No Thoughts Just Jungkook Running In A Crop Top

WATCH HIS SHIRT UNBUTTON!!!

Me after the STYDIA kiss

loving you is all i know

pairing: taehyung x reader

wordcount: 19k

glimpse: you feel as if the world would stop revolving without taehyung in it, so you protect him with all your might. taehyung thinks that heaven wouldn't fall even without you in it, so he revokes every fiber of your being.

alternatively, you're taehyung's guardian angel and you'd go to hell and back for him — even if you get nothing in return; even if you never receive the love that you give.

[ heavy angst i'm telling u rn, wholesome n comforting moments here and there, unrequited love (at first), so much longing, emotional constipation, mentions of intercourse (not between the main pairing), self-doubt and loathing, mentions of blood n injuries, jk's a literal devil but his acts of evil include making fun of a funky-looking bird, this fic isn't biblically accurate/specifically religious at all because i never intended it to be in the first place :) ]

notes: and it's finally here <3 took me about three days to write sporadically but really, this idea's been sitting on my drafts for already half a year!! once again gonna reiterate that this fic is gonna be on the heavier side so pls read with caution!!

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even replying to this post sends me over the moon :)

“Is that him?”

Jimin hears you ask for the thirteenth time ever since you've landed on Earth — and that was four minutes ago.

He would like to think that he's a patient man, really. He'd like to think that he's calm and not irritable even when the peer (friend, if you really push him to consider you one) he's with at the moment tends to be repetitive.

Time is merely a social construct and angels, of all beings, know that something which is meant to be undefined and infinite shouldn't be constrained by two little hands moving clockwise. Sure, five minutes in Heaven is still five minutes on Earth, but with you in tow?

Jimin could swear easily that you make time either faster or slower than it should be.

"Don't you think I would've already pointed it out to you if we saw him already? After all, this is why we came down here, hmm?"

He's a snippy angel, that's what he's been told. He's a considerate and caring one but he just tends to become a little bit sharp with his tone and the way he lazily looks at people before he rolls his eyes, playing it off as if he's praying to the sky.

Jimin knows that he's not exactly the textbook version of what should be strictly good and holy, but seeing you giggle at the way he snaps at you, he's reminded that maybe, just maybe, you may be his favorite mentee that he's ever had.

"Right, right. Please caw immediately when you spot him, okay?" you plead to him and you don't miss the way he guffaws at your request, crossing his arms against his chest while you peer at the pedestrian lane at any sign of him.

It's raining and it's the first time you've been here.

Everything overwhelms you but it's the good type of sensory overload that you feel within your senses. Everything feels so raw and real and saturated that your body feels heady trying to take it all in.

The rain actually dampens the silk of your shirt and for once, it's dark outside. The skies are dark and muted and no longer bright, but it's still illuminated by the moon you've only barely seen through your lifetime. It's cold and gloomy but you allow yourself to bask in it, unaware of the fact that you're unconsciously shivering.

The streets are busy and loud but at the same time, they lull to the same comfortable noise you've expected it to be. There's laughter and eagerness and concern that you can pick up within the mix that it makes your head whip at every passing person.

People walk through you given that you and Jimin are invisible to their sights, but you don't mind. You can't scoff and avoid people who walk into you just like how Jimin does because they're too enticed with their lives going on that you want in on it. You grow interested at every passing conversation and every dulling thought that you interact with.

Jimin literally has a grip on you with the way his hand is fisting the back of your shirt to stop you from wandering because the exact spots where the two of you are now are exactly what's intended, not requiring any of you to seek out what's already predestined.

"Is that him?"

You ask the moment you see the back of someone's head that looks like the silhouette of him passing at the crosswalk, about to free yourself from Jimin's grip when he tugs you back with a sigh.

“Not everyone who passes by is automatically your human, Y/N.”

Jimin tolerates your presence and even if everyone thinks he has no choice but to, considering the fact that you're his last mentee that he needs before being promoted, he genuinely does like having you around.

But in moments like these, when your eyes are too bright following even the silhouette of someone that resembles your human; when your hands reach out unconsciously to carry burdens that you aren't even sure of entirely — Jimin fears that you'd be hurt.

You’re smart. You're too kind. You're a little too trusting and devoted. You're too dedicated and loving. You're too much of everything good and too less of anything bad; too much of everything selfless and too less of everything self-serving.

Jimin believes that he has no fear but he thinks that the pathetic bone-chilling goosebumps he gets are reserved for his mentee who's yet again trying to break from his hold to try and chase someone down; his mentee who took the rashest yet most endearing way to his heart, enough for him to look at you as a sibling he's prayed countless of times for. Enough for him to insult you in his head as he tries to reign in his worries.

You are a stupidly, irrationally devoted person.

“Minnie, they can’t see us right?”

He indulges you by agreeing with no complaints to ease your nerves, biting back remarks about how this was already a given if you take into account how many people have already walked through the two of you. Even more, he lets your nickname for him pass as he doesn't even look fazed when you glance at him.

“Not a single trace. We’re only-” his eyes follow the blinking of the pedestrian stoplight as the green glow times out, his ears perking up at the familiar roar of an engine he can't mistake, "seen when we want to be seen."

The rain still drops and even though it's faint enough for you to go through yet heavy enough for you to feel, all that your senses could register is him.

You’ve been training for practically hundreds of years. You're short-handed for the whole period itself because majority of guardian angels train for thousands but with Jimin overseeing you, he didn't necessarily feel that you needed the extra time.

You feel too aware and in tune with him because all you have is tunnel vision at this point. No longer could you hear the bustle and feel the rain because the world stops for you even if it doesn't for anyone no matter what.

“That’s him.”

Jimin speaks definitely but he already knows that you were sure of it even before he opened his mouth, eyes glancing at you as you peer at him nervously before looking at the human who's merely stuck in traffic.

“Y-yeah? That must be him, right?” you rhetorically ask even if you know that there's no answer otherwise, eyes in disbelief yet your heart in credence as you only gaze at your human with pure curiosity.

Your human, the one who's sat at the convertible and has his gaze blank even if the world around him is clear-cut. Your human, the one with the silky dark hair and the blatantly expensive clothes that are getting damp by the minute. Your human, the one with the distinctly beautiful features that look devoid of everything pleasing.

“Kim Taehyung.”

The world stops for you even if the ticking stoplight should tell you that it hasn't. You feel driven and compelled for something you don't even know of and Jimin knows he starting to lose you for one of his only fears.

Your eyes are too bright and your hands start to itch to try and relieve whatever burden your human has, the one fatal flaw of yours that he picks out from the start already becoming glaringly evident.

You are a stupidly, irrationally devoted person.

“Read his files, right?” Jimin asks for the sake of conversation, momentarily pulling you out of your trance as you nod eagerly.

You've read Taehyung's files only a couple thousand times and as much as you know him by calculated words and scripted assumptions, seeing him in the flesh the first time is incomparable to every description you've tried to coax out of your mentor.

“Only brought you down so you could take a look at him before your official job starts next week. If you suddenly realize you don’t like him, then I’m sorry but there is literally nothing I could do.”

You harbor no dislike for your human and you think that you never will because in this angle, he looks every bit lovable. He looks every bit of the fruition from your rigorous training and sleepless nights of worry. Taehyung's only twenty-six years of age but he's worth the hundreds of years of your own, willing to take him under your wing even if it costs your training to be a thousand.

“You could, however, file a complaint to HR explaining why you don’t want to protect the human that’s fated to you," Jimin continues and his tirade against human resources keeps you grounded, coaxing a laugh out of you as he's frenzied to explain. "They’d give you a response perhaps a millennium later, but that’s alright of course!”

He's become so worried for you that he turned his attention into becoming too worked up instead, effectively working when his trepidation becomes irritation instead. It's passive-aggressive of him and he knows it entirely that he wills himself to change the topic, unaware that you're no longer listening.

Jimin's too absorbed with stressing how HR annoys him to no end that he realizes belatedly that his fist is no longer grabbing you by the back of your shirt, eyes widening in surprise.

“What are you-...”

His feet stop at the sight of yours walking to where your human is, figure completely determined with no mind to your surroundings.

In all honesty, Taehyung hasn't even realized that it was raining.

He's drained from yet another party his appearance needed to be in. He's done nothing besides go through the motions of having objective fun in the name of downing shots, flirting left and right, and making a show out of his dignified name. Yet again, he did nothing besides going through activities of what's supposed to be letting loose but he feels so stiff.

He's an heir at his family's company. He's a socialite at his friends' parties. He's someone so famous that sometimes, people collectively forget that they don't even know what or why he's popular.

In his car, by himself, Taehyung's neither an heir, a socialite, or a celebrity.

Either he doesn't know that it's raining or he does yet he doesn't care, but either way, it's a sight your heart can't take to bear.

Jimin watches as you walk with purpose to where your human is and before either of you could realize, you're sat at the dock of his car and your wings that you rarely flex are out. The wings you don't even fluff and feather in special occasions are out and it's to shield a human who could simply push a button to shelter him from the rain.

Taehyung blinks once, twice, when he realizes that the outpouring of rain has suddenly stopped. He'd already known prior that the sky was raining and he'd grown numb to the soft pitter-patter, but now that it's suddenly stopped, then does the feeling of the raindrops return.

He looks left and right and he barely flinches in realization that the sky's only stopped falling for him, the bizarreness of the situation not quite hitting him.

He looks up and you gasp out of reflex, momentarily forgetting that you’re invisible but if you focus just a bit more closely, Taehyung’s eyes harden as if he could see you — his eyes curious and glassy yet firm, making you believe that he could truly see you.

His car shifts back into drive and the moment it revs forward is the instance that you walk back to Jimin, eyes trained on the vehicle as it speeds off.

Your visit should've already been done the moment your eyes landed on Taehyung but your mind is the furthest thing away from succumbing into rest, making a mental note to make him drive a little less haphazardly.

There's not much traffic anymore which is why you could see from a distance how despite the roads being empty, he switches lanes ever so often; maybe it's for the thrill, maybe it's for the feeling.

You watch until you could no longer see him from a distance, but you know you can still feel him. You watch and you smile until the back of your shirt gets crumpled again and Jimin coaxes you to snap out of it.

That’s your human.

Taehyung’s your human.

( ♡ )

Taehyung likes anticipating things.

He wants to buy a bottle of booze he’d never drink and a candle he’d never light. At the top of his head, he makes lists in his mind to lull himself back to sleep because counting sheep never worked for him. When you ask him what he wants, he’d answer in detail and stop talking until it satisfies the itch in his mind.

He has every capability to be able to anticipate things without fear of draining out his wallet and in his mind it’s so much worse. He’s weaponized beyond belief and there’s no actual threshold for him to stop anticipating — but he does it nonetheless.

Taehyung buys the 25-year old Japanese single malt whiskey even if he just wants to display it on his shelf and rarely ever thought about drinking it. He looks forward to drinking it one day, and he doesn’t know what he’s waiting for, but he postpones each urge he has. He could easily buy another bottle for him to consume and retain the other as a display piece, but not once has he thought about actually doing it.

He buys the custom-made artisan candle in the shape of the cake that his mother used to bake for him and have the scent of it modeled to replicate the smell of his childhood blankie. It’s beautiful without a doubt, but all he does is keep it inside a glass display box away from sunlight and gaze at it.

He's always known he could have duplicates of the things he treasures the most. He could have the most beautiful moments of his life reproduced over and over again but despite having the capability, he chooses not to because that's the problem itself.

Taehyung has and could have everything to the point that he holds himself back.

He holds himself back from repeating anything worthy enough of his effort because the more he orbits around the same loop, the more that he feels detached with the very reason he's done it in the first place.

He isn't irked when he sees the wonky vase he's made for his mother out of a whim when he was 17, bored, and had too much money in his pockets. The clay's imperfect and the sage green glaze doesn't save it. It looks swanky and too bourgeoise in their family home and that's coming from him, the too many 24k gold leaves haphazardly stuck on the vase starting from the bottom. It's an eyesore but Taehyung doesn't want to recreate the vase, this time with more finesse and vision, because he finds no point going back to a memory that's already been lived in.

He was young at 17, bored, and had too much money in his pockets when he decided to rent out a whole pottery studio to work in it privately and make a vase for his mom. He takes it home to her and they have a good laugh about it.

It's a pure memory he wants to leave untouched.

"Going out tonight, don't follow me."

Taehyung jogs down the stairs with the most mundane and unsuspecting outfit he could find in his closet to walk around in at night — the dull grey get-up coincidentally being a luxury brand, but it's good enough for him.

"I can't not follow you, sir."

Namjoon emphasizes through his teeth, his hands held in front of him as he asserts his figure at the bottom of the staircase; a not-so-subtle way to tell him that he should be tailing him wherever he goes at this time of night.

Taehyung's had Namjoon as his bodyguard for what feels like forever because even if the guy only has a couple of years on him, it seems to him that they've grown together. His bodyguard four years ago was definitely not this buff, that much he's sure of. In fact, he's being lenient in this tone because Namjoon of four years ago would've just tailed him no matter what without uttering a single word.

And now, they banter just like how brothers would.

"Jeez, I can manage, trust me. Does this outfit scream socialite to you, hm?" he juts his hip out, motioning to the monochromatic ensemble he has on that he deems simple enough.

"No," Namjoon replies almost immediately and his client thinks that he's already cleared just like that, but Taehyung's yanked back just as quick when he attempts to walk past him. "No, not only do you look like a socialite, but you also look like an heir to a billionaire — you are both, sir."

"Shut up," he whines, rolling his eyes, "and I know you're not calling me by my name just so you could get on nerves."

"My apologies," Namjoon smiles too sweetly for his own good, "my apologies sir dimwit." His hand comes to lightly smack Taehyung on the back of his head that earns him an appalled scoff, widened eyes looking frantically him.

"What the hell was that for?!" he sputters, soothing the barely-hurting spot on his head before the hand he uses to do it is grabbed by the wrist.

"You're going out tonight wearing the saddest looking pair of sweatpants but you're wearing a Patek Philippe on your wrist. It's like you want to be robbed."

"Hey, maybe I do want to be robbed," Taehyung chimes, easily earning himself another swat which he barely dodges. "What? I've been protected my whole life! I atleast want to feel a thrill."

The moment the words leave his lips, he immediately grasps how entitled and disconnected he sounds like.

Namjoon knows that the younger boy means well and he tries his best to understand (he really does) that Taehyung and of his like have a much different set of problems than what he has. It’s perhaps an ill-painted joke that was supposed to be lighthearted but he can’t just let him get away with it this time, considering the two of them have grown close enough to make jabs at him.

“Right. I am so, so sorry you’ve been sheltered and stable your whole life, Taehyung.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he mumbles under his breath, suddenly meek as he looks down on the floor.

It’s not much of a tense silence because it’s normal for them to poke fun at each other every once in a while, but what he does know is that it’s weighted.

It’s a little sudden even if the two of them stand in parallel positions with Namjoon having his jaw set and his gaze burning through Taehyung’s scalp, and the latter being the one to look away until the purpose of why he’s still here pops into his head.

“Are you religious?”

Namjoon deadpans at the question popped out of the blue, throwing in a shrug when it sinks into his head that the question’s asked insistently.

“Sometimes.”

“Do you believe in a higher power?”

“When I need to.”

Namjoon doesn’t plan on elaborating as much as Taehyung doesn’t plan on asking, looking at him boredly.

Silence doesn’t engulf them anymore but either way, the atmosphere remains loaded but perhaps it’s only one-sided because Taehyung bounces back, a perk in his step as he fixes his posture.

“Good,” he affirms. “Then just believe in that higher power you have that someone’s watching over me tonight.”

“Someone?” he chuckles at the animosity of the being that Taehyung’s implying, although not against it either.

“Mhmm. Anyone, someone. Just think of it as someone looking over me to keep me safe. Look, someone’s watching over me too while I go out alone tonight!”

Taehyung smiles as he explains, feet angling towards the door already as he continues.

“You’re saying this just so I wouldn’t be on your tail.”

The motive behind his little existential question and answer moment is clear as day and neither of them try to serve the dignity for themselves because Taehyung’s halfway through the door and surprisingly, Namjoon is rooted in the same spot.

“I sure am,” he chuckles and after lingering for one more second to know that he wouldn’t have a security detail for tonight, he says a rushed goodbye before bolting to the door. He almost trips on his feet at excitement but he plays it off, continuing with his bit. “Would you look at that! I didn’t trip.”

Taehyung smiles as he collects his keys by the foyer, looking back at his bodyguard with a faux look of amazement in his features.

“Someone caught me, don’t you think?”

Namjoon sighs in resignation as he just dismisses him, knowing that he would’ve gone even without his permission not unless he literally manhandles him back inside the mansion. “Just don’t do anything stupid, Tae. Please.”

Taehyung knows to himself that he’s mostly sensible by all accounts and takes pride in it. He’s eerily too self-aware that he knows what exactly to pick himself apart for, even if he opts to keep his observations to himself.

He knows he’s being curt when he barely bats an eyelash to an employee that bares his all in pitching a product he didn’t even bother reading about. He could’ve had the opportunity to prove that he isn’t a half-baked socialite who gets to sit in meetings with his mother, but he passes up on the chance simply because he feels unwilled to prove anything to anyone at this point.

He knows he’s being apathetic when he always looks as if he’s put on hostage whenever he takes pictures of himself with Scooby to send to his mom, serving as proof that he takes care of the hyacinth macaw. The pictures he sends consist of the big blue talking bird perched on his shoulder, a less than pleased obligatory smile on his face. Is Scooby his actual bird? No. But is Scooby his mom’s bird that she tearfully gave to Taehyung when he moved out, even if he clearly didn’t ask for it, with the reason that she doesn’t want her son to be alone? Yes.

He knows he’s being rude when he goes out of his way to eagerly deny that he’s a mama’s boy even if she’s present in the scene. The both of them know that it’s true either way, but he also knows that it brings him nowhere because it’s clear as day that the two of them have a healthy mother-son relationship that people would trade riches for.

Taehyung knows he’s being reckless when he heads straight to the crowded lively pier that’s more or less gonna attract attention to himself; the only one with sunglasses at the dark of the night, and the one who looks like a complete tourist craning his neck up to look at fireworks.

In under no circumstance has he ever blended into a crowd. Kim Taehyung the socialite is someone whose face as a baby was revealed in a magazine with a payment that’s more than enough to support him through his lifetime. He’s the name that precedes commonality in and before itself.

He stands out too much and he’s blissfully unaware to the point that he’s garnered quite an audience with the purpose to look at a guy who’s peering up at the sky. He’s entranced to the point of disconnection that he only snaps out of his adoration when he harshly gets pulled by the arm, an offending screech immediately escaping him.

“What are you doing outside without Namjoon? Why did you go out dressed like this?!”

He could swear that he was only grabbed for a second and that the tree line he’s in now is atleast thirty feet away from the pier, the confusion overtaking him before the anger registers completely that someone’s just grabbed him.

“Next time, don’t just make abrupt outings like these, alright? And what are you doing wearing a flashy watch like that? Taehyung, think about it! Do you know that anyone could make a shiv from the corndog sticks they’re selling here? Anyone! Hey, what if someone randomly stabbed you for your watch, huh? You’re just-…”

The complete bemusement Taehyung knows he feels is soon dissolved because looking at you, someone who he doesn’t have a single clue of, melts away the anxiety of going out alone that he didn’t even know he felt. He doesn’t know one bit about the person standing in front of him who’s blubbering worriedly and is wearing a far noticeable outfit than him, but it’s odd for him to not feel any fear towards you.

You’re carried away with worry to the point that you don’t even notice the human standing scarily still in front of you is trying to catch your face, head tilting to catch yours that’s anxiously whipping about.

“Hey. Stop it.”

The way Taehyung’s voice reaches your ears paralyzes you completely, eyes moving with a newfound curiosity to see if he’s addressing you.

He resists the urge to tilt his head rudely when he finally gets to catch your gaze, instead being worse off when he nods his chin to you in acknowledgement.

“Who are you supposed to be?”

You’re prepared for this. Jimin’s been prepping you almost your whole existence on what you should answer when your human asks you who you are. There’s a manual for almost every situation including when you willingly show your physical form to a human but god would you suggest to Jimin once you see him again to make a manual entitled: What should a guardian angel do when they accidentally reveal themselves in a fit of worry because they trailed after their human who unknowingly put himself in danger?

Your mouth dries despite the numerous hypothetical question-and-answer portions you’ve had with Jimin. You give yourself pep talks every sunrise that you’re quick-witted but holy shit do you feel unguarded, tripping over your words as you try to be as easy-going as you could.

“I’m supposed to be your guardian angel. Wait, not supposed, I mean assigned. No, no, that sounds forced. Well no, I’m not forcing myself on you! But I mean — god, I’m just saying that I’m your angel! Whether you like it or not, I’m your guardian and — oh no, do you not like me? Please like me because I’m not implying that you don’t have a choice but-…”

Taehyung’s eerily self-aware.

He knows that he’s baffled beyond measure to hear what he’s hearing now and see what he’s seeing now and that if anything, it’s awe-striking that he’s trying to be level-headed in this situation.

He knows that it’s rational to be thrown into a loop to have something as simultaneously big and mind-bending of a revelation to be dropped by someone equally as unfathomable.

He knows that he’s not particularly and devotedly religious nor spiritual in the first place but even that would not be enough of a reason to make sense of the whole concept of you.

What Taehyung doesn’t know is that despite walking away from you wordlessly and calling it a night, he gets home safe because of the proclaimed angel who’s promised its existence to him. He doesn’t know that he’s walked in a warm and well-lit path without anyone standing in the way of him, nor does he know that the serene buzz of fireworks that he hears all the way home is exclusive to him.

Taehyung doesn’t know you yet, but he knows that he’d be able to get home just fine even if he hadn’t met you tonight.

Atleast that’s what he believes.

( ♡ )

“I’m sorry but you are-?”

Namjoon blinks hardly to look at you, eyes straining from the train of thought that his mind’s enduring at the moment.

Being a bodyguard, he’s already had his fair share of unexplainable experiences. Is this the first time that Taehyung asks him to meet someone to scope them out? Definitely not. Is this the first time that Taehyung asks him to profile someone with no prior explanation? Of course not. Is this the first time that Taehyung asks him ambiguously to scope someone out with a highly-specific explanation? It is and there’s no logical explanation to what he feels.

You admire Namjoon who stands before you, looking past his tense and confused exterior to instead notice some of the marks that he carries. You’ve read about Taehyung’s file extensively and in it for the most part is the buff bodyguard that keeps staring you down.

You’re grateful for him and the healing scratch you see on his bicep, one you know that he’s gotten after getting Taehyung through a mob outside a concert that they’ve attended. You’re thankful for him and the bruises on his elbows from pummeling against paparazzi from your human’s latest trip abroad. He’s been Taehyung’s angel on earth even before you properly came into the picture and you can’t thank him enough.

He’s a little bit mean but it doesn’t deter you, prompting you to answer him eagerly.

“Tae’s guardian angel.”

“Tae?” he tilts his head at the use of the nickname, earning him a shriek from aforementioned guy.

“That’s what you’re checking?”

Truth be told, he didn’t even know what to expect from Namjoon when he told him to meet you. He looked calm even when not a second later that he agrees, you already come through the door because you’ve followed Taehyung home. He didn’t know what to make of Namjoon meeting someone who’s probably volatile if what all of you’re saying is true, but Taehyung for sure knows that he didn’t expect this.

Namjoon looks calmer than he expected him to be. He looks laid-back and not anxious at all, his eyebrows relaxed and his jaw unclenched as he looks at you in the way that he doesn’t find you a grave threat at all. He’s always on-guard given the nature of his job and yet he acts as if it’s his day-off.

Namjoon extends his hand out, probably awaiting for something of yours that it makes you flustered, recalling all the things you’ve brought with you that’s significant enough for him to ask for.

“I’m gonna need to see an ID.”

The shock that consumes your features is apparent, a breathless sigh leaving you. “An ID?”

You weren’t prepared for this impromptu interrogation at all. Jimin’s once explained the concept of humans being verified by a piece of plastic with holographic film on it and the both of you agreed that it’s pathetic to even attempt to have one, seeing to it that neither of you aren’t bound to the land you step on anyway.

The concept is so pathetic and important at the same time that it makes you want to grip your hair out because of course! Namjoon is Taehyung’s bodyguard and of course he’ll protect him, starting by verifying your identity first.

“Excuse me,” Namjoon gently interjects, taking a few steps back to come near to Taehyung who’s leaning against the wall. He tries to be subtle as he motions his head to you, a genuinely curious lilt to his voice. “Is miss guardian angel here a stripper?”

Taehyung chokes on nothing, eyes widening tremendously. “W-what?” he coughs, shoulders trembling from the abruptness. “Namjoon, come on man,” he grimaces at the tactless tone and that’s coming from him. Him!

You obviously overhear their conversation and the frantic flailing of your hands remind them that you’re still here. “I’m a real angel, trust me! Look, I can even call my mentor to prove my existence.”

“Oh you have a mentor?” Namjoon snickers, itching his temple as he comes back to standing in front of you. “Nice.”

“I know it’s easy not believing me but-“

“I’m glad you do.”

If anyone were to tell Namjoon that he’d be interviewing a supposed guardian angel in his boss’ office (who’s younger than him in age) while in his sweatpants because this flow of events happened extremely fast, he would smack you in the face to never say shit like that again.

“And I’m not mad at all because this is great! Namjoon, this is exactly why you’re perfect as Taehyung’s bodyguard. You’re always wary and that’s what he needs exactly. No one comes close to your skill — wait, I pretty much do but you get my point,” you ramble continuously, only being aware of the cold glare on you when you take the time to look up. “… right?”

Namjoon knows as far that his name isn’t the only thing you know. He knows as far that no stalker would ever act the way you’re doing right now because ill-intended people like those would always have their intentions transparent no matter the facade — your intentions are desperate but they only reek of innocence.

He gets praised for his skill and is brought down the next second because this stranger who’s just barged in poked at his job in his own place of work, disregarding the compliments altogether to roll his eyes at you and peer at Taehyung.

“Why did you want me to meet her again?”

“I didn’t want you to. She just keeps following me,” he shrugs all too well, already knowing that he’s set you up perfectly to be the receiving end of Namjoon’s rudeness.

The bodyguard returns his gaze at you, eyes narrowed in reply. “That makes you a stalker, not an angel.”

The sigh that leaves you sounds close to being tired, your hands bunched together as you plead with him longer. In all honesty, it’s a fair comparison but following Taehyung is your job as an angel! You already know that you’re only irritating the both of them further at your insistence but you won’t leave without maximizing your efforts, in utter hope that it would come to fruition.

“Please trust me. Look, my mentor’s coming any second now. I could prove it to you even before then but-“

“Then prove it.”

Jimin’s communicated back to you that he’ll be beside you in less than ten minutes because he’s still straightening things up with HR, since apparently, he’s “accidentally” set the supervisor named Seokjin’s desk on flames and he was “apologizing” by the time you’ve contacted him.

You can’t wait any longer for him because you know that it would only raise their disbelief for you in the first place, springing you into action. The first thought that crosses your mind is to look at the room, skimming on what you could utilize.

The three of you are in Taehyung’s study anyway and the way that it’s massive reminds you that you need to narrow down it immediately. You look around frantically, eyes landing on Tae who’s laid down on the couch with his phone in his hands that you snatch it away immediately; the same speed that he told Namjoon about what he felt back in the pier being apparent.

“Take a picture of me now.”

The phone’s outstretched for Namjoon to take, finding it a little silly that you look so determined and the only thing you’re holding onto (quite physically and mentally) is a phone. He doesn’t question it, taking it from your hands with his eyebrows raised on how exactly would this pan out.

He obliges with little to no enthusiasm at all as you hurriedly place yourself next to Taehyung, lazily holding the phone up to a point that it paints the scene of Tae glaring at the back of your head for snatching it in the first place, and you looking straight at the camera with a tiny smile.

Namjoon doesn’t even count and presses on the gallery to show you the picture because that’s exactly what he does too when Taehyung asks him to capture photos, briefly glancing at it to ask what’s your point-

And then he stops.

Namjoon retracts the phone before you even get to point it out, eyes blinking rapidly to look down on the screen.

Only Taehyung is in the picture.

He switches between random photos at the gallery and yet no matter which way he scrolls, the picture remains the same. Taehyung’s glaring at the air. There’s no shadows of your figure to be found, nor a single speck of motion that suggests you’ve just moved really quickly to get out of the shot before he even pressed capture.

“I’m not there,” you softly say as if it isn’t obvious yet, staying rooted in your position next to Taehyung, “but I’m here.”

Namjoon brings up the phone again but this time he takes a video, making his hand stable and wobbly at the next as he even zooms in repeatedly, pressing end as he keeps looking back and forth between you and the lack of you on the screen.

You’re still not there.

“Go to your room, Tae.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” he snickers as he walks past his bodyguard, snatching his phone back before he shuts the door on his way out.

You could predict you’re not completely off the hook yet with the way Namjoon looks at you with much curiosity, the both of you knowing that it’s laced with hesitancy through and through.

“I’m not trusting you just because you don’t show up in a picture.”

Admittedly, the whole thing of you being capable to show yourself to people in real-time while being unable to do so in any tangible evidence such as footage, is not the soundest idea of proof you could offer. After all, disappearing from screens isn’t all that promising because electronic devices are fallible.

Your train of thought ends at what could possibly be the most cliché yet the most assuring proof you could offer, not exactly being the most comfortable with it entirely.

“I could show you my wings.”

Namjoon’s attention is blatantly piqued, his eyes twinkling with something else other than curiosity. “No tricks?”

“You want me to take my shirt off?” you take your offer further and it takes him aback, later explaining to avoid him misinterpreting your words. “For you to see it clearly, I mean.”

“Sure,” he nods solemnly but his voice is caught on your throat, the atmosphere shifting in volumes when he raises the question. “Why are you trying to gain my trust first? I’m not your human.”

Another thing you admire about him is his sensibility. He’s keen to pick up on things and takes his cues well, not waiting on opportunities to make things known and instead make them himself.

“You trusting me means more than you think to Taehyung,” you admit. “He values your judgement a lot.”

Namjoon comes from a big family and he knows what it’s like to treat someone as such. Family’s messy and broad at all accounts and he knows that Taehyung comes close to someone he could treat as a younger brother, the admission coming from an outsider (although not exactly) still taking him by surprise.

Taehyung rarely trusts but when he does, it’s boundless. It covers him by extension and the both of you know that if there’s anyone in the room that Taehyung would entrust his life to, it’s not the actual guardian angel that comes in the form of you.

“I can get rid of you, y’know?” Namjoon speaks thickly, sounding more of a realization than it is a threat. “And Taehyung would probably never question me.”

“I know that,” you nod in full understanding despite the true implications of what he’s saying, “you can’t really fully get rid of me, but atleast let me show you before you do — please?”

Thinking about it, Namjoon wouldn’t lose anything at all from this interaction. In fact, he’s the one with the upper hand because someone of supposed divinity is asking for his permission. Your eagerness to prove yourself looks pitiful at this point that he relents. “Turn around.”

You don’t waste a second in taking your shirt off that it momentarily stuns Namjoon, looking away briefly until he realizes that he shouldn’t take his eyes off of you if he truly wants to believe. You shudder not because your skin is exposed, rather you feel slightly uncomfortable with the way you feel your wings unfurl. Only your back is visible to him but it makes you feel as if you’re naked, keeping your gaze down to avoid looking at your own appendages on any reflective surface.

Surprisingly, you don’t like your wings. Clearly, Namjoon doesn’t know that but he doesn’t need to since voicing out your unease would only raise his suspicions for you.

Jimin knows the most of your dislike for your own wings and how unlike any other angel, you don’t feel comfortable nor prideful of yours. This whole experience itself would’ve felt more uncomfortable if you showed them to anyone who’s much closer to you, but seeing to it that it’s only Namjoon who’s close to a complete stranger, the weight feels lighter.

The unease you feel is only a prick instead of a sting — this is for Taehyung anyway.

Namjoon didn’t know what to expect in the first place but seeing this, seeing you, he feels relieved when he sees wings appear in front of his very eyes, seamlessly sprouting from your own back. He didn’t know if he wanted to believe you in the first place but seeing how his figure slacks and his breathing stabilize, he knows the answer for himself. He doesn’t realize that his hand’s moving on its own to touch them, your figure immediately shuddering at the touch that he snaps out of his curious reverie.

“What are you doing here?” he breaks the tension effectively even if the silence felt more comforting than it is suffocating, his question knowingly out of the superficial context it once took.

“I’m here to protect Taehyung.”

“What do you think I’m here for then?” Namjoon asks with no malice, eyes unblinking because he feels as if you’d disappear from his sight at any second.

“That’s your job,” you reply honestly, knowing what he was trying to imply. “But it’s my destiny.”

He purses his lips in thought of how you don’t waste a beat in responding back to him. You’re more than serious and you even acknowledged that your purpose is already his job. The job of protecting Taehyung is already taken and yet here you are, incessantly wedging yourself in.

“I exist for it.”

“You don’t feel sad about it?” he asks with a sigh, shoving his hands into his pockets to prevent himself from picking at his cuticles. “That you exist solely to protect Taehyung?”

Namjoon’s only met you today and yet the pity he feels for you lasts for a lifetime. He thinks that you’ve been handed the shortest end of a stick and something as trivial as protecting a human is the sole purpose of someone ethereal — it’s unfair for you.

“His first thought was to take you to me with the intention of getting rid of you.”

It’s beyond obvious that getting rid of you one way or another is Taehyung’s plan. He let you follow him when in the handful times you did, he’s warded you away by yelling or sticking to someone else to ignore you.

You aren’t clueless, you know that Taehyung easily led you right to Namjoon to have you taken care of.

“There’s nothing sad about it,” you shrug, picking up the pity you hear from his voice. “I actually could exist for myself when something happens in particular,” you admit, catching his attention once more.

Namjoon stands curious as he finds himself waiting for your next words, looking closely to see that your expression remains genuine.

“But until then, I’d live for Taehyung as much as he wants me to.”

“If he doesn’t?” he counters, squinting his eyes at the deep commitment he picks up from someone he pities more than himself.

“Then I’m thankful that he wanted me enough at some point to not want me anymore.”

.

.

Taehyung paces at the living room, his angry shuffling surely being audible even if you’re across the massive area.

“You’re allowing her to be around?!”

“Just think of her as Scooby.”

Namjoon carelessly replies, going over Taehyung’s itineraries and schedules while he’s sat on the floor. He’s perfectly relaxed and if only he didn’t know better, he’d mistaken Taehyung for the hyacinth macaw itself with the way he’s squawking and flying all over the room.

“Noisy, follows me around, and fusses over me?”

“Yup,” he hums, earning him a frustrated scoff from the younger boy. “Or just think of her as a second bodyguard.”

“Do I need to pay her?”

Taehyung’s voice switches out from his irritation, making his bodyguard’s head whip up to catch his gaze. It’s surely not the matter of money that made him focus, but instead it’s the insinuation that lies underneath his question. Just a second ago, Namjoon thought he would be fired for expressing his judgement and now?

“Do you want her around?”

Taehyung stops pacing, his gaze blank before he shakes his head fervently. “No, she annoys me,” he reasons, gesturing his hands to point at you who’s probably exploring his house at the moment. “But I can’t shake her off because you didn’t get rid of her!”

“Just try it out or something,” he sighs and what truly confuses him is if Taehyung just truly wanted to get rid of you, he’d do it himself because he has more than the power to do so, regardless of his bodyguard’s opinion. “If you don’t want her around then go file a restraining order against an angel if you could.”

“So she is an angel?” his eyes widen at the immediate turn of the conversation, a breathless scoff leaving him as he couldn’t be any more annoyed at this point.

“I believe her,” he admits, turning to see Taehyung’s reaction. “Do you?”

“Perhaps.”

The two of them are distracted within their own thoughts that none of them notice your eager descent on the stairs, only taking attention when they hear the door to the patio opening.

You already look so well-inhibited in his own house that he could’ve mistaken you for someone who lived their whole life here, only clicking into his head belatedly when he sees Scooby perched on your shoulder.

“What are you doing? He could’ve flown away!”

“Don’t worry, Tae. Look, I’m fine!” you narrate in excitement as you make a show of even stepping out to the shaded patio, waving your arms around that it’s a miracle Scooby doesn’t even flinch from your actions.

“Look, I’m fine!”

Taehyung was surely about to rip you a new one and kick you out of the house himself but the repetition of the words is what stops him, all of his vulgar words flying out the window when he points to Scooby in confusion.

“He doesn’t know-“ he shakes his head at the distraction, momentarily reserving his anger for you later. “You taught him that phrase?”

“Mhmm, I only said it twice to him!”

Taehyung could only take so much within a day and the moment his bird repeats your words when normally, it would take several weeks for him to even repeat a single one, it hits him in the head entirely.

It only dawns on him that there’s a stranger, who’s his guardian angel in an odd turn of events, is in his home after being spoken to by his usually skeptical and rude bodyguard, and on top of all that — with his bird perched on your shoulder.

“You should leave.”

“No thank you.”

“Are you shitting me right now?” he grits his teeth, eyes narrowing in anger. “Are you telling me no?” he guffaws, tilting his head in mockery. “As in no, you’re not gonna leave my own home even when I’m asking you to?”

“You don’t want me to leave,” you offer with a small smile, the hint of playfulness still in your eyes that it annoys him unlike no other.

“And you know exactly what I do and don’t want?”

Taehyung fires back and he’s only met with silence. You don’t move a single inch and hell, you don’t even look fazed. You look completely normal as if he hadn’t just exploded on you that it makes him stomp away, going up the stairs to avoid you completely.

“Unbelievable. Kick her out, Namjoon!”

“Door’s open,” Namjoon hums with disinterest as he hears Taehyung retreat up the stairs, sparing you a glance as you walk to him.

“You do know that I’m gonna come back, right?”

“Oh, I know that,” he chuckles at your giddiness despite what just happened a few seconds ago, standing up from his seat on the floor to pat on his shoulder, Scooby instantly transferring to his as he preens on his earring.

“See? You’re exactly like Scooby. You could leave anytime, but you don’t. You could fly away, but you come back,” he hums, petting the macaw. “But don’t sweat it out thinking about the bird analogy. I could just be describing lice at this context.”

“Kick her out, Namjoon!”

Now that’s a sentence Scooby has already heard a lot of compared to picking up a phrase from you freakishly quick, making him laugh at the way there’s almost always a delay whenever he parrots what he hears.

Namjoon opens the front door for you and you exit with a bounce on your step, bidding him goodbye with the promise of seeing him later.

“That’s what I’m doing, buddy.”

( ♡ )

In your first month with Taehyung, you hear him cry the loudest.

His sobs reach your ear painfully and in a second, you find yourself already standing outside of his bedroom door, ear pressed to the door in alert.

Namjoon is nowhere to be seen and you’re unsure if this is the first time this has happened, but either way, none of it matters because you’re here now. His cries make your hair stand in place that you can’t even will yourself to knock, immediately entering his room.

It’s already dark in the dead of the night but you could clearly see the outline of him against his bedframe, sat up as his sobs wrack his body raw.

Truth be told, Taehyung doesn’t even know why he’s crying. He doesn’t know why exactly he’s crying but he allows himself to because he’s hurting immensely with no idea.

“Taehyung, are you okay? Talk to me,” you mumble as you intrude his space, putting your hands on both his arms but it only makes him hunch over more, turning his face to his hands.

He’s folding over with pain and it tears you apart all over, your own tears springing from seeing him suffer.

“I’ll take the pain away,” you assure him, tilting your head down for him to see you as you hold him tighter. “I’ll take your pain away, okay? Can you hear me, Tae? I promise.”

Tonight, Taehyung's heart feels the heaviest without reason. It clenches around nothing but it feels like bursting, driving him to the point of tears.

But tonight, he isn’t alone. The pain that he feels subsides until it feels that it hasn’t even existed in the first place. It only feels like the residue of a phantom pain he once knew, the visceral grip releasing him eventually.

Your heart is the one that feels the heaviest at the dead of the night, but none of it matters to see Taehyung carrying one less burden on his shoulders.

( ♡ )

In your second month with Taehyung, you see a bruise on his neck.

You were only meant to survey the area around, really. He had insisted to eat at a hotel’s rooftop restaurant and even if Namjoon’s already eating, you still make sure just to see if anyone’s coming over to approach him, despite the lack of people in the space because you couldn’t be too sure.

Both boys are already getting started on lunch and if you didn’t know any better that Namjoon ordered for you, you would’ve felt more than appreciated to assume that Taehyung picked out your dish. You’re just about to lean your head back down to the table when you catch the flash of red, figure immediately straightening then.

The bruise is unmistakable even if your eyes only graze it for a second, seemingly-fresh with the way you could see the faint outlines of burst blood vessels on the surface.

“Who did this to you?” your voice isn’t as gentle as it was and even that makes Namjoon look up even if he wasn’t the one being addressed, wanting to find what your fuss is about. “Tell me while I’m still asking.”

“Taehyung, who hurt you?”

You repeat again and this time you’re more insistent, making his brows furrow in frustration because he doesn’t get you in the slightest bit. He hurriedly swallows his food, wiping his lips with a napkin before leaning against his chair.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

The new angle grants you an unlimited view of the bruise on his neck, his relaxed figure making his hoodie shift to the side.

“That!” you inwardly wince as you squint to look closer, your view suddenly being obstructed when he goes back to hunching over the table.

“No one hurt me, stupid,” he rolls his eyes, grabbing the collar of his hoodie to show you the bruise himself. “This is a hickey.”

Taehyung thinks the expression on your face is pathetic because he’s unsure if you’re really this slow or if angels are absolutely clueless, but either way he feels the urge to rub it into your face more.

“I had a great time last night if you must know.”

His bragging gets lost on the audience because Namjoon groans to his pasta while looking away, meanwhile you’re only deadpanning at him as you recall his bodyguard saying that Taehyung often has hook-ups and by safety measures, he has to (unfortunately) stay nearby just in case.

The concept of Taehyung being hurt while apparently having a great time is lost on you but you no longer question him, your only concern being that he’s in pain.

“B-but this must hurt,” you try again, reaching your hands out from across the table. “Let me heal you,” you stand quickly, trying to coax Namjoon into switching seats with you in which he agrees to in a daze because he’s still swallowing down his food before trying to diffuse the situation.

“Huh? What are you doing?” Taehyung grumbles, moving away from you even if your hands never reach him, swatting them in the process. “Stop!”

“But you’re hurting!” you dodge his swats to press a finger on the hickey, your enhanced hearing picking up a slight wince from his throat that only proved your point further.

“It doesn’t even hurt that much,” he reasons, pushing your chair away from him with sheer strength, taking it one step further by moving his chair too. At this point, only Namjoon is the one who’s proportional to the table. “Point is, I don’t need you to take this hurt from me because I want this hickey on me.”

Taehyung clearly remembers you going into his room the night he cried, distinctly reminiscing the way the hurt he felt from his chest lifted that time. He remembers the night clearly and yet not once did he bring it up, going about his days without even thanking you for it.

He was vulnerable at the time and it just happened that you were there — he hates the interaction now that he’s moved past it.

“Why do you want it?”

“You ask so many questions!” he snaps because you simply just won’t give up even if he’s already moved you away from him, eyes narrowing at how you’re already back to his side before it even hit him. “What, are you gonna ask me how many times we’ve fucked last night? How many positions I took her in? How much I came?”

He rambles on until he feels Namjoon’s heel dig into his shoe, stopping his tirade momentarily to look at him in annoyance.

“Stop it,” his bodyguard just whispers, looking away from the situation that has since turned sour the moment Taehyung opened his mouth.

Taehyung rolls his eyes but stays quiet nonetheless, sparing you a glance specifically just to mock you further but your gazes never meet, your line of sight only fixed on your plate until you mumble.

“Please just come to me when you need it healed.”

He pokes his tongue against his cheek because you’re just too much, scoffing before going back to his lunch that’s tellingly been silent.

“I don’t need you.”

( ♡ )

In your third month with Taehyung, he asks you for a favor.

You’re used to your evenings being silent, that much you’ve observed here on your time on earth. There’s always a buzz outside of Taehyung’s house but you’ve learned quickly to tune them out, instead focusing on the sounds that are important to you — heartbeats.

You’ve heard Taehyung coming out of his room from a mile away but it’s to your shock when the door to your room creaks open, a head peeking from your doorway to reveal none other than you human.

“I need you to take me out.”

“Right now?” you clarify, feet already angling to get out of bed but you make sure to not seem ecstatic that he’s the one coming to you this time. “Take you out where?”

“Just this store, they’re closing soon,” he waves his hand before tucking into his pocket, letting it known that he’s leaving the house with his sleepwear on without bothering to change. Taehyung somehow has a clue of what’s running through your head, rolling his eyes in second nature. “I’m only taking you because Namjoon doesn’t want me to go anywhere.”

“He doesn’t want you to go anywhere because you’re still trending,” your nose scrunches, atleast having the decency to put on some socks before you put on your slippers later because from what you’ve seen in humans, the combo was apparently comfortable that it makes you want to try them out yourself.

You understand Namjoon completely on why he doesn’t want Taehyung to go out especially since his name’s still under hot water, considering that he had only been the headlines of articles just last night. In fact, you support his bodyguard’s precautions completely because it’s the most rational decision to ever make, making you applaud his skill more and more.

“Yeah, yeah. Shame on me for getting some,” he dismisses, remembering how the pictures circulating now are of him mistakenly going out of the front entrance of a hotel at the dead of night, looking thoroughly fucked out with yet another hickey just barely visible.

You already know what you’re gonna do but Taehyung catches on slowly, tapping his feet impatiently (yet quietly because Namjoon’s a light sleeper) on the floor.

“I thought you were my guardian angel, huh? Why do you not want me now?”

“I do want you!”

You reply just as quick without a single thought, standing up once you finish putting on your socks. Taehyung resists the urge to laugh at how desperate you are in clarifying your yearning for him, waiting for you by the door instead. “Then what you’re gonna do is take me now to the store, and you never speak about it to Namjoon.”

It only happens at a blink of an eye in order for the two of you to appear just a few steps away from the store he’s told you about, aware of the fact that it’d be suspicious for the two of you to pop inside out of nowhere.

The whole thing of you coming in and out unannounced never gets old for Taehyung, and although he’d never say that your teleporting jig excites him whenever you bring him around, he merely mumbles his thanks before walking ahead of you.

The store carries a barrage of art supplies and despite the volume of how much there it is, you’re more amazed at the fact that it’s all fit into the quaint and small place. Out of the whole block, the store Tae urged you into is the one that’s not well-lit nor flashy. It’s the only space one could walk past without straining their eyes and it could be easily missed, but with the way that the inside of it feels warm, you know why Taehyung comes here often.

He’s already preoccupied by the time you approach his vicinity, his fingers plucking tubes of paint from the lived-in shelves and making quick work of putting them underneath an exposed lightbulb to confirm the color. You watch him work by himself until the pile he has on his hands is steadily getting full.

“Do you paint?”

“Do you ever shut up?” he mumbles under his breath but it takes on a rather playful tone, making you smile in the process.

“Sorry,” you whisper, playing along as you peer into his hands. “What are you gonna paint?”

Taehyung’s brows knit in concentration as he looks for a specific brush from the bunch he sees in a basket, mouth parting in focus that he spews whatever comes first in his mind to make conversation with you.

“A fallen angel,” he whispers in a faux spirit of secrecy, giggling at his own attempt of banter. His eyebrows wiggle in mischief as he jokes, finally finding the thin brush that he was looking for. He hums in contentment to himself but it strikes him that there’s no reply from you when normally you would’ve been way more talkative, but he brushes past the impending suggestion of his conscience that he might be falling guilty. “Yikes, did I hit a nerve?”

Taehyung has never been good at small talk.

He knows he’s being facetious when he continues just so it wouldn’t seem like he’s starting to get nervous of why you’ve become speechless all of a sudden, willing his gaze to seem steady.

He may be quite mean sometimes, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a conscience.

“What happens to you if you fall?”

Your eyes unfocus at the sudden turn of conversation, your mouth drying at the upfront question. “I-…”

“I’m not interested.”

Taehyung goes back to giggling, turning his back on you as he pays for his items in cash, sneaking in a sigh of relief throughout his chuckles because he’s just barely managed to escape the impending guilt of his own words.

The atmosphere should already be back to normal which is why he doesn’t hesitate on walking right next to you closer than he normally would, handing you the bag of his newly-purchased supplies. “Carry these for me.”

You take his load without a word, carrying it without complaint to distract yourself because for a moment, you genuinely thought that Taehyung was watching his words and felt guilty belatedly, making him speak to you more than what you were accustomed to.

“See? When you talk less and only come around when I need you to, we could get along.”

You don’t know what to feel when he laughs sweetly before patting you on the head, taking the long way home with you by actually walking back.

“There’s a good angel.”

( ♡ )

In your fourth month with Taehyung, you ask him if you could have a visitor over.

In all fairness, your friend had only given you a heads-up just now that he would be visiting tomorrow, making you panic inwardly because you know more than anyone that meeting him here on earth is much more complicated than it is anywhere else.

You will the entirety of your shame to dissipate when you ask Taehyung, your gaze flicking to everywhere else but him which is a first. You hated inconveniencing others for your own sake but this time you choke down what little pride you had, devoid of any other choice besides being indebted to Taehyung for a day.

“You’re a visitor in my home and you’re asking me if you could have one?”

He’s not necessarily mad that you’re inviting someone else to his home. If he wants to put it lightly, he’s surprised you’ve even built up the courage to ask him, partially curious on why you’d go through this limbo in the first place.

Namjoon elbows Taehyung to signal him that maybe a little kindness won’t hurt. He’s particularly grew fond of you because with you around, his job’s significantly become less stressful, more lenient, and actually happier. Surely, granting you to have a visitor (even if it isn’t his house you’re talking about) wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Right?

“You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s just that he’s banned from most places and-“

“Fuck it. Fine. Who’s your visitor?”

The both of you speak at the same time and your eyes widen at him granting your request even if it was only nudged (more like elbowed) out of him, the smile immediately reaching your eyes.

Namjoon is the only one who catches your words, eyes nervously flicking around as he squeaks to himself. “Whatdoyoumeanbannedfrommostplaces?!”

Neither of you pay attention to him because Taehyung only waits for your answer, snapping you out of your reverie to answer who’s coming over.

“Jungkook.”

He takes one, two seconds to process what you’ve just said, question marks floating above his head that it finally prompts you to expand further sensing the confusion in his face.

“Jeon Jungkook.”

“You expect me to know who Jeon Jungkook is?” Taehyung pinches his nosebridge at how you automatically assume he knows everyone whom you mention, the amusement behind it hitting him suddenly that he covers his mouth with his hand to pretend to be annoyed. “Whatever, just have him over and don’t ruin a single thing in my house.”

He goes up the stairs before his own giggles escape his lips, leaving you alone with a half-terrified, half-curious Namjoon.

“Is this Jungkook an angel?” he asks in a whisper, his thoughts flying faster than how his hands drum against his thigh because he can’t deny his trepidation.

The way your pupils flicker makes Namjoon nervous because normally you’re never unsure, a sound of pure shock emitting from his throat. “O-oh! He’s an angel… somewhat.”

Your vague answer had already reached Taehyung before the day even ended, pleasantly oblivious to the way he spends the night thinking on who exactly is your visitor and why the hell did he agree.

Nobody expected Jungkook to look this intimidating.

He’s intimidating both in his built and aura, the edge of charisma that he oozes feeling so unattainable that it puts both men in slight unease. They most certainly did not peg for the two of you to be friends (or even be acquainted in the first place) because you look gravely mismatched.

Jungkook looks around Taehyung’s house with a critical gaze and pursed lips, walking slowly with his arms across his chest that everybody looks at him.

Namjoon doesn’t know whether he should be wary with the way he’s acting or if he should ask for tips on how to make the entire room scared of him.

Taehyung surely knows that he feels offended with the way your visitor looks around, feeling threatened even if he doesn’t admit it out loud because only he should be able to walk around like this looking as if he’s in disgust, not this random guy.

“Eh. You could do better.”

Jungkook says to no one in particular and Taehyung scoffs under his breath, the snappy remark getting stuck in his throat the moment you respond to his loaded statement.

“This guy’s already assigned to me, I can’t do anything about it.”

“This guy?!” Taehyung mutters under his breath in disbelief on how you’re suddenly dragging him, eyes widening as he trails on your heels in anger until Namjoon drags him back, the latter wanting to watch from afar in doubled curiosity.

Jungkook comes up every now and then to ease himself from boredom, knowing that his visits to earth would be more entertaining now that you’re here. You’re easily an entertaining and calming being to be around with, knowing that you’re easily up there on the list of people he wouldn’t throw into a fire pit no matter what.

“I can do something about it,” he rasps his voice intentionally, a terrifying tingle run down the spines of both guys, but only Namjoon would have a fourth of his dignity to admit that his heart practically dropped down to his ass.

Jungkook plays around a lot and you laugh at his light-hearted joke, even if you wouldn’t put it past him that he’d actually take it into seriousness.

You thought that they (read: Taehyung) would leave you alone because just yesterday, not one bit of intrigue or excitement was expressed and yet here he is, desperately trailing behind you to even sit at the same table that you and Jungkook were sat on.

Scooby’s perched at your shoulder, eating from your palm. The bird placed on you is stupidly large and just too blue, his eyes apart that the whole caricature of him looks funny — it’s easily one of the most entertaining sights Jungkook’s ever seen in his lifetime.

“What a stupid bird.” Taehyung sighs, looking at Scooby who’s never been this clingy with him before.

“Stupid bird,” Jungkook snickers under his breath once he hears Taehyung utter them, thoroughly making sense. “He looks so funky,” he whispers to your ear, chuckling in absolute amusement.

Jungkook takes your hand away so it would be out of Scooby’s reach, but before he knows it, his wrist is slapped by a glaring Taehyung.

“That’s his food. Don’t play with it.”

The whole world seems to still with how neither one of you moves an inch. You could literally feel Jungkook grow warmer beside you that you have to put your hand on his thigh to calm him down.

“You’re messing with the literal devil, Taehyung,” you glare, scratching at your temple.

“Jungkook’s the devil?!” Namjoon whisper-yells from a distance, his hands flailing wildly before he takes his head into them.

“He was messing with his food!” Taehyung reasons to you but it falls on deaf ears, your eyes straight-out pleading to just cut it out and apologize.

“I was just poking at your stupid bird’s food!”

“Don’t talk about him that way.“

Taehyung may have called Scooby stupid just seconds ago, but that doesn’t mean anyone else could call his bird stupid.

“You literally-“

“Shut up.”

Taehyung seems keen in digging a deeper grave for himself, making you resort into calling him by his full name harshly, gaining his attention irritatedly.

“Jungkook can be even meaner than you are, Tae,” you grit through your teeth, “so please stop and just let him call Scooby stupid for once.”

“Hear that? I’m the meanest,” your friend backs up, smugly crossing his arms as he takes your words as a compliment.

“Oh please, I could be the devil if I wanted to,” Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I’m so mean that I could make Y/N cry right now.”

Before he could even process it, Jungkook smacks the back of Taehyung’s head so hard that he’s certain his brain shook for a second.

“I’ll make another circle of hell just for you.”

“I’m touched.”

“You wouldn’t be once-“

“Jungkook, look! Scooby’s being stupid again!” you exclaim as you convince the bird to bow politely, hoping it’d be enough to catch your friend’s short attention span.

His eyes return back to normal, an innocent hearty laugh leaving him as he looks at the ridiculously stupid bird you have on your shoulder.

“He looks so funky.”

( ♡ )

In your fifth month with Taehyung, you walk on him being the most peaceful he’s ever been.

His study’s been flipped upside down besides the one corner that he stands on, the one area devoid of clutter even if it’s where he does all his work in the canvas.

Pictures are stuck everywhere that serve as a semblance of inspiration for Taehyung, the multitude of trivial photographs and highlighted pages of poetry taking shape into familiarity.

Rarely do you linger around him when he’s at home and you know he’s safe, especially when he’s in his study, but you couldn’t help visiting considering he’s not once left the room for hours.

You know you’re being nosy when you look around the room, eyes landing on what seems to be a pamphlet.

“I know what you’re already thinking,” Taehyung hums, the first one to speak to you ever since you came into his space. He could sense from a mile away your urge of wanting to ease his burden, but this time he beats you to it first. “Don’t help me on this one.”

“You don’t need my help.”

You sincerely answer, making him raise his head in wonder. Rarely do you agree on things that concern both him and your purpose but this is a moment that you’ve come to cherish, no matter how brief.

“You’re already the best at this than whatever help I could offer.”

Taehyung thinks you’re sweet.

“Thanks,” he gently says, going back to what he was doing.

He doesn’t kick you out this time, not uttering a single word as he allows you to linger. You find it weird that he’s not in a hurry to shoo you out but you’re accustomed to it. You let yourself linger for just a few minutes while you watch in silence, shutting your door on the way out.

Maybe you’re not so bad to have around after all.

( ♡ )

Jimin thinks that if there’s hell in heaven, he’d be the first angel to occupy it.

“Seokjin.”

He addresses the older guy in front of him curtly, trying not to think how the both of them are wearing the same cream sweater unintentionally and how it irks him starting from the back of his neck, taking two deep breaths in reminder to never wear this sweater again.

“Ah ah ah, you’re reporting to me right now,” he tuts at Jimin, believing that if he squints his eyes just enough, he’d be able to glaze over the fact that wearing the same sweater as someone in the same room is downright embarrassing. “It’s Mr. Kim Seokjin.”

Additionally, Jimin thinks that if hell were to cram itself into a single structure, it would definitely manifest into the HR Headquarters. Of course in fitting fashion, in order for an individual to get into hell, they’d have to wait a minimum of a millennia to even step into the building.

“Of course,” he smiles with his teeth visible, putting his hands across his back. He bows his head slightly to Jin who’s sat on a chair across his standing figure. “I meant Seokjin, here’s the brief on Y/N’s time on earth.”

Ah, they’re just getting started.

Jimin starts his presentation but not even a minute into it that he gets interrupted, even if he hadn’t opened the floor for inquiries.

“How many months has she been with her human?”

“Six. If you may please look at the screen, you can see how that’s already stated.”

Jimin motions rigidly, his tone overly-polite that it sounded borderline threatening. He points to the presentation that he’s crammed on doing last night, having done it from scratch because there’s no ready-made templates so he made-do with the color scheme he found at a brownie mix packaging and a bunch of your pictures that he had to edit into the slides.

Did he need to impress Seokjin? Not really. Did he feel the urge to impress Seokjin in order to spite him because for some reason, they’ve just been bickering for the past decade over god knows what? Yes.

“Technically, Y/N and Taehyung are doing well,” Jimin starts off but even he sounds uncertain, earning a hum from Jin who doesn’t so convinced either.

“Non-technically, Y/N and Taehyung are not doing well.”

Jimin switches to the next slide of a picture he took of you crying as you both drank coffee atop a mountain on a whim. You were distinctly crying for two reasons: a) because you could finally confide to your mentor and you’re transitioning from mentor-mentee into friends, and b) because the night prior to your impromptu coffee date, Taehyung had told you to get lost quite strongly.

“Y/N had been given residence in his home and provided with everything she needs out of formality. Taehyung’s never been harmed with her around, and the statistics show that she’s a lot more effective than his existing bodyguard.”

Jin nods in understanding, although he can’t exactly tell where’s the part that tells you and your human aren’t doing well.

“The problem is that Taehyung hates her.”

“But he keeps her around…?” he furrows his brows in confusion because there’s absolutely no obligation in holding onto something you hate, the option of letting go purely being uninfluenced.

“I know — and that’s even worse. Y/N doesn’t want to abandon her post either because she loves Taehyung too much.”

Jin’s ears perk up at the l-word and as much as his gaze inquires, Jimin already opens up in a shy mumble of how he could be so ambitious of narrating. “Look, she’s my friend too, okay? I could tell what she feels.”

Meetings like these were necessary and happened every six months but bias aside, Jimin’s not too confident that there’d be a second meeting.

Jin’s not as close with you compared to how Jimin and Jungkook are, but he recalls having a few laughs with you every now and then. He’s well-ware that the department he works in is notorious for being extremely slow and occasionally bitchy, but in the numerous times that he’s seen you in line at the HR, you always throw him a smile.

He asks off-handedly and vaguely but the both of them know what he’s pertaining to anyway, both of their heads down in thought.

“Do you think it’s gonna happen?”

“I can’t necessarily predict,” Jimin admits, playing with the rings on his fingers. “But I’m just saying that it’s not impossible for Taehyung to do it.”

“I hope Y/N doesn’t get hurt,” Jin purses his lips in genuine concern, knowing that if he had to pick someone who he’d protect from falling, it would be you.

The silence that engulfs them is calm yet heavy, their lack of bickering remaining absent at the possibility that both their minds go to; your life at stake.

“I haven’t prayed in a long time,” Jimin looks down on his feet, a weighted sigh leaving his lips that sounds defeated by all accounts, “but for Y/N, I will.”

( ♡ )

In your seventh month with Taehyung, someone attempts to hurt him.

It’s already a given that with you around, Taehyung’s infinitely more guarded compared to only having Namjoon in tow. “He feels safer with you around,” the bodyguard says to you out of the blue when the two of you wait for him to finish getting ready.

He says it like someone had asked him what the time was and as casual as it seems, it means the absolute world to you. You’ve already known initially that Taehyung isn’t the most expressive human alive, showing his appreciation in whichever ways he deems appropriate.

He’s as expressive as he’s impulsive. Namjoon had bought him a burger one time because the food they were serving at a party happened to be everything Taehyung was allergic to, and by the next day, the bodyguard wakes up to a watchbox placed in front of his door.

He’s as soft as he’s vibrant. You’ve only had a few opportunities to see your human interact with his mother, but every time you catch sight of them, Tae almost always has his hand on her arm to keep her close to him.

Taehyung’s unpredictable, that much you find about him today.

You and Namjoon flank him at both sides at all times in public. The two of you aren’t his only security detail because he’s always had a hoarde of guards following him for big events (as per instruction by his mom), but two of you are the closest.

Things like these are already mundane for him no matter how extravagant they could be. He was due to make an appearance at an evening gala that accumulated a record-worthy number of sponsors — it’s just a Thursday for him.

Taehyung’s so used to these things that he doesn’t even hesitate to walk straight without batting an eyelash, his tunnel vision only going straight ahead to tune out the crowd forming around him. His attention’s only on himself that he fails to see the rising commotion. Not even ten steps into the venue, in a mix of people crowding him, someone at one point brought out a knife.

It happened too quick that the attempt was only belatedly registered the moment you intervened. You take the assailant by yourself whereas Namjoon took charge of removing Taehyung from the venue entirely, the other security details equally as jolted by the crowd that they all pile onto Taehyung, barely a silhouette now that he’s shrouded while walking away.

It was a frenzy that cancelled the gala altogether but none of it mattered because as Taehyung made headlines for having been attempted on, you bleed.

It’s a mystery to you on how the unfamiliar shade of red comes from your own skin. How did this even happen? All that you remember doing in the short span of seconds is you throwing his figure to the wall, a sight that ignited the commotion more. You do remember the pathetic excuse of a knife, dull and rusty, barely lodging into your side as the stranger yielded it blindly. What you don’t remember at all is the pain that comes with it, only a dull thrum of the hurt you aren’t used to.

You’re bleeding but none of it matters because it isn’t Taehyung who’s going through this pain — it’s you.

“You’re not supposed to be hurt,” Taehyung could only stare at your exposed skin, eyes nervously flitting to Namjoon’s hands every now and then to see if he’s hurting you. “Why are you bleeding then?”

No one’s ever tried to harm him this way nor has Namjoon ever been hurt to this extent.

Taehyung was panicked to realize that as soon as he was jammed back into his car, you’re the only one who’s been separated. Not one of his guards came to aid into you and it angers him beyond comprehension.

"You never bleed."

The realization sinks into him that not once have you bled the entire time you’ve been with him. No paper cuts, not even a single scratch from Scooby’s sharp claws whenever he perches on you. Not once did he see you hurt and it makes his stomach sink when he sees your eyes screw tightly, that even without a single sound, he could tell that you’re hurting.

“No, no. You're not supposed to,” he breathlessly laughs but there’s no humor in it whatsoever, his eyes pricking all of a sudden.

"Has this ever happened to you before?"

Namjoon’s hands tremble while he patches you up but from the severity of Taehyung’s question, even he stops in his actions. He doesn’t know what to hear but the moment you reply in a daze, he knows that it’s not the answer he wanted.

"No."

Taehyung notices the way the liveliness drain from your face, your suddenly quiet demeanor giving into his conclusion that you clearly knowing something about what’s happening to you.

"What does this mean?"

"Nothing," you answer a little too quickly, rolling your eyes as you nudge Namjoon to wrap up quickly. "It means angels can bleed too."

The only angel Taehyung knows is you; he knows almost nothing about them to begin with, but what he does know that you, out of all the people he knows within this earth and not, don’t deserve the pain that is meant for him.

"Do something about yourself," he mumbles, hanging his head down to try and soothe the vertigo he gets from seeing you hurt. "Go to a hospital. Call Jimin."

“Do whatever you need to do to make yourself better,” he says in his head, his eyes no longer being able to meet you.

You don’t know why he’s throwing such a big fuss that his bodyguard had already managed to fix. The pain is nothing to you but a dull ache and you’ve been hurt more than a mere graze could.

You don’t know why you grow angry at your human at his sudden display of concern for you, making you clench your jaw because you want him to stop worrying for himself instead — you aren’t worthy of his concern.

"Let go of it already, Taehyung."

"How am I supposed to let it go when my guardian angel's bleeding? How are you-" he snaps, making him hiss in realization that he’s raising his voice at you. “How are you supposed to protect me this way?"

Taehyung rarely asks you questions but among the handful he’s inquired, this was the most trivial, nonsensical, and pathetic question you’ve ever heard.

"I'll protect you even if I bleed."

( ♡ )

In your eighth month with Taehyung, he asks you a question out of nowhere.

"Why haven’t I ever seen your wings before?"

Taehyung’s attitude changed ever since you’ve bled.

When the incident had happened, you took the initiative in distancing yourself from him, barely just enough for you to protect him still. You would go through your motions of the day by accompanying him wherever and relieving any pain he’d feel, but you no longer lingered around him.

Whenever Taehyung ate out, you’d drag a fork against his meal and bring it up for you to smell if there was anything, and then could he eat. You’d do it still, but Taehyung would wait for a beat for you to play around and blow his food for him; sometimes intentionally eating slower to see if you’d put food from your plate into his.

He’s used to you having one hand on his elbow with the other arm outstretched when walking through a crowd, but what he looks for nowadays is your cold hand on his skin, having to steal another glance at you when he walks without your guidance.

He still bothers you occasionally at night to take him somewhere since Namjoon wouldn’t allow him, and you oblige wordlessly. Sometimes he makes you take him to places he doesn’t even want to (sometimes borderline sketchy) for the sake of testing out whether you’d make conversation with him if it’s only the two of you, but you don’t.

When you bled, you know what it meant. It wasn’t a definitive conclusion but you know that somewhere along the way, you’ve grown vulnerable. You’re not above pain anymore because you’ve shot underneath its threshold.

It’s said that when an angel bleeds, they’re nearing the worst point of pain in their lifetime.

"You can't see them?

You ask curiously to Taehyung who came out to join you in the patio by his own accord, his hands meekly tucked into his pockets. He nods no and you get what he’s pointing to, understandable that angels are known by their feathered appendages.

"Normally, you should see them whenever I have them out."

"Do you have them out right now?" his eyebrows furrow, tilting his head to gaze at the back of your shirt. He’s nervous to know if you’ve had them out the whole time and all along, he’s the only who couldn’t see them.

You chuckle at the panic on his face, sincerely answering. “No."

A silence that comes from you is a silence that always puts Taehyung at unease. He’s grown accustomed to your bubbliness that he no longer treats your words as white noise, learning to listen to you actively than in passing.

"When was the last time you had them out?"

“When I needed to prove myself to Namjoon.”

Eight months had passed by so quickly yet at the first six, it felt like an eternity to Taehyung. Lately, time had been passing for him too fast in the blink of an eye that he gets nervous whenever the night comes, the feeling of unease rising in his stomach for reasons he didn’t even know of.

“Describe what your wings look like, I'll try to picture it in my head."

The request, or rather the implication that he wanted to know what you look like flies over your head. Your wings are your own for formality’s sake ,but not once did you feather them out to look at them as an extension of yourself.

Your wings aren’t pretty.

Jimin’s wings are perhaps the prettiest pair that you’ve ever seen, the gentle hues yet the overwhelmingly beautiful structure of them being so fitting for himself that you can’t imagine them belonging to anyone else. You’ve seen a handful of wings in your lifetime — including Jungkook’s that are elegant and sophisticated in their own way.

The realization dawns on you that Taehyung’s asking to see a part of you that you don’t want to, and knowing him, perhaps the sheer underwhelm your wings bring is what would set him away further from you.

"Maybe some other time, Taehyung."

"But I want to-"

This time it’s you who leaves him, not sparing a single glance back at him.

"Some other time."

( ♡ )

In your ninth month with Taehyung, you learn that he has a girlfriend.

Crossing his heart, Namjoon promises you that Taehyung and Hyori are a fairly new couple. He knew her when he was just starting out as his bodyguard, pinning her to be a family friend. She’s a constant face in all the socialite functions that Taehyung’s been attending for as long as he can remember. And if you can remember correctly, you’ve already seen her numerous times.

In fact, you only learned of their relationship accidentally. They’ve fucked several times through the years (the bodyguard confirms) but it was only two weeks ago that they decided to try out an actual relationship. Namjoon swears up and down that he was meant to let you in on the secret this week, but you beat him to it when you knock on Taehyung’s study to see a woman slung around him.

Hyori looks like someone who’s been shaped by the gods themselves and you’d be the first angel to admit it. She could easily pass for divinity, and just by her looks, you wouldn’t blame Taehyung for falling for her.

But Hyori makes you uncomplacent.

She smiles charmingly but there’s just something about her that makes your skin crawl. Your hands are cold because you have the warmest heart but god does her warmth bother you to no end, making you hold your own breath around her.

There’s something about her that reminds you of bleeding even if the only thing she’s done is hug you politely, even her sweet scent reminding you of the metallic taste of red.

"I don't feel good about her, Tae."

Taehyung could only sigh at your paranoia, rolling his eyes at you because he’s in too much of a high to pay attention to your worries.

"Well isn't it a relief that what you feel about her has no significance nor bearing to me?"

( ♡ )

In your tenth month with Taehyung, you confide in Jungkook.

“I feel like she’s a devil. Like a literal devil.”

He came over again but this time with no prior notice. He was growing bored down under but despite his abrupt appearance, Taehyung couldn’t care less, already preoccupied with entertaining Hyori.

Jungkook follows your gaze as he pets Scooby on his shoulder, tilting his head in inspection before answering.

“Nah. Not one of us.”

Your friend denies your suspicions and oddly enough, this is the only time that you’ve been unsettled for someone not being a devil. Hyori is a force to be reckoned with, and a human at that, that frustrates you all the more because she just has to be the ultimate at everything.

“Not one of us! Not one of us!”

Jungkook immediately laughs at Scooby’s repetition, letting him preen on his ear piercings. “Smart bird! You’re not stupid anymore, are you?”

“It’s okay, it’s okay!”

He furrows his brows at the sudden change of words, realizing that Scooby isn’t looking at him anymore but to you instead, leading his gaze right to your blank one.

Jungkook could recognize that look anywhere, smiling to himself as he pats the back of your head.

“You’re jealous?” he tries asking, earning an offended scoff that just confirmed his assumption. “Looks like someone’s in love.”

“Give it a rest,” you sigh tiredly, stirring the coffee that Namjoon gave both to you and Jungkook with his hands trembling. He’s still certainly not used to Jungkook and how he did a party trick of rolling his eyes back to his skull just to tease the bodyguard. You feel tempted to ask Jungkook to put a tiny dancing flame on your palm, just for the sake of distracting yourself. “This isn’t my first time falling in love.”

“Trust me, I do know that,” he wiggles his brows and you know that you wouldn’t hear the end of it, “you haven’t given your first love a call these days?”

“Shut up.”

Your first love wasn’t a sensitive issue — in fact, you love talking about him because there’s nothing inherently bad about how you ended that you refuse to do so. You’d entertain his mention any other day besides now, because you know that Jungkook likes comparisons and consequently, getting into your head.

He doesn’t rasp his voice intentionally, only lowering it into a whisper but it only turns worse with what he says.

“If you ask me, Taehyung isn’t even half of who Yoongi is.”

“That’s because you’re his friend.”

Yoongi and Jungkook are the closest pair of friends you’ve ever met, so much so to the point that during the times you and Yoongi were still together, Jungkook would tag around in dates and even insist on sleeping between the two of you whenever you napped.

You knew Jungkook through Yoongi and despite being broken up with your first love, you don’t regret anything and anyone you’ve ever known through him.

Jungkook was never one to make his worries known but in the rare times that he did, one of it was of you and his closest friend breaking up. You remember him begging and praying that nothing changes between his dynamic with either of you, and it was safe to say that nothing did.

“Hey, I don’t just befriend any angel, y’know?” he’s not trying to get into your head this time around. He knows about his bias but he doesn’t you to take it lightly, deciding to spread all the cards out on the table first.

“If you ask me-“

“I’m not asking.”

“Don’t put all your harvests into one basket,” he blurts, tapping his fingers onto the table to get you to focus.

“Why?” your eyes squint at the analogy, unaware of how another made-up saying could possibly relate to you.

“Because that’s greed,” he cheekily smiles, dropping it immediately when he sees you aren’t joking around. “Fine, seven deadly sins aside, what I’m saying is,” he clears his throat, putting aside his desperation.

Sometimes, you think that it’s Jungkook in this universe that wants you to get back with Yoongi the most.

“Would you really rather give all your love to a human who doesn’t give it back, or would you rather take a few of your love instead and give it to someone who would?”

“Jungkook.”

He frowns at your stern tone, crossing his arms as he purses his lips.

“You’re falling and we both know it.”

Jungkook sees right through you and it’s something you can’t avoid, finding no use in even sheltering your gaze from his eyes that seem full of pity.

“Trust me, baby,” he sighs, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. “It’s the only pain you can’t protect yourself from.”

( ♡ )

In your eleventh month with Taehyung, Hyori breaks up with him.

The two of them were going exceptionally well, almost to the point that she was over almost everyday in his study doing whatever they pleased.

The two of them went along perfectly which is why you couldn’t think of any tangible reason of why would they break up, immediately going to Taehyung to try and ease the pain in his heart you’re sure he must be feeling.

The moment you opened the door to the patio is the exact second that his head turns to you, instantly standing up from his seat and charging towards you that it made you back up into the living room altogether.

Taehyung’s mad, angrily crying with his finger pointed at you.

"She broke up with me because she thought you were my girlfriend!”

Your mouth dries at his words, pupils unfocusing at what he was insinuating. You’ve never done anything to come between them and in fact, you made a point in avoiding them whenever they were together. In reality, you even went against your judgement of trying to protect Taehyung because there was something about Hyori you can’t decipher, instead leaving them alone so he’d be pleased.

“But I didn’t-“ But I didn’t do anything.

Anything you do is what seems to set off Taehyung further, walking past you in a rage he couldn’t contain.

"Oh my god! Just disappear, won’t you?! I wouldn’t mind."

( ♡ )

AN OPEN LETTER TO KIM TAEHYUNG: Don’t do art. Stick to being a rich douchebag.

The headline on your phone glares at you.

Today was meant to be a special day, really. Jimin had taken the initiative to take care of the little celebration he and Seokjin had in mind because after all, today was your one year with Taehyung.

The two of them had put aside their banter for several weeks and came together to throw you a tiny shower of happiness that you deserve for all that you’ve endured. They planned their little speeches upon seeing you all until the filling of the cake they were going to surprise you with.

And then the omen came.

The rain was pouring even if they asked headquarters repeatedly if it would and they said no, since most of the activities of the day they planned revolved around sunshine.

Then they ignored the omen.

The moment morning rolls around and your eyes open, you see Jimin and Seokjin by the end of your bed, their smiles too big for your own good. Their energy was purely innocent and happy that you can’t help but mirror them, awed that they even remember what today was for.

The minute you go downstairs to introduce them to Taehyung — no one could be found downstairs, not even Namjoon who wakes up the earliest.

7:01

he didn’t tell you???

i thought you knew

we’re setting up for his exhibit

7:17

i forgot what today was im sorry :(

happy one year!

just come here!! tae’s in a good mood anyway

You’ve spent the day with Jimin and Seokjin instead even if they insisted that they wouldn’t mind at all if you join Taehyung instead, their conscience for you overpowering them to see you bummed.

It shouldn’t come a surprise to you at all that out of the two of you, you’re the only one who remembers the significance of your meeting a year ago. A year is nothing to your concept of time but it’s a year that you’ve lived and loved the most — it’s the same year that has passed and no matter how accomplished you feel, it’s on your end.

You don’t blame Taehyung for his indifference because nothing on your manual told you that he needed to change for you; it wasn’t a give or take relationship, per se. Your existence isn’t rooted on reciprocity but rather selflessness, your own destiny revolving around keeping a human safe.

It’s your day that’s supposed to be celebrated the most but in actuality, it’s the day you’d never forget because of how much you hate it.

The day hasn’t ended and you hate it the most with the way it’s been a year and still, in your own pathetic way, you’re the one who ends up relying on your human instead of the other way around.

Taehyung barely needs you and what you hate the most about it is how much you’ve endured throughout, even if he had told you time and time again that he wants nothing to do with you.

You would never receive the love you give and it drains you endlessly.

The commitment you had a year ago is tainted with the way that from this day alone, you’ve realized much more than you could ever have for the past three hundred and sixty-four.

Taehyung’s opening show was a disaster.

The exhibit itself wasn’t even publicized, his real name not even being used for the registration in the first place. Only his mother and Namjoon knew about him being a part of this exhibit; he was happy. He was on a high the whole night because as he lingered, dressed nothing like how he normally would with his face covered with a mask, people loved his craft.

People loved something of his that didn’t have his face nor name in it and it’s the sight that made him feel the most recognized he had been in a while. Namjoon had kept calling him over while pointing at his phone but Taehyung just laughs, mistaking his frantic actions for praise.

It’s only until Namjoon had forcibly plucked him outside of the gallery and shoved him into the front seat that Taehyung realizes what he was getting at, the bright screen of his bodyguard’s phone illuminating the dim interior of the car.

AN OPEN LETTER TO KIM TAEHYUNG: Don’t do art. Stick to being a rich douchebag.

His stomach churns at what he reads, trying to will his eyes into looking away but he just can’t stop scrolling, the lump in his throat growing by the second to the point it gets harder to breathe.

There’s pictures of him in his study, canvas upon canvas displayed the more he scrolls. Some where he’s holding the brush while looking at his work in passing, some where his face is seen while he looks at the camera, some actually videos of him painting and some of him shirtless while walking around his study.

Everything in the article is unmistakably him — there’s no way around it.

The article’s penned anonymously but he puts a name to each piece of media he’s ever seen, the urge to throw up rising from his throat.

Hyori.

Taehyung’s sick to his stomach just by thinking how evil the woman had been and how dumb he was for not questioning his intentions once. The high he felt just minutes ago feels like a fever dream in the new low that he drowns from, crying violently in the backseat while Namjoon drives ahead.

He’d been so blind and trusting that he gets angry at himself, pounding his head weakly because his thoughts are louder than what he could manage, humming to himself in a desperate attempt.

Taehyung refuses to even go inside his room, much less the house, because in every which way he goes, he’d pass by his study and he’d feel like imploding.

He lets himself become drenched in the patio because it hasn’t stopped raining and it’s the only sound loud enough to overpower his mind, heaving under the heavy droplets.

His thoughts only stop the minute the rain stops falling down on him on a circle, even if it continues pouring on everywhere else besides him.

Taehyung needs you.

The firs thing he does when he feels you sit next to him is embrace you, loud sobs wracking his ribs that it feels like he has no bones by the way he slacks over your figure, his heart hurting the heaviest.

“Please take the pain away.”

Taehyung pleads to you and you squeeze him tightly, carrying the pain he felt. You would’ve taken the burden out of his heart even if he didn’t ask you to. You keep taking the pain away from him and for a second, you felt you could no longer bear it with how substantial it is, but you don’t stop.

You don’t stop taking your human’s pain away until you feel him relax into your hold, a sigh of relief being released in solitude, resisting your own urge from whimpering outloud.

You realize that even if you’re the highest in the room, you’d never stop needing Taehyung and it would be your downfall.

Taehyung needs you in rainy days when his heart feels the heaviest.

Unlike you, Taehyung doesn’t need you when the snow is falling and everything set into place by the universe is content in their positions.

He doesn’t yearn for you when he isn’t hurt and put into inconveniences that only you could solve for him.

He doesn’t look for you when the sky above is heavy and the earth beneath is cold, because he has you to keep the universe in balance for him at all times.

Taehyung only wants you around when he needs you.

Your human’s relaxed to the point that he just gives in to his fatigue, his head laid on your shoulder with his eyes blinking slowly, ready to sleep at the next gust of wind that would lull him into a dream.

You look at him for what you think is the last time, thumb pressing into his cheek that it makes him open his eyes wider.

You kiss him.

You hold Taehyung by his face and kiss him fully for only a second too long, pulling away even before you run out of breath.

Taehyung isn’t shocked, but his eyes only blink lazily, a small smile on his lips as he shakes his head.

"Don't kiss me,” the small smile is still on his face and his voice is the most gentle you’ve ever heard. "You're kissing me because I'm sad.."

"I'm not,” you chuckle, pleasantly surprised at the way he isn’t flipping out at all. His head’s back to being perched on your shoulder, looking into the city below him while you continue. "I really just wanted to kiss you."

Neither of you are mad at each other. Whatever you’ve felt today before you saw each other remains only to yourself, the weight of each being relieved because it’s you who carries them both.

A year has already passed and this is only the first time that Taehyung lets you in completely, and the fault of it all is something you cannot trace. You don’t live as humans do but this is the most alive you have ever felt in your lifetime, feeling the need to explain why you’ve kissed him out of the blue.

“I kissed you because loving you is all I know."

Taehyung’s laugh erupts from his chest and it’s the warmest sound you’ve ever heard, the syrup of it spreading to your hands as this is the only time you’ve felt them to be warm.

"Then unlearn it, silly.”

His voice isn’t raised — it’s just calm. His features aren’t laced with anger and his eyes are calm without malice. Taehyung talks to you about your confession as if he’s talking about the weather, taking it casually and in a stride.

“You remind me of a stray cat, y’know?” he hums, patting your thigh. “I feed you once and you keep coming back to me.”

His head is turned away from you and he wants to keep it that way. His heart may be light but the only concern he’s been carrying the past year is the final weight that he wants to get rid of.

"I don't want you to be my guardian angel anymore."

The words don’t hurt you in the same way you thought they initially would, but you know the pain would settle in your bones sooner or later.

"Say that one more time."

Taehyung doesn’t know why you’re not going on your knees to make him take his words back but he figures that you’re just indulging him like you always do, complying obediently.

"I revoke you."

He connects all his misfortunes in his life, especially from the past year, directly to you and your involvement with him.

"One more."

You hum, patting his head for what seems to be the last time. Jimin and Seokjin stand from a distance unseen, but you refuse to look at them when you know you’d crumble immediately.

"I repulse you."

.

.

.

.

Taehyung wakes up to one less heartbeat in his house.

The moment he comes down the stairs and calls out to no one in particular, but no one (read: you) greets him, even if he could clearly see Namjoon’s figure standing by the middle of the living room —

You’re not there anymore.

The moment he comes down the stairs, he’s hit by the familiarity that this is exactly his house before you came along.

There should be houseplants hanging from the ceiling at the corner of the room but they’re nowhere to be found, not even a single trace of the holes the screws left behind.

There should be multiple ribbons tied to Scooby’s cage because you’ve once told them that it would serve as his room decor, but not one strand of the fabric could be seen on his cage.

There should be a quilt at your bed and a picture of him on your nightstand but they’re nowhere to be seen because the room that they open the door to, is the same room the house had before you moved in — an empty one.

“No, no, this can’t be happening,” Taehyung repeats under his breath, his breathing picking up at the lack of you and why there’s nothing in his home that suggests you were here.

He opens his phone and demands Namjoon for his but none of the pictures have you in it, the blank space in the middle of when the three of you would go out for walks staring right at Taehyung.

The tears prick at his eyes because even if he remembers what you look like, there’s nothing he owns that would make him see you.

“Ask the clouds to remember,” you’ve told him in passing. He wasn’t actively listening to you at the time but it appears in his head from the numerous times he’s racked it for any sign of you.

The sinking feeling he has on his chest weighs him down but he remains rooted, knowing that maybe if he gets hurt just enough, you would come to his side and relieve him of his pain.

"Not my Y/N, please. Please,” he prays to no one in particular, eyes screw shut while the skies remain gray. "I'm your human, remember?"

No one answers him and it’s a silence that makes his mind the noisiest, the overwhelming feeling of hurt raising to his throat that he looks around in paranoia, seeing if you were just playing tricks with him.

"You can't leave me — n-no, no! Not this way."

Taehyung thinks he’s seeing things because he sees shadows of you that he can’t reach out for, a whine bubbling at his throat when he looks at the sky. “Give me back my angel, please,” he asks endlessly, staring into the sky that floats above him.

He stares into the sky long enough that it makes him see white hot pain, but it doesn’t matter to him because his own hurt doesn’t bring you back.

Taehyung anticipates and anticipates your voice, apologizing to him for making him worried. He anticipates the way you’d pat his hair and beckon him to eat breakfast. When he closes his eyes at the count of three, you should be here. If he prays just hard enough, you would come back to him because the angel that he knows always would.

One.

Two.

Three.

Taehyung’s pain doubles in weight when he doesn’t see you even if he’s put his hands together and pleaded to the heavens. All he sees is Namjoon distraught trying to catch a flash of blue that flies out the patio even in the rain, settling onto the chair you always used to sit on.

Scooby is the last thing he wants to see at the moment, flicking at the air next to the stupid bird to get him to scram.

Scooby doesn’t even move an inch because he only tilts his head at Taehyung, his voice parroting the same sentence he’s been hearing from you for the past year.

“I love you, Taehyung!”

so beautiful 🥹

IV. Something Has to Change

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Title: My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni

Genre: college!au, roomie!au, angst, s2l, the absolute slowest of burns

Pairing: Namjoon x female reader, unrequited Taehyung x reader

Beta'd by @/kookstempo, @/casuallyimagining, and @/toikiii - thank you endlessly!

Summary: You know a lot about the many types of love thanks to Kim Taehyung. You love him as the only person you see as “family”, you love him as your very best friend, and you love him as the beautiful, funny man he’s become. But when a twist of fate during your senior year has you rooming with his good friend Kim Namjoon, you just might find that you have plenty left to learn about love. 

Lesson One: there are such things as a right way and a wrong way to love and to be loved.

//

Your friendship with Taehyung starts to show its cracks.

Section Warnings: language

WC: 7.5k

The world is mine: blue hill, still silver lake, Broad field, bright flower, and the long white road A gateless garden, and an open path: My feet to follow, and my heart to hold. - Journey | Edna St. Vincent Millay

Saturday October 20th

You text Taehyung before going to sleep just to confirm he didn’t die in a ditch, but it’s radio silence from him until almost three o’clock the next afternoon. When he does finally answer you - “alive but at what cost?” - you roll your eyes and turn your phone over, screen down. You’re sitting in the living room, two author anthologies open on the coffee table, bookends to your open notebook. 

Apparently he’s displeased with your silence, because your phone buzzes again a few minutes later - the longer buzz, indicating a call of some kind. With a huff of aggravation, you flip it over to see it’s a video call, his preferred method of communication. You slide the button to accept the call, but let him stare at your ceiling. 

“What?” you demand. “I can’t talk, I have to go call off my search parties.”

“I was asleep,” he defends himself. “I texted you as soon as I woke up!”

“Didn’t sleep last night, huh?” you joke, but the sting is there. Just a little. 

He avoids the question. “What are we doing tonight?”

You laugh at the audacity of his whole existence. Admitting to your face that he’d been up all night with a girl, and then calling you first thing upon waking like he knows you’ll just be there, waiting for him. What would happen if you weren’t?

Not to mention asking what the Saturday night plan is thirty seconds after waking up with a hangover. 

“I’m assuming you won’t want to go out?” you ask. 

He hums, runs a hand through his messy hair. “Depends. I could be persuaded, maybe. Wouldn’t mind just hanging out, though. What about a movie? We have that one we’ve been saving?”

We.

You’re not sure why, today, it’s bothering you so much. The truth is, Taehyung’s acting and speaking the same as always. So what’s different?

You don’t want to examine the answer to that, so you focus on the plan instead. “I like the sound of a movie,” you agree. “Wanna see if anyone else is interested?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung says. “I’ll text everyone.”

“Sounds good. See you around eight?”

“Should we order dinner before that?” he asks.

Something in your stomach turns. You don’t want to. You don’t want to keep getting your heart stepped on. You don’t want his metaphorical scent on all of your clothes, so that you can’t go anywhere or do anything without him lingering on you. 

And at the same time, he’s your best friend. He’s your family. You love him, in multiple ways.

It feels like being tugged in opposite directions. It feels like lose/lose. It feels like there’s no right answer, nowhere to turn, no option that doesn’t hurt.

“Not tonight,” you hear yourself say. “I have too much homework.”

“Okay,” he says easily. “See you around eight, then. I’ll let you know if anyone else is coming with me.”

You try to return to homework after you hang up, but your focus is shot. You lean onto the cushy back of the couch, closing your eyes. You’re still sitting like that when you hear the front door open. Namjoon hadn’t been home when you got up, had been out the whole time.

“Hey,” you say, eyes still closed.

He gives a chuckle. “Everything okay?”

“I think my brain is broken,” you tell him. “Can Edna write about something besides death?”

He huffs out a laugh, and you hear him drop his keys onto the counter. “I think she does,” he says, coming closer and peering at the anthology you still have open on the table in front of you. “Nature. Rebellion. Men. Women. Love. Sex.”

Your cheeks burn, like you’re thirteen damn years old, just from hearing the word sex in his low, steady voice.

Get a grip, you scold yourself silently. 

“I guess so,” you admit. “But today everything I read is about grief.”

“Take a break,” he suggests, moving into the kitchen. You hear a cabinet open and the sink run, and then he comes in carrying a glass of water. He sits down a few feet away from you on the couch and copies your pose, leaning back against the cushions.

It occurs to you that you’ve never sat on the couch at the same time as him before. In fact, your Uber ride last night was the closest your bodies had ever been. 

“We’re gonna watch a movie tonight,” you find yourself telling him. “That new one with what’s-his-face, Raven’s Prophecy? Around eight. If you want to join.”

“Yeah,” he says right away, surprising you. “Sounds good.”

–

The movie’s good  - really good. You’re all crowded around the living room - Namjoon on one end of the couch, Yoongi on the other, you and Taehyung and Jimin on the floor. The coffee table has been pushed to the side to make room for you, the lights turned down. Taehyung is sitting with his back against the couch, legs extended in front of him, and you have a throw-pillow leaning against his knees, laying perpendicular to him. Jimin sits next to Taehyung, one of his legs resting lazily over top of yours.

It feels normal, and it feels nice, and everything weird from earlier seems to float away. Maybe you had just been tired. 

“That’s totally foreshadowing,” you pipe up, raising a hand to point at the screen. “Because when he-.”

“Hey,” Taehyung says loudly, reaching over to flick the back of your arm. “No nerd talk. Just enjoy the movie. No one asked for a literary analysis.”

“But, look -.”

“No,” he repeats firmly, and Jimin giggles, used to this exact squabble. “This is fun, not school.”

“Foreshadowing is fun!” you protest, laughing, but you let it go. 

A second later, your phone buzzes in your hand. 

[9:37 PM] Namjoon: 🤯

You bite back a smile, turning off your screen before the light can catch anyone’s attention, and then you cast your gaze up at the couch to find Namjoon looking right at you, a sheepish smile creeping up on one side of his face. 

You’re thankful for the dark of the room, the light shifting and changing with the scene on the tv screen, as you feel yourself blush. 

God, you think to yourself. Get it together. Two days ago, it hadn’t been like this, where every met glance cues up a shy smile, and each tiny smile elicits a flush. You don’t know who this girl is but she is un-fucking-recognizable. 

You wait a minute or two, then turn your brightness down and send back, “but am i wrong?”. Then you glance back up to watch Namjoon read the text. He gives a laugh, one shake of his shoulders as he sees it, and then he meets your gaze. That same half-smile on his face, he shakes his head imperceptibly. 

Behind you, beneath you, Taehyung shifts and you turn back to the tv quickly, feeling something akin to guilt simmer in your gut. You don’t see his eyes bounce back and forth between you and Namjoon, curious. 

Monday October 22nd

Monday brings bright sunshine despite the chilly air, morning light illuminating the deep reds and oranges of the trees down the block. 

Namjoon finds you in the kitchen, staring listlessly into an untouched cup of coffee. 

“Good morning?” he greets you, a question.

You startle. “Shit!” you yelp and then laugh, heart pounding. “I didn’t even hear you getting ready in there. ”

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says apologetically. “I’m heading to campus in a bit… how about you?”

“Yeah,” you say glumly. “I have work and class.”

“Same,” he says, moving around you to rummage for some breakfast. “Class first, and then I’m TA-ing all afternoon.” 

You give him a little smile. “I don’t think I’ll be needing your services today.”

“No?” he asks mildly. “Last few submissions went well?”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Bold of you to assume I’ve written anything worth submitting.”

He laughs, his back to you, and then settles against the kitchen counter. “I can help you brainstorm, too, if you’re stuck.”

You bite back the prideful I don’t need your help that rises to your tongue. He’s being nice. Instead, you say, “Hopefully I’ll make some progress on my own. Have fun, though. You still have that office to yourself? If I had that, I’d be so productive. Nothing to distract me.”

Namjoon shakes his head, smiling ruefully. “I find ways. I still have my phone. And a window.”

You laugh at this, and then rise, draining half of your mug of coffee in one go. “I need to head in. Are you leaving now, too? Or, later?”

“I can make now work,” he says, something warm in his tone. “Let me just go grab my bag.”

Out front, you blink against the sudden brightness, holding up a hand to shield your eyes as they adjust. Namjoon locks the front door and comes down the steps at a light jog, stopping next to you.

“Ready?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you tell him, and you start off towards campus in silence, the only noise around you the calls of birds and the hum of car engines from nearby traffic. 

You stop at an intersection, watching the orange hand tell you to wait. “So,” you say, glancing up at him as the cars whiz by, “what’s your book about?”

He looks at you completely blankly, like he has no idea what you’re talking about.

“For the grad program,” you clarify. “You said you were in fiction, right?”

“Oh,” he says, as if he forgot. “Yeah. Um, I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

“Try,” you say dryly.

“It’s a coming-of-age, I guess,” he says, rubbing his chin as he thinks. He’s wearing his glasses today, and you have half a mind to tease him that he’s just trying to look like one of the professors so they don’t kick him out of his hijacked office. “And a bit of an unrequited love story.”

“The good kind or the bad kind?” you ask, a little absently. When he doesn’t answer, you look at him to determine why, and he’s looking at you like you’ve asked the most ridiculous question in the world.

You huff out a sigh. “Like - unrequited because the other person doesn’t know, or because they don’t return the feelings?”

“One of those is the good kind?” he asks, raising a brow. 

“The first one,” you say, as if it’s obvious. “It’s… it always exists only as the idea of love, it’s untarnished, it can remain a beautiful and pure thing. It never gets messed up.”

“But you’re alone,” Namjoon counters. 

“You still love someone,” you insist. “The meaning of life, and all that shit.”

Namjoon shakes his head as the stoplight above you changes from green to yellow, and then to red. “It’s not the same as loving someone and having them love you back, building it together and working to sustain it,” he says firmly. “That’s real love.” And then he heads for the crosswalk, his long legs carrying him swiftly away. 

You hurry to catch up, feet following his without question.

–

The first leaf falls, a warning. Now the rest will follow. I watched them sway all summer. Autumn leaves me hollow.

There’s a promise in the air, I turn towards the icy bite. If autumn can’t make me happy, I wonder if winter might.

Aren’t those frozen days so dark? Isn’t catching snowflakes strange? Perhaps this could be something. Perhaps something has to change.

You frown at the page. Half of you is tempted to take Namjoon up on his offer to workshop during his TA hours, but you’ve got a good reason not to let him see this one. 

“Y/N?” Kris calls from the register at the front of the store. “Did I leave my phone back there?”

Their voice brings you back to reality, pulling your focus from the page of your notebook open on your lap. You’re hiding in the stockroom, sitting on an unpacked box of what you hope are books, trying to cram in some coursework. 

Kris’s phone is indeed on a table behind you, where you sling your bookbag when you come in to start a shift. You rise, slipping your notebook back into said bag and grabbing the phone, walking it out to them. 

You’re alarmed when both phones buzz in your hands, a long, repeating pattern that you aren’t accustomed to.

“What the fuck?” you utter, even though if your boss heard you cursing on the floor you’d get a written reprimand for the first time in your life. 

“Storm alert,” Kris says, reaching one grabby hand out for their phone. You pass it over and press your thumb to your own screen. Sure enough, it’s a severe weather alert. 

You groan. “Great. I walked here.” You try to pull up the radar, but your shitty service takes too long to load it so you switch over to the hour-by-hour. 

“See if your knight in shining armor will give you a ride,” Kris says with a twisted chuckle. 

For a second, you aren’t sure if they mean Taehyung or Namjoon, and that fact is startling. Obviously they mean Taehyung, they know a lot of your history with him and they don't know anything about what’s happening with Namjoon. Nothing is happening with Namjoon, you correct yourself sternly. You had a weird desire to scoot closer while drunk in an Uber and had one sort of deep conversation. It’s not a thing. 

And, actually, texting Taehyung for a ride is a pretty good idea. Outside, it’s not even raining yet, but the clouds hang low and the leaves that have managed to cling to their branches this late into autumn are flipping and shimmying in the harsh wind. 

There’s a long line of students waiting to check out - probably grabbing last minute snacks and drinks before the rain starts, so they don’t have to go out later - so you slide next to Kris at the second register and swipe your access card. You work like this for at least an hour, the rain starting a pace outside the windows as steady as the flow of students trying to get what they need and hurry back to their dorms. 

When you catch a minute, you send a text, holding your phone down under the counter and typing with one hand, as if it isn’t painfully obvious what you’re doing. When the answer comes in, you tap the screen quickly.

[4:22 PM] You: are you still on campus?

[4:31 PM] Namjoon: just finished work. can’t wait to walk back in this…

You giggle and Kris looks at you out of the corner of their eyes.

“That him?” they ask. They mean Taehyung, and you’re too damn aware of the lie as you answer, “Mhm.”

[4:34 PM] You: i’m done in 25 min if you want to suffer together

[4:36 PM] Namjoon: yeah sounds good you can make sure i dont drown lol

An “lol”? Oh, goodness.

[4:37 PM] Namjoon: you’re at the bookstore right? i’ll come there and wait for you

Oh, lord, Kris is going to have a field day with this. You don’t have time to focus on this, as your boss finally sweeps out of her adjoining office, announcing that you need to shut down the second register and finish everything in the back room before your shift ends. She’ll be the one to close the store tonight, as she does on Mondays. 

When you emerge from the back room at 4:59 on the dot, your backpack on your back, Namjoon is loitering near the registers, and Kris is shooting you looks that are somehow mischievous, delighted, and wounded. You have a feeling you’ll be interrogated during your shift on Wednesday.

Outside, the rain isn’t that bad, but it is steady. The wind blowing makes it look like it’s raining left to right, in sheets. 

“We’re gonna be drenched,” you groan. You follow Namjoon out of the bookstore, waving a goodbye at a still-disgruntled Kris, stopping at the glass doors that lead outside. 

“It’s not that bad,” Namjoon tells you, voice a little fond, like he thinks your complaining is cute. “We’ll just go quick. I’m mostly worried about my laptop.”

“Ugh, same,” you lament. “We’d better be fast, I fully cannot afford a new one.”

“Let’s go,” he tells you, and leads you outside. Just like that morning, your feet follow his, like it’s natural. You walk in silence almost halfway home, the pace too clipped to really carry on any kind of conversation. 

You’re practically panting for breath when you hit the major crosswalk, stopping to wait for the signal to walk. The rain seems worse when you’re stopped - sticking your hair to your head where it lands, raising the hairs on your arms as your body gives one dramatic shiver against the chill. Namjoon looks down at you.

“We’re almost there,” he says, reassuring. 

“Mhm,” you manage, rubbing your hands over your arms to fight off the goosebumps. The light changes and you start across, following Namjoon and his naturally long stride. You keep your eyes on the ground, dodging puddles, watching the white stripes pass beneath you. 

You’re just across, stepping up the curb onto the sidewalk, when it happens.

The sky opens. 

One second it’s raining hard enough to be a nuisance, the next second it feels like someone dumped a bucket of water over your head. The sound goes from a soft patter to a sudden roar, like the rain is alive and it is pissed. You splutter, actually blowing water away from your lips, reaching up to wipe your eyes. 

“Fucking shit,” Namjoon swears, and then he grabs your hand and tugs. “Come on!”

He’s not running that fast but there’s still a few seconds where you feel uneven, your gait awkward, trying to match his. Eventually your feet settle into the rhythm and you run just behind him. His hand, so large in yours it's almost swallowing it, is warm and solid and sure. His grip is tight - like he means it. He doesn’t look back as he runs, just squeezes your hand in his and trusts you to keep up.

When you round the corner of your block, together, you try to pull back, try to slow down. Your lungs hurt, your legs are burning, and you just want to admit defeat and walk the block letting the rain know it won.

Namjoon doesn’t let you. He slows his pace to more of a race-walk, gives your arm another playful tug. Not for a single second does he loosen his grip on your hand.  

“You can make it,” he tells you over his shoulder. His hair is flattened from the rain, his face a little flushed from the run, but his dimples wink at you through the deluge.

When he reaches the front of the apartment, he finally drops your hand and takes the steps at a clip. At the top, under the safety of the awning, he turns to see why you haven’t followed him.

You can’t help it - it’s all so ridiculous you have to laugh. Your hair sticks to your face like cooked spaghetti, your shirt clings to your arms, your backpack is dripping water like there’s a faucet in there, and even your socks are wet, making each step you take squelch like mud. Still cackling at the absurdity of this moment, of having been completely defeated by the season, of running all the way home and still ending up half-drowned, you look up at the sky. The rain slides down the sides of your face and you let it cool the heat that’s there from either running, or Namjoon’s touch.

You feel a little drunk from it. 

“Y/N!” Namjoon scolds from the top of the stairs, but he’s smiling that same fond little smile he’d had on movie night a few days ago. “Come inside! You’re going to get pneumonia.”

You look back at him, the rain still assaulting you from above. There’s a second where you feel something. Something like… you’re half-drowned and chilled to the bone, but you feel warm with his affectionate gaze on you. Like you don’t want him to look away and leave you cold again. Like the rain was penance and now you’re all paid up. 

Like for at least this moment, right now, the rain has washed away your histories and left you clean and empty, a blank page waiting for a new story to tell - where before, your pages were full of scribbles and scrawls that held such heavy meaning there was no room for anything new.

You’re thinking too much.

You’re standing in the rain, Namjoon is looking at you like you’re nuts, and you’re thinking too much.

 Watching your feet, you head up the stairs, going through the front door that he’s holding open for you.

You squish your way upstairs, neither of you talking. Inside the apartment, Namjoon flicks on a few lamps.

“I’m going to grab a shower,” he tells you, voice quiet. “You should, too.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “That was my plan.”

You stand beneath the spray of hot water, tapping on the faucet to work it hotter by degrees, not wanting the temperature to jump and scald you. You feel drained, like your limbs are noodles. You lean your forehead against the tile wall, closing your eyes and just breathing.

“What the fuck…” you whisper to no one, “is going on?”

You wish you had a friend to talk it out with. Kris would go overboard, exploding with glee. Lin isn’t a talk about boys kind of person, or even a talk about your feelings kind. That leaves Taehyung, and the idea of trying to talk to him about your burgeoning feelings for Namjoon makes you laugh out loud, the single syllable echoing off the shower walls, echoing back to mock you. 

When you finally make it back into the living room, hair blow-dried and wearing your fuzziest joggers and a hoodie, Namjoon is tucked away in his own room, the door open that familiar four inches. 

You get settled on the couch and pull out your phone and realize practically with a gasp - you hadn’t even tried to text Taehyung to drive you, nice and dry, back from campus. Your brain had thought but I walked here with Namjoon and the option of “dry” went right out the window.

You cover your face with your hands, sliding down on the couch a little bit. What is the matter with you? 

You feel right now like it’s all happening too much, too fast. What even is “it”? Do you like Namjoon? Despite barely knowing him? Despite having to live with him? 

Despite the years and years of experience you have with loving Taehyung, and Taehyung alone, out of everyone in the whole wide world?

Luckily, Namjoon stays in his room for the rest of the evening, sparing you from any more self-reflection, any more soul-searching. 

You still kind of wish he’d come out. 

Tuesday October 23rd

One of the steady things that you and Namjoon share, that works for you as roommates, is that neither of you cooks. A whole kitchen of pots and pans just to heat up water for tea and ramen and to occasionally cook an egg. 

So when you get home from class on Tuesday so late that it’s already pretty dark out and you hear the clanging and banging from the kitchen that indicates a meal being made, you genuinely wonder if you’re at the wrong door. 

As you push the door open, the noise only gets louder. You round the corner and see the kitchen in chaos - two unmanned pans on the stove, bowls and whisks and colanders and cutting boards all over the counterspace. Namjoon has his back to you, a large kitchen knife in hand. 

You ease around him, not wanting to startle him until the knife is set down. He spots you anyway, and gives you a sheepish grin.

“What… exactly… is happening here?” you inquire. 

“It depends on the scope of your question,” Namjoon answers, because of course he can’t just fucking answer you like a normal person. “If you’re referring to the stove, I am burning some sauce on the left and burning some meat on the right. If you’re referring to the cutting board, I am -.”

“The stove is on fire!” you shriek, pointing, your spare hand flying to cover your mouth in horror. Flames crawl from underneath the pan of meat, over the top, devouring what’s in the pan and leaping into the air. Namjoon drops the knife with a clatter and whirls around, eyes wide. 

“What do I do?” he cries, hands in the air like he’s going to swat the flames like gnats.

“Turn off the burner and smother it!” you cry, not willing to enter the kitchen and get closer to the danger. 

“Smother it?” he repeats, the words a little wild as he screams them. Smoke has filled the kitchen, blurring your view of him, and the smoke alarm over the front door begins to blare. 

“The lid!” you scream, trying to be louder than the alarm. “Turn off the burner and put the lid on the pan! Be careful!”

You add this last part in a shriek as Namjoon follows your directions, reaching towards the flame to twist the burner and then slam the lid over the top of the pan, hissing a little as he does. 

The flames vanish almost instantly, but the smoke remains and the alarm keeps screaming. Namjoon looks at the pan, then his hand, then at you. 

“Go run cool water on that,” you tell him firmly, and you cross the apartment to open the windows and turn on the fans. 

You return to the kitchen to find Namjoon running the sink over his knuckles, brows furrowed.

“Is it bad?” you ask loudly - again, to be heard over the smoke alarm - as you open a drawer and get a kitchen towel, moving to stand in the kitchen’s doorway flapping away, trying to send the smoke towards the open windows. 

“No,” he tells you, pulling his hand out of the stream of water to examine it more closely. “It’s just a little red.”

“Keep it there for a little bit,” you tell him, still flapping away. “I might have burn cream in my bathroom, I’ll check in a second.”

Eventually the alarm quiets and you both heave a sigh of relief. The cold air coming from the open windows chills you down to your toes, but smoke still clings to the room, blurring your vision just enough to wonder if you’re imagining it. 

You find the burn cream in your medicine cabinet and return to the living room. Namjoon is looking at the ruined remains of his dinner with something like heartbreak on his face.

“Come here,” you tell him, sitting at the breakfast bar, ointment in your hand. “Come sit so I can do this.”

“I can do it,” he protests, but he heads your way.

“Sit,” you repeat, pulling out the stool next to you.

He does, silently and obediently, sliding his hand over to you. You can see the redness over his knuckles, middle and index the most. You uncap the tube and squeeze a little onto your fingers, then take his hand in your spare one to hold it steady. Gently you press the cream into his skin, making sure to cover each bit of redness. Namjoon watches you solemnly, wincing a little when your fingers touch his middle knuckle.

“See if that helps,” you tell him, his hand still resting on yours. “Want help cleaning up?”

He sighs heavily, and you both look at the kitchen in defeat at the mess of pans and bowls to wash.

“Do you ever just… miss your mom?” he asks plaintively, not looking at you.

The thing about grief - long-term grief, lifetime grief - is that you can go days, maybe even weeks at a time without noticing it. It’s kind of like a bruise in a hard to reach spot. It just takes one bump in exactly the right place, and it hurts just as bad as day one all over again. Namjoon’s words pierce you, and you take a slow breath. You were just caught off-guard, that’s all. You can be fine. You can be normal.

“Sure,” you say, trying to sound casual. Failing. 

He narrows his eyes at you in suspicion. “Why’d you get weird?” he asks. “Do you have a bad relationship with your mom or something? I didn’t mean to -.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, but you rise and head for the kitchen, starting to pick things up just to do something with your hands. “It’s just… I don’t have my mom anymore. She passed when I was little. My dad too.” Might as well get it all out there. It felt weird to let someone only know half.

It’s easier to handle this moment with Namjoon in another room. You don’t have to watch him react, don’t have to translate his silence and his body language. You slide all the chopped onion onto a plate just  in case Namjoon still wants to use it, and turn to rinse off the cutting board in the sink. 

He appears behind you, silently lingering in the doorway. “Y/N,” he says softly. 

“It’s fine, Namjoon,” you tell him, scrubbing at the cutting board vigorously. You don’t turn to face him.

“I wouldn’t have been so blase about it if I’d known,” he says apologetically.

“I know,” you say. You turn - away from the doorway - to put the cutting board aside to dry. You grab the pan with sauce in it - all congealed and unappetizing now - and move to scrape it into the garbage can. 

He comes up beside you; his fingers touch your elbow, feather-light, like he’s afraid he’ll spook you.

“Y/N,” he implores. “Look at me.”

You do, glancing sideways up at him, the pan heavy in your hand. “I’m not upset,” you assure him. “People just get so weird when they find out. I hate… navigating that, over and over again, with new people.”

He gives you a guilty smile, but there’s relief in it as well. “I will stop being weird immediately,” he promises. “I just felt like I stepped in it, you know?”

You shrug. “It happens to the best of us. It really is fine. It’s been a long time.”

You arm tingles where he’d touched you, but he stays put when you move back to the sink, running the water hot enough to steam before you put the pan under it. Then, wordlessly, he moves next to you, grabbing a cloth and starting to dry the cutting board you’d washed.

You carry on that like that, a perfectly synchronized dance, in silence until the countertop is empty. All that remains is the pan that had been alight about half an hour ago.

“Can I ask you something personal?” he asks, leaning against the counter as you scrape the remains of the charred meat into the garbage with a grimace. “I’m just curious. You can tell me to fuck off.”

“It’s so jarring when you swear,” you tell him.

He grins at you. “Hobi says my surprising potty-mouth is one of my best charms.”

You laugh at this. “I can see that,” you agree. “It is surprising.”

“Not charming?” he teases.

You shrug, feeling that blush rise up again. “No comment. Anyway - what did you want to ask?”

He lets you get away with evading the flirtation. “If you were little… who raised you?”

“Oh,” you say. You aren’t sure what you thought he’d ask, but it wasn’t that. “My grandma, until she couldn’t. Then my Aunt Lin took over, but she’s more like a big sister than anything.”

Namjoon nods. Then he asks, carefully, “Did Taehyung know your parents?”

The question makes you smile at the memories it pulls up - you and Taehyung as kids together, goofing off around your house, back when it had been filled with people.

“Yeah,” you say softly. It doesn’t occur to you to wonder why he’d ask that. It doesn’t occur to you to mask the tiny smile, that it might jostle his feelings even a little bit.

You look over at him when you realize he’s gone quiet. “Are you close with your family?” you ask, genuinely curious.

He nods, eyes on the pan lid that he’s drying. “Very. I was a lost soul when I first moved to campus. I couldn’t do anything.”

“You burned dinner tonight,” you point out. 

“I can do laundry now,” he retorts, smiling at you as you put the last of the dishes away. “I’ve come a long way.”

“Still room to grow,” you tease, reaching out to give his arm a playful nudge.

You’re giving playful touches now. That’s a thing that’s happening. 

You ache, again, to have someone to tell. 

Wednesday October 24th

You both love and hate Wednesdays - on one hand, you have your thesis double-feature, and you actually enjoy it. On the other hand, you go straight from double-class to closing shift at the campus store, and you don’t get home until dark. The day is long, and you’d rather be home. For several reasons. 

Your morning goes as you expect - you make it through the lecture part of class, updating Professor Jemisen on how your research segment is going. During the break, you eat some leftovers you’d thrown in your backpack, and talk with Gloria and the other girls. After the break, your group helps you workshop your latest poem, the one about the season changing, and you do the same for them.

The season changing is happening in real life, all around you. Fall fades quickly, the days darkening, the chills lasting longer, becoming more pronounced. Gone are the autumn days that change their mood and become summer again for hours at a time. 

You normally go straight to the campus store after class, but this week you’re hungry - the leftovers you packed weren’t enough to keep you until you get home. Instead of heading down the main paved path to the student center, where you work, you head for a large academic building you pass on the way there. You know there’s a little sandwich station on the lowest floor, tucked away past the mailroom like a well-kept secret. 

You take a hallway off to the side, passing some open classrooms on your way to the staircase. You’re walking mindlessly, head thinking only about the sandwich you’re going to order. You slow your steps when you hear a familiar voice, low and calm. 

“All I’m saying,” a girl is saying, and you stop in the doorway, listening, “is that while the idea of going to live alone in the woods is actually extremely appealing, Thoreau as a whole kind of sucks.”

“I might agree with you, but you need to frame that more academically,” Namjoon corrects gently.

A circle of students - freshmen, if you had to guess, maybe eight of them, are sitting at desks, their bags all forgotten on the floor by their chairs. Namjoon perches on the edge of the teacher’s desk at the front of the room, legs casually stretched out before him. He’s listening intently as the students debate.

“We have to specify the problem,” someone else in the group points out. “I’m all for metaphorically dragging down statues of the patriarchy and everything, but we need a solid argument.”

“Or,” a different girl says, voice just barely loud enough for you to hear from the hallway, “maybe instead of giving more attention to ‘classics’ we see as undeserving, maybe instead we should focus just on the underprivileged voices that we prefer to be amplified?”

“You mean pick a lesser-known author and shed light on their work instead?” Namjoon clarifies, and the girl nods. 

The group begins to debate this passionately, and Namjoon lets them fight it out, taking a second to glance at his phone. You become aware of the fact that you’re just standing in the hallway staring. You’re about to move on when Namjoon notices you. He looks away quickly at first, and then it registers that it was you standing in the doorway like a weirdo, and his gaze flies back to you. 

Caught, you have no choice but to lean into it. You give him a tiny smile, raising a hand in a guilty wave. He smiles back, just barely. You stay there another minute, smiling at each other, while the freshmen continue to argue. Then your feet spur you on, and you give him a little nod before heading down the hall. But the stupid fucking butterflies stay in your stomach the whole time you wait in line for your sandwich.

When you get to the bookshop, you toss your backpack behind the counter and slump onto a low stool that’s stashed back there. You lean your head on the counter next to the currently unmanned register and let out some unhappy grumbles.

Kris comes out from the stockroom - you can tell it’s them by their footsteps.

“What is happening here,” they say flatly, not exactly a question.

“Kriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis,” you whine, not looking up. “I think I need to talk about… my roommate.”

“Bitch!” they utter indignantly. “He has a name! What grade are we in right now?”

You stomp your feet lightly, needing to display your crankiness. “I am feeling very confused and conflicted and I need you to be nice to me about it,” you say petulantly, finally picking your head up so you can pout better. 

“Okay,” Kris says easily, leaning against the wall. The shop is devoid of customers, so you don’t bother to lower your voice. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” you continue to whine. “It’s just how I feel.”

Kris gives you a level stare. “I need the whining to stop, like, yesterday. If you feel conflicted, there’s a reason. So, figure out what it is.”

“I already said I don’t know,” you tell them, still pouty, but sitting up straight now.

“Dig deep,” Kris deadpans. “Do it for the dimples.”

“Oh my GOD,” you say, unable to even make eye contact. “Never mind, conversation over.”

They shake their head, not letting you off the hook. “What’s the problem, Square?” It’s a nickname they gave you last year when you wouldn’t go partying - because… apparently you’re a square.

“You know the problem,” you grumble quietly, making them lean closer to hear you.

They lean back, something knowing in their eyes. “Ah. It’s the Taehyung factor.”

“Shh,” you scold, glancing around the empty store like someone might have materialized without you noticing. When you return your gaze to them, Kris is just staring at you plainly, waiting for you to elaborate. 

“I don’t know,” you say, and then more emphatically, “I don’t know! If I… start something else… does that mean giving Taehyung up? Because I can’t say I want to do that. Not if I’m being honest.”

Kris nods silently, letting you work it out. You meet their eyes, suddenly feeling the squeeze of anxiety around your chest, like your lungs have something heavy they have to push every time you inhale. 

“If I lose him,” you say in practically a whisper, “I will quite literally die.”

Kris scowls at you. “You will not.”

“I will,” you retort. 

Kris gives you an eyeroll. “So dramatic,” they scold. 

“He’s my family, Kris,” you try to explain. “In a lot of ways he’s my only family.” Your voice breaks as you ask, “What if I lose him?”

Now Kris softens, lips pulling together into something like a very pursed frown. “Maybe you should talk to him,” they suggest quietly.

You hate that idea a lot. “Maybe,” you say loudly, slapping your hand on the counter and standing as the bell over the door chimes and a group of lacrosse guys (the sticks are a give-away) enter the store with a burst of noisy chatter, “I should never talk about any of this ever again.”

Kris sighs heavily, practically doubling over. Now who’s dramatic? “You’re so self-destructive,” they complain.

“Don’t be mean,” you say, going back to pouting.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kris waves a hand at you. “Go write a poem about it.”

“And what if I do?” you demand, but you’re both laughing now, unlocking the registers as the lacrosse dudes line up to pay for their snacks and drinks.

–

Taehyung texts you near the end of your shift - “we haven’t hung out in five billion years :(“.

You roll your eyes at his dramatics and text back, “come get me from the bookstore then and hang out for a little”.

You’re pleased when he agrees. He shows up a little bit before closing, knocking on the already locked glass doors. You hurry to let him in, ignoring Kris staring knives into your back. 

“Hi,” you say happily as he slips into the store, and you lock the door again behind him. “I’ll be done in about four minutes.”

“‘Kay,” he says easily, striding over to the checkout counter and leaning against it. 

“Taehyung,” Kris greets him, nodding their head as they lock the register. “How’s it going?”

He sighs dramatically. “The usual. Classes. Parties. Trying to figure out why Y/N doesn’t love me anymore.”

You freeze halfway to the stockroom, your eyes wide, air catching in your throat. 

Luckily, Kris is and always has been way more slick than you. They cock their head quizzically, letting a playfully concerned frown settle over their features. 

“Y/N doesn’t love you anymore?” they echo, the poor baby pronounced in their tone. “What on earth do you mean?”

Taehyung shoots you a mischievous look; luckily, you’ve gotten your act together since he said those words. 

“I had to beg for her attention tonight,” he says, clearly loving this bit. “I’m beginning to think she has a secret boyfriend she’s not telling me about.”

He’s teasing and you know it, but after a lifetime of friendship with Taehyung, you know this too: there’s a little sliver of him that must be hurt, or at least bothered, or he wouldn’t tease at all.

You feel both caught - despite not having a secret boyfriend or anything like it - and guilty. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I just got busy with my thesis and everything. I promise I’m not out with other people and not you. Even Kris only sees me at work these days.”

“And Namjoon,” Taehyung adds plaintively, and your blood runs cold.

“Namjoon?” you echo, not sure you can form a different word.

Taehyung’s pouting now, which means he’s not too serious. “Yeah, he has no choice, you’re in his living room every day.”

“Oh,” you say, relief flooding through you. “Yeah.”

You don’t see the point in telling Taehyung that there’s a teeny, tiny something starting with Namjoon. Not when it’s so… unformed, insubstantial, uncertain. You don’t know which word fits best. It’s a maybe at best, and it just doesn’t seem worth rocking the boat over it. 

What would happen if things started for real? Would you tell him? It shouldn’t have to be a secret… it shouldn’t stay a secret, not if you mean it. What would happen?

You’re afraid to know the answers. 

You finish up in the store and you all head to the parking lot together. You tell Kris goodbye and drop down into Taehyung’s passenger seat. 

“You’re gonna stay at the apartment for a little?” you ask. 

“Mhm,” he says, fiddling with the heat until he gets it how he wants it. “Can I work on homework with you?”

“Definitely,” you agree. “I have so much shit to do. I wasn’t kidding when I said school is eating my life. Senior year sucks.”

Taehyung isn’t looking at you - he’s watching the road as he waits for an opening in traffic so he can pull out of the parking lot. But something crosses his face - relief, maybe. Something softens, anyway. Maybe he really had been hurt that you hadn’t been hanging out as much.

When you return to the apartment, Namjoon isn’t home - his door hangs open, his bedroom completely dark. 

You and Taehyung settle in the living room, dragging out your laptops. It’s nice, hanging out like this again. You hadn’t realized how long it had been - over a week - since it had been just the two of you, like old times. Everything falls right into place. You swap snacks, hands brushing as you both reach into crinkling chip bags. You reach over and type nonsense into his paper when he isn’t paying attention, letting out peals of laughter when he figures it out and starts spluttering at you in outrage. You tell him about the customer at the store who argued with you over - of all the stupid things - a used copy of The Odyssey. 

When he hugs you goodbye at the end of the night, swaying you playfully back and forth like he might drop you, both of you giggling wildly, you’re reminded of just what the stakes are. You’re reminded of just how much you have to lose. 

<- Prev || Next ->

ahhhhh what do we think??!! there was hand holding!!!! are we clutching our pearls??!!!

as always thank you all so so so much for being here, i appreciate every one of you so extremely much!!!

HES SO LOVELY

The story behind Yoongi’s iconic chicken little spiked hair

Bonus: 18 yo Yoongi being his iconic self (for reference hehehe).

[cr: vid - @jung-koook​, tr - parapiobuin]

reported you to the copyright section on weverse for your concert stream, they’ll be in touch. i have bills to pay rent to pay food to buy but i do this thing called budgeting to ensure i can pay for bts content legally. and very simply yea if you don’t pay you don’t deserve it. you can’t walk into a shop and think oh i like this dress so i’m going to take it without paying that’s called theft and is illegal. this is the same thing. if you don’t pay you don’t get. why should i spend $80 for 2 concerts and you get them free, no that’s unfair. any real army will pay and if you don’t you don’t deserve the boys, their content or their hard work.

you're so fucking ugly (and i mean this as a person, on the inside. rotten like a fucking apple that's fallen off the tree). like. lmaaaaaaaaaaao i can't even. it's as if you don't have a brain. which is crazy, because you say you have rent to pay and food to buy but i'm pretty sure things without brains don't have responsibilities? y'know? *insert oprah's what is the truth? gif*

anyway. honestly, i don't have to reply to this. i know i probably shouldn't, because this is such a stupid ask it doesn't deserve an answer. but i've got time, babes, so here we go!

firstly, you're a shit army, because what's something that bts has always advocated for? acceptance, community, love. you're going to sit there on your high horse and bitch and complain like "weh weh weh it's not fair that i've got a stick shoved too far up my ass to consider other people's circumstances and have compassion!" get a life, pal. grow a heart. maybe it'll help take the strain off the nonexistent brain you've got.

secondly, you know that yoongi, during a vlive (i think?), searched for a stream for a soccer game, right? as in, an illegal stream? the man who you claim to support so much LITERALLY did what you're shitting on other people for? so do you think he doesn't have a right to watch that, either? that he's an illegal scumbag who doesn't really support korea? or does your asinine viewpoint only apply to fellow army?

lastly, jimin straight up answered an army on weverse telling them the following:

if jimin - and presumably the rest of the boys - don't hold it against their fans for watching content using an alternative method, why the fuck do you care? are you secretly bang pd? do you have some like, idk, dividends we need to know about? it's absolutely insane that you're licking the boots of a fucking entertainment company and coming here, into my inbox, to tear down the people who only want to enjoy content.

as much as we love bts, things are expensive. sorry that people have found a way to stream stuff without having to miss their rent. sorry they've maybe bought merchandise but just didn't have it in their expendable income to also buy tickets to muster. but actually, i'm not sorry at all and neither should any other army be.

anyway, you are an inexplicably sad person. i genuinely hope that you, at some point, can figure out wtf happened to make you this way and move on from it. because god knows you need it. toodles!

ps. reported me to weverse? using what? "hey, big hit. this fanfic author on tumblr streamed to people. can you do something about it?" you sound wack as hell.

Second Best

summary: you and Harry meet at a party, but he seems to take more interest in your sister than in you, and you won’t be Second Best. 

author’s note: bonjour mes chéris!! this is the first instalment of hannah being the history/french student she is and merging all three of her worlds and creating her own little fictional one. this is based off of lousia may alcott’s little women (one of may favourite books ever) but with my own little twist on it. this is set in the 1860′s during the civil war but i haven’t made it too historical at all.  i have done all of the translations myself and even though i’m semi-fluent i still make mistakes so if you spot any let me know. this is so long so i’ll shut up now, thanks for all the support bye!! <3

word count: 16k of good old fashioned marriage talk (there’s a lot of it, its all they spoke about tbf??), fluff, angst and a lil’ smut. there is marriage and children at the end (woo, exciting!) not proofread because my eyes are already asleep. 

masterlist   |    speak to me about second best here!

“Stand up straight, don’t slouch. You have a tendency to do so, and these people will not tolerate it.” You sister, Lizzie, says as she pushes her arm between yours, walking you towards the fancy house in front of the two of you, “Whatever you do, don’t speak about your art at all. Nobody can stop you once you’ve started. Do speak if you’re spoken too, and if you’re asked to dance, dance.”

You shake your head, “But I don’t want to dance.”

“You will dance.” Lizzie says again, squeezing your arm slightly, “You may find yourself a husband if you act proper enough.”

“I shouldn’t have to act proper just to find a husband, Lizzie.” You scoff, shaking your head, “If they don’t love me, oil paints and all, then I don’t want them. I don’t think I’ll ever find a husband.”

“Oh shush with you.” She says, tapping your arm slightly. It didn’t hurt, but it did cause your lips to part in shock, “How lovely would it be if father returned and you were married! It would make his life.”

“I think he’d have a heart attack.” You mutter, removing your arm from around hers as you stand outside of the door you were going to walk through in mere minutes, “I’m his little girl, you are also, Lizzie. If we were both to be married I’d think we’d kill him off.”

“You shouldn’t joke about that.”

“I’m not joking. I truly believe that would happen.” You deadpan.

She scoffs and slips her arm through yours this time, using her free hand to ring the bell. A man wearing one of the fanciest suits you’ve ever seen in your life opens the door, allowing the two of you to slip through. You help Lizzie remove her shawl, whilst she does the same to you. The man hangs them up amongst the array of other jackets. You lips part in shock at the sight of the house you were in, the first thing your eyes falling upon being the large staircase, with paintings littering the walls. For once, you were speechless, unable to control your excitement and want to gawk at the art upon the wall.

“Lizzie!” You gasp, gripping her arm tightly, “Look at the—”

“Don’t you dare say paintings!”

“Lizzie!” You groan again, pulling her arm so that she’s looking your direction, “Look at them.”

“I’m looking at them.” She lifts her eyes to look at the wall you were looking at, where the pieces hung with such grace and elegance, “They don’t seem too spectacular.”

A shocked gasp escapes your lips, “Take that back, Lizzie! They are beautiful!

“If you say so.”

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this fic is what originally got me into marriage! bangtan aus. incredibly written and an absolute masterpiece.

A Piece Of The Moonlight (Jungkook)

have you heard of the phenomenal and wildly popular Korean drama series, Moon Lovers: Scarlet Heart Ryeo? Yeah. This historical Mulan-inspired fic is better than that.

Epiphany (Seokjin)

A heartbreaking yet fulfillingly satisfying exes! au. The realistic sense of what should have been and how such a small choice could impact our lives entirely is very present. I’m the one I should love indeed.

The Train Of Lost Souls (Hoseok ft! Jungkook)

A fantasy of a choice regarding love, friendship, and death. The platonic yet intimate relationship between Hobi and reader is something that striked me immensely. I was crying and felt unsatisfied until I didn’t, it was insane. In love with this, a hundred percent advised.

when the camellia blooms | pjm

park jimin x kim! reader | 1 | 2

sypnosis: diagnosed with the hanahaki disease, you had only two options - accept a deathly fate, or never love again. 

genre: au, angst, fluff, humor, friends to lovers? maybe.

warnings: many talks of death and dying, namjoon is the sweetest brother omg, unrequited love, swearing, pining, longing, fictional added terms and effects of the hanahaki disease, really sad reader, really sad characters, and lots of angst.

word count: (read author's note)

reminder: this is a sequel. please read part one here; however, this also could serve as a stand-alone, but I would advise you read the first part as well for the full experience.

a/n: i was mauling for a long long long time over whether i should do three parts at most or just keep this one really lengthy, and since i was afraid of losing track if i chose to cut it in parts again, i just decided to make this one quite a bit long. sorry!

"let me try to love you back to life."

"Is that what you think?"

You remember the long pause before your response, a deafening silence amidst the growing tense and suffocating air that evening as you spoke.

You had known then that Jimin regretted what he said the moment he did, but it was too late. He’s already said it, and he’s hurt you.

Jimin looks at you with ache as you stare accordingly at the blank wall, noticing the way your eyes have begun to well up in tears as the familiar feeling of tightness succumbs your throat, light feathers of pink flowers forcefully being swallowed down, "Do you think that I don't remember? That I simply don't care? That I'm just on the fence playing peek-a-boo with death on my door?"

Focusing on you with a heart contrite, Jimin places his bottom lip in between his teeth, eyes meshed together amongst sorrow as he swallows in shame, feeling completely guilty at his preceding words.

"y/n I-"

You then laugh ironically, halting him to a stop.

"Forgive me, Jimin."

Your throat is furthermore burning by each passing second as you direct your gaze at the cause of your painful love, "Forgive me if I prefer to want to spend my last days in peace with the acceptance of my crushing fate. Forgive me for not wanting to die on my death bed sulking and cursing the universe and God and myself and whatever I can for this unfair hanafuckinghaki sickness. Forgive me-"

You uttered every word that night with a sense of despise, a sense of spite, each one a striking arrow shot directly at Jimin's heart.

"-if I choose to pretend to be happy and to be okay for my brother and for your sake." You spit out, last words purposely said with more effect.

Taking a few steps closer towards him, you point your finger accusingly against his chest as your tears willingly fall, lips slightly quivering as your anger all the more increases the moment you two lock eyes.

Your breath is caught at the back of your throat as you look up, finding yourself standing in the very front of Jimin's presence.

You swallow harshly, height difference being of no use as your red eyes focusedly trained on his same ones tower over him, both pairs seemingy battling for agony, "But don't you stand there and accuse me of being indifferent- fucking indifferent of all fucking things towards Sung's death. She was my friend before yours, and losing her hurt just as much as anything else."

You remember crying out, not finding an interest on holding in neither your sobs nor your coughs any longer as you did so right at his face, further recalling how you felt not even an ounce of guilt whatsoever as you purposefully reminded him of your current illness in hopes of making him feel worse.

“y/n please...” Jimin barely utters out, almost visibly fading from the way you raise your voice further in his attempts of cutting you off.

"Don't. Don’t you dare accuse me of ever forgetting that night, because as far as I remember, I was the one who kept inside the pain of losing someone close. I was the one who held you when you cried, consoling you to an unbearable extent that I forgot to console myself." Still looking at him in the eyes, you speak out words of regret as you proceed to cough lightly, the pain inside you endlessly growing that you insisted on passing it to someone else.

One word after another, you could remember physically witnessing the pain in Jimin's eyes.

The way his eyebrows were furrowed together and the glistening streaks that ran along his red cheeks were an evident proof of your success in wounding him, but you didn't care. You told yourself you didn't care. You lied to yourself in saying you didn’t care.

No. You didn't care.

For once, you could still sense that rushing feeling of wanting to lessen the burden of falling in love with Jimin. For once, you wanted to make him feel the pain you've kept inside you for the past two years. For once- for once you wanted to be the cause of his pain, not the other way around.

But that once lasted only as is, just once.

The moment you speak those words against him, your heart begins to ache all the more, the dreaded feeling of guilt and shame and love and pain all united together in rising above your limit as you abruptly collapse onto his arms, growing weak and coughing brutally as the camellias say hello to its desired lover.

You eyes begin to desperately search his as you cling onto him, head proceedingly buried against his chest all the while sobbing uncontrollably, apologies escaping past your visibly whimpering lips, “I-I'm sorry, Chim. I didnt- I don't blame you, I'm so sorry-"

You remember seeing Jimin, just seconds ago having been distraught and practically falling apart from your direct words, somehow manage to gather himself as he stands his ground, still and determined on holding you securely.

His arms are wrapped around you in a protective yet delicate manner, eyes trained worriedly on your fragile state all the while patting your back, tenderly comforting you, “Shh- shh. It’s okay, y/n. Just breathe. Focus on your breathing, that’s right.”

Your breathing has gone erratic, lifting your head a tad bit in order to look at him as you reminisce that night, when you were the one holding him as he cried. "I'm so sorry, Chim."

You remember the first few of your countless apologies which Jimin nevertheminds, holding no other concern than that of which is your state of well-being.

"It's okay, okay? We're okay. Now c'mon, walk with me to the sofa. You can do that right? On three. One, two three..”

Minutes feel like hours as you recall the way Jimin assisted you for a time on end, treating you as though you were a rare delicacy with his manner of tenderness, softness, soft whispers against your ear and soft touches along your spine as he helps you find your amity once more.

Unaware that he is just that — your amity, your armistice.

Sat on the sofa, you continue on controlling your breathing as you inhale in and exhale out, Jimin's voice supple and light by the side of your earlobe as words of encouragement slip past his lips, still slightly red and swollen from his previous cries.

You could practically feel his breath against your ear with the sheer distance between the two of you, the noticeable intimacy of both your positions making you shudder and shut your eyes in an attempt of preserving in place another series of newly blooming flowers.

Standing up abruptly, you look at anywhere but Jimin as you scan your surroundings, all before making a clear statement.

Hesitantly, you whisper, "I think I should go."

Jimin's eyes haltingly falters, confusion capitulating his entire expression before attempting to reach out to you, "So soon? I think you should stay y/n-"

"Why?" You intervene motionlessly.

Caught aback with the benevolence and lack of sentiment in your voice, Jimin unrequitedly stutters as he responds, "Because y-your condition is still not well and I-"

"My brother is a doctor, Chim. I'll ask him to stay with me."

"-I just think it'll be better for you to stay here for a while and rest-"

"Better for me?" You begin, once more keeping his words short, "Or better for you?"

You remember Jimin's widened eyes, clearly not expecting you to say what you did.

"I.." Jimin thinks before continuing, hands grazing yours just as he speaks, "I just want you here. I need you here."

At his words, you remember recalling that exact phrase spoken to you the night Sung died, just when he caught himself falling apart and firstly reached out to you.

You remember the way he stared at you with a sense of longing, a sense of yearning, deeply wanting to convey an emotion you don't- you refuse to understand.

Because you recognizes the love held not only on his eyes, but on his touch, on his lips,

making you want to kiss him, hold him, touch him.

God, you just want to love him.

“Jimin..” Your voice feels light against his face, whispers eluding past your lips as your breath leaves a wisp along Jimin’s plump cheeks, stroking the slightly pink and flushed skin from the sadness it’s undergone not too long ago.

His eyes beam longingly at you, conveying messages that seem foreign to your understanding as your heart palpitates unevenly against his grasp. But it was enough to block your mind, it was enough to drive you wild, it was enough for you to completely lose all sense and thought-process, your brain not reciprocating anything other than what the heart is yearning for.

Him.

And lastly, you remember not being able to hold yourself back as you bring to life the buried words you have kept underground for the longest time.

Your eyes trained directly at his averts down to his lips, the camellias no more blooming as it succumbs to desire, craving no more than to offer him the love you have saved in secret for the past twenty four months, "I love you, Jimin."

Lowly pronounced words as you gaze at him, breath still and steadily fanning the smile slowly forming on his lips.

"I love you too, y/n. You're my best friend."

You remember your conflict, the feeling of pure loss and distraught overtaking you as you remain still. There you were, being loved by him completely, yet it is a love that seemingly leaves you feeling incomplete. Feeling unwhole and broken, feeling void and sunken.

You remember hearing your heart physically crack as you perceive his words, your sight lingering on his own, mockingly filled with a kind of love that you didn't want.

A love that you, quite literally, didn't need.

As soon as you hear what he’s chosen to disclose, you crack an unwilling fictitious smile on your lips just seconds before a hand covers it, your body limpingly maneuvering against Jimin’s hold as you feel your throat contract once more, catching his undivided attention.

Eyebrows furrowed, Jimin calls out in confusion, “y/-”

You remember the endless coughs that had suddenly broke out of you, the worst of what is offered from the Hanahaki being at present time the moment his lips offer a chaffing smile, his concern and sincerity being your death unbeknownst to him.

Coughing vigorously, you push Jimin aside as the overwhelming feeling of sorness and torment leads you to spurt out tears by the corners of your eyes, pushing you to whimper out cryingly. Your back is turned from the origin of your agony as he calls out your name, a voice so quiet yet loud against your hearing, emotionally wounding you as you cry out in pain.

"-y/n..?"

Because you remember a one petal.

And then two, then three,

and you remember blood.

Not wanting to let him see you in such a state that shall most definitely force him to fully understand the meaning of your supposed ‘love’ for him, you run out of his home, opening the door and not bothering to shut it close as you hurryingly exit out.

You ignore all of his calls and pleas as you run

and you run

and you run

and you run

and you cough, thanking the heavens silently as you locate a bus stopped after passing a few blocks.

“y/n wait! Please!-”

You step inside the transportation with no intention of looking back, forcing yourself to cancel out the calls of Jimin's voice, muffled from the reaches of the outside bus doors. A voice that's calling you. A voice that you most definitely would run to if given the opportunity, a chance that excludes coughing and hurting and crying

-and dying.

Ignoring the whispers and talks of the three other passengers inside the vehicle, you avert you tearful sight from and to the driver's concerned gaze as you send a small forced smile his way, meekly stating,

"I don't have any cash on me, but I'm dying in 30 days. You'll let me ride, won't you sir?"

You remember that eventful day, exactly five days ago, one hundred and twenty hours since you had avoided any association with Jimin.

He's contacted you endlessly, knocked on your door several times and even stayed outside your apartment overnight during one weekend, and each time you had luckily spent it over at your brother's. The times he went there though, you were gone and so was Namjoon, leaving him calling out to your brother’s empty studio apartment.

Five days without fits of vicious coughing, yet five days without him.

Is that the sacrifice you have to make to be healthy?

Then, would that be the sacrifice you'd have to make to live?

"Jimin called me."

"AH- Kamchakya!" Your thoughts are finally cut off as you jump at the sound of both your brother's voice and the slam of the door. Stumbling backwards, you barely get the chance to hold your balance as your hand clutches your clothed chest, visibly startled at your brother's sudden presence.

Namjoon had entered your apartment nonchalantly as he shut the door close behind him with no more than a small smack, yet his strength effects the opposite of what is intended.

Eyes widened, you attempt to catch your loss of breath before bending down completely, hands now placed on both knees, "Joon what the hell?! You couldn't have knocked?" Turning aside, you conquest onto throwing the first thing you could find at the genius which he opposingly catches without a beat, throwing the tablecloth right back at you easily as he takes small steps forward, mumbling a small apology afore repeating his previous words, "Sorry. Jimin called me. For the tenth time in five days, may I add."

Rolling your eyes at his bluntness, you contrastingly fail to catch what you once threw as you walk a couple steps back, grabbing the now dirty item and attempting to hide the way your chest tightened by the mere mention of Jimin's name.

"Jimin called you. Congratulations. Would you like an award, big foot?" You joke accordingly.

Now stood up in the kitchen, Namjoon leads on to making himself at home through the means of providing himself something to eat, attempting to hide a small smile dragging its way onto his face out of gladness in finding that his little sister is not letting some pathetic disease affect her overall personality.

"Big foot? That's a new one." Reaching for the bread and peanut-butter, he calmly makes himself a sandwich, as that is the only food he can prepare without failure, all the while strategically conversing in a serious talk with you, "But don't play dumb with me, y/n. You know Jimin and I aren't on good terms right now. Since..." Namjoon trails off, wanting to obviously avoid the topic of your illness.

You sigh, chest heaving as this doesn't go unnoticed by you, of course. Yet not wanting to go down that path in the early morning either, you choose to passively ignore the way he quickly averted his eyes away from you and let him continue.

Clearing his throat surreptitiously, Namjoon proceeds to act indifferent towards the newly formed tension, "-anyway, he and I aren't okay yet but he's still called me for the tenth time, and I finally answered. You're telling me you aren't even a tiny bit curious on what Jimin and I spoke about?"

You've now sat yourself on the kitchen counter, careful not to hit your head on the overtops as you habitually clean up the mess your older brother had habitually started on creating, "I'm not curious, Joonie, because I don't need to ask."

"Mhm, is that so?" Namjoon turns around to look at you, his head somewhat tilted sideways as he proceeds to happily munch away his sloppy and disgusting-looking meal, "You already know what he said then?"

Neatly putting away all the ingredients of which your brother has taken out, you begin to shift in your spot as you look down at your now wobbling feet which you noticed have too begun to unconsciously shift and play with one-another.

You respond hesitantly, letting out another sigh, "Probably asking how I'm doing? Telling you to say sorry to me for him? A bunch of sappy stuff, I bet. He didn't even do anything wrong."

Smiling every so slightly, Namjoon nods his head meekly as he makes his way to the fridge in order to grab some water, throwing his sandwich in the trash bin in the process, "Yeah.." he pauses before chuckling softly, "-that's our Jimin.. Holy shit that sandwich was fucking disgusting by the way. Aish-" He curses before pouring some of the cool liquid on a glass and desperately chugging it down, tears forming around his eyes as he scoffs in distaste.

Confused and surprised, you check to see the bread if its begun to form any mold, which you find none.

"Huh, I wonder why. The bread is good." You say just before stepping off of the counter carefully, "-can't believe you managed to fuck up a sandwich, Joon. You really do suck at cooking, don't you? Well I guess, food in general." You addingly joke, which Namjoon, in contrast, takes complete and total offense to.

Yet just as he is about to bark back at you with a Nobel Prize winning poetic insult, you unintentionally proceed, therefore cutting him off.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure to leave you the recipes of your favorites before I leave, okay?"

Smiling at him innocently, you find no flaw in your choice of words, making your brother's heart ache without warning as you look up at him with a tilted head.

"I know how much you love my cooking anyway, no matter how many times you claim that you don't." You laugh lightheartedly, "I might forget though, since I forget everything- but hey, Jimin cooks a little bit too, so just go to him whenever you miss my cooking, yeah? I know you guys fight a lot but please try not to once I'm g- mph!"

Pausing, your voice is unexpectedly muffled as your lips come in sudden contact with your brother's shoulder, completely quieting you down.

Taking a moment to fully comprehend such an unforeseen situation, it wins a small while for you to come to notice that he has completely submerged yourself in a tight embrace, both arms wrapped around your waist as his chin is placed right on top of your head.

You didn't know how to react.

It is without a doubt that you and Namjoon are close, don't get this wrong. And furthermore are there the endless comforting shoulder rubs and thoughtful words of advice from time to time, but a hug? A hug is usually where the two of you draw the line, both finding an unspoken mutual perspective on personal space.

So to find yourself in his position, with both your hands up in the air by the side of his waists as you remain frozen from the abrupt fright, you remain still, the only thought being in your head is how the last time that the two of you practically hugged this long was back from your parents' passing.

That being thirteen years ago.

Namjoon, on the other hand, does not give a flying fuck as he feels nothing but yearn for you. Your previous words has caused something inside of him to trigger and suddenly feel a certain lack of your warmth and existence, which he hates.

Don't worry, I'll make sure to leave you the recipes of your favorites before I leave, okay?

That's exactly what you had just said.

-please try not to once I'm gone.

You would have added.

His mind is in disarray, his medicinal IQ of 148 fading into an 8 as his thoughts are gathered in shambles, trying so desperately to rid of the now forming vision of a future without your not-so-bad-but-not-good-either cooking, a future without your Namjoon please get a liscense nagging, a future without your unbearable teasing, a future without-

a future without you.

How could he wake up to a future that's missing his little sister?

Namjoon is an orphan now. You both have been for thirteen years. The orphaned doctor, he would sometimes call himself.

And thirteen years ago, this orphaned doctor swore as he looked upon his parents' opened casket for the last time that he will never abandon his sister. Thirteen years ago, this orphaned doctor cried as he smiled against the clear plastic on his dead mother's pale box, swearing under oath that he could never let an accident take his sister away too. Thirteen years ago, this orphaned doctor choked back tears as his hands leave prints against the plastic of his father's case, promising to keep the strength he trusts his dad would have asked of him to endure. Thirteen years ago, this orphaned doctor painfully smiled as he kneeled down and looked at you, your black gloves of mourning beginning to dampen as stains become visible from your attempts of wiping away your brother’s tears.

Thirteen years ago, Namjoon mentally vowed in his deceased father and mother's name to always prioritize you first, determined in a future of being his little sister’s hero as he lastly placed a bouquet of soft pink camellia flowers on top of his parents' shared grave, squeezing your smaller hand intertwined with his.

Thirteen years ago, he was only thirteen, yet he had been the father and the mother and the brother his eight-year old sister needed.

Namjoon didn’t realize when he started crying.

At this point, the both of you are now on the floor, the age difference having been confusing as you are the one cradling you older brother tenderly.

Your once frozen hands are now soft and delicately wrapped around his back, rubbing in circular motions as you mouth words of comfort against his ear. Dampness could be felt on your shoulder down to your chest as your brother maneuvers while sobbing silently, head now seemingly permanent on the base of your neck.

Does being sick always come with scenes like this? You think to yourself.

"Shh, Joon. C'mon it's okay. Shh, it's alright," You coo softly, your own tears subsiding as you don't care of much other than your brother's current distress, "Joonie, c'mon. Seeing you like this is breaking my heart."

Okay scratch that, your tears aren't subsiding, they're sliding.

"Joonie..." You whisper softly yet desperately, wanting nothing more than to console your brother ever so leniently, "-please stop crying."

Suddenly, you feel Namjoon halt as he abruptly pushes away from you at an arms length, hands holding both sides of your shoulder as his reddened eyes direct yours before making the suggestion,

"Get the surgery."

Truly, that was not the right time to bring up the surgery, of this Namjoon is certain.

And to be honest, he doesn't even have a clue whether there is a right time to bring up the surgery. But he's become overwhelmed and desperate, wanting nothing more than to guarantee your life be saved. So although the timing doesn't match, he allows the situation to happen and chooses to not take back his previous words, instead facing whatever you decide to let on. Fate shall take its course.

Caught aback, you look at your brother bewilderedly, "What?"

"Get the surgery, y/n." He sniffingly repeats, nose still red and mouth still dry from his previous and still cooling breakdown.

"What are you talking about, Joon?” You smile slightly, eyebrows knitted and confused. “What surgery?"

"y/n," Namjoon begins, voice short and desperate, "I told you about this, didn't I? I was training for medicine a few years ago, yeah? I was an intern volunteering. My superior's patient had the disease, th- the Hanahaki disease, right?" Namjoon speaks relentlessly as he becomes breathless, looking slightly crazy as he rambles over a particular memory which you have no recollection of discussing with him.

"His name was Jung Hoseok, one of the first ten Hanahaki surgery recipients. He survived, y/n. The surgery was a complete success. He's alive even to now and I also still have his contact saved in my phone. Look-"

"Wait wait wait," You shake your head, hands coming to stop his phone-reaching hands all the while trying to process the vast information suddenly provided, "-the Hanahaki surgery? The surgery you did a Science project on that I helped you with during your senior high school year? F-flower Chowder? The Flower Power?" You finish, grinning at the newly found memory yet just moments before frowning entirely,

"Joon, you're telling me to get the Flower Power?"

Namjoon inhales a short intake of breath as he looks down and shuts his eyes, dreading the soon-to-be-happening conversation, "I know this seems crazy but-"

"Yeah no shit, it's crazy."

"Just hear me out oka-"

"This is really bat-shit off the walls crazy, Kim Namjoon!"

"-it's medicine, y/n. It's not really crazy-"

"medicine. my. ass."

"-it's been successful each time it was performed, and-"

"Joon just stop it!"

"-it's the only way to save your damn life!"

With wide eyes you blankingly stare at him, scoffing in disbelief at his sudden raise of voice, "Save my life? Then what? I go to live like a fucking robot for all eternity? Lose all my emotions and live as some kind of cyborg? We aren't in a fucking sci-fi movie, Joon!"

Processing your words, Namjoon does understand your point; but he's become helpless, the helplessness making him reckless, the recklessness making him desperate, and the desperation leaving no room for understanding your point, "A robot is still alive, y/n."

All in all, a reckless mess.

"A robot is still al- what?! Joon, are you hearing yourself?" You speak incredulously.

No, truth to be told, Namjoon is not hearing himself.

"I don't know what you think this, but I am not about to turn into some kind of sim with no feelings. Both you and I know that I would rather die as I live than live as I exist to be nothing more than just that, existing." You speak threateningly, "Don't you ever make me go through that, Joon. Not even as a last resort and not even when I'm not awake anymore to defend my point."

Holding up your right pinky finger, you raise your eyebrows, staring at him expectantly, "Promise me."

Namjoon glances down at your raised finger, jaw clenched and gaze hesitant. Yet just as he proceeds to reach forward in order to seal the deal, he speaks one last time, defeated, "And what if it is the last resort, y/n?"

You look at him, eyes downcast as you begin to subconsciously lower your hand as he continues, "What if you're moments away from leaving me? What do I do? Do I just let you die? Do you really expect me to just let you die even wh- when there's an option to take where you can live?" Namjoon is breathless as he speaks, voice desperate in convincing you.

Sighing, you lower your head slightly, "Joon, I already told you that I'm okay. I'm ready. I've accepted it-"

"But I haven't." Namjoon cuts you off, his words serving a stab at your heart.

"I haven't accepted it. I won't accept it." He takes hold of both your hands, lowering his height so that the two of you are on same eye level afore smiling sadly, "I've lost both our parents, y/n. I've accepted that. I've lived with that. But you can't ask me to accept losing you either because I don't think I'll be able to keep myself sane without you around. I need you, y/n. You're my sister, my anchor, God, you're my lifeline. You've kept me going for these past thirteen years, and I love you. I love you so so so so much, nae yeodongsaeng." He finishes, your heart crumbling at the sight of his flooding eyes.

"And I'm sorry if this is somewhat unfair to you, but please." Namjoons cries out, voice barely above a whisper as he sheds diring tears, "-please choose to try. Choose to try to live.

-If not for you, please do it for me."

"Fuck you Namjoon." You curse mutteringly, voice low and steady as you stand in front of Jimin's door for the past ten minutes.

You twist and turn like a little child as you curse mentally, feeling dread throughout your entire physicality and not at all wanting to continue with your plan. Nonetheless, you remind yourself of your brother's desperation and of your reasons for doing this.

For your brother, you cheer on.

"Okay. Okay! I can do this." You jump up and down, feet bouncing lightly against the hard ground, repeating the same phrase over and over again, "I can do this."

Turning to knock, your mind then suddenly flushes with dread as you subconsciously retreat back to your car, hands waving frantically around, "I can't do this."

"y/n?"

You freeze.

Fuck.

Hands still amidst the air, you stay still, unbelieving of the situation.

"y/n? What are you- is that you? Am I seeing shit right now?" He mumbles the last words to himself, which he silently thanks goes unbeknownst to you as you stay frozen, feet glued onto the ground and heart beating out of your chest at the familiar sound of his voice.

Hesitating, you muster up the determination to slowly turn around.

Your throat tightens once more all the while your heart contrastingly does backflips as you physically see him for the first time since five days and-or one hundred and twenty hours and-or a very painful long time for someone who's in love with someone.

"Hey, Chim." You meekly call out, trying to hide the anxiety creeping in within you.

Jimin, still processing your presence after countless failure of trying to see you, steps forward lightly, eyebrows furrowed as he evidently attempts to figure out the right words to say, "Hey."

"Hey." You wince as you attempt a grin.

Jimin's lips form a tight smile, "Hey."

.

.

.

Shit, this is so awkward.

The thought enters the both of your minds as a seemingly unprecedented tumbleweed passes by.

Clearing your throat, you notice the way Jimin looks down at his fiddling thumbs and curious little pinkies as you speak out once more, trying to ease the visible tension, "So are you going to invite me in or what?" You laugh breathily, chest heaving up and down in desperation of holding in those God-awful petals.

Jimin looks up at you with wide eyes, breathing a sigh of relief as he nods his head repeatedly, "Right- right! Yeah come in. This is your home too, you know." He speaks as he holds out his keys and turn to unlock his door, not noticing the way you've weakened among with the just fallen petal that silently wisped past your lips.

This is your home too, you know.

It's insane how such light words could make a person feel so lost and contracted.

Seven simple words that were spoken without a thought have you in a dazed mentality, hand tighteningly gripping your clothed heart before faking a positive expression as he turns around to face you.

"You can head inside first." Jimin shows that beautiful smile, moving aside as he lays his hand out in the direction of his now opened abode.

You only nod in return as you waste no time in entering, mumbling a small 'thanks chim' as you pass by.

He then follows soon after, set and determined on making you feel at home as he steps forward.

Yet a sight goes inevitable as your head spins around a moment barely passing as you enter his home, catching the vision of Jimin accidentally stepping on the camellia flower, the fragment that symbolizes your unrequited love, your pain, which lay on the timid ground, cracking it in half.

It seems the universe really is telling you something.

You ponder to yourself as you gaze wanderingly, the now torn petal not leaving your sight.

Smiling ironically, the formidable occurence somehow boosts your acceptance of the situation at hand as you make your way to the sofa, speaking aloud even more so formidable words, "We need to talk, Jimin."

Just moments before sitting down, Jimin remains still, eyes glazing at you directly for a second before gathering himself and proceeding to act indifferent, "Of course."

Jimin. He thinks.

Not chim, Jimin.

"Jimin I-"

"No please-" Jimin cuts you off as you begin to speak, "Please let me say first what I've been keeping inside for this past week of being avoided by you."

You didn't know whether you were supposed to take offense or not, yet nonetheless you decide

"-just wanted to let you know that I'm getting surgery."

I can't believe she's calling me Ji- "What?"

You smile empathetically, "I'm getting surgery, Jimin."

part 3, maybe?

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