallet. Just in case.

Then it hits him: no more therapy means no more Lee. No more routine. No more twenty minute breaks behind the building. No more cigarette smoke. No more huddling together against the crisp winter wind. No more faux philosophical conversations about life and love that neither of them took too seriously anyway.

He wonders if she’s going to miss him as much as he already misses her. If that’s why she’s smiling so sadly, brown eyes watching him like she’s memorizing the way he stands, the way he breathes. If his own smile looks just as sad as he does the same to her.

“Last day,” he agrees, pushing the front doors open and letting them out into the late evening.

Now that he’s present, he can’t help but notice the way the glow of the streetlamps has turned the world a warm amber, the way the lights from passing cars glint and reflect off the glass windows of the building, the sheen of moisture on the concrete sidewalk from the short fall of rain while they had been indoors.

The way Lee looks in the middle of it all, chewing her lipstick off as her eyes scan the road uncertainly, looking for the car that will take him away from her for good.

He doesn’t know when he changed his mind about her, but he has. She’s still weird and possibly insane, just as unstable and unpredictable as he is. She looks exactly the same as when he’d met her all those weeks ago. There was still nothing special about her, nothing that screamed or called for attention. Just another girl with a strange way of looking at the world and an even stranger way of talking about it, but while he hadn’t even considered her pretty then, he realizes that she’s the most wonderful thing he’s seen all day. The most wonderful part about every day that’s come before this.

The thought crystalizes in his chest, fragile and firm and sharp around the edges, but it was his. She was his. And she was one routine he suddenly found himself unwilling to break.

“Do you want-”

“Give me your-”

They stare at each other, blinking in surprise as they catch themselves blurting things out at the same time. He grins, and it’s the one that shows all his teeth. The one that he only uses when he’s truly entertained by something. The one that only slips out when he’s truly happy.

“You go first,” he tells her.

She smirks, fingers already tucking a cigarette between lips that are patchy from where she’s bitten off her make-up. “Do you want to exchange numbers?”

“I was about to ask you to give me yours,” he admits, handing his phone over.

She lets out a stream of smoke into the cold night air, smiling as she takes it and saves her number. “See you around, Min Yoongi.”

“See you, Sam Lee.”

He’s halfway home when he realizes she’s saved herself as ‘Your Biggest Fan’. Halfway home, but already feeling like he’s there.