My Favorite Bts Fics So Far (maknae!line + Ot7)

my favorite bts fics so far (maknae!line + ot7)

hello lovely readers, i hope all of you are doing great. i really want to share the amazing work and talent that many authors have on this app. as a literature fan and hopeless romantic myself, i made sure to pick out all the fics that i think are beautiful and amazing :) this post includes the maknae line + ot7 fics. i also made a hyung line fic rec post if you want to check it out here heheh :p

disclaimers!!!!:

some of these fics contain nsfw content (minors dni), or some heavy themes

this is a pretty long post lmao

all pictures are from pinterest!

once again this is the key for the fics :)

fluff- ♾️

angst- Ω

smut- ☻

crack/humor- ☼

i would sell my liver to read this again for the first time- ¶

Park Jimin

series:

The Promised Iris- @akinnie75 ♾️Ω

''Pair: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Slight Angst, Slow Burn, Fantasy, Soulmate AU

Word Count: 20k

Summary: During one rainy summer day at the park, a stranger name Jimin suddenly confesses that he’s in love with you. At first, you thought that Jimin was a stalker, but it turns out that there’s something he’s hiding from you.''

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oneshots:

balletteacher!jimin x ballerina!y/n - @jungshookz ♾️☼ (there are more drabbles for this oneshot lolz)

''pairing: park jimin x reader

genre: balletteacher!jimin x ballerina!y/n au, fluff!!!! the fluffiest fluff!!! idk jimin just really cares about y/n okAY

wordcount: 2.5k''

him after all - @mercurygguk ♾️Ω☻

''➵ summary; a guy you’ve never met before scoops in and saves you from a very embarrassing situation and you can’t help but notice how cute he is.

pairing; jimin x f. reader final word count; 17,176 (sorry y’all) rating; 18+ content; strangers to lovers au, fluff/angst/smut, infidelity, multiple appearances from jjk, oc’s boyfriend being nasty and stupid af''

lover to lean on - @sketchguk ♾️Ω☻

''pairing: neighbor!jimin x florist!reader

➳ genre: neighbor AU, flower shop AU, smut, fluff, angst

➳ wc: 20k

➳ synopsis: for months, you can hear your no face neighbor and his ‘girlfriend’ singing and dancing and laughing and falling in love. above all, you can hear their bed banging against your shared wall, and they won’t ever let you sleep. you’d much rather stay up at night worrying about your own problems, like the weight of an unrequited crush, so of course you’re bitterly single. but one day, the apartment is radio silent. and one day slowly turns into one week and then into an immeasurable amount of time since you’ve heard his laugh. so on valentine’s day, when you’re missing it the most, you beg your neighbor to open up to you with cookies in one hand and two broken hearts in the other''

beneath the water - @jungshookz ♾️Ω ☻ ☼¶

''→ pairing: park jimin x reader

→ genre: mermaid!au/fantasy!au, an extra large order of fluff, comedy!!, jungkook being a brat as per usual, a touch of angst, and of course a sprinkling of nsfw

→ wordcount: 20.5k words holy moly''

into the wilderness - @gukyi ♾️Ω ☼

''summary: alright, so last summer’s camp was… disastrous. from the murky green showers to the wasps nests, it was all-around a bad time. but none of those things could be quite as catastrophic as the end-of-camp counselor campfire, when you told park jimin that you were in love with him. and if telling him was terrible, then seeing him again this summer, one year after your fruitless confession, just might be the death of you.

{camp counselor!au, unrequited love!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: park jimin x female reader genre: angst, fluff, comedy word count: 27k''

Kim Taehyung

series:

charade- @ughcore ♾️Ω☻

'' “Why would you help me? What are you gonna get out of this?”

Taehyung looks you up and down, the humour twinkling in his eyes like the fairy lights he helped you hang above the TV. He tucks his hands into his armpits, assessing you for a few more moments that leave your skin hot and itchy. 

“It’ll be nice to see you out of those fuzzy slippers for once,”

The double entendre lacing his words is nothing new. The tingles in your stomach, however? Yeah, those are brand new.”

kth / fake dating + roommate au + fuckboy!taehyung

ongoing (35k) ''

maybe i do- @chateautae ♾️Ω☻

''➵ summary :  maybe you love each other, maybe you don’t. when a deal between your fathers leaves you forcefully wedding kim taehyung, arguably seoul’s most powerful CEO, you’re prepared for a loveless marriage of eternal regret and unhappiness. but maybe, it doesn’t turn out that way after all.

↳  part of the high-class series!

➵ pairing : taehyung x reader

➵ genre :  arranged marriage!au, ceo!tae, s2l!au, eventual smut, fluff, angst

➵ rating : 18+

➵ warnings : swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of anxiety, mentions of confrontative violence (with other characters, not each other), lots of feels concerning forced marriage, a bad ex (reader’s), mentions of bad sexual experiences with ex (consensual, just bad sex), explicit sexual content, oral (m. and f. receiving), unprotected sex, penetrative sex (chapters have their own warnings!)''

A Story that we paint - @thedefinitionofbts ♾️Ω

''PAIRINGS: Jeon Jungkook x Reader | Kim Taehyung x Reader 

GENRE: College Au, Future, Scifi, Slight Fluff and Angst

WORDS: 9K (ch.1)

DESCRIPTION: Butterfly Dream: In which the lines between virtual and reality are blurred.''

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oneshots:

the universe of us. - @taesthetes ♾️Ω ¶

'' “I love you.” — “I know.”

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader | kim taehyung x reader genre: slight comedy, angst, fluff type: dream / fantasy / slice of life au word count: 21,112 words warnings: none''

you’re so concerned about the ending that you don’t even know the plot- @joonsgalaxy ♾️☼

''° yoongi x reader x taehyung

° 1.9 k words ° fluff/humor

🌟 you bring your broken laptop to Tae—the IT specialist—who you have a crush on. you drag your bff Yoongi along with you, who—you’re certain—has a crush on Tae too. what a mess, right? well, the thing is, you never even considered the possibility of your assumptions being totally wrong.''

stuck with you || [roommate!taehyung] - @jungshookz ♾️☼☻

''❥ pairing: kim taehyung x reader

❥ genre: university!au, enemies-to-lovers, fratboy!tae??, comedy that’ll either make you chuckle out loud or roll your eyes and snoRT or maybe u won’t laugh that’s cool too, domestic fluff because i want to go grocery shopping with tae toO (but also fluff in general!!), smutty smut so make sure to read this with your phone’s brightness lowered all the dang way, hi @ librarian!namjoon!!! fratboy!jungkook is also in here

❥ wordcount: 37k if ur reading this on mobile get rekt

❥ summary: kim taehyung becoming your new roommate is definitely up there on the list of the worst things that have ever happened to you.''

waterloo - @kinktae ♾️Ω☻¶

''Taehyung is a famous but pessimistic art prodigy who doesn’t believe in love. You are an art student studying in Paris, who sees the world through rose-colored lens and is a certified cheesy romance film enthusiast. And this is your love story.

Or, “Well, it is the city of love. Maybe you just need to fall in love.“

pairing: art prodigy!taehyung x art student!reader word count: 13k genre: FLUFF, angst, light tasteful smut''

falling in crayolove; (kindergartenteacher!taehyung) - @jungshookz ♾️

''✎ pairing: kim taehyung x reader

✎ genre: kindergartenteacher!au, workingman!au, F L U F F, tiny bit of angst at the start :-( but this is literally 98% fluff; y/n and taehyung are like two little kids with little crushes on each other

✎ trigger warning(s): implications of getting an abortion!!

✎ wordcount: 10.5k

✎ summary: y/n is a very single mom and taehyung is a very single kindergarten teacher. emma knows exactly what she needs to do.''

freefall - @jtrbluv ♾️☼☻

''summary: hearing banging noises outside your front door at 11 at night could mean one out of two things. one, you are seconds away from getting chopped up by an axe murderer. two, someone is purposefully being an inconsiderate asshole.

or three, a fratboy from delta phi who goes by the name of kim taehyung faceplants in front of your door amidst a high-stakes game of… hide and seek?

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: fluff, smut (pretty tame tbh! cuz it’s my first time eek), comedy, college!au, fratboy!au

word count: 10k

warnings: RATED 18+, grinding, dryhumping, palming, mentions of drugs and alcohol (yk regular frat shit), swearing, taehyung is a gentleman fr tho my gawd with a big co-''

farmer boy, i love you - @strawberrynamjoon ♾️☼☻

''– Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

– Genre: farming!au, lowkey e2l, smut, humor & tons of nagging

– Word count: 35k

– Summary: Needing change in your life you decided it would be a brilliant idea to move to your uncle’s small farm, helping him and your cousin Jimin with the daily work. What you didn’t plan was to fall in love with your beautiful yet very annoying neighbour Taehyung, who seemed to make it his personal mission to tease you every chance he got. And what you expected even less was that he seemed to like you too.

– Warnings: includes smut, alcohol and mentions death of a father''

The Crown That Is Ours - @taeshobipop ♾️Ω☻

''pairing: Taehyung x Reader

genre: fluff, angst, smut, royalty!au, arranged marriage!au, crown prince!th, princess!reader, idiots to lovers

summary: You never wished for it, but it was inevitable — an arranged marriage to a royal stranger. The Crown Prince Kim Taehyung.

A year into your marriage and life still holds you firmly in its grip. How do you plan to steer through this mess when the public suddenly comes knocking at your door, pitchforks and torches in hand, threatening: “death to all who commit fraud!”

rating: 18+ sexual content.''

Rent-a-Boyfriend - @jimlingss ♾️

''Words: 12k

Genre: Extreme fluff for all you bitter people out there (me being included)

Are YOU lonely? Need someone to cuddle at night? Do you want love?

If you said 'yes' to any of the questions previously mentioned then we have a service for you!

Don't be alone for this Valentine's Day!

Come Rent-a-Boyfriend!™

(terms and conditions may apply. we are not responsible for any emotional or sentimental damages. please take caution with rent-a-boyfriend). ''

Jeon Jungkook

series:

new girl - @jjkeverlast ♾️☼☻¶

''☞ summary after finding out your boyfriend of 6 years cheated on you, you find yourself moving in with three guys in a loft. what could possibly go wrong? – inspired by the FOX series New Girl.

☞ pairing jeon jungkook x female reader

☞ genre roommates!au, roommates to lovers, romantic comedy

☞ status completed!

☞ rated mature (+18)''

Her - @jungk0oksthighs ♾️Ω☻

''bestfriend!jungkook, tattooist!jungkook, F2L, fluff, smut, angst

“And even if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay – I’ll always be here for you.” ''

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oneshots:

like stars in a constellation - @taegills ♾️Ω ¶

''↬ meeting in reverse au

pairing: jeon jungkook | reader

genre: slight sci-fi, fluff, angst

word count: 20.9k

summary: And at midnight, as you sit there and contemplate how the two of you were like stars in a constellation, you watch the sky with bated breath. Because somehow, for the first time since you got caught up in all of this a year ago, it almost seems like the stars are finally spiraling backwards and time feels a little more still than ever before. And when you hear your name, you turn around so fast that the world stops spinning''

the universe of us. - @taesthetes ♾️Ω ¶

'' “I love you.” — “I know.”

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader | kim taehyung x reader genre: slight comedy, angst, fluff type: dream / fantasy / slice of life au word count: 21,112 words warnings: none''

tangled webs - @ughseoks ♾️Ω

''— pairing; spiderman!jungkook x reader

— genre/au; soulmate au / spiderman au / angst, fluff

— rating; pg15

— word count; 14.1k

— summary; Soulmates are tricky thing. Not everyone is lucky enough to have their destinies intertwined with their missing piece. Signs come in dreams for those fortunate souls; short bursts that are barely memorable when the sun rises. As for you? Flashes of red and blue are your only indicators to the identity of your other half.''

Hopping Mad for You - @readyplayerhobi ♾️☻

''; Rabbit Hybrid!Jungkook x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, smut

; Word Count: 9.7k

; Warnings: Unprotected sex, handjob, blowjob, virgin sex, virgin!Jungkook, pretty sub!Jungkook

; Synopsis: For two years you’ve lived with your rabbit hybrid roommate, Jungkook. He’s been a model roommate and you’ve found yourself with little complaints. But his behaviour lately has been a little…unusual.''

Devoted to Trouble - @jeonsweetpea ♾️Ω ☻ ☼

''Spider-Man!AU | Peter Parker!Jungkook x Reader

genre: fluff, smut, comedy, lil angst rating: explicit description: In which the whole world finds out Jungkook is Spider-Man, but he doesn’t care about anything but you. OR Can you survive seven days of Jungkook pining over you while his identity is exposed to the world? word count: 11.5k''

The Love Plaza - @mayolive-writes ♾️☻ ☼

''Pairing: Jungkook x AFAB Reader

Summary: Needing to take a break from the long trip to college, you and Jungkook are forced to stay at the only lodging available within 70 miles, a love motel. And much to Jungkook’s dismay, there’s only one bed.

Wordcount: 4102

Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Smut, Best Friends to lovers, Oneshot(?)''

the underwear thief - @gukyi ♾️☻

''summary: jeon jungkook would like to make one thing very clear: it’s not his fault.

{neighbors!au}

pairing: jungkook x female reader word count: 10k genre: fluff, smut''

1999 - @tattookoo ♾️Ω ☻ ☼

''summary: the year was 1999. boybands were wearing all-white outfits, everybody wanted an ibook or a tamagotchi, tlc didn’t want no scrubs, fight club was playing in movie theaters and you became jeon jungkook’s fake girlfriend in order to fix his reputation. 

pairing: campus royalty!jungkook x f reader 

genre: one shot, 90s au, college au, hockey au, childhood neighbors to friends to idiots to lovers, fake dating, fluff, crack, angst, smut  rating: 18+ 

word count: 17.9k''

tuesdays - @axialitae ♾️Ω

''tldr. you believe your very reserved, reclusive roommate jungkook is a peculiar boy who’s far too concerned with how you spend your tuesdays.

💭 prompt. “i don’t owe you an explanation.”

🤍 pairing. jungkook x f.reader.

🐻‍❄️ genre. non-idol au. pure domestic fluff. tiny angst. roomies + kinda dumb-dumbs to luvrs.

☁️ word count. 12.1k''

Tamped - @chimoona ♾️Ω ☻ ☼

''Pairing: Shop Owner!Reader x Barista!Jungkook/Switch!Jungkook/Baby Boy!Koo, Reader x Dom!Yoongi (for, like, a second) Genre: Smut, Fluff, Humor, Slow Burn, Mild Angst/Jealousy | Barista AU Word Count: 19.7K Rating: M (18+) Summary: You and your business partner/best friend Jin have struggled to find good help to run your coffee shop. Employee after employee, it just never worked out. However, Jungkook is determined to impress and deliver. He wants this more than ever, and it always feels good to want something. To need, well, that’s even better.''

(Right) Hook, Line, and Sinker - @blog-name-idk ♾️☻ ☼

''Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Fem Reader

Genre: College!AU, Roommate!AU, Fluff, Humor, Smut

Summary: Your horrible friends trick you into going to a haunted corn maze, where you inadvertently punch a zombie. Jungkook is, of course, in love.

Word Count: 12,353''

OT7

series:

The Return of an Empress - @you-are-my-joy ♾️Ω ☻ ☼¶

''Status: Completed

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Genre: Isekai, Angst, Romance, Fluff, Smut

Characters: Empress!Reader, Advisor!Jin, Advisor!Yoongi, General!Hoseok, Advisor!Namjoon, Assassin!Jimin, Knight!Taehyung, Knight!Jungkook

Summary: After one fateful night, you find yourself transmigrated into your favorite novel as the Empress that shares the same name as you. As a bookworm, most would think you’d be happy, but how could you be happy when the Empress you’ve become is expected to be killed in three months. The only thing on your mind now is to learn how to survive.

Warning: May contain depictions of violence and mentions of abuse throughout the story.

Total Word Count: 280,808''

mother knows best - @seokth ♾️☼ ¶

''pairing | ot7 x female reader (platonic), ot7 moms & female reader

summary | being the only woman in a friend group with seven men automatically makes you the love interest in seven mothers’ wistful romantic stories. though your relationship with the guys remains completely platonic, the marriage fantasy their moms frequently project onto you and their sons has them coming up with all sorts of shenanigans to make you their daughter-in-law. mother knows best, you suppose.

warnings | overbearing moms, attempts at humor, platonic, slice of life au''

The Flower Path - @stellalunatmblr ♾️Ω ¶

''Genre/Tags: isekai (kinda?), bangtan x fem!reader, not poly, oc!bestfriend, surprise romantic pairings; rom-com (romance as a subplot), slow burn (the slowest of burns holy moly i cannot stress this enough), fluff, angst (will update tags along the way)

Status: Ongoing [HOLD]

Summary: What would you feel if you find yourself transported to the world of a cheesy web novel? Ecstatic, of course (well, among other things), except you’re stuck being the main character’s best friend slash sidekick. Fair enough, you don’t think you’re main character material anyway. Determined to get through your life that has changed all of a sudden, you try to keep yourself in the shadows of your “best friend.” Let’s just try to get through the last year of high school in peace. You thought it was gonna be easy – like a walk in a flower path– but the thing about walking that road is that there are bound to be thorns along the way.

Inspired by the web novel and manhwa: Inso’s Law''

operation: love letters - @ve1vetyoongi ♾️Ω ¶

 ''Sign up for the Love Calculator today to find your perfect match?

➤ YES | NO

♡ …L O A D I N G…Y O U R…M A T C H E S… ♡

♡ ⇢ pairing: ot7 x reader.

♡ ⇢ wordcount: est 30k total.

♡ ⇢ genre: mystery, college!au, romance, fluff, eventual smut.

♡ ⇢ summary: When every student on campus is going crazy about a survey that claims to make true love bloom, your best friend manages to convince you to join in on the fun — except you’re disappointed to find out that your results just seem to be lost causes. That is until a love letter from a mysterious secret admirer turns up and you find yourself on a mission to find the person behind the pen — but you quickly realise it’s going to be a lot harder than you initially thought when you have 7 possible bachelors to investigate, right? Operation: Love Letters a-go!''

The Galaxy Above Us - @agustdakasuga ♾️Ω

''Genre: Gods!AU, Fantasy, Romance, Fluff

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Characters: Normal!Reader, God of Wisdom!Namjoon, God of Life!Seokjin, God of the Moon!Yoongi, God of Festivity!Hoseok, God of the Sun!Jimin, God of Nature!Taehyung, God of Arts!Jungkook

Summary: Just when you thought that you life was at its end, you were ready to disappear but a door appears in front of you. Above you was the milky way and awaiting you were the celestial beings that waited their whole lives for you. To show the galaxy that was made for you.''

Everything Falls (Into Place) - @blog-name-idk ♾️☻ ☼

''Pairing: OT7 x Fem Reader

Genre: College!AU, Roommate!AU, Fluff, Humor, Smut

Summary: Your new roommates are unbearably nice and unbearably hot. Good thing you're an adult who is fully capable of platonic friendships with the opposite sex, right?

Word Count: 90,211

Rating: 18+''

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oneshots:

until the last star falls - @minniepetals ♾️Ω ¶

''— summary: it was a love you knew would never make it out alive without sacrificing a part of your happiness to receive a greater happiness. but for them, you’d go to any extreme to have them again, and for you, they will always remind you each day that you are theirs and that nothing can tear you apart, not even until the last star falls.

— pairing: underworld lords!bts × shield!reader

— genre: fluff, angst / reincarnation!au / poly!au / gods!au

— word count: 44.4k ”

Spooked - @alpacaparkaseok ♾️☼

''Pairing:best friend!BTS, maybe some secret crushes going on? 👀

Premise: You + all 7 members of BTS visiting a haunted house. What could go wrong?

So, so much.

Word Count: 4k''

😭😭😭😭💓💓💓💓

CEE I MISSED YOU SO MUCH IM SO HAPPY YOURE BACK

Your fics gave me so much comfort always, whether I was happy or going through a rough time. I swear that several times I stayed up until 4am reading your posts lmaoo (gladly so, may I add). You have given me so much happiness you have no idea <3

we're the same because i have stayed up until 4am writing for you guys and being super excited to get the piece out for you to read <3 hehe happy to be home

Operation: Love Letters | The Masterlist

❝ Sign up for the Love Calculator today to find your perfect match? ❞

➤ YES | NO

♡ ...L O A D I N G...Y O U R...M A T C H E S... ♡

♡ ⇢ pairing: ot7 x reader.

♡ ⇢ wordcount: est 30k total.

♡ ⇢ genre: mystery, college!au, romance, fluff, eventual smut.

♡ ⇢ summary: When every student on campus is going crazy about a survey that claims to make true love bloom, your best friend manages to convince you to join in on the fun — except you’re disappointed to find out that your results just seem to be lost causes. That is until a love letter from a mysterious secret admirer turns up and you find yourself on a mission to find the person behind the pen — but you quickly realise it’s going to be a lot harder than you initially thought when you have 7 possible bachelors to investigate, right? Operation: Love Letters a-go!

♡ ⇢ schedule: updated every day at 5pm GMT in the run up to Valentine’s Day 2020!

♡ the index ↴ ♡

💌 #1 - THE LIBRARIAN

💌 #2 - THE JOCK

💌 #3 - THE FRAT GUY

💌 #4 - THE VICE PRESIDENT

💌 #5 - THE TECH NERD

💌 #6 - THE SECRET ADMIRER

happy Jin Independence Day y’all💜

This was so incredibly beautiful. I would read it again a million times without a doubt.

like stars in a constellation (m)

↬ meeting in reverse au

pairing: jeon jungkook | reader

genre: slight sci-fi, fluff, angst

word count: 20.9k

A/N: i’m a sucker for added heart pain so i made the mixtape that’s mentioned in the fic so if you want to listen to it there’s that. and i’ve been working on this thing since november and hit lots of road blocks and set backs with it but finally it’s done and i’m not gonna lie, i’m a little nervous but i’m also really excited to share this. it’s a bit of an odd concept, but it might be a little more familiar to my whovians and homestuck trash out there haha

important sidenote: this is a pretty long fic and the tumblr app is trash so if the app crashes on you, try reading it on the mobile website

“And at midnight, as you sit there and contemplate how the two of you were like stars in a constellation, you watch the sky with bated breath. Because somehow, for the first time since you got caught up in all of this a year ago, it almost seems like the stars are finally spiraling backwards and time feels a little more still than ever before. And when you hear your name, you turn around so fast that the world stops spinning.”

Keep reading

@matchstick6812 is in her Gargamel era, imma pray for us😩✊

The worst (or best) part is that I’m all here for it, her writing is absolutely pUuuurrfeCt as my ginger (rip) Norman would say

Trip No Further | Chapter 16

Summary: When your valiant attempt to get your best friend laid not only backfires, but results in one mind-boggling discovery—that the world-famous idol Min Yoongi of BTS is your soulmate—you’re forced to confront your new reality. Soon, you will need each other’s touch to survive. Too bad Suga, despite his sweet name, is proving to be something of an acquired taste…

Pairing: idol!Yoongi x Reader Genre: soulmate!au, idol!au, slow burn, heavy humor, eventual smut, idiots/nemeses/enemies to biases/lovers (iykyk) Word Count: ~11.7K 😖 Rating: 18+ Warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking/partying, tooth-rotting floof, the bastardization of two (2) alicia keys songs, angst ;_; Links: AO3, Masterlist 🖤 Please note: Trip No Further does not have a taglist 🖤

A/N: *Strolls casually in, as if I didn't write a whole sob story post about how TNF:16 wouldn't be ready tonight.* Oho! Why hello there, my dearest Tripothée Chalamets! There is so much in this chapter I am dying to SCREAM with you all about ednsjifisdffsa (and I couldn't hold back, so peep my additional notes at the end). This chapter did something to me, so I really hope you love this one 🥺💜

...and please don't hate me when you get to the end okay love you all, forehead smoochies, BYEEEE!

Chapter 16: I Can’t Believe You Just Called Me A Butthead

You wake up on September 14th to the sound of a heated argument.

Being you, your immediate reaction to this discovery is excitement. You’re bored in the house and you’re in the house bored—but nothing cures ennui like eavesdropping on some good ol’ fashioned drama!

Then you remember. You are not in a house. You’re in a hospital, recovering from surgery—and what’s more, you’re not alone. Now, in addition to Yoongi, there also appears to be a po-faced surgeon in the room.

“Oh, good. You’re awake,” the surgeon says, striding forward. “Miss YLN, I’d like to examine you before signing off on your release.”

You blink groggily and make to untangle yourself from Yoongi, who remains devastatingly shirtless and floofy-haired at your side. Rather than get off the bed, he tightens his hold on your waist.

“Your soulmate is being difficult about leaving,” the surgeon explains at your raised eyebrows.

“I heard it’s better if she gets skin-ship,” Yoongi says, “and—”

“And I’m a surgeon,” the surgeon cuts in smoothly. 

“Our other doctor misdiagnosed her symptoms over the phone, so—”

“Yoongi,” you grumble. His eyes snap to yours immediately, free hand unabashedly snaking back under your shirt to graze against your surgical incision. “Buzz off, ya bozo. Let the surgeon do their thing.”

Not to be outdone in the grumbling department, Yoongi makes a big huff but acquiesces, stomping—sans shirt—out the door. You gasp.

“He’s not wearing clothing,” you say. “Or a hat, or a mask—”

“This is a private suite,” the surgeon assures you. Now that you’re more awake, you see it’s true—the room you’re in is a far cry from the sterile, starchy cubicles you’ve convalesced in previously. Instead, the room is bright and spacious feeling, courtesy of the large windows, and decorated in soft, calming color palettes. “Now, if you could just answer these questions…”

After your examination, the surgeon leaves momentarily, granting you privacy to visit the attached private bathroom, where you’re pleased to find your personal toiletries already set up. You wash your face and scrub your teeth, then dress in a spare sweatsuit you find in the bag Yoongi packed on the armchair. When you’re decent, Yoongi reenters the room with the surgeon and heads straight to you, impatiently slipping a hand up your shirt again. Your body responds immediately to his touch, like it’s a swatch of fabric that he’s lacing back together—it’s as if you can feel him lassoing the clotted blood and distributing it back into your veins, warming you back to life. He feels nice. Really nice. You sigh pleasurably, and—

And, holy shit. Holy shit.

You kissed Yoongi last night.

“You can take a shower starting tomorrow. Pat the incision dry,” the surgeon instructs you, and you know you need to listen to them, but it’s hard to hear anything over the roar of your own racing heart. “No lifting anything that makes you strain for two weeks—that includes things like heavy bags, backpacks, or babies… you get it.”

“Get it. Got it. Good,” you confirm, unable, no matter how flustered you feel, to let a dope ass phrase go unfinished. Somewhere in Korea, you imagine Daehyun nodding in telepathic approval.

“No strenuous exercise for two weeks,” the surgeon continues, this time leveling a hard look at Yoongi. He meets their gaze calmly, but you feel your face flush. Surely they’re not suggesting…

“I’m talking about sex,” the surgeon confirms. “You two are on a fourteen day ban. Okay?”

“Fine,” Yoongi says calmly—as though it’s natural for him to be involved in this conversation about the goings-on of your cooter. Your ears burn as you stare determinedly at the surgeon, unable to confront the weight of Yoongi’s gaze on your face.

Hospital protocol dictates that you need to be wheeled outside, so Yoongi—after slipping on a shirt and securing his hat and mask in place—exits first with a bodyguard waiting in the suite’s attached room, and ten minutes later, you’re sat next to him in a shuttle, riding back to the hotel.

Luckily, the band has the day off—tomorrow, you’re scheduled to fly to Fort Worth, Texas. Yoongi spends the entire ride caressing your incision with his thumb as he chats easily with the bodyguard who’s driving you back. This particular guard must be close to Yoongi—perhaps his personal one, who’s clearly signed an NDA. You remain uncharacteristically silent, opting to check your phone—you have seven missed called from your Eomma, not to mention dozens of texts from Hana and Daehyun—and pretend you don’t notice how Yoongi’s eyes keep flitting over to you.

When you pull into the hotel lot, Yoongi makes a displeased face when the guard—“Jae,” he introduces himself—insists you two enter separately, and only relents once Jae promises to stay with you while he goes up first, “just in case.”

“I’m literally fine,” you say, rolling your eyes—it’s not like you’re immobile. Yoongi’s staunch in his assertion, though, so you and Jae wait before the guard deems it kosher, and up you go.

You find Yoongi pacing when you enter the hotel room, though he stills immediately when the door clicks shut behind you. Taking a step forward, you open your mouth to greet him, when—

“YN!”

Jimin bounds up to you first, his sparkling eyes round and worried as he gently grips your shoulders. “YN, you’re back! Are you okay?”

He’s not the only member who’s come to your hotel room—Jungkook and Seokjin look up from where they’d been lounging on the bed, watching a Kdrama, wearing similarly concerned expressions.

“Gently, Jiminah!” Yoongi scolds him, his tone acidic enough to curdle cream. Jimin sniffs at him, affronted.

“I’m not hurting her!” he snaps, placing a pointed emphases on the word I’m—Yoongi makes a sour face, but doesn’t contradict the thinly veiled accusation. Jimin turns to you imploringly, lowering his tone. “I’m not hurting you, YN, am I?”

“No, Jiminie, of course not,” you assure him, stepping more fully into the room.

“That was so scary yesterday, noona,” Jungkook says from the bed. Seokjin gets up and heads to the desk, where a large bouquet of get-well flowers—along with several wrapped presents you certainly don’t recall seeing there the day before—now sit. He plucks up a small, unwrapped box from the pile and comes to you, holding it out to you with both hands.

“Yah, YNie, you’ve made things very difficult!” he berates you teasingly. “Usually when someone has been sick the best thing is to bring them soup, or a honeyed tea to drink together… but you don’t eat, so we had to get the next best thing!”

You accept the box, turning it over to discover he’s gifted you an air purifier.

“It’s a good brand,” Jungkook says from the bed knowingly. “It should make your room more comfortable while you recover.”

“Jungkookie has at least fifteen in his living room alone back in Seoul,” Jimin says with a giggle.

Seokjin throws his hands up. “Aish, it’s a maze in there!” he says passionately. “You wouldn’t believe your eyes YNie, I hope he never brings you there—his purifiers come in all shapes and sizes, it’s like 30-50 feral hogs have set up camp in there. Look, aren’t you glad we tailored this one to you specifically? This one can fit in your luggage.”

“You should put it on the nightstand,” Jungkook pipes up.

“And the flowers are from everyone,” Jimin says, “all the members. Hoseok-hyung and Taehyungie are in meetings, or they’d be here to greet you. And Joonah is out with his sister, she’s in the states for his birthday. Speaking of.” Jimin lets go of your shoulders to face Yoongi. Now the wrapped presents on the desk make sense. You’d overheard Namjoon talking about how Army had serenaded him for his birthday on the 12th, and realize he must have postponed his true celebration until they had a day free.

“You have to come to the dinner tonight, hyung,” Jungkook says.

“No,” Yoongi says flatly.

“Hyung,”Jimin whines. “It’s his birthday. Not to mention we’re filming for a Bangtan Bomb, and doing a live. After last night, Army will really start to worry something’s up if you don’t show…”

You can’t help it—Jimin’s words cause the events of last night to crash back over you, and you clear your throat, as though to prevent the memories from lodging themselves in your esophagus. Jimin trails off at the sudden noise, and you stiffen uncomfortably as all the attention in the room snaps to you.

“Are you feeling okay?” Yoongi says lowly, taking a hesitant step toward you. “Do you need a pill?”

The surgeon had sent you back with pain medication, with the warning not to operate any heavy machinery and that it could make you drowsy. You shake your head.

“No. Ah… maybe I should sit down,” you say. Jin shoves Jimin out of the way and helps you into bed, fussing over you like a mother hen until he’s satisfied you’re comfortably propped on the pillows. In a bold display, Yoongi slides onto the sheets next to you directly afterwards, winding an arm around your waist. Though you can feel his fingers crimping against your side, he doesn’t slide them under your shirt to rest on your incision. You let out a small huff of relief—you don’t think you’d be able to handle that kind of intimate skin-ship display right now. Not when you’re already flushing under the trio of curious gazes.

“Thanks for the flowers,” you say as Jungkook scrambles away to help Jin push the small couch by the breakfast nook—it really is a nice hotel, you realize dimly; you hadn’t paid much attention to your living quarters in the final throes of your sickness—over to the bed, so they can see the TV. Jimin, of course, flops right down in Jungkook’s abandoned space, his body almost as flush against yours as Yoongi’s is on your other side. “And for coming to see me. I’m really okay, guys.”

“You’re such a dramatic fainter, YN,” Jimin giggles, mussing your hair. Yoongi winces at your side. “I had appendicitis too, so I know how it feels.”

“Me too,” Yoongi admits.

“But I think the sensation must be different if you have a soulmate?” Jimin says pensively. “Sejin told us that your symptoms kept getting masked by the charge, huh? Ah, that doesn’t sound pleasant…”

“It wasn’t. But in the end, it was just appendicitis. We caught it in plenty of time,” you say for Yoongi’s benefit. “And it’s over now. So you should all go to Namjoon’s birthday party. It’s not like I’m recovering from some major invasive surgery. I’ll be fine.”

Yoongi runs his free hand through his hair. “Hm…”

“Seriously,” you insist. “I have those pain pills, but I doubt I’ll need them. If I take it easy today, it sounds like I’ll be more than fine. The surgeon even cleared me for flying tomorrow evening!”

“We’ll see…”

The four of you settle in to watch a few episodes of the Kdrama, and you find yourself slipping in and out of consciousness to the sound of the members’ chatter and laughter as the anesthetic works its way out of your system. When four o’clock rolls around, however, Seokjin announces that it’s time to head out to get ready for Namjoon’s, spurring you to reiterate that Yoongi should leave you. He gives you a conflicted, searching look, but eventually complies.

“Fine,” he says. “Call me if anything happens. I should be back around midnight, but if you’re too tired to wait up, it’s fine. Don’t push yourself…”

“Okay,” you say, waving to the other members as they gather their presents. Yoongi’s already almost to the door when you remember.

“Wait!” you call. “I got a present for Joonie, too!”

At Yoongi’s curious expression, you make to sit up from the bed, only for him to rush over.

“No, no, stay there. I’ll get it,” he says. “You shouldn’t bend over.”

Jimin doesn’t bother to stifle his snort, but you just smile. If Yoongi wants to treat you like a frail Victorian child who’s days away from succumbing to the consumption, then far be it from you to stop him. You direct him to the signed copy of Almond in your luggage that you’d gotten for Namjoon at the reception for the Daesan Award nominees.

“Ah, but I didn’t wrap it…”

“I don’t wrap either,” Yoongi says, pointing at the simple black gift bag with the name JOONAH on it. Next to Jimin’s festive wrapping job—which Jimin slips into his bag—it looks almost somber. “I’ll put yours in with mine.”

“Okay. Thanks,” you say, fussing with the hotel sheets as he comes over to you. You’re unsure of how to be around him right now. There’s no easy way to ask him how he feels about what happened last night—is he upset with you? Does he want to do it again?—but you know you can’t spring that question on him right now. Not in front of the others.

Still. You force yourself to look up to find his eyes are already on you, though there’s something introspective about his expression.

Then he leans forward, cups the back of your head, and plants a kiss right on your forehead, in plain view of the other three.

You gape up at him silently.

“I’ll see you later,” he says lowly, and without further ado, he and the other members slip out the door.

One woozy nap and internal freak-out session later, you pull out your phone to Google Duo your Eomma.

“YN!” She answers immediately, gracing you with a direct, interior shot of her cavernous nostrils. “You know I’ve been calling you nonstop! Why don’t you answer? My own daughter! Steven Glansberging me!”

“I’m sorry, I appear to be having a stroke. What did you just say?”

“You heard me!” she barks as, your father’s cheery voice sounds in the background. “Hi, pumpkin!”

“Eomma,” you say in disbelief. “Did you just make a SuperBad reference?”

“We watched it last night on The Hulu!” your father says delightedly. “That Michael Cera is really a class act—”

“You think that’s what’s important, here?” your Eomma interrupts him. “That’s not what’s important! Tell us, YN, why your soulmate was sobbing on stage last night at his concert! Tell us right now.”

Ah. So that was the reason for all those missed calls—your mother had seen the news about Yoongi.

But wait. Was there news about Yoongi? BTS is famous, sure, but an idol shedding a tear at a sold-out show isn’t exactly groundbreaking journalism.

Your mother huffs in annoyance, as if she can read your mind through the screen.

“What, you think I don’t follow the Min Yoongi tag on The Twitter?” she asks you. “Oh, I follow. I know everything that goes on, YNie, you cannot hide from your Eomma. What happened?”

Briefly, you fill your parents in on your last week, glossing over the less-flattering details of what had led you to your current predicament. By the time you’re finished, your mother has thankfully put the phone down. You see now that she’s dressed in a suit—perhaps getting ready to go to work; it must be around 9 o’clock over there—while your dad is wearing a shirt that says Certified Suga Boy, with a picture of Meeyooee’s face on top of nine pregnant lady emojis.

“He cried just because you fainted?” your mother narrows her eyes. “How is that man supposed to get you through childbirth if he can’t even stomach a simple fainting spell—”

“Eomma,” you groan. “No one’s having babies.”

“Why not? What’s the hold up? Is there something the matter with your womb? Tell him to wear looser underwear, that will help his sperm—”

“MIN YOONGI IS NOT MY BOYFRIEND.”

“What are you talking about?” Your mother’s eyebrows shoot up into her forehead. At her side, your father stretches his arms before announcing cheerily: “Waffles? I’m going to make waffles!”

“Eomma…”

“Of course he’s your boyfriend. Are you an idiot? Did I raise an idiot child? Maybe you have pregnancy brain!”

“That’s impossible,” you say patiently, as though you’re talking to an obdurate toddler and not the Ph.D-holding lawyer who birthed you.

“Because…?”

“Cuz we ain’t having sex, bro.”

Your mother gapes like you’ve just announced your ambition to tightrope walk across two active volcanoes, nakey.

“But… why not?”

“What do you mean why not?”

“That boy loves you, YN! All he ever does is stare at you and weep in front of his fans when you faint and tremble in my presence and not cook you any meals. That makes him your boyfriend!”

“Tell him that.”

“You tell him that!” She tosses her arms in the air. Despite the fact that you are separated by thousands of miles, you still find yourself flinching away from the daggers she throws from her eyes. “I don’t know how in the world you get yourself into these situations, YNie. You’re his soulmate. He looks at you like you hung the moon in the sky, even though you have very clumsy thumbs. Probably you would drop it first!”

In the background, you can hear your father crooning along to an Alicia Keys song as he prepares his breakfast, only he keeps replacing the word girl with squirrel.

“Everybody stares as she goes by…”

“You should talk to him, YN,” your Eomma says. “Tell him he’s your boyfriend now.”

“Don’t you think he should have a say in the matter?”

“‘Cause they can see the flame that’s in her eyes…”

“Not particularly.”

“Watch her as she’s lighting up the night…”

“You think I gave your Appa a choice? Think again. I pointed at him. I pointed at me. I said, hey dummy! This is how it’s gonna be now. Capeesh?”

“Nobody knows that she’s a lonely squirrel…”

“And how did he respond to that?”

“He put a baby—you—inside of me! And then he bought me a bowl of japchae!”

“And it’s a lonely world…”

“I’m not going to tell you again, YN. Your soulmate is very short but he is a good boy and you will die without him. What’s more, he wants you regardless of that. You tell him I want to see him next year for Seollal. If his Eomma tries to get him to come to their house instead, you pitch a fit. You pretend to be dying. I don’t care what it takes, but you get out of it, or I will fling myself into the Han River just so I can come back and haunt you, understand? Now rest up and start making babies.”

“But she gon’ let it burn, baby, burn, baby…”

“Okay, Eomma. I mean, not okay, but I love you.”

“THIS! SQUIRREL! IS ON FIREEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” your Eomma sighs. “I have to go kill your father now, YNie. Good-bye.”

When Yoongi returns that night, you’re a bit drowsy from the pain pill you took around ten, but not too bad.

“You’re still up?”

“Got a little achey,” you say, pointing a weak finger over to the desk where a present wrapped in matte grey paper, and tied with a glossy grey ribbon, leans against the phone. “One of the boys forgot a gift for Joonie.”

Yoongi eyes the parcel from where he’s taking off his shoes and grunts noncommittally.

“You’re hurt?” he says, setting down his bag and swiftly crossing the room to you.

“No, not really. It was just a bit uncomfortable. We charged all night and most of the day, so I should be—”

“We shouldn’t take chances.”

“Yoongi,” you say, halting him in his tracks. He’d made it to the bed and had even stretched his arm out toward you, but at your stern tone, he lets it fall limply to his side. “You don’t have to feel guilty. Okay?” 

He doesn’t respond to that, but his slight frown gives you some insight into how he’s feeling. Several seconds pass as he remains stationary, apparently deliberating something, before his eyes finally slide over you, coming to land on the bedside table.

“It’s after midnight,” he says, motioning to the clock there. Then he glances back at you, an odd expression on his face. He walks stiltedly over to the mattress and sinks down near your feet with his hands in his lap.

“Hey,” you say quietly. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” He shifts positions, crossing one leg over the other as he turns to face you.

“Are you sure?” You look at him carefully. “They didn’t force you to eat something again, right? You look… weird.”

“No, nothing like that.” He meets your eyes. “It’s September 15th now.”

“That’s true,” you say, waiting for him to elaborate—is the date supposed to mean something to you? He shifts one more time on the bed, tapping his leg with his long, bony fingers, before suddenly standing up.

“Yoongi?”

You don’t know what you expect him to do, but walking over to pick up the wrapped package isn’t it.

Wordlessly, he returns to the bed and holds it out to you.

“What’s this?” You accept the parcel without thinking, tracing your thumb over the gift wrap—from far away, it had looked handsome enough, but up close you can see it’s an imperfect job, clearly done by non-professional hands. The edges of the paper don’t line up, and the tape used is cloudy and visible.

“It’s September 15th,” he repeats, apparently by way of explanation. 

“So you said…” you murmur as he sinks back down on the bed.

“Ah.” He cups the back of his neck; you watch the veins in the back of his hand bulge with torpid fascination. “You lived a long time in America.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Yoongi huffs slightly. “We met on June 7th.”

“Yes.”

“Now it’s September 15th.”

“Time passes, whether we like it or not,” you agree, putting on your best Gandalf voice. You desperately wish you could grow a beard. “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

“Did you just Frodo me?”

“Well, I didn’t not just Frodo you—”

“It’s been 100 days,” Yoongi interrupts bluntly, meeting your eyes. Your sentence ends, not with a bang, but with a rather unbecoming suctioning sound you didn’t even realize you were capable of making.

“Since…?”

Yoongi’s back to staring at the parcel, rather than you. “Since we met.”

You stare at him, not uncomprehending, exactly, but in a state of near shock. While it’s true you went to university in the West, you did grow up in Korea. As such, you’re well aware of your country’s customs. And in Korea, the 100-day milestone is a significant one—for couples.

Unable to hold his eye, you stare down at the wrapping paper, thumbing the jagged edges to buy yourself some time. Couples didn’t normally start counting days until the relationship had been made official—but it’s hard to think of a more official origin to your and Yoongi’s relationship than when you made First Contact. You’d tripped into him; you’d brushed your fingers against his; the feeling of his skin on yours had got you lifted, shifted, higher than the ceiling, and (mee)yoo-ee.

“It was the ultimate feeling,” you whisper.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you mumble, making a mental note to ask Suga how he got so fly at a later date.

But now is not later! Now, you have to concentrate. For the first time since it happened, you permit yourself to really, really think about the kiss from last night—to think about the fact you haven’t spoken about it with Meeyooee, yet; to think about the fact that you haven’t even had time to properly address the events leading up to your collapse in Los Angeles. You’re afraid of reading too far into the gift (When had he bought it for you? Had it been a rush order—something he bought in a panic after you’d collapsed, as a way of saying sorry? Maybe.) before having a full discussion with him, but at the same time—your mother had given you a command! And Yoongi had kissed you on the forehead!

It’s not that you don’t want to be judicious—it’s that for once, you’re not willing to preemptively pop the delicate bubble of hope ballooning in your chest.

“Okay,” you say, gathering your breath as you hold up the present. The moment feels weighty. Important. “Should I open it?”

“No,” Yoongi returns stonily. “You’ll get more use out of it like that.”

You blink.

“Yoongi—”

“This way is better,” he continues. “Now pick it up, and with a swift motion, bang it against your own head—”

“Meeyooeeeeeee,” you whine—whatever tension had built between the two of you instantly shatters. You decide to put him out of his misery. One thing about you, is you’re always gonna tear into presents like a hyena with a fresh set of acrylics. You rip intohis terrible wrapping job—noting, of course, that the self proclaimed non-wrapper deigned to break out the scotch tape for you—papering the bed with scraps of grey confetti. You do, however, fashion the grey ribbon into a bow, and plop it on your head.

“You look like a sad Christmas tree,” Yoongi says.

“Watch this,” you parry, moving the bow to your lap. “Now I’m a Hanukkah bush. A bush, do you get it, har dee ha—oh?”

Your fake laughter dissipates on your tongue as you stare down at what Yoongi’s bought for you. After a beat, you look back up at him quizzically to find him watching you. Immediately, he looks down at his hands.

“It’s a book,” you say, callin’ it like you see it.

Yoongi makes a vaguely affirmative sound.

“By Roxane Gay,” you tack on. You’ve actually read this particular collection before—and really, really loved it—but find yourself perplexed as to how he found it, and why he chose it for you. “I didn’t realize you’d even know who she is,” you say, thumbing the cover.

“Do you like it?”

“She’s amazing,” you say truthfully, clutching the book to your chest. “But she writes in English, and I’m pretty sure her work hasn’t been widely translated?”

Yoongi hums. “Actually, I didn’t know of her,” he admits. “I found her book on a list.”

“A list?”

“An online list. One of those, if you like this book, you should try this one kinds of lists.”

“I see,” you say, intrigued. “What was your starting book, then?”

“Hm?”

“Which book did you use to kick off your search?” you ask. “Was it Michelle’s?”

There’s a beat of silence before Yoongi makes another potentially affirmative grunt. You decide not to push it, realizing with a jolt of horror that you have nothing with which to reciprocate the gesture.

“Yoongi. I didn’t get you anything.”

Yoongi shakes his head at that, waving you off. “I don’t care.”

“But—”

“Seriously,” he cuts in. “You don’t owe me anything. Okay? Please don’t worry.”

“But this was so thoughtful,” you say, looking down at the book. Yoongi remains silent as you open the hardback cover. An inscription catches your eye on the title page. By now, you can recognize Yoongi’s tight, untidy handwriting—even when he’s written in English, as he has here—readily.

“Nemeses aren’t born. They are made. — Roxane Gay,” you read aloud.

“I’m your nemesis,” Yoongi says. “You said that about me.”

“Huh?”

“Back in the dorms,” Yoongi says. “You said Hobi is your bias, and I’m your nemesis.” At your continued silence, Yoongi tacks on: “Not because we were born nemeses. Because you chose me.”

You stare at him. “You got me a book to remind me that… I chose you to be my nemesis?”

Yoongi gestures for you to flip through the pages, and only then do you notice he’s taken the initiative to bookmark a page. When you arrive at the correct section, you find that he’s highlighted a passage.

Again, you read aloud.

“There are many famous nemeses both real and imagined—Batman and the Joker, Superman and Lex Luthor, Professor X and Magneto, Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton, Eve and Villanelle.

The most important thing to remember is that the rivalry must be tended to, nurtured. It is an eternal flame, the heat of which can warm you during dark times,” you finish. The memory has grown hazy with time, but you can more-or-less recall the silly argument you’d presented to the boys in the dorms that night—that you couldn’t have a Kpop bias if you didn’t select a nemesis too. Because balance, you’d insisted. Because I want to be a rabble rouser, you’d secretly thought. 

“You said biases can’t exist without nemeses,” Yoongi says. “Like how you can’t have North without South. Like how there’s no yin without yang.”

“Right,” you say slowly, trying not to jump to any conclusions. Yoongi’s talking about interconnected, opposite forces—forces that would cease to exist (would cease to mean anything) without the other.

“Maybe we were born to be soulmates,” he says, drawing the obvious connection: that due to some grand design outside of your control—outside of your desires and wishes—you two could no longer live without the other.

Then he continues.

“But you chose me to be your nemesis.” Yoongi’s pouting slightly now.

A slow, shy smile spreads across your face. You think you’re beginning to understand. “I did,” you say. In designating him that role, you had, for the first time—if only in a quiet way—carved out a space for him in your life, not out of obligation, but because he had affected you; because your relationship had been more (had always been more; would always be more) to you than a means to an end.

“You got me this book to remind me that I can’t rest on my laurels,” you tease.

“I’m going to be with you for the rest of your life,” Yoongi says plainly (and though you know he’s just stating a fact, your heart squeezes in your chest regardless). The slight pout has made a reappearance. “Shouldn’t I be more than a dead weight in your pocket?”

He wants to be the fire you tend to. For once, Kronk’s voice is louder than Yzma’s in your mind. He wants to warm you during dark times.

He wants you to want him.

“Okay, Meeyooee. I’ll keep tending to the flame,” you say, and when his gaze flicks up to meet yours, you think it’s because you both know what you’re actually saying.

Because what you’re saying is that you want to keep choosing him; want to keep trusting him. You want to keep nurturing this—whatever this is—with him. Forever.

Soulmates.

As your eyes remain locked, the atmosphere around you noticeably shifts. The slightly playful vibe morphs into what you’re staggered to realize is becoming a familiar, electrically-charged tension. It feels almost dangerous—your entire body is buzzing and on high-alert, tracking Yoongi’s every movement. You see his pupils expand slightly. See the way his gaze flicks for a moment to your lips.

It’s like you two are magnets, unable to break away (two opposing forces, you think, eternally caught in each other’s orbit). You can’t stop yourself from leaning forward, drawn as inexorably into him as he is into you. 

And then you gasp.

“Are you okay?” Yoongi’s concern is instant, his hand immediately traveling to your incision.

“Yeah,” you breathe, blinking past the sudden tears in your eyes. You’d bent forward at the waist to lean toward him, and the motion had sent a ribbon of pain skirling through you. Disappointed, you allow Yoongi to take the book out of your hands, planting his knees in the mattress and hovering over you to set it on the bedside table. His other hand never leaves your incision. A part of you wants to grab a fistful of his shirt and tug him down onto you, and get back to whatever it was you were doing—were about to do—but the pain in your abdomen is insistent. You give in, closing your eyes and pressing your hand on top of Yoongi’s as he settles back to his previous position. Tonight, Yoongi isn’t the fire. He is the salve; the balm; the evening primrose oil. He is the poultice applied to the wound.

“YN,” he says, voice low but determined. “I’m really sorry.”

When you open your eyes—they’d fluttered shut as you’d let the skin-ship soothe you—it’s to find the imploring look from last night back on his face.

“Yoongi, you don’t need to apologize,” you say firmly, your voice hardly above a whisper. He’s so close to you now, smelling faintly of bourbon.

“I do need to,” he says firmly. “You felt bad, and I didn’t listen.”

“You didn’t understand.”

“Hey.” So quickly and gently, you’d almost believe you imagined it, he presses his forehead against yours before rocking back. “Please let me say this,” he says.

“But—”

“Please let me.”

Shakily, you nod. When you meet Yoongi’s eyes, he looks very serious.

“I should have listened to you,” he says.

“I didn’t ever flat out tell you I was feeling awful,” you counter immediately. From your point of view, you’d spent the past week feeling terrible. You’d therefore assumed that Yoongi, too, had been enduring the same somatic effects as you—that he’d been willing to suffer (to let you suffer) out of a sense of jealousy and misplaced ego. You open your mouth to express as much—to tell him you know it’s not true—but bite your tongue when he lets out a slow, shaky breath. 

“After we landed in Los Angeles, you found me on the floor of the hotel room,” he says, his voice rough. “The lack of charge felt like dying. So when you told me we needed more energy, I didn’t understand. I thought I knew what it felt like to be too low. I didn’t consider that your insistence stemmed from a place of need instead of…”

“Instead of what?” you whisper, fearing the worst.

Yoongi makes a slightly pained face, but he doesn’t break eye contact with you. “Instead of wanting to assert some kind of control over me,” he says bluntly. His fingers burn where they rest on your abdomen. You want to rebuke his statement; to defend yourself and your character against his accusation. But you know that sometimes, with Yoongi, it’s better to remain still; to remain quiet, and allow him the space and time to say all that he has to say.

“It’s not an excuse, and you gave me no reason to assume that of you.” He lets his head dip for a second. “I thought I had the facts, and I didn’t. You’re not Ga-young. You’re not my past. I’m sorry.”

“I bowed to you,” you say, the words slipping out before you have a chance to fully consider them. You understand what happened—you do; and you truly believe Yoongi wouldn’t have ever denied you charge if he’d understood you were hurting—but harder to forget is the sting of humiliation you’d felt in the prep room.

Yoongi grimaces. “I should bow to you.”

“I don’t want you to—”

“I know.” Yoongi roves his eyes over your features, bringing his free hand up to your cheek. You hold your breath as he traces the line of your cheekbone with a rough thumb.

“I’m sorry,” he says one last time, looking you dead in the eyes. “I’m not Jimin. I’m not always expressive. But I want you to talk to me, YN.”

“Okay.”

“I mean it.” Again, he tips his forehead against yours, and this time you can’t stop yourself from wrapping your arm around him, too—from slipping your fingers up the back of his shirt, and running your hand soothingly over the ridge of his spine. “If something’s wrong, or you’re not happy, or you have a question, I want you to tell me,” he says. “Ask me. I’ll be honest with you, even if you don’t like what I have to say. Just please tell me.”

“Okay,” you say again. You want to be like him. You want to be honest.

You don’t know how long the two of you stay together like that, taking shallow sips of each other’s air. But when you wake up the next morning, his hand is still on your incision, and you don’t feel any pain.

The next two weeks pass in a hectic blur. Following the success of your Michelle essay, work picks up for you—in addition to your standard editorial duties (doody! you think to yourself) you’re now being tapped to pen another feature on Andrea Long Chu for next month’s issue. For fourteen days, both you and Yoongi end most nights in the same manner—exhausted, exchanging only a few words about your respective work days before passing out in each other’s arms.

After the concerts in Fort Worth, you head up to Canada—thanking your lucky stars you’re there in early fall, rather than the dead of winter—and then fly down to Newark, where you take the train alone to Hoboken and stare longingly across the Hudson River at the Manhattan skyline as you edit.

Next up is Chicago, where your appendectomy incision gets mildly infected, resulting in a trip to the hospital and a five-day extension to your recovery timeline. But then, at long last—

“New York!” you cry as you step out onto the tarmac at JFK. You’re back, baybee! Back in your concrete jungle wet dream tomato!

“Smell that sewage?” you ask Diane blissfully as you wait for the rest of the staff to join you outside. The members are likely already en route to the hotel, having exited the plane first.

“Not really,” Diane says—which, valid. The overwhelming smell outside of the airport is that of burnt jet fuel, but you refuse to be deterred.

“What’s that aroma I detect?” you ask. “A hint of urine, mayhaps?”

“You are so weird,” Adaline laughs as you all head toward the shuttles. “Now come on. I want to try that famous New York pizza, YNie, where should I go?”

You gab happily away with the staff as the shuttle trundles through your beloved, familiar city, and indeed, you’re so distracted that you don’t even take stock of where, exactly, you’re headed. It all comes rushing back, however, the moment you step foot in the Ritz-Carlton’s front lounge: you’re staying at the same hotel Yoongi had used when he’d been here last.

When he’d met you.

You manage to wave off Diane and Adaline’s invitation to go grab dinner, citing preexisting plans—which is mostly true; you just won’t be eating—and head up the elevator, swallowing the peculiar sense of deja vu as you tap your key against the door with the Artists’ Gate Suite placard. It feels strange to be back here, again, after all this time. For a moment, the veil separating your past from your present seems to weaken. Your breath hitches. It’s as if you can feel the two timelines—B.M. (Before Meeyooee) and A.S.S. (After Soulmate Suga)—rubbing against one another, folding seamlessly into and over each other, becoming one as you step again into the room.

Yoongi looks up from where he’s sat on a brocade armchair when you enter, the motion causing his black bangs to fall into his eyes. Perhaps it’s the surreality of being back in the city where you first met, or how stupidly boyfriend-y he looks with his long hair all down and tousled, but you draw to a sudden halt, as if pinned to the spot by his dark gaze. Something had shifted between you two after your collapse in Los Angeles—something you’d both been too busy to fully explore since your last night in Oakland. But as you stand there, in the suite where you’d first seen Yoongi and knew it was Yoongi, the emotions you’ve been tamping down crash back over you as he lowers his laptop screen, smiling his crooked grin at you.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you say, feeling breathless. Is it just your imagination? Or are his eyes more soft on you than usual? After a beat, you rouse yourself and come to stand next to his armchair. The hotel’s view of Central Park is just as beautiful as you remember it.

Yoongi hums thoughtfully after a moment of silence. “Do you want to sit down?”

“I should shower, actually,” you say. “I’m going to go meet my supervisor Pavica for drinks tonight, remember?”

Yoongi taps a few keys on his keyboard, then shuts the laptop completely. “It’s a travel day,” he says, turning his full attention to you. “Did you get enough charge for that?”

“She knows I have a soulmate,” you say. You’d seen no harm in letting her know—it’s not like she’d ever connect you to Yoongi, and having her in on the loop means you won’t have to lie about not wanting to drink much or eat the bar snacks.

“Mm,” Yoongi says, turning to stare out the window again. When you turn to go, however, he reaches out, circling your wrist loosely with his long, bony fingers. You freeze, shuddering as though electrocuted. It doesn’t matter that you’ve been sleeping in his arms for weeks, now—the soulmate connection (warm; tingling; overwhelming) still has the power to stop you in your tracks.

“Yoongi?”

“Do you have a minute? I won’t be long.”

Curious, you nod mutely at him, both disappointed and relieved when he releases your arm. Absentmindedly, you begin stroking your wrist, massaging the still-tingling skin.

“Are you free on the 6th?” he asks.

Your hand stills in its movements as you fight to keep your expression neutral.

“You have your last New York concert that night,” you say. A careful non-answer.

“I know,” he says. “But after?”

Does he know?

“Um…”

“It’s your birthday,” he states, as if you’re the one who needs reminding.

“R-right,” you stammer. So he knows.

“Can I take you somewhere, please?”

You blink at him, trying to wrap your head around his request.

“Um. Can you?” you say, doing your best to ignore how violently your stomach is somersaulting inside of you. “It’s not like we can go out to eat together, and New York is so crowded. What if someone sees us?”

“No one will see us.”

He sounds so sure—looks it, too—as he stares up at you expectantly.

“Okay,” you say, and your neck warms as you watch the corner of his mouth twitch up. “I’d like that.”

He nods, once, and turns back to his laptop with a small, gummy smile. “Okay. It’s a date.”

(You wait until you’ve locked yourself in the bathroom to silently scream.)

You expect to wake up alone on your birthday, so you’re not disappointed when this turns out to be the case—Yoongi warned you the night before that he had meetings he’d tried (and failed) to get out of.

Luckily, you’re fully booked for the day, and are able to squeeze in quality time with several of your closest New York friends. It’s a classic city day, spent meandering through pop-up exhibits and bookstores, treating yourself to manicures, and catching happy hour drinks at an old favorite haunt. When you’re invited to watch a drag show at the Vale of Cashmere in Prospect Park, however, you face a conundrum. You’re meant to meet Meeyooee back at the hotel after his show—but there’s no way you’d be able to make it back in time if you went all the way to Brooklyn.

To your surprise, however, Yoongi answers your text filling him in on your conundrum immediately—it’s unusual for him to have his phone on him so soon before his show begins—assuring you that it’s fine, and he’ll meet you out in Brooklyn, considering they’re playing at Barclays Center anyway.

[18:44]   YN  Are you sure? This won’t derail your plans, right? 

[18:45]   Meeyooee  just let me know a good street corner to get dropped off. i can be there by ten.

You type in the cross-streets of your old apartment building, which is close to the park and rather secluded.

[18:45]   YN  Dope ass. Thank you :)

[18:46]   Meeyooee -ㅅ-

He ends up meeting you at ten on the dot, a half hour after your friends left you to go home for the evening. The night is unseasonably balmy for early October—you’re perfectly at ease in your light sweater, waiting for him under a puddle of flickering sodium streetlight.

“Happy birthday,” he says after he climbs out of the shuttle—you recognize Jae in the driver’s seat—dark eyes tired but warm under his baseball cap. Yoongi hands you a bucket hat, too, as well as a mask, which you don obediently. “Come on.”

To your great surprise, he grabs your hand, and any lingering chill from the autumn air dissipates in wake of the soulmate charge thrumming though you.

“Yoongi…” you say questioningly, but he merely chuckles.

“Relax,” he says. “No one’s watching us.”

To be fair, the streets are more or less abandoned—it’s past ten o’clock on a weekday in a residential neighborhood in Brooklyn, and you highly doubt a cheugy girl in Uggs buying pumpkin-flavored Keurig capsules at the deli next door is going to be the one to blow your cover. Curiosity overrides the alarm bells pinging in your mind—Yoongi, the man who’d sent private cars to shepherd you to and from the dorm after the Susu Gaga story broke, wouldn’t be reckless with your protection—and you allow him to tug you along. He looks down at his phone and takes a left at the next street corner.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere I’ve wanted to see for a long time now.”

“Somewhere you’ve wanted to see? Meeyooee, you know it’s my birthday, not—OH MY GOD. NORMAN!”

With an excited squeal, you drop Yoongi’s hand, and positively fling yourself at the familiar white-and-orange cat mewling outside your favorite bodega. You can no longer enjoy their criminally greasy breakfast fare, but Norman, who has ventured beyond the store’s frozen aisle section tonight, is perhaps the soul you missed above all others in New York.

You hear a click, and whip around just in time to see Yoongi lowering his phone.

“How did you know?” you ask, cuddling Norman to your chest.

Yoongi shuffles in place, his expression largely hidden behind his mask. “You brought a bodega cat up in your Michelle essay.”

“You read that?” you say, incredulous. Norman purrs loudly in your arms. “But it was in English!”

“Yeah. I had it translated.”

“But—”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Of course it is. I—”

“Seriously,” Yoongi says. “Your first feature, you know? I wanted to read it.”

“You must have had it translated while we were in Los Angeles,” you realize as you scritch under Norman’s chin. “When we were fighting.”

“I figured we’d make up,” he says wryly.

Norman blinks lazily at Yoongi, sizing him up, and then butts your palm with his head, as if to say—that will do, pig. That will do.

“Hm,” you say. “You drove all the way down to Brooklyn just to meet Norman?”

Yoongi shrugs. “You told me you missed him.”

“I did?”

Yoongi’s returning hum is more like a growl. “I asked you back in the dorms what you missed most about New York. You mentioned a bodega cat.”

“I can’t believe you remember that,” you say, gawking at him. You have to gawk because if you don’t gawk you might forget how to breathe and then you will die. Which you cannot do. Not in front of the brie-and-egg sandwiches!

“Kitae had your old address on file from when he had to visit you back in June.” You can see that Yoongi is trying very hard to downplay this unnecessarily sweet act of service. “I was curious about the cat.”

“Of course. You love cats.”

“They’re fine.” He clears his throat. “Norman’s mentioned in a lot of reviews on Yelp, so. I knew where to go.”

“Right,” you say, grinning broadly at him. “Do you want to pet him?”

He does. You snap a photo of him doing so—and then, without allowing yourself to think too much about it, you sidle up next to him and take your first picture together with Yoongi: an ussie of you both, faces hidden, Norman’s squishy mug sandwiched between the two of you.

“Alright,” he says, proffering his index finger for Norman to lick with his sandpaper tongue. “We’ve waited long enough. Let’s head out now.”

“Waited long enough for what?”

“Princess,” Yoongi says warningly. “Don’t ask questions.”

With one last squeeze, you release Norman back to the streets, and follow Yoongi into the shuttle. Jae takes off without a word, leading you to believe Yoongi’s already filled him in on his plan. You know you’re not going to get a word out of your soulmate, but you’ve had two drinks, and Meeyooee had remembered a throwaway comment you’d made to him in Brooklyn, and you think there’s too much giddiness inside of you, so much so that your body might not be able to contain it, so you hug yourself to keep all your seams together and sing happy birthday to me under your breath.

“What are you doing?” Yoongi asks after the second verse.

You side-eye him snootily before leaning your forehead against the window, staring out at the passing city lights.

“I’m celebrating myself,” you say. “And singing myself—”

“—And what I assume you shall assume; for every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you,” Yoongi finishes knowingly. Your mouth pops open.

“Walt Whitman!” you exclaim approvingly. Between him recognizing the quote enough to finish it and buying you a Roxane Gay book, you’re beginning to suspect Yoongi’s a secret littérateur. “I love Leaves of Grass.”

When you turn to look back at Yoongi, however, you find he’s gone still—very still.

“What?” you say, confused by the expression on his face. He’s staring at you carefully—not quite guiltily, but almost like he’s waiting for something to happen—waiting for you to call him out on something.

But what?

“I like the beginning of that poem,” he says, slowly. “That atom line. It reminded me of soulmates.”

Your heart does some complicated acrobatics in your chest. Sitting there in the shuttle next to Yoongi as you wind through Manhattan… you want to swoon. You probably would swoon, if he wasn’t still looking at you all funny, still. You rake your mind for what could possibly be spurring on his awkward shift in energy, but then the shuttle rolls to a smooth stop, and the engine cuts.

“We’re here,” Yoongi says. You blink, staring out the window confusedly.

“Um… are you sure?”

“Yes,” Yoongi says. “Keep your hat low and follow me. Come on.”

The obvious question is on the tip of your tongue—because why in the world had Yoongi brought you to arguably one of the most populated places in the city?—but you trail after him compliantly, keeping up with his brisk pace as he strides toward a back entrance to the recognizable building. There’s a single guard waiting there—one you think you recognize as part of Hybe’s staff—who nods at Yoongi and unlocks the door when you approach.

“Thanks,” Yoongi says, motioning for you to pass through first.

You enter into a dark and silent hallway; the air smells vaguely yeasty, like stale soft pretzels and beer.

“This way,” Yoongi’s voice sounds directly behind you; you can feel his body heat, feel him bracketing your back with his torso, his breath fanning across the nape of your neck—and then he’s taken your hand and leads you further into the quiet dark.

It doesn’t click until you emerge into the now-familiar stadium. Standing here now, you think it feels simultaneously smaller and larger than it does in your memories. Because you’ve thought about this room many times over the past four months.

This is the room inside of which you’d tripped. The room in which you’d met Yoongi.

He’s brought you back to Madison Square Garden.

Only… your breath catches in your chest when you see the banners lining the court, which usually advertise the Knicks in orange and blue, now say, HAPPY BIRTHDAY YN. The center of the stadium is dark, but a random spot in an aisle glows under a caramel spotlight. You allow Yoongi to lead you there, discovering a bottle of wine and a single wrapped present waiting for you on a wooden stool.

You pause before the display, and it’s only once you release Yoongi’s hand and reach out for the gift that you realize you’re trembling.

“How…”

“Called ahead to rent out the arena for us tonight. This aisle—”

You get it.

“The aisle?”

“Yeah.”

You can feel his eyes on you, but you can’t look at him yet—because you know once you look at him, it’ll be over. It’ll all be over. You’ll cease to exist.

You want to live. At least long enough to look him in the eyes one last time. So you tear into the wrappings, and peer down at yet another book—this one a heavy, leather-bound copy of Leaves of Grass. You suspect a first edition.

“I didn’t know you liked American poetry,” you murmur. “Based on your tastes in basketball mangas, I…” you trail off, eyes widening slightly at the golden embossed title. “Oh.”

Yoongi inhales softly behind you.

“Oh?”

Yeah. Oh. It comes back to you then… the refrain he’d whispered in your ear the other night back in Los Angeles, when he’d tripped into bed drunk and smelling of whiskey, before your appendicitis had progressed.

Trippers and askers surround me…

Walt Whitman. Leaves of Grass.

You spin around, your feet facing him but your eyes still glazed over and set on the title. Now that you’re thinking about it, you’d seen a copy of Walt Whitman’s complete collection of poetry on Yoongi’s bedside table back in the dorms at Seoul. But hadn’t you brought Leaves of Grass up months ago, when you’d gone to the Ritz-Carlton—the same one you’re staying in now—and met up with Yoongi and Namjoon? You’re almost positive you had. And Yoongi hadn’t given any indication that he’d even heard of the poem, let alone read it…

“Yoongi.” You know this could come off sounding incredibly stupid, but you forge on anyway. “Did you… you didn’t by any chance, uh…”

You trail off, feeling silly, but when you glance at Yoongi, you swear he’s somehow inched closer. His gaze on you is patient, but there’s something almost goading about it, too. You can’t understand it. Or maybe you can. Maybe you’re not ready. Maybe you—

“Say what you’re thinking, Princess.” His voice is a growl. There’s a challenge to it, but not one that feels mean.

You take a deep breath.

“Did you buy and read Leaves of Grass because I brought it up at that meeting three months ago?” you ask, pleased at how controlled you sound—your pitch doesn’t waver, not once. Your heart, however, tells a different story: it’s as if you’ve swallowed a tiny hummingbird, flapping its wings in the cavity of your chest. Your bones feel jelly-like, shivering with anticipation.

Yoongi looks at you.

And then—

“What else?” he drawls.

What?

“What do you mean, what else?” you question.

“Tell me,” he says slowly, his voice dropping yet another octave—but even in this low, intense pitch, he manages to enunciate every word. His eyes on yours are commanding. Demanding. “You’re a smart girl, aren’t you?”

“Yoongi—”

“Answer my question.”

“Yes,” you manage. You’ve never felt more flustered. Blood heats your cheeks—you’re sure your heartbeat is broadcasting its erratic tune, thunderous in the stillness of the abandoned stadium. “I’m a smart girl.”

“Good, YN,” Yoongi says, bringing a thumb up to rest on your clavicle, spreading the rest of his fingers to rest just under your throat. Jolts of electricity sear through you—the charge right now doesn’t feel warm. It feels fiery—kinetic. “Show me, then.”

“Show… you…?”

“What else have you noticed, Princess? What else have you put together?”

Words fail you—you feel drugged, utterly intoxicated, unable to focus on anything but the feel of his thumb nestled in the dip of your collarbone.

“Do you need me to lay it all out for you?” Yoongi prompts, his voice a sinful whisper. “Or can you use your words? Say it. Prove that you’re here with me in this. I want to know that you know.”

Blood pounds in your ears, while something warm and insistent blooms deep in your belly. You swallow dryly, licking your lips.

What else? Is he asking you to list out the things you suspect he might be doing for you? Does that mean you’re right—he’d bought Leaves of Grass after the first meeting?

Could it be that Yoongi had actually been paying that much attention to you from the beginning? That he’d liked you—cared to know more about you; to understand you, like you wanted to understand him—from the very first day?

“What else…” you say faintly, unable to tear your gaze away from his near-black eyes. He’s leaned in slightly, enough for the dark scent of orange blossoms to wash over you.

What else.

What else is that he’d thrown corn flavored snacks at your head before you’d lost your taste, just to make sure you could enjoy your favorite tastes before it was too late.

What else is that that he’d texted you the moon.

What else is that he’d found you a dress for Michelle’s party. He’d given you a key to his dorm and come to Daehyun’s late at night and forced the maknae line to sleepover with you on the couches and let you call him your nemesis because it meant he didn’t just have your presence, he had your attention.

I think I’m a bit nervous that I like him more than he likes me, you’d told Hana.

What else.

What else is that he said his favorite scent was spicy vanilla.

What else is that he’d read your Michelle essay in Los Angeles, even though you’d been fighting. Despite that, he’d taken the time to have it translated, and now you’d gotten to see Norman, the bodega cat, again.

Something dawns on you, then.

“Many people live and die without ever confronting themselves in the darkness,” you say. Or rather, you recite. Because Yoongi had said that to you, once. He’d whispered it after he’d returned from Kimmel in Los Angeles, and you’d recognized it as familiar.

“You read Carmen Maria Machado,” you say. It’s not a question—you’re sure of it. You’re sure because you’d used that Carmen quote in the essay you’d edited for her—an essay you’re realizing Yoongi must have sought out and read. Because you’d mentioned her once, months ago, during your interview in his Genius Lab. “That’s how you found Roxane Gay. They’re both memoirists. They’ve written essays about each other.”

You can see the tiny mole on Yoongi’s cheek under the warm spotlight, he’s so close now. “Yes.”

He’d been listening, you realize. All this time, even when he’d been cold, or distant, or difficult to understand—he’d been listening. He’d been listening and he’d been doing that thing that Yoongi does—silently paying attention. Taking his time. Taking you in.

Time seems to stop, then, suspended in your next breath, and it’s as if you can see your history with Yoongi unfolding in front of you—a symmetrical expansion, like a fan, or a peacock wheel. In the middle you see Yoongi as he is tonight: his hair a bit mussed from his cap, smile a beautiful, gummy gash, eyes dark and probing. But you also see him with his arms crossed in the Ritz-Carlton, listening to you negotiate the terms of your new life with his team—(while secretly clocking that you liked poetry); you see him in the Genius Lab, black beanie pulled low, watching you gab about your resumé to your future supervisor—(while privately noting the name of your obscure favorite author, who he’d go on to read and quote at you in the dark).

You see moments you didn’t even get to see—not really. You see Yoongi laying to you in bed while you sleep, ordering you a new laptop sleeve after your computer burned through your pajamas; see him returning home after the Melon awards and then catching sight of your spare key on his nightstand; see him slipping his shoes back on and texting his driver to please come back, because he had someplace to be…

How far back does it go? How many small signs did you miss because you’d convinced yourself you needed to wait for a big one? Because you’d told yourself that falling in love would be loud instead of gentle, as glaring as a lightning bolt slashing through a stormy sky.

Maybe it was actually just a collection of small moments. Fingers drifting under shirts to rest against incisions; paper umbrellas tossed in secret to help protect against hail; hands interlaced in coat closets; quiet praises exchanged after nightfall; private nicknames based on private observations.

“Meeyooee,” you say. “Why did you choose the codename L for me?”

He’s tonguing the inside of his cheek now, the skin protruding slightly.

“Is it because I make you Laugh?” you ask.

“Of course not.” He chuckles lowly. “You’re not funny.”

“Do you think I’m a Loser?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t miss a beat.

“Is that—”

“No, YN, that’s not it.”

“Then is it because I’m your Lifeline?” you say, growing bolder. “And you cannot Live without me?”

Your noses are almost touching now. “Guess again.”

“Yoongi,” you whisper. His lips are parted. He probably swallows the sound. You can feel his heartbeat in the pad of your thumb, resting on his wrist.

“Do you call me L because after that first meeting, when I quoted Elle Woods, you went home and downloaded every single Reese Witherspoon movie after Daehyun called my reference dope ass?” you say. “Does L not stand for an ‘L’ word at all? Does L stand for Elle?”

Silence presses down upon you as you wait, holding your breath, for his response. Maybe you got it wrong. Maybe he sees no similarities in you and Elle, who’s spunky, and fun, and gets plunged into a situation she’s ill-prepared for, only to triumph over the haters and become an emblem for embracing female empowerment in the face of so much fuckularity and misogyny and—

Yoongi smiles.

“Not bad,” he murmurs, and just like the last time you stood here, in this exact spot, with this exact man, your world goes white. “But I gotta be honest, Elle. Legally Blonde is okay, but most of Reese’s movies… are trash.”

You recoil from the monster smiling down at you on a dime, revolted.

“You take that back, Meeyooee!”

“I’m serious,” he says, nudging you back into him. “It really threw me on a loop dee loop, thinking my soulmate was out there enjoying such cinematic travesties as Hot Pursuit…”

Your heart stops. Surely you misheard. Surely he doesn’t remember… 

“It threw you on a what?”you say in a strangled whisper. “Did you just say loop dee—”

This time, Yoongi makes the first move, and though your sentence meets an untimely end on your tongue, you find you don’t care as your lips meet his in a slow, exploring kiss. There’s no haze of drugs, or alcohol, or sickness to distract you. Where seconds before, you’d been shivery with hyperawareness, now your entire world has narrowed to the grounding warmth of Yoongi’s lips—insistent; warm; slightly chapped—sending dark, heady tremors of want pumping through your veins.

Fuck. You feel hot, your entire body burning with desire. Kissing doesn’t feel like this—like an answer to every question, even those you’ve never thought to ask. Your entire body feels like sand in an hourglass—you’re suspended in the fulcrum, ready to tip any way, up or down, side to side. However Yoongi wants you.

He nips at your lips, teasing, as one of his hands comes up to take the book out of your grip, setting it on the stool—and then he’s moving against you, pulling you closer, his hips pressing to yours, fitting perfectly against you. You whimper out something that sounds like his name, your breath coming in short pants as you card your fingers through his hair, tugging as you move your lips to the heated column of his throat, dragging your lips against his skin.

“Princess.”

Yoongi’s voice is a tortured rasp, and you’re proud of yourself for being able to draw that sound out of him. You think it must be after midnight. You think it’s probably no longer your birthday. Which makes it October 7th—your fourth month anniversary of knowing Yoongi. Of wanting him.

And here he is, eyes blown out as he stares down at you, before he dives back in to reclaim your mouth, his tongue pressing against the seam of your lips, asking for entrance. His thumb, warm, under your shirt and skimming over your skin. Rubbing a circle into your hip. Min Yoongi. Your soulmate.

Yours.

There’s no way of telling how long you stand there—only that too soon, you’re forced to pull back to catch your breath, heart hammering as his lips immediately dip down to taste the sensitive spot on your collarbone.

“Do you want to stay here and drink wine and watch a stupid fucking movie on the Jumbotron?” he asks, lips grazing the sensitive shell of your ear—nipping, ghosting, teasing his way down your jaw, until he’s speaking against the corner of your lips. “Or can I bring you back to the hotel now?”

“Hotel,” you say immediately, too far gone to be embarrassed by how close you already are to begging for him. A deep pool of need is swirling inside you, even as your stomach fizzes with excitement. He probably spent a stupid amount of money securing this place, and you’ve been here for all of ten minutes. It’s enough.

He coughs a laugh, hand grazing down your side. “Okay.”

He is, you think as he pulls you roughly back the way you came, so insane for this. For forcing you to tell him all the ways in which he’s thought about you—and you managed some verbally; the rest must have been expressed through your eyes. You feel light-headed at how proud he looked when you got it—at how much he likes it when you’re confident in yourself, and in his desire.

You wonder what else he might make you tell him. You wonder how he might go about coaxing different sounds out of you when he gets you back to the room alone…

“Hm,” you hum belatedly as you move, swiftly, back through the long, dark hall. “Happy four months of… this.” Whatever this is.

“Yeah.” He stops, spins, his eyes glowing in the shadows. He nods curtly, once. “You’re mine.”

So.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It’s colder outside than you remember, but not terribly so, and the shuttle is overly hot because you’re on a date, and now you belong to Yoongi. He said so. You think, with your book clutched to your chest: maybe Eomma won't fling herself into the Han River anymore. Which is nice. Just peachy. You want to sound your barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

Waiting in the shuttle for him to go upstairs is nothing short of a small torture. You have nothing to say to Jae. All you can think about is how Meeyooee is waiting for you on the top floor—how you’ll press your key to the lock, and the door will swing open, and he’ll be there, with that smirk and those dark, burning eyes…

When it’s time, you float up the elevator. Stumble your way down the hall. Hear the chirr of the door unlocking. Step inside your room, heart beating wildly—

Only to discover you and Yoongi are not alone.

“What’s going on?” you say, cold dread rinsing through your body. Because Yoongi is staring at you, eyes wide, unmoving as temple stone. Behind him stand Namjoon, Sejin, and, of all people, Jimin, each wearing the same shell-shocked expression.

Light; pixels; movement. The television mounted on the back wall catches your eye—and then your knees shake, as if the entire world is chipping away beneath your feet. Because the television is muted, but you can still read the headline:

BREAKING: FIRST EVER SOULMATE SEPARATION PROCEDURE A SUCCESS. Experts say unhappily bonded soulmates can begin signing up for the groundbreaking separation procedure as soon as next week.

Oh.

You lock eyes with Yoongi.

Oh.

“So,” Sejin breaks the silence. “Clearly, we need to talk.”

A/N: And with that, TNF's only mystery—that of Codename L—has come to an end. Thank you all so much for playing with me, and I hope you ended up satisfied with the reveal! Special shout out to "Jen" on AO3/@ootjepetootje here, who is officially the only person to correctly guess what Codename L stood for IN CHAPTER 15, MERE DAYS BEFORE THE REVEAL 😍🤩🔥 (Although a few of you got VERY close with those 'Legally Blonde' guesses. I see you!) When I had YN guess Princess Leia, that was a teensy tiny hint to think names, not adjectives, and Jen—you nailed it!

A/N II: Special shout out to @wxstedhexrt, 🍕 anon, and @lonelyending for all picking up on the fact that Yoongi was reading Carmen Maria Machado! And @mabrook-habibi and myyoongiverse on AO3 for picking up on Yoongi reading Leaves of Grass. TRIP-TECTIVE NATION, RISE UP!

A/N III: This chapter took so much out of me (I think it might go down as my favorite, but also the most difficult to get down), and I really hope you loved it—if you are willing and able, please consider leaving me feedback by commenting, reblogging, or sliding into my asks with your thoughts—it would mean the world to me!

A/N IV: 👉 Click here for a fun surprise 👈