#not even in a self deprecating sense it just feels like an immutable fact. I can’t imagine someone looking at me w romantic desire.

[fellhellion]

[i-would-rather-be-queen]

BTS Jin AU ‘Wake Me Up Inside’

A/N: Here I go experimenting again. I’m thinking of doing a series of each member being in a different supernatural/mythological setting. It will probably be more sporadic than the Bodyguards but I hope you guys like it. <3

~

Museums had always been a sanctuary for you. They were quiet and filled with beautiful things. A perfect environment in your opinion. You’d never been much of a fan the contemporary movement so most of your time was spent in the classical wing. Some days you’d wander the whole section. Others a certain painting or sculpture would draw you in with its siren call. It wasn’t unheard of for you to spend hours immersed in a single painting, lost in each brushstroke and what it portrayed.

And while the allure of the art pulled at you it also made you feel like you were a step out of time. Anachronistic in your own life. What else were you to feel when the things that spoke to you most were relics, proof of lives that had long since scattered to the wind.

It was sort of like your own life. You did what you were supposed to do as a responsible member of society, whatever that meant. But there was an undeniable absence of passion. Like you were living half a life and waiting for everything to turn to dust along with all the rest. At least being at the museum you felt less lonely, surrounded by echoes of the past. Their only means of surviving the years had been the emotions they invoked in others and something about that resonated with you.

Lately your favorite had been a marble statue. It wasn’t depicting a moment caught in the heat of battle or a lovers’ tryst, merely a man standing in a flowing tunic and sandals. Nonetheless it was glorious. A true masterpiece of craftsmanship with intricate detail and flawless in its execution. From its masculine yet cherubic face to the lines of musculature in the arms. It seemed so real. In the past if you were entranced by a certain piece of art it would fade after a day. But not so with the sculpture. It seemed to have its own gravity that relentlessly tugged at the center of your being.

Day after day you returned. It almost became an obsession. Even if you could only stay for five minutes you had to see him. And yes, you’d begun to think of it as a ‘him’. You knew it wasn’t logical, that it was in fact not even the slightest bit healthy. But his face, it was so kind it made all of the stresses of your day fade away like so much white noise in the background. No matter how bad it had been, his angelic expression which was always there waiting for you, made it better. It was a reliable source of comfort you sorely needed at times.

Since you were so far gone already, you decided to throw sanity to the wolves and began talking to him. Whispering your worries and even trivial daily experiences. You didn’t really have anyone else to talk to and sometimes it helped. Often you’d have an answer after having to organize your thoughts enough to speak them aloud.

But what started as an odd habit became something you felt ashamed of, your guilty little secret. Reasoning that if you were doing something you felt you had to hide then perhaps you shouldn’t be doing it. You began to visit less frequently then not at all. Avoiding the museum altogether because you knew if you crossed its threshold you’d inevitably end up in front of the sculpture once again.

It was around this time you’d accepted the offer of a date. Not a commonplace event in your life but he seemed nice enough to give him a try. Even brought you a rose, albeit one of those single stems wrapped in cellophane that were sold at gas stations. Though you appreciated the gesture it seemed almost an afterthought on his part.

The conversation that night was all about him. There were never any questions about yourself. You even point blank asked if there was anything he wanted to ask. It’s then you realized his words didn’t match his actions. All of the flattering statements to turn your head were just that. There was no indication of any genuine interest other than the surface level. You were a conquest to be wined and dined, not a person to get to know.

Politely you declined any future dates. On your way home you checked the time and noticed there was about an hour before the museum closed. You hadn’t been there in about a week and your spirits were especially low after your farce of an attempt at a connection.

Nodding to the security guard you entered and saw that the museum was pretty much empty. This late on a weeknight it didn’t surprise you. Automatically you headed to the back of the Greco-Roman section where the sculpture was located. When it came into sight you felt both a lightness of being and a weight in your heart. It was good to see him, almost like seeing a friend. But the reality of what the world truly had to offer instead of this fantasy seemed to depress you all the more.

Surreptitiously you reached out and traced along the topside of his foot. Instead of the gritty, granular feeling that came from touching new marble your fingers glided along like glass. Of course it was smooth, it had been around for thousands of years and polished on top of that. Impulsively but still feeling the fool you whispered, “Why is it nothing feels real but you? What’s wrong with me?”

Dejectedly you unwrapped the sad little rose that matched your mood and placed it at the statue’s feet. You knew the flower wouldn’t be allowed to remain but for now it was your small offering to a wish that could never be.

With a sigh you turned to leave. After a few steps you heard a voice behind you say, “I’ve missed you.”  

Wide eyed with shock you spun around. A living, breathing person stood on the pedestal. He was real. What the hell was happening? Words were beyond your capability at the moment. Your heart was beating so fast you thought it might give out.

Wearing a serene smile he stepped down from the plinth. He was just as gorgeous if not more so now that he was made flesh. But his eyes where what transfixed you. Before they were the only thing about him that seemed devoid of life. Now they were brimming with warmth and humor.

“I’m sorry.” His voice washed over your senses, calm and soothing. You were mesmerized. “I know this must be a horrible shock.”

“What—Who are you?”

“My name is Paphos.” He waited like he expected that to mean something to you. At your blank stare he added, “The son of Pygmalion and Galatea.”

Pygmalion. That rang a bell. Something in Greek mythology about a man who brought a statue to life. But it was just a myth and this certainly wasn’t ancient Greece. “But that’s just a story.”

“Don’t most stories hold a grain of truth?”

“This isn’t a grain, it’s a boulder.” Belatedly you became aware that the security guard could find you any minute. How would you explain talking to someone who looked like a cosplayer for the Trojan War?

The gift shop.

The store was closing up for the night and obviously you’d irritated the employee when you entered. Begging to be given five minutes you raided the clothing section. First thing you grabbed an oversized sweatshirt featuring the museum logo. Unfortunately there wasn’t much in the way of pants but you found a pair of Dali print shorts on clearance. After making your purchases you rushed back to the corner you’d stuck Paphos in to hide. Shoving your bag into his hands you led him to the men’s bathroom and waited impatiently for him to change.

Despite the situation it was hard not to laugh when he came out. His outfit was hideous. Somehow though he was handsome enough to pull it off. Barely.

Nonchalantly as possible you had him follow you out the exit of the museum. True, you’d come in alone but the guard certainly wouldn’t think he was a statue that had come to life. Oh god were you cracking up? What if you were talking to thin air?

Not sure what else to do you led him to a bench on the grounds that remained accessible even after hours. Even sitting next to him he seemed so unreal you continued to stare until he blushed. Raising your hand you laid it against his cheek. Soft skin gave way to your touch. The color evidence of the blood that flowed beneath. He was no longer cold immutable stone.

He was alive.

“I don’t understand.”

“Like I said, I’m the son of Pygmalion and Galatea. I had a sister as well, Metharme. Our mother came to life as a gift to our father for his prayers to Aphrodite. Through their happy union we were born. But after both of them died my sister and I were turned to marble, just as our mother had once been. We were told that we’d only return to life if someone would love us as much as our father had loved our mother.”

It was your turn to blush, feeling embarrassed at what he was implying.

“I wasn’t always aware,” he continued. “But when you showed up it felt like waking up from a deep slumber. The more you visited the more I was coming alive. But then you stopped. My heart ached and missed you terribly. I longed to hear your voice again.”

A self-deprecating chuckle slipped out. “Even if I was complaining about my car breaking down?”

“Especially then. Sometimes I didn’t understand what you were talking about but I understood your sorrow, your frustration, your loneliness. I desperately wanted to take you in my arms and comfort you.” He opened his arms and instantly you wanted to fall into them. “Is it ok?” he asked.

His eyes promised so much love your own began to water. Letting him envelop you it felt like going home. Resting there against his chest, listening to his heart beat, you knew your trips to museums were at an end. You’d finally found your place to belong.    

After a few days you began to see that he wasn’t perfect as you assumed he’d be. Though just as beautiful as before, he had a delightfully quirky personality complete with a squeaky laugh. And you loved him all the more for his uniqueness. It was a joy to discover that his transformation into a human being included being human.  

Paphos acclimated to modern day life through television and trips outside with you whenever possible. As a show of gratitude he began cooking dinner for you nightly. The two of you were gaining a rhythm to life together.

It wasn’t long before he started to make forays out into the world on his own. Mostly to the markets for fresh ingredients. He nearly had a heart attack the first time you introduced him to processed foods. One night after the two of you had eaten and were curled up on the couch together he mentioned that his name made him feel old-fashioned. He wanted something more contemporary.

Brushing some stray hairs from his eyes you said, “Oh really? Any ideas?”

“Jin.”

It suited him. Leaning in to kiss lips that shouldn’t be as soft as they were, you agreed. “I like it. It’s nice to meet you Jin. Welcome home.”​