#woke up to my third official hate anon <3 !!!!

[svnoohe4rts]

now how tf do these hate anons even find smut blogs?? i doubt they just stumble upon us??? do they literally go on the enhypen hard hours tag to just,,, send hate???? so many questions

[bucky-smiles]

In His Arms

Requested by an Anon:  Can you do a fic with Spencer in which the character has been sexually abused and has never told anyone but she works in the BAU and her nightmares have been getting worse and she physically looks worse but she finally confesses to someone (Spencer) what happened to her and he comforts her? I understand if you feel uncomfortable writing this sort of thing

Warnings: Mentions of sexual abuse, PTSD from sexual abuse, anxiety

Note: I’m sorry, this probably isn’t very accurate. I haven’t experienced what the character in this piece is going through so I hope the requester thinks I did it justice. Thank you for sending in this request and I hope it’s to your liking. To be honest, this had more to do with sleep deprivation than it does to do with sexual abuse and I apologize because that isn’t what you asked for. I just.. I’m not exactly sure how to write this all so yeah :/ 

You knew it hadn’t been your fault. What happened to you in college was a crime and justice had been sought out against the perpetrator who caused all of those awful things happening to you. After the court case you found yourself at the FBI Academy and now, after working 3 years on one of the other teams at the BAU, you’ve been moved to the Unit Chief, Aaron Hotchner’s team. 

You already knew most of the team by first name having talked with them in the bull pen, walking around the building, coffee shops, as well as the FBI galas, so seeing everyone again was a pleasant event when you walked into the briefing room. You took a seat next to Spencer, the team member that you knew best from all of the late nights as well as the love for excessive sugar in coffee that the two of you share. He offered you a warm smile although it held a mild amount of concern at the sight of the dark circles under your eyes. On your last case before you switched teams, the unsub was a man who pulled many similar stunts to what your abuser did to you in college. The entire fiasco caused many old and suppressed memories to come back to you, now either keeping you up at night or waking you up through the night. 

Your first case with Aaron Hotchner’s team went well. You were welcomed as an official member and everything seemed to be okay. But the dreams wouldn’t stop coming. To make it all worse, your lack of sleep was making your interactions with the team complicated as well. On the third case, you ended up arriving late having slept in too much from the lack of sleep earlier in the night. On the 6th case, you snapped at one of the officers who you claimed was being paid too much after he said one thing. Lack of sleep made you irritible and while everyone knew that something was wrong, Spencer was the one who spoke to you about it on occasion. You’d just brush him off saying that you didn’t sleep well because you’d drank too much coffee the night before, a lie that he obviously didn’t believe. However, he didn’t want to press in places that he shouldn’t so he’d back off when you told him to. 

However one day, the lack of sleep had become too much for you. You’d maybe gotten done with your 15th or 20th case when everything simply snapped around you. You’d decided that staying at work was better than going home and ended up falling asleep on one of the files you were supposed to be working on only to be shaken awake 4 hours later by Spencer’s warm hand, “Y/N! Wake up! It’s 7 in the morning! Why didn’t you go home?” 

Of course it was in the middle of the same dream, the one where your abuser is running his hand up the side of your body to your shoulder as he kept your mouth covered with a calloused palm, so when you woke up, you screamed loudly, only calming down when you realized it was Spencer before breaking out into an uncontrollable amount of sobs. Spencer was quick to react, dropping his bag to the side before kneeling in front of you, taking your hands in his as he spoke in a distressed tone, “Y/N? What happened?” His voice was laced with guilt, obviously thinking that he was the cause of your tears. Oh, if only you could calm down enough to tell him that it wasn’t him and that the ghosts from your past are coming to haunt you. All you could do was shake your head, unable to speak because the tears wouldn’t stop coming. 

Spencer sighed quietly, pulling away to text Hotch that both you and him would have the day off today. He proceeded to remove his cardigan sweater, setting it around your shoulders before closing the file on your desk and grabbing your bag as well as his, helping you up before directing you to the elevator and from the elevator to his car. Even though the ride was short, you fell asleep only to be woken up ten minutes later by Spencer, who was being much more hesitant now so as not to cause another outburst. 

Everything seemed to be a blur after that until you were sitting on his couch, wearing a set of his pajamas, wrapped in his blanket with a warm cup of soothing tea. Spencer was sitting in front of you, watching with worried eyes as yours drifted around, not settling anywhere for too long. 

“Y/N, you need to relax and sleep...” Spencer’s voice was quiet, as if he was two millimeters away from breaking the glass that’d cause you to break once more. 

You shook your head quickly, getting your point across, “The nightmares won’t stop, Spencer.. I can’t.. They won’t go away now...” Your voice was full of fear and defeat as you spoke, taking a tentative sip of your drink afterwards. 

He leans back in his seat lightly, his leg bouncing lightly as he spoke, “Nightmares?”

You nodded slightly, adjusting slowly so as not to spill the tea and to get more comfortable, “When uhm.. In my last year of college, I was at a club for a friend’s birthday party.. And I was chatting up this guy..” You were quiet as you began to speak of your past, the tears pricking at your eyes almost instantaneously. Able to tell where this story was going, Spencer got up, moving to your side before tentatively wrapping an arm around your shoulder in an attempt to be comforting. You leaned into his touch slightly before continuing, “He.. He was nice at first and he bought me a couple of drinks.. Well uhm.. One of those drinks.. He put something in it.. And then he took me to the alley right next to the club.. He..” The tears began to spill as your voice cracked, unable to finish your words. Spencer simply pulled you closer, rubbing your arm gently. You cried for a little bit, hating the feeling of helplessness that you were getting. 

Spencer spoke softly after that, letting you cry for a few moments and only bringing it up when you were calm once more, “Who else knows?”

You cleared your throat, pulling away lightly and taking another sip of the warm liquid in the mug you were holding, “You,the friend who was able to get me to the police in time to prosecute the.. Animal that did this to me.. And the superiors because they had to do a background check on me when I first joined,” You glanced at Spencer as you spoke quietly. You never knew that you could feel so vulnerable around him. 

After you finish speaking, Spencer simply pulls you closer to him for a gentle hug, rubbing your back as you did. “Thank you for trusting me, Y/N... We’ll figure something out.. Something that can get you to have a proper full night of sleep.” 

You enjoyed the comfort of the man’s arms around you, setting the mug away as you returned his hug, closing your eyes as you did, “Okay..” 

Let’s just say that that night, you did sleep well. You slept through the entire night without any fits. Of course, it was only because you fell asleep in Spencer’s arms. 

Taglist::

@welp-there-it-is @cvffeestars @the100riverdalewrites @criminal-anatomy @mentallydatingspencerreid @theofficeofsupremegenius @bitchinprentiss @spencerthepipecleaner @criminal-navy-writings @fl0werb0nes18 @thematthewgraygube @badasprentiss @unwrittenheartbreak @dontshootmespence @stunudo @veroinnumera @jazz91121 @ssa-aaronhotchner

[ichibanjeon]

Star-crossed

» Star-crossed: frustrated by the stars

Genre: soulmate!au + reincarnation!au + good (?) ol' angst; that's it.

Word count: 3,681 | AO3

Summary: People always reincarnate with the age they first met their soulmate with, so they can age together. Once every 100 years, a pair of soulmates is cursed. In each reincarnation, with the help of clues left for them, but without any form of communication, one must find the other before they die. Otherwise, they lose the ability to reincarnate forever. Yoongi writes diaries hoping that, when he’s ready to show them, Jeongguk isn’t already gone. Not again.

Warnings: mentions of death

Author's Note + "Thank You" Note:

this is my first yoonkook work that is not a) a chaptered fic or b) a drabble, and it's my favourite so far. my heart hurts, i cried, let's cry together if you decide to give this a try. it's the longest thing i've posted. "my heart will go on", "your song" and "river flows in you" are great to listen to while reading.

first of all, i would like to thank one of my best friends, @dani-the-monster; your "hoe don't do it" keeps me grounded while writing angst; the support you gave my writing from the start has encouraged me to improve and keep writing;

and now a very special note: six months ago, when the blood, sweat & tears mv came out, i decided to message a yoonkook blog i had been following for a couple of months, yelling about jeon jungkook and his smirk; tbh i don't know what happened, we literally just yelled for like a week, then i started to sign off as "yell @ jeon", you gave me a tag, i wrote stuff and came off anon, we yelled again, jungkook made a vlive, yoonkook happened, we yelled again, their comeback happened, we were emo, i dedicated "it can wait" to you and you just messaged me yelling and i saw your tags and yelled too and i still cry, why would you use those tags; now we talk almost every day, like one of us just sees a soft picture of jungkook and sends it and we yell for like hours and i always get emo before i go to bed ??? we also yell a lot about yoonkook and their things. a list of our favourite things to mention, send and yell about: jungkook as a puppy, angel, little star and bunny; domestic!yoonkook; studio boyfriends!yoonkook; space metaphors; that giant carrot plushie; soft jungkook; why is yoonkook the angsty duo; yoonpianokook, the real ot3; plushies; "*yoonkook sending kisses gifs* night night!"; "i'm emo"; "I JUST WOKE UP I DIDN'T NEED THIS"; "wHY"; just general yelling tbh. andrea, (@jeonbase)  thank you for six months! "star-crossed" is dedicated to you :)

“It’s dark now and I am very tired. I love you, always. Time is nothing.”

― Audrey Niffenegger

March 4th, 3 a.m.

We arrived yesterday, March 3rd. Namjoon is already asleep, but I had enough coffee to keep me awake for at least 24 hours. There are still no clues, but I’m trying not to worry a lot about it. Last time it took 2 weeks until we got any information.

He’s not… hopeless, you know? It’s not like he’s given up. She’s always so hard to find, and since he didn’t get to be with her before she left… I get it; it’s hard, Guk. When I lost you, I thought I would never see you again. But you wouldn’t know.

Anyways, when you read this, you’ll say “You’re such an idiot, what made you think I would want to read these?”, but I know you read them while I’m out of the house. Speaking of which, where do you want to live this time? Namjoon says he wants to move back to Ilsan. Do you miss Busan a lot?

I don’t have much to say. We’re coming to get you, alright?

Stay alive, kid.

He doesn’t sign it. He doesn’t have to, because the only person who will ever read Yoongi’s diaries already knows him like the back of his hand. He wants to stick to his own words, but trying not to worry a lot about it is different from not worrying. As much as he tries to reassure himself, he knows time can’t always be on his side.

Three lifetimes ago, Yoongi felt like he was dead before dying. Three lifetimes ago, his life stopped making sense. Because three lifetimes ago, Yoongi was too late. Bright lights, a car, people screaming, a turn, a dying man. And a man dying inside.

Yoongi’s memories of that day remain as the hardest part of his existence. It hurts that it happened. It hurts that Jeongguk doesn’t remember. It hurts because it reminds him that he doesn’t have forever. And that’s why he writes.

Namjoon mumbles something in his sleep, which makes the older boy check the clock. 4 a.m. The sky’s far from starry, but there’s still a promise lighting up his night.

It’s been a week since they arrived. They always arrive together, no matter what. Yoongi says it’s a glitch; Namjoon calls it luck, and jokingly adds that maybe they’re the real soulmates.

When you reincarnate, life becomes easier. Time doesn’t bother you anymore, because you’re sure that you’ll make up for lost time with your soulmate in your next life. Exception: if The Council chooses you as the unlucky pair that struggles with time, it does bother you. Exception of the exception: if you’re Min Yoongi, time is just kind of there.

“We can’t,” a loud, disembodied voice said.

“Well, try!” he yelled, his tear-stained face reflecting the light of his surroundings and the pain he felt inside.

Eleven lifetimes ago, Min Yoongi was born for the first time. Eleven lifetimes ago, Jeongguk’s name wasn’t this familiar. It didn’t feel like a warm embrace after the long chase, it didn’t smell like hot coffee made for you in the morning, it didn’t sound like childhood lullabies, it didn’t mean love. But it still meant something, because fate doesn’t just belong in the future, at least in love matters.

When Yoongi turned eighteen, there was a knock on his parents’ door.

“I’m so sorry.” Cursed, black on white, and even though no one had said it, there was a silence that screamed despair.

“What for?” he asked.

“That you’re cursed,” the man replied. Yoongi offered him the only smile he could manage.

“It’s not your fault,” he said. It was no one’s fault. It still hurt.

Yoongi was twenty-three when he met nineteen-year-old Jeon Jeongguk. Yoongi is still twenty-three, and it’s his favorite number. He gets to meet a special boy every time he’s twenty-three.

March 17th, 9 p.m.

We got the first clue today.

It’s vague, it isn’t clear, but it’s something. It’s a guitar pick and it has your name on it. We found it on our doorstep, this morning. Does it mean you’ve stopped neglecting the guitar I bought you? What are you up to?

Namjoon got our stuff from the Department yesterday. Our house is still the same, but I always feel like moving out, you know? Start over.

Do you ever miss any of our previous lifetimes, Guk? I do. I miss the way things were three or four lifetimes ago. You wouldn’t understand… Sometimes, before I meet you, I dig out our old things. What were you thinking when you decided to buy that huge bike?

You’re weird. That’s okay, I like you as you are.

“Wow, I hate you,” Namjoon says, throwing his controller on the couch.

“Salty over Mario Kart, are we?” Yoongi snickers, putting his own down.

“Just extra tired today,” the younger says, and gets up, heading to the kitchen.

“You’ve been searching, haven’t you?”

He doesn’t get an answer right away. He notices how Namjoon almost stops in his tracks, but decides against it and walks in the kitchen. Yoongi is familiar with the urge to find someone who’s so dear to you.

“Hana’s the reason why I’m here,” Namjoon starts. “I was born ten lifetimes ago, and the reason why I’m still here is her.”

He’s not cursed. Well, at least in the official meaning of the term. If you’ve known Kim Namjoon for long enough, you’d have noticed how he seems to consider the soulmate system a curse itself. To chase the love of your life over and over again, in an endless cycle; is he wrong to think so?

“I don’t know- I probably sound stupid right now, but- is it really worth it?” he says, holding an apple.

“It depends,” the other starts, “I would give all I have for your forever.”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

Yoongi nods. It’s a conversation they’ve had before, more times than they can count. The kitchen’s quiet for a few seconds, until Namjoon speaks up.

“Wanna go to the movies tonight? We haven’t had any fun in ages.”

Yoongi shakes his head at the other’s pun, but agrees anyway.

“It doesn’t work like that,” the voice said.

“Make it work then! I – sob – I’ll do any – sob – thing!”

March 22nd, 4 p.m.

Do you remember why we agreed I would be the one to find you? Well I do, but you’re a hard man to find, Jeon Jeongguk. First a guitar pick, now a camera. Where are you? We were in Busan a couple of days ago; your parents say hi.

Namjoon finally figured out where Hana might be. He thinks she’s staying with not-so-close relatives in Moscow. Can you believe? We’re flying out as soon as I get the third clue.

Don’t you ever get tired of showing up in a random location every time? I always end up in Seoul, but you visit new countries all the time. I wish we could use cellphones; if you ask me, that law is quite a stupid one.

I miss your dumb smile whenever we go out.

Soon.

Sometimes, Yoongi dreams of a very happy place. It is far above the clouds, surrounded by the stars. From his spot, he sees all the constellations and the sight mesmerizes him. Time doesn’t mean anything but what it’s supposed to be: a word, as empty as it can be.

Words are terrible. Words hurt but heal as well, and it’s hard not to wonder why. In this happy location, they’re easy to live with, they carry meanings we can understand, but not relate to. He believes there’s a single word that will never stop making sense to him; a sweet earthly word, that feels good and tastes heavenly.

Yoongi feels like he’s floating around. He feels so small, yet so great. The most beautiful comet he has ever seen passes by, close enough to touch. And he feels warm. It’s like his heart was replaced by a star, his own personal source of heat and comfort. He names it Guk, like the sweet earthly boy.

“I can’t ask you to pay this price. Go away and live your life,” the voice said.

A man collapsed on the floor, sobbing loudly, pleading.

The third clue doesn’t arrive the day after, or the days after that one, or the two weeks that follow; Namjoon talks Yoongi into finding Hana first, they’ll look for Jeongguk after that.

Hana isn’t waiting for them at the airport when they arrive, but they manage to get to her relatives’ house relatively fast (they only got lost twice!). Namjoon’s face is now everything but a frown, nothing but true happiness and a hint of relief, as he holds his own soulmate in his arms.

“It’s been too long,” he says, breathlessly. And the girl in his arms becomes the only thing that matters, even if the moment is a fraction of eternity, of their eternity, because Namjoon knows for a fact that taking time for granted would be a foolish thing to do.

“Isn’t it selfish? You get to choose who leaves first,” the voice pointed out.

“I just want a chance to say goodbye.”

“It’s a plane ticket,” Namjoon repeats. “Out of all the things it could have been, they’ve sent you a plane ticket.”

Yoongi doesn’t reply right away; he’s lost in thought. It’s odd, but what could he expect? He’s sitting by a window, a book in his hands, his focus somewhere else. His grip on the book tightens before he lets out a quiet sigh. “Looks like he’s back home, after all. We must have missed him for a couple of hours.”

“We have to leave, Yoongi. It’s not like it can wait,” Namjoon says a bit louder. He’s sitting far from the older boy, hands holding the ripped envelope and the paper rectangle with the words “FLIGHT: 2476; TO: SEOUL” in thick, black letters. It all feels so blunt, so raw, so possible. As if it was as simple as a plane ticket and long flight. Namjoon’s words seem to hit Yoongi, because he puts down the book and stands up, walking towards the other.

“You’re not coming, Joon,” he states.

“Do you actually think I would leave my best friend to his cursed fate? We’re leaving tomorrow and I’m coming with you.”

“I have to do this alone.”

“Or so you think. You didn’t leave me; I’m not leaving you either,” Namjoon says, and his words hit Yoongi again.

“Namjoon,” the other starts, “You know how grateful I am for all you’ve done. But I’m leaving alone, and that’s final.”

“That’s just selfish.”

“Excuse me?”

“You come and go alone; doesn’t it bother you that the people you leave behind are alone too?”

“You know the consequences,” the voice said, matter-of-factly.

A man looks down and plays with his fingers.

“I do.”

April 8th, 2 a.m.

Our lives are made of a series of boards that hold all kinds of switches and buttons. My board has a ton of them, as does yours, as does everyone else’s. The thing is, we like to think that we can press the buttons and mess with the switches, but it’s not our job to do so.

I would say – call me crazy if you want – that our fates are in the hands of higher forces. Not things like The Council, or any gods or goddesses you might have heard about. Things that seem distant and abstract, but they’re actually as real as you and me. Love is one of them.

My biggest regret in all my eleven lives is the fact that I haven’t figured out how to do what those things do. If I could do it, if I could just reach any buttons or switches, maybe things were different. It is both a blessing and a curse, a source of despair and peace of mind, to have your future in the hands of something you don’t really understand.

However, I’m eternally grateful that one of those forces pressed a button called ‘you’ for me. The universe can do whatever it wants, because that button is pressed and nothing can take that away from me. Not even time.

Goodnight, Guk. I’ll be there before you notice it.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?”

A man looks up and nods. “How long?”

No answer.

Yoongi wakes up, startled by the sound of an old door opening. As his eyes adjust to the darkness that surrounds him, he hears footsteps. Turning around, he’s surprised to find Kim Namjoon, his friend of ten lifetimes, standing in the doorway, hair as messy as it could be.

There’s silence. It goes on for who knows how long. Yoongi doesn’t know how late, how early in the morning it is, but it’s not like he cares that much. It doesn’t matter.

It matters, though, that Namjoon sat by his side, pushing aside the open notebook the other had fallen asleep on. It matters that they don’t speak, that they don’t have to. It matters that, through the silence that has settled, Yoongi hears quiet, muffled sobs. It matters that soon, the sobs belong to two instead of one, and the embrace that follows matters too, as well as two hearts that fear for each other, because of love and loss, of life and death, of the silence that means too much.

It is four a.m. when Namjoon lets out an ironic laugh, one that is meant to be cheerful, and wipes his tears. It’s the way his arms circle Yoongi’s frame that gives it all away, and the other knows, and it hurts that it’s impossible to avoid, because it’s inevitable, because it’s no use trying to fight pressed buttons.

“Take care,” Namjoon says. All he has to say, all he thinks he left unsaid, is in those two words, in the tears that created liquid paths on his cheeks, in the way he wants to hold the older boy, as if maybe – and even if it seems like a foolish thing to do – that would stop time, just so he doesn’t have to go just yet.

“You take care too, kid,” Yoongi replies. He means, “I’ll never forget you, even if time makes me forget myself.”

"Hey! How long?"

April 9th, 9 a.m.

As it always happens when I get to meet you again, I don’t know what to write. I don’t want to get cheesy because well, I’m not really a cheesy person. I’m sitting outside the house we’ve shared for some years. I know you’re still asleep, because who could wake you up on a Sunday morning? (Hopefully our doorbell will.)

Namjoon couldn’t come; he couldn’t come because I didn’t let him. “I have to do this alone,” I told him, and it’s true. As you’ll see as you go on – and become less of a little shit – there are a few things one must do alone. A few feelings we have to go through by ourselves.

Lao Tzu said, “Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."

I know I feel brave whenever I think of you, so if you ever needed reassurance, here it is: I love you. I love you as I did eleven lifetimes ago, yesterday, today, tomorrow and forever, even if some say it’s useless, even if the world ends and the sky falls, even if you ever doubt it, even if I’m gone, my love for you will stay the same.

In this world of soulmates, there are a few things we get to call eternal. We were cursed, yes we were, so our ‘forever’ is different from everyone else’s. Our forever is made of fear, of hope and trust. I fear that I might lose you every time we come back. I hope you’re always here to greet me again, just like the first time. I trust you, and that your little heart is strong enough to go on.

Just like you give me courage, I hope I give you strength. To be deeply loved by someone is such a wonderful feeling, and I know that, because I feel strong at the thought of you. If I ever needed reassurance, you’re the best at giving it.

This is not meant to be a love letter, but a letter from a lover to his lover. And if you ever need it, let this be a reminder of who we are, the story of two star-crossed lovers.

Time to ring the doorbell.

“Are you listening to me? How long?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Please.”

Jeon Jeongguk hates it when someone wakes him up on a Sunday morning. And that’s why his mood is not the best when he’s startled by the high-pitched sound of the doorbell. He groans, stretches and rolls around, mentally (and maybe thinking out loud too) cursing the most likely unwanted visitor.

He takes his time to get up, the fluffy carpet tickling his feet. He puts on the first shirt he can find, slowly leaves the room, walks down the stairs, and looks out the window. To say he was surprised to see his favorite person in the world standing outside would be an understatement.

Min Yoongi has his black hair styled casually, hands in his pockets, the red shirt Jeongguk gave him for his fourth twenty-third birthday peeking from under a black hoodie, the kind that makes him look smaller than he is, and the younger boy can’t help but smile at the sight of the other’s small frame in oversized clothes.

Jeongguk literally runs to the front door, takes a deep breath and unlocks it, before opening it and allowing himself to stare once again. Only then does Yoongi look up from the ground, where a brown backpack is, and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. His hands are shaking, he notices, and so are his legs, but he still runs to the other’s embrace, shaky breaths filling the hair. Then a kiss, as passionate as the first, and they hold each other’s faces, each other’s frames, each other’s hearts.

In a rush to love, to make up for the lost time, to reassure each other with a whispered “I’m here”, they enter the house, Yoongi’s hand dragging the brown backpack along. It’s a moment that goes on for minutes, and it feels like hours.

“So you were in Seoul the whole time?” is the only question the older boy can manage.

“I was. I arrived last week,” the other replies.

“We were in Moscow, to look for Hana, but that’s a story for another time. And Namjoon says hi,” the thought of his best friend is enough to make Yoongi’s heart ache in a way he can’t handle, not now.

Jeongguk notices the dark bags under his eyes. “You’re exhausted, Yoongi.”

He feels exhausted. “Can we take a nap? I’ll tell you all the stories when we wake up.” Jeongguk smiles and nods, leading the other up the stairs.

Their room is exactly as he remembers, the weird lamp he got at a garage sale, the large painting Jeongguk made for their anniversary, the blinds that they should fix, the dark brown doors of the walk-in closet that they use as a storage room, that light grey walls that would be sad and naked without their pictures together.

Yoongi drops the brown backpack and tells Jeongguk, “Some things for you to read when we wake up. All the stories you might not remember.”

He takes off his hoodie and places it on the armchair by his side, and then he crawls on bed and gets under the covers, the pain in his heart unbearably strong now, and he feels so, so tired. He just wants to sleep.

Jeongguk feels odd. There’s something wrong. His heart hurts too. Realization hits him all at once, and he doesn’t understand half of it. All he knows is that there’s something he has to say before time takes over, before it’s too late, before he’s too suffocated by the pain in his little heart.

“You knew it all along?” he lets out, and the other nods.

“I’m so sorry.”

“What for?” Jeongguk asks.

“That we’re cursed,” Yoongi replies. It’s getting harder to speak, to breathe, to live.

“It’s not your fault,” Jeongguk says. It’s getting harder to reply, to stay, to live.

“Will you stay with me?” Yoongi asks. He means, “I don’t want to be alone when I leave.”

There’s a hand that holds a hand, and two other hands that wipe tears on different faces. There’s an empty room, filled with more than can be put in words. There are two bodies, two star-crossed lovers, two lives tied forever. There’s a dying man, a man dying inside, and their hardest goodbye, all over again, like a dejà vu. And perhaps regret, love and loss, life and death. And pain. And love. Aren’t they the same, for the few unlucky ones?

“I’m a speck of dust floating in space, and you’re the most beautiful comet I’ve ever seen,” Yoongi lets out. It’s his last goodbye.

And they are a comet, a cursed ‘we’ going in circles through time. They are star-crossed, a pair of soulmates that was meant to be, just not forever. There’s a nineteen-year-old boy, shaky breath and blurry vision, because the stardust becomes too much to handle, and whispered secrets of the universe they share being spilled onto a pillow.

“We’re the comet, Yoongi, going in circles around the sun. And our hearts are a single star. And the dust we left behind is what I’ll be holding on to.”

“3.”

A man nods again. He bows respectfully and waits until he’s back home.

A few hours later, he’s finishing a letter. A diary.

“Jeon Jeongguk, I do not regret a thing."