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writemekpop · 3 years

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New Rules | Lay Zhang

Pairing: Lay Zhang x Reader

Summary: Vicious, strict and sexy... your dance instructor Lay is hiding a secret.

Genre: Suggestive, Enemies to Lovers

Word Count: 1.4k

Gif: @yixing-zhang

“Again! And for god’s sake, try and look like you mean it!”

Your dance instructor Lay’s voice rings through the sweaty studio. Everyone else in the academy went home hours back. Your class struggles on into the night.

Sweat drips down the flexed muscles of Lay’s neck, disappearing into his coal black tracksuit. His ochre eyes, rough and silky all at once, hide under a low bucket hat.

You know his full, forbidden lips better than your own name.

“Hey, Y/n! Stop slacking. You’re still lagging on the turns.”

Your heart races, but not from the exercise.

Your muscles are crying out for respite, but you turn again and again. It’s useless. The harder you try, the weaker you seem to get. After fifteen minutes, you’re the only one in the class who can’t do it.

“Y/n, get up. Stop that.” Lay’s voice is like thunder. You hate how delicious your name sounds in his mouth.

You stop spinning, and stagger to the wall.

“I know you think you’re working hard, but you’re not. You are the worst in the class, and unless you get your act together very soon, you won’t be in it much longer.”

You don’t dare to look up. A lump stretches your throat, and you beg for the tears to hold.

“Are you serious about being a dancer?”

“Y-yes,” you whisper.

“Well, at this rate, you won’t make it. You hear me? You’ll walk, head hanging, out of these doors, scrape a place in a second-rate college, and spend the rest of your life watching your classmates on Inkigayo.”

His words are shards of glass, slicing you into ribbons. You know Lay’s watching you, scanning for any signs of weakness. His eyes send heat waves rippling off your skin.

“That’s all. Class dismissed.” Lay turns away, and everyone files silently out.

You choke down a sob.

----

That night, you return to the studio. Lay’s words throb in your ears, egging you on.

As you spin around and around, your turns get sloppier and wilder. Your eyes prickle, but you keep pushing yourself, keep forcing your limbs to move.

Suddenly, your ankle collapses under you. A red spike shoots up your leg, and you land hard on the floorboards.

You silence your cry.

Tears streak down your face, and you swipe them away with a sleeve. You try to pull yourself to the wall, but it’s so painful that your vision sparks white.

As you wrap your arms around your body, you let a sole whimper escape your lips.

That was your biggest mistake.

Because all of a sudden, you hear footsteps approaching the door. Cursing, you pull yourself up to standing on a ballet barre, trying not to yelp from the pain.

It’s Lay. For the first time ever, his raven-black dance uniform is gone, replaced with an open white shirt and jeans. His carved cream chest is so distracting, you almost forget that he hates you.

“What are you still doing here, Y/n? Class ended three hours ago. Get to bed!” Your lips start to quiver. The pain is bad enough. You don’t need his contempt to make it worse.

“Yes sir, I’m just packing up.” You try to step towards your bag, but fire rips up your leg. A squeak escapes your lips.

“Wait, are you hurt?”

All of a sudden, the distance between you vanishes. Strong arms are lifting you into a chair before you have the chance to protest, heat rolling off Lay’s skin and onto yours.

Your cheek is pressed against smooth muscle. The nakedness of it sends shivers through you. “You’ve sprained your ankle! Sit right there.”

Once you’re seated, Lay fetches a roll of white gauze and kneels in front of you. The thumping of your heart turns silence into cacophony. Free from its hat, you notice Lay’s hair for the first time, dishevelled curls of ebony.

You realise what’s changed. He looks… human.

“Why are you helping me? Y-you hate me.” The question leaps from your lips, uncalled for.

“I don’t hate you,” Lay murmurs, hands gently wrapping your ankle with gauze. His tenderness leaves you breathless. “I’m just harsh on you because…”

Lay’s hands drop to the ground, and he leans on them like he might collapse. You might collapse.

“Can I be honest with you?” Oaky eyes flick up to meet yours. You just nod, afraid to speak in case he changes his mind.

“I haven’t been… teaching long, and-“ He sighs. “I’m worried that if I’m not… strict, no one will take me seriously.” He looks up, and for the first time ever, he’s wearing away at his lip.

“I’m not funny, or charming… or someone you can like. I’m just someone you can fear. So that’s why I’m mean to you.”

“There.” Lay looks to the side, flashing you a wry smile. “It’s out. God, I feel like a child to say this, but- could you keep this to yourself?”

Shivers ripple down your body. You swear to keep his secret.

Lay grins, and deep dimples spring up in his smooth cheeks. You can’t believe you didn’t know they were there. “I can’t believe you thought I hated you, Y/n! It’s the opposite…you’ve got what it takes. And don’t let an idiot like me tell you don’t.”

Flutters burst in your stomach. Lay kneeling, you sitting, you sink into a breathless silence. You cling to his serious gaze, trying to peer into the man beneath the thick chocolate lashes.

Then, he lifts his hand to wipe away a dry tear, and you narrowly avoid the urge to kiss his hand. Your body throbs with your pulse.

“You were crying.” Your conversation has broken down into fragments, swirling in the silent sea of the unsaid.

You don’t answer him, eyes glued to Lay’s slightly parted lips.

You lean in closer, and he doesn’t move away. This is the moment you’ve been dreaming of. Your honey-gaze slips to his mouth. Then, you press your lips against his, and they’re warm and oh-so-soft and-

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Lay springs back, clamping his hand to his mouth as if it isn’t his.

“I-I- uh..” The back of your neck burns, and your heart pounds faster than ever. “I thought you…uh-“ Your stomach twists into a tight ball, sinking like a weight inside you.

Lay’s blank expression is like a punch to the throat. You squint at him through screwed eyes, praying for a quick exit.

Then, a frown breaks through the fog on Lay’s face. He cocks his head to the side, sizing you up. “What were you thinking?”

Your shoulders drop; you can’t be bothered to make up a lie. Taking a deep breath, you decide to go for the truth.

“I know you see me as yourself as my instructor, and me as your student. But I-I see you as a man… and me as a woman. Is that so wrong?”

There’s a silence so sharp it could break glass.

The shadow of a smile lifts Lay’s lip as he speaks. “That’s not wrong.”

And then, he leans forward once more, and you feel like you’re in a slow-motion movie. You watch Lay’s tongue flick over his lips, leaving them plump and glistening.

This time, he’s the one whose midnight eyes trail down to your mouth, but slowly, as if he’s tasting your skin with his eyes. When his firm hand grasps your thigh, you feel him shaking.

That gives you the confidence to close the gap between you. You pull Lay’s head towards you, and kiss him on the mouth. It’s a searching kiss. A kiss that needs to be returned.

He kisses you back. Softly. Safely. Then impatiently.

His fingers trail up the fabric of your T-shirt. The cold mirror pushes up against your back. You gasp at his taste. You can hear him gasping too.

You imagine how you feel to him, tear-salted. Your wayward hand feels cream muscle you’d only dreamt of feeling.

The fumble, the awkwardness of learning something unknown… that only makes it sweeter.

When you pull back, you realise you now know Lay intimately, but at the same time, you barely know him at all.

Lay makes as if to speak, but you stop him with a finger.

Sometimes, the best things can’t be expressed in words.

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subterra-rose · 2 years

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is me....ya girl.....Catt 👀 an oaky i have a few quesitons but i mean you dont have to answer them its just i like to ask all my friends this stuff :3 Fave colour/s? Fave animal/s? Fave tv/anime shows? (Okay I feel like the owl house might be up there, but idk! you may have naother that idk about!) Fave games? When is your birthday if you dont mind me asking that 👀 Fave foods and snacks? Fave movies?? Fave book series? Okay I know that's a lot and you dont even have to answe t his at all if you dont wanna! But if you do ofc take yourt ime cus ik ur busy!! :3 💖

Catt my beloved mutual…. I’m posting this publicly so if other ppl want to know stuff abt me sorry LMAO Fave colour: Purple and orange! I’m the cliché Halloween lover your mother warned you about >:3 Fave animal: I like cats but I also really enjoy geckos and butterflies, I have so much butterfly related stuff kgjhdskg Fave shows: Probably Princess Tutu and MP100 are my top 2 fave anime? I do like OHSHC but my interest in it comes and goes dfsgsjh. X-Files and Owl house are probably my other faves? Other anime I like and would recommend tho are Tsuritama, Sayonara Zetsubou-Sensei, and Kyousougiga. I haven’t posted about any of them in a while but I really liked them growing up (Although SZS is VERY much gallows humour so if youre sensitive to suicide or blue comedy I wouldnt watch it then skjdghkj) Fave games: You know this already, but AHIT and PLA are my faves rn, but my other faves are Link’s Awakening, DA Origins, and Pokemon Pearl/Diamond (WAIT I FORGOT TOUHOU, THE OG!!!!!) Birthday: It’s beginning of August! Fave food: Uogh love me a good paneer makhani for a meal but I like taiyaki and the frikadeller my mum makes. I eat a lot of rice too, you can never go wrong with a good bowl of rice Fave movies: I do not watch movies a lot but I like the Fly? I’m a horror/psychological thriller movie buff, I like things that fill me with dread I also like the Lighthouse, the Lobster, Rocky Horror, and Little Shop of Horrors <- Predictable

Fave Books: I think Howl’s Moving Castle is probably my favourite series? I own special editions of all the books! I like Hunchback of Notre Dame too but mostly to analyze the religious themes and the issues with racism the book has (I think problematics classics are interesting to compare to the values and beliefs we hold now because it lends an insight on how society has changed <- my minor talking here /j)

You get this cat now.

#asks #Catt-crossing #long post #Catt youre out here making me think. I usually just fixate on smth for months and now im forgetting stuff abt myself #Anyways I love analyzing stuff I love talking about stuff I just get too embarrassed to post my thoughts LOL

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ephemerlskies · 4 years

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emerald dreams: REDACTED | kth

⇢ pairing: taehyung x reader

⇢ genre: series, blackmirror!au, angst, fluff, artist!taehyung, strangers to lovers, set sometime in a dystopian era of technology, taehyung is s o f t

⇢ word count: 4.5k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, memory loss, mentions of death, themes of grief/depression

⇢ summary: in a technologically advanced utopia where a memory can be stored as a data file in a chip inserted in your head, it was entirely impossible to forget anything. when you met taehyung, a young at heart yet talented artist, he garnished an odd familiarity, raising suspicion that some of your memories had been lost in the digital cloud, or worse, erased from your memory chip.

♪ playlist: IDK you yet - alexander 23 • 4 o' clock - v & rm • jamais vu - bts • the story - brandi carlile • moonlight - ariana grande ♪

╰ episode index: 01 | 02 (coming soon)

a/n: if you don't watch black mirror then just imagine that everything is technology based, even the inner mechanisms of your thoughts/mind/memories and social culture has centered around the automation of the human body. also the government is sleazy and controls literally everyone in this au >:) also, i'm going to try and update this weekly!!

Scenario No. 2: Re-test

You didn’t expect to be spending your weekly visit at your favorite coffee shop gasping for air in the single occupancy commode. An unsettling familiarity had reached into your chest and compromised the body of your lungs, now savagely hyperventilating for air, and seized control on the reins of every sensory neuron in your body.

First, it was the sensation of sound. That voice, that unusually specific coffee order, the soft lilt of politeness riding through his etiquettes of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ struck right in your chest with a shockwave of deja vu, like you’ve heard that order before, a million times before perhaps. No part of you would let go of the fact that for some reason, this stranger was someone you knew very well.

And yet you had no idea who he was.

“Hi, how are you?” He smiled to ease the nerves of the overworked barista on this Sunday afternoon. Your ears picked up his husky, sweet tone through the scuttle of customers walking in and out of the shop and a commotion of side conversations that filled the room. It was quite noisy, enough so that it muffled any specific utterances, but the bass of his voice had met your ears with a strong posture of familiarity.

You looked over to the sweater draped over his frame that fit snugly against his broad shoulders. That was when your visual senses were overrun with the muted forest green of the knitted jumper. You’ve seen this color green. To be fair, green was always secured in your life abundantly through your own will. You had always loved this color and demonstrated this through small displays such as picking the green straw from a bundle of multicolored ones, or scanning over a set of shirts to find which one had the most green in it.

You surrounded yourself with a life full of green, but when this green sweater was paired with the voice there was a strange jolt of reminiscence.

It was not just a sweater, it was a sweater that you have touched, even worn before. And when he wore it, it wasn’t just any green. It was his green.

His figure drew closer to you as he waited at the side bar for his drink to be called, sending a waft of his scent to nullify those of fresh brewed coffee and pastries. Along with your eyes and ears, your nose now fell to the magnetism of this stranger.

He smelled of fresh evergreen with a bit of pinewood, mixing into an overwhelming oaky aroma. As the smells that resembled a tranquil forest ruminated through your lungs and your bloodstream, it weakened your body to a state of paralysis. Your motor skills were numbed to endow a series of mental backflips to figure out where this estranged attraction was coming from, and why it was him who provoked it.

Standing comatose in the middle of a populated coffee shop meant the clash of your body into another's was bound to occur. And of course, it was his body that bumped you out of the trance of obscured memories. It was his arms that held your shoulders steady so you wouldn’t topple over and spill your latte over yourself.

“Oh, sorry! Didn’t see you there. Are-” His eyes studied your aghast expression, “Hey, are you okay?”

This marked the compromise of your visual sensory. You looked right into his eyes, kind and concerned, and your surroundings had melted away into a whirl of unidentifiable colors. Your body was transported to a purgatory that rested between reality and a dream-like setting, which eventually molded itself into actuality before your eyes.

Redacted File No. 6

Suddenly you turned your head side to side and the territory that was once a café was no more, and had alchemized into a zone of unparalleled comfort. To your left, you were warmed by a wood-burning fireplace with stones crested along the frame of the pit. Your body was covered in a blurred canvas of forest green, and there were two hands holding your body gently and lovingly. It was a vision so incredibly clear and intricate it couldn’t be conjured through imagination or illusion, but a very real and vivid memory.

“Excuse me? I’m sorry… You’re okay right?” His jostling hands fainted the memory that swept you from the cafe. You blinked a few times before your eyes could refocus and land you to your present circumstances.

The man’s firm grip hadn’t abandoned your shoulders even though you regrounded your balance, which quickened the pace of your heart. They you earnestly, that even though you were certainly not going to fall over, he wouldn’t have let go. Without more than an array of unintelligible stutters to confirm you were okay, because you weren’t okay, you hobbled backward quite ungracefully to the privacy of the bathroom. After your rushed retreat, you tried to analyze the string of memories that pervaded your mind.

How do you know this man? Were these your memories? Or perhaps your memory chip glitched and downloaded files that didn’t belong to you?

The blunder of confusion racked your head with a slight tension headache. What was once a temporary occupancy of the restroom turned into a marathoned hideout until you could safely assume the stranger’s drink was made and he would leave the vicinity.

You checked your phone to count the duration of time spent. It had been about ten minutes since you pathetically holed yourself up, and it would be about five more minutes until you felt you could confidently emerge and escape.

You knew him, and for some reason it sent you into a fearful sequester.

Luckily, just last week you downloaded an upgraded storage plan which gave you access to all your past memories.

You activated the chip residing in your temple to trace every single unit in the archives, even the ones from as early as your birth, to see if anyone, including the likes of a passing stranger, a waiter that took your order three weeks ago, even a student from your high school class, resembled the man in the café. There were no records in your memory files of someone who echoed the same unsettling familiarity that this man had.

If the advanced technology that contained each capsule of every moment in time that you have ever experienced couldn’t give you the data on this man, then perhaps it was just an unusual coincidence.

One of those Twilight Zone-esque occurrences that isn’t deployed through factual evidence. Though you weren't entirely met with closure for this reasoning, it was enough to cope through the rest of your lengthened stay in the restroom.

What battered your precisely timed and nearly successful plan to avoid further interactions with this man was the light knock against the door. And it was the feeling of guilt that there must be other customers who planned on using the bathroom for its intended purpose that hoisted you up and had you reluctantly vacating the protected area.

Though, it was punishingly ironic that the one who had torn you from your sanctuary was the same person who put you there in the first place.

“Sorry,” He apologized about three times within the small window of time he’d been confronted by you and you already caught on to his habit of perpetual remorse, “Um, I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I bumped into you and you kinda… freaked then ran and hid in the bathroom.”

If he weren’t so considerate to a stranger that was acting oddly evasive, this would have been easy. But he was considerate, and this was unbelievably difficult.

“Yeah um,” Your eyes sank down to rest on the comforting hue of his sweater, “I’m, uh, I'm okay. Thank you.”

He cleared his throat, dislodging the nervous laugh blocking his words.

“Okay well, I was just wondering if you were all good. You seemed a little shaken up back there.” Frankly, he still sensed something about him was off-putting to you, but he tried to deny it for the moment.

Your assurances fell gravely short of convincing since you couldn’t even bring your eyes to level with his. The soft-spoken gesture of kindness made you feel like a helpless animal that would surrender at the slightest sign of danger. It was a fair assessment for you acted as though his accidental collision into you through a crowded space was the end of the world.

“Yeah, sorry. Thank you!” You chirped to imitate a normal reaction despite this tremendously abnormal situation. “I was just um… It's just one of those days, ya know?”

Then, it was his smile that cluttered your sensation of touch. He was standing a respectable distance from you, however, his smile touched you. It cornered you into blurting out something even more peculiar than the overwhelming deja vu that had been commencing the moment you noticed him.

“Do I-” You paused to lower your voice that could have outsourced to the collection of ruckus in the café. Now in a whisper, you continued, “Do I know you?”

He didn’t offer a voiced response, but an equally bewildered expression. You couldn't quite read what this implied so you assumed he thought you were crazy, maybe even a bit creepy.

“Sorry! Fuck, that’s so creepy. I’m just gonna go.” Before you had the chance to push past him and the billowing clouds of regret, he obstructed your path to the doorway with his body.

“No! I think I know you too. Like, I’ve never seen you but I remember you. Like… Like a dream.” He scaled the length of your body with his eyes, which only manufactured his intuition into an undoubtable certainty. “I know you. How do I know you?”

“Hell if I know. I’m just as confused as you.” You felt your body slumping into itself under his gaze. He was attentive to every detail of you, from the length of your hair to the twitch of your fingertips, making you feel over exposed to this stranger that wasn’t a stranger.

“Well, do you wanna maybe sit? Have a coffee with me?” He propagated his interest like there was no reason to be afraid which only intimidated you further. There wasn’t a real threat in his invitation, however accepting it felt like you were walking on thin ice.

The government agent standing guard with a perfect earshot of every conversation wiring through the small café didn’t help ease your nerves either.

“I really should be heading home soon.” Guilt worked quickly to try and compensate for the discouraged expression on his face, “But… if you give me your number I’ll call you and maybe we can go out for lunch or something?”

He traded his grim with excitement while pulling a pen from his pocket and walking over to the condiments bar to write his number on a napkin. You had no clue as to why, but the fact that he had a pen on hand was strikingly nostalgic, much so as every other detail you had acquired from him.

Although entirely unheard of, you felt like this new knowledge of him was not adding to the collection, but rather dusting old artifacts that had simply been forgotten. You weren’t learning things about him, but instead remembering them; the more you stood watching him scribble his name and number on the napkin, the deeper you entrenched yourself in this theory.

Not to mention, you couldn’t recall the last time someone favored using a pen over a keyboard and a paper napkin over a digital contact entered on your phone.

What kind of person carries around a pen in the age of modern technology?

“Thank you. I’m ___, by the way.” Your hand wavered a bit before holding out to greet him, and when his hand made contact, you could have sworn on your own life that this wasn’t the first time it happened.

This was no introduction. It was a reunion.

The fix of his gaze had suggested he too felt reminiscent with the feeling of your hand.

A shared inability to let go held your hands together, trying to harness a bit of recognition or recall a social function where you two might have met in passing. Neither one of you had shown any intention to pull away, which dragged the formality of shaking hands into a gesture of mutual wonder; now you were not so much exchanging a handshake but rather holding each other. Holding tightly, as if you were rediscovering a mass of feelings that would give you an answer.

However, the answer was not generous enough to make itself available to either of you.

It could have been hours until you were able to unriddle this strange sensation, so you made the preventative move of pulling away before the warmth concocting between your hands would produce a light sweat on your palm.

He too seemed to retract upon regaining his sensibilities, but there was a glint in his eyes that suggested he would have held on for longer, maybe even forever if necessary. If it would regroup the unattainable and partially inexistent memories into cognizance.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”

Redacted File No. 12

You clung with desperate persistence onto the flaccid hand. Trailing up the arm was an indiscernible figure that had no features, no notable detailing, not even a vague outline of facial structure; just an ethereal glow that projected throughout the entire room. The nebulous haze terminated any identifiable aspect of the room except the hand you were holding, so you focused on the scant detail your eyes offered.

There was no specified context, no real evidence that you had to hold on, but something deep within you was urging for it. Some omnipotent instinct which prophesied that if you let go of the hand, you would in turn be letting go of the world.

You had to hold on.

However your hands wouldn’t obey you. Each time you tried to tighten your fingers, it felt as if the hand would continue slipping from your grasp. Or maybe, your hands weren't gripping at all.

They were numb, or paralyzed, and unable to execute your urgencies. The more force you exerted into your dire intentions, the easier it was for the hand to grow limp and melt through your fingers like liquid. It was frustrating, your willful attempts to hold on seemed to elicit the opposite effect as the hand, unowned by a certain being, resigned from yours.

“I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let go.” You chanted through the tears, feeling as though that would somehow ignite a stronghold on the lifeless hand falling away.

But even so, it did fall away.

Perhaps the pain of it was that it wasn’t you who was letting go, but the hand that was being taken away from you. That you had been fighting a losing battle far beyond the prospects of your own decisions or control.

You begged for mercy, but were bestowed with your hands clean of what it was trying so desperately to hold onto. The hand slipped and when you peaked through the glaze of tears, your knuckles and fingers were gripping airy, cold emptiness.

“I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let go.”

Soon you were captured in a perpetual aria of pleas to the ears of a God that would not listen. Unsettling despair had mutilated the illuminating glow of the room to bleak darkness. The world of colors had fallen absent akin to the cold hand vaporizing alongside the dispersal of light.

Then, everything was black.

Your eyes shot open with deep distraught.

The full moon flashed against your dampened face; half of the moisture sourced from a cold sweat and half from the heavy tears pouring from your eyes.

You knew the only explanation for this dream, which resonated more closely to a memory than a figment of sleepful imagination, was curated by the peculiar events that took place earlier today.

Soon, the dream drifted from your mind as consciousness took its place. Your tardy response to write the sparse remnants of it had left you with nothing but a distorted plot of what transpired during your slumber.

Widening your awakening through long sips of water had forced you into an obsessive rewinding of your memory files. It was a shame there wasn’t technology yet to store memories of your dream, or you’d have been replaying the one you just dreamt about a hundred times.

You scanned through a collection of moments in the afternoon when you first met Taehyung. The clear, digital picture of him glassed over your eyes, taking the place once inhabited by the moon, as you pressed the play button on the handlebar of functions.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”

You rewound no later than a second after he introduced himself back to the beginning.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.”

Rewind. 0.5 x speed.

“Taehyung. Kim Taehyung.” Said in a distorted voice from the ‘reduce speed’ function you equipped.

“Kim Taehyung.” You muttered to the empty room and the bright moon.

Sleeping was abstracted to an impossibility, and for the sake of your sanity, you walked over fish out the napkin in your coat pocket. It took you a while to move on from meticulously inspecting Taehyung’s handwriting.

The aimless effort to recall if it was the penmanship of some classmate had slackened to yet another unmet hope. Taehyung didn’t reside in your memories, but claimed quite an existence in your intuition. However, that wasn’t satisfying enough. You settled with the unsolved familiarity, though not before a lengthy wrestle between your eyes and the seven numbers scribbled into the napkin.

After dancing with the idea of it, you resolved some courage to finally dial. Each ping of the phone had you dreading for the automated message to inform you the recipient was not available at the moment, that you would have to hang up or wait for the tone to leave a message. Little by little your spirited nerve had depleted as you were now practicing what message you would leave Taehyung in his voicemail box, praying that it wasn’t full.

“Hello?” The sound of his voice interrupted the seventh or eighth ring, along with your rehearsal of the voicemail you assumed you’d have to leave being that the moon had been aging the sky into midnight.

“Oh! Oh, sorry I didn’t expect you to pick up.” After the chaotic pounding in your chest settled, you realized how nonsensical you sounded. Everything you methodically planned to say had been scattered by his unprecedented answer.

Instead of asking why you would call if you expected him not to pick up, he asked with a kind curiosity:

“Who is this?” He didn’t sound tired, in fact it sounded as if he had been hard at work preceding this call.

“Oh yeah! It’s ___, from the coffee shop. You remember me right?” Though you powered through, the worry was quite deafening. Taehyung seemed to pick up on it and diffused it with a gentle chuckle.

“Of course I remember.” On the other end of the line, he had been penciling a sketch on a blank page in his notebook.

The serenity of the stars and moon pinned on the navy blue sky never failed to spark inspiration. Taehyung was the type to refuse passing up a surge of an artistic muse, even if that meant he would shed a few hours of sleep from his routine. No matter the time or place, he always had a pen on hand to honor his heart’s unremitting passion.

He loved the moon and stars. He loved it so much as one would love a dear friend. He wished to be a part of the scenes of lights that hovered just out of reach, but could only settle on capturing a piece of the starry heavens on paper with his trusty pencil, sketchbook, and emerald-tinted muse.

“It’s late to be calling, but you’re lucky I was awake.” He said to hide how ecstatic he was you had actually called.

For someone you had just met, or at least you thought you just met, he threaded a flirtatious coyness in his response. It difficult to hush the winged eruption in your stomach because of that.

“Lucky, huh.” You repeated through a mumbled laugh, “I was just… I was thinking.”

“About what?” He had placed his phone on speaker mode and laid it next to his sketchbook.

There was a new inspiration that bore a louder siren than that of the moon and the stars. He sifted through the memory files throughout his day to the minute he first bumped into you, and though your face had been ingrained quite clearly behind his eyelids with each blink, he relied on the accuracy of a reference to perfect his drawing of you; not to mention he projected the image of your face to delight his undeniable attraction and to moderate the wildly romanticized version of you in his head.

Perhaps if he hadn't, he wouldn't be able to discern your face from the arena of glimmering stars scattered along the shaded skies.

“Just about how I think I was too quick to pass your offer.”

“Really?” That endearing lilt hope in his voice, the excitement expressed, acted as some puppeteer that manipulated the corner of your lips to lift into a smile.

No muscle in your body could ever be moved with the same conviction as it did when he was the reason for it. It bewildered you, almost to the point of frustration, as to why he had this power over you.

I just met him. I'm already getting this worked up? You thought how absurd it was you'd fallen this quickly, hoping it would ground you to the reality that he was still a stranger you hadn’t exchanged more than two conversations with.

Though, reality and memories and data files had all been obscured ever since you met Taehyung which was fascinating more than it was disorienting.

“Would you want to, maybe, grab coffee? Say next Thursday?” Your hand was subconsciously gripping the bed sheets, just like the way you gripped the disembodied hand in your dream, and awaited his response with full-blown suspense.

“I’ll see you next Thursday, ___.” Taehyung's confirmation put all your anxiety to rest, as well as your tightly clamped hand around the cotton fabric.

“I’ll see you.” You mimicked as if that would make the idea of seeing Taehyung again any less surreal. He laughed at this and brushed up a few finishing touches on his drawing.

“So just to clarify.” His pause gave entry for curiosity to wire through your head.

“Yes?”

“When you said you were thinking… you were thinking of me?” You wanted the upper hand to be reinstated with you, but your shy chuckle was no match to the smirk adopted on his lips that you couldn’t see, but you knew was there. You knew he was prideful when he swept the rug right out from under your feet, and you were right.

“Perhaps. And what if I was?” You framed your question to render your intimidation as flattery. Though, you had no idea how convincing this facade actually was and that it came off more suggestive than you had expected. There was a part of you that had fraternized with the romantic idea of Taehyung which might have registered your motive to reciprocate an undertone beyond platonic.

“Then that would be one thing we have in common.” He sounded responsive to your flirting and raised the bar significantly.

Your eyes and smile were directed towards the scenery displayed by your window, but they were not dedicated to the moonlit beauty of the diamond encrested sky. Though the midnight glades of stars were the ones to witness your smile, it was, without a shadow of a doubt, dedicated to Taehyung.

He was staring at the same moon, the same plot of stars, so perhaps you were looking into each other. When the moon twinkled, it looked awfully similar to a smile. Your smile.

For the moment, there was a radio silence that splintered through the two speakers of your and Taehyung’s phones. Even if the use of his hands weren’t engaged by his needful recreation of your face through his art, if his hands were left unused, he wouldn’t have mustered the discipline to end the call. Your unoccupied hands were trying to find any employment so you could have some excuse for not hanging up as well, not that there was anything else to be discussed.

Again, it felt familiar. The feeling of hesitance to be the first one to hang up despite the conversation’s recoil.

The cohesive idleness of you and Taehyung was unprovoked and ran out for about a minute. Neither of you had the intention to sever the virtual communion quite yet. The awkwardness of sitting in silence on the phone with a newly acquainted stranger was a delicacy compared to preemptively ending the call.

At one point, you were about to question if he had hung up; but the rhythmic and light breathing told you otherwise. And because of that mutual need to stay on the line, it seemed to be unreasonable to hang up, save for the yawn that eventually trimmed the call to an end.

“You’re tired.” He stated, now prompted with a yawn of his own upon hearing yours. “Goodnight, ___.”

“Goodnight, Taehyung.” Saying his name out loud sent you into that same blend of reminiscence and nostalgia.

His name was not unexplored by your tongue, that much was certain, and the thought of putting your entire life on hold to discover why it felt that way was a tempting venture. Why when he said your name, it felt like sitting in front of a wood-burning fireplace under the security of a green sweater and wrapped in safe arms.

More than that, you wanted to know if he felt all these things too.

“I’ll see you?” You asked instead of saying that dreadful word 'goodbye'.

“I’ll see you.” He repeated before reluctantly hanging up.

“___.” He whispered your name, hoping the inky sky would design it in the stars for the world to remember forever.

Hoping that the next hours, which would surely be spent on multiple sketched renditions of your face, would amount in some revelation of the mystifying familiarity. He believed shedding a few graphite imitations onto the surface of his sketchbook, soaked by the glow of moonlight, would somehow make him remember everything hidden in the dark compartments of his heart.

However, if it didn’t, he would be okay with it. Because at least he knew he would see you again.

“Meeting place: Silver Lining Café.”

“Thank you, Agent Park. Heighten surveillance on the two subjects.”

#bangtanarmynet #btswriterscorner #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts writing #taehyung series #bts series #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #artist!taehyung #rubycoast #emerald dreams: REDACTED

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catsandstrawberries · 5 years

Text

Real Family: Part 9

Pairings: BTS x teen female reader, platonic love

Warnings: Language, neglect, a major panic attack involving past child abuse

A/N: Heavy panic attack at the end, Yoongis a douche

Summary: It’s not blood that makes a family. It’s love.

Masterlist

“Are you sure none of you cant come with me?” I asked wiping my sweaty palms on my black stockings, harshly gripping the sleeves of my black Gucci backpack that Taehyung had bought for me. The night before I had felt so prepared, but as soon as I woke up everything felt like it was going downhill.

The consistent beeping of the smoke detector immediately caused me to jolt up and rush out of my room and down the stairs as fast as possible. The oaky smell of burnt food lingers in the kitchen and I quickly catch on as I see streams of smoke escaping from a pan that was currently placed in the sink. Jungkook stands anxiously in the kitchen, standing on a chair and trying to deactivate the smoke alarm with a broom. I try to call out his name but instead, I'm met with a coughing fit from the puff of smoke wafting towards me. Yoongi is the first to run into the room, “what the fuck Jungkook!” At his exclamation, Jungkook jumps down from the chair successfully turning off the alarm.

“I was just trying to make (Y/N) breakfast since it was her first day of school,” Jungkook mutters while I stare wide-eyed at the fact Jungkook wanted to do something so nice for me. And the fact that there seemed to be more steam coming out of Yoongi's ears than from the burnt pan.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I've barely gotten two hours of sleep and I still need to finish recording my song and learning the dance moves that you,” he glared at Jungkook, poking him in the chest, “can't teach me because you're so busy trying to help her.” I wanted to defend Jungkook, even myself and stand up to Yoongi, ask why he hated me so much. But a third, annoyed voice appeared growling at Yoongi.

“Go back to bed Min.” Yoongi turned around as if he was ready to argue but once he saw the annoyed look on Namjoon’s face he stormed out of the room. Bumping shoulders with the man as he did so. All I could do was watch, and awkwardly shift towards the glass panes.

“Ill open some windows.”

After getting out most of the smoke and listening to Jin complain about his precious kitchen and how Jungkook shouldn't even step foot near a metal pan for the next week I decided to get changed. Namjoon had given me a box the other day filled with school uniforms for Lee’s Science and Performing Arts Academy. Interesting combination. The main colors of the school were black and green so all of the outfits corresponded to the colors. One outfit was a black and green skirt, black tights, black sweater, the second outfit was exactly the same but instead of a black sweater, it was dark green and came with knee-high black socks. The last one was black jeans with a white button up and a dark green vest and suit jacket. I choose the first option, and it wasn't until after I was dressed when I realized how time-consuming it was to properly put black tights on. Checking myself over in the mirror I went back and forth from deciding if I should tuck my sweater into my skirt or leave it untucked. Eventually deciding to tuck the front half. As soon as I had grabbed my bag Namjoon was yelling from the bottom of the stairs about how they needed to leave and then we were all rushing out the door. Squeezing into the SUV wasn't that hard when Namjoon was driving, yet the earlier events in the kitchen made the ride tense.

“Do I really have to go in by myself, don't I need an adult to talk to the principal or something?” I asked once again, spotting the huge school with the green and white sign that stated in bold letters, ‘School of Lee's Science and Performing Arts.’ Namjoon glanced at Jin who was sitting in the passenger seat,

“I'm actually not needed until 10 since there recording rap line and doing a practice for only dance line.” I straightened in my seat, a relieved smile gracing my features. “Really?” Jin answered my question by hopping out of the car and I quickly followed in his footsteps, a strange feeling washing over me when I heard Jimin mumble,

“they're both growing up so fast, feels like we just met her a few weeks ago.”

The closer I got to the school the more I noticed how fancy it was. The front of the building was covered by a huge courtyard, currently covered with a thin sheet of snow. The sides seemed to have tennis, basketball courts and larger fields in the back. I looked back up at Jin and suddenly felt horrible for begging him to walk into the school with me. Jin opened the door for me, “thanks Jin, not just for the door though. I'm sorry if you didn't want to come with, it was stupid, I'm just being such a chi-” Jin placed a hand on my shoulder giving me a reassuring smile,

“hey it's fine. I'm actually glad I came with you, also I may have killed Jungkook or Yoongi if I had to spend another moment with them, my poor kitchen.” I laughed at his joke and watched as he started to lead me through the maze of the school, following the signs that led to the principal's office. I looked around at the empty halls, assuming that most kids were in class since the hallways were dead silent and school had started about an hour ago.

Before I knew it we were standing in front of the principal's office, Jin giving a few light taps to the door followed by a faint “come in.”

The office was clean, green walls and white trimmings giving the room a strange glow. In the center of the room was a wooden desk, a plaque stating, ‘principal Lee.’ The man sitting behind the desk in the wheeling chair gave us each a friendly smile, he looked to be in his fifties, black hair greying at the ends, wrinkles forming around his eyes and mouth. He stood up from his chair offering both of us a handshake, “you must be (Y/N), and you're..”

“Kim Seokjin.” He sat back down and motioned for us to sit in the two unoccupied chairs. He took out a vanilla folder, opening it and flipping through the files before taking out a single piece of paper.

“It says here, Kim Namjoon and Kim Seokjin are your primary care members.” He looked back up to Jin, “Everything seems to be in order.” He grabbed another paper from the folder and reached out to hand it to me,

“Here's your schedule, let's take you to your first class.”

The hallways seemed busier than my last school, the students seemed less friendly (maybe that was just the uniforms) and everyone seemed to be staring at me wherever I went. After Mr. Lee had dropped me off at my third-period history class I quickly noticed the girls staring me down from the other side of the room. Rather than listening about Lincoln's inauguration all I could focus on was the whispers behind my back.

Lunch came sooner than expected and I was happily shocked to find that instead of gross mystery meat and yellow gush that most schools served, there was an array of foods that actually looked good. Also what school served lobster? Apparently rich private schools did. But the worst part of it all was finding a place to sit. The lunchroom was littered with numerous green tables. Some fitting groups of kids throwing footballs, doing homework, and fooling around on electronics. A tap on my shoulder caused me to turn around, a girl my age stood behind me, curly blond hair and dark green eyes adjoined her oval face. Her tan skin seemed to glow in the lights and the intense coats of mascara on her eyes looked painful.

“Hi, my names Amber, would you like to sit with us?” She pointed towards the table behind her, filled with girls and boys all fooling around with one another. I hesitated, looking at the girls pointed smile,

“um sure.” She grabbed my wrist, rather roughly if I might add, dragging me to the table of teens. She pushed over a girl, mumbling a ‘move over’ under her breath as she squeezed me in. “I never got your name?” The girl who had been texting on her phone looked up from the bright screen to stare at me wonder in her eyes.

“My names (Y/N).” Amber’s eyes darkened for a moment as she spoke,

“That's a cool name. These are my friends, Olivia and Rachel.” She pointed to the girl who looked up at me wide-eyed and the other girl sitting next to Amber. Both seemed equally interested in me and before I could ask Olivia quickly spoke up.

“So is it true that you live with BTS?” She laid her cheek on the table, starry-eyed looking into the distance. Before I could answer Rachel started practically screeching.

“Is Suga Hyung that attractive in person?” The way she said his name left a bitter taste in my mouth and I almost wanted to tell her not to call him that. “Oh, he must be so nice! Do you call him dad? You're so lucky to live with seven attractive boys.” Sure, Lucky. Lucky to be adopted by seven strangers, lucky to have Yoongi hate me, and apparently lucky enough that most people in this school only want to talk to me because of my new “family.”

“Actually-”

“Look guys its the school pig!” Rachel and Olivia started to laugh at Ambers joke, faces turned towards a girl sitting by herself at a lunch table. She clearly had heard the joke because she immediately put her food down, eyes glazing over.

“How many donuts do you think she can fit in her mouth? 10, 20?” I glared at Rachel. “Ok, you have no right to say anything negative about someone's body type.” I turned to Amber then locked eyes with the girl, standing up and leaving the lunch room.

The rest of the day went by pretty quickly. The day consisting of me being awed by the entails of fancy school and shocked by how boring classes were. I had also realized that the school was filled with rich kids whose parents were either a co-leader for Pepsi or distantly related to Gordon Ramsey. By the time the bell had rung I had practically run out of the building searching for the familiar SUV. When I had finally found it, I expected to be met with one of the boys but instead opened the door to meet a complete stranger.

“Oh, sorry wrong car.” Just before I could shut the door the driver pulled down his black face mask.

“Actually I'm your new chauffeur.”

This ‘new chauffeur’ drove me straight home. The car ride awkwardly quiet as I stared out the window, around the car, and basically everywhere except for him.

“Thank you,” as soon as he pulled into the driveway I was jumping out of the car, itching to get out of the tight school uniform. Entering the large house it was eerily quiet,

“Hello?” When no one answered I realized what Namjoon had said the other day about their long week of practice due to there comeback. Taking off my shoes, I brought my bag to the living room plopping down on the couch and starting on my homework.

A gentle shove on my shoulder causes me to groan, rolling onto my side, facing away from my perpetrator. Whoever it is, tells me something along the baseline of ‘get up.' But my foggy brain doesn't register anything but the nice warm blanket I'm wrapped in. The person continues there an assault, flipping my body back, so I'm facing their direction. I groan in annoyance, pulling the blanket up and over my face,

“Kayleigh you really need to wake up.” The blankets pulled off my body, and I immediately shrivel into a ball trying to contain as much heat as possible. “I have to get going, Kayleigh. Your driver will be here soon so get ready.” At his words, I'm sitting up from the bed,

“wait, so you aren't driving me to school anymore?” I rub at my blurry eyes, blinking rapidly to try and gain back my vision. Once I can suitably see, I find an anxious Hoseok who looks back and forth from me and the door. He opens and closes his mouth, debating what to say until a loud honk interrupts the silence.

“I should go.”

Fourth-period precalculus was a disaster. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, and every time I tried to raise my hand and ask a question the teacher would skip over me, and move on. What made it even worse, was how easy the class was. I was placed in precalc to catch up with my peers. If anything, I felt like I was falling back, in comparison to the rest of the class. Not to mention that most of the other kids in my grade were in calculus, so if anything I was already behind.

So you can imagine how happy I was when the shrill ring of the fire alarm interrupted my pre-calc class. Grabbing my coat, I raced after the students, slightly giddy until I stepped outside and felt the cold chill of the January air.

“Why do we have fire drills in January?” I muttered, rubbing my arms through the sleeves of the jacket, not expecting an answer.

“The school board keeps getting complaints about safety and how the school doesn't prepare their students for harmful situations.” I shifted my head towards a girl, the same girl who was sitting in the cafeteria and being made fun of. “My mom works with the school board.” She added, shivering slightly. I then took notice of her appearance. She had short chocolate brown hair that fell straight in a bob, piercing blue eyes and darker washed skin. She filled out her uniform, slightly curvy but perfect proportionate for her height around 5’6. I didn't understand why Amber was making fun of her, I thought she was beautiful. What I noticed the most was her shirt-sleeved white button up that tagged along with her uniform. She must be freezing. As if she could read my thoughts, her body started to shake, fingers clenching to get blood flow back into them.

“Here, you must be freezing.” I took off my coat, holding it out to the girl who rapidly shook her head.

“Oh no, it's ok. I mean it looks like a nice jacket, and I probably won't fit I'm a little, bigger-.” I interrupted her before she could say more,

“Please, just take it.” I smiled at the girl who gave me an unsure look. With some more convincing she finally took the material. “I'm (Y/N) by the way.” She smiled,

“I know. We have almost all of our classes together.”

Oh Shit

She immediately started laughing at my reaction while I looked appalled, great first impression.

“I'm Zara. Thanks for standing up for me by the way.” The students started making their way back into the building, and the two of us followed the crowd but made sure to stick close together.

“If it's any consolation, I think you're beautiful.”

After talking to Zara, we both had realized that we had every class together except for math. She, of course, was in honors abstract algebra, instead of asking her what that meant I just smiled and nodded. Talking to Zara was like breathing fresh air, her personality was so calming and youth filled, it reminded me that it was ok to be a kid. That I didn't always have to be the girl who thought she was alone.

She was also hilariously funny,

“I have a BTS water noodle.” I stumbled in my jog, almost tripping over my own two feet. The gymnasium walls smelt of sweat and privilege, and usually, I'd be annoyed because it's gym class. But since I started running with Zara, I hadn't stopped smiling. “My younger sister loves BTS. So for my birthday, she got me a BTS water noodle. I never use it, but my younger sister takes it with her whenever the word water is mentioned.” The whistle sharply blew, cutting through the air and stopping all of the teens from running and talking. Turning our head toward the gym teacher, he motioned towards a bag of soccer balls.

“Get in groups of two and work on passing.” Mr. Ping was young, yet still looked older than Jin. He was tall, lean and muscular. He seemed to be in his early thirties, a silver band wrapped around his ring finger that he unashamedly flashed at some girls (and boys) when they would look at him for too long. When I first met him, he had immediately shown me a portrait in his office of a baby boy in a sports onesie. Definitely a family man.

After Zara grabbed a ball, we headed towards one corner of the room, kicking the ball back and forth to one another.

“Do you think our gym teachers hot?” I choked on my own salvia, the ball racing past me, as I had no intention to stop it. For a moment I thought she was joking. Until I saw the serious look on her face.

“Isn't he in his thirties?” My voice of reason did nothing to stop her train of thought.

“So? That's only a thirteen-year difference.”

“He's engaged-”

“But not married, something could change.”

“Zara he has a kid.” The girl paled then nodded in my direction as if she was praising me for winning the silly query.

“Touché”

Unlike any other school day I had ever experienced, authentic happiness was coursing through my veins, and not just because it was a Friday. After school had ended I quickly got Zara's number in my phone and the thought of having this year be different; new home, friends, school, maybe things would be different.

Opening the door to the mansion, I found Yoongi and Jimin death glaring at one another, seething words at each other that I couldn't hear. Namjoon was in the background, frantically cleaning while Jin was yelling words I couldn't understand at the two.

“Is everything ok?” I asked while slipping my shoes off. The boys didn't seem to notice me until now, all four sets of eyes turning to me.

“Everything's fine.”

“Everything's fucking horrible.”

Jimin and Yoongi both spoke up at the same time while Jin harshly glared between the two before softening his gaze on me.

“Kayleigh why don't you go find the rest of the boys.” I nodded but before I could move Taehyung and Jungkook were peaking there heads out from upstairs.

“The upstairs is all clean.” Hoseok then appeared from the living room area, “the rooms are good.”

“(Y/N), why don't you go get changed for the social worker.” Oh, that's why everyone seemed so nervous. I passed Yoongi, heading to the stairs but his quiet whispers became exceptionally clear all of a sudden.

“Huh, you must love this. This attention from seven world-famous guys. Why do you think people want to be your friend at school? Its because they want to meet us.” I knew Yoongi didn't like me, that was obvious. But I wouldn't let him imply that Zara was only my friend because of them. Clenching my fist, I turned a full 180, coming face to face with Yoongi. I tried not to overthink how I basically had to look up at him or the fact that his death glare made me want to crawl into a hole and bury myself alive.

“What the fuck is your problem?” My voice was calm and steady, but the anger in me was on the edge of boiling over. “You've hated me ever since you saw me at the orphanage, I didn't ask for you to adopt me, I was perfectly fine where I was.”

The words coming out of my mouth were bitter. Lies that I spewed to get a reaction because I knew everything was so much better here than living in foster care.

"What have I ever done to you? Ever since I've gotten here, all you've done is act like I'm a leech on your shoulder. What, are you too intimidated by the fact you actually have to grow up?”

Fuck, my eyes widened immediately at his hardened gaze, I went too far. Before I could apologize or back down the venom in his voice pushed me further. “This,” he made eye contact with Namjoon, motioning his hands towards me, “is why I didn't want her.”

“Yoongi!” I couldn't tell who's voice was shouting because my head was spinning and my vision was blurring. This always happened, someone, deciding that I wasn't good enough, that I didn't fit the right standards. I couldn't handle it, not again.

“You should have left me at the orphanage.” I seethed, his answer was automatic, I think that's what hurt the most.

“I wish I had.” A few shouts from the boys sounded through the room, but what made me turn my head was the feminine voice that cleared her throat. Katie stood in the doorway, clipboard in hand and a disappointed look on her face, this wasn't how I wanted to see her again. I suddenly felt the need to apologize for my actions, tell her that Yoongi and I were faking it and we secretly cared about each other. But the words that parted from her mouth in an exasperated sigh was what broke me.

“Not again (Y/N).”

I was rushing up the stairs as soon as the last syllable left her mouth, hand over my parted lips to stop the sob attempting to escape. I narrowly missed Jungkook's grabbing hands at the top of the stairs trying to stop me, but I snuck through and rushed into my room. Locking the door and falling to my knees, I finally let the tears fall, why did I have to screw it up again?

I angrily threw my belongings into my bag, teeth clenched both in anger and to stop the sobs tempting to reach the surface. After I had shut my door, muffled yelling had erupted from the downstairs, I hated how I was the reason for them fighting. The static in my head only grows once the fear of going back to my old life enters my mind, and once I significantly calm my breathing down a knock sounds from my door. I hold my breath, waiting for the voice to identify itself,

“(Y/N), can you let me in. It's just me, I promise.”

I tempted keeping the door shut, telling him that I couldn't do this. I walk up to the door, leaning my forehead up against the cool wood. Gently wiping the tears from my face, my hand hovers over the knob, in a split moment decision I decide to unlock it. I open the door, turning my back to him and sitting on the bed, I run my fingers on the blankets, wondering if I would spend another night in the building.

“Do you want to stay?” I look up a Jin, probably red-faced and teary-eyed from crying.

“Do you want me too?”

Instead of answering Jin gave me a gentle smile, sitting on the bed next to me, but sitting far enough away to keep his space.

“Did you know,” he started cracking a grin, “that whenever I'm sad I read my blood donor ID?” I raised an eyebrow at the man,

“Why?” I sniffed,

“Because it always says, ‘B positive.’” Jins face morphed into a full out grin, and an obnoxious windshield wiper laugh filled my ears. The joke wasn't necessarily funny, but his genuine laugh is what made me smile.

“Ah, there's that smile.” He scooted closer on the bed as a silence developed between the two of us. “Yoongi's difficult, it took most of us half a year till we really connected. When Yoongi found out he had to live with you, it scared him. He can barely even take care of himself so how's he supposed to take care of a child? He doesn't want commitment.” I couldn't help but hear the hidden meaning in his words.

They don't want commitment.

“Why am I even here? There's a reason why you didn't answer the question, its because you don't want to lie to me.” I stood up from the bed, tears forming in my eyes. I couldn't do this, I couldn't handle it, why was everyone lying to me? I rushed out of the room just as Jin reached out to me.

The thoughts are accelerating inside my head. I want them to slow so I can breathe but they won't. My breaths come in gasps and I feel like I'll black out. My heart is hammering inside my chest like it belongs to a rabbit running for its skin. The room spins and I kneel on the floor, trying to make everything slow to something my brain and body can cope with. I feel so sick. I stand up, rushing towards the exit, feet traveling forward until one hits a side table, causing it to tilt and wiggle. A tall, glass candle sways side to side on the table, before falling to the floor, shattering into millions of tiny pieces.

It starts slowly, the feeling of dread crawling up in my chest, spreading like a drop of ink onto a wet piece of paper. Darkening my thoughts and making it harder for me to see, breath. It doesn't take long for my breath to quicken, eyes wide and chest rising in an uneven pattern as I try to suck in as much air as possible. As if the moment I stop trying there won't be any air left. The shattered glass on the floor causes me to wince, past memories of breaking things by accident and being beaten because of it entering my mind. Tears are flowing down my eyes like a dam had just broken, the drops dripping down my face and onto my hands. My sight becomes blurry and flashes of the belt, my father, shouting and my own screams are all I can remember.

“I'm so sorry.” I choke out, chest tight, and standing in front of me are three shocked boys. Namjoon takes a step forward, fist clenched and an unreadable expression on his face.

“Please don't hit me.”

The boy stops, and so do the others behind him, visibly tensing. “I'll clean it up, I'll pay for it.” I knew whatever I had knocked overlooked expensive, everything did in this house. I drop to my knees, scrambling to pick up the broken pieces of glass, “(Y/N) stop you’ll cut yourself.” Just as Hoseok said, blood starts flowing from my palms, he drops to my level suddenly and i'm scrambling back. Holding my bloody hands out as if they could protect me, back hitting the wall, “please don't hurt me again, it was an accident, i'm so sorry.” My breathings ragged, uneven and I'm hyperventilating. I close my eyes as if they could block out the events unfolding in front of me. Hands gently cup my face and im eye to eye with Jin, “We won't hurt you here, ok? Just breath.” I take a big gasp in, but can't stop the broken, strangled release of air. Hoseok's kneeling beside me just in time as the world around me gets blurry, Jins two eyes soon becoming four as everything turns sideways, and I finally collapse.

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