#Changeling Snippets | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chimcess · 24 days ago

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Chapter Two: Never Grow Old, Never Die... Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Genre: Vampire!AU, Action, Horror, Suspense, Drama, Thriller, Comedy, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, ANGST, Fluff, Smut Other Tags: Human!Jungkook, Thrall!Jungkook, Thrall!Reader, Vampire!Jimin, Vampire!Taehyung, Vampire!Yoongi, Young!Namjoon, Young!Seokjin Word Count: 33.3k+ Summary: Teenage brothers Jungkook and Jung-Hyun relocate with their mother to a quiet town in Northern California. As Jung-Hyun bonds with two like-minded comic book enthusiasts, Namjoon and Seokjin, the more brooding Jungkook becomes captivated by Y/N. However, he soon discovers that Y/N is entangled with Jimin, the charismatic leader of a dangerous local vampire gang. Warnings: Changing into a vampire, Hoseok is a little suspicious, or are the conspiracy theorists just being dramatic?, ANGST, jumping off of a bridge, flying vampires, vampire not knowing how to fly, ear piercing, peer pressure is putting it lightly, mind manipulation, emotional manipulation, honestly lots of manipulation on the vampires' part, how would you react if you found out your brother's a vampire changeling? Probably a lot like Jung-Hyun, Wanda and Hoseok have no chemistry but they're really trying, conflicting feelings, arguing, feeling betrayed, mates, some backstory, Y/N is losing her human memories, she clings to them desperately, bad family relationship, YEARNING, PINING, LOVING, worried mom, mean dog, vampire tests... results may vary, let me know if I missed anything else... A/N: Thank you <3

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Jungkook didn’t know when or how it ended, but the next thing he knew, he was waking up in his room, the faint taste of metal still lingering on his tongue. The world around him felt thick with confusion, his body heavy, as though he were submerged in water, struggling to break free. His mind was a haze—snippets of memories floating just out of reach, leaving behind a sense of disorientation.

He blinked, trying to make sense of the room, but the sunlight spilling through the curtains made his head pound in protest. He tried to shift, to push himself up, but his body refused to cooperate, a dull ache settling deep in his bones.

“Jungkook!”

The voice sliced through the fog, sharp and impatient. He groaned, half burying his face into the pillow as if to escape the reality of the world around him. His head was killing him, and the last thing he wanted was to deal with anyone—especially his younger brother.

"Go away," Jungkook mumbled into the pillow, trying to will himself back to sleep.

But it was no use. The door to the shared bathroom flew open, and Jung-Hyun's footsteps were already echoing in the room.

“Come on, it’s already one o’clock,” Jung-Hyun said, sounding far too chipper for someone Jungkook was certain had no concept of hangovers.

Jungkook’s brain screamed at him to ignore his brother, to just let him go away, but the light in the room was too much, and the sounds of the house—the creak of the floorboards, the distant hum of life outside—felt too loud in his ears. Reluctantly, he peeked out from under the covers, squinting against the harsh sunlight.

“Entertain yourself,” he grumbled, pulling the blanket back over his head, desperate for the warmth and comfort of sleep.

But Jung-Hyun was already off on his next adventure, his restless energy impossible to ignore. Jungkook heard the rustling of papers, the shuffle of his little brother’s feet as he dashed out the door, dragging their massive, slobbery dog Bam along with him.

The sound of Jung-Hyun’s voice floated back into the room as he tiptoed toward Min-chul’s taxidermy room, the door creaking slightly under his brother's cautious steps. Jungkook didn’t pay attention—his thoughts were too scattered—but a faint chuckle broke through the fog in his mind as he imagined Jung-Hyun peering inside. The old man was always up to something, hunched over one of his strange projects. The fact that he stuffed animals for a living never ceased to weird out Jung-Hyun, and Jungkook couldn’t help but smile at the thought of his little brother’s mild horror.

The next thing he heard was the soft bark of Bam as Jung-Hyun climbed onto Min-chul’s old, beat-up pickup truck, inspecting the pile of wood stacked haphazardly in the bed.

“This is my life, Bam,” Jung-Hyun said solemnly, his voice carrying in the stillness. “I come from a broken home. My mom works all day. My brother sleeps all day. And my harabeoji—who might actually be an alien—stuffs chipmunks.”

Bam barked in agreement, wagging his tail, and for a moment, Jungkook allowed himself to relax, just the faintest trace of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. It was absurd, really, the way his younger brother saw the world.

Spurred by sudden inspiration, Jung-Hyun dashed back into the kitchen, returning moments later with a box of matches. Jungkook was too far gone in his headache to pay much attention, but the soft rustling from the backyard kept nudging at him, forcing his mind to wander again. A faint thud sounded, the sound of a leaf being crushed underfoot, and then—nothing. Just silence, followed by the unmistakable sound of his brother’s voice, panicked but tinged with humor.

“Whatcha doin’?”

Jungkook’s eyes fluttered open, groggily, barely processing the exchange, but he heard Min-chul’s voice as it rose, gravelly, cutting through the air like a knife.

“Gotta keep in practice,” Min-chul grinned, adding that it was a "dyin’ art." Jungkook couldn’t even imagine what they were up to. The day was slipping by too quickly, and the dizziness wasn’t helping.

“Good,” Jung-Hyun muttered under his breath, stuffing the matches into his pocket, clearly eager to escape the awkwardness of his misstep.

Jungkook smirked softly at the thought of his brother’s defiance, his antics. Even in the midst of his headache, Jungkook couldn’t ignore how much Jung-Hyun had changed in the past few years. From the loud, unpredictable kid who’d been the constant source of frustration, to someone who seemed more thoughtful, even self-aware.

Min-chul was always an enigma—Jungkook couldn’t quite figure out what to make of him. The old man had been around long enough to witness the changing tides of their lives, and though his eccentricities were often off-putting, there was something about him that kept people around. Maybe it was the way he seemed to know things before anyone else did, or perhaps it was the odd sense of peace he managed to bring to even the most chaotic situations.

Jung-Hyun wasn’t the only one to see Min-chul’s habits with a mix of awe and confusion. The old man’s quirks had a strange way of bonding everyone to him, but just as easily, pushing them away.

“So, wanna come into town with me?” Min-chul had asked, breaking Jung-Hyun’s train of thought.

Jungkook could imagine the excited grin on his brother’s face as he lit up at the offer, his worries momentarily forgotten. They’d drive to town, Min-chul behind the wheel of his beloved 1957 Chevy—his pride and joy. Jungkook had never been too enamored with the car, but there was something undeniably charming about the way Min-chul treated it like a living, breathing thing.

“She’s gotta warm up a bit,” Min-chul had said affectionately, patting the dashboard. Jung-Hyun would have soaked up the moment, eagerly listening to Min-chul’s ramblings, living for the experience. It was a reminder of how different their lives were, how disconnected Jungkook had become in his own world, and how Min-chul could still manage to make everything feel like an adventure.

Except that this time, just as quickly as the engine had roared to life, Min-chul killed it again.

Jungkook’s mind briefly wondered why. Why did Min-chul always have these sudden stops, these spontaneous decisions to retreat?

“Are we having fun or what?” Min-chul’s voice had trailed back to Jung-Hyun, who was left standing there, perplexed by the abrupt end to his brief joyride. It was another strange quirk, another mystery within Min-chul’s many, many oddities.

Jungkook sighed deeply, rolling over onto his back as the sound of Jung-Hyun’s voice faded with the wind.

As the haziness of his hangover began to lift slightly, he tried to push aside the sharp tug of unease that had settled in his chest. Something didn’t feel right. He knew that, deep down, there was more to his life than what he had allowed himself to see. Something about his brother’s antics, Min-chul’s cryptic behavior, the blood that still lingered in his mind—all of it felt like pieces of a puzzle he was desperately trying to solve, but the image never seemed to come together.

Jungkook closed his eyes again, trying to ignore the rising sense of dread building inside him. He had no idea what was coming, but he felt it like an unshakable weight, pressing against his chest with every passing moment.

Later, the back porch was silent except for the rhythmic clink of metal. Jungkook stood in front of his barbells, the weight of the world hanging heavily on his shoulders. His body was a collection of tense muscles, each movement a battle against exhaustion. He looked like he hadn’t slept in years, his hair wild and disheveled, his eyes bloodshot and clouded with the remnants of a night that refused to release him. The sun, though faint, felt like a dagger against his skin, but he pushed forward anyway, determined to reclaim something of his strength.

He gripped the bar with both hands, the cool metal digging into his palms as he attempted to lift it. The strain was immediate, his arms quivering as he powered through the first rep. His muscles screamed in protest, but he ignored it, pressing on, fighting against the overwhelming ache that had settled deep into his bones. On the second try, his arms burned, sweat dripping down his forehead, his chest heaving with each labored breath. His focus wavered, and on the third attempt, his arms buckled under the weight. With a loud clatter, the bar dropped to the ground, echoing in the quiet morning air. Jungkook winced at the noise, the sound like a sharp crack to his already fragile mind.

His head pounded mercilessly, and the sunlight creeping over the horizon felt like knives, stabbing into his already sensitive skin. He closed his eyes, leaning against the cold, unyielding metal of the weight set, trying to center himself, trying to forget the taste of blood, the strange haze of memories that didn’t quite belong to him, and the gnawing sense of something wrong.

Inside, Jung-Hyun was rummaging through the fridge, his movements erratic and overly energetic, clearly on a mission to find something edible. The house was still too quiet, too still. Everything felt off. Jungkook was almost grateful for the interruption when his brother’s voice broke through the fog in his mind.

“What did you do last night?” Jung-Hyun asked, his voice light, teasing, but there was an edge of concern beneath it. He poked his head around the fridge door, eyeing Jungkook with a raised brow. “You look wasted.”

Jungkook groaned, rubbing his temples as if that could somehow chase the pain away. “I can’t remember much after the Chinese food that looked like maggots,” he muttered, his voice thick with a mix of exhaustion and something darker that he couldn’t quite name.

Jung-Hyun wrinkled his nose, slamming the fridge shut with exaggerated drama. “Gross,” he muttered, clearly done with his lunch. “I can’t believe you ate that stuff.”

Jungkook didn’t respond. The weight of his brother’s words seemed too heavy, too full of unspoken things. Things Jungkook wasn’t ready to face.

Instead, Jung-Hyun shifted his gaze, as if something had just occurred to him. “You don’t suppose Min-chul’s an alien, do you?” he asked, half-joking, half-serious, as he leaned against the counter.

Jungkook snorted, half-amused, half-bitter. “What would that make Mom?” he shot back, his mind racing to keep up with the absurdity of the conversation.

Jung-Hyun tilted his head in mock contemplation, narrowing his eyes. “You’re right… not even to mention you and me,” he said thoughtfully, crossing his arms, his gaze settling on his older brother.

Before Jungkook could process the words, Bam trotted into the kitchen, tail wagging with eager energy. The dog immediately made a beeline for Jungkook, his tongue lolling out as he began to lick the bottoms of Jungkook’s feet, seemingly oblivious to the irritation it caused. Jungkook blinked in surprise, his eyes narrowing as the warmth of Bam’s tongue sent an uncomfortable shiver through his body.

“Beat it, Bam,” Jungkook mumbled, shaking his foot lazily, but Bam didn’t listen. The dog was persistent, licking as if he were on a mission.

“Jung-Hyun. Make him stop,” Jungkook said, his patience wearing thin.

Jung-Hyun, unfazed, pulled the dog away but stopped, his gaze fixed on Jungkook’s feet, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Did you spill something?” he asked, a trace of concern threading through his voice.

Jungkook glanced down at his feet, the faintest trace of salt visible on his skin. He shrugged, trying to dismiss it. “No. Why?”

Jung-Hyun’s frown deepened. “The bottoms of your feet are covered in salt,” he said slowly, his words hanging in the air like a riddle. His eyes narrowed, as if he had just stumbled upon the final piece of a puzzle that made everything else click into place.

Jungkook shook his head, his thoughts swirling in a hundred different directions. “I told you, it was pretty weird Chinese food,” he muttered, brushing off the comment. He got up, his body still heavy, still aching, and shuffled toward the door. The grogginess had settled deep into his bones, the fatigue dragging him down with every step.

“Wanna go to the comic book store?” Jung-Hyun called after him, his voice tinged with the excitement of something mundane.

“No,” Jungkook responded flatly, not bothering to look back.

But his refusal didn’t deter Jung-Hyun. A little while later, Jung-Hyun was on his bike, pedaling furiously toward the comic book store. The bell above the door jingled as he walked in, the scent of old paper and ink filling the air. He made his way to his favorite section, his fingers brushing against the spines of the familiar volumes, but his attention was soon drawn to a strange sight: the Kim brothers.

Seokjin and Namjoon stood behind the counter, whispering conspiratorially, their heads together like they were discussing some grand, secret plan. Their eyes met Jung-Hyun’s across the room, and for a moment, the temperature in the room seemed to drop, as if the atmosphere itself recognized something that was meant to remain unspoken.

“How do you like Santa Carla?” Seokjin asked, leaning forward with that crooked smile of his, the one that never quite reached his eyes.

Jung-Hyun didn’t skip a beat. “It’s a pretty cool place if you’re a Martian,” he shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Or a vampire,” Namjoon added, his tone lowering as if he were sharing a secret with Jung-Hyun, something important, something dangerous.

Jung-Hyun snorted, rolling his eyes. “Are you guys sniffing old newsprint or something?” he asked, genuinely baffled.

Namjoon’s expression darkened, his gaze hardening. “You think you’re cool, don’t you? You think you know what’s really happening. Well, you don’t know shit, buddy,” he snapped, his words laced with something colder than just annoyance.

Seokjin chimed in, his arms crossed, completely unbothered. “Yeah, you think we just work here for our dad, huh?” His voice was mocking, but there was something else underneath, something that suggested there was more to their little comic book shop than met the eye.

Jung-Hyun narrowed his eyes, his skepticism growing. “This isn’t a comic book store,” he said dryly. “It’s a bakery.”

Namjoon’s face remained impassive. “This is just our cover. We’re dedicated to a higher purpose.”

Jung-Hyun rolled his eyes, unfazed. “Oh, I get it now. You’re like those people at the airport who try to get you to join their cult.”

Seokjin crossed his arms, still completely unbothered by Jung-Hyun’s jabs. “We’re fighters for Truth, Justice, and the American Way,” he said, his voice flat, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jung-Hyun grinned. “Yeah, well, you should probably get some fresh air,” he replied, clearly unimpressed.

Namjoon, however, didn’t miss a beat. He thrust a comic into Jung-Hyun’s hands, his tone suddenly serious. “Take this. It’s on the house,” he said, his voice carrying an undertone of urgency.

Jung-Hyun glanced at the title: Destroy All Vampires. He frowned, not quite sure what to make of it. “I don’t like horror comics,” he muttered, holding it out as if it might bite him.

Seokjin gave him a knowing look. “Think of it more as a survival manual,” he said. “Our number’s on the back. Pray you never need to call us.”

Jung-Hyun smirked, the corners of his mouth curling up in amused defiance. “I’m gonna pray I never need to call you,” he said, before turning on his heel and walking out without looking back.

Across town, the evening sun bathed the streets in a golden hue, casting long shadows on the cracked pavement as Wanda stepped out of the video store, the door chiming softly behind her. She was balancing a small stack of DVDs in one hand, her mind still occupied by the film she’d just rented. It had been a while since she’d indulged in one of those old-school, feel-good movies she used to binge-watch when she needed a break from everything.

As she walked down the sidewalk, a sleek sports car roared to a stop just in front of her, its polished exterior glinting in the fading light. The engine hummed and then fell silent as the door swung open, and Hoseok popped out with that signature grin of his plastered across his face. Mickey, his large, imposing dog, sat proudly in the passenger seat, his head held high, eyes alert and intelligent as always.

"Say hello to Mickey," Hoseok said, his voice cheerful, his grin widening as he gestured toward the dog, who was now eagerly wagging his tail. The sound of the dog’s tail thumping against the leather seat made a deep, rhythmic echo inside the car.

Wanda paused, her eyes softening as she stepped closer, reaching out to pet Mickey’s head. The dog was large, intimidating to some, but to Wanda, he was nothing but a big, gentle teddy bear. She scratched behind his ears, earning a contented sigh from the animal.

"Hi, Mickey," she said softly, her lips curving into a smile. The dog’s eyes softened as he leaned into her touch, his tail wagging even harder. There was something deeply comforting about the simple connection between human and animal, something Wanda often wished she had more of in her busy life.

Hoseok fell into step beside her as she stood back up, still smiling at Mickey. His usual buoyant energy was tempered by a hint of something more serious now, an underlying tension that Wanda couldn’t quite place. He was still grinning, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes as it usually did.

"You know," Hoseok began, his tone turning slightly sheepish as they walked side by side, "this isn’t working out like I planned." He glanced over at Wanda, his usual confidence replaced with an unexpected vulnerability.

Wanda looked at him in surprise, her brow furrowing slightly. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice steady but tinged with concern. She could tell there was more beneath his casual demeanor, something he was hesitant to share.

"I never get to see you," Hoseok continued, his expression now uncharacteristically serious, the joking tone from earlier gone completely. "Which, of course, is why I hired you in the first place." His words hung in the air between them for a moment, making Wanda’s heart beat just a little faster. She didn’t quite understand what he was getting at.

Hoseok’s grin reappeared, but this time, it was less about teasing and more about the attempt to break the tension. "I was supposed to be all charming and mysterious, and you were supposed to be impressed and fall head over heels for me," he said with a wink, trying to lighten the mood again. "But, instead, we just keep missing each other."

Wanda shook her head, a laugh escaping her lips as she glanced at him sideways. "You’re cute, Hoseok," she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them. The irony was not lost on her—she wasn’t sure why she always felt the need to push back against his charm when it was exactly that which made her smile.

"I know," Hoseok replied with a smirk, raising his eyebrows at her with that cocky, confident air that seemed to cling to him like a second skin. He opened her car door for her, the gesture so old-fashioned, it almost seemed out of place, yet it made Wanda feel something unexpected, like a little flutter in her chest.

"It’s so ’80s," he said with a self-aware wink, "The Cute Decade."

Wanda rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at the corner of her lips. "You really need to stop thinking you're in a John Hughes movie, Hoseok," she said dryly, though the affection in her tone was clear.

"I’ll never stop," he replied, his voice laced with playful defiance. He stood back, watching her climb into the car, looking insufferably pleased with himself as always. Wanda took her seat, adjusting the seatbelt before she glanced up at him through the window. He was still standing there, a slight smugness in his posture, arms crossed, as if expecting something more.

The moment stretched longer than it should have. Wanda gave him a teasing shake of her head, her smile lingering as she settled in the car. "You’re impossible," she called out to him, though the fondness in her voice was undeniable.

"Can’t help it," Hoseok responded, not moving an inch. "I was born this way." He flashed her that signature grin, the one that had disarmed countless people before her.

Wanda shook her head again, laughing softly. "Yeah, well, you’re still cute," she muttered to herself as she started the engine.

Hoseok waited until she was nearly pulling away before calling out to her, his voice now tinged with a mix of playfulness and something else—something more genuine. "Dinner. This week," he said, as though he were offering her a challenge, a way to make up for the lack of time they'd spent together.

Wanda’s hand hovered over the gearshift as she glanced at him once more, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "You got it, Hoseok," she said with a grin. She shifted the car into drive and gave him one last look before she sped off, leaving him standing there, a pleased look still plastered on his face.

He watched her go, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he rubbed the back of his neck, his thoughts suddenly much more focused on the possibility of that dinner than he had expected. There was something about Wanda that intrigued him, that made him want to spend more time with her in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He had the feeling this wasn’t going to be as simple as he had originally planned.

Jungkook winced as Y/N pressed the needle through the soft cartilage of his ear.

“Ouch,” he hissed, instinctively pulling away, his face twisting slightly in mock pain.

“Don’t be a baby,” Y/N teased, her lips curving into that playful, almost wicked grin that never failed to get under his skin in the best way possible. She twisted the needle free with a slight flourish. “That didn’t even hurt, and you know it.”

He rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the tiny pout that tugged at his lips. He was definitely playing it up for effect, but there was something about the way she looked at him, eyes dancing with mischief, that made him feel like he was floating, like the world outside of this moment didn’t even exist.

“I swear you’ve got the hands of a torturer,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his ear for emphasis, even though it really hadn’t been that bad.

She chuckled, her voice soft and light, like the sound of a breeze rustling through trees on a summer day. Jungkook found himself smiling at her effortlessly, that warm, melting sensation spreading through his chest. It wasn’t just her laugh, or the way she made even the smallest moments feel significant—it was everything. Every glance, every subtle brush of her hand, every glint of humor in her eyes felt like she was slowly peeling away the layers he didn’t even know he had, leaving him unguarded in front of her.

Her fingers gently slid the tiny silver earring into place, and for just a moment, Jungkook froze, caught in the gravity of the moment. She stepped back, tilting her head as she appraised her work, her gaze narrowing with that familiar mix of focus and satisfaction. It was like she could sense every tiny thing that shifted in the space between them. And the way she looked at him then, so intensely, it made his heart stutter in his chest. It was more than just the care in her touch—it was the way she looked at him, like he mattered. Like this simple, shared moment was important.

“Done,” she murmured, her voice soft but sure, as if she was marking the end of something and the beginning of something else, an invisible shift in the air between them.

Jungkook couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. He flicked his hair back with an exaggerated flourish, the motion only half about showing off the new earring, and the other half a little act of deflection, as if to cover up the sudden, overwhelming warmth in his chest.

“Does it look good?” he asked, his voice a little lighter than it should have been, as though he wasn’t sure if it was just the earring that had him feeling this way, or something else entirely.

Y/N didn’t answer immediately. She just stood there, studying him in silence, her expression unreadable, her gaze sweeping over him with a careful intensity. And then, almost as if she couldn’t hold it back, a smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and something inside him swelled, like a breath held too long finally being exhaled.

“Yeah,” she said finally, her voice soft but tinged with something more than just agreement. “It looks great.” Her words, simple and casual, felt like a secret shared between them. There was a softness in her tone, a gentleness in the way she said it that made his heart flutter deep in his chest, sending a wave of warmth to his cheeks.

They stood there for a beat, neither of them speaking, the only sounds being the ocean’s relentless crashing against the jagged rocks below and the occasional gust of wind rustling through the leaves around them. The world seemed to fade away, and for just a moment, it felt like time had stopped. It was just them, and the weight of her gaze was like a pull, a magnetic force he couldn’t break free from even if he wanted to.

Jungkook scratched the back of his neck, trying to break the tension that had thickened around them. “Now what?” he asked lightly, as though he didn’t feel the subtle shift in the air, as though the energy between them wasn’t crackling in a way that made his heart race.

But Y/N didn’t answer. She didn’t look away either. Instead, she just looked at him, really looked at him, with an intensity that made his breath catch in his throat. It was unsettling and exhilarating all at once, and he couldn’t help but feel exposed under her gaze, like she was peering into something deeper, something he hadn’t even fully understood about himself. It was as if she was deciding whether to trust him with something unspoken, something fragile, and Jungkook couldn’t look away. He couldn’t even move.

And then, without thinking, the words tumbled out of him before he could stop them. “I wouldn’t have given my mom such a hard time about moving here if I’d known I was going to meet you,” he blurted, his voice almost too quiet, as if he hadn’t meant for them to be spoken out loud.

Y/N blinked, clearly startled by his sudden honesty. She wasn’t used to seeing him like this—vulnerable, open in a way that was uncharacteristic of him. He was always so guarded, always the one with the teasing remarks, the jokes, the easy smile. But this was different. This was real. And for a second, she didn’t know how to respond, because this was a side of him she hadn’t seen before.

She didn’t immediately speak. Instead, she seemed to shrink a little, the walls she usually kept so firmly in place momentarily crumbling. “I used to fight with my family all the time,” she said quietly, her voice distant, as though she were speaking from some far-off place in her mind. “I got so fed up... I just ran away.” The words were like a quiet confession, a part of her she didn’t show often.

Jungkook’s heart squeezed at the admission, at the way she seemed to retreat inward, the soft sadness in her eyes. He wanted to reach out, to say something comforting, but he didn’t know what would make things better, what could fill the gap that had formed between her and the rest of the world.

“Now you and Jimin—” he started, trying to ease the distance between them, trying to make her feel less alone.

But she cut him off, her face hardening slightly, her voice sharp with an edge of defensiveness. “No. They made me one of them, but I miss my family.”

The words hung in the air, heavy, and Jungkook’s throat tightened. He didn’t know how to make it better, but he wanted to.

“We could go see them,” he offered softly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the very thought of it might make her feel less isolated.

Y/N flinched, her eyes flickering with a vulnerability she quickly masked, a defensive edge settling over her once more. “No,” she said, her voice tight, almost too tight. “Everything’s different now.” She shook her head, turning away from him, walking toward the edge of the cliff where the waves crashed louder than before, as though the sound of the ocean could drown out the emotions she was keeping locked inside.

Jungkook watched her, the weight of his longing pressing down on his chest like an anchor. His heart thudded in his ears, and yet, there was this inexplicable pull between them that made it impossible for him to step away, even though every part of him wanted to. She was standing just inches away, but she might as well have been a world apart. There was a quiet distance between them, an invisible barrier that neither of them seemed to know how to cross.

The wind whipped around them, tugging at his hair, but it felt so much softer than the storm of emotions inside him. Her gaze was distant, her body turned slightly away from him, as if she was shielding herself from something she didn’t want him to see. He could feel the tension building, thickening the air around them like a cloud waiting to burst, and yet it was the silence that weighed the heaviest on his heart. The crashing waves below seemed distant in comparison to the ocean of words left unsaid between them.

He stood there, torn. He wanted to reach out, to pull her close and tell her everything he was feeling—how every moment spent near her made him feel alive, how every glance, every laugh, every breath she took in his presence made his heart race. But the words stuck in his throat, and it was like the more he wanted to speak, the harder it became to find the right way to say it.

But he couldn't let her walk away, not like this. Not when everything inside him was screaming to be near her.

Without thinking, he moved. His heart thundering in his chest, he took one step closer, and then another, until he was standing beside her, his arm gently reaching for hers. He didn’t pull her roughly, didn’t yank her toward him. It was a slow, deliberate motion, as if to ask permission even without the words. His hand wrapped around her arm, tender but firm, and he felt her body stiffen for a split second before she allowed him to pull her closer.

Her breath caught, and he heard it—a soft hitch in her throat. It was all the confirmation he needed, that she hadn’t expected him to make the first move, that she was unsure, just as he had been. And yet, in that moment, he felt an overwhelming need to close the distance between them, to bridge the gap that had kept them both so far apart.

Without waiting any longer, without a second thought, he leaned in. His lips found hers, soft at first, like a question waiting for an answer. But the second they touched, everything inside him settled, like a puzzle piece finally clicking into place. Her lips were warm, soft against his, and when she responded, even if it was hesitant at first, it felt like the world had finally made sense.

Her hands found the front of his jacket, fingers curling into the fabric as though she needed something to hold on to, something steady to keep her grounded. He could feel the urgency in her movements, the way she clung to him, and it only fueled his desire to kiss her harder, deeper, to lose himself in the warmth of her.

Everything outside of them faded—there was no more awkwardness, no more hesitation. The doubts and the questions disappeared, leaving only the certainty of this moment. It was as if, for the first time, there were no walls between them. Nothing but this. Her breath mingled with his, and he could taste the salt of the ocean on her lips, combined with something sweet, something uniquely hers. It was intoxicating, addicting, like he never wanted to let go.

She pulled back for just a moment, her lips brushing his softly as she whispered his name—“Jungkook...” The sound of it, quiet and breathless, stirred something inside him that was beyond words. But he wasn’t ready to stop. He couldn’t stop. Not when she felt like this, not when everything about her made him want more, made him feel more.

He leaned back in, kissing her again, but this time with more certainty, more force, as if to tell her everything he hadn’t said. She responded eagerly, her hands sliding up his chest, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer, her lips moving against his in sync, like they were meant to be this way. It was deep, and it was gentle, and it was everything in between. The kind of kiss that spoke of promises, of things unsaid, of everything they could be if they both just let go.

The world outside—the ocean, the wind, the crashing waves below—vanished. All that remained was them. The sound of their breaths, the rhythm of their hearts, the quiet way they moved together, as if they had always known this was how it was meant to be.

The fog was thick, swallowing the landscape, its chilling embrace crawling up his spine as he stumbled through it, his heart still racing in his chest. The trestle stretched out before him like a forsaken skeleton, its rusted beams sagging under the weight of years and history, its presence foreboding. The sound of the bikes fading into the distance felt like a ghost chasing them down. Jungkook could still hear the engine growls in his head as his pulse thrummed faster with each step toward the group.

The shadow of doubt that had hung over him since Jimin’s first mischievous grin tightened now, gnawing at the pit of his stomach. He had always been good at reading people, good at seeing through facades, but with Jimin, things were different. This moment, this scene, felt like something out of a fever dream.

Jimin’s eyes glinted, sharp as knives in the dim, mist-laden light. He took one smooth step toward the rusted bridge, like he’d done it a thousand times. Like he owned it. The others followed suit, their expressions brimming with smug amusement, as if they were part of some unspoken joke that Jungkook hadn’t been clued into.

“Perfect time,” Jimin said, his voice a smooth drawl, and Jungkook couldn’t shake the unease settling in his chest.

Jungkook shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, his jaw clenched. “What’s going on?” The words came out shaky, and the hesitation in his voice frustrated him more than it should. It was like something inside him had been stoking the fires of doubt, and now it was starting to burn him alive.

Jimin’s lips curled into an almost smug smile, and he glanced over his shoulder, tossing the question toward the others with effortless cool. “What’s going on, Taeyang?”

Taeyang’s response came in a smooth, almost practiced tone. “I don’t know. What’s going on, Yoongi?”

Yoongi, leaning casually against his bike like he couldn’t care less, smirked. “Who wants to know?”

Jimin flicked his gaze back to Jungkook, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Jungkook wants to know.” The way his voice lingered on Jungkook’s name, sweet and teasing, sent a shiver up his spine.

The laughter that followed was wild, unhinged, and it made his skin crawl. It wasn’t the carefree kind of laughter—it was the laughter of something darker, something uninviting. It made him feel like the punchline of a joke he didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand.

Before Jungkook could respond, the group moved as one—Yoongi, Taeyang, Taehyung—all climbing down onto the trestle with ease, boots scraping against the rusted beams. The sound echoed through the gorge, a hollow, metallic resonance that seemed to vibrate in Jungkook’s bones.

He watched them, the sense of dread growing heavier by the second. And then, they disappeared into the thick mist below the trestle, their bodies vanishing like smoke. The feeling of unease twisted deeper, and Jungkook’s gut churned with a sudden and urgent need to understand why. What was this? What were they doing? And why the hell was he involved?

Jimin’s voice was low, calm, almost coaxing, but Jungkook could hear the dare in it. “Now you, Jungkook,” he called, his words cutting through the fog like a whip.

Jungkook froze. The sound of the train reverberated in his chest before he even saw it—a low rumble that hit them first through the beams, vibrating deep in their bones. His breath hitched, his heart pounding in his throat as the fear hit him in a wave. His grip tightened around the beams, the cold metal seeping into his skin, and his palms grew slick with sweat. The air felt too thick, pressing against him, suffocating him.

“Are you serious?” His voice cracked as he called back to Jimin, the train whistle screaming in the distance, growing louder, closer.

Jimin’s expression didn’t falter, his grin growing more dangerous, more insistent. “Do it, Jungkook. Now.”

The others were watching, all of them staring up at him with expectant eyes, grinning like they knew something he didn’t. Like they were all in on a secret. The weight of their stares felt like a heavy cloak, suffocating him, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

He hesitated, his gaze flicking between Jimin and the deep, unrelenting fog below. The trestle swayed with the vibrations of the oncoming train, a chilling reminder of just how precarious this moment was. And yet... his pride flared. It was the only thing that seemed to burn through the fog of fear. If I don’t do it, I’ll be nothing more than a joke.

With shaky breaths, Jungkook climbed down, one hand gripping the cold metal beam, the other trailing behind him as he carefully lowered himself. The air grew thicker, like the fog was trying to swallow him whole. The fog seemed alive, swirling around him, making the world feel off-kilter, like he was walking through a dream. The others had disappeared into the mist, their laughter still echoing faintly, as if mocking him. Jimin was right behind him now, climbing down with ease, the motion fluid, practiced—like he belonged here, like he had done this a thousand times.

And Jungkook? He felt like an outsider.

The rumble of the train grew louder, reverberating through the beams, shaking his very bones. Jungkook looked up, his eyes wide, heart hammering in his chest as he saw the headlights of the train approaching, faster than he expected. The rails groaned under the weight of the speeding machine, and the whistle sliced through the fog, its sharp wail so loud it drowned out everything else.

“Hang on!” Jimin shouted above the noise, his voice almost lost in the chaos.

Jungkook gripped the beam tighter, his knuckles white, his body trembling as the heat from the train reached him. The ground seemed to shake beneath his feet as the train rumbled past overhead, the pressure suffocating, making it hard to breathe. Dust swirled, and the noise was deafening. He could feel the vibrations deep in his chest, like his body was about to break under the weight of it all.

And then it happened. Yoongi let go first, his body vanishing into the mist like a shadow. Taeyang followed, then Taehyung, all of them slipping into the unknown like it was nothing.

Jungkook stared, his stomach twisting into tight knots. What the hell was this?

“Let go, Jungkook!” Jimin’s voice sliced through his thoughts, low and taunting. He grinned, his eyes gleaming with something wild. “Come on, Jungkook. Do it.”

The fog swirled around them, thickening, suffocating. Jungkook’s body was shaking, his heart pounding so hard he could barely hear the others laughing below. His grip was slipping, his hands too sweaty to hold on much longer.

“You’re insane!” Jungkook shouted, his voice hoarse, the words catching in his throat. He didn’t know what to do—he didn’t know if he could do this.

But Jimin’s grin never wavered.

Then, with a deep breath that felt like the last one he would ever take, Jungkook released his grip.

For a brief, dizzying instant, Jungkook felt suspended in time—his body weightless, free, as though the world had momentarily forgotten its rules. The air rushed around him, a deafening silence, and for a heartbeat, there was no sense of falling. No sense of danger. Just the strange, almost peaceful sensation of being untethered. The world had slowed, and the very laws of gravity seemed to bend, wrapping him in a cocoon of space and stillness.

But just as quickly as it had come, the weightlessness shattered, and the fall hit him all at once—a brutal, gut-wrenching sensation that tore through his chest. The world seemed to collapse around him, the wind howling, tearing at him with relentless force. It felt as if the very air itself wanted to swallow him whole. His heart pounded in his chest, an insistent thrum of panic as the ground rushed up toward him with terrifying speed.

His limbs flailed wildly, desperately searching for something solid to grab onto, but there was nothing. The wind howled louder in his ears, shrieking like a living thing, drowning out all reason, all thought. It was suffocating, closing in on him from all sides. Every part of him screamed in panic, every instinct telling him that this was it.

The ground—it was too close.

His breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening as if the weight of it was crushing his lungs. It felt as though time itself had stopped, stretching the moment out into an eternity. His body trembled with the overwhelming realization that there was no way out. No way to change what was coming.

And then—bang.

A jolt, sharp and violent, as if his very bones were being shattered. The world tilted. His vision blurred, the ground approaching with unbearable force. The taste of salt and dust filled his mouth as the world spun, a flash of pain and light overwhelming him. His body jerked from the impact, but before he could register anything, everything turned to black.

But then, through the darkness, something changed.

A sudden force, a pull—gentle but strong—yanked him back from the brink. His body was lifted, weightless once more, but this time, it wasn’t the air carrying him. He was caught, held by something else, something... someone.

He blinked rapidly, struggling to clear his vision, but his body refused to respond. Was this a dream? Was he seeing things?

And then, he saw her. Y/N.

She hovered in front of him, her arms steady as they wrapped around him, holding him like he was nothing more than a fragile thing. The world around him was a blur, the edges soft, as if everything had gone hazy, but there she was—there she was, glowing, suspended, her eyes filled with a sense of calm that was so foreign in the midst of his spiraling panic.

“You—” Jungkook's voice was ragged, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he tried to speak, but it was as if the words wouldn’t form properly. He couldn’t focus. His chest felt too tight, his vision spinning, like everything was slipping away again.

Y/N’s grip tightened around him, her arms securing him as she hovered effortlessly, holding him steady in the air. Her hair floated around her, and for a moment, Jungkook thought he was losing his mind. She wasn’t real. She couldn’t be real. How was she—?

But the next thing he knew, his breath caught again, and everything spun violently. His heart raced, thundering in his chest, as if he couldn’t quite breathe. The reality of what had happened—what he had almost lost—crashed down on him in waves. The dizziness overwhelmed him, the confusion too much to bear.

And then, just like that, the darkness claimed him. His body went limp in her arms, his last thought of Y/N fading as everything around him went silent.

When Jungkook’s mind finally dragged him back from the depths of oblivion, it was like rising from a murky sea. His senses were dull at first, the world too loud, too bright. He groaned, his body aching as if every inch of him had been ripped apart and put back together again. But then—something—a warmth, a pressure, a steady, familiar feeling beneath him, like the arms of someone who had been there, waiting.

His eyes flickered open, and the first thing he saw was Jimin’s face, hovering above him, his eyes wide with an unreadable gleam. The edges of the world were still blurry, but that grin—that grin was sharp, unmistakable, the kind that made Jungkook’s blood run cold.

“Almost,” Jimin said, his voice low and teasing, his grin far too smug for Jungkook’s liking. The sound of his words was like a cruel reminder of what had just happened—of the dizzying fall, the fear, the strange weightlessness—and now, the reality of where he was.

Jungkook blinked, trying to shake off the lingering fog in his mind, his thoughts racing to catch up with his surroundings. He tried to push himself up, but his body was sluggish, his muscles protesting with every move. His legs felt weak, shaky, like he might collapse at any moment. He tried to sit up, but his stomach churned, and he swayed, disoriented by the sensation of the world tilting beneath him.

Jimin’s hands were steady, firm against his shoulders, keeping him from falling back. There was an almost possessive pressure to his touch, as if Jimin was both making sure he didn’t go anywhere and somehow enjoying the vulnerability in the moment. His smile remained, even as Jungkook tried to move away, shoving at Jimin’s chest with trembling hands.

The sensation of Jimin’s hold on him, his strength, it felt suffocating now—like a chain wrapped around him, pulling him closer when all he wanted was space, distance.

Jungkook forced himself to stand, his legs unsteady beneath him. He stumbled back a step, his balance off, heart still hammering in his chest. His breath came in shallow bursts, and the familiar ache of adrenaline coursed through his veins, a sharp reminder of how close he had come to falling, to being lost forever.

Jimin didn’t let him go immediately. His eyes tracked Jungkook’s every move, every shaky breath, the smirk still playing at the edges of his lips. "You okay?" he asked, voice smooth and laced with something darker, something hidden just beneath the surface. His tone was too casual, too... knowing.

Jungkook swallowed, trying to steady himself, trying to shake off the dizziness that clouded his vision. He was still trying to make sense of what had just happened. The others—Yoongi, Taeyang, Taehyung, Y/N—they were nowhere to be seen now. It was just him and Jimin, standing on the edge of something unpredictable. Something dangerous.

He didn’t trust Jimin. Not now. Not after everything.

Jungkook straightened, meeting Jimin’s eyes with a defiant glare, his chest tight, his pulse still erratic. He brushed his hands off his jeans, pushing away the lingering sensations of Jimin’s touch. "Yeah," he said, his voice hoarse but steady, refusing to let his weakness show. "I’m fine."

But as he spoke the words, something inside him cracked. It wasn’t just the fall. It wasn’t just the danger of it all. It was the knowledge that Jimin had orchestrated it, that he had known all along exactly what was going to happen—and Jungkook had just played along.

Too easily.

Jimin’s grin didn’t falter. “I’m glad,” he said softly, but the undertone was clear. “I’m sure you learned something tonight. About who you are. About who we all are.”

Jungkook’s stomach twisted, and he took another step back, his mind racing, trying to regain control over the panic swirling just beneath the surface. His thoughts were too jumbled, too overwhelming. He wanted to say something, to demand an explanation, to yell at Jimin for this ridiculous game they were playing—but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, all he could do was stand there, trying to catch his breath, feeling his heart still thudding in his chest, drowning in the echo of almost—the sense that he had almost lost everything.

Jimin, ever calm, ever composed, didn’t seem in a rush to break the silence. His gaze lingered on Jungkook, intense and searching, as though he was reading something in his eyes, something Jimin knew would reveal more than just the chaos of the moment.

Jungkook couldn’t stand it. Without another word, he turned, stumbling away from Jimin, the fog swirling around him, shrouding everything in a disorienting haze. He needed to get away. To think. To understand why it all felt so wrong, why he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was spiraling into something far deeper, darker, than he could ever imagine.

But Jimin’s voice followed him, faint, almost too soft to hear, like it was just for him.

“We’re not done yet, Jungkook.”

The next afternoon, Jungkook woke to the jarring sound of his bedroom door slamming open. The force of it sent a jolt through his body, and he groaned, burying his face deeper into the pillow, willing the world to leave him alone.

“Jungkook, wake up!” Jung-Hyun’s voice rang through the room, sharp and insistent, like a hammering knock on the door of his groggy mind. “It’s Mom!”

Jungkook squinted at the ceiling, his mind struggling to catch up with the words. “Mom’s home?” he mumbled, his throat dry, scratchy from too much sleep and not enough water.

“On the phone,” Jung-Hyun clarified, standing in the doorway with a frown on his face, his arms crossed over his chest like he was trying to hold the world together.

Jungkook groaned again, the pressure in his head like a drumbeat that wouldn’t stop. He glanced at the clock—two in the afternoon. Shit. He reached for his sunglasses on the nightstand, sliding them over his eyes, the cool tint offering him some relief from the glaring brightness of the room. His hand then found the phone, the device cold and slick in his fingers as he dragged it toward him.

Jung-Hyun lingered by the door, his gaze flicking nervously to Jungkook’s hands. His younger brother didn’t say anything, but the unease was palpable, like he wanted to ask but was too scared to.

“What?” Jungkook snapped, irritation clawing at his throat as he brought the phone to his ear.

“Your nails,” Jung-Hyun’s voice wavered, a mix of curiosity and something darker. “Are you, like, freebasing or something?”

Jungkook glared at him, the sharp edge of his stare enough to silence his brother for the moment. He raised the phone to his ear as if to signal he needed space. Jung-Hyun shifted uncomfortably, shrugged, and walked out, but not without a lingering glance at the doorframe like he was still unsure whether to say something else.

Jungkook sighed, dialing the phone number and forcing his voice into something sweeter, more normal. “Hi, Mom.”

“Jungkook,” Wanda’s voice came through, her tone a mix of frustration and a mother’s tired love, “are you still in bed?”

“No,” Jungkook lied, sitting up, dragging a hand through his messy hair, trying to shake the fog from his brain. He could feel the weight of her stare even through the phone. “I’m up.”

“Listen, I need you to stay home with Jung-Hyun tonight. I’m meeting Hoseok for dinner after work.”

Jungkook’s lips curled into a frown, irritation seeping into his voice. “Mom, come on. I watch him all day. I need some time to myself.”

Wanda’s sigh crackled through the phone. “You have all the time in the world, Jungkook. You sleep until the middle of the day. You come and go as you please. Tonight, do what I ask for once. Stay home.”

Jungkook didn’t argue. He knew that tone. When his mother’s patience had run out, there was no changing her mind. “Okay,” he muttered under his breath, the word tasting bitter on his tongue.

“Thank you,” Wanda said with a small note of relief in her voice before hanging up.

Jungkook tossed the phone onto the bed, letting it slide off and land face down on the blankets. His hands twitched, restless, but his eyes were drawn to his fingernails. Long, sharper than usual, like they were growing on their own without permission. He felt a tight knot of unease twist in his stomach.

He dragged himself out of bed, his body feeling heavy, his movements sluggish. His feet carried him to the bathroom, and he turned on the shower, the water coming out in a rush, cold at first. The shock of it hit his skin with a stinging jolt, but he didn’t care. He needed something to snap him back to reality, to make him feel normal again. He stepped under the freezing spray, letting it pour over him until his skin tingled and the pain started to cut through the haze in his brain.

At first, the cold was like a tingling sensation, faint and almost pleasant, but then it grew, creeping deeper, searing his skin like it was burning him alive. His breath hitched, the pain intensifying until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He yelped, stumbling backward, fumbling with the faucet to turn off the hot water, but it didn’t matter. The cold had already taken hold, the chill crawling under his skin, making him feel like he was coming apart.

Jungkook stumbled out of the shower, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, his heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with the cold. He caught his reflection in the mirror, and for a moment, he didn’t recognize the pale face staring back at him. His skin looked drained, too thin, like it had been bleached of all color. His eyes, usually so sharp, now seemed too wide, too hollow. Something was changing, something he couldn’t control, couldn’t stop. He wanted to look away but couldn’t.

The kitchen was quiet, filled with the stale scent of bread and the clatter of empty routines. Jung-Hyun stood at the counter, his brow furrowed in concentration as he slapped together two bologna sandwiches. His movements were methodical, like he was trying to do something right—anything right. The fridge door hung open, the pale yellow light spilling out, painting the room in a sickly glow.

Behind him, cupboard doors banged open and shut, disturbing the silence like it was an old, dusty secret. Jung-Hyun didn’t turn around.

“Anything in here that might pass for aftershave?” Min-chul’s voice called from somewhere in the back, a rough, cheerful grumble that seemed out of place in the otherwise mundane kitchen.

Jung-Hyun didn’t answer, but without looking up, he grabbed a bottle of Windex from under the sink and handed it over. Min-chul examined it like it was an exotic perfume, squirted a little onto his palm, sniffed it, then shrugged.

“Eh, good enough,” he muttered and splashed it on his face like it was cologne. The smell of ammonia filled the room, sharp and cloying.

“Thanks,” Min-chul said, his voice carrying an odd kind of breeziness as if the world were his playground.

Jungkook shuffled into the kitchen, looking like a man who hadn’t slept in a year, a stranger in his own skin. The sunglasses were still perched on his nose, despite it being night, hiding his eyes from everything, even himself. His skin looked deathly pale, and Jung-Hyun couldn’t help but stare, his unease growing.

Min-chul froze when he saw him, his eyes narrowing, but he didn’t say anything. Maybe he thought better of it. Or maybe he just didn’t want to know.

“What’s the big date, Harabeoji?” Jungkook asked, his voice dry, laced with sarcasm.

Min-chul smirked, adjusting his tie in the reflection of the microwave door, then straightened up. “Just dropping off some of my handiwork to Widow Johnson.”

“Oh yeah?” Jungkook’s voice was sharp, nasty, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “What’d you stuff for her? Mr. Johnson?”

The smirk on Min-chul’s face vanished, replaced by a long, hard look that could flatten anyone else. But Min-chul didn’t speak, just grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

“See you later, boys,” he said, his voice hollow as he walked out.

“That wasn’t funny,” Jung-Hyun muttered the second the door clicked shut behind him.

Jungkook didn’t respond, his mind still lingering on the strange tension in the air. The sound of Min-chul’s truck roaring to life was the only noise now, the gravel crunching under the tires as it disappeared down the driveway.

“I’m making you a sandwich,” Jung-Hyun said quietly after a moment, his hands still working on the sandwich as if it would ground him.

“Don’t bother,” Jungkook replied flatly, pushing his sunglasses further up his nose even though no one was around to hide from.

Jung-Hyun glanced up, frowning. “Lose the earring, Jungkook,” he said lightly but with an edge of finality in his voice. “It’s not happening. It’s just not happening.”

“Piss off,” Jungkook snapped, the words biting, sharp.

“You have such a great personality,” Jung-Hyun shot back sweetly, raising an eyebrow. “You should open your own charm school.”

Before Jungkook could respond, something strange happened. The headlights outside swept across the windows in quick succession, like the world was spinning too fast. The light darted and danced, erratic and dizzying, accompanied by a low roar that made the walls vibrate.

Jungkook stiffened, his pulse quickening. “What’s that?” he asked, his voice tight, a feeling of dread creeping up his spine.

Jung-Hyun froze, the sandwich still in his hands. He glanced toward the windows but didn’t move.

Jungkook didn’t wait for an answer. He moved toward the living room, his steps deliberate but slow, as though he was trying to convince himself he wasn’t afraid. But he was. The roar of engines outside grew louder, a chaotic sound that swirled around the house like a storm. The whispering followed—soft at first, almost like the wind, but growing louder, pulling at his name.

“Jungkook... Jungkook... Jungkook,” the voices called, overlapping, twisting around him, like they were inside his head.

“Don’t open it!” Jung-Hyun’s voice cracked, panic rising, but Jungkook didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

The roar of the engines circled the house, a sound so wild and untamed it felt like the world itself was closing in on him. The voices grew louder, more urgent, calling his name over and over.

His hand hovered over the doorknob.

“Jungkook, no!” Jung-Hyun shouted, his voice breaking, but it was too late.

Jungkook threw the door open.

Nothing.

The front yard stretched out before them, wide and empty, bathed in the soft, eerie glow of moonlight. The house loomed behind them, its silhouette dark and imposing, as if it were holding its breath along with them. The air was thick with silence—unnerving, almost suffocating. The night was still, like the entire world was waiting for something, something neither of them could name.

A cold wind swept through the yard, and the chill of it bit into their skin, crawling beneath their clothes, sharp and unrelenting. It was the kind of cold that felt unnatural, as though the very air itself had turned against them. For a fleeting moment, a strange, echoing sound rippled across the sky. It wasn’t quite a voice, not exactly. It was like the wind itself was trying to speak, but it wasn’t saying anything they could understand. The sound seemed to vibrate in their bones, filling the space between them, a low hum that echoed in the distance.

Jungkook's breath hitched, a soft tremor running through his body as he scanned the yard, his eyes narrowing against the darkness. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was out there, something just beyond the veil of the fog that had begun to gather on the ground. It crawled slowly across the grass, winding around the steps, thick and creeping like it was alive, like it had a mind of its own. The fog twisted and swirled as though something invisible was moving within it, a presence just beyond sight, waiting.

He felt his heartbeat quicken, but his legs refused to move, locked in place by some primal instinct that told him to stay still, to watch. His mind screamed at him to turn away, but his body betrayed him, forcing him to stare into the fog as if it might offer him some kind of answer, some kind of release from the tension building inside him. He wanted something to emerge, something tangible, even if it was terrifying. Anything that would make sense of the suffocating uncertainty that clung to the air.

“Close the door,” Jung-Hyun’s voice came from behind him, small and strained, barely above a whisper. It was as though speaking any louder might alert whatever was out there, as if the very air was listening, waiting for the slightest disturbance.

Jungkook’s fingers twitched, the tremor in his hand growing more pronounced as he slowly turned back to the door. He didn’t want to take his eyes off the fog, but he knew Jung-Hyun was right. They couldn’t just stand there, couldn’t leave the door wide open to whatever the night might bring.

His hand shook as he gripped the door handle, his knuckles white with the force of it. He pulled the door shut with a soft click. The sound of the lock snapping into place should have brought him comfort, but it didn’t. There was no safety in the simple act. It felt like a false promise, a temporary measure against something far more dangerous than a locked door could contain.

Jungkook turned slowly, his expression drained, the pallor of his face only made more striking by the sunglasses that still shielded his eyes from the outside world. His gaze was distant, unfocused, as if he was still seeing the darkness outside, still hearing the strange hum that seemed to reverberate through the air. His fingers lingered on the edge of the door, as though he could still feel the pull of whatever had been out there, whatever had whispered in the wind.

“Weird,” Jung-Hyun said, his voice cracking on the word. It was the understatement of the century, but it felt right, like it was all they could offer each other in that moment. The words hung in the air between them, fragile, like they might shatter if spoken too loudly.

Jungkook didn’t respond. He couldn’t. There were no words that could make sense of the moment, no explanation for the feeling that had settled deep in his chest, like the weight of something unspeakable pressing down on him. His body still trembled, and despite the door being shut, despite the lock being secure, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the world outside hadn’t stopped. It was still there, waiting.

He took a deep breath, the air tasting stale in his lungs, and slowly pulled his gaze away from the door. But it didn’t matter. The fog still lingered in his mind, as did the unsettling hum.

Jungkook moved into the room, his steps heavy.

Wanda's Land Rover rolled smoothly into the dimly lit parking lot, the heavy rumble of the engine almost drowned out by the hum of the evening air. The headlights pierced through the night, cutting through the shadows of the parked cars, illuminating the sleek lines of Hoseok’s sports car as it followed closely behind her. The two vehicles came to a stop in perfect sync, the sound of tires kissing the asphalt echoing softly in the quiet of the lot.

Before the engine had even stopped idling, the car door slammed open with a sharp thud, and Hoseok was out in an instant. His movements were fluid, practiced, and fast—he practically jumped from the car, his figure already in motion, almost as though he were performing a carefully rehearsed act. He grinned widely, his expression so bright and infectious that it almost seemed to spill over into the air around him, lighting up the night with an energy that felt almost otherworldly.

Without missing a beat, Hoseok moved with dramatic flair, striding toward Wanda’s Land Rover with the exaggerated grace of a seasoned performer. He reached the door just as Wanda was beginning to unbuckle her seatbelt, and with a smooth, almost theatrical motion, he opened it for her. His posture was impeccable, his shoulders squared, and he gave a slight bow, just enough to suggest the charm of a gentleman from a black-and-white film, the kind who would sweep a lady off her feet with a perfect bow and a wink.

Wanda looked up at him, her face unreadable for a moment, before a polite, practiced smile tugged at the corners of her lips. It wasn’t the kind of smile that said she was impressed—it wasn’t even a smile of enjoyment—but rather the kind that was worn like a well-fitted coat. She had seen this routine countless times before. It wasn’t new. It wasn’t special. But she offered it anyway, because it was expected, and because it was the kind of thing that smoothed over the rough edges of familiarity.

"Thank you, Hoseok," she said in a voice that was soft but neutral, a polite acknowledgment of his efforts. Her tone was warm, but just enough distance lingered in the words to suggest that this was all part of the dance, a series of rituals they had both long ago agreed to play out without thinking.

Hoseok straightened up from his bow, the grin never wavering, as he offered his hand to her with a flourish. He seemed completely at ease, as if he had done this a hundred times and would continue to do so a hundred more. But there was a certain excitement in his eyes, a spark that hinted at something more—something beyond the polite gestures and practiced smiles. His eyes shone in the glow of the parking lot lights, a mixture of anticipation and amusement as he watched Wanda rise from the seat and slide smoothly into the night.

"Always a pleasure, my lady," he said with a wink, his voice laced with playful charm, as though he were fully aware that the theatrics were not lost on her, but equally aware that she didn’t mind them. At least, not enough to say anything.

Wanda chuckled softly to herself, shaking her head as she stepped out of the car, adjusting her coat as the cool night air hit her skin. She didn't answer his remark, but the slight curve of her lips spoke volumes, more than any words ever could. It was clear that, while she appreciated the gesture, it was hardly something that would ever sweep her off her feet. She had seen enough of Hoseok's antics to last a lifetime, and yet, they never seemed to lose their charm entirely—just enough to keep things interesting.

Hoseok, satisfied with his performance, straightened his posture and gestured toward the restaurant, his grin widening just a fraction more. "Shall we?" he asked, his voice warm and inviting, but with a hint of playfulness in the way he looked at her.

Wanda didn’t hesitate. With a glance that was both affectionate and weary, she nodded, her heels clicking softly against the pavement as she followed him toward the entrance of the restaurant. Their footsteps echoed in the stillness of the night, the soft murmur of conversation and laughter from the building ahead mixing with the low hum of distant traffic, blending into the soundtrack of the evening as the door swung open to greet them.

Miles away, in the warmth of the bathroom, Jung-Hyun sat submerged in the deep tub, the water hot enough to make beads of sweat form on his forehead. The steam from the water created a hazy, almost ethereal atmosphere in the small room, wrapping around him like a cocoon. His muscles, sore from the day’s activities, began to relax with each passing minute as the heat seeped into his skin. His mind drifted lazily from thought to thought, the calming scent of soap, shampoo, and the faint metallic tang of the plumbing mixing with the steam in the air. The smell wasn’t pleasant, but it was familiar—a sign of home.

Bam, ever the loyal companion, lay sprawled on the bathroom rug, his ears twitching to the beat of the loud rock music blasting from the tiny radio perched on the counter. The sound quality wasn’t great, but it was enough to fill the space with a steady rhythm, one that matched Bam’s rhythmic ear twitches. The dog’s eyes were half-closed in contentment, his tail gently wagging now and then, matching the energy of the music as it pulsed through the small, cramped bathroom.

Jung-Hyun, however, was far more energetic than Bam. With the radio cranked up, he submerged his hands in the soapy water and began sculpting his hair into ridiculous shapes. He molded spikes, a mohawk, and whatever else popped into his head, laughing at himself in the mirror as he watched the foam transform into chaotic, over-the-top hairstyles. The absurdity of it all made him grin even wider, the sound of his own laughter drowned out by the music's loud guitars and the rhythm of the drums. In this small, secluded bubble, nothing else mattered. There was no need for words or expectations. It was just him, the water, and the music—a rare moment of unbridled joy, even if no one else would ever call it that.

Downstairs, however, Jungkook was not so carefree. The house was too quiet, too still. He moved through the kitchen with the same heaviness that had settled in his chest, each step taken more out of habit than necessity. His movements were automatic, like a ghost in his own home, as if he were simply going through the motions without truly being present. The fridge door creaked open under his hand, and he reached for the milk with the kind of aimless energy that made everything feel distant and hollow.

But then, just as he was about to pull the carton from the shelf, the pain hit him with the force of a lightning bolt—sharp, searing, and relentless. It shot through his stomach like a jagged spear, and he doubled over in an instant, clutching at his abdomen. The milk carton slipped from his grasp, its contents spilling violently across the floor in a rush of white liquid, splattering across the tiles in a messy, sticky explosion. The sound of the carton hitting the ground echoed in the otherwise silent house, and Jungkook stood frozen for a moment, gasping for breath. The sharp pain was enough to make him feel dizzy, his body already threatening to give in to the pressure. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the pulse so loud it seemed to reverberate in his eardrums.

Slowly, shakily, he straightened up, his chest heaving, his eyes staring at the mess he’d made—the spilled milk a testament to the strange, sudden pain that had seized him. But his mind was too clouded to care about cleaning it up right away. Without a word, he turned toward the pantry, moving with the same mindless, automatic steps he had before, hoping to grab the mop and get the mess under control.

But as his hand reached out for the familiar wooden mop handle, the pain returned—sharper this time, like a fire spreading through his insides. His knees buckled under him, and he dropped to the floor, his breath caught in his throat. For a split second, everything went still. His eyes widened in disbelief as he lifted his head—and froze.

The walls.

They were moving.

At first, it was subtle—like a trick of the light, or maybe his vision playing tricks on him. But no, it wasn’t that. The walls were breathing. He blinked, staring at the shelves, and they expanded and contracted like the slow, steady rise and fall of a chest. Cans of soup, once still and unmoving, puffed out as though they had been overfilled, bulging out at the edges. Jars of preserves trembled on their shelves, the lids rattling faintly as if they had a life of their own. The lightbulb overhead flickered, its light swelling like a balloon, then shrinking back down in erratic pulses, casting strange shadows on the walls. The floor beneath him rippled like water, shifting in a way that made his stomach churn with unease. It was as if the entire world around him was warping, twisting, and bending in on itself.

His heart thundered in his chest, the beat erratic and loud, each thump echoing in his skull. His hand gripped the mop handle with such force that his knuckles turned white, the veins in his arms bulging painfully. He could feel the skin over them stretching tight, as though something inside him was trying to break free, pushing against the confines of his body. He gasped for air, his breathing shallow, trying to steady himself, but the world around him refused to stay still.

Upstairs, Jung-Hyun was blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding below. His towel was now draped over his head, drying his hair between songs, his movements casual, easy. He hummed along to the music as it blared from the radio, the upbeat rock filling the bathroom, drowning out any other noise. Bam, content and relaxed, had shifted slightly on the rug, let out a contented sigh, and returned to his nap, unaffected by anything at all.

But Jungkook? He was still frozen in the kitchen, staring wide-eyed at the warped world around him, trying to breathe through the growing panic that gripped him. The walls felt as though they were closing in, suffocating him, and he couldn’t make sense of it. The more he tried to move, the more everything seemed to shift, like the very fabric of reality was slipping through his fingers. The house was alive, and he was caught in its terrifying embrace.

Wanda sat at a pristine table draped in white linen at the dimly lit restaurant, her fingers elegantly curling around the stem of a glass of red wine. The light from the overhead chandelier bathed the room in a soft, golden glow, casting delicate shadows across the crisp tablecloth. She took a slow sip, the wine smooth on her tongue, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Across from her, Hoseok was practically bursting with energy, his words tumbling over one another as his hands sliced through the air, painting a picture of his latest business venture with the fervor of someone who truly believed in his own genius. Something about video stores. Something about Los Gatos. He spoke with the kind of charisma that could make even the most mundane topics sound like they held the key to the universe.

Wanda nodded at all the right moments, her eyes polite but distant, the kind of indifference that came from years of being asked to feign interest in things that didn’t truly matter. She wasn’t really listening—his words a mere hum in the background of her own thoughts as she swirled the wine in her glass, her mind drifting to places far from the white tablecloth and expensive wine.

Just as she was beginning to let herself fade into the quiet of her own mind, the waiter appeared at their table, his polite smile framed by the crisp white of his uniform.

"Ready to order now, sir?" he asked, his voice measured and professional.

Wanda didn’t hesitate. “I’ll just have the filet of sole,” she said, her tone light, almost absent. It was the kind of dish she’d always ordered when she wasn’t in the mood to engage fully, something safe and understated.

“No, you won’t,” Hoseok said, his voice cutting through her indifference. He shook his head with a confident smile, the kind of smile that suggested he had already won whatever little battle he imagined was at play. He turned to the waiter with the ease of someone who had never once had to worry about the price of anything.

“We’ll start with caviar. Caesar salad and your two biggest lobsters. And another bottle of wine—Dom Perignon this time,” he said, his words flowing smoothly as if they were part of a well-rehearsed script. He didn’t wait for confirmation before reclining into his chair, arms stretched out on the backrest as if he were settling in for a much-needed victory lap.

The waiter nodded respectfully, his posture perfectly in line with the calm professionalism expected of him, and turned to head back to the kitchen.

Hoseok leaned back, hands still resting on the chair, waiting for Wanda’s reaction. But when she didn’t immediately respond, his smile faltered. He frowned slightly, studying her with narrowed eyes.

“Not impressed, are you?” he asked, his voice betraying a slight crack of vulnerability beneath the confident facade.

Wanda’s fingers gently set her wine glass down, the sound of crystal meeting porcelain echoing briefly in the space between them. Her gaze flicked to him for a moment, but she didn’t rush to answer. She regarded him with quiet amusement, a faint, knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Oh, I would have been,” she said casually, her voice light, almost playful, “one marriage ago.”

The words hung in the air like smoke, sharp and effortless. Hoseok’s laughter followed immediately, but it wasn’t the kind of carefree laugh he had expected. It was quieter. More subdued. There was a trace of something real in it—something less practiced, something raw. It made his smile waver, just for a moment.

“So I’ve met the one woman on the planet who’s going to hold my success against me,” he said, his voice dipping into something more thoughtful than he’d intended.

Wanda’s eyes softened just slightly, the faintest trace of warmth creeping into her expression. "You seem like a terrific guy," she said with a smile that wasn’t quite an approval but more like a knowing acknowledgment. “And I’m grateful for the job—”

“But it’s not what you really want to do,” Hoseok interrupted, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the edge of the table. His gaze was steady, intent. “Is it?”

Wanda’s gaze shifted for a moment, her eyes drifting toward the window, where the shadows of the city stretched like dark fingers against the skyline. She paused, as if weighing her words carefully, before finally answering with a soft exhale.

“If I had my choice,” she said, her voice a little quieter now, more introspective, “I’d want to do something with kids. Teenagers, maybe. I don’t know. There’s just something about that age, about how everything feels so big and raw and important.” Her voice trailed off slightly, her eyes lingering on the view for a beat longer than necessary. “And Santa Carla seems to have no shortage of them.”

Hoseok’s face softened, his gaze shifting away from her for a moment as he absorbed her words. “Runaways, mostly,” he said, his voice losing some of its earlier bravado. "They come from everywhere. The boardwalk, the ocean... it draws them in." He paused, the air between them thickening with a kind of quiet understanding. "Listen, I know I have no right to ask this, but... don’t look for another job just yet. Besides being the best employee I have, I think you’re cute.”

Wanda let out a soft laugh, the sound light but laced with something unspoken. "I hear this is the decade for cute," she said with a raised eyebrow, her smile slipping into something a little more guarded.

Hoseok blinked, clearly not expecting that response. But it didn’t shake him—he was used to women laughing off his advances, or, at the very least, making a show of it. What he didn’t quite expect was the subtle warmth in her eyes, the flicker of something deeper hidden behind the lightness of her words.

As the waiter returned with their wine, Hoseok leaned back, his earlier tension eased just a fraction, the game of words continuing to unfold between them.

Upstairs, Jung-Hyun remained blissfully unaware, still reclining in the warm water of the bathtub, lost in his own little world. The soft sounds of rock music filtered through the room, drowning out the rest of the house. He was absorbed in the task at hand—shaping his wet hair into bizarre, ridiculous shapes. He let the music take him further into his bubble of peace, unaware that outside the bathroom door, things were beginning to change.

Jungkook, meanwhile, moved through the house like a shadow, his pace slow and deliberate. His breathing was steady, each inhale and exhale calm, but there was an emptiness in his eyes, something that had gone still and quiet. His face was pale, but his expression was composed, as if the chaos that had just gripped him had been set aside—his body still, but his mind barely tethered. The world around him seemed distant, far-off. His fingers trembled slightly, but his resolve held firm.

He stopped outside the bathroom door, his hand hovering above the doorknob. His heart thudded in his chest, an ever-present drumbeat that echoed through his body with terrifying intensity. His entire being seemed to resonate with the pounding rhythm. He pulled his hand back, curling his fingers into a fist, but the compulsion to move forward still simmered just beneath the surface. The air around him felt thick and oppressive, like the weight of a storm that hadn't yet broken.

Inside, the music blared, drowning out every sound. Jung-Hyun was laughing, blissfully unaware of the growing tension just outside his door, lost in his own private world, completely oblivious to the war waging inside his brother. Bam, the dog, seemed to sense something was wrong before Jung-Hyun did. His ears twitched, and a low whine escaped from his throat, a sound that began soft but quickly grew sharp and intense. It was a warning, a primal instinct kicking in, but still, Jung-Hyun didn't notice.

As Bam sat up abruptly, his growl deepening into something more menacing, Jungkook's body tensed, every muscle wound tight as though ready to spring. The silence seemed deafening to him, the stillness unbearable, yet his heart thundered in his chest, each beat louder than the last. He closed his eyes, breathing in deep and slow, trying to ground himself. The voice in his mind urged him forward, pushing him to act. Don't go in, it whispered. But then, almost as if from a distant place, a new thought sliced through the fog in his mind: You can’t fight it.

Bam’s sudden howl, guttural and bone-chilling, tore through the tension in the air like a sharp blade, snapping something in Jungkook’s resolve. Something broke, something inside him fractured, and before he could stop himself, he shoved the bathroom door open and stumbled into the room.

For a split second, everything froze.

Bam stood between Jungkook and the bathtub, his body tense, every muscle straining as his fur bristled, the growl vibrating deep in his chest. His eyes were wide with intensity, his teeth bared like a weapon. The dog was no longer just a pet—he was a force, a protector, something primal and untamed. His stance was defensive, unyielding. He was ready to fight.

Jungkook’s own lips curled back into a snarl, and his teeth—sharper than they should have been—gleamed in the dim light of the bathroom. The air between them crackled with an energy that neither of them could control.

Without hesitation, Bam lunged, his powerful body launching forward with the kind of speed that left little time for reaction. His claws scraped across the bathroom tiles with a high-pitched screech, and the sound of their bodies colliding rang out like thunder. Jungkook barely had time to brace himself as Bam’s massive frame slammed into him, throwing them both into the hallway. The force of their collision sent them crashing into the walls, the sound of their struggle deafening. Bam snarled, snapping his teeth, but Jungkook fought back with terrifying ferocity. His own growls were inhuman, echoes of something dark and primal that were foreign even to him.

The bathroom door slammed shut behind them with a bang, cutting off the music. Silence descended, but it wasn’t peaceful. It was only the calm before the storm.

Jung-Hyun, still in the tub, resurfaced, gasping for air. The first thing he noticed was the silence—the absence of the rock music that had been playing so loudly just moments ago. His brow furrowed in confusion, and he strained his ears, listening for any hint of what had caused the sudden quiet. And then, in the distance, the sounds started—thuds, bangs, the deep, feral growl of Bam, and the almost human cries coming from Jungkook.

The noise intensified, violent and chaotic, before suddenly stopping as quickly as it had started.

"Jungkook?" Jung-Hyun’s voice trembled as he wrapped a towel around his waist, feeling a chill run through him. The air felt colder now, the once-warm bathroom almost unbearably chilly.

He stepped cautiously into the hallway, the shadows around him stretching unnaturally long. The lights were off, and everything felt off—wrong. His heart thudded in his chest, fear gnawing at his insides.

“Jungkook?” His voice wavered, panic creeping into his tone.

Then, from the bottom of the stairs, a soft, shaky voice answered. “Don’t turn on the light.”

It was Jungkook. His voice was so soft, almost pleading, like it came from someone who was utterly lost.

Jung-Hyun froze, his hand hovering over the light switch. The air around him seemed to thicken. He hesitated, but then—compelled by something he couldn’t quite explain—he flicked the switch.

The lights came on, and the sight that greeted him made his blood run cold.

Jungkook was crumpled at the base of the stairs, his body slumped in a way that was almost unnatural. His hands shook violently in his lap, and his face—pale, lifeless—was streaked with blood. It dripped from his fingers, pooling onto the wooden floor. His eyes were glazed, unfocused, like he wasn’t even truly there.

"Jungkook?" Jung-Hyun’s voice cracked as he rushed to his brother’s side, kneeling in front of him. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath quick and shallow.

"What happened?" Jung-Hyun asked, his voice breaking under the weight of the question. "Jungkook, what—what did you do?"

Jungkook didn’t respond immediately. His gaze remained distant, unfocused. Finally, his voice came, a strained whisper. “Bam…”

The single word hit Jung-Hyun like a punch to the gut. “What about Bam?” His voice rose, panic threading through it. “What did you do to my dog?!”

Jungkook’s head snapped up, and for the first time, his voice was sharp, full of a fierceness that shocked Jung-Hyun. “I didn’t hurt him!” he snapped. “He bit me! This is my blood!” He lifted his hand, showing the gaping wound in his palm, blood still flowing freely from the gash.

Jung-Hyun’s gaze darted to the hallway, and his eyes widened in horror as Bam emerged from the shadows, his body low to the ground, eyes fixed on Jungkook. The dog growled softly, positioning himself protectively against Jung-Hyun’s leg, never once breaking his gaze from Jungkook.

“What did you do to him?” Jung-Hyun demanded, his voice trembling with fear. “Why would he bite you?”

Jungkook’s voice was quieter now, almost reverent. “He was protecting you.”

The words hung in the air, thick with a meaning Jung-Hyun couldn’t yet grasp. He opened his mouth to respond, but something else caught his attention—something in the reflection of the mirror at the end of the hallway.

“Jungkook,” Jung-Hyun whispered, his voice barely audible. “Look at your reflection.”

Jungkook frowned and turned his head. In the mirror, the bloodied, battered version of himself stared back—but it was faint, blurry, almost ethereal. His reflection wasn’t solid—it was barely there, like it was on the edge of vanishing altogether.

“You’re…” Jung-Hyun swallowed hard, his heart racing. “You’re a vampire.”

Jungkook blinked, clearly confused. “What?”

Jung-Hyun’s voice was raw now, breaking with panic. “You’re a vampire, Jungkook! Just like in the comic books! A... a shit-sucking, goddamn vampire! My own brother!” His words fell into a desperate jumble. “Wait till Mom finds out!”

Jungkook flinched, and something dark flickered in his eyes. He took a step forward, and Jung-Hyun instinctively took a step back, his body filled with dread.

“Stay back!” Jung-Hyun shouted, fear flooding his veins. “Stay back!”

He spun and bolted for his room, slamming the door behind him. Bam followed closely, the dog’s growl a constant presence at his side. Jung-Hyun twisted the lock into place, his hands shaking violently.

He collapsed onto the bed, his hands trembling as he grabbed for the comic book from the shelf—the one with the number for the Kim brothers scrawled on the back.

The phone rang three times before someone picked up.

“You did the right thing, calling us,” Namjoon’s voice was calm, steady, like he was speaking to someone who already understood the gravity of the situation. “Does your brother sleep a lot?”

“All day,” Jung-Hyun whispered.

“Can’t stand light?”

“He wears sunglasses in the house.”

Namjoon’s voice grew more serious. “Bad breath? Long fingernails?”

Jung-Hyun hesitated. “His nails are a little longer... but he’s always had bad breath.”

“That’s him,” Seokjin chimed in. “Salt sticks to the bottom of his feet?”

“Yes,” Jung-Hyun said, his voice barely audible.

Seokjin’s tone was cold, final. “He’s a vampire, all right.”

Jung-Hyun’s mind raced. “What do I do?”

“Get a stake. Drive it through his heart,” Seokjin said sharply.

“I can’t do that,” Jung-Hyun said, shaking his head, even though they couldn’t see him. “He’s my brother.”

There was a long pause. Then Namjoon’s voice came back on the line, grim and certain. “Then get yourself a garlic T-shirt. Or it’s your funeral.”

The line went dead.

Jung-Hyun stared at the phone, his heart hammering in his chest. In the distance, he heard the faint creak of a window opening. He turned, and there, hovering just outside his bedroom window like a ghost, was Jungkook.

“Oh no,” Jung-Hyun whispered, his voice barely audible. “Oh, God.” He dropped the phone in horror. “Mom!” he screamed. “Mom, he’s coming to get me!”

And as he screamed, Wanda—still at her table in the restaurant—heard her son’s voice through the receiver, the panic in his words cutting through her like a knife. Without thinking, without hesitation, she bolted from the table, leaving her purse behind.

Hoseok blinked, his mind still reeling from the strange shift in energy that had just unfolded. He glanced around the table, expecting to see Wanda still sitting across from him, casually sipping her wine as if nothing had changed. But the chair she had occupied just moments ago was now empty, and her glass, half-full of wine, sat untouched on the table.

The waiter approached, a slight confusion in his posture, perhaps sensing the abrupt departure of the woman he had just served. With a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he placed two enormous lobsters, their vibrant shells still glistening with freshness, in front of Hoseok. Along with them came an unopened bottle of Dom Perignon, its dark green glass reflecting the low light of the restaurant. The luxury of the items in front of him seemed almost out of place given the sudden and unexplained shift in the atmosphere.

Hoseok stared at the table for a long moment, his mind trying to catch up with what had just happened. Wanda had been here, laughing, engaged in the conversation about his latest business venture, but now… she was gone.

A glance out the window caught his attention—through the darkened glass, he saw the tail lights of her Land Rover disappearing into the night. The tires screeched as she sped away, a sharp, frantic sound that seemed to echo in his chest. It was impossible not to feel the weight of her absence, the suddenness of it, and something else too—something that made his pulse quicken. He couldn’t quite place the feeling, but it was a mix of confusion, concern, and a nagging sense that something was terribly off.

He turned back to the table, eyes narrowing as he tried to make sense of it all. The waiter stood still, waiting for a cue from Hoseok, his hands clasped behind his back. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, stretching between them like a fragile thread about to snap. Hoseok’s fingers twitched toward the bottle of Dom Perignon, but he couldn’t bring himself to pop the cork. Something about the whole evening felt… wrong.

"What the hell just happened?" Hoseok muttered under his breath, mostly to himself. He rubbed his temple with his thumb, a gesture of frustration mixed with disbelief. Had he said something wrong? Had something been left unsaid, some hidden trigger that had set her off? She hadn’t seemed upset when she left, just… hurried. But the fact that she hadn’t even said goodbye, that she had disappeared so abruptly, gnawed at him.

He glanced at the waiter, who seemed to be trying to remain inconspicuous, unsure whether he should speak or retreat. Hoseok waved him off. He needed a moment to think—too much was happening in his head, too many questions without answers. Wanda’s reaction, the sudden exit, her almost panicked departure, all of it felt like a puzzle that was now scattered on the floor, pieces that didn't seem to fit together.

His mind wandered back to the conversation they had been having moments before. Was it something he’d said? The business deal, the lavish dinner, the lavish indulgence? He had meant it to impress her, to show her he was more than just another businessman in a suit, but now it felt superficial, like it had triggered something deeper in her—a hidden frustration or unease he hadn’t noticed.

But no, she had smiled faintly when she mentioned her work with teenagers. It was a genuine moment, one where he’d thought they connected, even if the conversation was brief. It didn’t make sense. She had seemed fine.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?” The waiter’s voice cut through his thoughts, an interruption that made Hoseok blink in surprise.

He looked up at the man, still standing by the table with his hands folded neatly in front of him.

“No,” Hoseok replied sharply, waving him off again. “I’m fine.”

The wind outside howled with an unnatural force, relentless in its pursuit, tugging at Jungkook's body as it was pulled higher into the sky. His feet swung below him, completely weightless, and the sensation of helplessness washed over him as the rope tied around his waist strained against the pull of the storm. Each gust seemed determined to lift him farther from the earth, dragging him upwards like a kite caught in an unpredictable current. The rope creaked in protest, but it was the only thing holding him back from disappearing into the vast expanse of the night sky, lost to the void. Up, up he went, the wind making a whistling sound as it howled past him, leaving him to feel like a marionette tossed about by forces far beyond his control.

Inside the house, Jung-Hyun stood frozen at the window, his breath shallow as his mind struggled to comprehend the madness unfolding before him. His brother’s muffled cries—desperate and pleading—carried over the roar of the wind, distant but unmistakable. Jungkook’s voice, distorted by distance yet tinged with such unmistakable fear, shattered the fragile silence of the moment. "Help me! Jung-Hyun! I’m your brother!" The words rang in his ears, each syllable cutting into him like a dagger, leaving him gasping for air. His heart raced, the sound of it thudding in his chest, drowning out everything else in the room. The terror began to creep up on him in waves, thick and suffocating. He was paralyzed for a moment, caught between fear and disbelief.

The window shattered without warning, a sound that was deafening in the silence that followed. Glass rained down, glittering like jagged stars falling from the sky. Jung-Hyun staggered back from the broken pane, his heart pounding so fiercely in his chest it felt like it might break free of his ribs. Instincts kicked in, sharper than logic or reason, and before he could fully process what was happening, his feet were already carrying him down the stairs. The familiar layout of the house blurred around him as he ran, each step a frantic beat in a symphony of panic. He raced past the old hallway, the wallpaper peeling with age, and toward his brother’s room, the one place that felt like the last place he could find any semblance of control.

The wind met him like an angry slap, icy and sharp as it forced its way through the broken window, howling into the house as though trying to drag them all into the storm outside. Jung-Hyun pressed forward with all his strength, every step an effort against the fierce wind that battered his face, whipped his hair around, and threatened to throw him off balance. His breath came in short bursts, freezing in the air, but he couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when his brother needed him.

At last, he reached the window. His hands, numb from the cold, grasped at Jungkook’s wrist, pulling his brother back from the edge. The force of the storm seemed to try to push him further into the sky, but with one final heave, Jung-Hyun managed to drag him inside, tumbling into the room in a heap. Jungkook, breathless and shaking, immediately sprang into action, his panicked movements betraying the gravity of the situation. He rushed to the bed, his hands fumbling as he quickly tied himself to the frame with the blind cord, as though the tattered rope was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. It wasn’t just the wind pulling him away—it was something deeper, something dark, a force beyond comprehension that was threatening to consume him whole.

"We’ve got to stick together, Jung-Hyun," Jungkook whispered, his voice hoarse and trembling with desperation. His eyes were wide, filled with something close to terror, and there was an urgency to his words that Jung-Hyun couldn’t ignore. "You’ve got to help me."

Jungk-Hyun’s throat was tight, his voice breaking as he tried to respond. "What about Mom?" His mind raced, his thoughts spiraling out of control as the weight of the situation pressed down on him.

"No," Jungkook hissed, his voice low and insistent. "We can’t tell her. Please… please don’t." His eyes were pleading, raw with emotion. "Just for a few days," he added, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Give me a chance to figure this out."

Jungk-Hyun stood frozen for a moment, the weight of his brother’s plea hanging in the air like an impossible decision. His mind screamed to argue, to demand answers, but his heart—his loyalty to Jungkook—silenced those instincts. There was no time to argue, not when the door to the room creaked open, and their mother, Wanda, stepped inside. Her face was painted with panic, her eyes scanning the room frantically for answers she couldn’t see. She took in the scene—Jungkook tied to the bed, Jung-Hyun standing near the window, breathless—and immediately the worry on her face deepened.

"Jung-Hyun!" Wanda cried, her voice sharp with panic. "What happened? You had me scared to death. Are you okay?" Her gaze locked onto him, the concern in her eyes almost overwhelming. She moved toward him, reaching for his shoulders, but Jung-Hyun stepped back instinctively, his hands coming up in a protective gesture.

He struggled to steady his voice, to keep the lie from spilling out. "Sorry, Mom. It was a mistake. I thought I saw something out the window." He laughed weakly, but it sounded forced, unnatural. "I was reading this horror comic, and I guess I just… I got a little carried away." His heart pounded as the words tumbled out, but he prayed she would believe him.

Wanda’s gaze lingered on him, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she could sense the deception in his voice. Too many questions hung in the air, unsaid but palpable, thick like a fog between them. She opened her mouth to speak again, but Jung-Hyun was already turning away, his body tense with the need to get out of the conversation before it escalated.

"Where’s Jungkook?" she asked, her voice more insistent now, the edge of suspicion creeping into her tone.

"He's already gone to bed," Jung-Hyun said quickly, his voice too flat. He refused to meet her gaze, his eyes darting toward the stairs. "He’s not feeling well. Let him rest." His words were rushed, and he didn’t wait for her to press any further. He didn’t want to give her any more reason to question him.

Upstairs, Jungkook lay in his bed, his body curled tightly beneath the covers as if he could shield himself from the storm outside and the storm raging within him. His eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling as if expecting something—anything—to crawl out of it. His breath was shallow, and he couldn’t stop the trembling that wracked his body. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. And no matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, he knew there was no going back now.

Wanda’s fingers drummed lightly on the kitchen counter as she listened to the faint static on the other end of the line. The conversation had been brief, another dead end. She’d tried reaching the restaurant where she had last spoken to Hoseok, but he was nowhere to be found. Her mind was spinning, trying to connect the dots, trying to understand why the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach wouldn’t let up. She spoke softly into the phone, her voice tight with something unspoken. "Well, thank you, anyway." She didn’t wait for a response before ending the call, the click of the receiver sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet kitchen.

Her eyes drifted to the spilled carton of milk on the floor, the white liquid pooling out like a silent accusation. It spread across the tiles in slow, deliberate waves, and Wanda’s heart clenched at the sight. She bent down, reaching for a dish towel, but as she wiped the milk away, her gaze lingered on the crumpled carton sitting awkwardly on the counter. The image of a smiling child grinned up at her from the packaging, with the chilling words "MISSING" printed beneath it in bold, red letters. The carton seemed to mock her, reminding her of the gaps in her understanding, the things she had yet to piece together. Her stomach twisted, but she forced herself to look away, focusing instead on the mundane task of cleaning up the mess. Still, something gnawed at her insides, that insistent feeling that something was terribly wrong.

But she didn’t have time to dwell. Time had been slipping through her fingers like sand, and there were more immediate things to attend to. Wanda stood up, wringing the dish towel in her hands before hanging it over the sink. She turned toward the stairs, her mind clouded with exhaustion, but the weight of the day pressing down on her shoulders made it hard to focus on anything other than the need for rest. She could hardly remember the last time she’d had a full night’s sleep. The thought of collapsing into her bed was enough to push her forward, even as the dread that clung to the corners of her mind refused to be shaken.

Just as she reached the bottom of the stairs, though, she was interrupted by the soft sound of footsteps behind her. She turned to find Jung-Hyun standing there, his face clouded with unease. He hesitated for a moment before speaking in a small, timid voice that sounded so unlike him. "Can I sleep in here with you tonight?" he asked, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. The uncertainty in his eyes pulled at her heart. He was her son, and she had always tried to protect him from the things that lurked in the shadows of the world, but something tonight was different. Something was wrong, and the vulnerability in his voice made her want to shield him from whatever was haunting him.

Wanda sighed, her shoulders sagging under the weight of the day’s tension. She hadn’t expected this request, but it wasn’t like she could say no. Not when he was so obviously shaken. "In here?" she asked, her tone not angry, but tired, the exhaustion leaking through her words. "You’re sure?"

Jung-Hyun nodded, his eyes wide and filled with a kind of unease she hadn’t seen in him before. "It was a real scary comic," he muttered, not meeting her gaze.

Wanda softened, her heart aching for him. "Okay," she said, her voice gentle, though she wasn’t sure if she was agreeing to the request out of love or simply because she didn’t have the strength to argue. She stepped aside, allowing him to slip past her and into her room. But as he settled into bed beside her, she caught a faint, unmistakable smell in the air. She sniffed, raising an eyebrow. "Have you been eating pizza? You smell like garlic."

Jung-Hyun froze, his body stiffening as he tried to avoid her gaze. His mind was racing, torn between the fear that still gripped him and the desperate need for comfort. He quickly slid under the covers, hoping she wouldn’t press further. "Uh... no," he muttered, his voice faltering slightly as he tried to mask the unease in his chest. "I think it’s just... the comic, Mom. It’s nothing."

Wanda frowned slightly, but she didn’t push him. She could tell he was hiding something, but tonight wasn’t the night for it. She let out a quiet sigh, her own thoughts turning inward as she lay back against the pillows. She could feel the weight of the silence in the room, thick and oppressive, pressing against her. Her eyes closed, but sleep wouldn’t come. Not with everything that had been happening, not with the strange series of events unfolding around her.

As the minutes stretched into hours, her thoughts were scattered, spinning in circles, chasing things that remained just out of reach. She glanced over at Jung-Hyun, his face half-hidden in the pillow, his body curled up in a protective ball, but even in sleep, he seemed troubled. His breathing was shallow, his body stiff as though he was bracing for something, anything, to happen.

Outside, the night remained eerily quiet. The wind had died down, leaving behind a calm that felt unnatural, like the silence before a storm. It was then that the faint sound of a motorbike’s engine rumbled through the stillness, far in the distance. At first, it was a whisper, barely audible, but it soon grew louder, the roar of the engine cutting through the air like a dark omen. The sound of the bike grew closer, and then, suddenly, the roar faded away as the rider pulled off to the side of the road. Jungkook’s body was tense, his grip tight on the handlebars as he sat there, shrouded in the shadows, away from prying eyes. His thoughts were clouded with an overwhelming sense of confusion and fear, his mind lost in a fog that only deepened the further he tried to understand what had happened to him. There was a darkness inside of him now, something he couldn’t explain, something that had twisted him into something unrecognizable. He didn’t dare look back, knowing that if he did, there would be no going back.

As the truck of Min-chul, the local mechanic, passed by, Jungkook remained still, hidden in the shadows. Min-chul was humming a cheerful tune as he drove, oblivious to the storm that was brewing in the boy who had once been his grandson. The man’s truck rumbled past, its engine a dull hum in the background, but Jungkook didn’t feel the relief he thought he might. No one was watching. No one cared. He was invisible now, both to the world and to himself. The motorbike’s engine fell silent, and the darkness enveloped him once more.

When Min-chul’s truck finally disappeared from view, Jungkook’s fingers clenched tighter around the handlebars, and with a deep breath, he roared off in the opposite direction. The engine of his motorbike cut through the still night air, the wind whipping around him like a living thing, howling in his ears as he sped down the deserted boardwalk. The strip that usually teemed with life in the day was now a silent ghost town, the neon lights of the attractions dimmed, their colorless glow casting long, eerie shadows. The booths were all shut tight, the carnival rides frozen in place, lifeless in the moonlight. The boardwalk, once vibrant with laughter and the sounds of excited crowds, now seemed like a forgotten relic of a world that had moved on without him.

Jungkook’s eyes were fixed ahead, the vast emptiness stretching before him, but his mind felt far away, lost in the storm of emotions that twisted within him. He had always been able to count on the comfort of the night, the solitude that came with it, but now even that was slipping through his fingers. Everything was quiet, too quiet, and yet he couldn’t escape the rising turbulence inside himself. He was caught between who he had been and the monster he was becoming, a bridge he could no longer cross without falling into the abyss.

The familiar path along the cliffs beckoned him, pulling him further into the darkness. His bike skidded to a halt at the edge, tires screeching against the rocky terrain as he dismounted. He looked up toward the cave—the cave where everything had changed, where he had first discovered the horrifying reality of what he was becoming. His heart thudded painfully against his ribs as his senses heightened, and he inhaled deeply, trying to find the one thing that would anchor him to something familiar. Y/N’s scent still lingered, faint but undeniable, as if she had never truly left. It was a ghost, haunting him, tethering him to the past. The mix of blood, lavender, and something deeper, darker, made his head spin.

Jungkook stepped into the cave, the air heavy with the silence of abandonment. The walls, once echoing with voices and laughter, now stood mute, their secrets hidden in the shadows. His breath hitched in his chest as his eyes scanned the familiar surroundings, and the emptiness of it all pressed down on him like a physical weight. The memories surged forward, relentless and suffocating, but it was one thing that anchored his gaze—a wine bottle, half-crushed beneath the rocks in the far corner. The scent of blood clung to it, thick and unmistakable. His hands trembled as he reached for it, his fingers grazing the glass, but then, with a snarl, he hurled the bottle across the room. It shattered against the far wall, the sound of glass breaking like a brief, cathartic release of the fury that had been building within him.

But even the destruction didn’t feel like enough. The rage, the confusion, the guilt—all of it bubbled to the surface in a maddening blur. Memories flooded his mind, fragmentary and jagged, sharp flashes of the ritual, the blood, the unbearable hunger that had clawed at him. His heart raced, and for a moment, he could almost hear the screams—the deafening roar of his own voice in the midst of his transformation. The fire in his veins burned hotter as the memory of the kiss played in a loop inside his mind, like a twisted song he couldn’t escape. The world had shattered in that moment, and there was no going back.

He collapsed to his knees, his breathing heavy and erratic, as the images and emotions swirled in a vortex he couldn’t control. The weight of what he had done, what he had become, threatened to crush him. There was no room for redemption, no easy path to forgiveness. The guilt gnawed at him like a poison, and he could feel himself slipping further into the dark abyss.

As the intensity of the memories began to fade, Jungkook found himself drawn to the far corner of the cave, his body moving almost mechanically. His eyes landed on the bed Y/N had left behind—the one she had used to lay in the stillness of the cave, her presence once a comfort now a cruel reminder of what had been lost. The bed, a silent witness to everything that had transpired, seemed to beckon him. With shaky hands, he sank onto it, curling into himself as if he could hide from the world, from everything that he had become.

The cave, once a place of shared intimacy, now felt cold and hollow. Jungkook pulled the blankets around him, but the warmth they provided was fleeting, unable to chase away the coldness that had settled deep within his bones. His mind began to slow, but the thoughts refused to quiet. The hum of the world outside faded as sleep crept in, but it was a restless, dreamless sleep—one that offered no comfort, only an escape from the painful reality of his waking hours.

And yet, through the oppressive silence, through the dark weight of his thoughts, there was one thing that refused to fade entirely. The song. The haunting melody that had started this entire spiral into madness. It echoed through the cave, distant but clear, as if it had been playing in the background of his soul all along. Its notes lingered in his heart, filling the empty spaces, the voids that nothing else could touch. The song, and everything it represented, would follow him forever.

Jungkook closed his eyes, but even in the darkness behind his eyelids, the melody played on, a reminder that some things could never be forgotten. The song continued to echo through the empty spaces of his heart, a constant reminder of the choices he had made and the consequences he could never outrun. And so, he lay there, trapped in his own thoughts, surrounded by the remnants of a life that felt like it had already ended. The world outside might have been asleep, but inside him, everything was wide awake.

Jungkook sat slumped in the dim corner of the cave, his knees drawn up to his chest, his hands tangled in his hair as he stared at the empty space where Y/N had once been. The scent of her—faint but unmistakable—lingered in the air, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape it. His chest ached with a force so strong it threatened to suffocate him. He felt a magnetic pull, as though the cave itself was pulling him into its shadows, binding him to the painful memories that refused to let go.

Why had this happened? Why had he become this? A monster. A creature of the night. He should have been strong enough to resist, strong enough to see what was coming, but instead, he had fallen. He had let the darkness take him. The transformation hadn’t just changed his body, it had stained his soul, every inch of him tainted with guilt and regret. And Y/N, she had known. She had tried to stop him.

She had been there, hadn’t she? She had warned him. But instead of listening, he had laughed at her. Dismissed her as if her concerns meant nothing, as if her discomfort was just an inconvenience. Y/N had tried to pull him back from the edge, to stop him from making the same mistake his heart had already decided on. But he had ignored her. Pushed her aside, as if she didn’t matter. As if what she was feeling, what she was seeing, was irrelevant. He could almost hear her voice again in his head, desperate, pleading with him.

“It’s blood.”

The words echoed through his mind, and a sickening wave of shame washed over him. How could he have been so blind? How could he have been so arrogant? Y/N had known. She had seen the danger. She had seen what would happen if he drank the wine, if he gave in to the lies Jimin had fed him. But Jungkook had refused to listen. He had thought she was just messing with him, teasing him, like it was all some joke.

But it wasn’t a joke.

She had been the only one who understood. She had been the only one who had cared enough to try and warn him. But he had brushed her off, laughed in her face. The guilt gnawed at him like a physical wound. He clenched his fists so hard his nails bit into his palms, but the pain didn’t matter. It was nothing compared to the pain of knowing what he had done to her—what he had dragged her into.

But then, as his mind struggled to grasp the enormity of his mistakes, something shifted. No, he thought, Y/N hadn’t wanted this. She hadn’t wanted him to become this. She had tried to stop him. She had begged him to leave, to run. To get away from Jimin, from the Lost Boys, from the darkness that had taken root in him. She had been afraid. Afraid of what he might become. Of what would happen to him if he gave in to the hunger, to the transformation. She had known the risks. And yet, he had ignored her. He had kept going, driven by something inside him that he couldn’t explain.

And now, he was here—alone, a monster in the dark.

His anger twisted into something darker, something deeper, something colder. Jimin. Jimin was the one who had set all of this in motion. Jimin, with his manipulative ways, his whispers in Jungkook’s ear, his twisted game. Jimin had led him to this point. He had played with his mind, made him see things that weren’t real, made him do things he never would have done otherwise. And the others—the Lost Boys—they were complicit too. They had all pulled him deeper into their world of shadows and lies.

But Jimin was the one who had truly deceived him. The one who had shown him just enough of the power, just enough of the darkness, to make him think it was worth it. To make him think he needed it. The wine—what he had thought was just some trick, some ritualistic nonsense—had been more than that. It had been blood. Real blood. Y/N had told him. And he hadn’t believed her.

Jungkook’s head throbbed, his thoughts whirling with a storm of anger, guilt, and regret. Jimin had manipulated him. He had twisted his thoughts, his perceptions, until Jungkook didn’t even know what was real anymore. He had been a pawn, a fool, and now he was left in this cursed state—his skin hypersensitive, his eyes burning, his hunger never satisfied.

But what was he now? What was he supposed to do with all this guilt, all this rage, all this shame? The pull to Y/N was unbearable, but how could he face her? How could he explain the monstrosity he had become, when it had been his choice to follow down this path? And what about her? Y/N had been so uncomfortable, hadn’t she? So out of place in this world Jimin and the others had created. She had kept her distance, kept Moon away, as if trying to protect them from the chaos.

He had never stopped to consider her feelings. He had been too consumed by his own hunger, his own thirst, to notice. He had touched her, and she had shivered beneath his fingers, pulling away, clearly uncomfortable. But he hadn’t cared. He had been too absorbed in his own needs, in his own desires. And now, that thought churned in his stomach, eating at him like acid.

Y/N didn’t deserve any of this. She didn’t deserve him—not like this. She didn’t deserve to be dragged into the mess that he had made of his life. And yet, he had pulled her into it. He had turned his back on her, treated her as if she didn’t matter. She was gone now, and all he had left was the hollow echo of her absence, a memory that twisted in his gut and reminded him of how much he had ruined everything.

The darkness in the cave pressed down on him, and his thoughts spiraled further into the abyss. His exhaustion—physical and emotional—began to overwhelm him, making it harder and harder to focus. His vision blurred, his limbs felt heavy, and before he could even process the enormity of what he had done, sleep finally took him.

The moment Y/N first laid eyes on him, her heart skipped a beat, as though the world had briefly frozen around her. A quiet, secret smile tugged at her lips, one only she could understand, a reflection of something she couldn’t quite grasp. There was something about him that stirred an unfamiliar feeling deep inside her, a stir of curiosity and longing that she couldn’t explain. His black hair, messy and soft, framed his face in a way that made her ache to touch it. His deep, dark eyes—those eyes—seemed to look right through her, like he could see every thought she tried to keep hidden. It wasn’t just his looks that drew her in; it was the way he carried himself, the quiet confidence that radiated from him without effort. He was like a puzzle she desperately wanted to solve, a mystery that tugged at the very core of her. He stood there, just within her reach but somehow always out of it, and she couldn’t help but look, unable to stop herself. How had he gotten under her skin so easily, so quickly?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the smooth memory of his voice cutting through the boardwalk, gentle but firm. “What’s your name?” The question was simple, yet it made her pulse quicken in a way she couldn’t explain.

Y/N instinctively ran a hand through her hair, as though the gesture could steady her racing heartbeat. She tried to hide how much he affected her, how his presence made her feel like she was on the edge of something far beyond her control. “Y/N,” she said, her voice soft and almost a whisper. She couldn’t bring herself to say more, but the words spilled out anyway. “My mom used to call me Star, but that was a long time ago.”

His response was immediate, and it came with a grin that seemed to reveal some secret only he understood. “Your parents, too, huh?” The grin wasn’t teasing, but knowing—like he’d already figured something out about her that no one else had ever seen before.

She blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?” she asked, her brow furrowing in confusion. The warmth in his eyes sent an inexplicable chill through her. What does he know?

With a light laugh, he explained, his voice playful. “Ex-hippies. I came this close to being called ‘Moonbeam’ or ‘Moonchild.’”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and free. It was a laugh that slipped out before she could stop it, a sound that felt like a secret shared only between the two of them. For a moment, everything else faded into the background, leaving just the two of them, wrapped in an unspoken connection. The world around them, with all its noise and distractions, didn’t exist—only him, only her, caught in the warmth of this shared moment.

"I’m Jungkook," he said, his voice softer now, almost as if he was letting her in on something precious. She repeated his name, her heart racing as it rolled off her tongue, tasting it like a secret meant just for her.

“Jungkook,” she whispered, feeling a warmth rise in her chest. It felt so right, so natural, like the name had always belonged there, waiting for her to say it. “Jungkook’s great. I like Jungkook.”

Her smile was genuine, unforced, and the truth behind it felt deeper than words could express. She meant it, more than she could ever say. Unknowingly, in that moment, she realized how much of herself she had already given away, how much she was already falling without even understanding it. It was like an invisible thread had tied them together, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t pull away.

That moment marked the beginning, the moment that would change everything. She couldn’t imagine her life without him in it, not now, not ever. He had become something indispensable, something so deeply rooted in her heart that the thought of him not being there was almost unthinkable.

But as she lay awake in the dark, her thoughts tangled and torn, Y/N couldn’t shake the weight of guilt that pressed down on her chest. She watched him sleep, the rise and fall of his chest in the quiet of the night, his face peaceful, untouched by the turmoil inside her. The soft, rhythmic sound of his breathing only made her heart ache more. How did she end up here, so tangled up in him? Her eyes traced the lines of his face as he slept beside her, and she felt a sharp pang in her chest, a mixture of awe and overwhelming guilt.

I’ve ruined him, she thought bitterly, her mind spiraling. I’ve dragged him into this world. The thought consumed her. If it weren’t for her—if she had just kept her distance, if she hadn’t gotten so close—he wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t be caught in the chaos she carried with her.

She thought back to their conversation earlier, the way his eyes had softened when he spoke of his younger brother, his voice filled with warmth and affection. But that warmth had vanished the moment he spoke of his parents, of their broken marriage and the constant fighting that echoed through their home. Y/N had noticed the change, the way his face had tightened, the sadness that crept into his eyes. The same sadness that haunted him, that had been a part of him long before she came into the picture. She could see the weight he carried, the way it weighed on him, and it broke her to think that he was now carrying even more—because of her.

He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve me. The words echoed in her mind, and her heart clenched in response. But despite that, despite the guilt and the fear that had wrapped themselves around her like chains, there was something else, something deeper—something she didn’t understand. She looked at him, and every time their eyes met, there was an undeniable pull. She wanted to protect him, to make him feel safe, but that wasn’t all. She wanted him, needed him in a way that terrified her. In a way she couldn’t explain.

Her whole life, it had always been easier to keep people at a distance, to shield her heart and her emotions from anyone who might get too close. But with Jungkook, it was different. He was pulling her in, making her want things she had never allowed herself to desire. And now, as she lay beside him, she realized she was falling. Falling hard. And she couldn’t stop it.

What if I ruin him? The question whispered through her mind like a warning she couldn’t ignore. The thought of him becoming like her—of losing himself in the darkness she had come from—was unbearable.

She recalled that night—the night his eyes had glazed over with memories, when the pain of his parents' broken marriage had seeped into his voice. He had looked at her with that searching, vulnerable look, and in that moment, Y/N had known the truth: I can’t leave him. I can’t let him go. Her hand had reached out instinctively, finding his in the dark, and she had whispered words she wasn’t sure she believed. “It’s going to be okay.” But now, as she watched him sleep, she knew she had lied.

It’s not going to be okay. Not unless she could somehow protect him from the world she had pulled him into, a world that was dangerous and unknown. A world where love and light seemed so far away.

Y/N's mind drifted back to her childhood, to simpler times when everything felt light and full of possibility. She remembered the carefree sound of her younger self laughing with her brother, hiding in the bushes during a game of hide and seek, feeling the safety of her innocence. She remembered love that was pure and simple, the kind of love that only existed when you hadn’t yet been touched by the weight of the world.

But now? Now she was drowning in it. In him.

Her thoughts snapped back to the present, to the weight of what she had done, of how she had dragged Jungkook into her mess. Into the darkness. She had made him hers, but at what cost? She hated herself for letting him get so close, for allowing him into a life that wasn’t fit for someone like him. He deserved better. He deserved more.

But as she watched him sleep, her heart twisted with a mixture of love and guilt so intense she could hardly bear it. She didn’t know how to pull away, how to stop herself from falling further into something she knew could destroy them both. But deep down, she knew she didn’t want to stop. She couldn’t.

Because in loving him, she had already given up something precious—something important—and she feared it was too late to ever get it back.

Jungkook’s heart was full, brimming with an indescribable joy that settled deep within him like the warm embrace of a perfect moment. It wasn’t the kind of happiness that could be pinned down with words or measured by any single event—it was the kind that flowed through you quietly, a steady undercurrent that made everything feel just right. They rode together, side by side, on the motorcycle, the wind tugging playfully at their clothes, pulling them along at a pace that matched the rhythm of their hearts. The engine hummed beneath them, a deep vibration that resonated in their chests, and the steady beat of the tires on the road seemed to blend effortlessly with the soft, comforting melody of music that curled through the air like a protective cocoon, wrapping them in warmth and peace. Time, in that moment, felt like it had paused, or maybe it had slowed down just for them, allowing the world to fade away.

Her arms were wrapped around him, tightly and securely, her fingers pressing gently into the fabric of his jacket, as if anchoring herself to him, to this moment. He could feel the warmth of her body against his back, the soft rise and fall of her breath, each inhale and exhale in perfect synchrony with his own. Her presence was a comfort, an unspoken reassurance that he wasn’t alone. There was a quiet trust in the way she held him, a trust that went beyond the physical act of clinging to him—it was deeper, something more profound. She wasn’t holding on out of fear or necessity; no, she was holding on because she wanted to, because she was there with him, truly present in this moment, as they shared something unspoken and timeless. This wasn’t just a ride. It was them, existing together in this perfect, fragile space.

The night felt like a dream, half moonlight, half fantasy—an ethereal, almost otherworldly experience. Everything around them seemed to belong to them, as if the night itself had conspired to create a world that existed solely for them. The air was cool but comforting, filled with the scent of earth and sea, and the road beneath their tires seemed to wind and stretch out infinitely, like it was leading them toward something unknown, yet full of promise. Above them, the stars glowed faintly, scattered across the sky like forgotten wishes, and the moon cast a soft light on everything it touched. The night was alive with a magic that felt both fragile and eternal, as if the universe itself had paused just to witness them, to let them feel the weightless bliss of now.

It was the kind of moment that you wanted to freeze in time. A perfect symphony of feeling and time, played in the space between one heartbeat and the next. As Jungkook glanced at her, he couldn’t help but notice the soft curve of her face, illuminated by the pale light of the moon, the way it seemed to glow with a subtle radiance, as though she were more than just a part of this world—she was of this world, a creature of the night, of the stars, of the moment. He smiled to himself, the corners of his mouth pulling up in quiet satisfaction. He had never felt so content, so at peace with the world. The happiness he felt wasn’t just fleeting—it was deep, rooted in something timeless, something he could never quite explain. It was the kind of happiness that lived in the quiet rush of wind through his hair, in the steady hum of the motorcycle beneath him, in the feeling of her body pressed against his in perfect harmony. It was a happiness that didn’t demand anything from him—it simply was, and in its simple, unspoken nature, it was enough.

For a fleeting second, Jungkook thought that maybe, just maybe, this was what it meant to be truly happy. The world, with all its chaos and noise, had ceased to matter. In this moment, the road before them seemed endless, the future wide open, just waiting for them to take it. It felt as if they were standing on the precipice of something infinite, something beautiful and unbreakable, something that would never end. If only it could last forever, he thought.

But then—

The first light of dawn broke over the horizon, a soft, pale light creeping across the sky and painting it in hues of pink and gold, as if the world were being reborn with every passing second. The dreamlike haze that had settled over Jungkook began to dissipate, and with it, the stillness of the night seemed to vanish into the soft rush of morning. His eyes fluttered open, the cold morning air rushing in through the cave, ruffling his hair and stirring him from his sleep. His body was heavy, still weighed down by the remnants of slumber, but his mind was beginning to sharpen, becoming alert. The wind whispered through the cave, carrying with it the faintest rustling of wings in the distance, the murmur of voices that seemed to drift just beyond his reach, as if the air itself was alive, aware of something he couldn’t yet grasp.

He blinked, trying to shake off the grogginess that clung to him, his thoughts foggy, uncertain. As his gaze shifted to the side, his heart gave a sudden lurch as he saw Y/N lying beside him, still deeply asleep, her chest rising and falling in a slow, rhythmic pattern. She looked like she belonged in the night, her skin glowing softly in the dim light, as though she had somehow become part of it. She was peaceful, undisturbed by the awakening of the world around them, and for a moment, Jungkook found himself simply watching her, unable to tear his eyes away. The feeling of warmth and security that filled him was almost overwhelming. But it wasn’t enough to keep him tethered to the quiet joy of the night before.

He reached out, his fingers grazing her arm, his touch gentle as he tried to wake her from her dreams. “Y/N,” he whispered softly, the sound of her name delicate, fragile in the stillness of the cave. “I have to talk to you.”

But she didn’t stir. Her body remained still, her face serene in the depths of sleep. Her lips parted slightly, and a soft, sleep-filled murmur escaped her.

“I have to sleep,” she whispered, her words barely audible, like secrets only the morning could hear. “I have to sleep, Jungkook.”

A knot of frustration tightened in Jungkook’s chest. His brow furrowed in confusion. What was going on? There was something in the air, a strange sense of urgency that he couldn’t shake, something he couldn’t quite explain. Why did it feel like something was wrong? He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear, his voice now edged with urgency, desperation creeping in. “When?” he asked, his tone rising slightly. “When, Y/N?”

Her response came slowly, wrapped in the haze of sleep, her voice soft and distant. “Tonight. At the boardwalk...” she murmured, her words trailing off as if they were drifting into the ether.

And just like that, her voice faded into the silence, her breathing evening out again as she slipped back into the depths of untroubled sleep. Jungkook was left staring at her, his heart aching with a hollow feeling he couldn’t explain. Her absence in the wake of her words left him feeling as if something precious had slipped through his fingers. Something had shifted, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. What did she mean? What had she meant by tonight?

The silence around him grew heavier, pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t lift. He sat up, his legs unsteady, his mind racing as he struggled to piece together the meaning of her cryptic words. The cave was eerily quiet. Moon, her ever-present companion, was curled up in the corner, lost to the world, but the rest of the Lost Boys were nowhere to be found. The emptiness of the cave was suffocating.

He glanced around, searching for something, anything, that could help him make sense of this strange, unsettling feeling twisting in his gut. He stood up, his muscles aching from the lingering heaviness of sleep, and stepped outside into the cool morning air, the world outside waking up in the soft light of dawn. The sky was shedding its colors from the night’s darkness into the soft glow of day, and Jungkook’s motorcycle roared to life beneath him.

Without thinking, he sped off toward Min-chul’s house, his mind a blur, his thoughts swirling with confusion and doubt. The journey ahead of him was nothing more than a streak of motion, each mile further into uncertainty. The road before him seemed endless, the destination unknown, and the only thing he knew for certain was that he couldn’t shake the feeling that something—something crucial—was slipping away, just out of his reach.

When Jungkook arrived at Wanda’s house, the morning light was still soft, casting a warm glow over the front porch. Wanda was sitting there, alone, her legs tucked under her, her coffee mug in hand. The steam from the hot drink curled lazily into the crisp morning air, rising in tendrils that seemed to catch the light before dissipating into the cool breeze. The scene was peaceful, almost serene, yet the quiet surrounding her was broken by the tension that hung between them.

She looked up as he approached, her gaze softening when she recognized him. The muscles in his face tensed, his footsteps heavy, but he didn’t slow down as he neared her. Wanda offered a small, quiet greeting, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. It wasn’t the kind of smile she usually gave. There was something behind it, something she couldn’t quite hide.

"Hi," she said, her voice light but carrying a weight that made it feel like more than just a casual greeting. The way her words lingered in the air, hung between them, felt almost like a question, like she was asking if everything was still okay, if things were still the way they used to be.

Jungkook didn’t respond right away. He didn’t even look her in the eye as he walked past her, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him like a heavy cloak. His mind was swirling, tangled in a mess of confusion, and he wasn’t ready to face what lay ahead. Not yet. His gaze remained fixed ahead, and his pace didn’t falter as he walked toward the door of the house, trying to escape whatever it was that was clawing at him from within. He wasn’t ready to talk. Not today.

Wanda, however, wasn’t going to let him slip away that easily. Her voice broke through the silence, sharper now, her concern turning into something more urgent. "What’s the matter, Jungkook? Aren’t we friends anymore?" The question wasn’t just a casual inquiry—it was a crack in the wall she’d built around her own emotions. She had been watching him for days, seeing the way he carried himself with a weight too heavy for someone his age, the way he withdrew from conversations, from everyone, like he was afraid to let anyone in. Her heart clenched in her chest, a mix of worry and frustration. She didn’t know what was happening to him, but she knew something was wrong.

He stopped for a moment, his feet frozen on the porch, the space between them growing uncomfortable. His eyes flicked to the ground as he considered her question. There was a hesitation, a pause that lingered far too long, as if he was weighing the words in his mind. His shoulders were tense, and the hollow ache in his chest seemed to take root, spreading through him. "Sure," he muttered, but even to him, the word felt empty, a mere formality. It lacked conviction, and he could feel it. His heart clenched as soon as it left his lips, as if a part of him knew it wasn’t the truth.

Wanda didn’t let him off the hook that easily. Her brow furrowed, and she leaned forward slightly, her voice rising just enough to show the urgency in her words. "Does that mean we are, or we aren’t?" she pressed, trying to dig deeper, trying to reach him in a way that she knew only a friend could. There was a vulnerability in her voice now, a rawness that she didn’t normally allow to show. She wanted him to talk, to tell her what was wrong, because she knew—she knew—that he wasn’t just acting distant for no reason.

"We are..." Jungkook mumbled again, but this time, it felt like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else. His voice lacked the warmth it usually had when he said those words to her. There was no certainty there, no assurance that everything was okay. It felt fragile, as if the idea of friendship itself was something he was barely holding onto, slipping through his fingers like sand.

Wanda didn’t look convinced. She stood up, the concern in her eyes deepening, and she pressed him again. "Then let’s act like friends. Let’s talk." Her voice softened, but there was an edge of persistence in it, an unspoken plea that he wouldn’t walk away from her just yet. "I know this is a new place for you, and—"

Jungkook cut her off before she could finish, the frustration that had been building inside him finally breaking through. His jaw clenched as he rolled his eyes, the impatience surging in his chest like a storm ready to burst. "If there’s a girl, we could talk about her," Wanda said lightly, as if it were nothing more than a passing thought, but it was enough to tip him over the edge.

Without warning, the storm broke. His words were sharp, cutting through the calm like thunder. "I’m tired now," he snapped, his voice edged with something darker, something heavier than he could explain. The weight of everything—the dreams, Y/N, the chaos swirling inside him, the pressure of trying to make sense of it all—pressed down on his shoulders like a boulder he couldn’t move. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, like the world around him was too much.

Wanda didn’t let him go that easily, though. She wasn’t going to just let him retreat into silence. "Wait a minute, kiddo," she called after him, her voice gentle but firm. There was a softness in the way she spoke, a tenderness that came from years of caring for him, watching him grow up, seeing the good in him even when he couldn’t see it himself. But Jungkook didn’t stop. He didn’t even turn around.

"Mom... please," he muttered under his breath, barely audible, but it was enough to stop her in her tracks. The words hung between them, unfinished, like something left unsaid. The ache in his chest grew even deeper, but he kept walking, his steps heavy, his mind too clouded to process everything that was happening. The words he didn’t say, the things he was too afraid to confront, stayed with him, echoing in the space between them.

Wanda stood there for a moment, staring at his retreating form, her heart heavy with frustration and concern. Her hand instinctively tugged at her ear—an unconscious habit she had when she didn’t know what to do next, when she was unsure of how to handle a situation that felt too big to fix. She glanced at his earring, a symbol of his rebellion against the world, a part of him that she didn’t fully understand, but it was a part of him nonetheless. She wanted to ask him about it, to understand why he wore it, but now wasn’t the time. There was no room for that conversation now, no space to talk about the things that had been gnawing at her.

Her eyes lingered on the empty space between them, feeling the distance grow, knowing that there was something more, something unsaid, that neither of them was ready to confront. She didn’t know how to bridge that gap, how to reach him when he was so determined to shut her out. But somehow, she knew it was coming—the storm, the reckoning, the moment when everything would spill out and they would have to face it. She only hoped they could both handle it when it did.

Jung-Hyun sat at the kitchen table, absently pushing a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, his attention fully captured by the vampire comic in front of him. His brow furrowed as he flipped a page, the glossy paper catching the light filtering in through the window, the bright colors of the panels almost too vivid to be real. The comic was intense, filled with dramatic moments of gory action and dark, fantastical imagery. One vampire—a gaunt, pale figure with fangs bared—was being staked through the heart in a grotesque explosion of blood. The sound effects on the page felt almost deafening as the scene unfolded. Jung-Hyun couldn’t tear his eyes away, his mind absorbed in the story.

Across the kitchen, Min-chul stood by the counter, pouring himself a steaming cup of coffee. The liquid hissed as it splashed into the mug, sending up faint clouds of steam that mingled with the warm morning air. He glanced at his brother, taking a slow sip from his mug, letting the silence settle between them. It was the kind of silence only siblings could share—comfortable, familiar, and oddly content. No need for words. Just a quiet acknowledgment of each other’s presence. But that didn’t stop Min-chul from breaking the moment with his usual smirk.

"Looks like I wasn’t the only one who got lucky last night," he said, his voice dripping with amusement as he leaned back against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest.

Jung-Hyun didn’t even blink. His eyes flickered down to the page of the comic, where the vampire was bleeding out in a grotesque spray. His stomach churned, the image too graphic, too visceral. A cold wave of nausea hit him unexpectedly, and without a word, he pushed away from the table, his legs unsteady as he left the kitchen behind. The rhythmic beat of his pulse thundered in his ears as he tried to push the discomfort away.

Outside, the sharp light of the morning sun glinted off the sleek black Land Rover as it rolled to a stop in front of the house. Jung-Hyun leaned forward in the passenger seat, squinting up at the massive structure in front of them. The house loomed large and imposing, its dark windows reflecting the sunlight like an uninviting fortress. He nudged the window down a fraction, letting the cool breeze brush against his face as he looked out. "That it?" he asked, his tone skeptical, as if expecting something more.

Wanda glanced at him for a moment before checking a crumpled piece of paper in her hand. "Yeah. Not bad, huh?" she said, a hint of pride in her voice, as though the house somehow measured up to her expectations. She reached down and grabbed a wine bottle with a note taped to the neck, holding it out in front of her. "An apology for running out on Hoseok last night…" Her voice shifted toward teasing as she shot a quick glance toward her son. "Actually, you should be making this apology."

Jung-Hyun snorted but didn’t argue. He could feel the tension of the morning pressing down on him, a quiet unease he couldn’t shake. Wanda swung open the car door, her boots clicking against the pavement as she stepped out with a purposeful stride. She didn’t waste any time, heading directly toward the main gate. She gave it a quick push, but the metal bars didn’t budge. Locked.

"I’ll leave it on the porch," she muttered under her breath, scanning the area to make sure no one was watching. "Otherwise, someone’s just gonna take it." Without another word, she climbed over a low section of the fence with surprising grace, her movements fluid and practiced. She landed lightly on the other side, barely making a sound.

Jung-Hyun leaned back in the seat, watching his mother with a mix of admiration and disbelief. She was still as capable as ever, but something about this situation felt off—too quiet, too still. His unease only grew as Wanda made her way toward the front porch, her focus fixed on the task ahead.

As she approached the front porch, Wanda’s eyes scanned the yard, noting the absence of people. The house was unnervingly quiet. Too quiet. The only movement came from Mickey, Hoseok’s massive black-furred dog, who was sprawled lazily on the ground in the sun. His heavy breathing was the only sound that broke the stillness as his chest rose and fell in slow, steady rhythm.

Wanda slowed her pace, her gaze softening as she looked at Mickey, who appeared to be napping peacefully. She didn’t want to disturb him, but she couldn’t leave the bottle on the porch for too long. "Hi, Mickey," she murmured as she stepped carefully toward the door, trying not to make too much noise. The dog’s eyes were closed, his body relaxed, but Wanda was cautious—always cautious around the large dog.

But then, in a blink, everything changed.

Mickey’s eyes snapped open, his pupils narrowing with a sudden, sharp intensity. In one fluid motion, the dog surged to his feet, a low growl rumbling from deep in his chest. Wanda froze, her heart skipping a beat. Before she could react, Mickey was already in motion—a blur of black fur and muscle. The sound of his teeth snapping shut echoed through the yard as he lunged forward, faster than Wanda could process.

The snarl that left Mickey’s throat was primal, a warning that didn’t need any translation. Wanda’s breath caught in her throat as she realized the dog wasn’t playing—it was attacking. For just a split second, time seemed to slow down as she stood frozen, unsure of what to do.

And then, her survival instinct kicked in.

"Mom!!" Jung-Hyun’s voice rang out from behind her, breaking through the chaos. The panic in his tone made her heart race. She didn’t look back. Her only thought was to get over the fence—get away from the dog.

With a surge of adrenaline, Wanda bolted, her feet pounding against the ground as she made a beeline for the fence. The wine bottle slipped from her grasp, crashing against the pavement with a sharp, shattering sound. The glass scattered in all directions, but there was no time to think about it. Mickey was close—too close—and the sound of his furious barking seemed to shake the air itself.

Wanda reached the fence just as Mickey collided with it, his massive frame slamming into the metal bars. The fence groaned under the force, the impact reverberating through the ground beneath her feet. Wanda’s foot slipped as she scrambled to climb over the low section of the fence, her hands struggling to find purchase.

In the next instant, she was on the other side, her body hitting the sidewalk with a painful thud. She winced as her knees scraped against the rough pavement, blood welling up from the scrapes, but the pain barely registered. The only thing that mattered was getting away.

Jung-Hyun was already there, rushing toward her with wide eyes. His face was pale, his breath coming in frantic bursts. "You okay, Mom?" His voice cracked with worry, his hands hovering over her as if he wasn’t sure how to help.

"I’m okay," Wanda panted, her heart still racing as she tried to steady herself. She forced a smile, though it was weak and strained. "I’m okay."

Behind them, Mickey continued to pace back and forth along the fence, his eyes glowing with aggression. His bark was relentless, rattling the frame of the gate, and his teeth gleamed in the sunlight, his body vibrating with frustration. Wanda couldn’t help but feel the weight of his gaze, knowing that the dog’s fury hadn’t yet subsided.

Jung-Hyun stayed close to his mother, his hand gently resting on her shoulder. But there was no comfort in the moment. Only the sound of Mickey’s barking filling the space between them, and the realization that something wasn’t right with the world around them.

The Pacific breeze tugged at their clothes, its cool touch mingling with the warmth of the morning sun as Jung-Hyun and the Kim brothers made their way down the boardwalk. The salty scent of the sea curled around them, carrying the rhythm of the waves crashing on the shore. The sun shone brightly, casting a golden glow over the beach, but the group of three barely noticed the peaceful scene around them. Their minds were focused elsewhere, their thoughts a tangled mess of suspicion and fear.

Jung-Hyun’s stomach churned as they walked. The weight of the situation—the strange, unexplainable events that had been happening recently—pressed down on him, and he couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that something was terribly wrong. His thoughts kept drifting to his brother, the subtle changes that had begun to appear, and the eerie presence of the man who had been visiting his mom. The Pacific breeze barely registered as his mind reeled, his footsteps feeling too heavy for the carefree environment.

Namjoon, ever the stoic one, adjusted his glasses and glanced over at Jung-Hyun. "We’ve been aware of some very serious vampire activity in this town for a long time," he said in a low, measured tone, as though he were sharing a piece of classified information. His voice was steady, but there was an undertone of urgency that Jung-Hyun couldn’t ignore.

Seokjin nodded solemnly, his usual easygoing demeanor momentarily absent. "Santa Carla’s basically a haven for the undead," he said, his voice carrying a mix of disbelief and resignation. "Vampires, ghouls, werewolves—it’s like a supernatural melting pot around here."

Namjoon’s voice dropped even lower, a hint of conspiracy in his words. "As a matter of fact, we’re almost certain ghouls and werewolves occupy high positions at City Hall. They’ve infiltrated the system, making it easier for their kind to thrive under the radar."

Jung-Hyun glanced between them, his mind racing. The brothers were calm, collected, like this was all routine to them. But to him, everything felt like it was spiraling out of control. The connection between his brother’s strange behavior and his mom’s new boyfriend—who, Jung-Hyun was starting to suspect, wasn’t exactly human—had hit him like a freight train. He had to share this with them.

They plopped down on the wooden steps overlooking the beach, the worn wood creaking beneath them. Sunbathers stretched lazily across the sand, but Jung-Hyun barely noticed them. His mind was consumed with the weight of his next words, the confession that had been eating away at him for days.

"I have something to tell you guys," he said, his voice uncertain. He hesitated for a moment, chewing nervously on his lip. The words seemed impossible to say out loud. But he knew he had to. "Not only is my own brother showing signs of being a vampire…" He trailed off, trying to steady his breath. "But now I’m convinced my mom’s dating one."

Namjoon didn’t even blink. He didn’t need to. His eyes remained fixed on Jung-Hyun, calculating, taking in the gravity of what was being said. "That’s very probable," he said, his tone devoid of judgment or surprise. "What’s your reasoning?"

Jung-Hyun shifted uncomfortably, his fingers tapping nervously against his knee as he tried to find the right words. "Well…" He struggled for a moment, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of events. "He only shows up after dark, and whenever he’s around, there’s something… off. And today—" He swallowed hard, the image of the dog’s attack still vivid in his mind. "Today, his dog tried to rip my mom apart."

Seokjin’s eyes widened, his expression changing from casual to alarmed. "Wait—what?" He leaned forward, listening intently.

Jung-Hyun yanked a crumpled comic book from his back pocket and flipped it open, pulling it from the dog-eared page. "Listen to this," he said, his voice low. "From Vampires Everywhere…"

He cleared his throat and began to read aloud, his voice steady but heavy with disbelief. "'Vampires require a daytime protector—a Guardian—to watch over them as they sleep. Since they hold sway over animals, fierce dogs—the hounds of Hell—are often employed for this purpose.'"

The words hung in the air like a dark omen. Seokjin’s jaw dropped as the realization hit him. "Holy crap," he muttered, his eyes wide with shock.

Namjoon smirked, a hint of pride flickering in his gaze. "I told you that comic would save your life," he said, his voice tinged with smug satisfaction.

Jung-Hyun almost laughed in relief, but before he could, a shadow fell across the page. His stomach dropped.

Greg and the Swell Brigade.

The worst kind of trouble.

Before Jung-Hyun could react, Greg snatched the comic from his hands, his large frame looming over them with a predatory grin. In a flash, the pages were ripped and torn, fluttering to the ground like confetti in the wind.

"Oops," Greg said, his grin razor-sharp and mocking. "Guess you’re not getting that back."

The Swell Brigade cackled as they walked off, kicking up sand as they went, their laughter carrying across the beach like a taunt.

Namjoon shook his head, the corners of his mouth twitching in frustration. "I wish they were vampires so I could nuke them in their hearts," he muttered under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides.

Jung-Hyun shot him a sideways glance, a small spark of defiance in his voice. "How do you know they’re not?"

Seokjin, ever the practical one, chimed in with a dismissive shrug. "They wouldn’t be out in the daytime," he pointed out. "Vampires can’t risk the sun, remember?"

Jung-Hyun narrowed his eyes at Seokjin. "Exactly how many vampires have you actually destroyed?" he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

Namjoon hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the question. "All together?" he asked, as though trying to calculate. "None," he admitted, sounding a bit sheepish.

Seokjin held up a hand, forming a small circle with his thumb and forefinger. "Zero," he said, his tone deadpan as he glanced at Jung-Hyun, who stared at them both, incredulous.

Jung-Hyun shook his head, still processing the conversation. "Seriously?" he asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and frustration. "You guys have been dealing with this stuff for how long and you haven’t even destroyed one vampire?"

Namjoon squared his shoulders, his expression turning serious. "Hey, just because a Marine hasn’t seen combat doesn’t mean he still isn’t a Marine," he said, standing up and brushing off his jeans with a determined air. "Let’s check out your mom’s boyfriend. Maybe we’ll learn something."

Jung-Hyun stood, following them, but the unease in his gut only deepened. The fear that had been gnawing at him for days was turning into something darker, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. The feeling of being watched—of being surrounded by shadows—was growing stronger, and his instincts screamed that something bad was coming.

His stomach churned, and despite the resolve of his friends, he knew it wouldn’t be easy to uncover the truth. If no one else was going to figure it out, then he would. Something was off, and Jung-Hyun wasn’t about to sit idly by and let it unfold without understanding what was really going on. He wasn’t just going to let his family get caught up in whatever this was.

Jungkook stood in front of the mirror, his fingers working the zipper of his jacket with practiced ease. The fabric was dark, a deep shade of black that seemed to swallow light, its worn edges adding character to the sleek silhouette. The collar was sharp, crisply folded, and it sat just right, framing his face in a way that made his sharp jawline stand out even more. His hair, tousled in that perfect, rebellious way, fell across his forehead in a messy sweep, casting shadows over his eyes. It wasn’t intentional—just a natural result of his disinterest in meticulous grooming—but the more he looked at himself, the more he realized it was happening. He was starting to resemble them. The Lost Boys. The ones who had a wild, untamed air about them, the ones who lived outside the boundaries of convention. Jungkook felt a strange tug in his chest as he inspected the image in the mirror, his reflection becoming a stranger to him.

Downstairs, the kitchen was alive with the sounds of simmering sauce and the warmth of home. Wanda, standing over the stove, stirred a pot of what smelled like something incredible—garlic, tomatoes, and a hint of herbs floating in the air. The rich scent filled the entire house, weaving its way through the rooms. Min-chul, standing behind her with his arms crossed, leaned in closer to inhale the fragrance.

“Smells good,” he said, his voice thick with appreciation as he lifted the lid to peek inside. “When do we eat?”

Wanda, without missing a beat, glanced over her shoulder at him. “I told Hoseok eight o’clock.”

Min-chul’s eyebrows furrowed at the mention of the name. “Hoseok? You mean we’re having company again?”

Wanda turned fully, spoon in hand, her expression softening slightly at the question. “‘Again’? Dad, you haven’t had company in this house since Mom died eight years ago.”

Min-chul gave a grunt of dismissal, crossing his arms. “Right. And now we’re having company again. I’ll take mine to go.”

Before Wanda could muster a response, Jungkook appeared in the doorway. His jacket was half-zipped, and his expression was a mix of determination and detachment, the look of someone heading out to escape the mundane.

“Hoseok is coming for dinner,” Wanda said carefully, her eyes studying him, as if weighing his mood. “I’d like you to meet him.”

Jungkook didn’t slow down. His steps barely faltered as he moved toward the door, his voice drifting back to her, casual and dismissive. “Can’t. Got plans.”

“There’s only three weeks left of summer,” Wanda said, her tone shifting into something softer, more coaxing. “Things are going to change around here when school starts.”

Jungkook didn’t seem to hear her. His hand was already on the door, and in one swift motion, he yanked it open—only to stop dead in his tracks, his chest colliding with the doorframe as he nearly walked straight into someone.

Hoseok stood on the other side of the threshold, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. One hand was raised halfway, like he’d just been about to knock. His warm gaze met Jungkook’s, and for a split second, Jungkook felt something shift in the air—a tension he couldn’t place. “Hey. How ya doin’? Jungkook, right?”

Jungkook blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah. Hoseok… right?” His voice was a little flat, his usual confidence tempered by the strange situation. The air between them felt thick with something unspoken, an odd mix of familiarity and distance.

An awkward beat stretched between them, neither of them moving forward. Hoseok’s half-smile lingered, like he was waiting for something—some kind of invitation, some form of acknowledgment that was just beyond reach. Jungkook frowned, unsure of what to make of it.

“You’re the man of the house, Jungkook,” Hoseok said after a long pause, his voice deliberately casual. “I’m not coming in unless you invite me.”

Jungkook stared at him for a moment, the words not quite registering at first. That was… weird. A little too formal for his taste. But whatever. He shrugged it off, unwilling to entertain the oddness of the situation any longer. “Come in, come in. I’m inviting you.”

Hoseok stepped inside with a slight nod, but Jungkook didn’t stick around. He made no effort to extend the greeting further, simply pushing past him and stepping out onto the porch. The evening air hit him in a rush, the cool breeze brushing against his skin as he made his way to the bike resting against the porch railing.

“See ya,” Jungkook called back over his shoulder without looking.

As he hopped onto the bike and pushed off the ground, the familiar hum of the tires on pavement settled beneath him. He glanced back toward the front of the house, his eyes briefly catching on Hoseok’s sleek black sports car parked out front. The vehicle gleamed under the fading sunlight—black and chrome, looking like something out of a movie. It was undeniably cool. Even Jungkook had to admit that. There was a sharpness to it, a certain kind of dangerous appeal.

But still, he couldn’t shake the unease that had been settling into his chest all afternoon. Hoseok—his mom’s new boyfriend—was different. There was something about him that didn’t quite fit. Something about the way he carried himself, how calm and composed he seemed, even in moments when a more human reaction would be expected. Jungkook’s instincts, usually sharp, were telling him to be cautious, but he pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the road ahead.

Whatever this was, he would figure it out. He always did.

But tonight—tonight, he had to be somewhere else. Somewhere where he didn’t have to think about his mom’s boyfriend, or the strange shift in his own reflection, or the way things were starting to feel like they were slipping out of his control. He had plans.

Inside, Wanda nearly jumped out of her skin when Hoseok appeared in the kitchen doorway, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Hello,” he said, his voice smooth, effortlessly charming.

Wanda spun around, her hand flying to her chest, her breath hitching in surprise. “God, you scared me,” she admitted, letting out a nervous laugh as she placed the spoon she had been stirring back into the pot.

Hoseok chuckled softly, watching Wanda carefully as she placed a fresh loaf of bread onto the table, its warm, crusty exterior tempting anyone nearby. “Is it okay for the guest to see the food before dinner?” he asked, a playful glint in his eye as he leaned against the doorframe, clearly at ease.

Wanda glanced over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow at him. “You’re thinking of the groom not seeing the bride before the wedding,” she replied, smirking as she worked.

Hoseok’s smile widened, his eyes glimmering with humor. “Oh, right. I always get those two confused,” he joked, stepping further into the kitchen with a mock sheepishness that was endearing, even though Wanda couldn’t help but wonder if it was all just a bit too rehearsed.

He followed her into the dining room, where everything was set with careful precision—the fork handles gleaming, napkins folded neatly, and the dimming light from the evening sun casting a golden glow over the scene. Wanda placed the loaf of bread gently on the table, and for a moment, the two of them just stood there, sharing a quiet moment. Then, suddenly, Hoseok stepped closer, his breath warm against her neck. His arms slipped around her waist with a natural ease, pulling her into him. She could feel his lips brushing against her skin, his touch light but intimate.

For a heartbeat, Wanda felt herself soften, a smile tugging at her lips, until—

“Mom…”

The voice rang through the room, cutting the moment short. Both Wanda and Hoseok froze, looking toward the doorway. Jung-Hyun stood there, flanked by two younger men—both tall, both silent, their expressions unreadable.

“These are my dinner guests,” Jung-Hyun continued, his tone far too casual for the tension in the room. “Namjoon and Seokjin. The Kim brothers.”

Wanda blinked, thrown off by the unexpected arrival of both her son and his companions. She quickly glanced between Jung-Hyun and the two men, who were already sizing up Hoseok. Their eyes never left him, measuring, calculating, but saying nothing. Their scrutiny was palpable.

“Well,” Jung-Hyun quipped, his voice dripping with a teasing tone, “if we’re in your way, we can just eat peanut butter out of the jar in the kitchen.”

“No, no… there’s plenty for everybody,” Wanda insisted, flustered by the intrusion. She waved her hand in an attempt to recover, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. “Oh, Hoseok, this is Jung-Hyun… and the Kim brothers…”

She eyed the trio carefully as they walked into the room, her confusion evident. She hadn’t expected company, especially not in the middle of everything, and certainly not with a strange tension hanging in the air. But the Kims and Jung-Hyun weren’t paying attention to her or her attempts to introduce them; all their focus was on Hoseok, like the rest of the world had faded into the background. Wanda stood there, still trying to grasp the situation, but it was as though something else was unfolding right under her nose.

Dinner started off awkwardly. The only sounds that punctuated the silence were the occasional clink of silverware and the faint scrape of plates being shifted. Namjoon and Seokjin didn’t seem to care much about their food, their attention entirely fixed on Hoseok. They watched his every move, silent but clearly taking stock of him with a kind of cold, calculating intensity. Wanda, thankfully, was busy serving spaghetti, her focus on the task at hand, which allowed her to ignore the strange atmosphere hanging thick in the air.

“This looks terrific, Wanda,” Hoseok said after a long, heavy silence, picking up his fork and flashing her a warm smile.

Wanda, still distracted by the flurry of serving, muttered without looking up. “Boy, somebody around here sure has bad breath!”

The room fell immediately silent as everyone turned their gaze toward Hoseok, who sat frozen, fork halfway to his mouth, wondering if he was the one being referenced. His confusion was palpable, but Wanda wasn’t talking about him. She glanced under the table, where the large dog, Bam, had been breathing a little too close for comfort, his heavy panting filling the space between them.

“Bam, stop breathin' on me,” Wanda snapped, shaking her head as she glanced down at the dog, who lazily raised his head in response to her irritation. Jung-Hyun, seizing the moment, immediately called the dog over to him, and the focus shifted from Hoseok to the slightly problematic canine.

The Kims exchanged looks of quiet disappointment, clearly hoping for something more interesting, more dramatic to unfold. But the attention stayed on Hoseok, who now appeared somewhat uncomfortable as he stared at the large plate of spaghetti in front of him, unsure what to make of the situation.

“Need some Parmesan on that?” Jung-Hyun asked, leaning in with a subtle grin that barely hid his amusement. It was almost as if he enjoyed watching Hoseok squirm, though he did his best to remain nonchalant.

Hoseok nodded, reaching for the cheese. “Okay, Jung-Hyun. Thanks.”

As he sprinkled the Parmesan, Namjoon and Seokjin exchanged another quiet, meaningful glance, but Hoseok didn’t seem to notice. He was too preoccupied with taking his first bite of the spaghetti. But as the bite hit his tongue, his expression immediately shifted. His face contorted, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“It’s garlic!” Hoseok sputtered, holding his fork out as if it might bite him. “I like garlic, but… this is too much!” His eyes were wide, his reaction completely over the top, though it wasn’t entirely clear whether he was serious or just playing it up.

Wanda’s eyes widened in concern. “Hoseok! What’s wrong?” she asked, genuinely startled by his reaction.

Jung-Hyun, almost too casually, grinned. “Quick—drink some water!” he called out, his voice holding a mocking edge.

Before Hoseok could even react, Jung-Hyun leaned in and spilled an entire glass of water right into Hoseok’s lap. The water splashed loudly, soaking into his clothes, and Hoseok immediately jumped to his feet, flailing in a desperate attempt to mop up the spill with his napkin.

“Hey! Easy!” Hoseok protested, his face flushed with both surprise and frustration. “What the hell?”

Jung-Hyun grinned wider, clearly amused by the whole spectacle, leaning in as if it were all some kind of inside joke. “Does it burn?”

“Burn?” Hoseok shot back, incredulous. “Are you kidding? It’s freezing!”

Wanda stood up instantly, horrified by the sudden chaos. “Hoseok, I’m so sorry,” she said, rushing to his side, her voice filled with panic as she tried to help him clean up.

Before anything else could happen, Namjoon, his expression one of disdain, leaned back in his chair, clearly above it all. Without so much as a glance at anyone else, he casually reached over and flicked the light switch. The room fell into sudden darkness, the only sound the shuffling of feet and the scrape of chairs as everyone fumbled in the unfamiliar blackness.

The room was eerily silent. Wanda stood frozen in the dark, her hand still half-raised as if she were reaching for the light switch, her voice barely a whisper. “Oh, no. Now what?”

Jung-Hyun, seemingly unfazed, didn’t even blink as he spoke. “Must be a circuit breaker,” he said, his calm voice cutting through the tension as though he were merely stating a fact.

In the dark, the sounds of shuffling feet, bumping into one another, and the occasional crash of furniture moving around were the only things that punctuated the stillness. It was almost as if they were all trying to act like everything was normal.

Namjoon’s voice broke through the dark, barely more than a whisper. “He’s not glowing.”

Jung-Hyun’s response was almost immediate. “Hit the lights again.”

The switch flicked, and the lights blared back to life. But it wasn’t the brightness that shocked everyone. It was the sight of Jung-Hyun, standing there with a small mirror held up, its reflective surface directed straight at Hoseok. The mirror glinted in the light, reflecting Hoseok’s startled face back at him.

Hoseok’s reaction was immediate—he jolted back in shock, his face flushing in embarrassment at the sight of his own reflection. “Ah!” he let out, his voice sharp and panicked, as if he’d been burned by the sight itself. He backed away from the mirror like it might bite him.

The Kims exchanged looks of quiet annoyance, clearly unimpressed by the result, and not at all interested in the bizarre spectacle unfolding before them. Jung-Hyun leaned in, still holding the mirror in front of Hoseok, his eyes sharp and focused as he watched Hoseok's every move. The irritation in his gaze was undeniable.

Wanda, her cheeks flushed with a mix of confusion and frustration, shot to her feet, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Jung-Hyun! What’s gotten into you tonight?!” she exclaimed, her voice rising with a mixture of anger and disbelief. Her hands, trembling slightly, were planted firmly on her hips, a clear sign of how thrown off she was by the sudden tension in the room.

The atmosphere in the dining room felt electric, charged with the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. Hoseok, who had been standing with his back to the table, finally allowed a slow, controlled exhale to escape his lips. His body was rigid, the muscles in his shoulders stiffened with the weight of the situation. He turned his head slightly toward Wanda, offering a look of quiet understanding before his gaze shifted to Jung-Hyun, who was still standing at the center of the room, his face unreadable.

“I think I know what’s going on here,” Hoseok finally said, his voice steady, though there was a strained edge to it. He wasn’t yelling or panicking, but there was no mistaking that the words were hard for him to say.

Jung-Hyun’s brows furrowed at the comment, and he glanced at Hoseok with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. “You do?” he asked, his tone laced with uncertainty. It wasn’t clear if he was trying to figure out Hoseok’s thoughts, or if he was challenging him outright.

Hoseok nodded slowly, his expression unwavering, but his gaze was intense, locking eyes with Jung-Hyun. “Sure. I understand what you’re thinking, Jung-Hyun. But you’re wrong,” he said calmly, though there was a quiet firmness behind his words, as if he was trying to reassure both of them, even if only for a moment.

Jung-Hyun tilted his head slightly, his expression shifting into one of quiet disbelief. “I am?” The challenge was there, but it wasn’t as biting as before, almost as if he was waiting for Hoseok to clarify.

Hoseok’s lips twitched into a half-smile, though it was small and uncertain, like he wasn’t quite sure how to navigate this conversation. “Yeah,” he said, his voice softening. “I’m not trying to replace your dad, or steal your mom,” he added, his words almost a whisper, but they carried a weight that seemed to settle in the room. “I just want to be your friend.”

Jung-Hyun’s eyes softened almost imperceptibly, a flicker of something that could have been shame crossing his face. His shoulders seemed to drop a fraction of an inch, but it was a fleeting moment. He wasn’t ready to back down entirely, but for a brief second, there was a change in him. It was as if Hoseok’s words had cracked through the wall Jung-Hyun had built up.

The Kims, however, were entirely still. Their faces remained impassive, unreadable. They didn’t react to the moment of vulnerability between Hoseok and Jung-Hyun, their attention fixed somewhere else, as though this was a sideshow to whatever they were focused on.

Wanda, feeling the weight of the moment, crossed the room with a soft exhale, her steps slow, purposeful. She reached out to Hoseok, her voice low with regret as she spoke. “I’m really sorry, Hoseok,” she said, her words thick with an emotion Hoseok couldn’t quite name. She stopped just a few feet away from him, her hand brushing against the edge of his arm in a gentle, almost hesitant gesture.

Hoseok turned toward her, letting out a quiet, resigned sigh. “Our batting average isn’t very good, is it? So far, we’re zero for two,” he said with a small, rueful smile, but there was a tiredness in his voice that hadn’t been there before. His attempt at humor didn’t quite reach his eyes, and Wanda could see the weariness there—of both the situation and the attempts to connect that had so far fallen short.

Wanda pressed her lips together tightly, her eyes flicking down to the floor in a moment of quiet reflection. “I don’t understand Jung-Hyun,” she confessed, her voice tinged with hurt. She looked up at Hoseok, her gaze searching his, like she was looking for answers he didn’t have. “He’s just not like this...”

Hoseok leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, his posture relaxed but still tinged with an underlying tension. He studied her for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “Boys Jung-Hyun’s age need a good deal of discipline,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact. “Or they walk all over you,” he added, the statement so blunt that it seemed to hang in the air for a moment, waiting for a reaction.

Wanda immediately bristled, her chin lifting slightly, the defensiveness creeping into her tone. “He doesn’t walk all over me,” she countered quickly, her words sharp, as if she was trying to defend herself, to protect the bond she shared with her son.

Hoseok softened his expression, his eyes gentle as he met hers. “I don’t want to fight with you, Wanda,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper, like he was trying to ease the rising tension. He sighed, running a hand through his hair in a familiar, almost defeated motion. “Come on,” he continued, his words a quiet plea, “Let’s give it one more try.”

The silence between them stretched for a moment before Hoseok’s lips quirked into a teasing smile. “Dinner at my house tomorrow night,” he added, the playful tone returning to his voice as he tried to lighten the mood. “I’m cooking.” The promise of something different, something to look forward to, was a welcome change in the midst of the strained atmosphere.

Wanda hesitated for a long moment, her eyes still searching his, as if she were weighing whether this was the right thing to do, or whether the friction between them would follow them there too. The tension between them had been palpable, but Hoseok’s invitation seemed to soften something in her. Finally, she nodded slowly, her shoulders relaxing just a fraction, as if the burden of the evening had lightened, if only a little.

With a quiet exhale, Wanda nodded, the tension in her frame easing just enough. “Alright,” she said, her voice a little softer than before. “One more try.”

Jungkook’s heart pounded in his chest as he made his way down the boardwalk, his steps quick and uneven as he searched desperately for Y/N. His eyes flicked to the flickering lights ahead, the dim illumination barely cutting through the thickening darkness. The sounds of the night—the distant crash of the waves, the rustling of leaves in the wind—did nothing to calm the storm brewing in his mind. He hadn’t meant for this to happen, hadn’t meant for things to spiral so far out of control. The tightness in his chest was suffocating as the images of Y/N’s face, her eyes filled with confusion and fear, flooded his mind.

But then, he saw them—the figures ahead—shadows flickering against the fading light. The familiar silhouettes of the Lost Boys. His frantic search for Y/N was momentarily forgotten as his eyes locked onto the group. His stomach twisted, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw Jimin. Standing off to the side, his back to Jungkook, Jimin looked like he didn’t have a care in the world, completely oblivious to his presence.

Jungkook didn’t stop to think. His body moved on its own accord, every step driven by the anxiety and anger that surged through him. Without a moment’s hesitation, he crossed the distance between them in three long strides. His hands, trembling with a mixture of adrenaline and fear, gripped Jimin’s shoulders. He spun him around so quickly that it startled even him, the force of it enough to make Jimin stumble. "Where is she?!" Jungkook’s voice was rough, demanding, the words barely more than a growl. His chest heaved with the urgency of his question, his body radiating with the need for an answer.

Jimin’s eyes widened in surprise, but his expression remained annoyingly calm, even detached. His lips curled into a knowing, almost lazy smile, but his eyes were too sharp, too aware of the situation. "Hey, take it easy," he said, his voice smooth, too smooth for Jungkook’s liking. There was an edge to his tone, like he was relishing this moment of control.

"Where’s Y/N, Jimin?!" Jungkook’s voice rose again, the demand more forceful this time, his hands tightening on Jimin’s shoulders.

Jimin didn’t flinch, not even slightly. His gaze flickered to the others, but he didn’t look away from Jungkook. Instead, he held his ground, his eyes darkening with an almost unreadable intensity. "If you ever want to see Y/N again," Jimin said, his voice low, but carrying a weight that sent a shiver down Jungkook’s spine, "then you better come with us."

Before Jungkook could protest or ask more questions, Jimin swung his leg over his bike, the engine rumbling to life with a low growl, cutting through the stillness of the night. Without waiting for Jungkook to respond, Jimin gave him one last look, his gaze almost daring Jungkook to argue. But Jungkook didn’t know what else to do. Fear twisted in his stomach, but he followed, the dread in his gut growing with every step. Reluctantly at first, then with an increasing sense of helplessness, he mounted his own bike, the engine sputtering to life beneath him.

The ride was a blur of wind and noise, but it couldn’t drown out the chaotic thoughts swirling in his mind. The night stretched on like an endless road, each turn taking him further into the unknown. The moon hung high above, casting pale shadows over the path ahead, but they rode in near silence, the only sound the hum of their engines and the rush of air against his face. His thoughts were consumed by fear, his chest tight with a mounting sense of unease. The trees closed in as they veered off the main road, the forest swallowing them whole as they entered the woods.

They parked their bikes in the shadows of the towering trees, the once-familiar world outside now nothing more than a distant echo. The air was thick with the smell of earth and pine, and the eerie silence of the woods made everything feel amplified. Every sound—the soft crunch of their boots on the dirt, the rustle of leaves—felt loud, unnatural in the stillness.

The Lost Boys dismounted with practiced ease, their movements fluid, almost predatory. They were like shadows in the moonlight, their faces barely visible as they made their way toward the dense woods. Jimin paused, just a step behind, his eyes never leaving Jungkook as he studied him with an almost calculating gaze. The weight of Jimin’s stare pressed heavily against Jungkook’s chest, and he could feel the tension in the air, thickening with every passing moment.

Jungkook’s throat was dry as he swallowed hard. "What is this, Jimin?" His voice was barely a whisper, his fear rising like a tidal wave. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, threatening to break free.

Jimin raised an eyebrow at the question, his lips quirking into a small, mocking smile. His tone was laced with something darker, something more sinister. "You’re one of us now, aren’t you?" His voice was thick with a promise, something dangerous, something that made Jungkook’s skin crawl.

Jungkook hesitated, his feet rooted to the ground, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts. He wanted to turn around, to run, to find Y/N and take her far away from this place. But Jimin’s words held him in place, locking him in a prison of fear. "You’ll never see Y/N again if you’re not," Jimin added, the finality of his words crashing over Jungkook like a wave, drowning him in the suffocating weight of their truth.

There was no turning back now. Jungkook knew that, felt it in the pit of his stomach. His only choice was to climb, to follow. And so, with a last glance at the ground beneath him, he began the slow, reluctant ascent. His body trembled with each movement, his muscles aching as he forced himself higher, toward the looming silhouette of the trees. The familiar sound of Jimin’s footsteps behind him was a constant presence, a reminder that he wasn’t alone, that there was no escape.

When he finally reached the top, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. What he saw made his blood run cold. Below him, Greg and the Swell Brigade were gathered around a fire, their laughter ringing out into the night, too carefree, too oblivious to the dark presence looming above them. The smell of beer mixed with something sharper, something heavier, and Jungkook felt his stomach lurch in response.

The Lost Boys—silent, watching, waiting—were like predators in the shadows. Their eyes gleamed in the dim light, their forms just barely distinguishable against the blackness of the night. They were predators, and the Swell Brigade were the prey.

Then, the chaos erupted. It happened so fast, so violently, that Jungkook barely had time to process what was happening. There was the sudden rush of movement, the crash of bodies colliding, and the air seemed to ripple with the noise of struggle. But none of it made sense. It was all just flashes—shadows, movement, pain. Jungkook couldn’t comprehend it, couldn’t even make sense of the carnage unfolding below him. The sounds of violence were deafening—fists pounding against flesh, bodies crashing to the ground, the desperate cries of the Swell Brigade. The terror in the air was palpable, but it wasn’t the terror that made his chest tighten—it was the disgust that roiled in his gut.

Jungkook stayed in the tree, too afraid to move, too horrified to join in. His breath caught in his throat as he turned his face away from the brutal scene. His skin felt clammy, his heart pounding harder, faster, as if it were trying to escape his chest. His vampire instincts stirred inside of him, urging him to join the frenzy, to feed. The desire was overwhelming, a roaring need that threatened to consume him.

But something—some small flicker of humanity—fought against it. He clenched his fists, his breath shallow and ragged, the battle between his instincts and his humanity waging fiercely inside him.

Finally, when he could no longer bear the sight, the sounds, when the terror became too much to stand, he scrambled down the tree, his body trembling. He didn’t stop until his feet hit the forest floor with a dull thud. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the soft earth, his body shaking uncontrollably. The sounds of the massacre slowly faded into the distance, but the emptiness inside him remained. He lay there, motionless, trying to steady his breath, trying to ground himself, but all he could do was listen to the fading echoes of violence.

And then, it was quiet. Too quiet.

Jungkook stayed frozen, unable to bring himself to move, afraid even to breathe. The forest was eerily still around him, and the oppressive silence seemed to weigh heavily on his chest, pressing down on him like a thick blanket, suffocating and inescapable. Every breath he took was shallow, every muscle in his body frozen in place, as if he feared that even the slightest movement might alert the shadows that surrounded him. His heart beat in his ears, a frantic rhythm that only deepened the tension in the air.

For what felt like an eternity, the silence stretched on, broken only by the distant rustle of leaves in the wind, or the occasional snap of a twig, but none of these sounds compared to the heavy silence that pressed against him. It was unnatural, unnerving—a silence that was more than just the absence of sound. It was the kind of quiet that felt like it was waiting, watching, for something to break it.

Then, a sound pierced through the stillness—a crunch of leaves, the snap of twigs under heavy boots. The unmistakable sound of footsteps, deliberate and steady, approaching from the shadows. Jungkook's breath hitched, and his eyes widened as he slowly turned his head toward the source of the noise. The Lost Boys began to emerge from the darkness, their figures slowly materializing in the faint moonlight, like ghosts rising from the earth. Their faces were glowing faintly, an unnatural sheen that made them appear almost spectral, their expressions twisted in a strange satisfaction, as if they had just feasted on something intoxicating, something that had filled them and now left them sated.

Jimin was the first to step forward, his face illuminated by the pale light, a smile stretching across his lips. But it wasn’t a warm smile, nor one of amusement—it was cold, calculating, predatory. His eyes, dark and piercing, locked onto Jungkook with an unsettling intensity. His smile didn't waver, but there was something dangerous lurking beneath it, something sharp and knowing. “Now you know who we are, Jungkook,” he said softly, his voice smooth, calm, almost too calm, as if he were stating a simple fact, not revealing the horrifying truth that seemed to hang in the air between them. “And who you are, too.”

Jungkook’s heart dropped into his stomach, the weight of Jimin’s words pressing down on him like a vice, choking the air from his lungs. The horror he had witnessed earlier—the violence, the bloodshed—seemed distant now, almost trivial, compared to the sinking feeling in his chest. This wasn’t just about the brutality of the attack he had witnessed. This wasn’t just about the violence in the forest. This was something far worse, something deeper, something that tore at the very core of his existence.

Jimin’s words continued to echo in his mind, each one landing with the force of a heavy blow. The calmness in Jimin’s tone, the casual way in which he spoke, made it all the more chilling. Jungkook felt as though the ground beneath him had disappeared, leaving him to float in an endless void, suspended between his former life and whatever twisted reality he was now a part of.

“You’ll never grow old,” Jimin continued, his voice steady, unyielding. “You’ll never die.” The words seemed to reverberate in the stillness, hanging in the air like a curse, a promise, a threat. Jungkook’s mind spun, unable to process the meaning behind those words. Never grow old… never die…

Jimin paused, his smile growing colder, more knowing. He let the silence stretch between them, letting the weight of his words settle like a shadow across Jungkook’s chest. “But you must feed.”

The finality of those words struck Jungkook like a physical blow, his body freezing once more, caught in the horror of what Jimin was implying. His mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of reality that had shattered before him. The attack, the blood, the laughter of the Lost Boys as they tore into their prey—it wasn’t just violence. It wasn’t just a fight. It was something darker, something far more monstrous. Jungkook’s stomach churned at the thought, and for a moment, he thought he might be sick. The images of the bloodshed, of bodies writhing and screaming in pain, were burned into his mind, each one more vivid than the last.

He could still hear their laughter—loud, mocking, cruel—as they tore into their victims, but the sounds now felt distant, fading into the background of his consciousness. The horror was no longer in the bloodshed. It was in the realization that he was now a part of something that craved that very violence, that very death. The sickening truth settled in his chest, and for the first time, he understood. He was one of them now.

Jimin, Yoongi, Taehyung, and Taeyang didn’t wait for a response. Their footsteps were light, almost inaudible, as they turned away from Jungkook, their movements fluid, predatory. They moved through the woods like shadows, their figures dissolving into the night. For a moment, Jungkook remained motionless, his body still, his mind racing with the weight of the reality he had just been thrust into. He felt as though the darkness had closed in around him, swallowing him whole, leaving him with nothing but the faint echoes of their voices and the haunting silence that now surrounded him.

Jungkook was left standing alone in the woods, consumed by the weight of their words, by the darkness that now hung over him. The air felt heavy with it, thick with the promise of something more to come, something darker and more terrifying than anything he had ever imagined. The remnants of the violence still lingered in the back of his mind, the blood, the screams, the sickening sounds of bodies hitting the earth, but now it all felt distant, muffled beneath the suffocating presence of the Lost Boys’ words. He had never asked for this. He had never wanted to be a part of their world, but now, it seemed, there was no way out. The darkness had claimed him, and there was no going back.

Jungkook’s breath came in short, uneven gasps, his body trembling with the realization of what he was now, what he had become. His gaze drifted toward the trees, the moonlight filtering through the branches, casting long, haunting shadows across the ground. It all felt surreal, like a nightmare he couldn’t escape. The weight of his new reality pressed down on him, crushing him, until all he could do was stand there, lost and broken in the woods, consumed by the endless darkness that had now become his life.

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