MDNI🔞
Main Masterlist here
Before I Go Masterlist here
Summary: Your life was perfect. You had the perfect fiance, the perfect house and the perfect ring on your finger. The only thing that wasn't perfect …. were the memories you lost years ago and the fact your parents won't talk about it.
Pairing: Yoongi x F. Reader
Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt-Comfort, Smut
Warnings: Memory Loss, Swearing, Blood Mention, Unprotected Sex, Mention Of Car Accident, Mention Of Drunk Driver. Will add as I go…
The energy in the community center on Saturday made Jimin's living room feel like a zen garden. You are currently stationed at a long folding table, completely surrounded by six and seven-year-olds. In the center of the table sit several massive blocks of soft, colorful air-dry clay.
"Remember what we said, guys!" You call out, gently intercepting a tiny hand that is reaching for a plastic cup of water. "No water today. This clay is already super soft. If we add water, it turns into sticky soup, and then your monsters won't have any bones."
"My monster doesn't need bones, Y/N! He's a space jellyfish!" Minjun announces proudly, enthusiastically slamming a bright green lump of clay onto the table.
The familiar slap-slap-slap instantly echoes in your mind, a miniature, pint-sized echo of Jungkook's terrifying dragon from the weekend before. You can't help the fond smile that tugs at your lips. Your fingers, though still recovering their old rhythm, feel lighter today as you mold a flower in your hand. Across the room, sitting at an identical folding table surrounded by his own frantic cluster of kids, is Hobi.
If your table is a semi-controlled workshop, Hobi’s table is a full-blown theater production. He is entirely in his element, his loud, bright laughter ringing out over the chatter of the room. He’s wearing an oversized tie-dye shirt that matches the chaotic palette of the clay, and there is already a prominent smudge of neon pink clay on the tip of his nose.
"Whoa, whoa, look at that technique, Jiwoo!" Hobi exclaims, his hands gesturing wildly in the air, mimicking the shape of a bird soaring. "That's not just a bird, that’s a super-sonic eagle! Look at those wings! Pow! Pow!"
The little girl next to him giggles hysterically, burying her face in her hands as Hobi does a dramatic, slow-motion dive with his own lump of clay, making sound effects that has the entire table captivated He builds a space where they are entirely free to be as loud and creative as they want.
You watch him for a moment with the same realization you had while watching Yoongi's students. This was the world that had kept turning while you were gone…beautiful, vibrant, and full of life. However, you weren't looking at it from the outside anymore. You were right here, in the middle of it.
Hobi suddenly looks up across the room, catching your eye past the sea of tiny heads. Seeing you watching him, his face immediately breaks into that familiar, brilliant heart-shaped smile. He holds up two clay-stained hands, giving you an enthusiastic, supportive double-thumbs-up, his energy vibrating all the way across the crowded center. You laugh, giving him a small wave back before turning your attention down to Minjun’s space jellyfish.
"Okay, Minjun," you say softly, leaning in close. "Let's figure out how to make those tentacles hold together. What do you think if we press them a little harder into the clay?"
"Like this?" Minjun asks, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in pure concentration as he aggressively mashes a neon blue coil into his green blob.
"Perfect," you smile, smoothing down the seam where the two colors meet. "See? No water needed. It’s a structurally sound space jellyfish."
"Y/N! Y/N, look!"
A sharp, panicked tug on the hem of your shirt pulls your attention away from Minjun. You look down to see a little girl named Sunhee. Her lower lip is trembling violently, her big eyes brimming with a catastrophic level of six-year-old despair. On the table in front of her sits a tragic, unrecognizable mass of air-dry clay.
It had clearly started as a cat. You can see two sad, squished ears folded flat against the top but in her excitement, she must have dropped it or pressed down too hard. Now, the purple and yellow clays had marbled together into a flattened lump.
"I ruined it," Sunhee whispers, a fat tear finally spilling over her lashes. "I wanted to make my kitty, but I squished him. He doesn't have a face anymore."
"Oh, sweetie, hey, it's okay," you say gently, instantly shifting into a low kneel beside her tiny chair so you're at eye level. "We can fix this, Sunhee, I promise," you say softly, wiping a fresh tear from her cheek with the clean back of your wrist. "Look at these colors. The purple and yellow mixing together actually look pretty cool. It looks like a magical storm. What if your kitty has special powers?"
You gently take her small, sticky hands in yours, guiding her fingers to the sides of the flattened lump.
"Let's use the pads of our thumbs. We're just going to pinch right here at the top, very gently, to bring those ears back up. See? Just like that." You smile softly.
Sunhee’s ragged breathing slows down, her eyes wide as she watches the shape slowly emerge from the chaos. With your hands over hers, you show her how to smooth out the deep dent in the middle, flattening a sturdy base so the creature can stand.
"Now, he needs a face,"Yoongi slides a small chair over, sitting down awkwardly on the low seat so he's closer to eye level with Sunhee. He reaches into the center of the table and picks up a small wooden stylus tool, handing it to the little girl with a quiet smile.
"If you use the pointy end, you can dot two eyes right here," Yoongi says. "And maybe a little star on his forehead?"
Sunhee blinks at him, completely captivated by his calm demeanor. She snatches the tool and immediately goes to work, carefully poking two deep dimples into the front of her new cosmic cat.
"He's an alien kitty now!" She announces proudly.
"Exactly," Yoongi murmurs, a tiny smile touching the corners of his lips. "Go show Hobi over there. He's the expert on aliens."
Sunhee scoops up her clay masterpiece and scrambles away, running toward Hobi's table where a chorus of theatrical gasps immediately welcomes her.
As the table settles back into its noisy rhythm, you shift your weight, sitting back on your heels with a soft breath. You look down at your hands, which are completely covered in dried white clay. For the first time in months, they don't feel stiff or clumsy. They just feel warm.
Yoongi stays seated on his low chair, his dark eyes locked on your face. He reaches out, his pale fingers sliding under yours.
"It's starting to become natural again," he says softly.
"What do you mean?" You blink, shifting your gaze from your clay-stained fingers up to his face.
His grip firming just a fraction as his eyes soften, a deep, nostalgic warmth reflecting in them. He looks across the noisy room at the kids, then right back into your eyes.
"You working with them," he says. "Watching you just now with Sunhee, knowing exactly how to catch her before she completely broke down... it's like second nature to you again. You didn't have to stop and think about how to fix it. Your hands just knew what to do. Your heart just knew."
Before you can respond, a little boy named Kiho thrusts his hands forward, practically shoving his masterpiece into the space between your noses. He is bouncing on his feet, his sneakers squeaking against the linoleum as he bounces on his toes.
"Look! Look what I made!" He chirps.
You and Yoongi slowly lower your gaze, looking down at the plastic tray resting in his sticky palms. Sitting in the center of the tray is a remarkably detailed, slightly lumpy mass of bright orange air-dry clay. It is thick in the middle, tapered at both ends, and features a series of layered, overlapping flaps meticulously pressed along its sides. Rising from the head are two distinct, curved appendages that hook downward. It's complete with tiny spikes and two bulbous, oversized eyes staring blankly back at you.
It is, without a doubt, a masterpiece.
Your jaw drops slightly. You blink once. Twice. You look up at the boy, trying to find your voice. "Oh, wow... buddy, this is incredible. What... what exactly is it?"
Kiho puffs out his chest, looking at you like you're the one who needs a remedial science lesson.
"It’s an *Anomalocaris*!" he announces proudly, pronouncing the five-hundred-million-year-old name with a terrifying level of clarity. "My dad readed me a big book about the ocean before the dinosaurs were even born! It's the apex predator of the Cambrian seas!"
Very slowly, you turn your head to look at Yoongi.
Yoongi is already looking back at you.
His dark bangs are shadowing his eyes, but his mouth is slightly open, his jaw completely slack as he stares at you. Yoongi turns back, his eyes darting from the flawless orange clay creature and back to the little boy. He clears his throat.
"Hey, Kiho," Yoongi says. "Can I take a picture of that?"
"A picture?! For real?! Like, on a real phone?!" Kiho’s eyes go completely wide. He bounces so hard on his sneakers they emit a series of rapid, high-pitched squeak-squeak-squeaks.
"Yeah, for real," Yoongi says, already reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. He unlocks it with his thumb, blinking against the bright screen. "Hold it right up to your chest so I can get the details. Don't move."
Kiho freezes instantly, holding the tray out like it's a priceless museum artifact, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he tries not to breathe. Yoongi leans over the low table, framing the shot with care, ensuring the curved frontal appendages and the tiny clay spikes are perfectly in focus.
Click.
"Got it," Yoongi says, nodding once. "Good job, scientist."
"Yes! I'm gonna go show Hobi!" Kiho yells, turning on his heel and sprinting toward Hobi’s table.
You watch the boy weave through the sea of chaotic kids, a breathless laugh bubbling up from your chest. You turn back to Yoongi, who is already hunched over his screen, his thumb flying across the keyboard with terrifying speed.
"Why did you take a picture of that?" You ask, leaning your chin on your hand, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. "Are you secretly starting a digital gallery of Cambrian marine life?"
Yoongi doesn't look up, but a wicked, slow-burning smirk spreads across his face, his eyes shining behind his dark bangs.
"I'm sending it to Namjoon," he says bluntly.
"With what explanation?" You ask.
"No explanation," he clarifies, his thumb hitting the send button with an authoritative tap. "No text. No caption. Just the raw, orange apex predator."
He flips his phone screen-side down on the folding table, leaning back against the low plastic chairs with his arms crossed over his chest. For a few seconds, the room returns to its usual background noise. Hobi making explosive spaceship noises, a kid crying because their clay turned brown, and a dozen tiny voices.
Then, exactly forty-five seconds later, Yoongi's phone doesn't just buzz…it practically violently-vibrates itself across the polished linoleum table. Yoongi doesn't even hesitate. He snatches the phone, flips it over, and holds it up so you can see the screen. A wall of text is already scrolling upward, the bubbles appearing so fast the app is practically glitching.
Joon: IS THAT AN ANOMALOCARIS?!
Joon: YOONGI WHO MADE THIS
Joon: Look at the lateral swimming flaps! Look at the stalked compound eyes! The anterior appendages are completely proportional to the main body segment!
Joon: Whoever made this understands the Burgess Shale fauna on a spiritual level. Tell me it has both arms. Please tell me the appendage didn't fall off into the dust.
Joon: Where did you find this genius?
You bury your face in your clay-stained hands, your shoulders shaking with silent, uncontrollable laughter. The sheer, unbridled vindication radiating through the text messages is enough to fill the entire community center. Yoongi lets out a low chuckle, his gummy smile breaking fully free as he starts typing a response with one thumb.
Yoongi: A seven-year-old made it.
Yoongi: Both arms are attached, Joon.
Yoongi: It doesn't look like a shrimp at all.
A second later, the phone violently-vibrates again, a singular, massive bubble popping onto the screen.
Joon: AGE IS AN ARBITRARY METRIC FOR GENIUS. DO NOT SQUISH IT. I AM SECURING A DISPLAY CASE.
Yoongi lets out another low, wheezing chuckle, shaking his head as he taps the power button to lock the screen. He slides the phone smoothly back into the deep pocket of his pants, patting the fabric with smugness. The petty war over the Cambrian period had officially been won, and he didn't even have to say a word to do it.
"He's probably already putting on his museum cardigan," Yoongi murmurs, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners as he looks back at you. "He's going to track that kid down and try to sponsor his elementary school tuition."
"You are terrible," you laugh, leaning your shoulder against his arm, your chest feeling remarkably light. "He was genuinely having an existential crisis about his clay shrimp last weekend, and you just handed a seven-year-old his dream legacy."
"It's about maintaining balance in the universe," Yoongi retorts. He reaches out, his thumb gently catching the edge of your wrist, pulling your hands down from your face. "Come on. Look at your friend over there. He's losing the battle against the glitter glue."
You follow his gaze across the noisy, chaotic room. Hobi is currently surrounded by a frantic circle of kids, holding a bottle of neon pink glitter glue high above his head while Sunhee and two other kids leap frantically to reach it.
"No, no, no! One drop at a time, my beautiful artists!" Hobi is yelling, his voice a mix of theatrical terror and pure joy, the pink clay smudge still perfectly centered on his nose. "If we dump the whole bottle, the alien kitty will drown in space stardust!"
"We should probably save him," you say, a genuine smile splitting your face as you push yourself up from the tiny plastic chair.
"He chose this life," Yoongi grumbles softly, but he's already standing up beside you.
“So, did I.” You nod.
"Alright, everyone! Time to put the clay monsters to sleep!" Hobi’s voice cuts through the room.
The next forty minutes are a blur of damp paper towels, scraping dried clay off plastic tables, and carefully lining up a small army of multicolored alien kitties and structurally sound space jellyfish along the back window sill to dry. By the time the last parent waves goodbye, the community center is quiet again, save for the hum of the industrial air conditioner and the satisfying sound of Hobi sweeping up stray glitter.
"You two are literal lifesavers," Hobi pants cheerfully, leaning heavily on his broom as he waves you and Yoongi toward the exit. The pink smudge is still on his nose, but his smile is as bright as ever. "Go, get out of here. Enjoy the rest of your Saturday. I've got the final lock-up!"
"Don't let the glitter dust win, Hobi," Yoongi calls back, throwing a lazy wave over his shoulder as he guides you toward the heavy glass doors.
The transition from the air-conditioned community center to the late afternoon July heat is like walking into a warm wall. The humidity has softened into a gentle, heavy breeze that stirs the leaves of the nearby oak trees. You walk side-by-side, the quiet of the afternoon settling over you both after the loud energy of the classroom. Your fingers are finally clean, though a faint scent of damp clay still clings to your skin.
Yoongi walks with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched, his eyes fixed on the pavement a few feet ahead of his sneakers. He’s unusually quiet, but it’s not his usual relaxed silence. There's a subtle stiffness in his stride, a slight hitch in his breathing that tells you his mind is working through something heavy.
You reach his car, the metal radiates the heat of the afternoon sun. Yoongi hits the unlock button, the sharp chirp echoing in the quiet lot, but he doesn't open his door right away. Instead, he stops, leaning his lower back against the vehicle, his eyes tracking a stray leaf blowing across the concrete.
"Hey," you say softly, stepping into his space. "Everything okay?"
Yoongi lets out a slow breath, his dark bangs falling forward on his face. He shifts his weight, his fingers nervously twitching inside his pockets before he finally pulls his right hand out to rub the back of his neck. It’s becoming a familiar, vulnerable gesture that instantly puts you on alert.
"Yeah," he mumbles. He finally looks up, his dark eyes searching yours, carrying a hesitant, tentative weight. "I was just... thinking about what we talked about. About coming home. One night at a time."
You nod gently.
"Right now, you're staying at Leah's place," he continues, his words coming out a little slower now, carefully measured. "And... well, you know how everyone has boxes of your stuff."
“Yeah,” you say, waiting for him to continue.
He pauses, swallowing hard. The tight set of his jaw betrays just how deeply those memories still sting, even now.
“Since her place doesn't have a lot of room. If you wanted to,” he continues. “We can bring all that stuff over to my place. You could put your stuff in my garage. You wouldn't have to unpack it. You wouldn't even have to look at it if you don't want to. It can just... sit there. Safe. That way, whenever you're ready for a piece of your past, you don't have to go hunting through everyone else's living rooms to find it. It'll already be… home. Waiting for you."
He isn't just offering you a concrete floor and some storage rafters. He’s offering to bring the ghosts back into his space…the very things that used to haunt him. He’s willing to live right next to the physical evidence of the life he lost, just to make your healing a little bit easier.
You look down at your hand, tracking the way the dark stone of the ring rests against your skin. For months, your past has felt like a terrifying, scattered puzzle, pieces of it locked away in your parents' lies, pieces of it buried in your own fractured mind, and pieces of it literally boxed up in the closets of the people who loved you.
"Yoongi," you whisper.
"Look, if it's too fast, or if it makes you feel crowded, just forget I said anything. We can leave it. We can…" He shifts uncomfortably against the side of the car, his eyes instantly darting to your face, looking braced for a polite refusal.
"Yoongi, stop," you say gently, stepping all the way into his space until the tips of your shoes touch his sneakers. You reach out, your hands sliding up his arms to rest against his shoulders. "I want to."
"You do?" Yoongi freezes, his dark eyes widening just a fraction behind the fringe of his bangs.
"Yeah," you say, a soft smile pulling at the corners of your lips. "I want my things back. And I want them there. With you."
He lets his forehead fall forward, resting it heavily against your shoulder with a soft huff that sounds an awful lot like relief.
"You're sure?" His voice is muffled against your shirt. "You don't have to do it to make me feel better, Y/N. I meant what I said. One toothbrush at a time."
"I am sure," you murmur, your fingers gently tangling into the soft, dark hair at the nape of his neck. "I think... I think keeping my past spread out everywhere was making it easier for me to pretend it belonged to someone else. Like it was just a story about a girl who looked like me. But it's mine. And if I'm going to start putting myself back together, I want the pieces to be in the place where I'm building my future."
Yoongi doesn't answer right away, but his arms come around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest with a fierce desperation. He holds you so tightly, his hands splayed wide across your back as if he's physically anchoring you to him so no storm can ever tear you away again.
“Okay, then let's go get your life.” Yoongi leans down and kisses you.
Thirty minutes later, his car glides smoothly into a quiet, tree-lined neighborhood, finally pulling up to the curb in front of Jungkook and Yura’s house. The garage door is rolled completely open as sunlight pours onto the driveway. In the center of the driveway is Jungkook and he’s meticulously buffing the chrome exhaust pipe.
He looks up when Yoongi turns the car off.
Yoongi pushes his door open and steps around to your side of the car. He holds out his hand for you as you step out. Together, the two of you make your way up the driveway.
"Look who decided to grace us with their presence," Jungkook calls out, tossing his microfiber cloth onto the seat of the motorcycle. He stands up, wiping his greasy hands on a towel tucked into his waistband. "What are you guys doing out this way? Yoongi, you didn't tell me you were stopping by."
"We're here to grab some things," Yoongi says. "We're grabbing Y/N's stuff. The boxes you and Yura have been keeping."
Jungkook freezes for a split second, the towel loosening in his grip. His eyes dart from Yoongi over to you, a flash of sudden understanding lighting his eyes. The realization hits him…what this means, what you’re choosing to do.
“Yeah,” Jungkook says with a nod of his head and looks at his bike. “Yura's inside. She will grab them. Y/N, I need to talk to you for a moment.”
Yoongi raises his eyebrow for a moment before he heads inside.
Jungkook doesn’t immediately explain himself. He waits until the front door clicks completely shut behind Yoongi before he lets out a breath, the intense focus in his eyes shifting into something a little more restless. He runs a hand through his dark hair, leaving a faint streak of engine grease near his hairline without even realizing it.
"What's up?" You ask, tilting your head, your eyes shifting from his serious expression down to the gleaming motorcycle resting between you. "Is everything okay?"
Jungkook looks at you before he points towards the spare matte-black helmet resting on a nearby shelf in the garage.
"Do you want to go for a ride?" He asks, bouncing slightly.
You blink, your jaw goes entirely slack. You stare at him, your hands dropping to your sides.
"You want me to... what?" You sputter, a breathless, disbelieving laugh escaping your throat.
Jungkook doesn't wait for you to process the shock. He jogs toward the shelving unit, grabs the heavy matte-black helmet, and heads back to you, presenting it to you like a prize.
You take it automatically, your hands dropping slightly under its unexpected weight. The cool, smooth fiberglass shell feels solid and scary against your palms. You look down, inspecting the dark, tinted visor.
"You'll love it," Jungkook says. He continues to bounce slightly on his heels. "Seriously, Y/N. You'll never feel so free. When you're out there on the road, everything else just... goes quiet. The wind blows away all the noise in your head. It’s just you, the bike, and the pavement."
You look from the helmet up to his face, your heart doing a nervous little flip. The idea of speeding down the asphalt on two wheels feels terrifying, but the look in Jungkook’s eyes. It makes the fear soften into a strange, thrilling spark of curiosity.
Before you can find your voice to answer, the screen door to the house clicks open.
Yura steps out onto the concrete walkway, carefully balancing a large, taped-up cardboard box against her hip. Her eyes immediately drop to the helmet in your hands, then shift to Jungkook’s overly eager expression, and finally to your wide, hesitant eyes. She lets out a long, theatrical sigh, though the affectionate shake of her head betrides her exasperated tone.
"Jungkook, let her breathe," Yura says, adjusting her grip on the box of your past. She steps further into the garage, setting the heavy cardboard down on a plastic workbench with a dull thud. She wipes her hands on her shorts and fixes her husband with a pointed, warning look. "If you scare her off the bike before she even puts a foot on the peg, I'm locking you out of the garage for a week."
"I'm not scaring her! I'm offering her a masterclass in freedom." Jungkook throws his hands up defensively, though a massive, guilty grin splits his face.
Yura rolls her eyes, but as she steps closer to you, her expression softens into something deeply warm and supportive. She reaches out, gently tapping the thick foam lining inside the helmet you're holding.
"Make sure the helmet fits her properly," she instructs Jungkook, her voice dropping into a firm, maternal register. She looks back at you, her eyes crinkling. "Don't let him speed, Y/N. If he starts acting like he's on a racetrack, just pull his hair. He listens eventually."
Jungkook chuckles, already stepping into your space and reaching for the helmet straps to guide you through the fit.
Jungkook’s large, warm hands are surprisingly gentle as they brush past your jawline, his fingers deftly threading the woven chin strap through the rings. He leans in close, his brow furrowing in concentration as he checks the clearance near your temples.
"See? It needs to be snug so it doesn't rotate if things get bumpy, but it shouldn't pinch your cheeks like a chipmunk," Jungkook explains. He gives the front of the helmet a firm, reassuring wiggle. "How's that feel? Can you blink okay?"
"I think so," you say, your voice sounding strange and muffled inside the thick, padded foam. Through the dark tint of the visor, the entire driveway is washed in a cool shadow. "It feels heavy, but..."
The heavy front door of the house swings open with a sharp creak, cutting you off. Yoongi steps out onto the threshold, his shoulder initially propping open the screen door as he balances a second, heavily taped cardboard box in his arms. His eyes automatically sweep the garage layout, tracking Yura standing by the workbench, Jungkook leaning over your personal space…and then his gaze locks onto you. Or rather, the massive, matte-black motorcycle helmet currently swallowing your entire head.
The change in his expression is instantaneous. The relaxed, lazy slouch vanishes from his frame, replaced by an absolute, terrifying rigidity.
Thud.
Yoongi doesn't just put the box down; he drops it entirely, letting it hit the wooden porch step with a hollow, heavy rattle. He doesn't even look at it as he storms down the short walkway, his sneakers clicking aggressively against the concrete.
"No," Yoongi says, shaking his head. "No. Absolutely not."
Jungkook straightens up instantly, his hands dropping from your helmet straps as his shoulders square defensively.
"Come on, why?" he asks. "I'm not taking her onto the highway! I would be so careful."
"I don't care," Yoongi retorts, stepping directly between Jungkook and the bike, his chest heaving slightly as his dark eyes flare with panic. He doesn't look at Jungkook. His eyes are entirely fixed on your tinted visor, trying to read your expression through the dark plastic. "Take it off, Y/N."
You reach up, your clay-dried fingers fumbling slightly with the unfamiliar buckle until you manage to pop the strap free. With a firm tug, you pull the heavy helmet off your head, shaking out your hair as the warm July breeze hits your face again.
"Yoongi, wait," you say softly, stepping forward and laying a hand on his forearm. You can feel the tight, iron-hard tension locked into his muscles, his pulse racing under his skin. "Listen to me. I want to go."
“It's dangerous,” Yoongi tells you.
“It wasn't a problem when she rode with me on my Vespa,” Jungkook says.
“That thing barely went forty!” Yoongi exclaims.
Yura steps in, smoothly placing herself right between Yoongi’s rigid frame and Jungkook’s defensive stance. She crosses her arms, looking between the two of them with the calm, unshakeable authority of someone who has spent years managing their chaotic energy.
"Alright, let's lower the heart rates before someone pops a blood vessel," Yura says, her voice cool and steady as it cuts through the tension. She looks at Yoongi, her eyes softening with an understanding that goes way back. "Yoongi, breathe. Kook isn't going to drag her onto a highway or pull any stunts. But if you're going to lose your mind over him driving her..."
She turns a brilliant, plotting smile toward Jungkook, then looks back at Yoongi.
"How about this?" Yura proposes, tilting her head. "Yoongi, go back home and get your keys. Kook just put the new tires on your bike. The four of us can go together. You take Y/N on yours, and I'll ride with Kook on his. We'll stick to the back roads. We'll drive out to the canyons, keep it nice and easy. It’ll be like old times, the four of us. Like when we used to go on road trips."
Yoongi’s hand is a knot of rigid tension under yours, but as your fingers slide between his, you feel his pulse gradually slow down. He’s still staring at Jungkook like he wants to banish him from the friend group, but the fierce panic in his eyes softens the moment he feels your touch.
"Yoongi," you say softly, stepping closer until you can feel the heat radiating from his chest. "I want to do this. But I want to ride with you. Please?"
He looks down at your hands, his thumb smoothing over the dark stone of your ring out of pure habit. He lets out a long, defeated sigh that blows his dark bangs off his forehead. The fight completely drains out of him.
"Fine," Yoongi mutters, finally shifting his gaze up to meet Jungkook’s triumphant grin. He points a strict, warning finger at his friend. "But you follow behind me. You do not pass me. You don't even think about showing off. If you so much as rev that engine too loud near her, I’m draining your oil while you sleep."
"Yes, Captain! Understood, Captain!" Jungkook chirps, saluting with his grease-stained towel, his bunny teeth fully on display.
Yoongi rolls his eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitches. He turns back to you, his expression melting into something incredibly tender.
"I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. I'm going to grab my keys. Don't let him talk you into doing backflips on the driveway while I'm gone," he tells you.
"I promise," you laugh, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.
He offers a final, lingering look before turning on his heel and jogging down the driveway toward his car. The car starts up with a smooth purr, backing out into the quiet street and disappearing around the corner.
As soon as Yoongi's car is out of sight, Jungkook immediately drops the military posture, letting out a victorious shout as he grabs his microfiber cloth and goes back to aggressively polishing his chrome exhaust pipe. He’s practically vibrating with energy, already planning the route in his head. You watch him for a second before leaning against the plastic workbench next to Yura. You look at her, tilting your head toward her husband's frantic, joyful cleaning routine.
"Is he actually going to keep that promise to Yoongi?" You ask, a knowing smirk playing on your lips. "Nice and easy? Staying behind us?"
Yura doesn't even hesitate. She lets out a dry, breathy laugh, crossing her arms over her chest as she watches Jungkook buff the metal like his life depends on it.
"Not a chance," Yura says frankly, a brilliant, plotting smile lighting up her face.
"Alright. Come here," Yoongi commands softly from where he sits on his own bike.
You step up to the side of the bike, suddenly very aware of the raw power ticking beneath the metal. Yoongi reaches back, taking your hand and guiding your foot onto the passenger peg.
"Swing your leg all the way over. Keep your weight centered," he instructs, his steady voice calming your nerves.
You shift your weight, sliding onto the seat behind him. Your knees fall on either side of his hips, and the sheer size of the bike makes you lean forward into his space.
Before you can even adjust your grip, Yoongi reaches blindly behind him, grabbing both of your hands by the wrists. He pulls your arms firmly around his waist, locking your fingers together over his stomach. He pulls them up and presses your hands flat against his chest, forcing you to lean completely against his back until there isn't a single inch of space left between you.
"Listen to me," Yoongi says. "Once I start this engine, you hold on to me tight. You don't lean against the turns, you don't try to balance the bike, and you do not let go of me. Understood?"
"I won't," you answer, tightening your grip, burying your face slightly into the space between his shoulder blades.
"I mean it, Y/N," he repeats, his grip on your wrists squeezing once more before he releases your hands to grab the handlebars. "If you get scared, you just squeeze harder. I’ve got you."
Behind you, Jungkook’s engine suddenly roars to life. Yura sits comfortably behind him, giving you a thumbs-up. Jungkook revs the engine again, practically begging for a race.
Yoongi shakes his head, turning his key. With a sharp click of the starter, his bike erupts into a deep, thunderous purr beneath you. The heavy vibrations travel instantly up your spine, terrifying and exhilarating all at once. Yoongi kicks up the kickstand, shifts the bike into first gear with a solid, metallic clunk, and glances back at you one last time.
"Hold on," he shouts.
He twists his wrist, and the driveway blurs beneath you as the two of you launch forward into the warm July evening.
The wind is a living, roaring thing around you, ripping past your helmet and tearing at the sleeves of your shirt. But inside that pocket of air right behind his shoulders, everything feels miraculously still.
Safe.
It IS freeing. It’s a wild, breathless kind of freedom you never felt before. Every time Yoongi takes a sweeping bend on the nearly deserted back roads, you lean exactly when he leans, your bodies moving as one. The dark stone of your ring is pressed tightly over his chest. With every mile of open asphalt that flies beneath your feet, the heavy, tangled noise in your brain simply unravels, scattered into the July wind.
Up ahead, the massive, jagged shadows of the canyon walls begin to rise against the colorful purple and gold of the sky. The road stretches out into a long, flat, two-lane straightaway….the perfect, unobstructed runway leading right into the mouth of the gorge.
Yoongi keeps his pace steady. One that is careful for the passenger holding onto his ribs. Then, a sudden, high-pitched, metallic shriek splits the evening air from behind. True to Yura’s words, Jungkook’s patience has officially expired.
Jungkook doesn't just pull out to pass. He drops down a gear with a terrifying crack of his exhaust. You feel Yoongi’s entire frame stiffen instantly. His back goes completely rigid against your chest.
In a blur of roaring machinery and spinning rubber, Jungkook’s bike blasts past your left side. As fly ahead, Yura doesn't look panicked at all…she’s leaning effortlessly with the acceleration, throwing her head back in a laugh you can't hear but can absolutely see. Jungkook, tucked low over his handlebars like a professional racer, deliberately cuts back into the lane just a few yards ahead of Yoongi’s front tire.
"That brat," Yoongi’s voice shouts out.
You can feel the heavy, dangerous challenge ripple straight through Yoongi's muscles. His left foot clicks down on the gear shifter with a snap. But before he twists his right wrist to unleash the engine, he remembers the weight behind him. He hesitates for a fraction of a second, his knuckles white on the grips.
"Y/N!" he shouts back over his shoulder, his voice vibrating hard against your chest. "Squeeze!"
You don't need to be told twice. You bury your face directly into the middle of his back, locking your elbows down and wrapping your legs tightly against his hips, squeezing him with every ounce of strength you have.
The moment he feels your grip lock in, Yoongi doesn't hold back. He cranks the throttle.
The matte-black bike doesn't just speed up… it lunges. The front tire feels dangerously light for a split second as the raw torque slams you backward, your chest pressed flat against his spine as the bike tears down the road.
Yoongi is a natural on the road….calculated, aggressive, and entirely fearless. Within seconds, the distance Jungkook had put between you begins to shrink. The canyon walls swallow the last rays of the sun, plunging the two-lane road into shadows. But the heat radiating from the two machines is immense.
Yoongi closes the gap. He doesn’t pull any reckless stunts, but he commands the asphalt, steering his bike into the left lane until he steers in perfectly parallel with Jungkook. For a long, heart-pounding stretch of straight road, the two bikes fly side by side at a blistering pace.
Through your visor, you look to your right. Yura is laughing behind Jungkook's shoulder, her eyes crinkling with pure adrenaline. Jungkook turns his head for a fraction of a second, his dark visor locking onto Yoongi. His entire posture screams triumphant, competitive glee. Yoongi doesn’t turn his head to look back. He keeps his eyes locked dead ahead on the stretching of pavement, but his jaw is set so hard you can see the tight flex of his muscle right through his helmet strap. He holds the bike perfectly steady, matching Jungkook mile for mile, a silent, stubborn point proven.
The road begins to curve inward, leading toward a wide, gravel scenic pullout overlooking the deep gorge of the canyon below.
As if sharing a single mind, both men roll off their throttles at the exact same moment. The deafening roar of the engines drops into a low rumble. Yoongi guides his bike smoothly across the gravel, his boots dropping to the ground with a crunch of gravel as he brings the massive machine to a final halt right at the wooden guardrail. Jungkook slides in a second later, kicking up a small cloud of dust.
The silence of the canyon hits you the moment the ignitions are clicked off. Your thighs are shaking from the grip, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Yoongi doesn't move immediately. He sits balanced on the bike, letting out a long, ragged breath that fogs the inside of his visor.
"Everyone alive?" Jungkook’s voice booms out, entirely unbothered as he yanks his helmet off in one smooth motion, his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. He looks at you with a happy smile. "Tell me that wasn't the best thing you've ever felt, Y/N!"
"You're a menace to society, Jeon Jungkook," Yura gasps, though she’s smiling as she unbuckles her own gear and slides off the back of his seat. "Yoongi was keeping a perfectly respectable pace."
Yoongi finally kicks his kickstand down, ensuring the bike is fully stable before he reaches behind him. His large hands cover your wrists, gently releasing your death-grip from around his waist. He turns his body around in the seat, immediately reaching up to pop the buckle of your white helmet. He lifts it off your head with immense care, tossing it onto the seat before his hands immediately fly to your face.
His palms are warm, framing your cheeks as his dark eyes scan every inch of your features, checking for panic, tears, or regret.
"You okay?" Yoongi murmurs, his voice rough and incredibly low, entirely tuning out Jungkook and Yura’s bickering a few feet away. His thumbs trace soft circles over your cheekbones, wiping away the phantom sting of the wind. "Did he scare you? Are you shaking?"
"I'm okay," you breathe out, a sudden, bright laugh bubbling up from your chest. Your skin is tingling, your vision sharp and clear in the sunset. You lay your hands over his arms. "Yoongi, it was... it was amazing. I wasn't scared at all. You had me."
The rigid, protective panic in Yoongi's eyes finally melts away, replaced by a soft, breathless look of absolute relief. A slow, genuine gummy smile breaks across his face, his forehead dropping forward to rest against yours for a quiet second.
"Yeah," he whispers, his breath warm against your lips. "I had you. I'll always have you."
You don't even let him finish the breath.
Before he can pull his forehead away, you lean forward and press your lips to his. There is no hesitation anymore. No pausing to check the temperature of your own fractured memory, no fear of the ghosts lurking in the corners of your mind. There is only the roaring hum of the engine cooling beneath your thighs, the scent of leather and the solid, unshakeable reality of Yoongi’s mouth against yours.
His large hands leave your cheeks, sliding down to cup the back of your neck, his fingers burying deep into your wind-tangled hair to pull you impossibly closer. The kiss isn't frantic like the ride. It’s deep, and heavy with a desperate sort of relief.
"Alright, alright, get a room, you two! There are innocent canyon mountain goats watching!" Jungkook’s loud, teasing voice shatters the peacefulness, followed immediately by a sharp smack and a muffled "Ow! Yura!"
Yoongi slowly breaks the kiss, though he doesn't let you go right away. His thumbs rest right at the curve of your jaw, his breathing ragged as his dark eyes drop to your lips, then up to your eyes.
"Hey," Yura's voice cuts in, much closer now. You look over Yoongi’s shoulder to see her stepping up to the side of the bike. She’s already shed her heavy jacket, wearing a simple t-shirt, and she stretches her arms over her head with a grin. "Come here, Y/N. Let's leave the boys to compare engine sizes. Come walk off the adrenaline with me before your legs turn to actual jelly."
You look back at Yoongi, a breathless, happy smile still playing on your lips. He offers a slow, supportive nod, his hands sliding down your arms to give your fingers a reassuring squeeze.
"Go on," Yoongi murmurs. "Take a walk. I'll make sure Jungkook doesn't accidentally push his bike over the cliff."
"Hey! I am a professional!" Jungkook protests from the background, though he's already crouching down to inspect his rear tire with a flashlight.
You slide your leg off the passenger seat, your boots hitting the gravel with a satisfying crunch. Yura was right…your thighs feel loose and shaky from gripping the bike at eighty miles an hour, but as you hook your arm through hers, the cool evening air feels incredible against your flushed skin.
"You did good out there," Yura says softly, guiding you away from the rumble of the garage talk and down a narrow, dirt walking path that hugs the edge of the scenic overlook. "Seriously. You handled it like a champ."
You let out a soft laugh, looking back over your shoulder. In the distance, Yoongi is leaning against the guardrail, his arms crossed over his chest. Even while Jungkook is gesturing wildly about something mechanical, Yoongi’s eyes are tracked entirely on you, watching your silhouette walk away into the sunset.
"I trusted him," you say simply. "The whole time. I just knew he wouldn't let anything happen to me."
Yura stops walking, leaning her forearms against a sturdy wooden viewing rail that overlooks the gorge. She looks at you, her expression melting into something deeply nostalgic and heavy with affection.
"He never would," Yura says softly, the wind catching her hair.
"Honestly," you admit, a small, breathless laugh escaping your lips, "I'm surprised we even came out here at all after Yoongi had that fit in your driveway. I thought he was going to banish Jungkook from the group chat right then and there."
Yura lets out a long, slow sigh.
"What?" You ask, tilting your head, your smile fading slightly as you look at her profile. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No," Yura says, finally turning her head to look at you. The playful, plotting look she wore in the garage is entirely gone, replaced by a gaze that is… saddened. "You didn't say anything wrong, Y/N. I just... I completely understand why he reacted that way."
"What do you mean?" You look at her, your heart taking a sudden, heavy dip against your ribs. The canyon air suddenly feels a little colder. Yura swallows hard, her fingers tightening around the rough wood of the viewing rail until her knuckles turn white. She turns and looks at you.
"There's something you don't know," Yura says, her voice dropping into a hushed whisper. "Something about the night of our accident."
“What is it?” You ask, look at her.
"We were all at a concert that night," she says, the words coming out in a flat, heavy rhythm. "The whole group. We’d been celebrating... I don't even remember what. Just a good night. A perfect night."
A stray piece of gravel shifts under your foot as you lean closer, your breath catching in your throat. The heat from the motorcycle ride is completely gone now as you stare at her, anticipating her words.
"I stole Kook's car keys," Yura continues, a faint, humorless smile touching her lips before vanishing instantly. "I was being playful. I snatched them right out of his hand, laughed, and ran out to the driver’s seat. You jumped in right next to me. You and I... we were leading the pack home."
She finally releases her white-knuckled grip on the wooden rail, turning her head slowly to look at the guys and back at you. Her eyes are incredibly shiny, reflecting the first faint starlight.
"When I took off after the light turned green..." Yura pauses, swallowing hard as if the words are physically blocking her throat. "When the drunk driver hit us..."
She takes a ragged breath, her shoulders trembling just a fraction before she forces herself to finish the sentence.
"Yoongi and Kook were right behind us, Y/N. They saw everything," she whispers.
Jungkook’s distant laughter, the soft rustle of the oak leaves…all of it suddenly drops away, replaced by a roaring, high-frequency static that fills your ears. You look at Yura, but your vision is blurring, the edges of the sunset fraying into jagged shadows.
"Yoongi and Kook..." your voice is barely a breath, a fragile thing that threatens to shatter in the canyon wind. "They were right there?"
Yura nods, a single tear finally breaking free and tracking slowly down her cheek. She doesn't look away from you. She stays right there, holding your gaze with a fierce, heartbreaking steadiness.
"Right behind us," Yura whispers, her voice thick with the weight of a memory that isn't yours yet, but belongs so heavily to the people who love you. "Kook told me later. Before Yoongi's own car had even skidded to a complete halt, Yoongi’s door was already flying open."
A sharp, phantom pain throbbed behind your temples, a sudden, blinding flash of white hot light behind your eyelids. Your hands instinctively fly to your head, your fingers tangling into your hair as you lean heavily against the wooden viewing rail.
Glass.
The taste of copper and dust.
The smell of hot fluid leaking onto asphalt.
And a voice.
It wasn't a memory yet…but it was a sound. A raw, ragged, desperate sound that didn't belong in a world with sunshine and clay monsters. It was a throat-shredding scream, tearing through the quiet of a shattered night, repeating the same syllables over and over again.
Y/N.
Y/N!
"The guys told me later," Yura continues, her hand coming out to gently rest on your trembling shoulder, her touch the only thing keeping you from drifting entirely into the dark. "They said Yoongi didn't even hesitate. The doors were completely crushed, but the back window had shattered out onto the pavement. He didn't wait for the paramedics. He didn't listen to Joon trying to pull him back because the engine was smoking. He just... he crawled straight through the broken glass."
You turn your head slowly, looking back down the dirt path toward the scenic pullout. Yoongi and Jungkook seem to be in their own conversation.
They were laughing.
They were happy.
"He sat with you," Yura says softly, her voice pulling your attention back. "Yoongi stayed inside that crushed backseat. He didn't care about the glass cutting into his knees. He didn't care about the smoke. He just held your hand. He just kept talking to you, squeezing your hand, telling you to stay with him until help came."
A hot, heavy tear slips past your lashes, burning against your flushed cheek. He hadn't just lost the life he knew that night. He had sat inside the wreckage of it, holding your hand while it slipped away.
"He never told me," you whisper, your chest aching with a crushing wave of empathy. "He never said a word about being there."
"Because he didn't want you to carry his trauma while you were trying to heal your own," Yura says gently, her fingers squeezing your shoulder one last time before she steps back, giving you space to breathe. "But when he saw you in that helmet today... it wasn't just a protective boyfriend moment, Y/N. For a split second, his brain went right back to the night he couldn't stop that accident."
Slowly, you raise your hands…still carrying the faint, sweet scent of the air-dry clay from the community center. You press them flat against your face. You rub your eyes, hard, trying to wipe away the dizzying, high-frequency static that is ringing in your ears. Under your fingertips, your eyelids hum with a phantom, frantic energy.
When you drag your hands down, your voice is a raw, fragile thread. You look up at the deep colors in the sky and blink rapidly.
"I woke up in the ambulance," you whisper, your eyes wide as the memory suddenly finds its way to you. The fragments are finally beginning to piece themselves together. "I... I remember now. It was so loud, Yura. The sirens were screaming, and the lights outside the windows were confusing."
You look down at your palms, your breathing hitching as you visualize that narrow area.
"I didn't know where I was. I was so terrified, and everything hurt so badly I couldn't even breathe to scream. But when I tried to move my hand... someone was holding it. So tightly it almost hurt." You squeeze your eyes tightly trying to hold onto the memory. "It was Yoongi. He was in the ambulance with me. He was covered in dirt, and his hands were bleeding, but he wouldn't let go of me. He just kept repeating my name over and over again, like he was trying to pull me back to life with just his voice."
"He was," Yura says softly. "They tried to make him ride in the front, but Yoongi nearly took the paramedic's head off. He refused to leave your side. Not for a single second."
She gently turns you around, guiding you to look back at the scenic pullout. In the soft glow of the headlights, Jungkook has his hands shoved into his pockets, his head tilted back as he looks up at the slowly darkening sky. Yoongi stands right beside him, mimicking his pose looking utterly at ease.
“He never left me,” you whisper.
“Not until he was forced to,” she whispers back.
"Alright, girls! We need to get going before the bugs start using us as a buffet!" Jungkook’s voice booms across the gravel lot as he turns.
Yura doesn't say anything more. She just squeezes your hand, her palm warm and grounding, before slowly letting go. You take a deep, shaky breath, letting the cool canyon air fill your lungs, trying to push down the overwhelming wave of emotion before you step back into the light.
As you walk back down the dirt path side-by-side, your boots crunching quietly on the gravel, Yoongi’s head snaps toward you. Even from a distance, you can see the immediate shift in his posture. The relaxed, leaning stance against the guardrail vanishes.
"Everything okay?" Yoongi asks softly as you step into the warm perimeter of the bikes.
"Yeah," you whisper, offering him a small that you hope looks reassuring. "Just a little dizzy from the adrenaline."
He doesn't seem entirely convinced, but he nods, reaching over to pick up the heavy white passenger helmet from his seat. His hands are incredibly gentle as he slides it over your head. His fingers brush against your cheeks, warm and solid, before he reaches down to secure the chin strap. He checks the fit with meticulous care, his knuckles occasionally grazing your jawline.
Knowing what you know now….visualizing those same hands bleeding and frantic, crawling through shattered glass just to find yours. It makes your chest ache with a fierce, almost overwhelming tenderness. You look at him through the visor, your heart hammering a heavy, steady rhythm against your ribs.
"Alright, up you go," Yoongi murmurs, stepping over his bike and settling into the driver's seat. He holds the heavy machine steady, his boots firmly planted in the gravel.
You slide your leg over the passenger seat, your knees hugging his hips as you settle in behind him. Before he can even reach back to guide your hands, you wrap your arms around his waist.
You don't just hold onto him. You squeeze him. You wrap your arms tightly around his torso, pressing your chest flat against his broad back, burying your face directly into the leather of his jacket. You lock your fingers together over his stomach, holding on with a desperate, fierce intensity that speaks all the words you can't say out loud right now.
Yoongi stiffens for a brief second, surprised by the sudden, tight grip. But almost instantly, you feel the tension drain out of his shoulders. He reaches down with one hand, his large, warm palm covering your locked fingers, squeezing back with a reassuring pressure.
"I've got you," he mumbles. "Always."
Behind you, Jungkook kicks his engine over, the raw roar echoing off the canyon walls as he pulls out onto the asphalt. Yoongi turns his key, his own bike erupting into a low, thunderous purr that shakes the gravel beneath the tires. He shifts into first gear, the metal clinking solidly into place, and slowly guides the heavy bike back onto the darkening two-lane road.
As the bike accelerates into the cool, purple twilight, the wind rushes past you once more. But this time, you don't feel the fear. You just squeeze him a little tighter, holding onto the one person who has been holding onto you, even when you didn't know he was there.
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