the more I polish icft's ch8, the more I want to keep rewriting the story. that rewriting plan is on hold because I’ve been swamped with work these weeks, but it’s still on my mind.
this weekend I made some progress on ch8, and even though I’m itching to publish it right now, I can’t stop thinking that a lot of it will seem too far-fetched. that’s why the plan to rewrite it hasn’t left my mind. I wish I had more time to devote to it ;(((
i genuinely don't know what to do. i've rewritten ch8 of icft a thousand times and it just doesn't feels right.
(yapping incoming)
i had a thought i didn't want to accept that told me that maybe i'm no longer happy with how the story is written, but i've seen such lovely comments on the last chapter that i'm not entirely sure the pacing i've used for the story is really the problem.
but anyway, the point is that i made a decision (because really i have like 10 drafts of ch8) and that was to rewrite the story from scratch, to my own liking.
the problem is that, for example, what were initially 7 paragraphs at the beginning of ch1 are now 6 pages of details. and it’s not useless information bc i included more details about the background of the guys’ stories (because i felt the story needed more immersion in this whole industry aspect/thing and the level of fame they have to deal with which is also a crucial point for the story), and probably for those who’ve already read the story this will be enriching, but i can’t help but wonder how someone reading that new version for the first time would feel if i ever decided to publish it.
would it be boring to start reading the first chapter and find a massive block of text about the lives of seven people we still don’t know why we hate at that point anyway? and that it also included relatively technical terms related to what they do (work related)? how interesting would that be to a new reader? and how much would it grab their attention enough to make them read the whole thing?
the other problem is that i already feel very comfortable with this new version of the story, so i highly doubt i could rewrite it again (so really i'll just stick with the original version or risk it all).
i guess a lot has happened these past few months, i have to tell you all about it! but anyway, that’s what i’ve been thinking about.
i honestly don’t know what to do or how to proceed now :(.
summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life?
pairing. eventually ot7 x f!reader.
content. cursing words, angst, suffering, slow burn, eventual-really eventual fluff, mature themes such as drugs and violence. every chapter will have their own warnings at the very top.
a/n. this is the first bts related fic i've ever posted and i hope for the best!! ofc this is inspired by i can fix him by taylor swift in case you were wondering. and this story wasn't really planned (no news for me), but it's all i've been thinking and writing about all this week, so i decided to post it! the chapters list will be posted as soon as i can! love you all and thank u for the support!
bts masterlist
chapter list.
i. absence
ii. coincidence!
iii. injustice
iv. intrusive
v. remorse
vi. disclosure
vii. greatest
viii. coming soon...
updates will be weekly or biweekly, depending on the progress of each chapter.
series summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life?
pairing. exbestfriends now public enemy no. 1 ot7 x f!reader for now
content. first of all, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes! curse words, ANGST ANGST, around 8k words of emotions, a LOT of feelings to unpack (A LOT), a lot of text too, i'm sorry for that.
a/n. guys omg. i can't believe this. i dont even have the words. i'm just sorry and hope you really like this chapter! i'll be waiting for your comments :')
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I'm trying my best.
No one knows. No one needs to know. They don't have to know. I don't even have to be so aware of it.
But I'm trying my best.
Was your best effort... enough?
I have to do the right thing. I have to do what's best for me. Why do I have to do the right thing if it's not what's best for me? What if what's best for me isn't the right thing?
Who could make a good decision?
Anyone would make a worse one than the last.
I just wanted compassion. And I waited... I waited too long for it.
Sending the message wasn't as difficult as you had thought. You were still angry, clearly; you still felt betrayed and suspicious of their intentions, definitely; you still intended to keep your distance, of course. Despite all that, you found a window to observe the scene objectively: the scene where you kept circling around a well, worried because you were thirsty and couldn't reach the water at the bottom, while the rest of the people kept walking by with bottled water. The scenario you perhaps needed; the grotesque and ordinary reality check that might allow you to be a little more mature.
There was no intention to forgive in your heart at that moment. There was something that still held back those emotions and did not welcome those thoughts. Whether it was their audacity or the need to maintain your dignity, you did not know. But there were other steps you could take in the meantime.
The number of events, and specifically that conversation with Dohyun, led you to consult with your pillow about a number of scenarios, events, occurrences, and conversations that had never happened, but were alternatives to the number of decisions you could make now.
You were facing a road with four thousand paths to the same place.
Healing.
Whether you wanted to go through the dark forest, the ocean, the desert, or the countryside was up to you.
But making a good decision was not in the cards. Whatever you chose, there could always be something better or worse. All you wanted at that moment was to be guided by the need your heart expressed; perhaps for the first time in a long time, you didn't think it was too crazy.
Taehyung was one of the people who supported you the most in your dream of becoming a writer, which is why he must've been motivated to make that crazy decision to expose you to the public (against your will). Not the right one, but a decision nonetheless. Jungkook was one of your closest friends because you were closest in age, which is why it made sense that he would be the most daring of them all and make the extreme decision to see you in person (against your will, like a stalker, it should be noted). Not the right one, but a decision nonetheless. Jin was always like an older brother to you, a constant support, a shoulder to lean on, which is why it would be obvious that he would try to use his connections to help you fulfill your dream (yes, you know, against your will). Not the right one, but a decision nonetheless.
A simple decision that can always change everything. Good or bad, who can really know when making it? When what runs through your body is nostalgia, a forgotten love buried deep in your soul, an unforgettable and unforgivable longing, a devastating silence, the need to want to change things. The desire to make up for something.
You were no exception to the rule. What human being didn't make mistakes? You were clearly the most affected by their decisions; by whatever had happened ten years ago that you didn't know about, and by what was happening now. Stepping aside probably wouldn't solve anything. It was as if Pandora's box had been opened. Trying to distance yourself only brought them closer, and the path your life was taking now didn't seem to take you as far away from them as you wanted.
It turns out that the less you want something, the more you attract it.
“You know I don't interfere in your decisions, sweetheart.”
Your mom was cleaning the kitchen. She'd had her nails done a few days ago, you had sent her the money: but there she was, scrubbing the tiles, using rags to clean the tables, dipping them in the water that had accumulated in the large pots. Without a hint of regret, without disgust or displeasure... just doing what she had to do (and what she wouldn't let you do, no matter how much you insisted).
Maybe because you cried too much. Or because your mother knew you better than anyone else in the world and knew that you couldn't bear to show yourself vulnerable in front of others, no matter who they were. Your mom was one of the exceptions, because there was no one else, not even your father or Seojun, who had seen you at your lowest point like she had.
“But... how do I know... if that was... the right thing to do...?”
It was early morning. Really early. You had been crying in the kitchen after sending the message. Your mother woke up and decided to go downstairs to get a drink; instead, she found her daughter on the kitchen island with her face pressed against the marble and a pool of tears and saliva around her. There were no words, they weren't necessary. She moved around the kitchen after squeezing your shoulder and cooked one of your favorite dishes from when you were little.
Maybe it was the sound of the utensils clattering, or the boiling water, or the mesmerizing smell that made your stomach growl at two in the morning, you weren't sure; but in the midst of so many comforting imaginary hugs, you stopped crying and were able to tell your mom what had been going on.
Your voice was still breaking up after you had eaten and stopped crying. Bringing up the subject at this level of vulnerability still made you sensitive.
“No one can tell you what's right or wrong, darling. Do what your heart tells you to do. If you feel that this is the way you can rest, do it. But with a clear conscience. You're not betraying yourself, you're fighting for yourself.”
The kitchen already looked spotless, but your mother continued to wipe the kitchen counter with blue rags, still with her back to you.
“Lift your chin, go get what you need; tear them down if necessary, and heal yourself.”
“Mom...” you whined, dropping your head back onto the counter, the cold marble sending shivers through your body.
“Never regret the decisions you make. They make you who you are. They are what have shaped you all these years. They are what have brought you this far.”
With a full stomach, sleep began to overwhelm you. You knew your mom was right. Maybe not many people would be convinced, but you were. That was enough. It was what you wanted. You had to convince yourself that you weren't trying to excuse them for the stupid, confusing emotions you still had and that you would eventually give up; you had to be sure that you were doing this for yourself and not for them; you had to know that you weren't looking for forgiveness, just an explanation. That would be all and nothing more.
“If in a couple of years your heart feels it can find forgiveness for them after knowing the truth of what happened, then you will make the decision at that time.”
Not the right one, but a decision.
Surely other people could move on by forgetting; by ignoring. And maybe you would have, if all those decisions hadn't been made. If they hadn't tried to come back into your life, for whatever reason, maybe someday in twenty years you would've thought about them and laughed.
Maybe ten years was enough time for some. For you, it was the blink of an eye. As if it were yesterday. Ten years of unforgivable silence. Ten years of a wound, a deep pit.
“But you're not looking for that now, are you?”
Your mother turned on her heel, the rag forgotten and her arms akimbo. She looked stern, as she knew you preferred when you had these moments, but in her eyes it was clear that she felt as sensitive as you did.
You shook your head in denial, calmer, a little more relaxed.
Emotional repression really was a serious problem.
“Then stop worrying. Go get what you want and that's it.”
It was so annoying when the simplest things ended up being the truest. You rolled your eyes, but your lips curved into a smile and your mother mimicked your gesture.
“Now, let's go to sleep before either of those two wake up.”
“I highly doubt it,” you smiled, letting your mother put her arm around your shoulders as you held onto her waist to walk back to the second floor. “Seojun has all of dad's genes. They snore like a tractor and wouldn't wake up even if there was an earthquake.”
Your mother laughed out loud. The kitchen lights went out and darkness welcomed you once again, but you didn't feel like anything was missing at that moment. Maybe you had never felt brighter.
Tomorrow would be another day. Another opportunity. Definitely another decision to face the world.
Surrounded by a bunch of people who were also deciding, for better or worse, how to face their own world every day.
-
Jin always hoped that silence would welcome him when he got home. His chaotic job and the amount of movement he had to deal with during the day were exhausting enough to make him want to come home and melt into the darkness of his room until he had to return the next day. Although Jin had already made a name for himself in medicine in his country and was a renowned cardiologist working at one of the most prestigious hospitals and university centers in the country, that didn't mean he didn't suffer from the exhaustion of the hectic life of medicine.
That's why arriving home and being greeted by nothing but a breeze was music to his ears. The voices began to fade and his shoulders relaxed.
Jin sighed.
I have to try. I have to try...
This time, the sound came from the living room. It didn't take him long to find them once he crossed the hallway leading from the entrance to the main room, where the giant television glowed and made the heads of those lying in front of it on the large gray couch, one of the first they had bought for that large apartment, shine.
If their heads recognized the sound of keys when he entered, the lock when he closed the door, or his heavy footsteps with wet soles when he arrived, none of them showed it. They were all determined to keep their eyes on the television, on the most famous talk show in the United States, where Jungkook was performing that night.
Jin had clearly not forgotten that performance. In fact, he had tried to rearrange his schedule as much as possible to be able to watch it on time. How could he not support Jungkook? But standing there, behind the others who hadn't even noticed his presence, he felt something in his body holding him back from moving forward.
Yes, they all had talked the night before. And yes, they were supposed to have parted on good terms. Jin assumed he was capable of looking past their misunderstandings, like the incredibly functional adult he was; like the eldest in that house who set an example. But the truth was that sometimes he ended up being the most immature of them all, the most emotionally constipated, and the one who had the hardest time letting go of resentment. That's why he felt like his feet were planted on the ground.
As the eldest, Jin worked hard during his adolescence and early adulthood to earn the prestigious name he now had in medicine in his country, all with the goal of being a great provider, an anchor, to ensure a secure and peaceful future for everyone; for his family. And his work cost him too much, one of which was increasing the distance between him and the others in that house.
Jin had achieved the stability he wanted, but at a very high cost.
His gaze moved from head to head, then settled on the figure on the screen.
It hadn't been long since Jungkook released that song, and it had already broken some streaming records.
It was a surprise to a few that, of all his options, he finally decided to release that song.
Taehyung was sitting on the edge of the couch, with Yoongi and Hoseok settled on the other side. There was no sign of Namjoon or Jimin anywhere in the room. Jin looked around, but all the other lights were off. It was around ten o'clock at night. Where could they be, if they weren't watching the performance in the living room? Had they argued again?
Jin held back a sigh and leaned against the wall so he could watch Jungkook, not feeling very inclined to approach the couch if another argument had broken out between them. He didn't want to be the center of the discussion again, much less fan the flames of a fire that might already be smoldering among the ashes. It had been too difficult for him to work on his relationship with others again, to try to keep the bond intact, especially when he had such a demanding job that didn't allow him to be close enough to end up ruining things with his recurring bad temper and reckless comments.
“Ah... Jungkookie is a first-rate artist.” Taehyung commented, followed by murmurs of agreement from the others.
Jin smiled. He was proud of how far Jungkook had come. Although everyone had recently had their ups and downs, this was something that nothing and no one could ruin. He was proud that everyone had worked hard to fulfill their dreams and together had achieved what they wanted.
Together...
The presentation ended and Jin blinked. He heard Hoseok's exclamation when the shot quickly cut to Jungkook's face and caught sight of his crystallized eyes. It was nothing new. Jin had accompanied the youngest a couple of times to the studio when he was recording this song, accompanied by the siamese or just the two of them. They were probably the only ones who had gone through the entire process of constructing the song with him.
It was very sentimental. A painful regret. Jin believed it was a true display of grief and sorrow. A wish to the air and the empty sky to turn back time. A confession that falls on deaf ears, like shouting in the middle of the desert. An absurd hope.
A reflection, perhaps, of the thoughts of seven people in a single song.
“Was he crying?” Hoseok turned to look at Yoongi, his expression upset and his eyes worried. “We have to call him.”
“It always happens to him with that song.” Taehyung sounded resigned, now leaning back in his chair as the program credits rolled. “Let's wait for him to text us that he's at the hotel. He must be feeling overwhelmed right now.”
“Is that song about who I think it's about?” Yoongi, always asking the right questions, turned to look at Taehyung, accompanied by a confused look from Hoseok.
Taehyung looked back at him but didn't answer. Jin, his arms crossed over his chest, watched the interaction until Yoongi became lost in his own thoughts and Hoseok took out his phone, perhaps to reread the lyrics.
Maybe this was the only Jungkook song that not everyone had heard before it was released.
Jin felt his phone vibrate in his pants pocket and moved to finally leave the room and head to his bedroom. If he fell asleep at that moment, he would have at least five hours to sleep peacefully. He had achieved his purpose for the day, and that was enough.
He couldn't deny, however, that he felt bad about walking away like that without talking to them. The logical part of his brain told him he should just do it without thinking too much about it, but the other part, the one that was too sentimental and anxious, only reminded him of the distance and the chasm he himself had dug between them and prevented him from getting closer, from building a bridge to see them. He didn't deserve it. Not now.
Yoongi sank into the armchair, his mind lost in speculation. Taehyung's silence was pressing, and that only made him begin to consider how many other things the others knew and did that they sometimes didn't share with anyone. It wasn't that they always told each other every secret, nor was it a condition of their friendship to do so, but this... that song seemed too deep for everyone.
Sighing, Yoongi knew there was no room for reproach or anything like that, far from it. He would read the lyrics later in bed, as Hoseok was doing at that moment, and then he would fall asleep with a heavy heart. What did it matter?
He turned off the TV and the house finally fell silent.
He no longer felt Jin's presence behind them.
“What time were the others coming home?” Yoongi tried to bring them back to the present.
Taehyung blinked and watched him get up, moving toward the kitchen.
“Namjoon said not to wait for them.”
Yoongi hummed in agreement.
“Did they say what they were going to do, hyung?”
Hoseok shook his head in response, locking his phone and setting it down on the small table in front of the couch, his lips pressed into a line and his gaze fixed on some point on the table. Yoongi returned with a glass of cold water and watched them, Taehyung twisting his lips and frowning, as if trying to telepathically figure out where his twin was.
“It must be something important,” Yoongi commented simply, shrugging when Taehyung gave him an inquiring look.
“And if it's important, why wouldn't they tell us?”
“Don't start. You get like this every time Jimin does something without you.”
“That's not true!”
“It's true, Taehyungie.”
Taehyung barely grunted in response, crossing his arms over his chest. Yoongi needed to go to bed early so he could get up early to finish his new album tomorrow. He had everything ready and would already be in bed if it weren't for Jungkook's presentation that happened to coincide with that night. He would wait for him to confirm in the group chat that he was already in his room before drifting off to sleep that night. He wouldn't think about anything but his work.
Or at least he would try.
Because, if he had to be honest, he felt as curious as Taehyung. With the number of unwanted events that had occurred in recent days, he couldn't help but think that the unexplained disappearance of those two could be suspicious. Although everyone had already come to some kind of agreement, the truth was that when it came to a specific person, none of them could think clearly.
Yoongi looked up when he heard the sound of keys against the front door. Hoseok turned to look, and Taehyung got up from the couch and started toward the entrance.
“Where were you guys? You didn't say— oh, hi, hyung.”
Namjoon appeared in the living room. He looked tired, as always, especially these last few days, and Yoongi recognized it with a heavy heart. He was practically the one who had taken the lead without anyone ever asking him to; the one who always looked out for everyone and did the impossible to get them where they were now. He was the one who always made the toughest decisions and the only one who tried to include everyone in the decision-making process when other people looked over their shoulders.
They had been lucky to meet someone like Namjoon.
Yoongi watched him walk, in his socks, with his briefcase in his right hand and his jacket in his left, his eyes so small from sleep that it looked like he was already asleep as he walked toward them. More recently than ever, as far as Yoongi knew, Namjoon was no longer sleeping as well as he used to. He didn't want to say it was because of recent events, because if anything was certain, it was that Namjoon carried a huge burden of guilt that had never let him sleep well.
But both he and Hoseok were the ones who kept it hidden the most, for the sake of everyone in that house. To try to maintain unity. To prevent what they had worked so hard to bring together since that cold winter from falling apart again.
“I couldn't make it to Jungkook's presentation. I saw it on the way here.” Namjoon dropped his things on the couch and then himself, running his hands over his face in a gesture of exhaustion. Yoongi watched Taehyung circle the furniture and repeated in his head the question he knew he was going to ask the older man.
“And Jimin?”
For some reason, Namjoon froze. He removed his hands from his face and looked at Tae as if he had just told him that his whole life had been a dream. Taehyung noticed his strange look and frowned.
“Jimin?” Now Namjoon looked worried. He went from surprise to controlled panic, only as he knew how to do it. He sat down slowly on the couch and looked at each of those present. Hoseok shook his head, informing him that he didn't know anything about the blond either. “We split up a while ago because he said he had things to do. I thought he was already here.”
“No, he's not here.”
Namjoon turned to look at Yoongi when he answered, the anguish he was trying to suppress overflowing from his face. By that point, everyone had realized that it wasn't a good sign that Jimin wasn't in the penthouse at that moment. Yoongi could guess the reason behind it, but he didn't like the direction his conjectures were taking. From the stern way Namjoon was looking at him, how his features hardened, Yoongi could only conclude that, sadly, he was right.
How could they not have realized that before? Maybe Jimin was the one they should be most worried about.
“If Jimin isn't here and he wasn't with you... where is he?”
Hoseok asked, tilting his head, his features cautious, as if he were about to reach the same conclusion as Yoongi and wanted Namjoon to confirm otherwise.
Taehyung just put his hands to his head, distancing himself from the group.
“Shit!”
-
Yuna wasn't someone who hid things for malicious purposes. Many things in her life had taught her when to talk about something and when it was better to remain silent, waiting, giving the other person space to open up at their own pace, to build trust, because emotions and trauma were very difficult to process.
Yuna didn't know for sure, but she had a feeling that you had gone through some kind of shocking event in your life that had left an emotional mark on you. She knew this from the dry, resentful way you spoke to her when you first met; from the way you interacted with people, with your coworkers; she knew it from how you never trusted anyone, from how you kept very superficial relationships with people, and because the only reason you were still friends was because Yuna hadn't left you, because she had never crossed your boundaries, because she had proven herself worthy of your trust... because she had never asked too many questions.
When it came to you, Yuna learned to tread lightly, and although it sounded awful, although anyone outside your relationship who could see it from the outside would think it was an attitude derived from her friend's selfishness, she couldn't simply try to fight that instinct that had been born out of a traumatic experience. How could she confront someone so inhumanely?
Yuna used to wonder a lot what situation could've caused that kind of mistrust in you. More recently, Yuna wondered if her conjectures could be true.
“What are you going to do?”
“I can't give you any details...”
You don't want to. Yuna bit her tongue.
Being on the receiving end of this type of relationship prevented anyone from being morally or ethically right or wrong in any of the positions you decided to take to confront it.
Let us consider these scenarios:
You could be downright evil, in which case it would cost you nothing to attack with questions about the subject that was clearly sensitive to the distrustful person, but you could, subjectively, justify it as your “right” to an answer: Am I not worthy enough of your trust? Haven't we come this far because you trust me, or is that not enough?
Then, you could be understanding, empathetic, extremely permissive, regardless of the blow and pain caused by knowing that the person you considered unconditional in your life does not feel the same way about you after so long.
On the other hand, you can be objectively empathetic, simply go with the flow, make decisions, keep up with the pace of life, knowing that everyone resolves things in their own way, respecting boundaries from a neutral standpoint and knowing that there is nothing that can be done about it.
Everything was subjective.
Yuna, for her part, believed she belonged to the third group that would never pressure, that would not try to force answers out, and that would never feel resentment for the other person's lack of trust because it was never personal, it was an instinctive response to a traumatic experience.
Even though with each passing year everything felt heavier and heavier. When she was not welcome in vulnerable moments and could only offer support through a screen, without knowing if that was what was needed or if it was enough, because she didn't have enough knowledge of the context. When she had to be the target of misdirected anger, which couldn't be directed anywhere else because it was stuck at the bottom of a broken heart that had been left alone for so long. When she couldn't support you at every moment, because the moments when she had been able to glimpse that heartbreaking vulnerability were fleeting, as fleeting as a blink of an eye, so short that she had to ask herself several times if it had really happened.
That's how it was the last time, when she found you crying in the cellar as soon as you came back from lunch.
Yuna would never pressure you. Yuna would never demand answers. Yuna never mentioned seeing Jeon Jungkook's depressed face on the other side of the door through the small window in the storage room, which was right in front of her when she entered the room and found you on the floor, because it wasn't her place to seek those answers. It wasn't her life, it wasn't her feelings, and it was certainly a decision not to take it personally, because it wasn't.
That's why she felt concerned when you told her you were going to meet someone to face something you should've gotten over long ago. Yuna felt that you were going to encounter something that could shock you; something you might not be ready to face yet. Anyone would say she was overreacting, but Yuna knew your mannerisms very well in those moments of anxiety.
Nevertheless...
There was a guilt that haunted her. And Yuna was not someone who hid things with malicious intent, no. She knew she was in no position to demand explanations. But maybe many of those things had been her fault. Maybe whatever was going on could've been quickly stopped and disappeared if she hadn't gotten in the way. She didn't think, of course, that it would backfire so soon.
Yuna knew she had made many mistakes in her life, and perhaps hiding what happened that afternoon in the cafeteria had been one of the worst.
“And you have to go alone?”
“Well... if it's something from my past, it's something I should face on my own, don't you think?”
“Well, yes... there are things that can only be overcome by facing them. But that doesn't mean you have to put yourself in a situation you're not ready for...”
Yuna almost cringed when you stopped and turned to look at her with a frown. She hated the feeling that ran through her body, with your eyes asking her if she was really trying to cross that line; if she really wanted to venture to keep asking. Yuna wanted to bite her tongue, because she knew what kind of situation pressing further would lead to, and her instincts told her that she had to avoid that confrontation at all costs, but it seemed that the fear and uncertainty she felt about how the whole situation might affect you was much greater.
Her real question now was: what was she willing to sacrifice?
"I've been running away from that for many years. I think this is a good opportunity to end it all at the root."
Your words echoed in reflection, in the internal perception that this was a completely rational decision and, above all, that it left no room for rebuttal or contradiction. Yuna understood this from your words, your tone of voice, and the (maybe) upset look you were trying hard to hide. She felt her chest constrict, as if someone were crushing her ribs and cutting off her breath. What could she do? What should she do? How far could she go? What should she say?
Did what you were going to do... have anything to do with the result of something she had done?
Yuna wasn't someone who hid things with malicious intent; Yuna was not someone who lied, much less someone who wanted to cause pain to the people she loved. But Yuna was someone who made mistakes, someone who made bad decisions, and someone who, deep down in her heart, feared losing the people closest to her because of those bad decisions. Yuna was someone who constantly carried regrets and low self-esteem, which she usually hid behind the impartial role she played in people's lives. Yuna would never hurt a family member, friend, or loved one on purpose with her actions; she would never hide something from them that would cause them great pain...
Or so she wanted to believe.
Because now, with her heart in her throat and her breath short, looking at you ready to walk out that door, pushed into a reality that perhaps you didn't yet have to face, Yuna could see that many of her beliefs were beginning to crumble.
Perhaps she was someone who deliberately hid things, causing long-term collateral damage; as if slowing down time before detonating a grenade. Perhaps she was someone who consciously made bad decisions and then worried every day about their consequences. Perhaps she was a complacent person; fearful of the loneliness of rejection.
Perhaps Yuna had malicious behaviors. Intentional or not, she had them.
And that didn't make her as good a person as she wanted to believe. It made her doubt herself. Think twice about her next words. Question her ideals. Practice her steps. Repeat the words of others in her head. Plan a response to each accusation; a justification she knew would have no basis and would never be accepted—
“Yuna.”
“Huh?”
“Don't worry so much,” you said, already wearing your jacket and carrying a small white bag over your left shoulder. Your hand was on her shoulder, the physical contact completely taking her out of her head, realizing she had wasted valuable minutes overthinking. Unlike a couple of minutes ago, your eyes were a little warmer and your expression became a little kinder.
“I don't want you to be alone.”
She barely whispered it, but she knew you had heard her clearly.
What would happen now?
You dropped your hand, your expression becoming indescribable in a matter of seconds. It seemed like you were processing her words, no different from what you would have heard on any other day when Yuna tried to comfort you. But as always, Yuna expected you to smile and downplay the situation, your feelings, putting up that invisible emotional wall and taking away the chance for that friendship to blossom into something different; into something more unconditional.
“I don't think it's something you need to be so worried about, really.”
The words she was hoping for were there.
“Doesn't this have something to do with your attitude over the last few days?”
Yuna blurted out the words without even taking a moment to make sure they were the right ones, and even though her body froze and her nerves froze too when you stopped halfway to the door, she continued talking without thinking twice.
“I know you're trying to hide it, but you look more tired every day. And I know it's more than just the books. Why don't you...?” Yuna swallowed, finding that she preferred to have you in front of her rather than face the uncertainty of your reaction to her words with your back to her. She took a deep breath, cursing how much an issue that might be trivial to many people affected her, and fearing the fact that she believed she might actually be the one to lose the most from this conversation. Still, she didn't want to continue standing idly by. “Why don't you want to tell me? I... I'm your friend. I'm here to support you. You can tell me anything—”
“Stop.”
Your voice was sharp.
But Yuna's erratic heart calmed down a little when you took a deep breath, and when you turned around, she realized that your expression wasn't as upset as she thought. It was something else... a little annoyed, hopeless, like someone who was also hiding things, but only things that affected herself.
“You're right. I'm sorry.”
...
“Huh?”
"This is something I wanted to forget at all costs. And I tried. So much time had passed that I truly believed I had gotten over it. But recently I've realized that everything is still very fresh and that no matter how hard I try, even if I want to convince myself that I feel that peace, I'll never really feel it until I can put an end to this once and for all. Every time I've felt that I can move on... that I can heal, I've encountered another obstacle and another problem and more... uncertainty that won't let me rest. I haven't been able to rest. That's why I want to do this. I need to do this. I feel like it's... the only way."
Yuna swallowed hard, unable to take her eyes off the vulnerable expression on your face. She swore she had never seen so many emotions on your face, except when you talked about your books. Her head seemed to be overheating, wondering if what she had just heard was really true.
“I promise that when I come back, I'll tell you everything.”
Confidence. Overflowing confidence was what came from you, what Yuna could see in your eyes and in the sincere smile you gave her. And while it was what she most wanted to hear from you, she couldn't find relief within herself. On the contrary, her guilt intensified, and she knew her face was betraying her, but she couldn't control it. What was she supposed to say now? What would you say if you found out? Would you keep smiling like nothing was wrong and tell her that everything was going to be okay? Would you turn your back on her, calling her a traitor? Was Yuna now worthy of that trust?
“Stop worrying.”
Yuna felt worse when she realized that you had taken her internal dilemma as an expression of her continued concern about what you were going to do, and a lump formed in her throat. God, why did she have to be such a coward?
“Call me if you need anything. And let me know when you arrive and when you leave.”
That was all Yuna could say. She felt breathless, waiting for the worst to happen at any moment; for you to turn around and point the finger at her as the culprit, as the traitor, as someone who hurt her deliberately. All the things she never wanted to be and now couldn't help but see when she looked at her reflection in your eyes.
“Okay. See you later.”
Yuna stood in the middle of the room with her mind blank and her gaze fixed on the door you had closed behind you. The silence was devastating. Her inner turmoil grew as time passed, and she had no idea what to do. Worse still, she began to wonder what would happen if you found out from someone else. Were her days already numbered? Why hadn't she said anything before? Why had she kept quiet? If she hadn't, maybe she could've avoided some of this, spared you some discomfort, prevented you from feeling so hopeless that you no longer knew what to do to find peace...
Perhaps because she had started to hyperventilate, she hadn't noticed who had opened the door after a couple of minutes.
“What's wrong?”
Yuna blinked and Seojun materialized in front of the entrance, frowning. Yuna stared back at him, paralyzed, and tried to compose herself as quickly as possible. She didn't know how long she had been standing there or how long he might've seen her in that trance. She closed and opened her fists at her sides and tried to relax her shoulders, feigning a more carefree look.
“Nothing. What are you doing here?”
Seojun looked at her suspiciously as he left his shoes at the entrance and slipped into the slippers his mother always left next to hers for when he came to visit. He was wearing a large jacket and carrying several bags in both arms. His frown didn't leave him even when he was standing in front of her.
“I bought dinner. But I don't think there's enough food for you.”
Yuna raised her eyebrows, appreciating the moment to distract herself for a second, knowing she couldn't show that vulnerability so easily, and looked between your brother and the number of bags he was carrying. “Are you insane? You're carrying the equivalent of a month's worth of groceries. You selfish idiot!”
Seojun rolled his eyes at her and, ignoring her, walked past her toward the kitchen. While calling out to his parents, Yuna took a moment to truly calm down. It was very difficult to try to have a normal conversation with her nerves on edge and her emotions about to overflow from her heart; she had to control herself or someone would notice something and she would lose everything. Especially someone like Seojun, who, although he seemed to be the most distracted and disinterested person in the world, was actually very picky and observant; Yuna knew this because the more time she spent with him, the more she realized that he was overly perceptive, especially with other people's emotions, even though he tried to give the opposite impression.
He was also very suspicious, seeming to distrust everyone, but only when it came to his family. It seemed to be something that ran in the blood of everyone here.
Anyway, she just had to take a deep breath. She still had to come up with a solution; she had to make a decision... she had to think it through carefully before acting.
“Noona!!” Seojun shouted again from the kitchen, and at that moment Yuna took one last deep breath before turning around and facing life once more.
“Stop yelling like a madman. y/n left.”
“What? Where?”
“What do you care?”
“You can't eat her food!” Seojun gave Yuna's hand a light slap when she tried to take the package of dumplings, and she just laughed in response.
“Well, do whatever you want, kiddo. We'll see what your parents say about it.”
Seojun grumbled silently. Yuna enjoyed watching him set the table, which didn't happen as often as one might think. She wondered why he had brought so much food and why he had left his college dorm on a Thursday night.
“Didn't y/n say where she was really going?”
“If you want, call her,” Yuna replied, grabbing a snack as his parents came down from the second floor.
“Argh,” Seojun shot her an annoyed look, deciding to leave the four plates on the table anyway. “Well, noona is always careful.”
Yuna watched him silently, lost in her own worries. At that moment, she received a message from you informing her that you had arrived at your destination safe and sound. Now she just had to wait for you to text her that you were on your way back, and hopefully everything would be fine. That way, Yuna would only have to worry about the things that had already happened and not about what could get worse if that didn't work out.
Was she being selfish? Thoughtless? A bad friend?
Good God. Why did everything have to be so complicated?
“Can you turn on the TV?”
Yuna shook her head and quickly moved to steal a dumpling from Seojun before running to the living room. With his reprimanding voice in the background, Yuna smiled and grabbed the white remote to change the channel that her parents always listened to while they ate dinner, the seven o'clock news.
“...it was just released a couple of hours ago, but it's already hovering around fifty million views on YouTube.”
Yuna left the TV on as background noise while everyone gathered at the table for dinner. She definitely wanted to stop thinking, to try to enjoy that moment with a sincere heart and not with the guilt of a mistake she wanted to attribute to bad faith.
“... his presence on our show is welcome, as always. This is ‘Still with You’ by Jungkook.”
Yuna let herself be carried away by the conversation.
That day, that moment
If I had known it would be like this
I would've kept more of them in my memories...
-
Jimin knew he had bad impulses, terrible behavior, and an unhealthy need to please. It was the result of bad habits, perhaps traumas he didn't usually dwell on, and his tendency to be self-conscious. Lately, he hadn't thought too much about those kinds of things. He kept them locked away in a worn chest at the back of his mind, on an island in the middle of a vast ocean. Impossible to reach, even for his own mind.
But with all these recent events... it seemed as if the ocean had dried up.
Anxiety was eating away at him. Perhaps it had been since that day several years ago when he made a crucial decision that turned out to be in vain. His opinion didn't matter; his complaints, his pleas... the tears that would break anyone's heart. Nothing mattered. What was the point of giving someone the ability to decide if everything would ultimately turn against him? What was the purpose of that unfounded hope? To leave everything to chance, to believe that everyone would think like him, that they would have the same dream, the same need.
No. Jimin was left alone. Betrayed. With a resentful and fearful heart.
Jimin didn't want to dare to say he knew how you felt... but maybe he knew at least a quarter of it.
All that, however, wasn't the only thing. That his decision wasn't decisive and that it led him to carry years of anger and resentment wasn't a convincing enough excuse or justification. After all, Jimin had made other decisions he was not proud of. There were still things he was ashamed to remember or even acknowledge.
Staying was one of the most difficult decisions he had ever made. It was also the one he regretted the most.
And if he had left, that would also have been the most difficult decision of his life and the one he would regret the most forever.
Jimin felt that he had grown up in a very unstable world. Each person lived their own experiences and developed their own personalities based on them. Each experience was a trait. For Jimin, there was hardly a moment in his life when he had not experienced anxiety, despair, and unease. Every day he regretted something different, more than he was grateful for the things he had. His decisions had given him as much as they had taken away, but he knew that if he had made the opposite decisions, he would be thinking exactly the same thing.
Even so... Jimin gave it his best shot.
Despite everything, despite the bad decisions, the ones he regretted, the things he had done and the things he hadn't done, Jimin had to keep going. He had to swallow the bitter pill of the reality he had shaped for himself and keep walking the path he had carved out. And with the best of smiles. If no one saw that he was having a hard time, no one around him would have a hard time.
And if he could prevent someone else from having a hard time, as hard as he had ten years ago, then he would do what he thought was right.
Whether it was a good or bad decision, it was the one he had made, because he believed it was the right thing to do.
His phone vibrated on the table. He looked at the time with a sinking heart. It was past eight.
The restaurant was empty. Only Jimin was there with his regrets.
When Namjoon had told him the night before that he couldn't accept his invitation to meet you, his world had fallen apart once again. He had a golden opportunity! Why did he have to waste it? How would Namjoon know it wouldn't be good? And he wouldn't be breaking his promise because he wasn't the one who initiated the meeting, and because Namjoon was smart enough to know that he wouldn't listen to him.
... right?
Be that as it may, Jimin accepted your invitation. With Namjoon or without Namjoon, he would be there. At the expense of the others... definitely. That didn't sound good at all when Jimin returned to that thought every seven minutes; how would the others react if they knew where he was, what he was going to do, and how he hadn't told them?
That was one regret.
The excuse Jimin kept repeating to himself wasn't really valid, but he did it because deep down he felt he had made the right decision. Maybe he wouldn't leave here as your best friend, but if he could get even a quarter of your attention to give you what he had wanted to give and do ten years ago, he could die happy leaving that restaurant.
Namjoon had already texted him about four times. Jimin kept looking at his phone, hoping that one of those notifications would be from you, telling him that you were on your way, that you were close, that you were almost there—
“Mr. Park.”
One of the waiters called him. The blond quickly looked up in his direction, scanning the place and the scene, hoping to find a familiar face.
“Your guest has arrived. We will begin serving dinner.”
“Wait. Where is she?”
The waiter pointed behind him and then walked away toward the kitchen. Jimin had gotten up from the table, his hand outstretched when he asked, and it began to tremble in the air. He swallowed quickly, trying to calm his heart, trying to convince himself again that he wasn't wrong, that what he was doing wasn't wrong if you wanted to be here too. He clenched his hand into a fist and brought it to his chest, forcing his body to even out his breathing and sink the anxiety that was beginning to constrict his lungs.
He looked where the waiter had pointed, a curve that prevented him from seeing beyond. This was one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city, located on a high hill that offered a serene view of the city. It was built in an oval shape, and Jimin had reserved the entire place for that night. But he had to go around that curve to find you, and suddenly he felt as if his feet were glued to the ground. The red carpet that guided the main path around the restaurant, joining at each end, had never felt so terrifying.
But he could hear your footsteps getting closer and closer. Slow. Calm. It seemed like you were admiring the place.
That sound allowed him to take a deep breath.
He tried to repeat to himself that he wasn't doing anything wrong. That he wasn't being selfish. That he wouldn't care if they bombarded him with questions when he got to the penthouse later.
He tried to convince himself that he was making the right decision.
For you. For him. For everyone.
“Jimin.”
But he wasn't ready to hear your voice calling him again and realize that it was nothing like it had been before.
Jimin thought he heard glass breaking. Whether it was in his head or not, he didn't know. He had closed his eyes for a moment and felt that if he opened them, he would be filled with that panic once again. Maybe his illusions had been shattered by the icy tone of voice you used when you spoke to him; maybe something had broken in the kitchen.
He wasn't gullible. He knew he couldn't expect anything else. He clearly remembered what Jungkook had told them about that time he went to find you when he shouldn't have; he remembered his eyes full of pain and the regret reflected in his own. Maybe this was what he felt. The coldness of indifference and the despair of remorse.
Jimin wanted nothing more than for time to be a material thing that he could pull between his hands to return to the moment when all this misery began.
To return to the moment when everything broke; when they lost everything.
please forgive my boldness for rebbloging you but i need to speak up because i'm STUNNED and this needs to be addresed. first of all, there are no words to describe my gratitude for the level of detail in your reblogs??? and you've detailed so many important things??? i am honored that you have even read this story more than once. i am honestly incredibly surprised, and more than anything else, very happy that you enjoyed the story so much! now i apologize because it has been a long time since the last update. when i saw your comment on chapter 7, it dawned on me that several months have already passed. i read all your reblogs during my lunch break at work today and laughed a lot just because you identified all of that!! making the important questions fr. thank you so much for reading and for doing so many times! you've really made my fucking year. i'm trying to put a lot of effort into the story right now because i feel like i may have overcomplicated it a bit or set my expectations too high when trying to construct it. or maybe i feel pressure from your (you guys) expectations when reading it; i know how aggressive and harsh some people's comments can be. it also bothers me a little that i didn't want it to be a long story, but as i wrote more, i realized that maybe it couldn't be that short. or maybe my disorder is stressing me out. my life isn't the best right now. but reading your reblogs gave me some insight, and i feel like i can see the story from another perspective. i'll keep trying to build it so i can share it with all of you, and i hope that when that day comes i'll have made peace with what it means to share this with the world. it may not be that deep, but anyway, i also wanted to vent a little. but more than anything, thank you!!!! for taking the time to make those comments!! it really means the world to me when readers do that :). i haven't been in such a good mood in a while. thank you so much for your support, and i'll keep doing my best to give you the best of myself with this story. i hope to read you again soon!!
hi guys! im just dropping by to let you know that im still alive. many many thanks to those who have written to me.
im currently on vacation and trying to regain some of the rhythm and meaning of life. ive also been reviewing and rereading the chapters of icft to figure out the direction i want to take them in and find the right words to express the characters well. i hope to make progress on that soon!!!
if there is anything you want to know about it (icft), don't hesitate to write! my ask is always open for you! i would like to know what you think and what your expectations are for the future. i promise to be a little more active in responding to you in a timely and sincere manner.
thank you so much for your patience!!!! i hope we'll read each other again soon. ;)
series summary. y/n knew that her whole life was outside the Palace, but it was hard to resist when the Crown Prince had been chasing her for as long as she could remember. doomed to an end where everything she loves has to be abandoned, y/n is forced to restart her life far from her mother, her village that saw her grow up and the man she loves. who would've thought that loving would come at such a high price…
pairing. prince!jungkook x f!reader
content. english is not my first lenguage! violence. royal themes. be-heading is still spoken of in this kingdom, nothing that will materialize. use of swords. someone is almost dying. a lot of anxiety.
a/n. ummm hello. i just wanted to leave this here. >:) hope you like it!! see you next time <3
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The fear you felt didn't allow you to raise your head. You could only watch the Queen's shoes, standing in front of you, her eyes carving your neck as if she wanted to break your body in two. Her cold and condescending words were echoing in your head, spinning around like an old spinning top that has no end. You knew this day might come someday, a voice in the back of your head was always reminding you that you were abusing borrowed time and that at some point the universe would put you where you deserved to be. Where you belonged.
There was no light at the end of the road. The beacon that guided you had lost its glow and you were wandering lost in the deep, cold ocean. You knew he could do nothing to help you. He hadn't even been allowed to come to the square. His punishment was going to be not being able to say goodbye, you knew this from the Queen's dry words, full of a forced rationality that spat from her mouth as the absolute truth. You didn't understand how anyone could be so cruel. How anyone could unleash tremendous fury against an act of kindness and innocence.
“Wangbi.”
A sob echoed through the crowd. The voice behind you caused you to shiver, the air rushing through your body aggravating your sensations to the point where you felt like you could freeze in the bright sunlight. You closed your eyes tightly, your hands clasped behind your back. She couldn't do that, what was she thinking?
“Wangbi,” she spoke again and your body almost moved forward out of instinct. The pressure you felt in your throat from holding back tears of helplessness was cutting off your breath, and you didn't know that the feeling of not being able to speak out of respect could be so suffocating. “Please, have mercy.”
You heard a struggle and a wail left your lips.
“Eommoni,” you raised your voice, lucky to be able to speak harshly and firmly. “Enough is enough. The Queen's will is greater than your wailing.”
Subtly, you averted your gaze from the queen's shoes and turned to observe your mother behind you. You saw first her eyes, filled with uncontainable tears unlike yours, an agonized expression adorning her face and you promptly felt that anguish, anger, guilt and reproach for not having been more careful as she told you. Then you saw the knights holding each of her arms, holding her in place as if she were a threat, as if she were capable of hurting the Queen for whatever incomprehensible reason.
“Don't make it worse,” you almost whispered, but the silence that dominated the square allowed your mother to understand and her face contracted in pain.
More sobs echoed in the square as you returned your gaze to the ground.
“No,” your mother cried, "Please have mercy on my daughter. I can't lose her- she's my only daughter!"
Many things were going through your head at the same time. The possibility that your mother would end up kneeling before the Queen like you was one of them. The mere thought caused you such a wave of panic that you could only pray that the Queen would have mercy on her. She was a mother too. Couldn't she think how that would make her feel if it were the other way around, and the crown prince was right where you were at that moment, and she was in the back screaming for her life and cornered as if she were a criminal just for wanting to save her son's life?
“I will pay for her mistakes, wangbi, take me instead. Please.”
The Queen's feet disappeared from your sight. The fear that began to run through your body made you shake your head unconsciously, fearful that your mother would be pushed to the center where you were. You looked up to see the Queen's face staring behind you, right where you knew your mother was struggling with the knights. Her face was empty, unable to hint at any thought through her expression. You knew the stories, you had heard some and witnessed others for yourself, and you knew she was not an accommodating, patient or even kind person.
The Queen was the most feared woman in the kingdom.
In that same square where you found yourself kneeling in the stinging sunlight, the same central place where the citizens' stalls were located, in the same place where they gathered every year to celebrate the Festival of Lights, the executions of more than 200 people had taken place in the last twenty years. There, where people gathered to shop, eat and celebrate, where children ran their dogs and peasants sold their potatoes, the Queen used it as an example of purgatory on earth. Every time an execution took place, it was a reminder that their lives did not belong to them, that nothing was really theirs, ours, but that the Palace held all the strength and fortitude to take whatever they wanted and whenever they wanted.
No one ever stood in this square without thinking that a stranger, a friend, a relative had been killed there. No one passed through the square without fearing that someday it might be their turn.
It was the constant reminder that we lived, not because freedom existed, but because the monarchs wished it so.
You had done so. You had passed the square enough times avoiding the right side of the left side of the square that was just in front of the palace down the mountain. That piece of the square was untouchable. All citizens avoided it like the plague. Some children told that, if you stepped beyond the invisible line, that line that was marked on the square because of the platform on which the Queen would put her guillotine or gallows, and which over time had become a floor space with a much lighter color than the rest of the floor of the square, you would be condemned and the Queen would end your life the next day. It was a cursed space.
And, at that moment, your knees were millimeters away from crossing the line between the filth of the square and the neatness of death.
The platform had not yet been set up. Knowing the Queen and understanding the background of your case, you knew she sought to give you a public humiliation. At least something that wouldn't allow her to remember you with respect, not even with compassion.
You followed her movements with your gaze until she stopped, not far from where you were. She raised her hand as a symbol of silence, and you knew your mother was making a great effort not to rant in front of her.
Your gaze was wary. You tried to catch any movement trying to decipher what the Queen was thinking as she looked at your mother. You wanted to understand what was going through her head so you could prepare yourself and know if you were going to have to offer up your already doomed life again to keep your mother from suffering the same wretched future.
“Is she your only daughter?”
“Yes,” your mother replied instantly, her voice riddled with hope only because the Queen had addressed her. It pained you to think that by that she thought she had earned it, that she had managed to save you from misfortune.
“And being your only daughter, couldn't you have educated her better to keep her filthy hands off what doesn't belong to her?” The Queen spat, her voice rising after each angrily spat word.
You watched your mother hold her breath and give you a look. You saw a flash of fury pass in front of her eyes and you shuddered at the possibility that she dared to defy you. You frowned at her, your head subtly shaking in refusal.
“I raised her as best I could, your majesty. My daughter is not a thief and not a bad person either.”
“The evidence showed otherwise,” the Queen countered with a raised head, almost daring your mother to speak further. “You yourself saw what they found inside your house, and you still have the gall to look me in the eye and beg for mercy?”
You held your breath for a few seconds. You knew the tone of voice the Queen had used, as well as all the people in the square. The only way the citizens had learned to understand, halfway, the Queen, was through her voice. Normally she doesn't say much, when she speaks it is in the calmest and most neutral tone possible. But now she was enraged. Angry. The way she raised her voice wasn't something you heard very often, but when you heard it it seemed like everyone around her ran away or hid as best they could.
That voice… It was the call of death.
“Wangbi, please,” your mother implored again. You watched her lower her head. Her legs lost the stability of her body which bent downward until the knights had to release her, and finally she knelt before the Queen. “I will pay the punishment. I will take her place.”
You turned to look at the Queen. And you could barely notice a glimmer of her expression, a gleam of satisfaction at seeing your mother beg for your life's salvation. It was disgusting. Repulsive. The shadow of a smile vanished almost instantly, and the unwavering expression of neutrality returned. Still, you could glimpse the anger on her face, and you knew she wasn't trying to hide it.
The Queen had her reasons for being angry. You knew it. Your mother knew it. The Queen was not wrong. Surely the decision was disproportionate, but acting out of insurmountable fear did not allow her to give way to more logical and just thinking.
Death was your punishment for the sin of loving.
And there could be no argument about it.
The Queen's dry laughter drew all eyes.
“I gave you a chance to stay in your home, and yet here you are, pleading for an indelible doom.”
The angry sound of your mother's voice sent chills down your spine:
“What kind of a mother would I be if I tried to let my daughter at the feet of her own death?”
The Queen embodied an eyebrow, you saw her shake her head from your place. The fingers of her hands intertwined in front of her body subtly moved the rings she wore that day, never taking her intense gaze from your mother's figure.
“It's the least he could do knowing what your daughter had done. What kind of parent would come for their child like a proud one when her actions shame their family?”
“What kind of parent would abandon his child?”
Your mother's cry was followed by silence.
The Queen took a step back, her face contracting in indignation. You closed your eyes tightly for a moment and inhaled trying to calm your heart, beating indiscriminately fast at the fear invading your mind.
It scared you even more that there was really nothing you could do. If you tried to get up, the knight to your left wasn't going to hesitate to swing his sword and slit your throat. If your mother got any closer to the Queen, there was going to be nothing left of her. You couldn't move, she couldn't move. If you kept it up, neither of you would ever leave the square.
The only thing you could do was to pray for a…
“Eommoni!”
… miracle.
You opened your eyes with a start. Your head frantically moved from side to side trying to search for the source of that voice, of his voice. Suddenly you felt that you really couldn't hold back the tears, that you couldn't be that strong, that you just didn't have the strength to make up your mind that this day must be the last day of your life. No. You couldn't. Not when he was there. Not when, surely, he had done everything he could to get there. Not when he had fought to reach you.
But…
What could you do to stop him?
“Eommoni!”
The angry exclamation filled the silence of the square again, and the people who had crowded around to watch began to murmur. That clearly did not go unnoticed by the Queen, who was looking at all the people in the square with narrowed eyes. You knew she knew they were going to start talking, asking questions.
The citizens looked at the Queen, looked at you, and then looked at the path the Crown Prince was coming down. You knew that the Queen knew it was only a matter of time before they put two and two together and came to a conclusion that would not please the monarch and the reputation of the Palace. You knew that her plan had fallen apart and was slipping through her fingers like water. She tried to hide it, but her eyes glittered uneasily.
“Juwon,” the Queen exclaimed turning to look at the knight on your left.
The man did not hesitate for a second to set off in the direction in which the Crown Prince was coming, taking after him other knights who had arrived that morning with the Queen.
And then, the Queen's gaze focused on you.
She began to take long strides towards where you stood and you felt so helpless and uneasy thinking that you could only stay kneeling looking at her, even if she planned to take your life herself with her own hands.
“Wangbi!” your mother cried out again.
The Queen barely gave her a glance, but with almost no time to reach you her path ended as she heard several swords being drawn at the same time.
She paused, looking around, and you inhaled sharply before looking back. It was as if the world had begun to go in slow motion.
Your mother had escaped from the knights guarding her and had moved closer to the Queen, much closer than she should have, and the men behind her had moved in to swing their swords and hold her in place. She wasn't hurt. She looked frightened, her eyes moving between your body and the halted figure of the Queen.
You let the air out.
“Jungkook,” the Queen hissed.
Then you saw it.
Behind the Queen, a few feet away, with more than five swords wielded in his direction, stood the Crown Prince. His own sword glinted in the sunlight raised against the knights. His face was bathed in fury, his brow furrowed and you could barely notice his tense jaw. He watched the Queen as if she were the only person in this square, and the Queen watched him back as if he were a gnat in her soup.
“Go to the Palace,” the Queen verbalized, her words empty of any emotion without taking her eyes off her son.
“Let them go first,” the Prince tried to bargain, but at this the Queen let out a wry laugh.
“What position do you think you have to try to question my decisions?”
The Prince, contrary to being intimidated at the look and tone of voice in which his mother addressed those words to him, smiled cynically at her.
“At the moment I think I have a very good position.”
His words generated more hubbub among the people who were already murmuring, and the Queen did not lose sight of that.
Nor did she fail to notice how the Prince gave you a fleeting glance before raising his sword again without really caring about the others that were pointed at him. You knew he was a bit oblivious, but at that moment he was playing with fire.
Jeon Jungkook was the eldest son and only male of the four children the Queen had had, therefore he was the heir to the throne. He usually used that as a bribe to his parents when he wanted to do something, threatening that, if they didn't let him do something, he would give up the throne to his uncle, with whom his parents were not very familiar. Most of the time he got his way, but at the time you feared that his mother would rather he resign, or they would get rid of him, than let him get away with it.
That threat did not escape the Prince's eyes and the Queen was aware of it.
“Jeon Jungkook, I command you to return to the Palace this very instant,” the Queen bellowed, her arm moving to point back the way she came.
Her words sounded more uncontrolled, anger seeping from every pore of her body.
“I will, as long as you come back that way with me,” her son shot back.
You noticed the Queen's clasped hands on either side of his body.
“This is not the time to argue about this.”
“Ah, now is not a good time? I agree with that. The time to discuss this was last night, when you locked me in the dungeon without even addressing me or giving me an explanation.”
“You have no say in this, Jungkook, you're not above me.”
The Prince's gaze drifted slightly after hearing his mother's words. You barely noticed how the hubbub of voices quieted down.
“Maybe I'm not,” he agreed serenely and you frowned at that.
“That's enough.”
Silence settled over the square.
The King was here.
“Wangbi,” he turned his gaze to his wife, who watched him with a flash of anger in her eyes. She knew what was coming and she didn't like it, “Why don't you escort your son back to the Palace? I see you have things to talk about."”
“Wang-”
“Now,” the King cut off the Queen's attempt at reasoning. “I will finish this trial.”
Stupefied, you watched her move without looking back. Her body passed right by her son, not venturing a glance at you, but her son was more focused on anything other than that.
His eyes inspected your figure, still kneeling on the ground. You felt the wails make their way down your throat, and you had to muster all your power to keep from becoming an uncontrollable mass of weeping in front of all the people watching them.
You weren't afraid when he finally had to turn around to leave, because you knew that if it wasn't safe for you he would be at your side in a couple of seconds.
Then, you were intrigued to know what the King would say.
“Inhabitants of Sapphire,” the King began, moving until he was almost in front of you, “I'm afraid there won't be any executions to watch today.”
At this, surprised exclamations were not long in coming, including yours.
“Nevertheless, knowing the Queen's reasons for calling this trial, there must be punishment for the one responsible for the crimes committed.”
Amidst the hubbub, you could hear your mother crying, but you were unable to turn to see her. Knowing that there really was a possibility other than the one that summoned you to this place, you remained static in your place for fear of spoiling everything.
“Y/N L/N,” the King spoke, your head moving to stare at him at the harshness in his voice, your body anxious with your heart on the verge of bursting. “As King of these lands, sovereign of their goods and wealth, final executioner of every crime committed against the crown, I declare today before the people and the square that saw the birth of our nation, that you will be condemned to exile with no chance of appeal.”
Your body leaned forward as you let out the air you were holding back. The mixture of the voices of the people behind you with all the thoughts that were going through your head was overwhelming you so much that you couldn't even understand what was happening.
Had… had the King forgiven you?
The look in Jungkook's eyes before he left suddenly made more sense. If what he said was true, then you couldn't really get an idea of how he was able to escape from the Palace dungeons and convince his father to save you from certain death. You moved your eyes to watch the monarch. The King was the unpredictable one of all those who made up the royal family. In this case, in your case, you had previously been certain that the execution had been a two-party decision.
Apparently, you were wrong.
“Let this decree endure in force until the day of my death.”
The King's gaze met yours. His face empty of emotion, like his wife's.
But you couldn't help the confused expression that adorned your face at his words. It was not against the law what he had ruled, the crimes of which you were accused could've different penalties depending on the harm that had been caused against the crown; however, it had been decades, almost centuries, since a King had decreed the end of a punishment with his death.
With his gaze on yours, he continued, “You have until midnight to leave the city. There will be knights at your house, in the carriage and the exit of the city watching to see that all goes neatly.”
His gaze refocused on the crowd in front of him.
“This trial is over.”
And without further ado, he turns on his heels in the direction of the palace.
When will we find out why they had a falling out / cut contact? I’m losing my marbles waiting to find out 😭 will it be in the next few chapters or is it still ways away?
hi anon!! thank you for reaching out!
i think soon? i dont want to drag that on for too long. it gets tiresome, especially for you guys i think. maybe in ch8 or ch9 possibly. i haven't finished ch8 so its possible the truth comes out next part or the beginning of ch9.
anyway, its gonna be sooner than later. i hope you guys like it regardless of whether it's what you expected or not. i hope i don't disappoint you guys.
im finally finishing my postgraduate degree. on december 13, i'll hand in my final assignment, and i'll probably graduate in may. i have also requested vacation time in january so that i can take a break from everything. although it seems that life is smiling on me, my work has been very chaotic, and i haven't had much time to write. i wanted to leave you this message as a reminder that im still alive and i will continue writing, especially icft. i hope to read you soon, and thank you to everyone who has written to me and been patient with me. i hope you know that i appreciate it very much and it makes me very happy. i'll always try my best for your support! see you next time 🫰🏻🫰🏻
it’s always extra special when someone leaves a kudos or comment on one of your older fics. like you’re telling me you scrolled all the way down/filtered through all the works in the fandom and clicked on my fic, even though it was posted months and months ago? and you LIKED IT? you showed it some love even though it’s been collecting dust for months?
and this, everyone, is how you make a writer‘s entire week.
